Monday, October 15, 2018

Influence and the Constitution

Today is a very exciting day for me. I took a break from any significant amount of fiction writing the last few months, but I have been doing some editing. I am pleased to announce that book one of a series that already has three books written is available for purchase on Amazon!

Influence is a tale set nearly 300 years from now, in a future I don't think is too far off-base from what we might potentially be heading towards.

Marshall Strickland is the self-declared Majaristo of Springland, otherwise known as the remains of the United States after the Third World War.

Lydia Butler is the star of the show. She will take you through her journey from the Academy where she spent her entire life to meeting Majaristo Strickland and what follows.

Influence: Book One of the Marshall Law Series will keep your interest from start to finish.


For other countries, go to your local Amazon website and search 'Alison Insco' and look for Influence. And hey, feel free to check out my other books while you're there!

In the next day or two, the book should also be available on Kobo, iBooks, Nook, and through a variety of other retailers.

Also in the next day or two, some supplementary material relevant to the story will be available for purchase - specifically the Constitution of Springland. It's not a necessary purchase to enjoy or understand the series; it's just something I enjoyed putting together, and thought people might want to check out.

Have a great week, everybody!

Saturday, October 13, 2018

Freak

With an influx of people on social media deciding lately that it's OK to comment negatively on someone's looks, this poem I wrote almost exactly 19 years ago came to mind, particularly the last half dozen or so lines.

Freak 
We are the wayward people
the loners
the different
the strange
We roam around in packs or singles
individuals
among clones
Where we're from is seldom answered
Who we are is unanswerable
You cannot truly know us
before being us
Each is different from the norm
and the others
Each is unique in some little way
We all retain our sense of self
flying one day
lazing the next.
If you encounter us,
remember the words:
"Judge not lest ye be judged,"
Judging of any kind is not accepted
by the judged
and condemned
and abused
Beware:
We can fight back.
© 10/09/99 Alison Insco

Tuesday, October 9, 2018

WORDS

I stumbled across a poem I wrote almost 18 years ago, when I was pregnant with my oldest son, and wanted to share it with my readers.

WORDS
I keep strange bedfellows.
Words are my lovers.
Words embrace me,
and yet they push me away.
They are my terror,
and they are my passion.
Weeping, crying,
softly wetting the sheets with
the salt of my soul…
I want to be a vampire…
I want to be a child…
I want to be everything,
and yet I am nothing.
The music plays in the harmony of the words.
They have a rhythm,
a cadence,
a tone,
a way of running away with themselves,
never letting you catch up to them until it’s too late,
and they’ve been spoken
shouted
screamed
cried
said
whispered
So many ways to say the simple things,
yet no way at all.
What is it that dreams are made of?
Words.
Thoughts are images,
images are bred from words.
Words nullify me.
I want to own the words
I want to use the words
I want the words to lay with me,
caress me,
be me…
It’s late…
I sleep poorly alone,
but there is nobody here.
Everyone who has ever lain with me has succumbed
to the words.
The evil
vile
nasty
perfect
words.
One word
holds such perfect beauty
within its letters
and yet I see ugliness
disease
decay
rot
everything I detest
is held all at once
within a word
a name
a sound
a song
a poem
a story
a blurb
What is the difference
between now and forever?
What is the meaning
of love gone sour?
Can hate and love exist in the same place?
Aberration of nature,
describable only by words.
Something doesn’t cut it.
Something won’t give.
I can’t tell you what it is.
I can’t explain it to you.
Words betray me
and my tongue.
I’m left incapable of communication
without words.
And I can’t write a poem without words,
so instead I write a poem about words,
and wish words didn’t exist…

Coyright © 02/26/01

Sunday, September 30, 2018

The Universe?

Tell me if I'm losing it
But I think that the universe was written for the two of us
I'm not that young, but I'm new to this
Burying my problems at Vesuvius
Ain’t nothing that could ruin us
In a time where everyone's quitting
Oh they're huddled together, hurting and never committing
We are growing intertwined molecularly
We are trying for forever, no end or beginning
I don't wanna breathe or eat unless you are with me
I could be your sea breeze, weather permitting
I know I'm the worst sometimes

Worst Girl by Amy Shark


The Universe was waiting for us to meet. Everything up to this point in each of our lives was carefully orchestrated by whatever it is that takes care of these things, from birth through childhood, awkward teen years, kids and marriages, separation and divorce, until that night.

And then everything shifted.

I never expected to meet anyone. I mean, I hoped I would, but my expectations were quite low as to anything coming of any of the conversations I would have that night. I logged into POF, of all places, and swiped left and right and up and waited for people to message me. 95% of the messages I received started with, "Hey sexy," which was, curiously enough, not a turn on.

Then I got the most polite, charming, and sincere-sounding first message I've ever received in all of my years using online dating sites. I wish I had taken a screenshot. It made my night, and I made sure to let him know. We messaged back and forth for a while, and then we both went to sleep, him promising to message me the next day.

And he did, first thing in the morning. We exchanged phone numbers later that day, and not a day has gone by without a text (or kiss) good morning since. I can't imagine my life without him in it now that he's here.

I'm not used to this whole 'love' thing. I'm not used to wanting to be with someone so much that it hurts. I'm not used to any of this. I don't remember any of my previous relationships feeling like this.

I've written stories about soulmates in the past, but I was never sure if I actually believed in them. The longer I'm with him, the more I'm convinced we are soulmates, or made from the same stardust, or are connected somehow, or maybe all three...

All I know for sure is that I adore him, am madly in love with him, in fact, and don't want to find out what life would be like without him now that I know what it's like with him.

And I ask you 'cause I wanna to know
Not because I'm psycho
Just because I care a lot
And I touch you the way I do
'Cause I'm falling in love with you
And I don't do this every day

Psycho by Amy Shark

Thursday, September 27, 2018

The Notebook Theory

There are a lot of different ways to describe what it's like to live with a chronic illness, and the spoon theory is one that's gone around the internet quite a bit. I find it doesn't quite work for me, however, so I've come up with my own theory.

Being a writer, my first instinct was to refer to notebooks.

So, imagine that each day, you are given a small notebook. It has 24 pages in it. Each page has 60 lines on it. You get one line per minute of the day. Your job with the notebook is to detail how you spent each and every minute of that day.

Your notebook quality varies from day to day. Some days, it's a gorgeous leather-bound journal, well-made to the point of near indestructibility. Other days, it's a simple spiral notebook that may or may not have missing pages. And on yet other days, it's a cheap glue-bound notepad from the dollar store that has pages that fall out at the slightest touch.

How do you detail what happened on those missing pages?

Let's go back a moment. How, I'm sure you're asking, does detailing every minute of your day have anything to do with living with a chronic illness?

I'm glad you asked.

The quality of the notebook is what determines the quality of your day. The better the quality of your notebook, the less your illness(es) will impact your day. There is a major caveat, however. The more you take advantage of the better quality notebooks, the more likely you are to receive one that is falling apart the next day.

So, back to the question - How do you detail what happened on those missing pages?

The short answer is: To the best of your ability. Some people gather up the missing pages and tuck them into the notebook haphazardly. Translated to real life, this would be a chaotic and hectic but not terrible day. Basically an average day with a chronic illness, if none of the pages actually go missing.

Sometimes you can't find all of the pages, or some have become unusable. The best option is as above - gather what you can and tuck it into the notebook. The real life counterpart would be a bad day with regard to the chronic illness.

When you are given a notebook that is incomplete to begin with, and pages go missing due to the poor quality of said notebook, these are the days that the chronic illness is at its most debilitating. Chances of getting these are higher when you've already gotten one, or when you've recently received a really nice notebook.

What kind of notebook are you using today?

FEAR

FEAR.

What is it?

FEAR is the mind’s first effort against risk. It's the subconscious' way of asking the physical self to pause and reevaluate because the first evaluation appears risky. It is filled with frustration, ego, anxiety, resentment, and so much more.

Fear isn't a bad thing in and of itself. The important thing is that we need to remember that it can affect us more than we realize. We don't realize it, but our former expectations affect rationale when it comes to decision making. We also need to remember that first experiences aren’t representative of future opportunities. There is room for change and growth nearly everywhere in life. There is functional, evolutionary action required in order to initiate that change, however.

Some people don't care. Some people are content to forfeit their RIGHT to change and grow, and in the current political climate, forfeiture endangers American rights. As a Canadian citizen watching the American system butting heads constantly, I can't help but shake my own head. The fear is overtaking both sides. I know there are a LOT of people out there who are fighting to have the blue wave cover the US, but there have been a lot of cases of false events appearing real in the last 2-3 years, which can and will impact the midterms and going forward.

So. My question to my readers is this: Are you going to say, "Fuck Everything!" and run? Or are you going to face everything and rise?

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

Adversity

I find it fascinating how we all react so differently when presented to the same stressor, the same adversity. Take, for instance, the story of the potato, the egg, and the coffee bean.

Expose all three to the same adversity: 20 minutes of boiling water. What do you have when the time is up?

Touch the potato.

Peel the egg.

Smell the coffee.

The potato went in strong, hard and unrelenting, but after time in the boiling water, it became soft and weak. The egg was fragile, with the thin outer shell protecting its liquid interior until it was put in the boiling water. While the water boiled, the inside of the egg became hard. However, the ground coffee beans were unique. After they were exposed to the boiling water, they didn't change. Instead, they changed the water and created something new and strong in its own right.

When adversity rings your doorbell, how do you respond? Are you a potato, an egg, or a coffee bean?

Shit happens around us and to us. The only thing that really matters is how you react to it, which is ultimately your choice, and what you make of it afterwards. Learn from each experience. Overcome and adapt, and choose to make the best of them all. Be a coffee bean. Make something new and strong.

"Be the change you wish to see in the world."