Spring

 

Spring is supposed to bring flowers, sunshine, and warmth.

Yet somehow, winter has held tight to the land. Storms that leave powdery sprinklings of snow, chill winds, and gloomy skies keep intruding on what should be warm and bright.

Whatever shall one do when the fierce wind prevents them from enjoying a day outside?

Some find solace in books, others in watching movies located in sunnier places.

Still others determine that if Spring will not lift her head, then they will make their own Spring instead. They takes bright colors and happy patterns, and craft things that capture the feeling of Spring to them. Then, they take their creations and spread them throughout their home, so that wherever they turn, a little bit of Spring is there to greet them.

Names for a Chicken

 

1. Teriyaki.

2. Polly.

3. Friday.

4. Fluffy.

5. Max.

6. Walter.

7. Matilda.

8. Rosemary.

9. Roadrunner.

10. Francine.

John Smith Emporium

 

"Welcome to the John Smith Emporium— Where You Can Be Whoever You Want to Be!"

A cheerful voice over the intercom rang out through the shop as I stepped inside. Curiosity and the promise of shelter from the rain had drawn me in here, though I wasn't planning to do any shopping. Looking around, it was hard to tell what it was this shop sold. There were scenic displays of far off places, rows of hats and clothes in various styles and time periods, and a long wall of filing cabinets. Walking over to the cabinets, I was startled to find that each drawer was simply labeled John Smith. What kind of organizing system was that?

"Hello sir! How may I help you today?" A cheerful voice called from behind me, and I twisted around to meet the smiling face of a dark haired employee. She motioned to the cabinets, as though I'd found something amazing. "Are you interested in our exchange program?"

"Your what?" I asked.

"Our exchange program. You simply pick the John Smith you would like to be, and well take can of the entire process. You have a thirty day guarantee that you'll love your new life, or your old one is returned for free!"

Alright, I'd bite. Just to see what kind of scam they were running here. Turning back to the filing cabinets, I opened one at random. Inside were — surprise surprise — folders. All labeled John Smith. I picked one, opened it, and flipped through the information about this guy's life.

John Smith was the captain on a starship, traveling the galaxy in search of rare treasures he could sell to the highest bidder with the help of his ragtag group of misfits.

"This one." I said, because it seemed like the setting of a sci-fi novel, and something they couldn't just whip out an apartment and some actors to play pretend on.

"Wonderful choice!" The employee said, taking the folder and leading me up to the register to pay. There were a few forms to sign as well, but it was a bunch of made up legalese that seemed better suited for a fairytale.

   After everything was signed and paid for, a sudden wave of dizziness hit me. The last thing I remembered was the girl's wide grin.

"Come on, John, this is no time for a nap!" A voice rang out over the sounds of blaster fire. I opened groggy eyes, my head pounding like a Tarlxe had sat on it. My second-in-command, Chelsea Withers, was crouched beside me, hair slick with sweat and the purplish goop this planet oozed with.

"Chelsea, what happened?" I asked, hand fumbling to draw my blaster as she leaned out from behind our sheltered alcove to fire back at whoever we'd ticked off this time.

"You want an explanation, or a path back to the Infamous?" She snapped, and I felt a smile curl up my face.

"Aren't you talented enough to do both?"

"Flattery will get you killed one day, John."

"Ah, but never when it's to you."

As she scoffed and fired again, I pushed the strange feeling of displacement aside. Whatever had knocked me out, I was slowly feeling like myself again, and wasn't about to keep lying around. For I was John Smith, greatest treasure hunter in the galaxy.

How to Relax

 

1. Read something enjoyable.

2. Have a snack.

3. Go for a walk.

4. Watch your pet do silly things.

5. Listen to music.

6. Take a nap.

7. Let your thoughts wander.

8. Play a game.

9. Chat with a friend.

10. Take a deep breath, then let it and your frustrations out. They can wait.

Sometimes

 

Sometimes things get silly, and you have a laugh.

Sometimes things go wrong, and you're left to find another path.

There are moments when you don't realize you've made a mistake.

And by the time you do, it is far too late.

But sometimes the mistake is silly, and everything turns out okay.

Because apparently all that happened was a post being set to the wrong day.

To Listen to Music While Writing

 

1. A good beat can keep those fingers typing.

2. Music can help set the mood: happy, sad, inspiring, or just silly, to name a few.

3. Some songs will scream, "Look! I perfectly fit this character!" You'll never be able to listen to that song without thinking of that character after that.

4. It can help keep you awake during the necessary parts that you don't feel like writing.

5. Music can keep you focused, especially when there are a bunch of other things going on around you.

6. It can help you keep track of time, if you remember how long a playlist you're listening to is.

7. Different playlists can get you ready to write in different stories or genres. Help get your mind ready.

8. It makes awkward pauses of a blank mind less awkward, because at least somebody found the words they wanted to say.

9. The flow of the music can remind you to make sure your writing flows well.

10. It is fun.

Gretta and the Search for Armor

 

"The properties of dragon-fire have not been tested against this model, but I assure you that does not mean is inefficient protection!" The salesman clapped a hand on the armor's chestplate, a dull ringing echoing within the empty suit.

"I'm sure it works just fine against goblins and such, but I need something that'll protect me from dragon-fire in particular." I repeated for what had to be the seventh time. Everywhere I went, nobody had any armor that worked against dragoon-fire. It wasn't like dragons were uncommon, there should have been something on the market.

Yet not a single gauntlet was available that would fit my needs.

As the salesman led me over to another suit of armor and started waxing poetic abiut how it could protect me from being chomped by a dire wolf, I wondered if there was some sort of conspiracy. Did dragons pay off the creators of armor and weaponry to make certain nobody would be properly equipped to slay them and steal their hoard?

Or did the knights make it so only they could access such powerful tools?

As I was in no position to investigate either conspiracy, I settled for leaving the armory empty handed.

If I'd known how hard it would be to get tools I needed, I wouldn't have taken the job. But as I had taken it, I had no choice but to show up.

So at precisely ten to five, I pulled the tremendous chain outside a cave about two hours out of town. It took my entire weight to do so, but I heard the cacophony of noise that rang out from it.

"Come in, Gretta!" A voices roared from deep within the cave. I went in, admiring the metalwork covering the walls of the entry-cave. I followed the line of glowing orbs set high on the walls to the back of the cave, following a twisting tunnel deeper in.

When I came face to scales with a bright blue dragin in a larger cave, I offered a smile. "Hey, Mr. Tinscorch, how's the family?"

Twisting his neck around to lookbat me with one large green eye, the dragon bared his fangs in a grin. "Just peachy. Cindy is getting little Ashspitter down for the night. He should sleep the entire time, but if he does wake, just give him some gold to chew on. He's got a new fang coming in."

"That's wonderful." I smiled back, while inside I groaned at my luck. A teething hatchling? As though accidental sparks weren't enough to worry about.

"Oh, is Gretta here?" Mrs. Cindy (actually Cindara–Flamonte of the infamous noble Flamonte line from the Southern Shores) appeared from another tunnel. "Wonderful. I had something I wanted to loan you."

As the gray dragon twisted her head around to get something from her side pouch, Mr. Tinscorch spoke. "I told her what she can expect for the night. We really shouldn't be gone for more than a few hours. We just need a night out."

"I completely understand. Children can be a handful, no matter the species." I needed this job, and dragons were known to pay well.

"Found it." Mrs. Cindy said, pulling out a black pendant. When she dropped it into my hands, I was surprised by the weight. But at her motion, I put it around my neck. One didn't ask a dragon if something was cursed before you wore it, that was simply rude.

"There. Now you won't have to worry about any flare-ups." Mrs. Cindy looked pleased. I touched the pendant.

"This will protect me from dragon-fire?"

"Not from an adult's fire, but it works just fine with against a hatchling's hiccups."

I smiled gratefully at her, then walked woth the two to the entrance of their cave. Maybe this babysitting gig won't be so bad after all.