Ruthless Red Pen

Copy Editor, Writer, Author, Poet

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Author: Ruthless Red Pen

Freelance Copywriter, Editor, and Creative Writer based in Dallas, Texas

January 8, 2019 Ruthless Red Pen

Toxicology Report

January 1, 2019January 9, 2019 Ruthless Red Pen

Pit Bulls Scare Me

December 30, 2018 Ruthless Red Pen

Master Fibonacci

December 28, 2018 Ruthless Red Pen

Grammar Lessons

December 25, 2018 Ruthless Red Pen

Icicles

December 22, 2018 Ruthless Red Pen

SF Writers Conference

December 15, 2018December 15, 2018 Ruthless Red Pen

Cruel Stepmother

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*** Terrified, he clasps the hand of Courage and steps out into the chasm, expecting to fall; but there is a bridge upon which his footfall rests—formerly camouflaged, unseen but solid as stone, nonetheless. Step out into the chasm.

*** As empty air moves stiffly from one bare frozen plain to another, so hope trudges lightly treaded pathways ’twixt slightly warmer breaths.

*** Ruthless Red Pen

*** All of those you “couldn’t live without” turn out to be you could.

*** Words mine; photo credit: @vzcomacro and @danieljnevares.photo

*** ❤️😍💛 Leonardo 💛😍❤️

The woman licked the tip of the brush then dipped it into the small ceramic container before applying it to the cream parchment. With precise, bold strokes she created the monogram and flourishes in the margins to match the robes and the color of her eyes. She took great care because the rare blue pigment, ultramarine, was as expensive as the gold leaf, for it was made from crushed lapis lazuli stones, and she did not know when the monastery would receive replenishment of her supply. A fascinating discovery by microbioarchaeologists in a skeleton in a rural, medieval German monastery reveals that at least one woman once participated in the highly-specialized occupation of manuscript illumination. https://www-m.cnn.com/2019/01/09/health/medieval-woman-ultramarine-teeth-study/

*** Glorious lithe limbs reach up not out yet I cannot help but think my eye was not the only one her Creator had in mind when she he designed; oh, no, ‘twas my heart he intended to capture and, indeed, did find enraptured, impaled upon her: Beauty refined.• • *for my friend, Onur @honour.speaks whose delightful images, lessons, and ponderings upon the beauty of and in Turkey have enthralled me and fueled my desire to see her.

*** Pit bulls scare me; it seems most of the news stories I read in which a dog has killed a human tell of pit bulls being the vicious attackers. So, imagine my surprise when I met the family for whom I agreed to petsit in Austin over the Christmas holiday; the owners had to hold their three dogs back as I entered their home. They were all three large dogs, solid muscle, and eager to lick me to death. A tiny sliver of fear darted into my heart when I saw that two of them were pit bulls. I had not paid attention to their breed when I agreed to petsit. I have grown fond of them these last nine days. All three dogs could literally kill me, they are so strong and heavy, but they are also very sweet and actually quite gentle. Still, their long, sharp claws hurt me when they jump up on me (the two pits jump far too much) and when they playfully nip at me I have to use a stern voice to get them to stop. Yesterday I was walking Zorra when we came upon a couple walking from the opposite direction; I stopped at the corner and shortened the leash to let them pass (in case they were afraid of large pit bulls) but they paused and pet and fawned over Zorra. Then they pointed in the direction I was headed and the lady with kind brown eyes said, “There is a dog loose up there; see?” But I could not see it. The gentle man then said, “It’s running around and ... well, maybe you should not go that way.” I thanked them and turned, changing direction, to lead Zorra up another block away from the loose dog. We walked a long block, turned left, and circled back around toward home. I wasn’t in a rush so I let Zorra smell everything she was interested in and I completely forgot all about the loose dog. When we were almost home, we came back to the street upon which we had been when we had met the friendly couple. As we approached the corner, a car was driving slowly and stopped. A man called loudly from the passenger side, “Ma’am? He’s already attacked another dog!” and pointed toward the dog on the other side of their car. It was standing between us and Zorra’s home. Fear froze in my veins as I saw that the loose dog was a large, rusty-colored pit bull and it had seen us...

*** I have always had weak math skills; when I was a child trying to learn a new math or algebra concept I often “hit a brick wall” in my comprehension. Usually, though, after tears and hours of striving, I was able to “see the light” and- after much practice- was able to understand well enough to move forward to tackle the next concept. Over thirty years went by that I did not have to use math very much; I raised my children and earned a Master’s degree without needing to remember how to perform math. Then in July I began researching Fibonacci, the thirteenth-century Italian mathematician who was a humble genius and I became enamored with him for his generosity and kindness as well as his scientific calculating abilities. He was a master in mathematics and he was a maestro at teaching others how to calculate with the “new” Arabic numerals. I wrote a book on Fibonacci, whose real name was Leonardo de Pisa (or Pisano). It is titled “Master Fibonacci: The Man Who Changed Math” and will be available on Amazon in mid-January. If you love math, I believe you will love him, too. #Fibonacci #math #humble #genius

*** I posted a new short story in my blog; I had expanded a micro-version (83 words) of “Icicles” into a longer version (551) so that I could submit it to a short story contest. • I hope you’ll click the link in my bio or visit my blog page on my website: RuthlessRedPen.com

*** Today is a very good day! 😊❤️😍🔆💛 #SF #SanFrancisco #Writers #Conference #2019

*** I am not a vindictive person; for the most part I have forgiven the people who have hated or mistreated me. I am only sharing this bit partly as a matter of record so that I can go back and perhaps include this in a memoir someday, and partly because the lady’s question earlier today has drawn me into a reflective mood. • • Painting: “Alyonushka” by Viktor Mikhailovich Vasnetsov

*** Many people have stories about when they were unpopular in school. Here is one of mine: In 1979 I was one of the three weird seventh-graders in Manitou Springs, CO, who carried my Bible to the playground and tried to answer questions from the other kids about why I was such a ”Jesus Freak.” Debbie and Dawn were twins with whom I spent recess, trying to witness to our classmates every day for a few weeks. Mind you, I was painfully shy, an uncool kid, a new kid (we moved constantly because my mother was unstable), and a quiet kid. Still, I walked onto the battlefield of junior high recess, ready to do what I believed my God wanted me to do. An outlier is whom I have always been and will be ’til the day I die.

*** What love or hate hath proceeded from your hands, eyes, and lips shall last beyond both grave and name; they shall endure far beyond when either wind or wandering worms will scatter the last fading whispers of your temporary mortal frame.

*** Part 2: This is Part 2; be sure to read Part 1 first. :) "Hannah's Birthday Gift" - a short story

*** Part 1 "Hannah's Birthday Gift"

*** We touched before for one moment, one magical moment - well, really, for just one night, one glorious night and now we’re infinitely entangled in quantum bitter delight. • • Tagged by Onur @honour.speaks for a 3X3X3 story: 3 stanzas, 3 lines, each line with 3 words

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