Branching Out

I’m convinced the ancient Greeks got the whole Medusa thing wrong. Those aren’t snakes coiled about her head. They’re bookworms.

Someone recently pointed out to me that I have been less than egalitarian in my focus with this blog.  It seemed to her that I’d been posting heavily on my passion for running, at the expense of my love for writing.  (I can only assume my critical friend felt ranting had been given its full due.)

Not being one to fear an honest assessment of my work, I took the matter into consideration (but not before reminding the assessor to be a little less free with her opinions when addressing her elders to avoid being thought impertinent).  She was not entirely wrong.  In fact, she was a lot right.

Standing at this crossroads, I faced two options.  Stuff this flourishing blog back into the confines it had clearly outgrown, or give it room to grow naturally and hold on for the ride.  My writer friends out there know this was an easy choice to make.

So I’m branching out.  Today I launched Ramshackle and Brambly, a blog devoted purely to my literary work.  Now those of you who prefer to read about running can do that here without too much interruption, and those who’d rather read than speed will have a place to do so freely and without that seed of guilt in the pit of your gut over the frequently sedentary requirements of the writer/reader lifestyle.

But far be it from me to break up the party.  If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve experienced here, there’s a good chance you will continue to do so, even if you’re not into the fitness thing.  I encourage you to stick around.  Likewise, if you live for the thrill of the race and the wind in your face, and you just can’t do without the glory and pain and other melodramatics we runners love to boast about in memeform (damn right I’m trademarking that one), you just might enjoy the excitement a good story told well can offer~ and may even be game enough to take a detour through the poetry wing every now and then and add a little variety to your online routine.  You don’t train for that marathon on the same route every day, do you?  Why should exercising your brain be any different?

Growth is change.  No way around that.  I’ll be shaking things up a little around here in the next few weeks, but don’t worry.  The upheaval will be minor.  Meanwhile, please feel free to head over to the new site and explore my new roost.  Maybe click the follow button and stay awhile.  Hopefully you’ll feel it was time well spent.  I’m trying out a new moniker over there, as well; drop me a comment and let me know if you think I should make the switch official or hold onto Runoffwriter just a little while longer.

As always, thanks for reading, running, and ranting with me.  And here’s to writing the next chapter.

The Eyes

I went for a run and came back with an experience.

Eventually I’ll write about it. It’ll be everything a philosophical moment should be. But what I want you to take away from that day at this moment, is an introduction.

You may recall my recent encounters with a proverbial breed of bird: the jive turkey. It seems merely popping into and out of my line of sight is no longer enough for one particularly eager member of this infamous posse. He’s decided to follow me around for awhile. He made himself all cute-like so as I wouldn’t mind him milling about.

1,000!!!

Rocking on…!

So I just took a gander at my stats and say what?  999 hits?!!!

THE very next person who happens on my blog will be the big 1,000, and to celebrate, I’d like to share all your secrets with the world (and give your blog some love, if you have one).

Since I have no way of knowing whom, exactly, hits the big mark, we will have to rely on the honor system.  Comment below first and leave a link to your blog and I’ll be in touch to congratulate you while congratulating myself.

HEARTY, HEARTFELT THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO HAVE VISITED, LIKED, SHARED, FOLLOWED, AND SUPPORTED ME yeah, the virtual yelling’s getting to be a bit much… you know who you are!!  Much love to ya!!

 

Mystery Runner, Will You Be My Friend?

I went for an easy run in the cold yesterday, and plan to talk about it in (minor) detail at some point, but felt this little somethin’ special deserved its own mention.  Like right away.  (Yes, I know it happened yesterday.  I’m a writer.  I don’t miss irony.  I exploit it.)

I got out of my car, and what to my wondering eyes did appear but a hot mess of a car parked beside mine.  Gas cap hanging free from a cap door slightly ajar.  Impressive dent in front of the rear passenger wheel.  But I missed all that at first.

I was too busy admiring the perfectly placed pink half-marathon sticker lovingly applied to the rear window.

Instant friendship waiting to happen.

Alas, when I returned from my run the car was gone. *sigh*

Fortunately I’d snapped a pic before I set out, and I was so inspired by the juxtaposition of glory and chaos in my friend-in-waiting’s car that I put this little beauty together for all you runners out there…

And mystery runner, if you’re out there, give me a shout.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

When I was a kid, I made a mission out of ruining all my mother’s surprise Christmas gifts.  Not the gifts, themselves, of course, but the surprise factor.  I felt so smart breaking her heart.

Okay, perhaps that’s an exaggeration.  But it did upset her every time I figured out what she had so carefully hidden.  As for me, surprise on the day, surprise a week before, didn’t matter.  My mom always picked winners, and she also made sure that whatever we’d put on our wish lists ended up under the tree come Christmas Eve.

Pain, Pain, Go Away

It rained all night.  Heavily.  I enjoyed the sound of it around my house while I went about my chores and non-chores.

I did not enjoy the pain in my back that’s been hampering me for the last few days.  I’ve been taking the week off hoping it would improve with rest, ice, NSAIDs, etc., and it seemed a little better yesterday….unnnnntil I sat up late working on another post for a few hours in a folding chair.  Backtrack.

It’s been a weird day of opposing, yet interconnected forces.  This morning I poured myself a bowl of Love Crunch granola.  The chocolate and red berry blend.  Looks, sounds, and (if you could have been there) smells delicious, right?  It’s chocolate for breakfast.  What could go wrong?

No Words

If You Are…

If you are a runner, be thankful for every obstacle, every burning breath, every hill you think will never end. They make you stronger.

If you are a writer, appreciate every slight, every trial, every moment you spend with your face in the dirt. They make the best stories.

If you are a ranter, consider running or writing. You’ll never run out of material, and in the midst of your misery you’ll be happier than you’ve ever been in your life.

Cold Turkey

The mystery of the windshield-darting fowl has been solved.

And not only am I unable to differentiate hawk from owl, but hawk from owl from…..turkey.

Yes, my friends, contrary to all probability and reason, a turkey has made up its mind to sail into my life (and windshield) on a regular basis.  With a chip on its proverbial shoulder (turkeys have no actual shoulders of which to speak).

The encounter was brief, but I got the message.  It went a little something like this:

Okay, we didn’t arm wrestle.  (But I would totally have kicked that turkey’s ass if we had.  Stick legs vs. arms?  Please.  Or it might have scratched my eyes out.  Probably there would have been pecking.  Alright, the turkey totally would’ve kicked my ass.)

The Few, the Proud, the Marine Who Turned my Day Upside-Down

Sometimes Novella can be a little b…rat.

I do a lot for the girl. To be quite honest, if it weren’t for me she wouldn’t even be here. I try to deal with her nonsense and take it in stride, stand by her and help her to keep moving forward, but sometimes I just want to tell her to shut her back-talking mouth and go to her room and sleep for a day or two.

She sleeps a lot, actually.  Far more than most kids her age.  She never seems to get enough, though.  Not to the point where I can look her over first thing in the morning and say, “Yes, she’s well-rested and ready to jump into the world!”  She always seems to need just one more hour- maybe two- heck, why not half the morning?  I’ve got laundry, committee-work, grocery shopping, gift-buying/making, house cleaning nothing to do.