On Wishing a Dream and Baring my Soul

I'm a very nostalgic person and tend to fall into daydreams of things that will never be. When I was younger, I wrote many poems and stories under these sad spells; now that I'm a bit--just a tiny bit--older and have kids, thinking about them growing so fast will make me cry, happy and sad at the same time. I'm also an irremediable insomniac, and it is during these sleepless hours that I give up to my nostalgic side and shed a tear or two, content that everybody is asleep and I don't have to explain my foolish state of mind. 

So, back a few weeks ago, my little one lost her fist tooth. She was ecstatic and I was so sad, realizing I no longer have babies in my house. That night I gave free reign to the feelings inside me and I came up with this little poem. I think many of you will understand what was going through my mind. Hope you like it. By the way, it still doesn't have a name, so any ideas are welcome.

This summer. Little One to the left, Big Sis to the right. But I bet that t-shirt gave her up.

I've got a pair of treasures I've taken care of for many moons now.    

These treasures I envelop between cotton layers every night.            

Tonight I remember the sleepless nights that will never be back,        

I toss and turn with memories of happiness and sadness long past,     

And I give thanks for the time spent--May it never end, I ask my stars.              

Time, the eternal equalizer, I can never stop it in its path                                    

if at least you could promise me my treasures will never wither and die.            

Take my soul, paint my hair all white, mark my skin with your steady hand,      

but never, oh, never take my treasures away from my hands.                              

Weeks turn into months and years inevitably pass by,                      

one day after another, relentless like the tide.                                      

When winter turns to spring in a never-ending cycle of life,               

Promise me one day I'll hear the echo of small new treasures' laughs.                

I have a pair of treasures I know one day will no longer be mine,                       

when the time comes for their happiness to lay in some one else's path,              

I hope they remember the worth inside their minds,                            

I hope they remember I can live forever in their hearts.                       

Just a couple of years ago, the offending tooth still in place.

My husband will kill me, but the three of them were snoring. 

Now you know why I can't sleep.

Mina's Resurrection Blogfest. Crossroads

Well, today is Mina's Resurrection Blogfest where we celebrate her blog's anniversary, by reviving one old post we think was kinda lost because our, may I say null, readership. Partaking in the spirit, I went ahead and looked through my first year posts. Let me tell you, there wasn't much to be re-shared... I realize now how much more I know about blogging and why on earth no one was reading me back then. I have a much better appreciation for those who stuck with me and for the new followers that have found something half interesting to read here. Thanks to you all, really. You are the best!

Ok, so back to the celebration. Here I repost, as I wrote it in late 2010, my first post about my writing. A strange little piece that fits nowhere but in a blog. And it is so unlike my present writing... Whoo! Talk about changes!

Cograts Mina!

PS. For those looking for my IWSG post, I didn't forget. Please, scroll down. =)

* * * *

A few months ago I was writing what was supposed to be a short monologue from one of the older characters in my novel who was sharing some words of wisdom with the younger generation. Somehow that little monologue grew out of proportion and I had to cut it out, but I just couldn't part with it. I kept it, floating around without a place to be. It doesn't really reflect the story of the novel, since it is kind of a little essay in its own right. However, I share it with you today. I titled it 

CROSSROADS

Life is a crazy ride. Most of the time it's full of uneventful days, sometimes even boring. One day after another of the same occurrences and hard as you may try you end up sucked into the enormous momentum that is “routine”. Life goes on with its ups and downs and at some point we’re bound to find ourselves in a crossroad where we’ll have to make a choice that we know will affect the rest of our life. Usually we come across this kind of decisions maybe once a year every odd number of years, but certainly no more than 10 or 12 in a lifespan.

It's kind of astounding when you think about it: These are the moments that shape a life. When you are 70 and look back, everything you are and have is a direct consequence of merely a dozen crucial moments and most of the times you don’t feel as old as your body tells you.  

You don't think one decision a year every now and then would be hard to keep up with? Well, think again: College or no College? Get married or keep single? Take this job or that one? We don’t come across these questions that often but when they come, boy, they’re hard.

As you may have noticed before, life has a way of confounding us even more so when men in our usual arrogance think we have it all figured it out. “Lets send them a curve ball to spice it up!” And so it happens that one of those 'one-decision-year' turns out to be a 'several-decisions-year'; or even no decisions whatsoever but a series of events that are completely out of your hands and that end up not only defining the future but changing the whole ballgame. Then, at the end of those 12 months you find yourself looking in the mirror with a few more crowfeet and a bunch of new white in your hair but felling like a thousand years older. Those eyes looking back at you in the mirror look somehow wiser and you’re not yourself anymore but, if God was good to you, a new improved you. And you wonder, how is it possible that you suddenly caught up with your age when only 12 months ago you felt so much younger?

So here’s what I think. Had it not been for those “curve balls” we'd wound up at 70 feeling like a 5 year-old (which most 70 year-old men are, anyway). We need the uneventful years to help us process those life-changing years where we find ourselves growing wiser and older; then we use some of the boring times to carve a comfortable place in the new life that was thrust upon us to rediscover ourselves in a wiser state, so we are able to keep moving forward when life knocks on our door again.

After all the things you’ve gone through, when you turn 70 and look back to your life thinking: How the hell did it all go so fast? When the reflection in the mirror is that of an old man that somehow doesn’t seem to reflect who you really feel you are, look real close to those eyes looking back at you and you’ll recognize the wisdom in his eyes even though you don’t feel the years in your skin.

* * * *

There you go. Share your thoughts, any criticism is welcome and I can't wait to hear what you think of my little piece. I hope you liked it!

About Inspirations and Awards

I know its a bit last for my usual post, and not a new review, but I spent most of my afternoon actually writing! I'm beyond excited since I'd spent most of the summer doing everything but writing, so immediately I knew I had to dedicate this post to this very special afternoon.

First, let's talk about inspiration. Few of you would know that my husband is actually quite a creative and artistic soul. I usually don't talk about my family life in here, but today I think it bares being told. Early in his life, he took music classes and I don't know if those awakened his artistic side, or it is because he already had a creative mind that he pursued music like more than a passing hobby. However, becoming a musician was not in his stars and after dedicating a good part of his teen years to compose his own music, along with his cousin and a group of alike teens, he let it go. At the same time he was actively drawing and writing, in fact he finished a novella and wrote the first half of a novel, then he started working and all those things went away.

After more than ten years without touching his ms, which I read way back when, we have been toying with the idea of re-writing it. Both of us, as coauthors. He's not sure he has the time to commit and wants me to take his project, infuse it with my own spark, and finish it, but I want him to be an intrinsically part of it. It is his baby, after all, and his vision is very special, so I don't want to mess with it.

But with all this in my mind, and thinking that I wanted to share with you something more beside another review, I decided write what was supposed to be a flash piece of less than 300 words. As I put pencil to paper--this time I did it the old fashioned way and loved it!--his old short story kept coming back to my mind and it inspired me to write a piece outside of my realm, though still supernatural. This flash? short?-- I still don't know until I type it and know the word count--is a lot more philosophical and romantic.

I love it, though I realize there is a lot of work ahead for it to be ready, but the first draft is done! In one afternoon! It feels so good to be back writing, really.

I'm sharing with you a snippet of it and then we'll be moving along to the next piece of happiness but, please, any comment is appreciated. I know these are barely a few lines, but thinking it will be, at the most, 700 words long, you should get a good feel about the tone, style, and maybe the theme, but I'm trying to keep that a bit of a mystery.

"Does God really exist?" I used to ask myself back when life was complicated with divorce threats, bills unpaid, and no time but to work. --My name. What is my name?--


Then, it all ended. The wake of a world in flames. No more failed relationships, nor time to complain.


At the end of another day in this dead earth, he came. Cloaked in black, I could not see his face. In his hands a glass ball like those I used to stare at novelty stores, but there was no quaint landscape inside. The snow was gray like ash, nothing left but blackened timbers instead of a house. --My name, oh, sweet God. Why can't I remember?--


He glided toward me, letting the putrid air carry him; and though I felt fear, I did not move, waiting for him to deliver the news.

~Extract of WINTER IN A GLASS BALL by Georgina Morales.~

Hope you like it!

Now, the awesome Paige Lollie from The Dream Words was so sweet to remember my name when a couple of new awards came her way. First of all, she deserved the awards and I hope you take a few more moments to stop by her place and check it out. You'll love it!

Now, as far as I understood, all I have to do is thank her--duly noted--and nominate six blogs myself. So, my nominations for the Fabulous Ribbon Blog and Be Inspired Awards are:

Chris Fries

Michael Pierce

Lynn Proctor

Catalina Egan

Mina Lobo

Deniz Bevan

Thanks to all of you, guys, for being friends and lead with your own hard work.

Creepfest Mystery Game, Part 6

I know the Creepfest is all about Christmas and creepy, but there are things in the world going on right now that are far from Christmasy and too creepy for us to just watch and do nothing. It is in this spirit that I tell you today about experiences of my own country, and it is only about Mexico's experience that I'm talking about. No direct call to nobody else's movement, just the burning desire that one day these kinds of stories will belong only to horror books.

Mexico is been going through some hard times lately, however, dire as the situation may seem, this isn't the worse we've had to outlive. There was a time when freespeech and democracy were only a dream. Such were the times in 1968 when the massacre of Tlatelolco occurred.

 "Those who cannot remember the past are condemn to repeat it." ~George Santayana.

When they came out of the restaurant, it was dark already.

"I'll bring your car in a minute," said a young man in a blue uniform.

They kept talking happily about their plans for the night. They were going to the movies. There was nothing in particular that interested them but she needed to get out, be distracted. Anything to helped her forget twenty years ago today she'd lived through a nightmare that changed her life, robbed her hope, and killed her friends.

Back then, the day had started immersed in the jovial attitude that only free spirited youngsters can provide. The air was full with optimism and faith; faith in the possibility of change, and in the strength of civility and democracy. A hundred conversations were happening at the same time, all deep in meaning but light in spirit. Even when the speeches commenced and one of the leaders took hold of the microphone, it was hard to concentrate on the single voice above the many indistinct conversations. His speech was inspired, filled with a passion that ignited in her the unequivocal certainty that they would make a difference. Later on, all those feelings would falter and die, suffocating in the deep silence charged with pain and tragedy that marked the end of the night.

In hindsight, hell had begun quite beautifully.

A bright red light cut through the sky from the roof of one of the buildings surrounding the square; the same buildings that later turned the place into a death trap. Gee, fireworks for the closing might be a bit much, she'd thought. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw someone taking the microphone forcibly from the speaker's hands and shove him to the floor. She couldn't understand what they were saying since the sound of more pyrotechnics filled the air. Screaming students ran in every possible direction, but she stood in the middle of the square, confused. Around her, all hell broke lose.

There was a pungent odour of burned powder assaulting her nose, the remnants of the firearms that had quieted the students. There was also the smell of burned flesh and death, but that was something she was trying to block from her mind. She needed to think straight, she couldn't allow her heart to control her mind.

A very young boy passing rigth next to her fell to the ground violently, growing underneath him was a puddle of blood; still, she didn't move. Armed men were atop every building. The only way out was to her back, where she could see military vehicles blocking the way, and panic finally set in. She ran like all the others, though she knew there was no escape. Her legs got caught and she fell flat on top of something warm and squishy that cushioned her fall. She glanced at her savior and found herself looking into the dead eyes of a woman; a single bullet hole scarring her forehead.

The explosion of more rounds deafened her screams.


"You're car's here, sir" said the man to her husband, who was still blabbing about how 'New Year's Eve' seemed to be a perfect choice of movie for them.

"You're right, babe. I really think it can make our night," she lied, but the crying of a hundred mother's who lost their children that night rang in her ears like Whispers from the undead.

 THE END 

1. A Diamond in the Dark 7	2. An Openers Closing 3	3. Annetta Ribken - Word Webbing 6	4. Apparitations of Terror 7	5. AudioTim Podcast 5
6. Axel Howerton: Ghost of Christmas Hangovers 7	7. Becs Blog 4	8. Bloody Bookish 5	9. Dark Fantasy Author Red Tash 7	10. Diary of a Writer in Progress 5
11. Father Thunder 1	12. Jack Wallen 4	13. Jason McKinney 5	14. JC Hemphill - Speculative Fiction Author 3	15. Jezris Nightmares 10
16. JHSked 6	17. Julie Jansen: science fiction and horror writer 6	18. Kim Koning always "Wrestling the Muse" 8	19. Kraftmatic Adjustable Blog 3	20. MaryRajotte. com 2
21. Michael C. Laneys House Of Master Vyle 2	22. No Vacation from Speculation 3	23. Patti Larsen - My Writing Life 3	24. R. A. Evans writes. . . 2	25. Ramblings of an Unkempt Mind 3
26. RL Treadways Ink 8	27. See Spot Read 3	28. Spirited Words: Ruth Barrett 1	29. The Author Spot 2	30. The Demon Stole My Pencil 4
31. The Latinum Vault 4	32. The Manicheans by Johanna K. Pitcairn 4	33. The Zombie Bible 3	34. Thea Gregorys Zombie Bedtime Stories 5	35. To Become A Writer - Renee Pawlishs Blog 2
36. Writecrasitnation 4

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Creepfest Mystery Game, Part 4

I’m a sixty year-old boy

With no face,

Watching you grow

When nobody’s there.

Under your bed

I may sit still,

But I like it more

When nobody’s here.

I can follow you here

And I can follow you there,

Peaking a sight

From under the stairs.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Watchers, The Watcher’s,

Beware of The Watcher’s.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I have a brother and sister

Who died last year,

They watch over you

Just like me.

My mommy and daddy

Are mean too,

Gleefully smiling

From inside the tube.

We want to be friends

But don’t know how to,

‘Cause all of our games

Are scary for you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Watchers, The Watchers,

They’re coming to snatch it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Grab a hold of your bear

And watch over your breath,

‘Cause we Watchers

Want you to be there.

Under the bed

Snug next to us all,

Far away from your parents

And far away from the sun.

Hope you enjoyed it! Now remember to keep hopping, there's more Creepfest to be seen.

Creepfest Mystery Game, Part 3

Linda walked briskly towards salvation trying to disappear against the fading yellow wallpaper. She hated this run down place that had become her prison. She looked over her shoulders, afraid his hideous face would pop up from anywhere, snatching her last breath and condemning her to a life of endless torture. This was not a safe place.

Low voices floated in the air, full of fear and apprehension; mostly sad utterances from previous victims. They were like ghostly murmurs that lacked life and scared her with the prospect of becoming one herself.

"Mr. Murder is looking for you. Run!"

"You can still make it."

Linda could hear his steps resonate in the hallway, relentlessly looking for a new victim to keep in his lair. She wanted to run but she knew this would only make her an easy target to identify. No, she needed to be smart and control her panic. Her best tactic was to become invisible, move lightly, and try to be one step ahead. 

Things hadn't been right for quite awhile, first it was Jason, conspicuously absent from the lunchroom day after day. Then came Rosselyn, it'd been weeks now since they'd last talk. One by one her friends and peers had vanished from all their usual places, their families left wondering if they will ever see them again.

She had to escape. This curse would not get to her. Salvation was within her grasp now. She could see the doors to freedom a few steps from her when the monster laughed to her left. A cruel laugh that made her blood ran cold. He was close.

She ducked behind a fake wall and listened.

“Great joke, Marcy, but have you seen Laura? I need her to join her group, help them pin down the details on that huge merger we’ve been working on for weeks. They’ve been asking for her!”

Marcy kept the eyes of the monster on her but clued Laura to dart for the stairs. Laura smiled.

When the orange tones of the sky touched her skin, she breathed relieved. In her mind a grateful thought to her last ally.

But let those traitors’ social media life die!

THE END

Don't forget to visit more of the great blogs participating in the Creepfest. Enjoy!

1. A Diamond in the Dark 7	2. An Openers Closing 3	3. Annetta Ribken - Word Webbing 6	4. Apparitations of Terror 7	5. AudioTim Podcast 5
6. Axel Howerton: Ghost of Christmas Hangovers 7	7. Becs Blog 4	8. Bloody Bookish 5	9. Dark Fantasy Author Red Tash 7	10. Diary of a Writer in Progress 5
11. Father Thunder 1	12. Jack Wallen 4	13. Jason McKinney 5	14. JC Hemphill - Speculative Fiction Author 3	15. Jezris Nightmares 10
16. JHSked 6	17. Julie Jansen: science fiction and horror writer 6	18. Kim Koning always "Wrestling the Muse" 8	19. Kraftmatic Adjustable Blog 3	20. MaryRajotte. com 2
21. Michael C. Laneys House Of Master Vyle 2	22. No Vacation from Speculation 3	23. Patti Larsen - My Writing Life 3	24. R. A. Evans writes. . . 2	25. Ramblings of an Unkempt Mind 3
26. RL Treadways Ink 8	27. See Spot Read 3	28. Spirited Words: Ruth Barrett 1	29. The Author Spot 2	30. The Demon Stole My Pencil 4
31. The Latinum Vault 4	32. The Manicheans by Johanna K. Pitcairn 4	33. The Zombie Bible 3	34. Thea Gregorys Zombie Bedtime Stories 5	35. To Become A Writer - Renee Pawlishs Blog 2
36. Writecrasitnation 4