Missing Manic Monday

It's a blog revival, apparently.  I find myself missing my old schedule of posts.  I always knew what I would be posting on certain days and that's a good thing for a blogger like me.  I need that.

Mondays used to be my favorite.  There was a guy named Mo who made up a meme called Manic Monday.  For this meme, Mo would choose a random word every Monday and then everyone who played would write whatever they wanted that included that random word.

I am missing this every Monday, not only because I haven't been blogging, but because Mo stopped doing his meme.  His heart wasn't in it anymore, which I can certainly relate to.  I now have no Manic Monday to turn to.  :(

So, I've decided that I'll just pick my own random word for the Mondays that I blog.  I'll aim for getting something regular going, but this blog revival might be a slowish process, or maybe I'm just going to jump right in and blog a lot like the old days??.... who knows.

Anyway, I am using  a random word generator website, so I won't try to cheat.

And today's random word is

LAG



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I remember walking to school as a kid with my little sister.  We were often late in getting out the door so we would be in a hurry as we walked.  (ME late?  Yes, I know it's shocking to imagine, but I am late sometimes in my life)  My dear, sweet Lacy was a dilly-dallying kind of girl sometimes (a lot of times) and she just didn't seem to feel the stress I did about getting to school on time.  Lacy would often lag behind a little and drag her feet stating that she was too tired to hurry. 

Like any good big sister, if she lagged behind I simply punched her in the face.

Just kidding.

When my cute little Lacy would lag (Clancy likes alliteration), I would make up games to try to get her to hurry, because, let's face it, getting mad at her just made her mad back and that would make her move even slower.

Two games are prominent in my memory.  One, I would tell her to RUN!  She didn't like that very much so I would tell her I'd pull her for a minute and then she could pull me for a minute.  Really what we'd do is hold hands and I would pull her foward in a run and when she reached the length of our holding hands arm span she would pull me forward, running all the while.  Then I'd pull her again and she'd pull me and we'd run in that disjointed fashion and make it there faster.

The second game I really remember well was so silly.  I'm just embarrassed to even write it.  In our tardy moments, I tell Lacy to pretend that Dr. Harding, our principal, was the king of our school and Pat, the secretary, was the queen.  If we got there after the bell then we, the lowly servants, would be punished for our crime and get our heads chopped off.  She knew it was pretend, but it always made us hurry just a little faster.

And that's it for today's Missing Manic Monday post... for now... I'm literally falling asleep as I type.  Maybe I'll add more to the post later, or maybe I'll be correcting the typos I've missed while editing.  Just now, as I woke with a jerk sitting up in my computer chair, I was having a dream about laying sandstone rocks on our new patio instead of editing this post.  Pretty soon I'll be drooling.

So, forgive the mistakes.  I'll make it right later.  Or not.

Yeah, Write... Chapter 4

Here we are with the fourth chapter of our story. This has turned out to be a very fun game and I thank you all very much for playing and reading! Thanks to Polly for writing this week's chapter and also for giving our characters names and bringing things some closure! You did an amazing job, as did Ginny and Maria! I thought it might go on past here, but once I read it, I decided I like this as an ending. So, enjoy this, the final chapter of our game! :)

If you're just joining us, click here for chapter 1.... chapter 2.... and chapter 3. :)



The sense of terror might not have come to anyone else that looked through that door, but I had always had an unnatural aversion to them. Only now, with so many before me, did I realize that this was beyond personal preference.

Lucy, my best friend in second grade, who showed me jump rope rhymes and handclap games, was the first victim of my relationship with them. Her Max always sought me out, his hateful and hurtful eyes glowering. I postponed and curtailed my visits with her, and because I could feel him near her when she visited me, asked her over less often. I lost my first, and only, true friend in just a few months of Max's arrival. She became a casual acquaintance at school, finding friends who made time for her and trusted her with their secret crushes.

Mrs. Evans, the crazy old lady next door, had a piece of her heart (and probably her sanity) plucked away each time I refused her afternoon tea. I really didn't mind her incessant rambling about her daughter who moved too far for a job, her granddaughter, whose mother forced her to participate in every sport, activity, and community event, her cousin's son-in-law who had an opinion about everything, and scandalous chatter about Mrs. Riley on the corner and her tiff with Mrs. Barker down the street; it was all I could do to nod politely, but mostly because I didn't know what she expected me to say. I assumed she was happy to just do the talking. But after she found Sam and his knowing stare bore through me, I never entered her house again. Even as a child I knew it was wrong for him to react to me so harshly. I didn't understand it, and so, filed it away in the 'inexplicable moments in my life' section of my mind. I will never forget it. It was a look that pierced my mind and soul - stifled my words and choked my breath.

And here I stood staring back at dozens of them. Even without their seeming hatred for me, and I for them, I never understood cats, or their cat people. The sickly sour-sweet overpowering aroma wafting around this man was reason enough. Since I avoided all contact, I never had to experience the hatred that consumed me now. Once again, I was stuck; as much as I told my feet to move, they wouldn't. I angrily met each icy brow, every menacing frown, with a rage that exploded within me. The year that I had spent experiencing Collin's somber intensity, and then his anger, had finally become a part of me. Or had it? Was this his reaction to the threat, or my own? Such intense emotions were new to me, and I realized, as I stared into the faces of malevolence, that something within me was just awakening!

Through the suffocating wave of new emotions and confusion, I heard a small sound. It was door number three, finally! With a loud breath, I instinctively spun with enthusiasm at my reprieve. The face that I saw there brought tears to my eyes; my anger flared and was joined with terror. Panic and horror overcame me as I struggled to breath through pain that this new presence brought. His face flashed a thousand images through my mind with a pain that was so intense I couldn't scream, I couldn't run, I could only watch the slide show playing inside my head.

So this is why I chose this door. Zane. In all his monomaniacal glory. I knew everything in an instant. I had seen him every year for his research, except I had forgotten that until now. Now it was all clear. His project, his testing, his study, his monitoring. Me. Project Me, courtesy of 'Doctor' Zane.

"I've been expecting you. I knew that you would return. It is too much a part of you."
"Nice security," I spat, tossing my head across the hall.
"I knew you'd appreciate it. We have work."

Until this day, this moment, standing before a mad man with venomous stares at my back, I had always felt the strength of others. I gravitated toward them. I needed them to guide me as I blindly fumbled my way through my life. I was doing what they wanted, and now, I was doing what Zane wanted. Even my rebellion was under his control. The helplessness that this knowledge brought fueled new emotions inside me; not just emotions, a new voice. My voice. The intimidation I had felt was washed away with determination, which brought strength and direction.

I didn't need to listen to Zane anymore. I didn't need to listen to my friends, to the dagger thoughts from across the hall, to the 'mom' voice inside, or even Collin. My voice was all I would hear now. Zane was the reason I couldn't hear it before. Now something deep within me awoke.

I thought I knew the meaning of the word, 'relief', but the peace that I settled upon me when I finally felt Collin's presence again overwhelmed me. Peripherally, I saw him, hesitating in the opening of the building. My mental awareness made me understand everything he was thinking and feeling, and a new intensity in my senses caught the whisper of a smile that almost escaped his sedate face. Even after I ran from him, twice, Collin willingly came to my aid. I felt his pride and confidence in me, which is what I had always felt for him. I also felt his fury directed at Zane.

I wanted to destroy Zane. I wanted be sure he would never control me again.

And then I heard a voice. My voice. 'Put your hands in your pockets and walk away.'

And I did. To Collin. Not really to him, but with him. I was walking away from Zane. I was walking away from the fear and pain. I was going with Collin because I knew now that he was right. I had been with him, waiting. Waiting for something great from him, but really, he was the one waiting. Waiting for something great from me. He would allow me to listen to my own voice. He would help me. This is what he was waiting for. I was the one with the answers now.

Yeah, Write... Chapter 3

Welcome to Chapter 3 of our game. Excellent job, Ginny! Next week, we will hear from Polly with the following prompts...

...put your hands in your pockets...

and

...I thought I knew the meaning of the word relief, but...

If you're just joining us, please go here for an explanation. And to get caught up, click here for chapter 1 and chapter 2.

Chapter 3

Despite his encouraging and pleasing reaction, the first step was definitely the easiest. I laboriously worked to put one foot in front of the other as I battled the dichotomous truths before me. Was turning back the right thing to do? I had tried without success to run away, and although going back was proving to be almost as difficult, I was at least able to get my body to respond to the commands from my brain. Each step brought me closer to the threat and security of his presence and I tried to get my mind around the awful truth he had revealed. Where we would go from here? Things would, obviously, never be the same, and yet, I was intrigued at the possibilities that lay ahead. I always believed, at least at some level, that we make this world our own heaven or hell, and with each step I was trying to convince myself that there was a heaven to be found in all of this. As I continued to watch my leaden feet, my shoulders curled in exhaustion and grief, arms hanging limp, swaying like an ape's with the physics of my lumber, I realized that I was muttering aloud in conversation with myself as I contemplated the consequences of going back. I didn't really have the energy to care. It's not like there was anyone around to hear me.

Suddenly I snapped out of the magnetic trance that had been pulling me somewhat reluctantly toward him. Why wasn't there anyone around? Why hadn't even one of the hundreds of cars that had passed us on the highway stopped? Or even slowed down? It was almost as if no one had even seen the smoking car or either one of us looking pathetic and helpless as we sat on the loosening gravel of the shoulder of the road. In the mere seconds it took to have all of those thoughts run through my head, I heard a voice that so clearly sounded like my mother's. It wasn't an actual voice, but one in my mind, and it was perfectly clear as it shouted to my subconscious, "Get out, NOW!

It's amazing the motivation that comes upon hearing your mother's voice yelling at you, real or not. My once curled, sagging shoulders rolled back as my spine straightened. My head whipped up with a determination I never knew I had. As my eyes leveled off from the dramatic motion, I realized I stood just feet in front of him. Our eyes met, and yet didn't. He seemed to be staring through me rather than at me and I could feel that almost magnetic force trying to pull me in again, only I was aware of it this time. An ominous feeling of fear swept over my body and a wave of cold moved through my every limb. My stiff, clammy fingers moved up to my cheek where I could now feel the outline of the two black marks. His gaze didn't abate in the slightest. I turned my emancipated body around as if to catch sight of what it was he was looking at, and I ran. I ran with more energy and determination than I had ever remembered feeling. I thought I heard him yell something, but I couldn't be sure for the blood pounding in my ears. I crossed the same road for the third time now and practically flew over the playground's gravel that had once proved my captor. I was getting close to the apartments now and knew I couldn't stop until I was safely behind one of those doors. What I would do next, I didn't know. I couldn't think about that now. All I could afford to do in this moment was keep my feet moving as fast as possible. I feared if I slowed down he might be able to extend his controlling influence over me again.

Finally my feet moved from the uneven softness of the grassy lawn to the concrete of the breezeway between apartment doors. I quickly looked at the four doors within sight as my brain scrambled to decide which to pound on first. Did it really matter? Why was I even taking the time to be selective? After seconds that felt like minutes, I saw the clear, clean lines of a brass three centered perfectly on a door. It almost looked as though it was glowing, begging me to select that door. I am sure I felt this way because three has always been my favorite number, but something about that door called to me. And so I lunged for the door, pounding with the side of my fist. I yelled pleadingly, "Please, open the door, please!"

My clenched fist tightened as I continued to pound and plead, and I could feel my fingernails digging into my palm. I was about to give up and try another door when the hairs on my neck stood on end as I got that eerie feeling of being watched. I continued to pound while I quickly sent my gaze in both directions to calm my adrenaline-filled senses. I first looked toward the direction of the car. I couldn't see the car around the corner of the building, but I also couldn't see him, which caused me to let go of my bated breath. However, the feeling of being watched persisted as I flipped my head around my other shoulder, my hair whipping me in the face with the action. When my hair fell away from my eyes I noticed the open door to apartment number four directly behind me. In the doorway stood a very large silhouette of a man. My arm froze, still raised at a right angle, my hand pulsing in pain from the incessant pounding. Instead of feeling relieved to finally see an actual person, I felt a different sense of terror in my new situation. What I saw behind the silhouette was too horrific to be real and the smell emanating from that open door was nearly powerful enough to bring me to my knees.

Yeah, Write...

As a reminder, this is a writing project that I started a couple weeks ago. I wrote a story using prompts from my readers and ended it with an abrupt cliffhanger. In the comment section, it was decided to let it be a bit of a game. Maria took my story and wrote the next "chapter". It is posted below and it's AWESOME! Well done, Maria! Next week we will hear from Ginny. And the following week, our contributor will be Polly. If anyone else is interested in playing, please let me know and I will assign you a week to write.

The rules: Pick up the story where it was left off and write where you think it would go. Thursdays are the day I'll post the chapters. Email me your chapter by Wednesday. You only get one week as we want to keep the story flowing and keep "our readers" interested! I will play editor in this, here, game. Don't get your feeling hurt if I edit something. I'll only do it for flow, not content. I'll try to approve any edits if there's time enough before posting, but I will say that as this is my blog, I'll reserve the right to have the final say. Additionally, you agree to grant me copyrights if you agree to play the game.

To be brought up to speed on the first chapter of the story, click here.


Chapter 2

My vision was blurred and I brushed my arm across my face. The coarseness of my jacket scratched at my raw cheeks. My tears were flowing freely and were physically causing pain because it was so cold outside. I did not know where I was going, I thought in the direction of the apartments. I was just running, running away from him. I stumbled onto a road, managed to cross it quickly, and felt my feet bog down in gravel. I looked around briefly at the playground I had found and then crumbled onto the rocks. My body shook with the sobs I had stifled in my hasty escape. How could this be? Was this real? It was truth so painful, so awful, I could not bear it.

My world crashed around me as I listened again in my mind to his confession. The pain in my jaw flared as I gritted my teeth at the sting of my most recent memory. The physical pain was nothing compared to my internal suffering. I wanted to run to the apartments now just thirty yards away. I willed myself to run, but my body would not go. I could not pick myself up. My desperation, or perhaps something even stronger, held me there. As I tried to breathe deeply to calm myself, I turned back toward the car and saw him emerge, looking at me. I was hit with a wave of nausea and I tried to turned away. I felt like my center of balance was shifting under my very body. It was vertigo with an intensity I had never experienced before. I was spinning out of control. I collapsed with sheer emotional exhaustion onto the gravel and laid my head on the cold stones. The coolness was comforting now and I closed my eyes. A memory flickered.

What was her name? Why did I want to remember her name? There was a little white mouse in my fifth grade classroom. When she first arrived, she would cower in the corner of her cage, afraid of the noise and the greedy fingers pressing through the bars of her sanctuary trying frantically just to touch the soft white fur. She would pile up her bedding into a sort of hill and try to bury herself from sight, only her bright pink nose periodically poking through, giving her away. As she adjusted to the sounds and smells of the classroom, she gradually eased her way back out. She warily tolerated our interest, but usually just ignored us. I used to chuckle with some melancholy pleasure at her running wheel. I found it sadly humorous that she would spend so much energy, running in a circle, going nowhere. She would hop off the wheel, clearly pleased with her activity and I used to pity her, because she was not going anywhere. She was still stuck, she was still caged. Looking back, perhaps it was myself I pitied because here was an animal every bit as caged, as frightened, and as stuck spinning as I was. And still, her name would not come to me.

I was pulled back to the present and the vertigo eased. I sat up slowly, glancing again to the car. I was on the playground and he was still watching me. His shoulders were drooped in despair and his expression was pure agony. Had I caused that? Was I now causing him pain? How could I bear to cause him pain? What about him held me here? I had wanted to run away and now I knew that I could not. Is that why I was drawn to him? Is that why I was pulled with some deeply rooted magnetic reaction to others with confidence, with direction… because I was devoid of that trait and I was searching for some way to glean it from others? I should have been aware of the pattern I was creating for my life. I had always gravitated towards confidence that was as fragile as my own skittish nature. Friends and boyfriends had often betrayed me and left my life in shambles. Somehow I managed to extricate myself from the wreckage of those relationships, only to find another new and equally damaging one. But he seemed different. He seemed to pull me further from my own center and further into his with ease. And now, how could I possibly pull away from him. This wreckage was different. I had not cowered in the corner enough. I had allowed his fingers to close around my meager consciousness, my delicate self-awareness. I had allowed his scent to become too familiar. I had enjoyed the warmth of his body and the intensity of his gaze. I had reveled in the knowledge that he talked with me, not to me. He was mysterious and I was boring, and yet he still wanted to be with me. And now, I was inextricably linked to him. I knew a secret so dark, so intriguing and yet equally revolting, and instead of being repulsed, I actually felt I was a part of it. But how could that be?

I did not know how it could be, it simply was. As soon as I accepted that I was as bound to him as he was to me, I stood up, not with confidence yet, but with resignation. I turned back toward the car and took the first step in his direction. His face lit in a way I had never yet seen.

Come back next Thursday to see where Ginny will take us!

Yeah, Write...

So, here's the deal for those of you who didn't read last week's comments. We are playing a little community writing project with my story from last week. My friend Maria is going to write a "chapter" after my little cliffhanger I left. Then next week my friend Ginny is going to take a chapter. This is all for fun and I want to make it clear that anyone who wants to participate can and should speak up in the comment box if you want to. There is no pressure to participate, but I think it would be fun if lots of you got involved. So, if you so choose, make your comment now. I'll make the assignments for each week and we'll see where our story leads us. :) Sound good?

And... I am still writing my own version of the story. Some of you requested that and I wanted to let you know that it is actually happening. I spent a long time writing yesterday. I'm not sure when I'll publish it but it is in the works.

Hopefully I'll have Maria's chapter up today. :)

And keep the prompts coming. I think it would be fun if the writer has to use at least one or two of them. What do you think?

Yeah, Write....

Remember the other week when I asked for writing prompts... and then I said I'd write the next Thursday? Well, the next Thursday was Christmas and I neglected this blog over the holidays. Then the next Thursday was New Years Day and I was still on vacation, for the most part. So. It's Thursday again and I'm doing it, so help me!

Well... since there were five prompts, I've decided I can squeeze them all into one post. Sorry Ginny... I decided randomly to pick all of you even though you were the one that won in the ACTUAL RANDOM number draw! ;)



The smog was thick in this part of the valley. So thick that you could taste it on the back of your tongue, acrid and bitter. My nose twitched as I tried to breath through it, a sneeze threatening to burst out. I held it back. With how aloof he was acting, I didn't dare make a noise.

I looked at him dubiously as he lifted the smoking hood. This was not good. One time in high school I did take shop class, but despite that fact, neither of us knew very much about engines and we were helplessly stranded, that was clear. The highway was crowded with cars, and there were apartments just 100 yards away. I was wondering why no one was stopping or why we weren't walking to a phone, but I wasn't about to ask.

To be honest, he scared me. A lot. Yes, I had been "with" him for more than a year, but I never could anticipate him, and he was getting worse. The last few weeks had brought, at first, brooding. I often watched him with his furrowed brow, and I wondered where his mind was. It was like he was looking through me through some severe memory. He had also started sleeping more and more in the day, but when he was awake, his brooding gradually turned into seething... like a pot of water just before it boils.

It wasn't even eleven and he'd already flipped out twice today. The first one was when he realized he'd forgotten his cell phone. He swore and clenched his teeth, and as he fumed I watched the wiry muscles up and down his arms twitching. I flinched in reaction. I don't know if it was my flinch or the fact that his cell phone was sitting on his nightstand, but he lost it. He bellowed something that seemed like another language and swung his fist, ripping the rear view mirror off the windshield. It flew across the car, hitting my face, and clattered to the floor. Holding my jaw and leaning my forehead against the window, I wished I could ball up some of those snowflakes that were falling outside and cool the throbbing I felt under my sweaty hand. He didn't even notice me crying. The second explosion was less severe, but the look in his eyes made me sure I was going to loose the cold lasagna that I had eaten for breakfast.

A horn on the freeway brought me back to the hissing engine in front of me. My jaw still ached and it was getting harder to move. I was just starting to wonder if it was broken when he shifted his weight and grunted. He stood up and looked at me for what seemed like the first time that day and, as he did, his eyes flicked toward my jaw and a look of horror crossed his face for a brief second, almost too fast to notice. Clearing his throat, he turned away and started pacing, kicking an empty applesauce cup out into the rush of cars.

As I watched him I wondered why he wasn't trying to get some help. Though my heart was pumping like a galloping horse, I finally worked up the courage to say something.

"So, ummmm... what's your plan?" I ventured timidly.

He stopped and glanced first at me and then at the nearby apartments. His eyes looked tight, strained and almost vexed. He didn't say anything. He simply turned around and walked around the car and dropped out of sight. I followed, my breath coming in little puffs as I walked around the car. He was sitting on the ground, staring at nothing.

Irritated and worried, I opened the door and climbed back in the car. I'd never seen him act so distraught. Enraged, yes. Exasperated, yes. Distraught and even confused, no. His confidence was one of the things that drew me to him and kept me here, despite his unpredictability. He felt like a shield between me and the life I second-guessed my way through. He always knew what to do.

My apprehension was getting the better of me as I sat back in my seat. We're totally freezing, but he acted like he had no desire to leave! I didn't get it. It seemed like he was praying that no one would stop or desperately trying to figure out a way to stay away from the apartments and anyone that might emerge from them. I couldn't understand what the problem was. So we were broken down!? Big deal! Let's pick an apartment, knock on a door and use the phone!

Pain flared in my jaw again as I realized I was grinding my teeth. With him safely outside the car, I reached for the rear view mirror to see if there was any visible marks on my face and, seeing the mirror gone, remembered it was on the floor somewhere. After a minute of groping, I found it, held it up to my face. The cold air seared my lungs as I gasped and dropped the mirror. 'That couldn't be right!' I thought wildly.

Gently, I brought my hand up where the mirror had hit me. I couldn't feel much since my hands were getting numb from the cold. But I could feel a lump. There wasn't anything to feel aside from that. Nothing told my fingers about the weird mark I saw there, a half inch across, solid black in the center and gradated into my pink skin at the edges. It was creepy, and I didn't understand how a mirror could leave a mark like that.

When I had seen the mark, I had dropped the mirror so fast I was not sure it was real. Fingers trembling slightly, I picked it back up and turned it over, my face becoming visible once again. Sure enough, the black mark was there, but the first time I looked I had only seen one, and then there were two. I felt panic rise in my chest. I was breathing fast and felt a little dizzy. 'Could I have just missed the second one, or did it show up just now?' I thought to myself. My mind was spinning and I realized I needed to be out of that small car.

I turned to open the door and I screamed as his face loomed in the window. I didn't know how long he had been watching me, but his eyes scrutinized my face, and as he saw the black marks, his face crumpled and he began to cry quietly. I climbed out of the car slowly, unsure of how to react. I had never seen a hint of vulnerability in him before, and here he was crying.

He turned his red rimmed eyes toward me and grabbed me gently by the shoulders. "There's something I should tell you" he whispered.

My Own Meme

I know I've got the Manic Monday thing going on, thanks to Mo. And I've got my little Wednesday "Jar" thing. But I've had an idea for a new meme game to play. Are we excited? We'll see.

So, here's the deal. I love to write. I know that's shocking, but there it is. I've thought a lot about this and I would like to do a meme every week that is an exercise in creative writing and I want you all to play!

The rules: I pick two phrases that we all have to include in some sort of story. It can be a snippet of a story... just a paragraph or even just two or three sentences. Or it can be a big long thing like I like to write sometimes. I will post the phrases on Tuesdays. We will have the stories ready for posting on Thursdays. Then we can all have fun writing and reading each others stories!!!

Don't get all goofy on me and think you're not a writer... just play! It's an exercise and time and practice improves everything. :)

SOOO.... here's the phrases for this, the first of my (and hopefully YOUR) new Thursday posts!!!

#1
Stifling a yawn, she found herself wondering...

#2
She squirmed impatiently as the cop patted her down.


There you go! Have fun with this and PLEASE play. It's no fun if I'm the only one! (And, by Thursday I will have come up with a name for this meme... I have several rolling around, but I haven't picked yet!)

Manic Monday Explained

Seems like there's a bit of confusion for my readers as to what Manic Monday is. I shall explain in a far too lengthy post, but I was very confused once too...

I started reading my friend Maggie's blog last fall and she played Manic Monday. I didn't understand it at the time and I sent her an email asking her what it was. After that I started playing myself and it's been super fun.

So... here's how it works. Mag's friend Morgen is the one who started the 'meme'. "What's a meme?" you might ask? (I know because I asked the question myself.) I found this explanation on a website:

In science, a Meme (pronounced to rhyme with “theme”) is a self-propagating unit of thought that is spread from one host to another. Richard Dawkins invented the term as a kind of idea-gene. Like genes, as Memes spread they mutate or die. Only the fittest Memes survive.

For bloggers Memes have become synonymous with internet quizzes, surveys, and novelties that people link to and pass around on their blogs, forums and via email....

...Why Meme?

Memes are interesting content when done right, and can give you an insight into others personalities and histories that you wouldn’t ordinarily have access to. But it’s mostly about links. The initiator gets a ton of links (all participants link back to the person who started the Meme) and everyone else gets some amount of link love too. You link to the next in the chain (”tag” them) and they link back when they complete what they have to do to participate.

I don't usually do the "Linkies". I did at first, but hardly anyone knew how to play so I've been leaving them off. Check out Mo's Storm post for an example of linkies. Anyway...

Morgen, better known as Mo, picks a word and you write whatever you want that includes that word. Whatever comes to mind. Anyone who wants to play can let Mo know by leaving a link on his blog or just play quietly like I do oft times. Make sense? :)


Just a little thanks to Mo for doing the meme. It's very fun and I look forward to it every week! :)