My 9 Somethings for the month of October

My original title for this post was, “My Somethings for Whatever Month This Is.”

That about sums up my overwhelmed, I-want-to-laugh-hysterically-on-the-floor, drink-coffee and sleep-through-all-my-classes attitude during October.

I promise I’m ok. I made it halfway through the semester. I can survive until winter break. Probably.

Something Out of the Ordinary

Coffee shops are cliche, millennial, chalk-themed hotspots that sell sugared cups of dirt for too much money, but I still like them.

Earlier this weekend my sister, cousin, and I all met at a coffee shop. Though I blew three bucks on the worst cappuccino ever, we had awesome girl time. *Thumbs up for socialization* Read more

You Know You’re a Fiction Writer… (#2)


Welcome to the second instalment of You Know You’re a Fiction Writer…! If you didn’t catch the first one, click here.

You know you’re a fiction writer…

  1. If you enjoy using writing jargon like WIP, MC, Midpoint, character arcs…etc. because it makes you feel smart, especially when people around you don’t know what you’re talking about,
  2. If you regularly look up synonyms on Google,
  3. If you speak words into Google or Siri because you don’t know how to spell them and have issues trusting your document’s spell checker,
  4. If you save a document in a random place because you’re too lazy to put it in the proper folder,
  5. If you can’t find said document later,
  6. If you make notes on any available writing surface or electronic device,
  7. If you don’t look at those notes,
  8. If you want readers to create fandoms revolving around your stories
  9. If you love when readers ship your characters,
  10. If you love pretending you’re going to destroy those ships,
  11. If you’re conflicted about writing outside because the outdoors is great for inspiration but there is nowhere to plug in a computer,
  12. If people expect you to write like a master no matter what you’re writing because you say you are a writer,
  13. If you are obsessed with collecting notebooks,
  14. If you don’t use all those notebooks,
  15. If you bemoan all the writing you want/need to do but still procrastinate on actually writing,
  16. If your friends threaten you over hurting/killing their favorite characters in your stories,
  17. If you try to tell your friends inside jokes that originated in online writing communities,
  18. If those friends inevitably don’t get it,
  19. If you continue to share those jokes anyway,
    And finally…
  20. If you think up epic scenes, but can’t write them for months because you aren’t even close to the part in the story where they happen…

you know you’re a writer.

Hey, I managed to post on a Friday! Isn’t that amazing?

What statement do you relate to the most? Feel free to compare your choices with other writers in the comments. 🙂

Have a terrific weekend!

-Gabrielle Pollack (A.K.A. The Great Rising Puzzlement)


Cheetos, Kittens, and Paint Cans: Part Seven (The End of A Sam Short Story)

It took me two months. And over 13,000 words.

This is the end, my friends. I finished it.

Behold, the seventh and LAST part of Cheetos, Kittens, and Paint Cans.

I stepped into the gym.

All the benches were stacked against the wall, hibernating in preparation for tomorrow’s game. The two basketball hoops were up and hidden. The court glimmered from a recent clean.

Levi and King were attaching the home side with paint cans, drawing random patterns that covered the  lines. The hiss of their cans must have silenced my entrance, for they didn’t look up when I closed the door behind me.

It would have been wise to take a moment to think of a plan. But, the part of me that believed it was logical said that if I let myself stand there and wonder what to do, I’d never get moving. So, like the smart man I am, I shouted the first thing that came to my mind. Read more

Cheetos, Kittens, and Paint Cans: Part 4 (A not-so-short Sam Story)

You might be wondering why I ran.

It’s simple, really. Karate kids know how to fight. I don’t. I want to live till tomorrow.


I dashed in-between a Camry and a Honda, their colors mere blurs in my peripheral. I had to find somewhere to hide, fast.

Blacktop stretched onward until it met the street, cars littered over its surface. Their mammoth bumps reminding me of headstones in a graveyard. Lampposts sprung up along the yellow lines, their pale lights hovering atop the fog like off-white ghosts. It would take too long to slide under a car, and the lampposts were too skinny to afford cover.

“Stop where you are!” Timber yelled. The scuff of footsteps chased me, and I poured on the speed. I had outrun King before. If I couldn’t hide I’d have to run until Tall Man gave up.

Read more