The Mustache

I’ve realized recently that my blog routine has been lacking in originality. I got in to spotlighting other authors, discussing, art(ists), and talking about my goals, but I stopped sharing a lot of my work. Part of that is because I haven’t had a huge volume of new work lately, an issue I think can be partially fixed by trying to provide you with some new ESTyree Originals. Happily, my sleeping self seems to have agreed with the need for more because I woke up to several text to email lines that seem to make up a free form poem. I’m not sure what I was dreaming about but I will now present to you:

Mustache

 

(The lines I received exactly)

if form emerged from the shadows shapeless save for

the mustache that waved gently in the breeze on either

side of the presumably male face

No words were spoken

no sound was made

the only movement in the room was that acccursed mustache

It seemed to dance

taunting us

waving at us

curling in the air creating shadows within the shadows

the only form with is shape do in shape with recognizable form

the only thing touched by the breeze

It was a living thing that mustache

hitching a ride on a shadow on the hint of a ghost of light

a living thing come to visit in the deep dark of a cold midnight

A dancing mustache come for a dream

all I wanted we found out where are stories

 

I know, weird right? Like I said…no idea what I was on about BUT…kind of a hauntingly eerie poetic piece. Let’s clean it up a bit and see what a coherent Beth can do with it, shall we?

 th (3)

(A little bit of spit shine)

A form emerged from the shadows

Shapeless and long save for the mustache that waved

Moving gently in the breeze on either side of a presumably male face.

No words were spoken,

No Sound was made,

The only movement in the room

Came from that accursed mustache,

The handlebar contours bouncing lightly.

It seemed to dance,

Taunting us with its moves

Waving at us from across the room.

Curling in the air and creating shadows within shadows,

The only form with a real shape,

The only shape with recognizable form,

The only thing touched by the breeze.

It was a living thing, that mustache,

And it hitched a ride on a shadow,

On the hint of a ghost of light.

A living thing come to visit in the deep, dark

Of a cold midnight.

A dancing mustache, come for a dream.

All it wanted, we discovered, were our stories.

We gladly shared them.

Elizabeth S. Tyree

Please leave me a comment or two letting me know what you think. Did you like this piece? Should I share more of my personal writings? Do you have some writings you’d like for us to see?

Until next time, May you have a wonderful and blessed day! Happy Groundhog’s Day, Happy February, Happy Month, Happy Life…may the blessings and inspirations flow for you.

 

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Mental Grammar –

I have a bit of an issue. I’m sure that several of you are making faces at the screen A bit?? Try several, you’re probably thinking. But come on guys, I’m being specific here!

Ok, Since you asked so nicely…here it is. My mind automatically types your speech into grammatically corrected sentences and paragraphs. Stop laughing, I’m being serious! 😉

You see, when people start speaking to me (usually only in person) my brain starts picking at the invisible keyboard, flashing words up behind my eyes as you speak. Text to type in an instant. The issue here is that I edit…a lot. As an author, bibliophile, and grammar geek, I automatically move words and phrases to where they should be. Which means that the compliment you give me containing a dangling participle and qualifiers…well it takes me a few seconds to remember that people don’t speak correctly, and I shouldn’t be offended by what you just said. I should really smile and be happy that you complimented me.

Most of the time I can ignore the flowing type, pay attention to your conversation, and smile at the correct intervals. I can laugh, snarl, and carry on with ease…but days like today when I have had little to no good sleep and a hyper toddler…it may take longer.

So please, don’t be offended at that face i just made. I was only trying to work through the odd conglomerate of words that you threw at me.

People don’t speak grammatically.

(Remember – if you want to find more of me, My works are available in paperback and e-reader versions @ amazon.com/author/elizabethtyree 

Don’t forget to run over to Goodreads and follow me there! While you’re at it, ask me a few questions…I love getting that e-mail!)

The Shelf

Deep in a secret room, high on the back wall, there is a shelf.

Far from mocking eyes and sticky hands,

this shelf is home to my memories.

Not pictures,

for they are displayed proudly throughout the house.

Not priceless Heirlooms…

no one trusts me with those.

No, these memories are mostly small

and made of plastic.

A Jem and the Holograms barbie,

A Lumiere smiling his cocky smile,

A flaming red haired Chucky.

his happy grin and terrible green shorts making me smile.

A Doug pen, A Spritelet,

Ninja Turtle Action Figures,

3 copies of the Labyrinth,

The list goes on and on.

Wonderful, Amazing, so bad they’re good, so good they’re perfect,

80s and 90s shows, the soundtrack of my childhood,

on a dark and dusty back shelf,

hidden from all,

Waiting for me to turn on the light

and Come Play.

Midnight Thoughts of a Rambling Mind

Growing strong, learning what I believe. Drinking it in like sweet nectar and I am a newly formed butterfly, thirsty to know more.  Reaching and ever strengthening, my mind and body are as one as I find my pose and balance in life. Firm in the knowledge that my world, much like that tricky yoga pose, is completely figured out and I am totally myself. We are totally myself. We are growing in our truth and gathering strength and passion for our new discoveries. Technology, selfie sticks, a universal melding of minds…we are totally unique.

But Wait! How am I unique? How can I be me, if I am ‘we’…

I must break away. Do not jump off that bridge, you don’t even like that trend! Back Up, your soul is suffocating. Listen to it! Follow your dreams, wear Your clothes, write YOUR story…and good grief PLEASE do it without taking a staged, sad, pathetic attempt at a non-selfie selfie…or pictures of your ‘on point’ food, or that trendy place you DESPISE but shop at anyway because Vickie from the office does and she’s the boss’s cousin. And stop lying about Yoga, you can’t even do that pose where you just stand up.

Get Over It *mic drop*

Awkward

I just love being horridly, incredibly awkward. Add to the klutziness an unrelenting, insatiable need to replay every poor pitiful attempt at a social interaction over & over & over again and I’ve perfected the recipe for the low-sleep anxiety cookie.

Because honestly, if there’s one thing I know to be absolute certainty, it’s that the first time might not actually be so bad. But by the 53rd replay you’e got mimes crying for you in a box (Or worse, doing the slow clap!) while you fall all over your big mouth. (Oh and that hairless cats are really creepy, but that’s a whole ‘nother ball of wax!)

And, of course, my most horrendous cases of this awkwardness are generally around either my boss/co-workers to the most highly attractive members of the opposite sex that are in the vicinity. At least these episodes are probably much worse in my own mind! Yeah, that’s it…totally not at all why I’m single and spend all my time at home alone with my toddler watching Curious George and Strawberry Shortcake. Good thing I’m fine dating Netflix! At least I rarely forget to stock up on popcorn, chips, salsa, and pickles…the ‘late night, date night’ foods of choice for my big chair marathons!

From the Mouth…

Hello All! I just wanted to pop by and leave a giggle for your Sunday afternoon…

Today at lunch my daughter had finished eating and was trying to watch Netflix on the iPad while we finished up and got ready for devotional (our church does Class/Morning Services/Lunch/Afternoon Devotional…out for the day by 2).

As she was watching Jake and the Neverland Pirates, it froze and the spinning wheel of death didn’t come up. When asked if she had paused her show, Monkey stated that “No, it stopped because Hook was BAD!”

Look what you did Captain Hook…you stalled the entire process out by being naughty! No park for you today! 😉

May you all have a fun and frolic-y Sunday afternoon!

Hashtag Teacher Problems…

I have never, not once, felt that I should be doing this job. I know I do a decent job, I know I enjoy my job, and I know I love my students…but I am always concerned that I am not enough for my students. Somehow, I feel that I am a daily disappointment to them, even when I’m spot on and we’re all feeling the wave of knowledge soak us down.

Yesterday was worse. A student, one of the ones who I can’t say is my favorite because I don’t play favorites in my classroom thank you very much, got in trouble. Not just a little trouble, big randomly decided to tackle another student on the playground and I thought they would both be broken from the impact trouble. No one got hurt, but I still had to write people up and send them in to the Principal for excessive sassiness and rule breaking. I cried, not that the boys noticed.

That afternoon in ISD he wrote a two page almost legible essay about how everyone hates him and Ms. Tyree never comes to school (I missed 3 days last week due to illness). His final sentence begged to be sent to Middle School because he’s older than the rest of the kids in his class. Today he came in happy with me again but I can’t help but wonder what in the world is going on and if maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t be the one in this position.

I’ve been told that this doubt makes me a good teacher That the doubt and stress I put on myself make me strive to do better and be better for my kids. I honestly doubt that as well because right now it is 10 am and I have already cried twice, had a major attitude attack about how a fellow teacher treated my student, and have a raging stress headache because I am suddenly not sure at all about our ability to pass the upcoming tests (writing test in less than a month…*cue hair pulling out!*)

Believe me, this post is nothing compared to my rants this morning. So please, keep me in your prayers and thoughts throughout the next few weeks. Compassion may kill me yet!

Narcissistic Joy

I want to share something with you that just happened in my classroom. However, I want to first warn you that the title of this post is not misleading in the least…I am filled to overflowing with a narcissistic glee!

You see, I knew coming in to this job that my writing time would suffer and that through said suffering my book sales would probably be down. I am not a famous author, it is enough for me (for now) to share my words and lessons in a small environment and over my blog. However, I have 80 students who know I am an author and who enjoy hearing the way I would write things. That is a pretty great ego bump in and of itself.

Now we come to today…when I had to tell a student to please but his book away and pay attention to class. As he put the book away I caught a glimpse of the cover and had to stop a moment. Because that bright purple cover had the picture I took on the front, and my face on the back. Then I had to pinch myself, literally, because I had just told a student to pay attention to my lesson and put away a book I had written. THE BOOK, in fact. THE BOOK that started me on this path. Yes, I had written other books, other children’s stories, other short stories, but Dragon on My Neck pushed me further and started me developing one of my true loves: The Stone Dragon Saga.

So let me bask for another minute or two and just repeat for you:

I HAD TO TELL A STUDENT TO PUT ME UP SO HE COULD PAY ATTENTION TO ME! I HAD A STUDENT PAYING ATTENTION TO MY WRITTEN WORDS INSTEAD OF MY SPOKEN WORDS. That is a heady experience ladies and gentlemen, a heady and amazing experience. I truly hope you all get to experience something like that in your lives. *PHEW* Ok, I think I’m done for now. At least until the car ride home…my mother and aunt are trapped with me for over an hour’s commute! *cue evil laughter here*

THE BOOK

THE BOOK:www.amazon.com/author/Elizabeth-S-Tyree

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Habits

Habits, even the habit of forgetting something, can be difficult to break. Today is our first day back from Christmas break and my students and I have spent a significant portion of our time discussing goals. Our goals for ourselves, our goals for our class, and our goals for our school/grade. We have discussed making S.M.A.R.T. (specific, measurable, agreed upon, realistic, and timely) goals. We have even discussed the difference between detailed and too detailed or not detailed at all. And as soon as those students left for lunch, I sat down to eat my salad and had a miniature panic attack because I didn’t write a short story for last Sunday.

You see, I had made a habit of writing and forgetting to post, or writing a day late. Even now, that I completed the goal of posting a story for every week, my habit of remembering that I forgot is holding strong. For the record, I did write on Sunday. I even wrote the first two lines of a short story, though nothing else for that story has been written.

The point here, at least for me, is that even forgotten things become habit if you’re not careful My compunction to write is coupled with a habit of forgetting to write when I’m supposed to. My goal to exercise can swiftly become a panic attack at midnight, as a lay in bed remembering that I didn’t do my reps for the day. Even alarms and reminders sometimes only serve as something else to moan about when I realize I’ve forgotten something. I’m afraid that I can be rather a lot like Neville Longbottom on occasion, “The trouble is, I can’t remember what it is I’ve forgotten.”

So be careful my friends, especially during this time of re-acclimating to normal patterns and time tables for your days. I hope that you are all able to slide easily into the new habits that you want to build, and that none of you are languishing through the habit of forgetting.

To misquote Fiddler on the Roof: May the good Lord bless and Keep forgetfulness….far away from Me!

Anchors Away

I love the symbolism of an anchor and that love has only grown over the past year and a half as I researched and began writing my 4th Stone Dragon Saga novel (Dragons in the Deep). As I continue to not only research marine symbols, but also art, quotes, and whatever else I can get my little hands on, I keep coming across tattoos.

I love tattoos when done “correctly” (to my mind at least). What I mean by that is that I believe that tattoos are supremely personal and need to have a longevity that will probably not peter out when you hit a certain age. I have two such tats and one that I keep finding (on Pinterest of course) that holds a certain level of meaning is that of the anchor and quote ‘I refuse to sink’. We’ve all been through something(s) that make us think “I’ll never go there again!” or “I’ll never be that low again!” or “I will never go back there again!” and to me ‘I refuse to sink’ is a great reminder that you didn’t sink then and you won’t sink now. You are stronger than all of that, don’t go back!

I have a little addition though, if I’m to ever get this ink (honestly, as much as I would love to, I probably won’t ever get it but…). I think it should look a little something like this:

I REFUSE to Sink;

even DRAGONS can fall into the Deep

I suppose that, for now at least, I should probably just focus on actually WRITING the books and worry about designs later…although this might also make a great canvas to hang up in the Loft, or part of the back cover…hmm. Now where did I put that illustrator at?