Raw

Can I Write About This?

Can I write about my up-coming wedding preparations on my tutorial blog? Is that acceptable to you guys? I have to ask, because I don’t want to bother anyone with my silly, stressful, and agonizing personal details when you come here to read about writing or books or fantasies.

To be honest, I feel like I’m living a fantasy right now – and I’m stuck in the bad part of the story.

I knew planning a wedding would be emotional, stressful, and frustrating. I knew little things would go wrong along the way. I knew life would be messy and complicated and RAW like it typically is, but part of me…kind of wanted to experience a little heaven-on-earth perfection.

But let’s face it, my wedding was never going to be that easy because my fiance wants the big, white dress wedding…and I do not. In fact, I want to elope. However, I love my man, and life is not about me. It’s about us.

So here we are with a year to go and nothing planned. 

Turns out, finding a venue is the single most difficult part of wedding planning.

Who knew this would be so hard.

Let’s all be honest. I’m no best selling author. I’m as broke as you are as I sit on a hand-me-down couch writing this blog on a phone that came with a $40 rebate because – guess what – it’s not name brand. So trying to find a venue that meets our individual specifications and fits within our budget is extremely frustrating. In fact, I’m ashamed to admit I completely pushed the blame on my loving fiance in a fit of emotional breakdowns. But we’re still together! Thank God. I am NOT as patient and understanding as he is.

This weekend we have a tight schedule to look at some venues. Every time I see the price tags, I can feel myself hyperventilating (I need to start carrying around a paper bag.) 

I just want this to be done. I know when we finally nail this project, we can look forward to the less-intense-but-still-important tasks of writing invitations and registering for gifts. We can finally start preparing.

GW (fiance) keeps reminding me that it will work out the way it’s supposed to, despite all obsticles. I used to believe that. I guess I don’t trust the process as much as I thought I would.

I think life is a series of pop quizzes we all get jumped with. There’s no way to prepare for what the teacher is going to ask. You can only hope you were paying attention up to this point.

That’s where I’m at, folks. Step one…of the rest of my life.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin

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Writing Prompts

10 Deadly Habits – Part Four

Good morning!

10 Deadly Habits is back on track with the fourth “deadly” habit. Have you been enjoying your summer? I hope so, because it’s well on its way out the door, and autumn is in the air. For many of you, the kids are back in school, and for the younger crowd, you yourself are returning to the halls and classes which will envelope your schedule for the rest of the year. In light of all this responsibility, this next DEADLY habit seems suitable.

Let us begin!


(…) = replace word with a better/more descriptive word

abc = remove word/s

4. Set a bedtime routine
You need to make a bedtime routine and stick to it. This includes showering, brushing teeth, going to bed and the like, in order to get your body accustomed to it, since only then (will it will) be able to send you signals that you are ready for sleep.

While there is nothing inherently wrong with this paragraph, I would like to take some time to build on it. It’s lacking scientific evidence to back its theories, and I feel the wording could be more smooth and clear. It is also important to offer suggested methods so your readers can walk away armed and ready to conquer whatever it is you want them to do (UNLIMITED POWER, MUAHAHA!)

Easy now…

The best way to prevent ignorance is through education. Trite, but true. Readers don’t know what you don’t tell them, and change doesn’t happen without clear steps to implement.

4. Set a bedtime routine. 

Sleep may come easily when we are young – especially for teenagers who sometimes can sleep all day if allowed. However, as we age, every-day stress and anxiety can play a significant roll in disrupting our sleep. Sleep doctors recommend a variety of methods for promoting a healthy sleep schedule, as stated in Healthy Sleep. A few ways we can do this is to maintain a regular sleep/wake schedule, even on weekends and vacations, get at least 7 hours of sleep, establish a relaxing bedtime routine, such as read, drinking caffeine-free tea, shutting off phones, tvs, and other distractions, and avoiding large meals before bed. If you are looking for more ways to improve your schedule, Sleep Education has a lot to say on the matter.


I personally like to be in bed between 10:30 and 11:30pm. Now my fiance has a terrible weekend schedule, because he wants to stay up all night long, but he can sleep at the drop of a hat, so go figure.

Sleep well tonight!

Fanny T. Crispin

Le Shorts

Hair There Be Pirates

A satirical short fiction based around the shenanigans of cosmetology school.

*****

Captain Jon Wickham paced the forward bow of his ship the Clipper Lady. He fumed, and every time he let out a breath, his curly mustache fluttered above his lips.

“Confound those bloody blighters. What be keepin’ them so long?”

He turned an eye to the watery horizon, silver glass all around them, gray skies above matching his own cloudy steel eyes. The sails snapped in the breeze, as if mimicking his frustration.

“Cap’n,” the first mate Ethram started, squinting against the growing light. “I don’t think she’s gonna show up.”

“She better!” the captain sputtered. “By Jove, she better, or I’ll have her sails fer my washrags.”

Up in the crow’s nest, high above the deck and beyond the canvas sails, Redhand Jess Snipps shielded her eyes from the glare of the ocean. The Jolly Roger flapped and snapped around her head. She frowned. Drawing out a spyglass and fitting it to her eye, she slowly swept the surrounding horizon.

“Nothin’ yet, Cap’n!” she shouted, battling the wind to make her voice heard below.

Wickham snatched the plumed hat off his head and tossed it to the deck. “Blistering barnacles! What be keepin’ her this long?”

“D’ya think she got boarded?” shipmate Angel questioned, her hand resting fidgety on her pistol butt.

The captain froze and turned a weather eye to the rough sea. It was picking up ferocity as the day dawned. The clouds darkened the sea and waves rocked the ship about.

“Aye,” he murmured. “I be thinkin’ that meself.”

“Ho, Cap’n!” Snipps suddenly cried. “Somethin’s appeared southeast in the distance.”

Captain Wickham scooped up his hat again and rushed towards the stern, climbing up the steps to the helm where quartermaster Lorn stood. He stepped aside quickly before the captain could elbow him out of the way. Wickham took up the wheel and shifted the ship’s direction with one quick spin. The entire vessel dipped on its port side. Salty water sprayed into the air, misting the sailors. Coils of rope slithered across the deck. Crewmen scrambled to scooped them up and secure them. In the far-off distance, a black speck bobbed lazily on the horizon line—the source of their excitement.

“Blimey,” Lorn muttered. “‘Bout time they showed their scurvy hides.”

Wickham’s expression remained severe, his thin lips pressed in a grim line. The wind thrust itself into their sails, speeding them towards their target. Despite the rapid pace, it wasn’t until midday before the blight became a recognizable figure.

“It’s her a’right,” Ethram said softly, coming to stand with his captain. “The Late Show. Who’s gettin’ the rift fo’ this ‘un?”

Lorn gave a queer smile and glanced upward. “Let’s give ‘er to Jess. She won’t keep us out till dark.”

“Aye, agreed,” Captain Wickham said. “We’ll come alongside ‘er by high noon. Ready the sweeps.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” the first mate said, nodding as he descended to the main deck.

Jess climbed out of her barrel and scurried down to the deck. The crew were already swarming the area, planks and grappling hooks in hand. Others were monkey-climbing the rigging and grabbing hold of loose, dangling ropes. They prepared to board the Late Show at any minute.

The pirate ship cut through the water, spilling waves on either side as it sped toward the smaller vessel. Crewmen from the other ship ran across the deck in a mad hurry—they knew what was coming. They could not outrun the faster ship, not with the wind working with the Lady, but they sure as Davy Jones tried.

The Clipper Lady cut in front of the Late Show, stealing the wind from her sails. The Lady slowed and both ships stopped dead in the water. A great cry rang out from the Lady‘s crew as they shot the grappling hooks to the other ship. Cannons boomed, tearing through the Late Show‘s wooden hull.

First mate Ethram donned a jaunty hat. He hefted a wicked looking sword with sharp ridges running down the blade. He gave a nod to Snipps, indicating his weapon. “Dis here’s a feather, sharp as a razor.” It glittered in a shaft of sunlight.

Getting ready to scamper across one of the rickety planks, Jess whipped out her own weapon, but something didn’t feel right. Looking down at the object in her hand, she found a pair of polished shears. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

What the Dickens?

“Take ‘er down, Snipps,” the captain ordered, pulling a blood-red hairdryer from his belt.

Something isn’t right, Jess thought again, and looked out towards the other ship.

Then Jess saw her—the captain of the Late Show. A fierce woman with the thickest mane of hair Jess had ever seen. The hair was curly and wild, blowing about on the wind as if it were alive and was ready to attack. Someone had done a hack-job on it before and tried to cut through the thickness, but that only made it grow. Besides all of this, however, was something far more terrifying to Redhand Jess . . .

. . . Dreadlocks.

The End