Good night, Sleep tight

 My friend, and man of many talents, Richard Thomas, has an exciting thing going on with his online magazine Gamut.

He mentioned that his site will even have some dark poetry, which inspired this rhyme. Go check his powerhouse, Gamut out after reading! By the way, he’ll be offering some great opportunities for writers (which most of us bloggers aspire to be).

What is it now, you frightened child,

With tousled hair and eyes so wild?

The bed bug monsters in your head

Grow when you get out of bed.

Staying in bed keeps them so small,

They might not even bite at all.

In fact, your fear makes them more strong

So hush now child, and run along

Be careful not to make too much noise

Bed bugs love the taste of girls and boys

If you start to cry, they’ll make you scream.

You’ll wish it was only a bad dream.

They’ll rip you open, and eat your heart

They’ll tear your little body apart.

So you’d better get right back in bed,

Before the morning finds you dead.

Good night my child, hope you sleep tight

Don’t let all the bed bugs bite!

Bedtime Story: Shhh…

“Don’t turn your back on him.”

The words echoed in her mind as the nightmare faded away in the morning sun.

That’s it. If you want me to write the rest of the story, I need feedback on the introduction. Did it work? Are you curious? Think a publisher would keep reading it?

Actually, I don’t want to write the rest. Will you do it for me? Consider this your writing prompt. Finish the story and link it to this, so I can read it too.

The Mouse and the Motorcycle

Due to content that some readers may find offensive, viewer discretion is advised.



Once upon a time there was a mouse.

Due to privacy practices, I can’t tell you her real name, but let’s call her Bonnie.

Bonnie was a normal mouse doing normal mouse-things, except for one little difference. Bonnie had rabies. She occasionally freaked out and bit people. She also had an annoying habit of foaming at the mouth. During moments of sanity though, she was a mouse with big dreams and ideas.

One of her ideas was to start a movement to change the way mice were killed. She figured why suffer the agony of being poisoned with arsenic, or mutilated by a spring trap, or slowly starving to death on a glue trap? Mice should be able to turn themselves in to the Almighty Homeowner and request a more humane death.

This idea was met by those in her mice community with shock and horror. They had difficulty understanding the concept, especially since it came from a crazy mouse.

Lucky for this mouse though, it had a understanding motorcycle friend.

Due to privacy practices I can’t tell you the motorcycle’s real name, but let’s call him “Tommy“.

Tommy and Bonnie had a mutually beneficial relationship. Tommy would go on rides enjoying his freedom, and when he came back, Bonnie would scratch his seat and get the dirt out of his handlebars while he patiently listened and supported her crazy “choose how you die” ideas.

It was an unconventional motorcycle/mouse relationship, but it worked for them.

One day Bonnie had another brilliant idea. She would become the spokesperson for the “stop the insanity” movement, which was a group of mice, with and without rabies, who advocated the use of catnip for treating the painful symptoms of rabies as well as enjoying the buzz from consuming the herb.

She was excited to tell her friend about this latest idea and the extreme measures she was willing to go through to advocate for this cause. As she ran across the street to tell Tommy, a motorcycle came around the corner and ran Bonnie over.

The end.

Moral of the story? Even crazy mice with insane pipe dreams don’t deserve to be squashed.


The Box


Once upon a time there was a box. It was a beautiful box, at least it had been. Over the years it had become dented and worn, but it still functioned as a box.

As time went on, the box became a little frustrating. The inside of the box felt stuffy and claustrophobic, while the outside of the box felt chained down. The bright colors of the box had become a dismal gray.

The world outside the box talked about how stable boxes should look and act. The world inside the box was comforted and sheltered by the box, but aware of its fragile state.

The world outside said the box should never open. The world inside needed the box. The box was dying.

What if the inside and the outside of the box agreed to open the box? The shelter for the inside world would remain stable and could be closed when needed. The outside world might not understand, but do they really understand now?

Here’s to open boxes!

Is anyone awake? Interactive bedtime story here


I’m awake. My body hates me. My mind terrifies me. I’m alone and trapped inside this torture device.

I’ve been writing a book. Real book! It’s only like a page long, but I have to get permission to use a story before I can write more.

So, I’ll blog for a bit.

Once upon a time there was a house. It was an older abode, but it still functioned as a house, providing shelter from storms, and other things. Of course, due to it’s age and weathering, it did creak and groan and have some nails sticking out here and there

The owners absolutely loved the house. It had charm and character and all those lovely old home attributes. They restored as much as possible, and lovingly took care of each nook and cranny.

They had children and later grandchildren, all who were taught to respect and take care of the house. It really was a beautiful house.

Once upon a time there was another house. An old one, but it still functioned as a house providing shelter from storms of life among other things. Of course, due to its age it did have some creaking and groaning and some cracks here and there.

The owners used to love this house. It once held charm and excitement. They used to laugh about decisions they argue about now. They put their time, money, and energy into other things so they don’t have to think about the state of the house.

They had children and later grandchildren who were taught the house wasn’t very valuable. It could had been a beautiful house, but it was destroyed.

Now for the interactive part. I want you to put “marriage” in for the words referencing “house”

Which are you? Loving caretakers or ready to move? Can that change? Should it? How much tending are you doing to your marriage? Ignoring the cracks?

I’d like to think that most of us want a beautiful marriage to live in, but it might take a little focus on the parts showing signs of damage. Maybe some you are blind to what those areas are. I know I can be.

Listening helps. I’m not very good at that, but I’d like to think I’m creative and good at coming up with ideas. Maybe if I can work on my weaknesses and focus on my strengths. Maybe if my husband and I can both learn where each other sees cracks forming, and patch them together using our strengths, maybe we can restore the beauty that was once captivating. I want our kids to respect our marriage. It could be beautiful.

Lots of fish…


Once upon a time there was a fish.

One fish in the sea of millions.

The thing that makes this fish tale different,

Is that this fish didn’t know  how to swim.

She tried.

She tried so hard.

To be like the other fish.

To “fly” through the water.

The other fish made it look easy.

The same water that lifted everyone else,

Was suffocating, heavy, immobilizing.

A few fish tried to help.

To teach her how to swim

No use.

She couldn’t swim.

Eventually she stopped trying.

She wasn’t strong enough.

At least she wasn’t in her mind’s eye.

So she drifted.

So she fell.

So she drowned.

But don’t be sad…

There are lots of fish in the sea.



That’s mine!

And then you say…

That’s not how you do it.

Stop it!

You never let me…

Don’t be such a baby.

But you promised…

Leave me alone!

Why won’t you play with me?

Don’t tell mom.

I told you so.

I’m never playing with you again!

Come on, lets go…

Bedtime Stories: Pirates


Mom, he won’t leave us alone!

What’s he doing?

He’s messing with our boat!

The swing boat? I see.

We told him to stop, but he won’t listen.

Oh no…sounds like you have a pirate problem.

Will you tell him to stop?

I need a little more information first. Does he have both legs?

Duh! Mommmm…

Is he wearing an eye patch?

Mom stop, he isn’t a pirate.

Well then, I’ll just let you two sort it out.

Okay, okay, he’s a pirate, will you tell him to stop?

uh oh,
this might be a problem…

What? What now?

Pirates don’t listen to their mommies.