Jennifer Vandenberg's Blog

I’m typing this on my new wireless keyboard attached to my small tablet. I know lots of people who use their tablet all the time, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it work for me without a keyboard. And not the on screen keyboard. I need a keyboard that feels like a real keyboard. The first one I bought I returned immediately. It was useless. I got a foldable Microsoft keyboard for Christmas and so far I really like it. I can type fast and it feels like my laptop keyboard.

The other half of this test is working with the WordPress app. I was able to bring up my self-hosted site, thus this test is being done here. I really need to bring up my WordPress hosted blog but I haven’t convinced the app to do that yet. However, bringing up this blog made me realize that I could utilize this space for something that I don’t do on the other site.

I gave up on this blog because I needed more freedom in my blogging and I felt this blog was for my writing side. Nothing wrong with that but I needed a place to write about armadillos if I wanted to. But I plan to write and publish a lot more in 2018 so perhaps this site can be ressurected.

I am calling this test a success. The keyboard works and hopefully the app will publish my words. Perhaps more words will follow.

Writing can be playful, spiritual, and thrilling. It can also be grueling, depressing, and impossible. When the writing flows like a clear stream it’s easy to think you’ll sail along forever. But when the writing hits a wall, like water stopped by a boulder, you believe you’ll never be a writer and there’s no point in trying.  My advice is to ignore both of these thoughts.

When it feels easy, challenge yourself and see how you can improve your craft. When it feels like you’re banging your head against that rock, you also need to improve your craft. Both the smooth sailing and the rock are a signal that you can learn more.

So learn more about writing. Learn something every day, but remember the most important rule when writing:

Just write.

If writing seems like that immovable rock, jump over the problem spot and keep going. If you can’t do that then back up to a previous point and go in a different direction, like a tributary on a river. If you put words on the page you’ll eventually erode that boulder. Your writing is water, it only moves forward when you add more and more.

 

I checked out a book from the library that is worth hundreds of dollars worth of web designers. The book is “Create Your own Website Using Wordress In a Weekend” by Alannah Moore. I still have a lot of writing to do but the nuts and bolts are coming together nicely. Once its done I’ll have a grand re-opening. Stay tuned.

Kyle Pratt, a great author and friend of mine has a very professional website. (He focuses on his writing career, unlike my blog that focuses on my random thoughts.) He created a progress bar for his website that I loved, and he graciously shared it with me. (Check his out here to see how cool it...

Thanksgiving is this Thursday. Since Christmas has taken over November you could be excused if you didn’t notice. I like Thanksgiving. It’s not my favorite holiday (that would be Halloween), but it’s nice to have a holiday with family that doesn’t involve the stress of presents. The history of Thanksgiving can get sticky, so I...

Some years I start Nanowrimo and the words don’t come, other years they flow so fast I can hardly keep up. This year the words have been flowing at the steady pace of 3,333 words a day. The long and short of this is that I reached 50,000 words today, November 15. By all accounts...

If you’re a guy you might not be shaving this month, but I hope your hipster beard isn’t blocking your keyboard because it’s National Novel Writing Month. That’s right, in between Halloween and the start of the holiday season that we should all be embracing (instead of the start of the holiday season that the stores...

Happy Halloween! It’s all treats on my blog, no tricks. You may remember me mentioning that I wanted to do one Halloween project each day in October. The ideas ranged from baking a pumpkin dessert to reading a story by Edgar Allen Poe. Well, I successfully met my goal. I did 31 fun Halloween projects. One of my ideas was to write a Halloween short story. I have tried to do this in the past and never succeeded. I don’t want to be clichéd and I don’t like horror. I wanted to write a clever story that wasn’t too scary. I also wanted to write a Halloween poem. I managed to do both projects in this one story.

The Witches of Harpersfleece is about two competing witches. One wants to save the children and one wants to steal a child. They both want to gather as much magic as possible. Who will win? Read on to find out. This short story is around 11oo words. A perfect length to read while trying to find a place to hide the kid’s candy that they don’t already know about. Happy Halloween!

The Witches of Harpersfleece

From the edge of my front porch, I watched the three boys, dressed as a cowboy, a robot, and a ninja, stop to trick-or-treat at my next-door-neighbor’s house. The increase of magic gave me a shiver. Mrs. Morton was known for having the best treats in town, and all the kids loved her. I listened in while she whispered to the boys, encouraging them to head home instead of coming to my house for the annual children’s Halloween party. I flicked a thought toward the boys, and they shook their heads. The only way to absorb the most magic possible was to have access to all the children in town, so I kept a close eye on Mrs. Morton. She’d been successful in the past, but no one, especially a fellow witch, was going to derail my Halloween plans this year.

The boys left her porch and walked over to my gate, and I cackled in anticipation. Why had I bothered with a spell? No boy would listen to an adult dressed up like a fat fairy, even if she did have more jack o’ lanterns on her porch than I did, and passed out better candy. My house was every child’s image of spooky, from my web-covered gate, complete with giant spider, to the gravestones in my yard.

Hi, Mrs. Merryweather,” the three boys said together.

“Happy Halloween, boys.” I tipped my pointy hat toward them. “Wonderful costumes. Gene, where’s your sister?” All the other children in town had arrived. I could not begin my plans until everyone was accounted for.

Gene took off his ten gallon hat and rubbed his forehead. “Harriet’s sick. She missed school all week.”

I looked toward town where Gene and Harriet lived with their grandmother. “I hope she feels better. You’re sure she won’t be coming tonight?”

Gene shook his head. “Gram says she’s running a fever and can’t get out of bed. We brought her some treats before coming here. That’s why we’re late.”

“Besides,” Martin piped up from inside his black mask. “Becky went missing last year on Halloween. My parents almost didn’t let me come to your party.”

I nodded solemnly. On my walks through town in the past week I had made sure reluctant parents had a change of mind. I wanted all the children at my party.

“Well, I’m glad you could make it. Go on in. There’s lots to eat and do. Those apples won’t bob themselves.”

The boys ran into the house to join the others. I glanced at Mrs. Morton who had come over to my picket fence. “It won’t matter,” I said. “Harriet won’t be leaving the house.” I muttered an incantation and Mrs. Morton’s plastic wings began to beat, lifting her off the ground.

“They’ll find out who you are if you keep this up.” Mrs. Morton shook her sparkly wand back at her wings, and fell back to the ground with a thump. “I’ll stop you eventually.” With a last swish of her wand, she pushed me into a gravestone, knocking it over. Waving, she went inside her cottage, and slammed the door.

I hated letting her get the last spell, but I had other work to do. Closing my eyes, I pictured young Harriet lying in her bed. With a sing-song chant I gave her deepened sleep. I didn’t want her wandering over to the party once I had shut the door. Remembering nosy neighbors I looked back at Mrs. Morton’s cottage, with its multitude of grinning pumpkins, and recited a privacy spell. Take that, you meddling toad.

Now that all my young guests had arrived, I joined the party. No children lingered in the entryway, so once I closed and locked the door I put the brace across it and increased the protection charms. There would be no interruptions tonight.

In the Great Room, nurses, police officers, and princesses stood in line to bob for apples, and pin the pumpkin on the headless horseman. Other costumed children carved jack o’ lanterns or colored paper masks. Along one wall a table was covered with delicious treats, mac and cheese molded into mini-brains, deviled eggs decorated with olive spiders, and finger carrot sticks, along with other festive delights.

The air filled with the sound of laughter and the spicy smells of pumpkin and cider. The frisson of magic I had felt outside swelled to a cacophony in this contained space. I spoke a charm that no one heard and the children played with even more enthusiasm. I thought the magic might raise the roof. And yet I knew what I had to do to get even more.

A Monster Mash dance-off followed the costume contest, with shrieks of delight and moans of disappointment echoing through the house. For me, though, the highlight of the evening had yet to start.

Soon the clock ticked closer to midnight and the mood of the party changed. I dimmed the lights and turned down the music. With a subtle suggestion, the children gathered around me where I sat on a tall stool with my arms raised. Pillar candles cast spooky shadows on the walls. In unison, the group sat on the floor when I lowered my hands.

 

“As midnight nears the time has come

to tell a tale of long ago,

When witches greeted each as friend,

unless they were a ghastly foe.

For on Halloween night, the magic,

coveted by all, was known to ebb and flow.

It took children, children who believed,

to make the magic grow.

 

One hundred and fifty years past

two witches came to stay in Harpersfleece,

Where many children lived and believed

so the magic would never cease.

For years the witches and the children of the town

lived in harmonious peace,

Until one witch decided keeping a child

would help the magic increase.

 

Year after year the Harpersfleece children

continued to disappear,

The other witch knew that to save the children

she must persevere.”

 

The children sat unnaturally still as I told this well-known story. One by one they closed their eyes until they all slept before me.

 

“But even in this modern day

the children often hear,

‘Be abed before the moon rises

or you might be the missing one this year.’”

 

With that I blew out the last candle while the clock chimed twelve resonant tones.

* * *

Bright and early the next morning, I stood on my porch dismantling my plethora of Halloween decorations, so I could switch to my autumn and Thanksgiving displays. Mrs. Morton watch me while leaning on my fence. Tapping her no longer sparkly wand, she upended the neat pile of foam gravestones I had stacked on the porch. I restacked them, but was in too good a mood to retaliate.

“I see you had successful Halloween night,” she said, a pout on her pudgy face.

I looked up at a big yellow school bus driving by, filled with happy, well-rested children. Gene and his sister, Harriet, waved at us. We both waved back.

“Yes, Mrs. Morton,” I agreed. “The children are safe from you this year. It was a successful night.”

Several years ago, as part of a platform challenge, I joined Twitter. I rarely ever used it, and didn’t enjoy looking at tweets because it seemed overwhelming. I am a huge fan of Facebook, so I ended up ignoring Twitter. Then something happened and I couldn’t access my Twitter account anymore. I requested help from Twitter several times and heard nothing but crickets.

I’m doing another platform challenge this month so I needed to access Twitter again. After banging my head against a wall I gave up and started over. I created a new account @callmejenn5, and entered the Twittersphere once again. And once again I was confused. I just don’t get the point of Twitter. Facebook gives me all the details I need right on my Facebook page. I rarely have to click on a link, but when I do I know what I am going to see. Twitter seems to be all links, and I have no idea if I want to click on them because there isn’t enough information to entice me. This isn’t a complaint. I am truly trying to understand. Since setting up my new account I have been on Twitter every day. I have created tweets, complete with hashtags (another concept I don’t understand), and I am following people. I want to do this, but I need help.

I have read a few books on Twitter, but I am still befuddled. If you use Twitter I’d love to hear what you like about it, and how you make it work for you. Feel free to leave a message below or contact me on Twitter @callmejenn5. Use the hashtag #Twitternewbie (I think that is how hashtags work).

I know people who love Twitter the way I love Facebook, so it must be useful. I want to get over this hump and understand Twitter. Thanks for your help.

“If you use it intelligently, Twitter can be a form of engineered serendipity.” Jason Silva

www.amazon.com

October 19 was my 42nd birthday and I planned to set some new goals for myself. I make New Year’s goals also, but it is fun to make a birthday goal. What am I going to accomplish before I turn 43? Usually my list is long, but this year it seems rather boring. Lose weight, write more, improve finances. None of those light a spark in me. They seem more like chores than goals. I need some inspiration.

And I found some!

Aunt Patti gave me a wonderful book for my birthday,  One Little Spark! by Marty Sklar. The subtitle of this book is “Mickey’s Ten Commandments and The road to Imagineering.” I can’t wait to read this book. It should provide a ton of motivation and inspiration.

So my first goal is to finish the book this week. I’ll then post my discoveries next weekend. And I’ll continue to lose weight (10 pounds down), write more (chapter 4 of Storymorph done today), and improve finances (work in progress).

One Little Spark
Of Inspiration
Is at the heart
Of all creation
Right at the start of everything that's new
One little spark
Lights up for you

One Little Spark
Richard M. and Robert B. Sherman