Storytelling

Destiny’s Shadows

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , , , , , ,

Destiny’s Shadows

by: Ronovan

Face in Sun Shadows

Destiny is sweet,

When sunshine plays upon smiles,

Shadows show frown lines.

A fight broke out and then . . .

Ronovan Humor, Reblogs , , , ,

She had me going the entire time . I had no clue until the very end. Wow.

S Willson's avatarWays of life

writing-101-june-2014-class-badge-2

The two men in front of me sitting at the table in the bar couldn’t be more different. One was dressed in flamboyant clothes like he couldn’t spare a thought for what anyone cared. The other was dressed more conservatively, wearing a button down suit and an what looked like a Calvin Klein tie. They both looked very handsome despite  their very contrasting clothing styles, like just out of a movie. I was with my boyfriend. The man in the conservative clothes looked haggard.By what I could gather , he had lost his apartment to a devastating fire. The men ordered a pitcher of beer and started talking, The conversation soon turned to consumerism. It was pretty clear that one of them had pretty anti-consumerism views. The flamboyant guy , in a very passionate manner over a cigarette, started explaining to the other guy how materialism can end up consuming…

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Take the Pills

Ronovan Fibromyalgia/Chronic Pain, Writing 101-Blogging University , , , , , , , , , ,

Take the Pills

by: Ronovan

Coffe and Pills

“Take the pills. They’re supposed to help you,” she said.

The pills looked familiar to me. The kitchen windows had that morning light blue glow. I like that time. “Why are there so many of them?”

“Because the doctor said you have to take all of them,” she said. “We have to go through this almost every day.”

I looked at her. “I just like to know is all.” I took the small medicine cup full of pills. Some of them were kind of pretty to look at and had cool shapes. A mouthful of water and I swallowed them all at once.

“I would choke on all of that,” she said. Continue reading →

Pine Needle Forts and Tree Root Skating Rinks

Ronovan Writing 101-Blogging University , , , , , , , , , ,

Pine Needle Forts and Tree Root Skating Rinks

by: Ronovan

Pine Trees

At 12 years of age your priorities for home are different than as an adult. My father wanted land and a place for a huge garden. That meant country. For me country meant no friends, and no cable TV.

 

15-20 minutes outside of the nearest town is where we ended up. Not another kid for me to play with anywhere around, even though the school wasn’t far from the place. We lived in a trailer back then. It was nice and my father expanded on it quite a bit, I think that’s why I dislike the sound of power saws and that burning wood smell that it produces.

Continue reading →

The Sensitive Blogger

Ronovan Blogging, Life , , , , , , , , ,

The Sensitive Blogger

by: Ronovan

 Black Sight

 

You have to be tough to make it as a blogger!

 

I’m not tough. In fact I’m the exact opposite. I’m what you might call The Sensitive Blogger. If you’ve read my work and had interactions with me you may have put together a picture of what I am. I wear my mind and heart on my sleeve. They are both out there for the world to see and stomp on.

 

And sometimes people trip over one or the other without knowing it.

 

When the intentional hurt happens I can deal with that, most Bloggers can. We know there will be people who disagree with us or don’t like our work or are just intentionally trying to pick a fight. They want to be THAT commenter.

 

I can handle that. It’s those blindside ones that make me almost give up. When that happens I turn to typing. I write. Why not turn that hurt into something I can use on my Blog?

 

You get judged at times by history, a history that is not your own. I wrote an article called ‘I’m not THAT man’ recently and I find that phrase works in many areas of life. Before I go on, don’t get me wrong. Something said today was not said in a rude or impolite manner but it caught me off guard and well it’s going to stay with me for a long time and I will question my judgment for a long time.

 

I still feel sick. You know that sick disappointed feeling that you get when you are hurt. My initial reaction was “I give up, delete blog.” Since my accident thoughts turn into actions quickly. I stopped myself this time. I just didn’t want to be known as someone who a person even thought remotely might have been doing bad practice.

 

No, I wasn’t being bad or anything. It was just said that it could be seen as such. So don’t think anything like that. I didn’t post bad stuff, or comment badly to someone. It was just a moment that hit me.

 

It made me realize my judgment isn’t what it should be about things.

 

You probably clicked this looking for tips about blogging. I don’t know if you got anything out of this. But sometimes I just need to write and post something that is just a ‘me’ thing. I don’t know that I’ve ever actually done that until now in a non creative format, but isn’t that what having your own blog is about?

 

Much Respect

Ronovan

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 16, 2014.

RonovanWrites Week(IN)d Review

Ronovan Writing , , , , , , , , , , ,

RonovanWrites Week(IN)d Review

Writing 101 has been a breath of fresh air and a cesspool of rank fumes. On the one hand I am renewing a lighter side of my writing at times and meeting different and amazing people, while on the other…I’m wading through things I don’t want to know again.

Looking at my work over this past week there have been some ups and downs. I do like the fact that I’m not afraid with different formats and topics. Everything is a learning experience and nothing is a failure as long as you take it and move on.

Blogging Tips

Blogging Tips: Curious about where your ‘view traffic’ is coming from?

Blogging Tips: Why is no one reading my articles?

 

Fiction

Jacob: Chapter 1 Part 1

Blue Socks

Tears do Fall you Know

Questions

 

Flash Fiction

Toppings

 

Follows

My Friday Follows for Inspiration

 

Life

The Most Interesting Person I’ve Met This Year is…

Maw Maw’s Lovin’

Feline Friday: Missing Kitten

A Father Leads You Through This World…not just brings you into it.

 

Opinion Articles

I’m Not THAT Man

10 Forgotten Male Solo Artists of the 1980s

Free the Nipple? Hmm… This is an opinion piece giving my opinion of the Scout Willis publicity event recently, not her actions but the general topic itself.

 

Photography (With a touch of humor)

Wordless Wednesday: Wake me When the Editing is Done

 

Poetry

Odd One Out

Beauty Triumphant

At Your Risk

They Too Shall Pass-Mara Eastern #314 A Depressed Family

Brown Eyes

Nonsense and Such: Music Scales and Lakes Sub-Par-Nonsensical Poetry?

Could of been cut! one choice-my life

The How of the Consonant Vowels-The Block of Writers

Superstitious of a Day

My poetry Tears at Me

Three Word Wisdom

 

Video

Fixing a Hole by the Beatles

See Opinion article 10 Forgotten Male Solo Artists of the 1980s (Includes 10 videos)

Friday Night Videos Flash Back: Suzanne Vega-Luka

 

Writing Tips

Writing Tip: Observation Lounge

Writing Tip: Streamlining your Scene

Writing Tips: Getting the First 50 Pages Right

 

Awards

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

Maw Maw’s Lovin’

Ronovan Life, Southern Culture, Writing 101-Blogging University , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Maw Maw’s Lovin’

by: Ronovan

 Maw Maw

“Down home Southern cooking can’t be beat.

It makes us well rounded from our head to our feet.”

 

That may not be an actual saying down here in the South. By the South I mean the losing side of the Civil War in the US. Although I consider that loss to be winning in the grand scheme of things, don’t you? But that saying fits because of grandmothers in kitchens across these Southern states.

 

For me a celebration was any meal my MawMaw cooked. MawMaw would be Southern for Grandmother for those trying to speak the language, Southern that is. I’m looking at my New York and Ohio friends out there.

 

As a kid you sat either at a card table or at the coffee table. Be slow and it was the coffee table in front of the TV. Quicker and you were closer to seconds of the good stuff. You picked your preference. I didn’t watch TV.

Continue reading →

Tears Do Fall You Know

Ronovan Writing 101-Blogging University , , , , , , ,

Tears Do Fall You Know

by: Ronovan

 

I can’t believe this, he thought. A father, I’m going to have a little princess. I’ll call her My Baby Girl and she’ll be my Angel. I hope no one notices the tears. I’m too big to cry, but I don’t care. Every man wants this. Every man needs to have that little bitty thing to hold in his hands and heart. And she will never date or get married. She’ll always be My Baby Girl. He stared ahead still stunned by it all, shell shocked in the glory of the news.

 

The woman squeezed his hand a little tighter. Her mind raced with what to do. I know he wanted a boy, all men do. They want to carry on the family name and do ball games and all of that. I just hope he’ll be happy and love her just as much anyway. She can play softball and tennis and things like that, but I’m not going to force her to. He’ll have to accept her as she is. He’ll just have to get over it. Her grip tightened slightly in anger. She felt his hand give, as if not even there. Caught up in his self pity, she thought.

 

Another death in the family I imagine or he lost his job, the woman thought as her needles worked without thought. So many men cry in this park. Perhaps there is a misery attached to it. I could get Maggie to do an exorcism and cleanse the place. But then that might get rid of John too. Me and my John need our time together. She looked at the seat beside her, not seeing the green slates but the image of an elderly man with a bag of breadcrumbs for the pigeons. Her needles flew and the couple walked on. Poor dear, she thought.

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 12, 2014.

Blue Socks

Ronovan Writing 101-Blogging University , , , , , , , ,

Blue Socks

by: Ronovan

 

I sat at the bus stop and laughter announced the arrival of Rod and Emerile. Rod nodded, I returned with a weak smile. He picked it up the meaning, glancing to my right.

The figure held the brim of a black fedora, twisting it out of shape. Rod elbowed Emerile. Both went silent staring up the street and into the sun as if looking for the bus.

Fingers squeezed into fists around the felt. They trembled as they settled upon his knees.

An occasional sigh was cut off by chocking sounds. Aftershave fought with the exhaust fumes of passing cars. He placed the fedora over his knee and took his left hand in his right, thumb touching the ring on his finger as if afraid it would break.

People became silent as they walked up to wait for the bus. The honking of horns began silent as if they knew. The hiss of airbrakes signaled the arrival of the bus. The man stood up and put on the crumpled brimmed fedora.

Rod and Emerile stood to one side as others did the same. The man nodded. The dark black suit climbed into the bus revealing a glimpse of navy blue socks.

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 11, 2014.

Jacob: Chapter 1 Part 1

Ronovan Fiction , , , , , , , , , , ,

Jacob

Jacob

by: Ronovan

Chapter 1 Part 1

Over 100 years since the last time and I’m going to miss it. There it is, just the beginning. At least I get to see that much. A lunar eclipse, a complete one, and I’ll be stuck inside having to choose between two worlds I still know nothing about.

I suppose that makes sense today. The first day I can remember had storms, but then do you really remember the first day of sunshine? But today is different. This is the last day I will get to see this view. Where does that jagged laser of lightening strike or does it even strike at all? Why am I up here at all? And most importantly where will I end up striking?

18 years of being taught two worlds and I don’t know which one to choose. Everyone else seems to know where they will land as they fall out of this sky that the Academy represents. But I don’t know. Not much longer and I will be forced to pick what the rest of my life will be ruled by, what the rest of my life’s thoughts will be ruled by.

I think therefore I am. Are we really taught to think though? We are given ‘facts’ from two philosophies without really knowing how to determine which one is correct. How do you know if something is right if you aren’t taught how to determine right from wrong? This is fact, no this is fact. Who do you believe?

From the top of the Academy tower I can see both worlds I must choose between. But neither have I been invited into to experience. How can I choose without knowing the reality of each? How do I know if either are reality? Give each the same word and they each give a different definition.

The headache magnifies. Each one has been greater than the last as this day has grown nearer. But I am not sure which pain is greater, that in my head or that in my body as I am twisted and wrenched about. How do the others make it seem so easy? I burn inside when there is nothing to fuel the fire. There is no food there to give the flames the energy to cause the burning that I feel. It has been days.

The wind hits me as the approaching storm pushes the air before it, and I can smell the dampness that will be here soon. What a perfect day to decide the rest of a life. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the damp air.

“Jump,” a voice whispers.

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 08, 2014.

Bus Stop Stories: Crumpled Fedora

Ronovan Flash Fiction , , , , , , , ,

Rod and Emerile were laughing. Rod nodded, I returned with a weak smile. He picked it up quickly.

The figure next to me held the brim of a fedora slowly twisting it out of shape. Rod elbowed Emerile. Both went silent staring up the street as if looking for the bus.

Fingers squeezed into fists around the felt. They trembled as they settled upon his knees.

An occasional sigh was cut off by choking sounds. He placed the fedora snuggly over his knee and gently took his left hand in his right. His thumb barely touched the ring on his finger as if afraid it would break.

People became silent as they walked up. The hiss of airbrakes signaled the arrival of the bus. The man stood up and put on the crumpled brimmed fedora.

Rod and Emerile stood to one side and others did the same. The man nodded. The dark black suit climbed into the bus revealing a glimpse of navy blue socks.

© 2014-2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Bus Stop Stories: Margaret and Martin, Lessons Learned.

Ronovan Flash Fiction , , , ,

Never drive in a big city. You’ll miss too many lessons learned.

Several cultures intersect at the bus stop outside my apartment building, making for interesting observations. Margaret and Martin are a perfect example. 50 years of marriage. There’s great wisdom in those years.

“Martin, I think we should get one.”

“Eh… I don’t think so.”

“But we need one.”

“No, no, we’re fine.”

“How can you say that?”

“Haven’t needed one so far.”

“So you say.” Margaret crossed her arms around her purse and stared at the cracked pavement in front of her. Martin sitting next to her stared into the distance, his lips mouthing words. “Three, two, one…”

“But dear, just think how much better off we would be. All the other girls are getting them. Why, even Phil is getting Florence one.” Margaret thought mentioning one of his buddies might help convince him.

“Phil’s an idiot.”

“Now is that any way to talk? Seriously, he is one of your best friends.”

“Every group needs an idiot in the bunch.”

“Hmph.”

Martin continued to stare straight ahead. He’d won the battle. A few months ago he’d told me that over the 50 plus years they’d been together he’d learned two secrets to a successful marriage. Know when to be quiet. And never smile when you argue with your spouse, and definitely not when you win.

Their bus arrived, they stood as the door stopped in front of them, Martin holding Margaret’s arm as she stepped onto the bus, and him following behind with their fare. I didn’t know what Margaret thought they needed, but I knew if it had been something special or needed Martin would have caved. Martin chose his battles. Lesson learned at the bus stop.

© 2014-2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.

Bus Stop Stories: Two Girls and a Lesson in Shame.

Ronovan Fiction , , , , , ,

He half dragged himself across the street, shoulders sagging under the long coat. Two girls moved several steps away.

We exchanged nods and closed-mouthed smiles as he glanced my way. The bench shook slightly as he let himself drop. “It’s been a long day.” His voice sounded like it. “But we made it through.”

I nodded in agreement.

He saw the girls, phones out. One had a finger poised on her phone screen, the other talking to someone. They both kept glancing our way. He ran a hand over his head of short, tight curls. Nails perfectly trimmed, the skin smooth, smoother than mine even.

“You know what I need?”

I looked at him.

“I need me a woman. A young one.”

I could see the muscles around his mouth twitching. Looking forward, I could see the two girls out of the corner of my eye huddled together. I nodded my head in reply.

“Nothing like finding a young one. Sweeping them away. Training them up the way you want them.” He stared at the street.

The girls moved away. “Dr. Farra!” We both looked at the woman in floral printed scrubs racing across the street.

“Nancy?”

“Jerry is getting a taxi now. Get to the hospital. An elderly lady fell and hit her head and they called for you.”

Dr. Farra was no longer tired as he ran across the street.

The girls glanced at me and I smiled back. They turned away, ashamed at their thoughts. Shame can be a great lesson.

© 2014-2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.