We've all got new complications in our lives, and one of those is constantly being cramped inside with nowhere to go. This means it might be time to exercise the mind.
Every day before breakfast, Mariela crept out to see the fairy’s maze. She took her mother’s old mirror from the top of its mahogany dresser, blowing off the scraps of crumbling wallpaper, and swiped a scone from the cook’s first batch of the day.
You may or may not have noticed that Google AdSense finally bought my soul after weeks of me trying to sell it. Apologies from Phantasmagorium if the old girl's a little rough around the edges while everything gets figured out.
There's nothing better for healing than sleep--or writing. Having spent my weekend finally getting to do plenty of both, that's my testimony. I'm not snake-oiling you here, folks, some good, cathartic writing will cure what ails you.
For better or worse, it's Scott Fitzgerald's birthday today--author of "The Great Gatsby," or at least the bits his wife Zelda didn't write. To be perfectly honest, they both sound like the kind of people you would want to go to a party with but the people you would absolutely not want to be your minders for said party.
Since my body has decided to betray me with a hideous sinus infection, I decided this week's microprompts ought to reflect it. Shame on you, immune system. Get your act together.
The more I fine-tune "Lost and Found," the more my heroes become anti-heroes and my villains become anti-villains. The only difference between most of the "good" and "bad" characters is who they happen to dislike the most at that moment.
You'll all be pleased to know today is National Be Late For Something today. You might think I'm making this up to excuse missing a post, but I beg to differ. Look it up.
Now, I know my obsession with power metal and album covers bleeds over into Phantasmagorium a bit more often than is strictly called for, but I had to share Sonata Arcitca's "The Ninth Hour."