Posted in Blogging, postaday, writing

A Halloween Party ~ A Short Story

I’m reblogging one of my earliest Halloween stories. Tomorrow I will reblog another one and on Monday, I will have a brand new scary story for you! Stay tuned this weekend for some frightfully scary fun!

Halloween once more. Angela checked out the decorations one more time to make sure it all looked as she wanted. She gave a little dance around the room, her long dress swirling in the air. How she loved Halloween! The colors, the fun! She looked forward to this day every year!

She stopped her twirling in the middle of the room. She glanced over the long table that was set for the feast. It was her tradition to give a feast first, where her guests could eat and share stories and laughter. Then they would have dancing and drinks to cool them off from it all. The table was set perfectly, as always. The candles were lit and flickered merrily away. The food was looking good enough to be in one of those glossy magazines . The smells wafting upwards were tantalizing. Soon her guests would be coming in to…

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Posted in Fiction, Flash Fiction, postaday, stories, writing

The Prey (A very short story)

The Prey

She sits on the ridge overlooking the valley below. Still as silence, her ears pick up the tiniest rustling off to the left. Her nose twitches as she catches a slight smell of the nervous creature scuttling away from her.

Her ears twitch as she catches another sound, louder and less cautious than the small mouse she let get away. Her body tenses. Ready to leap or run, depending on whether the movement in front of her becomes prey or predator.

Crouching in the tall dry grass, she watches with intensity as a large shadow emerges from the bushes below. A human. She sniffs the air and catches a familiar scent. Her human. Is the human looking for her? Maybe.

She watches her human walk to a large rock and sits down. Suddenly she smells something heavenly. Food! Her human has food. How long has it been since she’s eaten? A long time. Her stomach gives off a small rumble. She is so hungry.

Cautiously she slinks toward the human, she doesn’t want to be spotted. Not yet. Not a sound she makes as she slowly gets nearer.

The human moves and she stops, shifting her body lower to the ground. Her muscles quiver with the effort to hold still. Her long tail behind her like a velvet rope, still.

Suddenly she hears a soft murmur. Her human, calling her name. She dares not move in case she’s spotted. Let the human call for her. She will respond when she’s ready, if at all. She hears her name once more, louder now. As if that will force her to move. No! She must be careful.

Once again she smells food, stronger now as she is closer. Ah, how nice it will be to eat once more. She must be strong. Slowly her foot moves forward. Then again. As if in slow motion her body slithers through the long grass toward the rock.

The human reaches down and places something on the rock next to them. A trick? To try to catch her unawares? Never! She is too smart for that. She stops and crouches down as the human moves slightly. The smell of whatever was left on the rock almost too much to bear.

She must have that food or she will perish! It’s been so long since she last ate! When was it? She tries to remember. She can’t think with that smell wafting down to her. She will have it. Now!

Her whole body starts to quiver. Her butt moving back and forth, her tail twitching. She must chance it. Human or no human she must have what smells so enticing! Her back-end moves faster, her legs tense, ready for the jump.

She springs! As she lands on the rock she has the piece of fish in her mouth within seconds. Ahhhh, such delicacy! Such flavors!

The human laughs.  “Slow down! You just ate this morning, silly cat.”

 

cat-1722754_640

 

 

 

Posted in Blog challenge, Fiction, Flash Fiction, postaday, stories, writing

Tuesday’s Challenge

Today’s challenge is going to be a little bit different. I’m going to give a line of dialog and then you can add to it. I think short and sweet should do. Use the line of dialog somewhere in your writings. Let’s keep it at 200 words or less. Have fun!

The line of dialog to use is: “I’m too old to start again.”

 

 

http://wprasek.com/
http://wprasek.com/

 

 

“Come on, Ruthie, it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know Bertha, it might be too soon.”

“Now you know it’s been five long years since Albert’s death. You need to be livin’ a life again!”

“I’m too old to start again.”

“Nonsense! You’re only sixty-four years old, still a young woman.”

“Now who’s speakin’ nonsense, Bertha? Young woman! Don’t be tryin’ to talk me into something I’ll probably be sorry for later.”

“It’s only a dinner date. It’s not like you’re gonna marry the man.”

“Easy for you to say, you’ve still got your man. It’s not so easy to start over. I never did like datin’.”

“Don’t look at it as a ‘date’, look at it as a free dinner and one you don’t have to cook.”

Ruthie closed her eyes, leaned back into her chair and sighed. Bertha had been trying to get her to go out and have some fun for ages now. She was getting tired of fighting her best friend of forty years. Maybe she was right. It had been five years since Alfred passed from a sudden heart attack. She just felt that she was betraying Alfred’s memory going out with another man. Not that anything would come of it. She was ok with being a widow.

“Ok, Bertha, I’ll do it.” Ruthie just hoped it wasn’t a mistake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Blog challenge, Fiction, poetry, postaday, writing

It’s Tuesday, Another Challenge Day!

Hello, People. Hope your week is going well.

Today I thought I would give you a picture prompt. If you want to join me in this challenge you can take the picture and attach a story, poem, or whatever to it. Go crazy! Have fun! There is no word limit so go short or long.

I decided to write a poem. Well, what I consider a poem. Or something close to it. ha! Hope you enjoy.

 

birdcage

 

 

Paper bird in a cage dreaming to become real

To fly and soar and be free

To escape this cage of steel

Dreams are swirling like mist over a lake

Waiting to crystallize, to become wings

Feathered and light

Beautiful to behold

Up high it flies, no longer paper

No longer earth-bound

Dreams become reality, even for a paper bird in a steel cage

Instead of folded paper wings, feathers of magical dreams

 

 

 

 

It’s not much but it’s mine. Let me know if you join along! 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Flash Fiction, Humor, Photo Challenges, postaday, writing

Tuesday is Challenge Day!

Hello, People!

Hope everyone had a nice and safe weekend. For today’s challenge, I found a picture to write a one hundred word story about. If you want to join me, please feel free to do so!

 

heavybox

 

 

The Punishment (102 words, I couldn’t resist the last two words. ha!)

 

“Come on, Ethel! Move faster!”

“I can’t! My knees are giving out.”

“If we don’t move faster, they’ll put more bricks in the box!”

“I’m doing the best I can, Ed. If you weren’t so damn argumentative we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

“I didn’t think he would be so uncivil about things.  So just keep movin’, Ethel”

“My knees are never going to be the same.”

“Could be worse, Ethel. The last man who argued with him had to clean out the sewers in nothing but his underwear.”

“Maybe this will teach you that you can’t argue with politicians.”

“Damn Trump!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Blog challenge, Fiction, Flash Fiction, postaday, writing

Another Tuesday, Another Challenge

Today is another writing challenge for me and for whoever wants to participate. I still haven’t decided what to call these challenges. So every week it’ll probably be called something different. haha! If you have any ideas on what to call them, please leave a comment with it. I’m open to ideas.

Today’s challenge:…….I went to the Random Story Title generator and just clicked it and thought….whatever comes up I’ll (and you also if you want!) write a flash fiction piece from that title. Luckily, the generator came up with a fun title. Let’s see what I can do with it. In five hundred words or less.

 

boy-720752_1280

 

The Haunted Attic

 

It was three o’clock in the morning and I should have been in bed asleep. Instead, here I was with a small flashlight and a thudding heart trying to climb the attic stairs so they wouldn’t creak and wake my foster family. This was my fifth foster family in less than six months. The system labeled me as a ‘difficult’ case. Hey, just because those other foster parents were lame wasn’t my fault. They always take the adult’s word over mine, so I finally stopped trying to state my case.

This couple I landed with a couple of weeks ago seem ok. I mean, unlike the other ones, they didn’t beat me or make fun of me. They were actually kind of nice. The woman, Julie, was funny most times. The man, James, was more reserved but never raised his voice and always spoke to me like I had brains. Which I do. Have brains. I just didn’t show them much at the Home for Abandoned Children, having brains meant someone older would try to beat the crap outta you.

The last foster parents acted like I was their personal servant or something. Always ordering me around and if I didn’t do want they wanted fast enough I’d get a slap or a kick. So I got even one day and put a dead fish in their bedroom. Hid it good too. Man, that smelled after a day or two. They called the Home and off I went again. It was worth the beating I took. That dead fish smell is gonna last a long time.

I finally reached the attic door. I turned the knob and was rewarded with a small click as the door opened a crack. For the last couple of weeks, I’d been hearing soft footsteps every night above my head. The attic was above my bedroom. I asked Julie about it one morning and she just laughed and said that the house was old and I was probably hearing the creaks and groans of an old house. Then she gave me a few cookies and told me to do my homework. She didn’t make fun of me. So I let it go.

Until now. I was laying in bed and those footsteps overhead woke me up. I know they are footsteps! So, I’m here checking it out.

I ease the door open and was glad that the door didn’t squeak. I shine the flashlight around and don’t see anything much. A lot of dust, a few cobwebs and stacked up boxes. Then I spotted something in the dust on the floor. Footsteps! I knew it! So, I slowly opened the door wider and slipped inside the attic and closed the door behind me. I saw a light switch next to me on the wall and flipped the overhead light on.

Footsteps were clearly visible in the dust of the attic floor. I followed them. They stopped at a small door behind some boxes. Taking a deep breath and with my hand shaking, I slowly opened that door and stepped through. Wow! Smiling I thought to myself, I’m going to behave so I can stay in this foster home. It has the coolest attic ever!

 

 

 

 

My short story went slightly over 500 words. Give it a whirl! Tag me if you do and let me know. Thanks for reading!

 

 

 

Posted in Blog challenge, Fiction, Flash Fiction, postaday, writing

One Hundred Word Stories

Hello, people!

Today I thought I would start a new kind of series here on my blog. Not sure what the name will be. Maybe you can help me with that. On Tuesdays, I thought of writing 100-word stories.

I used to do something similar a few years ago where I’d write a hundred word stories from a picture prompt. It’s not as easy as it sounds. I thought, why limit myself to just picture prompts? Why not go for word prompts or subject prompts? Or as I did last week and took a random first line and added to it.

I had forgotten how much fun those flash fiction stories were to write. It also helps hone my writing skills. So I would say it’s a win-win situation. Of course, any of you are welcome to write along with me. If not write, then read and give feedback. It all helps.

Today I’m going to write about a random subject. There are all sorts of word/sentence/etc generators out there. It’s fun and educational! Let’s get started……..

The random subject the generator came up with is: Write about someone who irritates you.

 

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*The Loudmouth (99 words)

 

Everyone in the bar heard him. Drunk as usual.

“My siblings have no respect! I’m the oldest, they should listen to me!”

A few customers moved down the bar, hoping he’d get the hint and shut up. They’d all heard it before, many times the last few weeks.

“My parents loved me more than those morons. They did!” He argued with imaginary foes. “They left everything to me. Those idiots will find out soon enough.”

**************

“Mr. Stevens, your parents will is quite clear…your siblings get the majority of your parent’s estate. They left you ten dollars.” The lawyer stated.

 

 

 

 

*(Yes, this is based on someone I know)

 

 

 

 

 

Do you have any ideas what to call my new blog series of flash fiction? I’m open to ideas. Thanks!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Flash Fiction, postaday, stories, Wednesday Whatever!, writing

Wednesday Whatever!

Today I thought I would do some actual creative writing. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that. I couldn’t think of what to write but then found this nifty page with a bunch of writing prompt generators. The one I’m using today is ‘Random First Line Generator‘.

I hope you enjoy my little flash fiction.

 

window-1433538_1280

 

There was something not quite right about the window. Nothing stood out odd but there was something ‘off’. Like it had some of that old glass in it that when you looked through it made things off-balance. Yet the realtor said it was a new house. Built about ten years ago. The reason Clair bought it was because of its location. It was in the middle of a small woodland area. Yet in the middle of a large city.

Clair fell in love with it as soon as she saw it. On the small size but just right for her. The woods surrounding it were full of birds and wildlife and Clair felt at home the first time she stepped foot inside. Which was odd as Clair was a city girl, born and raised. She loved the city with its bustle and hustle, people coming and going no matter what time of the day. Always something to do, something to see, people around. She never thought she would like a home like this one but she fell in love with it and bought it that same day.

Now that she was all moved in and pretty much settled she had time to think about that odd window. Clair sat on the sofa with a well-earned glass of red wine and looked at the window. Taking small sips of her wine she studied it. It looked like the other windows of the house. White trimmed, looking out the left side of the house. It didn’t have drapes on it nor window blinds. Which was kind of odd as all the other windows in the house had mini blinds on them and this one was bare.

Clair got up from the couch and walked in front of the window and looked out. Not having drapes or mini blinds wasn’t a problem as the window faced a rather dense thicket and she knew the sun never directly shown through this window. Now that she was thinking about the window, it was strange that this window was the only one on this side of the house. Walking closer to the window she saw her own reflection staring back at her. It was almost like she was looking in a mirror until she once again noticed the thicket behind her reflection. Standing close to the window she raised her hand and using just her index finger she put it close to the window pane, she didn’t touch it, just skimmed it as she watched a butterfly making its slow way through the thicket outside.

She always was fascinated by butterflies and her smile showed her joy in watching it. Once it disappeared she turned from the window and walked back to the couch. “Enough of these fanciful flights,” she muttered out loud.

She picked up her wine glass once more from the coffee table and glanced at the odd window. Something drew her to it so she slowly wandered over to stand in front of it again. Taking a small sip of wine she noticed a small smudge on the window pane. Clair thought she must have touched the pristine window after all. She drew a kleenex from her jeans pocket and stepping close to the window she wiped at the smudge her finger had left on the window.

Frowning she noticed the smudged fingerprint still there so she wiped harder. Clair’s eyes widened with sudden realization……the fingerprint was on the outside of the glass!

The glass slipped from her hand and the wine spilled over the floor like blood as Clair slowly moved her eyes from the fingerprint to her reflection. She drew in her breath as her reflection smiled and gave her a slight wave. She quickly stepped back when the reflection in the glass took a step closer to the window, pursed her lips and blew a fog onto the window. With her fingertip, Clair’s twin on the other side of the window slowly wrote out two words……..

‘Help Me’

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Blogging, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, postaday, Wednesday Whatever!, writing

Wednesday Whatever!

Wednesday

 

 

I was trying to think of something to write today and couldn’t. My mind was blank. Then I saw this blog post come up in my email box (this one)

I like the blog, I subscribed to this blog and I enjoy reading it whenever one of the authors put out a post. You should read it. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Ok, for those of you too lazy to go read it (ha!) Michael Helms, who by the way is a very good writer, asks, ‘when is an author an Author? Then he goes on to explain that he read an e-book that he felt was terrible. It was short, so it wasn’t even technically a novel, it was also badly (if at all) edited. So does this make the person who published it an author? He says, no. And I agree with him. It doesn’t make a person an author if all they publish is a bad short story. That’s not the reason I’m writing about it.

The reason I’m writing about it and pointing the post out is this……..

Am I an author? Or just a wannabe? Or maybe I’m ‘just a writer’.

You see, I’m not against what Michael says in his post. I’m more challenging some of the comments on the post. It’s the age-old debate…..does self-publishing make you an author or someone who just self-published? And if a writer puts out a book that isn’t professionally edited with a professional book cover does this automatically make it a bad book?

As most of you know my books were NOT professionally edited nor do they have professional book covers. Although I must admit I think the kind friend who did my book cover could be a professional at book covers. Anyway, the point being….does not having ‘professionals’ involved in the process make it a bad book? Automatically?

I think what got to me the most about Michael’s post was it hit a nerve with me. It hit my self-doubt button. That sucker is never far from the surface anyway.

 

Writer-

 

Am I an author? Or just a wannabe? Am I a fake because I self-publish?

In my comment to the post, I admitted that I did not have professionals involved in the process of publishing my books. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I’m a poor person. I just don’t have the money to hire professionals. Which brings me to another question. Are you a ‘professional’ just because you get paid to do something? I imagine you must have experience too. The couple of people who helped me edit my books are not paid to edit. But, one is a writer with many books under her belt and one was a teacher for most of his life. Does not THAT make them ‘professionals’?

Besides, I’ve seen traditionally published books with lots of editing mistakes. Does that discount their professionalism?

I’ve been having lots of problems getting my third book going. I have self-doubts as I mentioned. I am tired most of the time…….I could make dozens of excuses as to why I’m not writing. The bottom line is the doubt. Am I a writer? An author? Or a fake?

I know this feeling will pass. At least I hope it will. It’s not Michael’s fault that his article brought up these feelings. Nor the commentators on his post. It’s all mine. I own it.

Do I have to be traditionally published to be taken seriously as a writer? Some would answer that last question with a resounding yes. Why? Because that’s how it’s always been done? Times change folks. I’m old, but not too old to change with the times. Self-publishing is not a bad thing and yes it’s here to stay. Get used to it.

Now all I have to do is get myself in gear again and start writing, whether I’m an author or not. Because I refuse to let my fears or other’s opinions keep me from my dreams.

 

 

What’s your take on this debate?

 

Posted in Fiction, Flash Fiction, postaday, Wednesday Whatever!, Word Fun, writing

Wednesday Whatever!

Today is going to be more word fun. I love words, letters, paragraphs, stories. There are so many people out there with so much talent for writing good stories. Sometimes though I like to read short stories or flash fiction. I love to write them too.

I think the shortest stories I’ve written were the six-word stories that you see sometimes as challenges. Now that truly is a challenge! It’s not so easy. I suppose the most famous six-word story is the one by Hemingway. I’m sure you are familiar with this one…. “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

In fact, I just did a six-word challenge not too long ago over on J.A. Allens blog. She has a challenge going every week over at her blog, why not check it out?

I went on the search for some six-word stories. Here’s some of what I found. I hope you enjoy them!

 

Wednesday

 

I’ll start out with my own six-word story that I did for J.A. Allens challenge.

Stormy night. Checked in Hotel California.

Now some of what I found.

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download (1)

 

beautiful

 

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Can you write your own six-word story? Please do in the comment section, I would love to read them! 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, postaday, Wednesday Whatever!, writing

Wednesday Whatever! ~~~ Short story Part 2

Today on Wednesday Whatever, I thought I would continue with the short story I started about a month ago (has it been that long??). Several readers and friends asked for the next part, so here it is!

Hope you enjoy.

I haven’t come up with a title yet. Anyone have any ideas? Let me know!

Part one can be read …… here.

 

abandoned town

 

 

Marisa’s eyes scanned the surrounding areas. Trying to see if anything or anyone was in the shadows along the deserted street. The man remained quiet after his statement that she should join him. Who was he? How did he know her name? Why should she join him?

She liked being alone. She didn’t have to watch out for anyone but herself and that suited her just fine. Marisa stayed as still as the man down the block. Except her eyes took everything in. A person had to be prepared to move fast.

“I was told that someone had information on my family. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

The only thing that moved on the man was his mouth. His eyes never left Marisa since she walked out of the shadows.

“I know where your brother is. I can take you to him.”

Marisa studied the man. He had to be at least six-foot four. A big man, skin color that matched the chocolate bar in her bag. Eyes that gave nothing away. The sun shone on his skull with a filtered light through the leaves of the tree. He was a big man but there was a stillness in him that almost made him…restful. A strange word to associate with anyone nowadays. That’s what came to mind as she watched him. Restful.

“You know where he is? Have you talked to him?”

“Yes.”

That’s all he said. That one word. She wasn’t sure yet she trusted him. Something in her wanted to trust him. Yet, she held back.

“What’s his name? How did you meet him? Where is he? How did you know where to find me?” She asked the questions rapidly. Marisa wanted answers but it was also a test.

She watched him smile a slow spreading smile. It showed white teeth and a dimple in his right cheek. Nothing else moved but those well-defined lips. Then she heard a deep rumble of a chuckle drift on the breeze toward her.

“Girl you don’t trust easily and that’s what will keep you alive. His name is Matt. He’s twenty-seven years old and has an older sister. That’s you. I met him in the mountain’s west of here. He’s one of the smartest men I know.”

Matt? Could he really still be alive? Matt was what she used to call a dreamer. Smart, funny and loved to solve puzzles of any kind. How did he manage to survive so long? She loved her brother but she never would have thought he would survive the world going to hell.

The man got the details right, yet she still was cautious.

“Matt told me his sister once gave him a special gift. A small wood box. She told him to stick all his worries, doubts and hurts inside and the box would change them to dust to blow away in the wind.”

Tears filled her eyes and by sheer will power she stopped them from falling. She remembered giving him that box years ago. He had been a small boy, bullied in school to the point he wanted to die. She gave him the box and told him to never give up on himself. That he was gifted and that he would do great things one day. He believed her. She smiled.

“Ok, you know him. Just tell me where he is and I’ll find him.”

“Can’t do that.” He stated.

“Why not?”

“Matt’s a special friend of mine. I promised him that I would find you, if you were alive, and take you to him personally. I don’t break promises.”

Marisa frowned. He might know Matt and Matt might trust him. But, she wasn’t Matt and she preferred going alone.

“I do better alone.” She stated.

“Maybe you do. This one time though you are going to have trust someone. Me. Where your brother is, is skillfully hidden. You would never find it without me.”

Marisa’s hands clasped into fists. She hated anyone telling her should couldn’t do something. She watched the man watch her. He had a small smile as if he knew she was fighting telling him to go to hell and that she could find Matt herself.

After a few seconds she unclasped her fists, relaxed her shoulders and shrugged.

“Fine. I know the mountains can be tricky. At least let me know what your name is since you know mine.”

She heard the soft, deep chuckle once more as he moved towards her in slow, even paces. His brown eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter when he stopped in front of her, held a large hand out and said, “The name is Joseph. Telling you that you can trust me is not worth much. But, you can trust me, Marisa.”

“I got no choice, Joseph.”

“We all got choices.” He said as his hand engulfed Marisa’s smaller one.

“Come on, we got to move as we got company.”

Marisa gave a quick look behind the big man. Said one expletive and moved quickly to the shadows where she grabbed her backpack and followed Joseph deeper into the maze of broken buildings.

 

 

 

 

Posted in poetry, postaday, Wednesday Whatever!, writing

Wednesday Whatever!

For today, I thought I would write a poem. I haven’t done that in a while. Here is my little ditty. Hope you enjoy.

 

 

dandelion-333093_1280

 

 

 

Blowing in the Wind

My thoughts are scattered

like the leaves

blowing in the wind

My mind can’t catch hold

of the words skittering

through my imagination

Why can’t they hold still

so I can grab hold

and put them in order

they need to be told

The sentences only make sense

if they follow a pattern

not a bunch of nonsense

The wind, the wind, the wind

it never ceases

Quit blowing my words

hither and yon

How can I write

what I want to say

When all the wind wants to do

is play

 

 

 

**I’m not a poet by any means but I try**