Spiritual Agreement: Same Destination, Different Roads

Writers – Don’t Compare Yourself

I couldn’t have said it better myself. And yet, I often suffer from what I call “comparison-itis.) Check this out.

She Is A Truck Driver

I have a CDL. I went through truck diving school to drive an 18-wheeler. I spent very little time on the road, however, unlike some women who do this for a living.

Driving is hard enough on men, so can sometime prove even more difficult for women who are often smaller in frame and height. Too often we forget that women do this for a living. Yes, they choose it, and are quite often wonderful at it.

Truck driving gives one a sense of freedom to some extent. Just drive the truck, get where you’re going, and no one heckles you (or so you hope!). You don’t have to stay in the same area as your boss either which is great. But, there are downsides too. Bad weather, for one. It’s not safe often for ladies to be on the road alone. Traffic…because car driver DO NOT know how to drive around trucks. And I mean, none of you. You think trucks are like cars, SUVs or pickup trucks, but that’s absolutely not true. I once wrote a MySpace blog about how to…or not to…drive around trucks. I think I shall write a WordPress blog about that too so I can education my wonderful readers on driving around trucks. I’m sure you’ll go…”I had no idea”…at least once.

But in the meantime, I’d like to leave you with this. And I hope you’ll think about it a bit. Maybe, it might even encourage some of the ladies to look at driving a rig as a career. The author of this is unknown so far.

SHE IS A TRUCK DRIVER

She’s a big girl, she’s a small girl.
She comes in all sizes and shapes: short, tall, skinny and fat.
Laughing and serious, happy and sad.
She’s transportation with a grin on her face; distribution with a cocked left eyebrow.
She’s progress with diesel fumes in her hair. She makes her living holding 10 tons of steel in her hands. She has highways in her eyes. She’s a truck driver.

She hauls milk for the nation’s babies, dresses for the nation’s ladies.
Steel for our country’s defense, and bread for the nation’s breakfast tables.
She likes straight highways, slot machines that payoff, friendly cops and bonus checks.
The road’s her home. She drives today so the world can live tomorrow.
Laughing, she’s tough enough to hold her cargo against a hurricane, and gentle enough to stop 10 tons of wheeled steel to let a 12 ounce kitten cross the road.

She can tell you where to get the best piece of apple pie on the highway, and where the radar traps are, and which road to take to make the fastest time.
She hates, in the order named, phonies, road-hogs, tough traffic cops, highway weigh stations, small town justices of the peace, steep hills, cackling cargo, and a weak coffee.
She’s America on wheels. She’s big business with a road map in her pocket. She’s a truck driver.

Without her, there would be no gasoline to run the nation’s automobiles, no steel to make the machines, no concrete to build the highways, no merchandise to spin the wheels of trade.
She has eyes that look over mountains; she likes to see the other side of hills.
She eats better than bankers, dresses like a Texas rancher, is more independent than a newly elected senator. She’s an authority on politics, highway construction, baseball, and the best way to run a trucking company.

She likes the feel of the night wind on her face and the sound of a purring motor.
She lives by the code of the road and passes no man by who needs a helping hand.
She’s got problems and is not bashful in airing complaints about the state of the world at large.

Every trip she threatens to get off the road and live like other women, but she never does. The highway is a flirting Lorelei who hums a haunting tune for the women who chase the horizon on spinning wheels. And when the tires sing, the road is straight, and the moon is bright on a ribbon of cross country highway, she’s the happiest, most useful woman in America. She’s a truck driver.

-Author unknown

Writers and Their Rejections

Interesting… Take a look.

Michael D. Kelleher's avatarCrows Dream

Rejection Therapy logo

Most of the writers I’ve known over the decades had one goal in mind – publication. They reached for the gold standard of traditional publishing. Most of them never got there. It usually had little to do with their talent.

Many of these writers deserved better. They should have been published. Their work was excellent, polished and moving. But, somewhere along the line, they gave up. They reached an impenetrable bulwark that sidetracked their work and talent. It was the wall of rejection and, for some very talented writers, it was too much to overcome.

Rejection is a tough issue for anyone. In the world of writing, it’s inevitable. For those writers who set the gold standard of publication for themselves, it sometimes became the breaking point. Understandable, right?. However, for those writers who eventually made it through the desert of rejection, there was a potent reward waiting.

The question…

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Waiter With a Fake Dick Prank

OMG!

breakroomstories's avatarBreak Room Stories

You have foot-longs here?

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Weekly Prompt – Childhood Memories

Hmmm…I think I’ll work on this one.

Halloween Party

halloween-wallpaper

 

HALLOWEEN PARTY

Goblins, ghouls, ghosts and vampires

All dressed up in their party attire

Daring mortals to come out and play

Taunting us onward ‘til the break of day

 

They hide in the shadows of Halloween night

And slip in and out of the glow of Halloween lights

They follow us then, trying to frighten mortals

And when we dare a peek, they vanish into portals

 

It was Halloween night and a little chilly

I was dressed in a costume and felt so silly

Going to a party dressed like a mouse

Assured to be laughed at by all in the house

 

I went to the address listed on the invitation

Scared out of my wits, afraid for my preservation

The yard was scary and full of mummies

And gigantic black spiders looking for yummies

 

I saw a zombie peeking out from behind a tree

And another bound in chains, moaning to be free

I saw a vampire with a glowing white face

Woe is me, I was becoming a basket case

 

Scurrying along the path to the front door

I witnessed all sorts of blood and gore

There were crying crows and screeching witches

And a couple of hands sticking up from ditches

 

And from somewhere in the distance

I heard a girl screaming with resistance

Walk I did as briskly as able

My feet moving, yet I felt unstable

I spotted a graveyard far off to the right

I felt my throat dry up and get tight

As I tried to swallow down my fright

I kept the dimly lit porch in my sight

 

 I hurried along this scary path to the door

And finally came upon steps adorned by gargoyles galore

I climbed the stairs, stepping ‘round florescent-green slime

Unlike anything I’d ever seen before this time

 

When I climbed to the top of the stairs

To my left was a skeleton with absolutely no hair

He was holding a bowl of eyeballs of brown and blue

And from where he got them, I had no clue

 

On my right there was a witch dressed in black

With eyes glowing green that took me aback

I held my breath as she said to me,

“Welcome to my Halloween party”

 

I rushed to the big black front door

Which was adorned with even more

Frightening things for my sight

Such as a pumpkin with eyes burning bright

 

As I stood in front of the daunting entrance

I took a deep breath to fight my resistance

To knock on the door with the lion-headed knocker

But knock I did, and that was a shocker

 

After a few moments Frankenstein opened

The big creaky door to invite me

Into the creepy old mansion

And I could feel my body tighten with more tension

 

“Good evening,” he said

I could feel pain building in my head

I nodded to him and fear took hold

As I walked across the door’s threshold

 

I sauntered inside but in just a few moments

My worry eased as I saw a house full pumpkins

With smiling faces as my friends did greet me

And offer me cake and a glass of iced tea

 

I saw them at the party, they were all there

My friend Sally was dressed as Cher

And my old boyfriend Stan wore hair

Of green and held in his hand a cold beer

 

I saw vampires cavorting at a snack table

But these guys weren’t from any fable

They were my friends, Doug, Sam and Rig

And I knew this party would be a great gig

 

Then I saw Andy and Nancy

They were dressed in costumes fancy

Like Samson and Delilah

Or was it Antony and Cleopatra?

 

I took in the sights and sounds

Oh my, there were goodies all around

And flashing orange lights hung in windows

Causing cheer and casting shadows

 

There were even a couple bales of hay

Where upon sat food trays

From a ceiling fan hung a ghost

And dressed in black, there was our host

 

On the staircase was sitting a scarecrow

That looked pretty creepy but mellow

Then I realized it was my friend, Daisy

Who was tipsy and feeling a lil’ lazy

 

I reached into a bowl of candy

And got a fright dandy

When a gross hand tried to grab me

Before I could get a treat to eat

 

As I walked about I saw

A dragon with big claws

Talking to a mermaid

Holding a glass of red Kool-aid

 

The tables were adorned in holiday

Table cloths in a nice array

Of orange and black

With ghosts and big-eyed cats

 

A crystal pumpkin dish

Held candy corns delish

And atop a case of books

Sat a real tabby cat named Nooks

 

Who seemed not to mind strangers in his house

Or the fact that I was dressed as a mouse

The party was just getting started

And around the rooms my eyes still darted

 

An ice sculpture of a vampire bat

In the middle of a big round table sat

With champagne-punch flowing

Surrounded by candles all glowing

 

There were sticky spider webs

Hung from walls, rafters and even people’s heads

But yet, no one was filled with dread

All were happy and so laughter spread

 

Loud and clear jazz music played

And amusement was merrily displayed

So I decided to heck with the ghouls

I’ll stay awhile shoot some pool

 

As I listened to the not-so spooky jazz

Across the room I saw a devil named Taz

And he laughed as Ken and Barbie

Bobbed for apples hardily

 

I had a great conversation ‘bout gore and ick

With a fairy who stirred her cider with a cinnamon stick

Then I hung out with a guy named, Dolph

Who was clearly dressed as a big bad wolf

 

My fears had all diminished

As I mingled with many of the delightfully devilish

And so I became quite curious

There was just no reason to be serious

 

As the night wore thin and the sun

Threatened our joy and fun

Ghosts, witches, and vampires alike

Along with a biker dude named Spike

 

Ran off into what was left of the night

Taking with them a guy and his kite,

Casper, Freddie, Attila the Hun

And then there was that very small nun

 

They went back to their favorite haunts

To climb under covers and get some sleep

And dream of next year’s spooky jaunts

Of course, I’ll be there despite the creeps

 

‘Cause nothing’s better than a happy Halloween

Full of fun, food, friends, and a few screams

Dressed as a black cat I’ll go next year

And I swear, next time, I’ll show no fear.

 

Copyright 2010 Wanda S. Paryla