PenTrek: Pushin Through

Pushin through life like a drive-thru
Choices choices choices
That inner voice cutting through like a slicer
But she’s Pushin through
Getting over herself
So she can be herself

Get back to that higher plane
Runnin into pain
Resilience never waning
Sometimes it needs more explaining
This needs more or less
Sometimes I don’t have the answers
Sometimes you wished your day would go by faster
Sometimes you wish you could grab one more hour

Pushin through
Out of your mind


mindTrek: The Sheer Joy and Terror in Reading Your Stuff Aloud

So with less than seventy-two hours before Nanowrimo is a wrap, I decided to reread what I’ve written so far in the hopes of propelling the story forward. It actually worked! There’s an advantage to getting outside of your head and playing with the airwaves that surround you.

Bouncing ideas and words off of yourself.

What greater gift exists?

Meeting a deadline with no sweat…

 I haven’t mastered that yet.

And that’s something I learned to embrace a while ago.

Two months ago, to be exact.

The upper hand I possess is the one that writes best under stress.

The pressure-cooker mind,

subtle start,

fiery peak,

slow simmer,

powerful flavor. 

Fulfilling a dream

Creating a monster

Haunting my brain

Nourishing my spirit

Fear and Passion

Resting on my shoulders

Forging forward,

The wind is my blinder

Leaving my print

Blazing the trail

With seventy-two hours…




mindTrek: Choosing You

So it’s been a few days since I decided to deliberately refrain from posting until I managed one more chapter to submit to Well, if you’re a high-roller, chances are you bet the obvious, I haven’t gotten any writing done.

I feel like an idiot.

*That felt good*.

Now, with that out of the way, I’ll explain why it’s so imperative for me to share this little op with you.

Until today, I’ve been wandering in the plateau of my imagination, having ascended into the peaks, I slid down to the flat surface of all of my dreams and thoughts, past and present. Fearing I’d shared too much too soon in the novel I’m writing, I was in search of a neutralizer. While I like page-turning suspense and action-packed plots, that is not what this body of work is about. That, if nothing else, I’m sure of. So I had to step away for a few days and gather my thoughts, toss them out and exercise patience.

It will come. In due time.

But with three attempts at completing NaNoWriMo and a record completion (just three chapters left), due time just didn’t seem like enough. So welcome Prioritizing

How much time do I have?

12 hours per day, ten days until deadline, amounting to one hundred-twenty hours to complete three chapters.

How much time do I use to write?

8 Hours

How much time do I really use to write?

3 Hours


Non-craft related activities

Such as?

(Outside of familial obligations) Giving advice, comforting others, honoring invitations, taking cheat naps, surfing the net; generally not resisting distractions.

What do you need to do?

Start resisting distractions


Keep writing



And that is the conversation I had with Priority.





mindTrek: A Good Opening

What makes a good opening? A vivid description? A lot of words? Very few? What really draws someone into a story you are about to share? It’s these questions that circulate my mind when I’m penning anything.

But what if you’re midway through a story and run into a brick wall? You’ve written all there is to know about the story, what you want to focus on anyway, and you’re still not done. Well, if there were a good time to do some harping it’d be now.

What does your character wish s/he’d done with their life? What did s/he used to do? How can you tie that into the story?
I look at every aspect of a characters life as a prospective catalyst. Their strengths, weaknesses, secrets, joys, dreams, regrets, etc., are all tools that help pave the path to the completion of their testimony.

In my life I’ve only taken one fiction writing course (as a sophomore in college) and the one piece of bad advice that I still “use” to this day is to know how it ends.

I vehemently beg to differ… In fact, I deliberately decide to wander in the terrain that is the blank canvas of likelihood and possibility until I’m so compelled to scribe whatever “comes to mind“. That, being whatever part of the world’s soul speaks loudest at the time.

Your writing someone else’s story is not about a formula. It’s about the person (human/non-human), their story, your interpretation of that story and how it connects with the rest of the world’s soul. So be it a journey that you take while scribing it, there’s no harm
(more good, in my opinion) in exploring the possibilities of resolutions while narrating.

I enjoy the writing process more that way.
It takes a sense of humility and generosity to share a story in the first place. Why does that sense of compassion have to end there? Of course, not determining an ending requires one to relinquish a certain amount of control of the narrative, but it provides a space for true discovery and exploration. A space that can be shared once that story is related to others. And that is how a connection is born. Because my dream of relating any narrative is that it inspires others to connect.


The Gift of Making Lists

So I ventured into my thoughts this morning and took it a step further and wrote them down. It’s funny that I can construct an entire world in my mind and be stumped by a short stack of chores in this one. And by chores I mean plot/script ideas.
House-chores have a way of not allowing my mind to escape them.
There’s nothing worse than being inspired and enthusiastic about an idea and then letting it drift into the back of your mind, searching for the first cue to get your mind back to that thought.
I know I’m not alone in this…
Welcome lists into your life.
Your feelings and thoughts are allowed more space when writing them out.
Just like any other space, your mind can get overcrowded, thus making it impossible to process and reflect upon thoughts.

Just a thought

Salima’s Pride

Salima's Pride

Salima decided hunger had gotten the best of her heart. She feared the thought of finding strength. Hunger fed her heart so, she craved it even in the light of her struggles. Good times were unpredictable and short-lived. Hunger was the beast she knew. Slipping in and out of herself, restless, confident, terrified, she’d blended with the beast, a shadow of herself. A hero and a pity. A shell to be shed. The inevitable was clear, one day soon, wasn’t soon enough. So she’d breathe and die wrapped around Hunger’s finger. She was victorious. She’d found a purpose she would die for.

What else is there to do but die hungry?

Living was a myth

Hope was for the dying

And as long as Salima had Hunger, she had something.

The beast she knew.

Better than a long, silent death, filled with Hope.

Days passed

And still Hunger hadn’t tired of Salima

Her heart longed to be released

Her body, still in prime health, had betrayed her deepest wish- to die with the passing of Time

She felt abandoned for the first time in her existence.

Death had left her behind, in the care of Hunger, her devoted lover.

A devotion she despised.

And depended upon.

But there was something grabbing a hold of her spirit.

It was a light, dancing far off in the distance.She sat up, her back detaching from the tree trunk she’d called home.

Her knees cracked as she rose to kneel and lean forward to push herself off of the ground.


Her arms locked, holding her body still as the earth flipped, tossed and sprayed all around her.


And she remembered.

Her mother

The water

The cracking of the pillars that held up their house

When the wind blew too hard

And the sea forgot its bounds

Washing away her life

All life

As she knew it

Her bed, as it floated away on the tides, carrying the last picture she had of her mother

The pantry that they could never fill, consumed by the sea’s waters in the blink of an eye

She remembered

When she met Hunger

She wasn’t in love at first

She’d been convinced

That Hunger was all she had

But as she rose, her spine climbing itself, she remembered

She remembered her spine

Her backbone

As she rose, squaring her chest

Hunger faded away, a memory buried deep in the rubble she once called home

She squinted her eyes, hoping to get a glimpse of the light that had captured her spirit

She watched them tarry away, and the blood rushing to her feet

Lifting and stamping each one on the ground, rhythmically, she regained full strength

She had to catch up to her spirit

She ran




The light

She sought and created…

(Photo Credit: Joshua Keating)

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mindTrek: Babying an Idea

Executing an idea… Easier said than done. Especially when you’ve been in the forest of your thoughts trying to see past the trees of time,  space and relation- all you’re expected to do and all you should expect. You’re running through your mind and, losing wind, you decide to rest. Then comes this little squirt, a ball of light that pulls you to your feet. And you’re back, running through the forest, this time with a more vivid sense of direction. You’re lost no more and it feels like… Well, what does it feel like?

Falling in love with,

Conquering the fear of,


So you get caught up in the feeling of running into an idea instead of running with it. And the euphoria is captivating and all you want to do is


Pick up the nearest fallen branch and execute that idea! Stop babying it!