Turns out today is my Ten Year Anniversary on WordPress, and also my One Year anniversary on 4theWords. I guess I like to start things today.
Ten Years feels so monumental. Thank you all for following along on my creative journey. Thank you for reading, liking, commenting and participating in the slightly over 1,000 posts I have written in that time. And thank you for your work that brings a smile to my face, inspires me, and gives me things to think about. I appreciate that you are here. I hope we are still enjoying this writing experience together in another ten years.
For today’s images I cut a spider filter and a web-shaped filter. I’m surprised I haven’t done that before. I tried putting the spider cut-out on the web; it almost worked, but the spider wasn’t clear enough.
Arachnophobia by Maria L. Berg 2023
OctPoWriMo 2023:Facing Our Fears
I chose to respond to the Wallace Stevens poem “Tattoo.”
If A Spider
a response to Wallace Stevens
If a spider crawled under my eyelids, the
web it spread would no long matter, the light
would never be seen, because that idea is
so wrong; like saying the spider crawled in my ear, like
saying the spider crawled up my nose, and made a
web in my brain. That's an attack spider, a murder spider,
not light. And where is the tattoo? Whose tattoo is it
that inspires you to write of where the arachnid crawls?
Now I will need to tape my eyes shut at night. Over
and over the image plays: spider legs touching my eyes, the
web spreading over my vision after crawling over the water.
Jack stood by the hearth, poking the fire and dreaming about heroic adventures.
“Jack! Don’t you hear them? Those cows are upset again. It will sour the milk. Go see what’s the matter,” his mother scolded.
Jack didn’t take his eyes from the burning castles he saw in embers. “They’re cows. They moo. So what?”
“You get out there right now, or I’ll . . .”
She didn’t ever finish her threats, but that was enough to get Jack outside. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and muttered his frustrations while stomping and kicking at the mud on the way to the field.
Fee Fi Fo Fum whispered on the wind. Then he realized it was too light out. He could clearly see his boots, but they were outlined in blue. There was a bluish tint to the dirt and the rocks too. He stopped where the grass grew thick and looked up. There wasn’t a full moon. There wasn’t any moon at all.
The cows. The cows were lowing, but with good reason, they were floating in the air. There were two bright lights above them, casting a blue tint on everything. Jack stared into the lights. They were ghostly orbs like eyes; like two giant eyes. Fee Fi Fo Fum bellowed from above.
“No! ” Jack screamed. You’re dead. I killed you.
NaNoWriMo Prep
Today was the first zoom meet-up with my region liaison and fellow “Sockmonkeys.” We talked about writing resources, and what we write. I’ve definitely decided on Supernatural Horror. So today I’m looking at the Horror Genre on StoryGrid.com. After reading the obligatory moments, I realized this is my opportunity to create characters for my supernatural monster to kill off. This will be both fun and cathartic.
If you are attempting NaNoWriMo this year and would like to be my writing buddy just search marialberg at the top of the NaNoWriMo.org /dashboard page and you’ll find me. I’m getting excited to explore a new novel idea.
Frankenspider by Mari L. Berg 2021Spooktacular Spider by Maria L. Berg 2022
OctPoWriMo 2023:Facing Our Fears
Arachnophobia: It was kind of funny during the second week of ModPo during office hours, I found that all the poems were about spiders. For today’s poem, write a response to one of the poems below. You can reply to it in any way you would like. Do you agree with it, disagree, have something to add? Maybe you want to talk to the spider in the poem, let it know how you feel.
“Alone and in a Circumstance” by Emily Dickinson
Alone and in a Circumstance Reluctant to be told A spider on my reticence Assiduously crawled
And so much more at Home than I Immediately grew I felt myself a visitor And hurriedly withdrew —
Revisiting my late abode with articles of claim I found it quietly assumed as a Gymnasium
Where Tax asleep and Title off The inmates of the Air Perpetual presumption took As each were special Heir –
If any strike me on the street I can return the Blow — If any take my property According to the Law
The Statute is my Learned friend But what redress can be For an offence not here nor there So not in Equity —
That Larceny of time and mind The marrow of the Day By spider, or forbid it Lord That I should specify — (copied from ModPo)
A Noiseless Patient Spider By Walt Whitman
A noiseless patient spider, I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated, Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself, Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them, Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
The light is like a spider. It crawls over the water. It crawls over the edges of the snow. It crawls under your eyelids And spreads its webs there– Its two webs.
The webs of your eyes Are fastened To the flesh and bones of you As to rafters or grass.
There are filaments of your eyes On the surface of the water And in the edges of the snow.
It may be fun to respond to one of the poems copying the form of one of the others. Or you could respond to the poem in the form of a Golden Shovel. In Terrance Hayes’s poem “Golden Shovel” which was the first golden shovel poem, he used Gwendolyn Brooks’s entire poem “We Real Cool” for the ending words of each line. You may want to choose just a line or two from the poem you choose.
Today’s image prompt could be seen as a UFO cliché, but is it? What else could be happening? And who’s that guy just sanding there with his hands in his pockets?
Halloween Photography Challenge
Please link to your creations in the comments. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.
Of course the perfect peril for today is Arachnophobia from 1990. It stars Jeff Daniels and John Goodman and was directed by Frank Marshall. A fun scary spider movie for those who do not have arachnophobia. Or, for those of you who like those creature movies that are so bad they’re funny, there’s always Ice Spiders. Because when I think giant spiders, I think ski movie. 🎃
If you missed this morning’s prompts post, I’m responding to Hiding in the Swamp.
For today’s images I cut an alligator filter and a turtle filter. I also used the cut-outs in the jagged outline filter.
Stream of Consciousness Saturday
Today, Linda G. Hill’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “material.” I thought it might give me some ideas for the OctPoWrMo prompt so I started my day with some stream of consciousness. Here’s an excerpt from my journal:
Yesterday, I finally finished the back for my pocket quilt calendar. It’s amazing how one day Dad brings over all of the fabric scraps from my childhood of sewing and I say there’s nothing in there I can use, but I pulled out some fabrics that looked like they had been meant for quilting, and now I have a beautiful year-round advent calendar for daily rewards for myself for reaching my goals and forming new habits, and also to decorate my office so it has more color.
Fabric is the first thing I think of when I read the word material, but what about the swampy mad scientist speaker for my poem? What’s her material she’s studying or working with? Does she believe she’s discovered a new element? Or is she very excited about swamp plants? Has she genetically manipulated an alligator and a man? Or made a turtle that can fight a gator attack? So her material is DNA. Or, what other materials has she found in the swamp? Maybe she uses mosquitoes to get blood samples for her genetic experiments and has created an alligator turtle man. But the creature is a failure because it won’t stop wrestling itself and trying to eat its own turtle head which stays retracted into its body most of the time.
Today’s stream of consciousness prompt inspired me to push through and finish this first version of my year-round advent calendar quilting project I’ve been working on. Each of the quilt squares is a pocket attached to the black background by velcro. The top row represents Sunday and the week moves downward. I can fill each pocket with little rewards for myself that I can retrieve as rewards when I accomplish a goal. The thing that’s so fun about my design is I can move the quilt squares around, and replace them with new squares as I make them. I can try out new quilt square designs one square at a time. I see this as an ever evolving project and I’m really excited it’s done in time for NaNoWriMo prep and NaNoWriMo. Thank you, Linda G. Hill for the inspiration to work on it that I got from today’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday.
OctPoWriMo 2023:Facing Our Fears
Sammi Cox has a Weekend Writing prompt word which is “Absquatulate.” That came in handy for Little Project number 8.
Swamp Experiments
Creation is a cypress swamp Blended mosquito blood its building blocks Their buzz the cry of new birth The hot, moist stench of vegetable rot its mother’s milk Swaddled in Spanish moss, its three mouths scream my praises
I taste the impossible made real, and it tastes like turtle soup I work like Jean Lafitte smuggling in Barataria, like a gator beneath the surface, camouflaged My creation is not a cypress swamp, it is a three-headed monstrosity: a man, a turtle, an alligator It is a failure as it wrestles, trying to eat itself, and the turtle head absquatulates into its neck which frustrates the alligator and makes it attack the man, but laissez les bon temps rouler
The greatest discoveries of life are turtles all the way down, so I’ll dine and dance with my three-headed mosquito-blood baby and Dr. Swamp lady will accept this defeat and put them out of their misery and the next batch of building blocks will build better the beautiful blood swirling will combine to my will and my genius will finally be celebrated
Que sera sera, but only as I make it Oh, now the turtle head is speaking which will only make this harder Beneath the surface the cypress roots entwine and speak the turtle’s language
Turtle After Gator Ate It by Maria L. Berg 2023
Writober 2023
The Day 2 prompt of of Sammi Cox’s 13 Days of Samhain is “Speak of the Devil” which I found fit well with today’s image prompt.
Free Hugs
We were walking through the tall grass, Kevin swinging a stick at the spit from the spit bugs, and making grasshoppers fly. Jackson whistled some unknown tune just to annoy him. I took up the rear, watching our six as usual. No one really comes out here but us. That’s why we like it, but it’s a pretty sketchy area, so my job’s important.
Jackson suddenly stopped whistling and said, “Hey, did you guys hear? The creepy clowns are back.”
“What?” said Kevin. “That was like years before lockdown, wasn’t it? Why would anyone start doing that again? It never made sense in the first place.”
“Wasn’t it promoting some movie, or something?” I said.
“Nah, it was a bunch of crazy people all over the place, just wanting to freak people out. And they’re back,” said Jackson. “Right here in town. Jenny McFearson told me she saw one on the edge of the woods by her house.”
I felt a chill along my spine, and now I had to add homicidal clowns to my look-out.
“Speaking of crazies wanting attention,” said Kevin, “Jenny would say anything to get you to listen to her.”
“Would not,” said Jackson, kicking a rock. Then he laughed, and said “Yeah, she would. But you can’t blame her. “
We had finally started down the hill that went to the abandoned bunker under the land bridge where we liked to hang out. We could smoke and drink and just be away from our parents or anybody else that might object. Kevin’s older brother used to hang out there, so it was kind of passed down to us, and nobody else knew about it.
Kevin stopped, and Jackson ran into him almost pushing him down the hill. I couldn’t see through them, but they were obviously looking at something.
“Speak of the devil,” Kevin said. “What the hell is he doing here? Do you think that’s the same one Jenny saw?”
“I don’t know. But look what he did to the bunker,” said Jackson. “Hey, Ray Ray, go take him up on it, and see what happens.”
I held onto Jackson’s shoulders and stood on my tip-toes to see what they were looking at. I had to stifle a scream. There was a clown—white face,bald with frizzy red hair sticking out over his ears, red nose, frilled collar, polka-dot pants, huge red shoes, the works—standing in the entrance to our bunker, and somebody (we’re assuming him) spray-painted “Free Hugs” on the wall with an arrow pointing at the door.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of clowns,” said Kevin.
“Not at the circus or on a kid show, but that guy,” I said. “Yeah, I’m afraid of that clown. There’s something wrong with that guy. How’d he know we were coming?”
“She’s right,” said Jackson. “Let’s go hang out in my basement. We can’t smoke, but we can watch a horror movie.”
“We can’t just let that guy take the bunker from us because he’s dressed up like a clown. Come on.” Kevin pulled out his knife. “Jackson you got your knife?”
“Sure, but I ain’t gonna stab a clown with it.”
That argument ended abruptly when the clown jerked its head toward us, opened its arms as if asking for a hug, but then put his hands on the ground and started coming at us on all fours, fast and jerking like some Korean ghost. I screamed and ran as fast as I could, not looking back until my feet hit pavement and traffic was whooshing by me. Jackson was right behind me.
“Where’s Kevin?” I gasped, my lungs burning.
Jackson held my shoulder panting, “I don’t know. I thought he was right behind me. Must have wanted that free hug.”
“That’s not funny,” I said. “Should we go back?”
“Hell no. Kevin probably just went a different way.”
That was the last time we went to the bunker. It wouldn’t be the same without Kevin.
NaNoWriMo Prep
So far, all I’ve come up with is I want to use my new Big Five Contradictory Abstract nouns for my characters and I’m leaning toward Supernatural Horror for my genre. Here’s what I brainstormed about that:
I think for a supernatural horror, or magical realism Doubt/Certainty would make a good main character or Creativity / Actuality. A magical realism novel about a person who likes to create her own reality but is forced to face a different actuality would be a good main character. For a supernatural horror a person who needs certainty faced with the impossible in a world of doubt would make a good main character. The side kick would be determination / reluctance. The villain would be value / worthlessness. And the comic relief or mentor would be patience/impatience. what would creativity / actuality be? The supernatural entity? So something the main character thought up or somehow created?
If you are working on your novel during NaNoWriMo this year and would like to be my writing buddy just search marialberg at the top of the NaNoWriMo.org /dashboard page and you’ll find me. I’m getting excited to explore a new novel idea.
Fear of Science Run Amok: Write today’s poem as a mad scientist. Your poem may be the formula for your greatest discovery or invention. Your poem may be your manifesto, or your frustrations with limitation, or just the rantings of a mad man.
I think today is a good day for “Twenty Little Poetry Projects.” I’ve really enjoyed this prompt in the past and it seems like a good way to explore the mind of a mad scientist. This exercise was created by Jim Simmerman and published in The Practice of Poetry.
His instructions are, “Give each project at least one line. You should open the poem with the first project, and close it with the last, but otherwise use the projects in whatever order you like. Do all twenty. Let different ones be in different voices. Don’t take things too seriously.”
Begin the poem with a metaphor.
Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) . . .”
Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
Use a phrase from a language other than English.
Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.
Today’s image prompt is a super creepy clown reminiscent of the clown, standing in the doorway of what looks like the entrance to an underground bunker of some kind with free hugs spray-painted next to it. How would someone happen upon that clown? Why is it there? So many questions.
Halloween Photography Challenge
Please link to your creations in the comments. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.
RIPXVIII
For today’s peril of the screen I highly recommend the 1982 version of Swamp Thing with the great Ray Wise as your mad scientist and Adrienne Barbeau as his love interest.
And at Spooky Little Halloween Miranda celebrates Halloween year round and publishes a yearly magazine.
If you missed this morning’s prompts post, I’m responding to In a Thick Fog.
For today’s images I tried a few things. First I took pictures outside with the plastic filter from last year, then I tried a piece of sheer fabric as a filter (the same fabric I put in the water the other day for a watery grave). Then I made a pin-hole filter to represent rolling fog and took pictures in the mirrorworld. I had a lot of fun moving the camera, or turning the lens while taking the shots, to get the pinpoints to become fog.
Sheer Fabric Fog by Maria L. Berg 2023
OctPoWriMo 2023:Facing Our Fears
Lost or stolen Lost or stolen Either way she’s gone
Tossed or broken Tossed or broken And it’s been so long
Lost or stolen Lost or stolen She couldn’t find her way
Tossed or broken Tossed or broken And never will again
Lost or stolen Lost or stolen Time won’t bring her back
Tossed or broken Tossed or broken What’s left is what we lack
In a Fog by Maria L. Berg 2023
Writober 2023
I have a complete flash fiction for you today.
When the Fog Cleared
I couldn’t stare at this painting for another second. I knew if I put my brush to the canvas in this state, I would destroy a month’s work. I had to get out of the house. The morning mist clung to my thin sweater as I locked the studio door and walked to the car. A drive through town, maybe some people watching in the park, some fresh air to clear my head, that would be enough. I would get some work done this afternoon.
As I drove I couldn’t stop thinking about the piece. What had gone wrong? Why was I so stuck? The faces. I wasn’t seeing the faces clearly. I wanted them to be extraordinary, but I didn’t know how. I’ve never had problems painting faces before, and this piece wasn’t deeply personal, so that wasn’t the problem. I had to let it go. Stop thinking about it. I turned on the radio. The announcer said, “A thick fog is rolling in, causing poor visibility. Boats are being asked to stay in the harbor.”
I was driving near the marina. I don’t know why I had gone that way, but there I was, looking out at the water. The fog moved so quickly it looked like waves on top of the water. Or arms reaching, headless, ghostly bodies tumbling over each other, I had to get out of here. This road followed the coast for too long, and the thick fog surrounded me. I couldn’t see anything. I panicked and sped up. There was a darkness to my right that I believed was my turn. The car stopped suddenly and I banged my head as my seatbelt dug into my chest. I had hit something, but not hard enough to trigger the air bags.
Stopped my panic eased, and tears flowed down my cheeks. I put my hand to my head and felt a painful bump forming on my forehead over my right eye. I smiled, started laughing. I was being so silly. The fog wasn’t going to hurt me. Why was I trying to run from it? I got out to assess the damage. It wasn’t too bad. I had driven off the road and hit a small tree. When the fog cleared I could probably just back out and drive home, but the fog was so thick, I decided to leave the car, and walk into town and do my people watching as planned, then come back when the fog had lifted.
It felt strange walking in such a thick fog. The water in the air felt like walking through the mister on grocery produce. I could barely see the sidewalk in front of me. Without the sidewalk, I would have been afraid of getting hit or falling into a ditch, but this just kind of felt like floating, which was pleasant like an out of body experience, but also eerie like I was the only person in the world.
I heard them before I saw them. The din of a bustling town. People sitting and chatting, doing business, going in and out of buildings, talking on cell phones, hurrying to their next destination. Then the fog opened up under street lights and store lights and I saw them; everyone in silhouette, their faces like identical black voids with glowing, lidless eyes and bright red lips. The fog had to be playing tricks on me. A hot coffee and a scone would fix me right up. I waited for the light at the cross walk to turn to a walking man but it didn’t. It looked like the same black silhouette with a white eye and red lips. I hurried across the street, trying to ignore everyone I passed. Inside the coffee shop with the door closed behind me, I realized my eyes were squeezed shut and I had been holding my breath. I took a huge breath of clear, fogless air and opened my eyes. The barista was a black void much more terrifying not in silhouette. Her far-set, glowing, lidless eyes, no nose or at least a void of a nose, and bright red lips stared right at me. The lips parted and I heard, “What can I get you today?” but it sounded like an echo of someone very far away. I felt like the floor had fallen out from under me. I looked around and was surrounded by void people all staring at me.
I turned and ran, pushing the door, thinking I was trapped, until I pulled. I ran across the street startled by honking, but never seeing a vehicle. Running along the sidewalk back toward my car, I saw light ahead. Damn, I thought. My lights are on. My battery will be dead, and I’ll be stuck here. Then I saw her, a person in the driver’s seat. “Hey, ” I yelled. “What are you doing? Get out of my car.”
I ran to the door and pulled on the handle, but it was locked. She didn’t move. Blood splattered the cracked windshield, and spilled down her face. My face. I looked at myself in the side mirror. I saw the silhouette of a black void with glowing lidless eyes and blood red lips.
*Note: I managed to do it again. This story is a response to the visual prompt for October 23rd (Talk about lost in a fog). Guess I’ll be writing about that huge monster then.
NaNoWriMo Prep
I did it. I declared my project as a new novel so I better get brainstorming. I am determined to write in a new genre so I’m thinking Magical Realism, or Supernatural Horror. If you are attempting NaNoWriMo this year and would like to be my writing buddy just search marialberg at the top of the NaNoWriMo.org /dashboard page and you’ll find me. I’m getting excited to explore a new novel idea.
Fogging Up a Sunny Morning by Maria L. Berg 2022Kitty in a Fog by Maria L. Berg 2022
OctPoWriMo 2023:Facing Our Fears
Lost Version One: Write a poem about a time you’ve been lost or felt lost.
This could be a fun day to try another spoken poem in a different space. To create a spoken poem, record yourself speaking the poem as it comes to you then copy down what you said, and use that to write your poem. Today you may want to try that dark closet, or the shower, or outside in the fog.
Here’s a spoken poem I wrote during the Writer’s Digest Chapbook Challenge November 2022:
Thinking Out Loud: Fulfillment or Disappointment
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard the lonely lady speak of fulfillment I mean she must have known it at some point for better or worse
Don’t laugh, I— Laugh if you like, but it seems odd to me for the lonely lady to be talking about fulfillment Don’t worry I’m not trying to sensor her, but it seems odd, don’t you think? Someone who obviously knows disappointment, where would she find fulfillment in her loneliness?
Don’t let me get swept away in these difficult abstractions come to think of it my bias might come shining through
And when she’s lonely in the empty darkness swept away by her dreams the color of night—hmm and another thing is there really ever fulfillment for anyone? As we wander along between right and wrong in an area with at least fifty shades of gray, what is it that defines the disappointment? Is it the one who seeks fulfillment, or the one who doesn’t measure up? I mean, you tell me Where is the line?
Once a goal is reached, there is always a further one Fulfillment is never completely reached Like I always say: You can’t be disappointed, if you have no expectations.
The images at the top of the post were taken last year on October seventh for Tourmaline . ‘s Halloween Challenge. It wasn’t foggy that day, so I made fog by using hairspray on plastic filters over my camera lens.
Please link to your creations in the comments. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.
At Sammi Cox Writer 13 Days of Samhain (vol iv) starts tomorrow. If you like combining prompts like I do, these prompts might work with our visual Writober prompts for extra story inspiration.
At Star Hermit I found Origami Jack O’Lantern Rituals with a link to how to fold origami jack-o-lanterns that is simple and fun.
If you missed this morning’s prompts post, I’m responding to Fear of the Screams in the Night.
For today’s images to mix things up a bit, I had fun folding origami jack-o-lanterns and took pictures of them screaming. Then I played with a filter I made last year that kind of looks like the Scream mask from the Scream movies.
Scream by Maria L. Berg 2023
OctPoWriMo 2023:Facing Our Fears
For the Meet the Bar prompt at dVerse, Björn wants us to think collectively, writing from the pronouns “us” and “we.” I think this fits well with my ideas for the OctPoWriMo prompt, so I’m combining them today.
Body Horror
Human bodies are so fragile Our skins so thin and delicate Every function intertwined so easily unbalanced or misaligned
We think we’re mighty with power over all We destroy and kill and take at will
Yet the prick of a pin brings blood and pain (Violent red sticky shame) The slice of a knife can kill or maim (and life will never be the same) We tear and break and ache and age The skins we’re in that scar and slough, our only tethers, barely hold us together
Origami Jack-o-lanterns Afraid of the Dark by Maria L. Berg 2023
Writober 2023
Here’s the beginning of my flash story:
Disembodied
After falling down the embankment and through the rotted tree trunk on a hike in the forest behind the house, I felt smaller, like I was shrinking. Everyone’s faces looked bigger, and bigger; eyes further apart, spaces between eyes, noses, and mouths as if they were separate, moving on their own. When I touched my face, it felt the same, but everyone else was mostly blank space like they were coming apart.
Today I woke up and had become so small that I could see them, the eyes, nose and mouth each had their own bodies. Each face was a collective of separate entities working together. I told myself we don’t normally notice it because we’re used to it, like a smell that disappears after being smelled all the time.
Or maybe that wasn’t it, maybe I didn’t get small, maybe I never came home. I looked closely at the giant eye sitting at the table closest to me. The blue of the giant iris, not light, nor dark, nor aqua, looked familiar. The nose, standing out in the garden, thin and straight had that imperceptible bend in the cartilage at the end that could have been the result of running to answer the phone in the dark and running into a door jam. And those teeth, behind the thin lips, the way one of the teeth on the bottom twisted and overlapped the one next to it couldn’t be a coincidence.
I ran my finger over my bottom teeth. These creatures, these separate entities, these huge walking sensory organs, they’re me, my face.
Body Horror: Write a poem about the thing or things that scare you about the human body.
This could be a fun day to do a spoken poem. To create a spoken poem, record yourself speaking the poem as it comes to you then copy down what you said, and use that to write your poem.
There is a video in ModPo PLUS (pt. 2) on a passage from Jerome Rothenberg’s Pre-Faces & Other Writings in which Jerome Rothenberg talks about “Sounding” poetry that you might enjoy.
And also this video discussing Amiri Baraka’s How You Sound??
Today’s image prompt is a disturbing personification of separate facial sensory organs. What could possibly make this happen?
Halloween Photography Challenge
Please link to your creations in the comments. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.
RIPXVIII
For today’s Peril of the Screen there is of course the entire Scream franchise.
The first Scream movie, directed by Wes Craven, came out in 1996. And the latest installments Scream (V) came out last year and Scream VI came out recently.
For today’s images I cut a zombie silhouette filter, carefully so I could use what I cut out in another filter. When I removed the cut, one hand came off which I thought was very zombie of it. I put the rest of the cut into the jagged outline I created for my mask cut out. I then used my two new filters to discover zombies in the mirrorworld, on the lake, and in the yard. I found zombies trespassing everywhere.
Zombies on the Dock by Maria L. Berg 2023Zombies in the Yard by Maria L. Berg 2023
OctPoWriMo 2023:Facing Our Fears
Not Wanting to Write This Incident Report, I Wrote a Poem
The call came in at six thirty-six answered by the rookie Knix. I watched her face twist as she turned to me and said, Sir, take this it’s Mrs. Lee.
They should all be jailed, Mrs. Lee wailed. They’re on my lawn, staring and moaning. I want them gone that’s why I’m phoning.
Now slow down, I said and frowned. Are you in danger? Lock your doors. Are they strangers? Tell me more.
Didn’t you hear what I said? My yard is full of the undead. They’ll eat my brain if I go out. It’s such a drain when they’re about.
I said to Knix, We’ve got to go swiftly Sounds like we’ve got a fifty-one fifty. I told Mrs. Lee we’re on our way to stay indoors and close the blinds She said she’d stay put and pray Knix said I was way too kind.
We found 666 Harrow Drive. Mrs. Lee peeked from inside and stood in the doorway as we approached. She waved us through to the back. Pleasantries were never broached so I pulled out my notepad.
There, you see, said Mrs. Lee pointing at the window past me. Knix the rookie jumped and gasped. I saw movement through the glass. Take them out, Mrs. Lee rasped. All I saw was a swaying mass.
It’s probably teens, Mrs. Lee. It is getting close to Halloween. It’s probably a dare, or a flash mob thing, trying to scare you, Mrs. Lee.
Uh, Sir, young Knix said, shaking and shaking her head, you may want a closer look. I see rotting skin and bones, and I don’t think the oath we took applies to upholding those.
I told Mrs. Lee and Knix to run, swung open the door and drew my gun. I had been wrong about the teens, or why they were coming for Mrs. Lee. They were her neighbors every one. The zombie apocalypse had just begun.
Fear of Zombies by Maria L. Berg 2023
Writober 2023
Logline: After a woman is brutally murdered and buried in the floor of a vacant warehouse, then covered in cement, she finds a door from the underworld and returns for vengeance.
The Red Door in the Floor
It’s too late to say I should have seen the signs, somehow known he wasn’t a nice guy, to say the least. I admit I had some problems when it came to relationships, and tended to be drawn to the wrong sort, but who doesn’t like a little danger to get the blood pumping? It was too late the moment I met him, but I couldn’t have known that. I liked it at first, how he always pushed a little to far, how he let the pain linger a little longer when I said stop, but that should have been a red flag, a waving, blood-red flag. It’s way too late to make any other choices, to not have gone to meet his pals that night. to not have entered the old warehouse, to have turned around and run when I saw it was empty. But I can do something now.
I didn’t get in the boat. I slipped the ferryman and crawled through the dark until I came to a red door. It wouldn’t open, but when I pushed on it, it moved, jiggled like gelatin, and when I pushed harder it gave way. My hand passed through. I felt empty space on the other side. When I had pushed through to my elbow, I felt the other side of a solid door, but my fingers touched a slight lip that felt like concrete. I continued to push through and once my head and shoulder were through the door, I was pulling myself up through the recently poured concrete in the floor of the warehouse where they buried me. I had escaped death for only one reason. To make sure he couldn’t do this to anyone else, but I didn’t know how long this could last, so I had to find him fast.
Zombie Candy by Maria L. Berg 2021Kitty got a taste for brains by Maria L. Berg 2021
OctPoWriMo 2023: Facing Our Fears
Fear of Trespass: Write your poem in the language of a police report in which the burglar or attacker was supernatural. I highly recommend reading Pasco police officers report DUI arrest in poem form (not supernatural) for inspiration.
Today’s image prompt is very mysterious. Is the door liquid? Was she liquid? Why is she naked? Why is the door in the floor of an empty warehouse? There’s got to be a good story there.
Halloween Photography Challenge
Please link to your creations in the comments. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.
I realized these Monstrum videos are also historical so they could be Peril of the Real in a way.
Experience Writing 