Tweet Tales Tuesday Week 206

15 Minute Tweet TalesI hope everyone’s 2016 is off to a great start! I was pretty lazy the first few days of the year (shocker!). I finally caught up on this season of Supernatural, since I’d let the episodes pile up on my DVR. Jensen Ackles is still a beautiful, beautiful man, which will keep me watching no matter how trite and boring the show gets. /shallow. 
I’ve also been researching new pitches for MTV articles. That’s always an interesting process because I have to do a lot of the research up front to make sure I can actually write an article about the topic, but then my pitch approval ratio is pretty low, so that means a lot of my research time is “wasted.” But it’s still cool to learn about different facets of the various things I research.
And now it’s time for the new version of 15 Minute Tweet Tales. In case you didn’t read this post, I’m only doing one word/tweet tale a week now, and I’m tweeting it on Tuesday if you follow the #15tt hashtag.
This week’s word is tsundoku – the continuous act of buying books but never reading them and letting them pile up in a room. 
I hate to admit it, but I have a pretty bad case of tsundoku. I buy books with such good intentions, but somehow the siren call of the boob tube is always so much louder. That’s actually part of my 2016 resolutions to finally make my way through some of these scary piles. Luckily my piles have never been an actual threat to my pets, like my tweet tale for the week:
1/5 - She adds a new book to a pile and watches in horror as it teeters and falls toward the cat. His quick reflexes save him from her tsundoku.
Play along and write a tweet tale for the above word. If you’re willing to share, post it on twitter with the hashtag #15tt or add it below in the comments because I’d love to read your tales. Any thoughts about this week's tweet tale or #15tt word?


Natalie Aguirre's picture

Good you're trying to manage your buying but not reading books. That's one reason I'm not buying too many books right now. I'm just not reading as much right now. Happy New Year! Hope it's a great year.

Valued Visitor's picture

And then the curtains were dropped, the watcher retired a little out of sight, and everything was subdued into absolute stillness. Mrs. Damerel sat down noiselessly in the background, and covered her face with her hands, and wept silent tears, few and bitter. She had felt him to be hard upon her many a day; she had seen what was wanting in him; but he was her husband, the first love of her youth, and her heart was rent asunder by this separation. She had enough to think of besides, had she been able; she had poverty to face, and to bring up her children as best she could in a world which henceforward would not be kind and soft to them as it had been hitherto. Her soul was heavy with a consciousness of all that was before her; but, in the mean time, she had room for no distinct feeling except oneā€”that her husband, her love, was going to be taken from her. This tremendous parting, rending asunder of two lives that had been one, was more than enough to fill all her mind; she had room for nothing more.

And he slept, or thought he slept, floating out of the vague pain and wonder of his waking thoughts into strange, vague visions, dimmer still, and then back again to the fancies which were waking and not sleeping. There was a dim impression of painfulness in them, rather than pain itself; wonder, curiosity, and that strange sense of an absolute blank which makes the soul giddy and the brain swim. Sometimes his mind seemed to himself to wander, and he got astray somehow, and felt himself sinking in an unfathomable sea, or striving to make his way through some blackness of night, some thorny wood in which there was no path. I suppose he was asleep then; but even he himself scarcely knew.

When he woke it was evening, and the lamp, carefully shaded, had been lit at the other end of the room. He liked the light; and, when he stirred and spoke, the watchers made haste to draw back the curtains. The serene evening sky, full of soft tints of reflection from the sunset, with breaks of daffodil light melting into ineffable soft greenness and blueness, shone in through the uncurtained window which he liked to have left so, that he might see the sky. Rose and her mother were close by the bright circle made by the lamp, one of them preparing some drink for him, the other opening a new bottle of medicine which had just been sent. Though it was all so familiar to him, the fact that he was to go away so soon seemed to throw a strangeness over everything, and gave a bewildering novelty even to the figures he knew so well.

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