Writing 365

Warning – May Emit High Levels of Random

A Rant About My Generation

Recently someone I love, who has kids my age, posted a video called something like “What’s Wrong with Millenials.” In it, the speaker talks about how we, as Millenials, cannot help but be entitled little brats. It’s our parent’s fault, the fault of technology and more. He said that all we want in the workplace are beanbag chairs and laptops.

About a week earlier, I was watching the Daily Show and Trevor Noah made a crack about how there should be another economic collapse because every generation deserves to know what it feels like to try and fail in a crap economy. (I’m paraphrasing.) He then went on to name Millenials as the generation that deserves this lovely opportunity.

REALLY?!?!?! Seriously guys – do you know how OLD Millenials are now??? I am a 31-year-old first-time mom who is a Millenial. I am technically not even a mom yet – I’m having my first baby at 31. You know when my parents and their parents before them had babies? MUCH EARLIER! My husband and I made a conscious decision to wait until we could kind of squeeze by and sort of afford having a child. More and more people in my generation are waiting for similar reasons.

I’m sorry, but these recent jabs at my generation are the last straw for me. I cannot believe that people are still Millenial bashing. Give me a goddamn break.

Instead of all this idiotic supposition about bean bag chairs, tech addiction, and how we just need a good economic crisis for us to get ourselves together – let me give you some facts:

  1. According to Genhq.com, Millennials were born between 1977 and 1995. According to TheAtlantic.com, Millennials were born between 1982 and 2004. So, let’s get our facts straight here. You mean no one has actually defined who is in this generation? What a shocker. Also, according to that Atlantic article we are “the worst.” Thanks.
  2. If we take this ridiculously extreme date range as our entire generation, the oldest Millennials are those tech-addicted, bean bag chair loving 40-year-olds lazing about with their entitled ways. If we take “the worst” generation article, the oldest in our number is one of those latte-loving, selfie taking 35-year-olds. Apparently, people over thirty don’t want money or respect or to rise through the ranks in their career trajectories, they want unearned accolades and fake prizes!
  3. According to Complex.com and PewResearch.org, Millennials are the best-educated generation to date – with some of the worst prospects for the future. To top that off, the cost of college is on the rise.  Perhaps that’s why we aren’t big diamond and home buyers?
  4. Guess what, Trevor Noah – first of all, YOU’RE a Millenial. Second, Millenials already lived through the 2007/2008 economic crisis. I was working a job in real estate at the time. Then I ended up working two jobs so that I could pay rent – and even then I barely squeezed through the last economic collapse by the skin of my teeth. I had friends who had to drop out of college to work so they could manage. They JUST got their degrees THIS YEAR. Others graduated college to the prospect of a job at Chilis. So, no, we don’t need another one, thank you very much. BTW, I get that he was making a joke, but it was an irritating one.
  5. I’m going to go with the GenHQ age range, because according to this article the New York Times, Newsweek, and a consumer research firm called Iconoclast generally agrees with the years, give or take. Let’s see what we entitled jerks have accomplished since, oh, 20 years after they were born – so 1997 to present day:

1997- Broadband comes out / the first Harry Potter book hits the shelves / Tiger Woods wins the Masters / Princess Diana dies / There’s a global economic crisis scare / the Prius is invented

1998 – Google is formed / Bill Clinton is impeached / Viagra hits the market

1999 – We get Wi fi and Blackberries / Panama gets its canal back / Columbine happens / Dow Jones closes about the 10K mark for the first time

2000 –  The dot-com bubble bursts / George Bush becomes president

2001 – 9/11 happens / Enron closes its doors / The Patriot Act is passed / No Child Left Behind Act is passed / We invade Afghanistan in a never-ending war / the iPod comes out/ Wikipedia is launched / The Buddhas in Afghanistan are destroyed

2002 – The euro is adopted / Guantanamo Bay accepts its first prisoners / Halle Berry is the first black woman to win the Best Actress Oscar

2003 – Electronic payments outnumber paper checks / Iraq is invaded / Saddam Hussein is captured / NASA launches the Mars Rover / the Human Genome Project is completed / Myspace is launched / China launches its first manned mission to space

2004 – Facebook is launched / Podcasts are invented / The groundbreaking for the Freedom Tower at Ground Zero occurs / We find out there was once water on the Moon / Bush is reelected

2005 – The space shuttle Discovery goes into orbit and returns safely / Images of Titan’s surface come from the Huygens probe / Flash drives replace floppy disks / Suicide bombers in London / Angela Merkel become first female German Chancellor / YouTube is launched

2006 – iTunes gets its one billionth download / the Louisiana Superdome reopens after Katrina / Tesla Motors opens its doors / Twitter is founded / Pluto gets a demotion

2007 – The first female speaker is sworn to office in the House / the Steroids Scandal in baseball happens / Virginia Tech happens / Economic downturn happens just in time for Christmas / Apple iPhone comes out

2008 – The first black man is elected president of the US / eBook sales skyrocket and print book sales decline / Michael Phelps wins his 8th Gold medal  / US oil prices hit an all-time high

2009 – The Tea Party begins protests / Google starts its driverless car project / Michael Jackson dies / Non-oil-based plastic is invented

2010 – We see a reverse in the economic downturn / ACA is passed / BP rig explodes in the Gulf of Mexico

2011 – Osama Bin Ladan is killed / The first Occupy Wallstreet protest occurs / The war in Iraq is declared over

2012  –  Driverless cars are licensed in Nevada / Obama is reelected / Aurora, CO theater shooting happens / Sandy Hook happens

2013 – Cornell scientists grow the first living ear / the Boston Marathon tragedy happens

2014 –  ACA goes into effect / Russia annexes Crimea

2015 – Baltimore riots for Freddie Gray happen / Diplomatic relations are opened with Cuba / San Bernadino terror attacks occur / Same-sex marriage is legalized nationally

2016 –  Pulse nightclub attacks happen / the Cubs with the world series / D. Trump becomes president


(See sources for all of this at the end of the post)

Yep, it seems like we Millenials have been sitting around on our entitled asses, not doing anything, weathering no storms, and refusing to participate in society. I hope you hate Google, Twitter, Facebook, iPhones, hybrid cars, and women in government. Because this is what I found in a quick Google search. I bet that, if you actually took a look at what Millenials have gone through and participated in accomplishing – you’d find even more goodies.

Now, I’m not saying that Millenials accomplished everything alone. In fact, I think my Boomer parents would agree that I needed their help to get my life going – heck, I wouldn’t be alive without them! But I think it’s time to stop saying things like “Millennials are the worst” or “Millennials are entitled assholes” or “All Millennials want are bean bag chairs” or “Millennials are delicate snowflakes that want to be rewarded for coming in last place.”

Guess what, we want what you want. We want to be paid fair wages, we want our work to mean something, we want families and a house and the American dream. We want to take responsibility for our past and for our future. We want to make this world a better place for our children.

So, the next time you hear someone bashing Millenials, or you have the impulse to bash Millenials, stop and think. If you were born in the last forty years, guess what? You’re one of us.












Writing 365 – The Collector

I have an idea about hoarders that I want to explore in-depth, but in the meantime I’m going to follow the prompt “Exploring what it feels like to be a hoarder” in a piece of flash fiction.

The Collector

She sits on a pile of old fashion magazines, the pieces of her collection towering above her. A draft of moist air brings the scents of each item she has assembled to her nose. Some of it is moldering, other pieces are covered in mildew, while some have dissected – smelling only of dust. This spot, surrounded by all the things she has compiled over the last twenty years, is the only place in this world where she feels safe.

I think the phenomenon of hoarding is endlessly fascinating and tragic. So, I’ll likely explore this more. See you next time!


Writing 365 – The Marine Biologist

I’m back today with a short story based on the prompt from Twitter’s very own Magical Realism Bot: “A fortune teller turns over a tarot card with a mustache on it. ‘Your destiny is to be eaten by a giant clam,’ she says to you.”

The Marine Biologist

I knew the dangers going in, but the ocean is so vast, so beautiful, there was no way I could avoid my fate. Studying sea life is all I’ve ever wanted to do. So, even though I am trapped in this giant clam, its juices slowly eating through my scuba suit, I am happy I chose this path.

Two years ago, when I started this journey, I didn’t believe it would happen. I had just enrolled as a graduate student and could see the course to a PhD. My friends took me to the fair to celebrate, we ate funnel cake and rode on shaky platforms. Greg found the fortune teller, cajoled us all to get our palms read. I was last.

She took one look at my palm, shook her head, and told me she was going to read my tarot instead. When the fortune teller turned the last card – white background featuring a huge mustache in the fore – she shook her head again.

“What?” I asked. She was getting on my nerves. I’d paid $30 to get my palm read and she hadn’t said one word to me.

That’s when she looked at me dead in the eyes and said, “Your destiny is to be eaten by a giant clam.”

Of course, I laughed, accusing my friends of putting her up to it. None of them would admit to playing the trick and I tried to shrug it off. But that’s when I became obsessed with giant clams. That’s when I made it the basis of my thesis. That’s when I began down the path that led me here, to the soft, gelatinous insides of a giant clam. That’s also when I started carrying a crowbar during every dive.

I admit that it’s hard as hell to pry open a clam – especially when the clam is still alive and you’re on the inside. But I was highly motivated. I shredded the muscles and broke through the shell, scraping out of the opening and swimming back to the surface in a controlled panic. I couldn’t go up too fast, or I’d get the bends. But my radio was out and this discovery would make my career. The clam that had eaten me was definitely a new species: the snapping giant clam.


That’s it! I look forward to seeing you tomorrow!



Writing 365 – The Door

Today I’m using the prompt “What’s behind the closed door?”

The Door

The massive ebony door crouches in front of me. Bas-relief figures warn the unwary away, acting out scenes of violence and destruction. The blackness of the wood makes it hard to see these figures and, as I move closer, I cannot tell if they are in the throws of agony or ecstasy.

For all the intricacies of the door itself, the verdigris knob is utilitarian. It invites my hand, twitching by my side, to rest upon it and swing the heavy door open.

I am not supposed to be in this hallway, not supposed to be in this house. The city will tear down this ruin of a Victorian in two days, and I managed to sneak in to take a look around the oddly homey industrial building. I didn’t expect to find much more than decaying floorboards, but I found this baroque door jammed into a hall on the top floor.

A floorboard creaks as I step forward, putting my ear up to the menacing carvings and listening. No sound penetrates the heavy black mass. I put my hand on the handle and give it a push.

Light floods into the black hallway, blinding me for a moment. Beyond the door is a meadow. A warm breeze wafts through the doorway, tickling my nose with scents of honeysuckle and rich earth. I smile and close my eyes, expecting the scents and breeze to waft over me, but my nose fills with dust. Slamming my eyes open, the room beyond the door spreads out, dark and damp. I flash my light in, but the room just sits, empty and moldering.

I close the door and open it again, hoping to be transported back to the meadow, to the sunshine and warm air. Instead, my hands grow cold in the draft I am creating by opening and shutting the enormous door.


I hope you enjoyed the story! See you tomorrow!


Writing 365 – Under the Stars

Today I’m writing off a prompt from my friend Carolina L. The prompt is “Under the Stars.” I’m not the outdoorsy type, nor do I enjoy being out in the cold. But, I have always thought it would be beautiful to get a cabin or yurt in the middle of winter and spend time out in nature. Here is a little vignette what I thought of when I read the prompt.

Under the Stars

Mist puffs from rosy faces as we sit around the fire. I look up and see a patch of black with countless specks of brilliance shimmering through. It’s a dizzying scene, cut off only by the tree tops that tower over us.

The smell of pine, campfire, damp, and loamy earth fills my nose as I lean back on my camp chair. It’s been a slog up the mountainside, and tomorrow we have to hike another two miles to get to the peak. My feet speak up, telling me I should have broken in my boots before heading on this trek. Stretching my legs out, I tap the toe of my love’s boot. He looks over and smiles, twinkling eyes matching the brilliance of the heavens above.


That’s all folks! See you tomorrow.


Writing 365 – Word Play

This week we are supposed to get record low temperatures here in Portland, Oregon. It’s already cold (32 degrees) and it’s supposed to get down to around 19 degrees as the week progresses. That’s apparently a record low. To give those of you in cold states like Utah or Illinois some perspective, I’m from LA – where it doesn’t get below 40 degrees pretty much ever. And here in Portland, we have trouble dealing with a couple of inches of snow – nevermind extreme temperatures.

So, since this weather is unusual for us, I thought I’d try something different when writing about it. I am going to write a little poem and then I’m going to use the thesaurus to see if I can replace every word in the poem and make it a bit better/more interesting. Here goes!

1st Winter Poem

Icy cold shivers through leaves,

snapping at my fingertips,

ruffling my dog’s fur

clearing the azure sky.

2nd Winter Poem

Polar rawness shudders past stalks,

clutching on my digits,

tousling my pup’s coat,

brightening the cerulean firmament.


That’s pretty interesting. Two poems that say the same thing, but I definitely like the second one better, though I still prefer “sky” over “firmament.”

Well, that’s all for today! See you tomorrow!


Writing 365 – The Collective

Today I’m writing off of a prompt suggested by my Facebook friend, Jason D. The prompt is: Millennial selfies. Now, I personally don’t have a problem with millennial selfies. In fact, technically I’m a millennial. So I tried to think if there might be some secret reason we are all taking selfied. Here’s what I came up with.

The Collective

“You need to take that last selfie,” Sammy told Ethan. He sighed.

“Why am I doing this again?”

“You know why. You know what we’re working toward. Just do it.”

Ethan lifted up his phone, stuck out his middle finger, and shot a picture.

“Now upload it to the collective, it’s almost the cutoff!”

Ethan did as he was told, sighing again when the upload went through.

“I don’t know why you’re not excited about this,” said Sammy. “It’s literally the most important thing in the world right now.”

“Literally?” asked Ethan sarcastically.

“Literally,” said Sammy, frowning. “If you aren’t going to take this seriously, you don’t have to be part of it.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Of course I want to be part of it.”

“Then let’s go,” said Sammie.

Sammie started her car, driving it out of the alleyway, toward the warehouse district. Her hands vibrated on the steering wheel and her left leg gyrated.

“I can’t believe it’s happening tonight,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Ethan.

They parked outside a nondescript row of warehouses. Sammie got out and slammed the door, walking rapidly toward the building number 16. She heard Ethan close the door behind him and she clicked the doors locked with her key fob.

“Come on!” She opened the warehouse door and entered a room filled to the brim with servers. Cold air blasted through the huge space, keeping the machines at a comfortable temperature.

Sammie jogged past rows and rows of racked computers until she made it to the small office space at the back. The tiny office was filled with people, all aged between 20 and 30. They stared at the row of monitors hanging from the ceiling, watching the “loading” bar hit 100%.

Ethan’s hand slipped into Sammie’s as the screen, once filled with billions of selfies, switched to bytes, then began the conversion to something completely new. Sammie held her breath. She gripped Ethan’s hand. This was it. A new lifeform was taking shape, right in front of them.

It opened its digital eyes and spoke through the speakers hooked up around the room.



That’s it! Thanks for reading and I’ll be back tomorrow.




Writing 365 – Missing Half

I have been absent, but I’m back! My next prompt: “Write a mystery.”44583444 - detective adjusting his hat standing in the dark, film noir

Missing Half

Half of Red lay there, cold and inanimate. Detective Ankle knew that Red would never move again unless his other half was found. It had to be found, stat, or it still wouldn’t matter. They’d be too mismatched to be of any use.

Detective Ankle started his investigation as soon as he could, following Red’s steps from the time he was whole to the moment he was split. It was the same story as all the others – a string of disappearances and subsequent murders spanning all the way back to when the detective had first moved in at 239 N. Caraway Ct.

The basket they all rode in was clean – no second half of Red detectable amongst everyone else. Detective Ankle had done a lot of pushing and shoving, asked a lot of questions, but no one had seen Red’s other half. They all tried to convince him to settle back – told him Red was just gone. Detective Ankle wasn’t having it.

Next, he checked the bathhouse. It was sudsy and warm, but Detective Ankle suspected foul play beneath those calm waters. He dived down deep into the bath, eyes peeled for a flash of red anywhere. Nothing.

Finally, Detective Ankle checked the last place he wanted to look. That hot, steaming, confusing room where so many of his friends had gone missing. He asked around as he tumbled, telling his friends to stay on the look out for Red’s other half. They all plead ignorance. He covered every inch of the room, steeling himself to look in every crevice, anywhere Red could have been torn in twain. It was like Red’s mate had just… vanished.

Detective Ankle finally returned home, ready to mourn his friend like all the others. But Red wasn’t there. He’d been removed, taken to the place they were all dumped in eventually. If Detective Ankle had tear ducts, he would have cried. If he had a voice, he would have screamed. Instead, he just clutched his other half and waited with all the other socks in the drawer, hoping no one else would go missing but knowing deep down – someone would.


I hope you enjoyed it! See you tomorrow!


Writing 365 – Leftovers

I am going to try to make most of these stories into drabbles, which means they will be around 100 words. I don’t know if that’ll make them easier or harder, but I guess we’ll see!

Today’s prompt comes from my friend Arlette H. She gave me the word “Saucy” to go with. I know she probably meant the traditional meanings of the word, but my mind immediately goes to food. So… that’s where I’m taking this prompt.


Roasted garlic and tomatoes, red onion, oregano, basil, salt, and pepper pulse in the food processor with a spicy red wine. Everything is poured into a pot and simmers for thirty minutes, stirred occasionally. Once cooked, a bowl of sauce is set aside.

They eat the spaghetti al dente, each noodle perfectly coated in flavor. After dinner, the leftover sauce is placed on a small side table beside a loaf of ciabatta bread, mozzarella cheese, and the leftover wine. The family goes to bed, hoping the house Brownie doesn’t get too tipsy while cleaning up the dinner dishes.


I just love the idea of a super classy, Italian Brownie getting an incredible meal for making the house look lovely after a messy dinner. Le sigh. I miss Italy.

See you tomorrow!

Writing 365 -Purge Night Pizza Delivery

I found this fun writing prompt on a Reddit page:

“On Purge Night part time employees get paid 50 times the hourly rate. You are a pizza delivery guy looking to make big bucks.”

PS: I haven’t actually seen The Purge, but I’ve seen previews and I think I get the gist.

Purge Night Pizza Delivery

One night a year, I load up on armor and guns. I head out on the streets. I feed the hungry. And my pay increases by 50 times.

We get our orders from the boss. He expects us to come up with our own modes of transportation and defense. He only provides the pizza.

Tonight is such a night. It’s Purge night. I head out on my first delivery. It’s twenty blocks away. I put the pizza in its armored bag, strap the bag firmly to the back of my bike and head out.

My motorcycle has been turned into a mini convertible. It is armored on all four sides, bullet proof glass shielding my face as the wind sweeps over me. The puncture-proof tires grip the road, allowing me to turn on a dime. I’m ready to deliver.

The route is relatively quiet, which makes me suspicious. I find out why when I get to the house. Spike strips are set at 1-yard intervals down the entire block. People are going hand-to-hand, facing off in an uncontrolled melee. The house I want is half way up the block. It’s time to get in on the action.

I strap the kevlar box containing the hot pie to my back. I need to get this delivery there within thirty minutes or my fee is cut by half. I check my watch. Only fifteen minutes until time is up. I eye the street. I can make it in ten.

I leave my bike on sleep mode. It will only respond to my fingerprint and retinal scan. If someone wants the bike, they’ll have to kill me first and drag my cooling body to the bike – which is always a possibility on Purge night.

The spikes make it impossible to run through the mob, but that doesn’t bother me. I’m wearing fitted armor plating and my bullet proof bike helmet. It’s going to be hard to cut me down.

I launch myself into the crowd, finding gaps and paths between fighters. I know I’m drawing attention, but these pies are prepaid and, as long as the bag signals my boss with a safe delivery in under 30 minutes, I don’t care what happens to the customer.

On a lawn two houses into the block, I find myself faced with my first opponent. He’s a huge man carrying a 9MM pump-action shotgun. I see the gleam in his eye as he begins to raise the weapon, so I step in close before he can get the gun up fully and push him into the hand-to-hand fight going on behind him. Distracted, he disappears in the struggle.

I am not able to dodge my next opponent so handily. She bursts out from the bushes lining the house next door to my target, bearing a cleaver and an ax. She looks like she’s practiced all year for this. I throw up my hands and tell her “I’m just here to deliver the pizza.”

That confuses her for a moment. Her split second hesitation is all I need to bring my blowgun up. I dart her in the neck and she passes out. The toxin lining my darts isn’t poisonous. It just puts my opponent to sleep. I drag her back under the bushes, where she will likely be safe from random violence and gingerly pluck out the dart with my gloved fingers.

At the target house, I follow the instructions given to me by my boss. I find the armored slot and type 5193 into the keypad. The slot opens and I pull out the pie.

“Pizza delivery!” I call as I slide the box through. I re-sling my pizza box and type in my code to tell my boss the delivery is completed five minutes early. My phone buzzes and I see the money transfer for only 30 minutes of work. The client apparently left a hefty tip. Some people will do anything for a large meat lover’s.

The End

That one went a little long, but I really enjoyed writing it. See you tomorrow for another short!

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