Giving this a go!
http://www.thumbtack.com/ny/ancram/business-consulting/creative-development">Business
Ripleigh Go Bragh
Connemara stallion Ripleigh Go Bragh
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Friday, April 11, 2014
Thumb tack
I'm back and trying Thumb Tack...
http://www.thumbtack.com/Core-Equestrian-Relationship-Coaching-Ancram-NY/service/984959">Core Equestrian & Relationship Coaching</a>
http://www.thumbtack.com/Core-Equestrian-Relationship-Coaching-Ancram-NY/service/984959">Core Equestrian & Relationship Coaching</a>
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Write It Forward 2: The Voyage
The
Write It Forward Game:
I'll provide the start- you write it forward!
250 words maximum please.
End in the middle of sentence...
You can follow any thread - take the story anywhere you like!
Use your own photos if you are a photographer or painter!
Please provide a link so people can see what you are doing on your own sites and share the game on FB/Twitter/Linkedin etc. The more people we get playing the more likely they will look at your site- let's build a huge playground together!
PLEASE HIT "reply' UNDER THE POST OF THE STORY YOU WISH TO CONTINUE. You can see how I've responded and continued the story below each of the comments below.
***BE SURE TO LET THE PERSON TO WHOM REPLIED KNOW YOU DID SO BY PASTING YOUR LAST LINE AND A LINK TO THIS SITE ON THEIR FB PAGE.***
paste: "Write It Forward @ http://coreeqlifecoach.blogspot.com/
Contact me if you have any feedback or questions.
The Voyage
They say that when you see a horizon on a river you'd better paddle for shore. But what if there is nothing but sheer granite walls squeezing you into a raging, foaming madness of water like a reluctant bull into a castrating chute? That's when you paddle. You paddle and you sing. The song keeps your strokes strong and steady and reminds you to take a deep breath in and to let it out as the front of the boat drops seven feet down into a whirlpool of white. It's a way of daring God to make you cry. But God likes a song and more often than not we bounce and flail through- and then it's ten more hours till we sleep like stones under our wet birch bark canoes.
We heard the roar before ever a horizon came into few. The rains had been hard and heavy over the mountains all the week before, speeding us along bearing our three tons of furs and supplies... and one white woman in silk and fancy shoes. Frances, "but call me Frank" had convinced her husband that life in peril with him would satisfy better than life in safety without him and so along she'd come. With paint box and paper in tow.
Our first portage had been an eye-opener both for her and for us Metis Voyageurs. She had...
I'll provide the start- you write it forward!
250 words maximum please.
End in the middle of sentence...
You can follow any thread - take the story anywhere you like!
Use your own photos if you are a photographer or painter!
Please provide a link so people can see what you are doing on your own sites and share the game on FB/Twitter/Linkedin etc. The more people we get playing the more likely they will look at your site- let's build a huge playground together!
PLEASE HIT "reply' UNDER THE POST OF THE STORY YOU WISH TO CONTINUE. You can see how I've responded and continued the story below each of the comments below.
***BE SURE TO LET THE PERSON TO WHOM REPLIED KNOW YOU DID SO BY PASTING YOUR LAST LINE AND A LINK TO THIS SITE ON THEIR FB PAGE.***
paste: "Write It Forward @ http://coreeqlifecoach.blogspot.com/
Contact me if you have any feedback or questions.
The Voyage
They say that when you see a horizon on a river you'd better paddle for shore. But what if there is nothing but sheer granite walls squeezing you into a raging, foaming madness of water like a reluctant bull into a castrating chute? That's when you paddle. You paddle and you sing. The song keeps your strokes strong and steady and reminds you to take a deep breath in and to let it out as the front of the boat drops seven feet down into a whirlpool of white. It's a way of daring God to make you cry. But God likes a song and more often than not we bounce and flail through- and then it's ten more hours till we sleep like stones under our wet birch bark canoes.
We heard the roar before ever a horizon came into few. The rains had been hard and heavy over the mountains all the week before, speeding us along bearing our three tons of furs and supplies... and one white woman in silk and fancy shoes. Frances, "but call me Frank" had convinced her husband that life in peril with him would satisfy better than life in safety without him and so along she'd come. With paint box and paper in tow.
Our first portage had been an eye-opener both for her and for us Metis Voyageurs. She had...
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Write It Forward- Baba Yaga
The Write It Forward Game:
I'll provide the start- you write it forward!
250 words maximum please.
End in the middle of sentence...
You can follow any thread - take the story anywhere you like!
Use your own photos if you are a photographer or painter!
Please provide a link so people can see what you are doing on your own sites and share the game on FB/Twitter/Linkedin etc. The more people we get playing the more likely they will look at your site- let's build a huge playground together!
PLEASE HIT "reply' UNDER THE POST OF THE STORY YOU WISH TO CONTINUE. You can see how I've responded and continued the story below each of the comments below.
***BE SURE TO LET THE PERSON TO WHOM REPLIED KNOW YOU DID SO BY PASTING YOUR LAST LINE AND A LINK TO THIS SITE ON THEIR FB PAGE.***
paste: "Write It Forward @ http://coreeqlifecoach.blogspot.com/
Contact me if you have any feedback or questions.
THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME PLAY WITH YOU! :)
BABA YAGA:
Baby Yaga lay in her crib listening to the deep voices of men and the snufflings of dogs on her rooftop. The one room cottage was dark with only one strong, dust-moted beam of light shining through the arched window in the door. She was warm enough since her Muma Pădurii had wrapped her tightly in a red, white and yellow wool blanket shortly before she left to go to the market. It scratched her chin and smelled of creosote and onions but it also smelled of Muma.
I'll provide the start- you write it forward!
250 words maximum please.
End in the middle of sentence...
You can follow any thread - take the story anywhere you like!
Use your own photos if you are a photographer or painter!
Please provide a link so people can see what you are doing on your own sites and share the game on FB/Twitter/Linkedin etc. The more people we get playing the more likely they will look at your site- let's build a huge playground together!
PLEASE HIT "reply' UNDER THE POST OF THE STORY YOU WISH TO CONTINUE. You can see how I've responded and continued the story below each of the comments below.
***BE SURE TO LET THE PERSON TO WHOM REPLIED KNOW YOU DID SO BY PASTING YOUR LAST LINE AND A LINK TO THIS SITE ON THEIR FB PAGE.***
paste: "Write It Forward @ http://coreeqlifecoach.blogspot.com/
Contact me if you have any feedback or questions.
THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME PLAY WITH YOU! :)
BABA YAGA:
Baby Yaga lay in her crib listening to the deep voices of men and the snufflings of dogs on her rooftop. The one room cottage was dark with only one strong, dust-moted beam of light shining through the arched window in the door. She was warm enough since her Muma Pădurii had wrapped her tightly in a red, white and yellow wool blanket shortly before she left to go to the market. It scratched her chin and smelled of creosote and onions but it also smelled of Muma.
Then again, Baba Yaga
lay in her bed, two hundred years after the great snowstorm, wrapped tightly in
a wool blanket that smelled of chicken soup and garlic. Her bones ached and she wondered how it
could be that this ancient body could be the same body that she had been born
with. She remembered the looseness of
her limbs as they pushed against the swaddling blanket, the fullness of hair
and lips, and the delight her eyes took in the shadows that outlined the
room. With a dry crackling sound, she
shifted on her cot, scaring the mice that lived in the old bed straw. One hundred years ago today...
Friday, May 17, 2013
Opinions
The world is full of them.
It makes me tired.
I think I will sit in ignorance for awhile.
Or at least until I get my head out of my opinion.
What beliefs are you willing to be wrong about?
It makes me tired.
I think I will sit in ignorance for awhile.
Or at least until I get my head out of my opinion.
What beliefs are you willing to be wrong about?
Sunday, May 5, 2013
NPR submission: In the Bag
Here's the story I submited to NPR's Three Minute story contest. The prompt was: Write about a character who finds something they have no intention of returning in 600 words or less. It's called IN THE BAG
Bonnie found the
diaper bag full of silver dollars while kayaking up river from her farm. She’d just been joking about her ability to
find useful things when she most needed them- like the time she found a sled in
the woods after she shot a deer. She’d hurt
her ankle and was thinking about ditching the meat and limping home when she
saw the bright orange sled stuffed in a laurel bush. Hunter and prey slid home in style.
“Why can’t I find
money?” She’d laughingly told Maria.
Minutes later they
saw the mud-covered bag tucked into a downed tree. It must have washed downstream after the big
rains.
“There’s gotta be
hundreds of dollars in there- the thing weighs a ton!”
The bag was tossed
into the kayak along with the duck decoy they’d found. They split the findings when they got home
and went on with their lives.
A few weeks later,
Bonnie was sitting at the local juice joint when she overheard someone at the
next table.
“I still haven’t
found that bag! I can’t believe I lost
my grandfather’s silver dollar collection!”
The voice was
familiar. Looking over her shoulder
Bonnie saw it was a girl who was in her niece’s Waldorf class.
“Oh, baby-girl, it’ll
be found. You’ve told everyone in town
and I’m sure some good soul will return it.”
The girl’s mother reached across the table to hold her daughter’s hand.
“The world is a good place- you’ll see.”
Bonnie sipped her
banana smoothie and pretended that it tasted as good as it had before she’d
eavesdropped. She still had her half of
the find and last she knew so did Maria; it’d be simple enough- drop by the
police station, walk away, and the world would be a good place. She’d be a “nice person” and presumably
sleep well for the rest of her life. But
if it were a silver dollar collection,
it might be worth big money and big money would enable her to pay her taxes
before the auction next month.
Big money would pay
for sleeping pills if it came to that.
But what if she were
to see the girl whenever she went to visit her niece? She knew they were good friends. And her niece was supposed to spend the
summer at the farm while her parents went to Europe. Not good.
“I could spend it and
then say, ‘Hey little girl. I found your bag and I spent it. Thanks!’
Or, ‘Hey little girl,
you know that bag you lost? Well how do you like the farm it paid for?’”
She looked at the
little girl again. The girl didn’t look
like that great of a kid. Nice clothes,
picking at a $15 burger- most of which would get tossed after ‘precious’ had her
nibble, and besides- Waldorf cost a fortune.
Kids these days get whatever they wanted. If losing a little bag were going to ruin her
life then maybe this experience would teach the girl a little compassion for
those less fortunate than her.
And Maria needed
money as badly as Bonnie did.
The more Bonnie
thought about it, the clearer it became.
She’d prayed for help when she needed the sled and she got one. She’d prayed for money, as had Maria, and
there was the diaper bag. It was a no
brainer spiritual gift. Returning it
would be like spitting in God’s face. No way was she going to return a bag of
manna to a spoiled, little rich brat.
The smoothie started to
taste better.
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