Just a reminder

Heya guys,

I just wanted to post a little reminder to all of you out there reading my blog.

Have you picked up your copy of the "Writers' Anarchy II: The End of the World as we Wrote it" already?

This awesome anthology features my first "officially" published story.
The title should tell you all you need to know, but let me tell you a little more about it anyways. This anthology is the result of a collaboration over at the Fiction Writers Group on Facebook, a great community of writers, young and old, beginning and established, self-publishing or not. There are 30 stories to be read, all by different authors, all with their own view of The End of the World.
Some have interpreted that in the largest possible way and have chosen to write the End of the World. Others have narrowed it down and tell the tale of an individual whose world comes to an end. Still others have written about the End of the World as we know it and have established a new world.

So what's your take on that?
Is there someone somewhere with his finger hovering over the "reset" button?
Are aliens stalking us, waiting for the best time to strike?
Or will Mother Nature put an end to human life on this planet?

"Writers' Anarchy II: The End of the World as we Wrote it" will give you a shot at each of those options and more, so pick up your copy today!!
Available on Kindle or paperback on Amazon, or at Createspace and even available for my Canadian friends on Amazon.ca

Make sure you get your copy and leave us a review.
You can also visit the Writers Anarchy website for more information on the project, the participating authors and upcoming project at the Writers Anarchy website.


Hey wait, there's more!!!
It's not the only thing I've published!!!

There's another anthology, called "Flash It!".

In this anthology, each author is featured with two stories. There is no general theme, just a collection of 60 stories you can read faster than lightning. That's right, you heard me. All of these are 1.000 words or less. You won't even have time to blink and you'll be done.
So, if you're always running short on time and are afraid you'll never be able to read anything anymore, pick up your copy of the "Flash It!" anthology and you'll get exactly what you're looking for; a quick read for whenever you find a gap in your busy schedule.

Available in e-book or paperback version, whatever fits your needs the best.

Paperback can be ordered here and this is where you go for the Kindle version.

I'm looking forward to reading some reviews, so hurry on over and get your copy now!!!

Happy reading!!!!!

Flash It! Anthology - Released!!!

Heya folkies.
The second anthology I have contributed to, has been released today, November 1st.

Get your copy now!!!


This Flash It! anthology contains flash fiction (1.000 words or less) of any genre. It's a great collection of very short stories that will carry you away when you don't really have time to get into a long read. Each of the contributors has done his/her very best to offer a wide variety of high quality, inviting and thrilling stories.

You can find the hardcopy here and your Kindle version here.

I will be looking forward to reading your comments!!!

Happy reading!

PS. Edited to add: You can now also get your copy as a PDF downloadable file. Get it at Lulu

First published work!!!

It's here!!
It finally has arrived!!!

Come and get your copy while it's hot!!

Available on Amazon.com for Kindle here

Paperback here
It's also available for Kindle on Amazon.ca for my Canadian friends: here

Or if you prefer, you can get your copy at Createspace

It will also be available on Lulu.com in the near future, but no dates have been given yet.

I hope you'll enjoy your read!!

Two down, many more to come .....

Okay, so I have sent in my second "release form" today.
This one will cover my short stories featured in the "Flash It!" anthology, which will have about 60 stories, coming from 30 or so different writers. No theme, anything goes. All stories are under 1.000 words, that is the only limitation or guideline for this one.

I haven't read any of these stories, so I have no idea what to expect, which makes it even more exciting.
As of now, I don't have a release date yet, but I will be sure to keep y'all posted about the developments on that side.

For now, October 15th is still a go for the WAII project, The End of the World as we wrote it, and I'm super duper excited about that.


I'm also in the final paragraphs of my first novel, so I'm hoping to get that finished within the next few days, copy it all to my computer and get it out to my beta (may have found my second one today, but that's not confirmed yet).
For the time being, I've got mixed feelings about the blurb that will go on the back flap of the book, so I'll share both with you. Feel free to comment with which one you prefer.

1) Head of the Federal Anti-Terrorism Agency and former Special Forces weapons specialist, Brian Tucker is sought out by an alien race in their attempt to find an ally. Tucker, a recent widower, answers the aliens' plea and –with his twin sons safely away at boarding school- embarks on an adventure far beyond his wildest imagination. But can experience alone suffice when the creatures' motives become more shady by the minute?
Tucker will have to fall back on his many years of training and find a way to put a lock on his excitement, in order to see this mission through and make it back home to his boys.

I've had some feedback on this and took some of the suggestions, thus making a completely different version, from a different point of view.

2) Driven to despair/desperation by a conflict they can no longer control, an alien race roams/crosses the stars in hope of finding an ally. Brian Tucker, head of FATA (will be spelled out in full) and former Special Forces weapons specialist, fits their profile.
Tucker, a firm believer, is easily convinced his combat/military experience can help these aliens restore order/peace on their planet. A recent widower with teenage twins in (military) boarding school, nothing holds him back and he embarks on a journey beyond his wildest imagination.
But will experience alone suffice when the aliens' motives become shadier by the minute?
Tucker will have to rely on his training and improvisation skills in order to survive and make it back home (to his family).

On this version, I haven't had as much feedback yet, because it's still pretty "new". The words separated by a / is when I'm unsure which one will fit best and the bits between brackets is extra info I'm not sure I'll add in.

I'd love to read what you think about these blurbs.
Would they convince you to pick up my book and give it a read?
What can I do to convince you if it doesn't?
Where can I improve?
What can I improve?
Is it too long, too short, too much info, not enough info?

Thank you!!

Published Author - Blogging - all audiences

Okay, this is it!!!
Less than 2 weeks from now, I will be a published author!!!

Yes, that's right! Less than 2 weeks!!!

On October 15th, 2013, the "Writers' Anarchy II: The End of the World as we Wrote it" will become available. This anthology features my story "Weapon of Mass Destruction", along with 20 or so other stories, all touching the theme, one way or another.
More information can be found at this super cool website

It will be available on Amazon and Lulu.com for download or in printed version. This means everyone can get it just the way they like it. Come get it while it's hot and enjoy the read.

What can you expect?
A wide array of approaches to the common theme, some sci-fi, some adventure, some romance, a lot of surprises and a damn good read. I know, I helped with the editing process, so I've read at least half of the stories in it and I can assure you: you won't be disappointed. And don't let the theme discourage you, the world will not be blown to pieces in every story .... it's just the end of the world "as we know it".

Press Restart, Sniff, Operation Adam and Eve, The Human Garden; these are just a few stories that will take you on a journey with a surprising end. So, do yourself (and all of us) a favor, mark the date on your calendar and get your copy!!!

Thanks and ..... Enjoy!!!!!

The Chosen - WW 24-hour contest - Summer 2013 - all audiences

Heya folks,


We've heard back from Writer's Weekly as the results are in: I didn't win a damn thing!

Duh!!

But hey, that means I can ask you guys to give my story a read and tell me if you think I should've won something, even if it's just a door prize (which is an e-book of your choice). So, here it comes, I've left the prompt in, so you can see what the starting point was on this one.

Enjoy the read and make sure to let me know what you think ;o)

Thank you!!!



Prompt:

Holding the sleeping infant on her shoulder, she gazed peacefully at her surroundings. Tourists wandered in and out of stores, an old man was setting up his easel by the lakeshore, and a

child's balloon escaped into the breeze. A moment later, she looked up as shouts startled her and the baby. Everybody was running in her direction...

~~~~~

The chosen.

Holding the sleeping infant in a loving embrace, she let her eyes drift. Feeling peaceful and emotionally fulfilled, she took in her surroundings. The sun warmed her face and she instinctively adjusted the hat to better protect the small head and face, keeping her baby safe from the sun. Tourists wandered in and out of stores down by the lake, eager to find the perfect souvenir to take home with them and thankful for the momentary escape from the heat. Others strolled along the lakeshore, happy to be near the water as it brought some relief. On the far side of the lake, an old man was setting up his easel, his slender limbs moving in slow motion but with experience. He had probably performed these actions a thousand times before.

Her eyes continued to float as she took in the scenery; a group of children playing near a fountain, their cheerful voices carried on the warm winds blowing across the land; the seemingly endless line of people at the ice cream cart enjoying a clown’s entertainment while they shuffled forward a few inches at a time, their minds on the ice cold treat that awaited them. A young family walked by, the children running ahead, dragging colorful balloons in their wake. She smiled and watched as one of the balloons came detached, causing an immediate reaction in the entire family. The younger boy, his balloon now drifting up lazily, cried out in anguish at the loss of his toy; his brother, a few years older, stopped and turned, his face turning to sadness in a blink; the mother moved forward to comfort her child while the father attempted to recover the balloon. He only missed it by an inch, but the wind lifted it beyond his reach and he turned to his child, an apology ready on his lips.

The baby in her arms stirred and she looked away from the family, giving all of her attention to the child. A moment later, she looked up as shouts startled her and the baby. Everybody was running in her direction. She tightened her arms instinctively, comforting and protecting as her baby cried in alarm, but she could not tend to it now. First, she needed to understand why everyone was running and why they were all running in her direction. She saw nothing that might have caused a panic in all those people, yet they ran as if their lives depended on it. Her eyes found the young family as they joined the others in their inexplicable race; the youngest boy -still sad about the loss of his balloon- now cradled in his father’s arms for safety; his brother pacing their mother with some difficulty, holding on to her hand for dear life. She could not see fear or anguish on their faces. What she saw puzzled her and she turned away from the advancing crowd, looking behind her for answers she did not have.

The mountain slope behind her house was empty, as it had been when she stepped out a few moments earlier. She saw nothing that might explain the sudden rush of the villagers and tourists alike. Even the old man had abandoned his easel and was making his way to the mountain, an eagerness in his halting steps she could not clarify. She could hear their voices, excited and vibrant, rolling up along the path ahead of them. The mountain trembled softly beneath her bare feet as dozens more began the gentle climb some 200 feet away. They would be upon her in moments and still she knew not what had caused the stampede in the quiet and peaceful lakeshore village. She whirled around, still trying to hush the child in her arms, as the fastest men reached the edge of her property. They slowed but did not stop and quickly pushed the ornate gate out of the way, continuing their rush forward as others followed in their wake.

Her fear gripped her tightly as they approached gingerly, arms outstretched, an expression of amazement and happiness on their faces. She took a step back, turning sideways to protect the child, but they were all around her now, filling the garden with their excitement. Their voices blended together, making it impossible for her to understand what they were saying; their hands touched her, gently, reverently. The murmur overwhelmed her with its rhythm and the words became clear.

‘The one.

You are the one.’

She turned slowly, feeling their hands on her body, realizing with a sudden shock her child was no longer in her arms. Her breath stalled in her throat and her eyes scanned the crowd, urgently and desperately. She did not see her baby boy. She did not hear his cries. A tug on her arm made her look down and she saw the young boy who had lost his balloon moments before their irrational rush. He was no longer sad, instead his little face beamed with expectation.

“Can you bring back my balloon?” he asked, hopeful.

“I don’t know.” she answered, her mind racing.

Suddenly, the world went dark and the murmurs ceased, causing her ears to ring with the memory of them. The hands fell away from her and everyone stood in silent shock.

“Cut!” a voice rang out from the darkness, “Who turned off the lights in here?”

“Goddamn it!”

 The end.

This is not the OK coral - Writer's Weekly spring 2013 submission - all audiences

Hey guys and gals.

This was the first time I participated in this writing contest and I had loads of fun doing it. The wait for the results is now over and I promised myself I would post the story on my blog as soon as the 'votes' were in. I didn't win anything, but hey, I had fun and that's what's most important about these things. Having fun doing them. I've already registered for the summer edition, so you'll be seeing more of these coming up as time goes by.
Contest date for summer is July 13th, I'll have to keep that weekend 'free' and to myself. Good thing is that I'm in a different time zone, so I get the email with the topic at 7 pm. That means I have all evening to focus on the topic and I don't have to worry about getting the shopping done, cooking dinner and whatever else needs to be done during the day, that could keep me from getting started on the contest.

Anyways, enough of my rambling already.
Here's the topic:

She sat in her favorite spot on the porch of the weathered beach house, the salty air sticking to her skin, the oncoming storm blowing sand across her bare feet. The crisp envelope bent beneath her fingers as she laid it on her lap, and reached for the pen in her dress pocket...

Enjoy the read!!

This is not the O.K. Corral.

There he was, sitting at the edge of the field, looking out at the wasteland beyond the barrier. It still amazed him to see how abruptly nature could change. How suddenly fertile lands turned to barren, dry and useless stretches of dirt. To him, it didn’t look like dirt, even though he knew it was. It looked much more like sand and he knew it would feel the same should he take off his boots and test it. He didn’t take off his boots though, and he didn’t set a foot beyond the barrier.

They knew he came out here at times. He didn’t mind, he had other places to go if he wanted to be alone. Now, he just needed a moment to himself. A moment to prepare.

One last time, he checked the envelope in his pocket. One last time, he pulled it out and checked the contents. One last time, he double-checked himself. There was no room for error today, failure was not an option. He had worked too hard, too long to fail. If he failed now, he would be letting himself down in the first place.

Six months today.

It was almost like a birthday, but he didn’t feel like celebrating.

Not yet.

The cake would come later. It wouldn’t be a tasty one though. It would taste of tension, stress and fear. It would taste of blood, or bile, or both. It would taste of sweat, the salty taste of sweat, almost as salty as tears. Or the ocean. He missed the ocean. Hadn’t seen it in … How long had it been? He couldn’t even remember. It had probably been several years since he had last seen the ocean.

He made a promise to himself then and there. Once he was done here, he would get in his car and drive until he reached the ocean. He didn’t care which way he went and he didn’t care which ocean he reached, all he cared about was getting there, hearing it, feeling it, tasting it. If he closed his eyes, he could easily picture it, picture him, her. He shook his head. No time for that now. He lowered his eyes to the papers in his hands, reading the words he had written on them.

Everything was there.

Everything he needed.

Everything they needed.

With a satisfied grunt, he returned them to the envelope, closed it and reached for the pen in his pocket, scribbling his signature across the seal. A smile played on his face when he thought of hot wax and a ring, but then his mind came back to his own century and he slipped the envelope into the small backpack, dropping the pen in with it. He slung it onto his back and turned away from the wannabe beach.

The horse waited where he had left it and he whistled softly. It raised its head, ears pricked, but continued to grind down the bite of grass it had taken, before setting in motion.

“Good boy.”

He heaved himself into the saddle and pulled gently on the reins.

“Are you ready?”

The horse’s ears went straight forward.

“Let’s go home.”

The big horse leapt forward, almost throwing him off, but he leaned closer and tightened his legs, holding on with more conviction.

It only took minutes to reach the house and he sat up, digging his heels down before they reached the gate.

“Easy now.”

He guided the horse to the stable and jumped down, leaving it to the youngsters to take care of it.

He went to the house, entering through the kitchen door.

“Hey, Luis,” he greeted, “where’s your brother?”

“What’s it to you? You’re dealing with me, hombre.”

“Not today, Luis.” he replied, “Where is he?”

Luis glared at him, but his icy blue gaze remained unyielding.

“Upstairs.”

Without wasting another word on Luis, he crossed the kitchen and took the stairs, hearing them whine in complaint at his swift ascension.

“Jorge.” he called at the top.

“What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you.” he said, entering the large study.

“No, you don’t. Unless you’re ready to kill for me, you’re dealing with my brother, little man.”

“I have my reasons.”

“But you won’t tell me what they are.”

“I’ll tell you now if you want.”

“Sure, little man,” Jorge replied sarcastically, “tell me why you come to me asking for work, but then refuse to do the work I give you.”

“It’s really simple.” he said, nonchalantly reaching into his pocket.

Suddenly, the quiet day exploded into chaos when dozens of men in combat gear poured into the house, smashing through doors and windows to gain quick and easy access. Jorge’s eyes went wide in shock at the violent intrusion into his home, but when he looked back at his ‘little man’, they went wider still. The shiny, silver badge clasped in his left hand stalled his breath; the small, powerful gun aimed at his head, nearly stalled his heart.

“I’m a Federal Agent, that’s why.”

“What?”

“You’re under arrest. Put your hands on your head and turn around.”

Men in combat gear approached and he shrugged the backpack off.

“Everything you need is in here, six months worth of it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“If anyone asks, you don’t know where I went.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the beach. I need a vacation.”

He walked away, his job finally done.

Now, the beach awaited.

Everything else could go to hell for a while.

Did you enjoy that?

Please let me know in the comments.

Thank you!

Party poopers - poppers - peppers - ... errrr. Friday Fiction Challenge - all audiences

Hello again, my lovely readers.

This week's challenge is a Non-Fiction story around the topic "Party Personality".
I hope you'll enjoy the read, but if you don't ... no sweat.

Have a great weekend!!

Party poopers, poppers, peppers, … errrr.

Party personality.

That’s an easy one to write about.

I don’t have one.

Or two.

Or three.

I know some people do, depending on the kind of party they’re attending, they will dress and act differently. I don’t.

Why?

That’s simple: I don’t play games. I don’t pretend. What you see, is what you get. I don’t have multiple personalities … well, maybe I do, but not for partying purposes. Besides, I don’t like to party. There’s too much noise, too many people - most of whom you don’t know or don’t want to know – and too much alcohol. There always is, no matter where you go or who you’re with, there is always, always, too much alcohol. Sometimes only 1 person will have too much of that, but it’s enough to ruin the whole evening/party.

I’ve never liked to party. I’ve never been interested in going to these kinds of events. I like a good concert every once in a while, but not parties. Not even birthday parties when a lot of people are invited, or wedding parties, or graduation parties (which we don’t really have here).

So, I don’t really have the problem of having (or not) a party personality. I don’t need one since I don’t attend parties.

Even at work, all those ‘social gatherings’, they just give me the creeps. Half the people there, are people you don’t even know because they work in different departments, or on different floors, different buildings, whatever, but you’re all slapped together in one big room and ‘have fun’. It’s not my idea of fun, that’s for sure. I prefer to be at home, in my lazy chair, reading a good book while listening to music I actually like, or watching a movie for the gazillionth time, or – which happens more often – sitting at my computer, writing or playing games.

And even if I did attend parties, I still wouldn’t need an alternate personality for it.

Why should I?

Why should I pretend to be different at a party?

Why couldn’t I just be me at a party?

Why would I have to play it sexy, or tough, or hard to get, or easy to get, or whatever?

Why do people even feel the need to be different at a social gathering?

Why do people feel the need to play games?

Is it because they think they’ll find mister right (or mrs right) by playing a game of make-belief? How could you? How could you possible find the right partner, if you’re not being true to yourself? How does that make any sense at all?

If people don’t like me for who I am, why should I pretend to be different to make them like me?

I know I tried that, way back when I was still young and innocent (blah). I wanted to be part of the popular group of girls in school, like everyone else. So I tried to act like them, talk like them, walk like them, dress like them. Who was I trying to fool? They could see right through the charade and – honestly – I know none of them really liked me, they tolerated me in the area. And you want to know why? I’ll tell you why. Because I was the pitbull, the guard dog. The one they turned to whenever a boy/guy was bugging them. The one who took action and didn’t think twice about going up against a guy twice her size. That was why they tolerated me around. Because I would defend them against attack or bullying.

They never liked me, I know that now. I didn’t know it then, until one beautiful Friday evening in May 1990 when I found out … the hard way.

It was my 18^th birthday and my mom and stepdad allowed me to throw a party.

I invited everyone. All of my ‘friends’ from school, and everyone on my volleyball team. I was excited and looking forward to having a great time. The night of the party, our doorbell rang once. Just once! When I got the door, my entire volleyball team was there. They had rendezvoused at the training complex and a couple of the parents had driven the whole group over to my place from there.

I had an awesome, fabulous time with real friends. People whom I didn’t have to pretend with. People who knew me and who appreciated me for who I was. We all had a common goal: be better than the opposing team. Because of that common goal, there was no need to pretend, no need to fake. With them, I was me. No need for an alternate personality.

When I got back to school on Monday, I started telling my ‘friends’ how awesome my party had been and how much fun I’d had and I could see them, looking at each other, trying to figure out who broke the ‘oath’, who had betrayed the others by coming to my party.

I knew then and there, that they didn’t give a damn about me. Either because they knew I was faking it, or simply because they didn’t care either way.

It was a lesson learned and I remember it to date.

And I really like to quote Kiefer Sutherland when asked ‘What is the best advice your father ever gave you?’. His answer: “Don’t get caught with your pants down.”

There is absolutely no reason WHAT SO EVER to fake your way through life.

Be true to yourself because people will either see through the charade, in which case they won’t like you because you’re lying, or they will find out, sooner or later, and they won’t like you either, because you lied to them. It’s a lose/lose situation, every which way you want to look at it.

With me, it’s very simple: You like me? Great! You don’t? Fine by me.

What you see is what you get, I don’t do special treatment and I don’t care what people think.

I am free to be me.

We all are.

Live and let live.

So, seriously, my party personality is the same you’ll see at work, at home or when I’m grocery shopping.

Party on!

More entries can be found over here

Room ... with a view - Friday Flash Fiction - all audiences

Hello folks!

It's time for another Friday Flash Fiction.

This week's prompt "write a short story from the starting point 'A room with a view'." had the creative juices flowing pretty quickly, but I was on a roll on a story I'm currently writing, so I didn't get around to letting these juices out until now.

I had fun writing it, letting it build up as I went.

I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

Room … with a view.

What a night it had been.

What a party it had been.

So much fun, so much booze.

So many men who had flirted with her.

Oh, yeah, she’d had fun.

Without a doubt, she’d had too much to drink, she wouldn’t argue that, but boy, she had partied hard.

The amount of alcohol she had consumed wasn’t helping her right now, but then again, she had never figured she wouldn’t be given the best room in the house and now found herself in a heated argument with a grumpy night watch who wouldn’t be budged, no matter how much she tried to coo him. When she lost her patience – which, thanks to the booze, happened fairly quickly – the man lost his as well and the argument turned ugly, with threats on both sides. Hers were in vain and she knew it. None of her lawyers could make anything happen at this time of night and in this dump. Yes, that was how quickly her opinion changed when she didn’t get things to go the way she wanted them to.

She wasn’t entirely sure she actually wanted to stay here anymore.

Maybe she should just call her agent and get him to pick her up.

Even at this time of night, she didn’t care.

She was a diva and diva’s got to do that.

But then something happened and the night watch made way for a manager.

Finally.

“So, what seems to be the problem, missy?” he asked her with an undeniable sarcasm … which she hardly noticed.

“I want a room with a view,” she stated, “and he won’t give me the best room in the house. That’s what’s the problem!”

“I see. Well, we do have one room with an amazing view at sunrise.”

“I want it.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, it’s free for the time being.”

She made an ugly face at the night watch.

“Can you escort the little lady to her room?”

Now, she stuck out her tongue at him.

Thirty seconds of talking to his boss and she got what she wanted.

Ha!

Who did he think he was to deny her what was rightfully hers?

Didn’t he know who she was?

“Yes, sir.” the night watch replied submissively, “Right this way, milady.”

Oh, he was going to start charming her now, huh?

That wasn’t going to make things any better between them.

“I want your name and employee number.” she hissed angrily as she took a first – wobbly – step towards him.

“That won’t be necessary.” his boss said meaningfully.

“Oh, thank you. You are such a doll.” she purred, leaning towards him.

He kept her from stroking his cheek, but she thought nothing of it and wobbled on, hoping the room wasn’t too far away.

She wouldn’t make it if it was.

Having now gotten his ass chewed out properly, the night watch even held her door and she pranced by him with a smug smile, wishing him a good night.

“Yeah, sleep tight, princess.” he replied through gritted teeth.

Oh, how she loved to get them all worked up like that.

But he’d had it coming to himself. If he hadn’t been such a pain, nothing would’ve happened.

She crashed onto the bed fully dressed, feeling the mattress sag a little and smelling the faint odor of bleach on the sheets.

She was asleep seconds after her head hit the pillow.

Wake-up was rough and came way too early.

The banging and clanging tore her from her beauty sleep and the alarms wailed incessantly.

‘Fire!’ her tired brain screamed and she jumped up, only to stumble and fall to the cold hard floor.

She didn’t remember the floor being so hard, but then again, she hadn’t been awake much to take in the scenery. She struggled back to her feet, taking support on the edge of the bed, feeling the room spin out of control instantly. Thankfully, the sink wasn’t very far and she didn’t get sick all over the floor like she had at times. When the nausea passed, she splashed her face with water and stood up slowly. She should’ve known better than to get up so fast, but the alarms … She didn’t hear it anymore.

Had it been called off?

Maybe it had been a false alert.

She shrugged and went over to the window, making sure to take support along the way to keep from breaking her face again.

At least the manager hadn’t lied about the view.

It was absolutely amazing.

Breathtaking even.

It almost made her forget the pounding headache and foul taste in her mouth.

The bars on the window spoiled it somewhat, but she would have to do with that for the next 90 days.

More entries can be found here

Mary Poppins and I - Weekly Writing Challenge - all audiences

Hello everyone!
It's Friday (even though it's already Saturday in my time zone by the time I got around to posting this), so here's this week's entry for the Friday Fiction Challenge. This week is non fiction and the prompt was quite simple: Write a short essay from the starting point, "If I had a Mary Poppins Bag."

Simple as in 'not many words' and 'not a complex/complicated subject'.
It gets less simple to work with, when you realize you have absolutely no bloody clue as to what a Mary Poppins bag does or doesn't do.

I hope you'll enjoy the read.

Mary Poppins and I.

That’s a long story.

Well … actually, it’s not.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the movie and if I did … that was decades ago. When I saw the prompt for this week’s writing challenge, I was like “umm …… what???”. I had absolutely no idea what to make of it. What the heck is so special about Mary Poppins’ bag that someone might want to write a story about it? So, I did the only thing I could do (no, I didn’t go out to find the movie, or download it) I Googled it. Seriously. I had to!

I said before I wouldn’t bail out on a challenge simply because I have no idea where to start, so I had to get busy and figure out what the heck this week’s ‘essay’ might be about. You know, the word ‘essay’ to me, always brings out a certain fear … no, anguish is a better word for it. To me, an essay is something you do for school, like some big project that you spend months on, sometimes even all year. I don’t know why, but that’s the connection I make. An essay to me is a huge piece of very serious work.

Now, how to write a short essay – or huge piece of very serious work – about something I wouldn’t know the first thing about?

Where do I start?

What do I have to say about it?

What could I possibly have to say about a bag, belonging to a movie character that was a big thing when I was just a kid and I have no memory of ever seeing?

Good thing is, the bag is probably something every one of us would like to have at one point or another. Even though, I think I’d rather have a Jack-sack, but that’s not the topic of this ‘essay’ (lol-ing here). But maybe the writers of 24 figured Jack needed a Mary Poppins bag of his own … maybe they did see the movie and thought “Hey, that’s exactly what we need to give this guy, a bag that holds everything he could possibly need ... except ammo at the worst possible time of course, because that wouldn’t be fun!”

I can actually imagine these people sitting around a table discussing it, grins galore.

No, back to Mary Poppins whom I should know from that impossible-to-pronounce sing-along song. I remember the tune, but do not (and I’m serious here) ask me or expect me to go anywhere near singing any of it. So, this bag of hers, this old, raggedy bag of hers. It supposedly holds everything you need, when you need it.

How and when would I use it?

When would I reach into it?

What would I reach into it for?

At work, I might feel inclined to reach in and pull out an office wall, or a divider of some kind, so I could just lock myself (or someone else) up and away to keep all the noise or idiocy out (or locked in). Or I would pull an extra computer out, complete with stand-in who could do all the work I’m doing, so I can do twice as much (days like today, I would just let the stand-in do it all and go back to sleep myself). On the way to or from work, I might be tempted to pull out a police officer … at each intersection. You know, one who would stop all crossing traffic and make sure I can just cruise on home without delay. There are times I would pull out a nice fluffy pillow to get a more comfortable rest (bumping your head against the window coz the damn bus hit another pothole is all but funny when that pothole gets too big!). I could also pull out my trusted stand-in to sit on the seat next to me so no one else could take it. On the very rare occasions I didn’t come prepared, I would be able to pull out an extra notebook (for my on-the-road writing), or a spare pen when I run out of ink (that’s happened to me a few times … *hateful moments*!), but I’m usually prepared for situations like that.

If I really gave it a lot of thought, I’m sure I could come up with dozens of situations that might justify or require reaching into the bag, but I’ve been totally, utterly, unable to wake up today, so I’m going to call it and head for the hay.

Goodnight all and Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (yes, I just Googled that)

As usual, more entries can be found at Now Hark This!

Video killed the radio star - Fiction Friday Challenge - all audiences.

Heya guys,

This week's prompt at Now Hark This! was an easy one .... if you know what to do with it: "Video Games".
I hadn't really been thinking about it much, because I'm on a roll writing a new fic, but I decided I would get my "2 cents" in for the week before I hit the hay, so I got busy on it.
I had a hint of an idea of where I wanted to take it, so I went with that and .... here's the result!

Enjoy the read and tell me how you liked it.


Thank you!

Video killed the radio star.

He knew things wouldn’t get any easier when the lights came back on. It had been a tough trip so far and he knew, just knew, it was bound to get worse. A lot worse. He could feel it in every inch of his body, in the way his skin tingled and his bones itched, in the thin layer of sweat that seemed to cover his entire body and in the fact the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. He just knew this day was going to be a lot worse than the one before.

Clasping his weapons tightly, he inched forward, keeping his ears pricked and his breathing shallow so as not to give himself away. Quietly and carefully, he closed in on the corner, daring a quick peek to determine the dangers ahead. There were two. Two immediate threats to his advancement. Two targets to eliminate.

Taking a quiet but deep breath, he readied himself, tensing his muscles. When he was ready, he moved, fast as lightning, his weapons carrying his deadly message to the enemy, eliminating the threats before they could become real.

He crossed the room quickly, patted his victims down and retrieved their ammo. God knew he needed loads. He would never make it if he ran out of ammo. He needed to replenish it as often as possible. Thankfully his pockets were deep and he had loads of them. He could carry quite the stock. His backpack held some more goodies, but he didn’t need any of that right now, so he left it where it was, fit snugly against his back and secured across his chest and hips. He wasn’t about to lose it. If he did, he was dead meat.

Moving on, he spotted more enemies. Too many of them to take out in a frontal attack. He would have to be smarter than that.

Climbing up on some crates, he reached a platform from where he had a good angle and he fitted the sights on his rifle to help with his aim at this distance. He couldn’t afford to miss. Aiming carefully, he took out a first target. He went down without a sound and fell behind a crate.

Perfect.

He changed his aim and went for another kill, taking out the last of three as they walked the perimeter of the area. He changed his aim more quickly this time and took out number two as well, before anyone noticed anything. By then, he had given himself a good advantage. His aim was true and the third didn’t get a chance to reach cover before a bullet caught up with him. That was four down and nobody in a shooting position on their side. The fifth took a little more effort as he was hiding and only sporadically peeking out in the hopes of finding their foe. On one of those occasions, a bullet slammed into his forehead, killing him on the spot.

He moved forward on the platform while changing weapons. The last of the enemy was under him, hiding. He didn’t know if he was trying to locate the source of the danger, or simply hiding to keep from being killed. He put his money on the first option and proceeded with care. More men came running into the area and he cursed softly, backing up on the platform and changing back to the rifle. He didn’t need the sights this time but opened sustained fire on the group of men, killing half and causing the others to scatter. He flung a grenade in their direction, killing two more in the blast. The last one was hidden from view, but he could hear him and the other one calling out to each other. Taking a chance, he rolled off the platform and dropped down, controlling his drop with his left hand while his right held his handgun at the ready. His movement teased the others into action, but his reactions were faster and a first shot brought the first enemy down. Going low and spinning as he went, he brought the gun around on the last man standing as he ran towards him, probably intent on tackling him. He shot him in the face.

Alarms sounded suddenly and he realized he was running out of time.

He reloaded his rifle while he ran on, keeping his eyes on the area ahead.

Checking his watch, he knew he would have to hurry. His window closed in twenty minutes.

“Amanda!”

He froze on the spot.

“Amanda, time for dinner, honey.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Now, Amanda. That video game isn’t going to go anywhere while you eat.”

The lights went out … for now.

They would come on again soon.

Right after dinner.

More entries can be found right here

Till death do us part - Friday Fiction Challenge - PG-12

Here's another Friday Flash Fic.
This week is Non-Fiction and the prompt was simple: write a short essay from the starting point "Death".
Now, this thing could go anyway with me (as everything does, lol) and I've rated it PG-12 simply because it's about death and I don't think children under the age of 12 should be confronted with that just yet. I could be wrong rating it that way, if there are rules for it and I'm 'breaking' them, please let me know and I'll adjust.

Other than that ..... I won't say 'enjoy the read'.

Till death do us part.

Not only in ‘holy matrimony’, but in every life, whatever your religion, whatever your views, whatever your beliefs, we live until death do us part.

I’m not even sure where to take this, but I’m going to go with the flow, as I always do.

I could write about the – probably expected – deaths that have occurred in my life. Thankfully, there haven’t been many. My grandfather when I was 9, my grandmother when I was 13. Other than that, I’ve been marked by the deaths of pets more often than the deaths of humans. The last one a few years ago, my last dog (until I have time to take care of one again, hopefully next year). If you’re not an animal or dog lover, you may wonder how such a thing could ‘mark’ me, but if you don’t understand, I’m not going to waste my time trying to make you. You do or you don’t. It’s like common sense or an ability to give without expecting anything in return. You have it, or you don’t. It’s not something that can be taught, so I won’t try, I’m a very impatient teacher anyways, so you’re probably better off without the experience.

Do I think about death a lot?

I guess I used to, but I don’t think about it as often as I did. I’ve grown older and I’ve grown stronger. My next tattoo will read “What doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger”. It didn’t kill me. I was thinking about death, I didn’t go as far as others have. There was always something holding me back, keeping me from taking the plunge – literally.

Not that the ‘something’ was anything really.

It was a thought.

A realization.

A reality I didn’t even want to contemplate.

It just would never happen.

For over ten years, that one thought (always the same), kept me going, struggling on, fighting for every inch of every step I wanted to take.

It didn’t kill me.

It made me stronger.

It almost did, though. Even years later, I still found myself thinking about the unthinkable. Something else kept me from doing it at that time, but I won’t go there. It’s a rocky ride I don’t want to take again. I won’t take again. It happened, it’s over, let’s let it rest.

That is one thing I can let rest.

Other things won’t be put to rest.

They just won’t be silenced, hidden, forgotten. And there is no way in hell they will ever be forgiven. Most of the time, I’ve ‘got it’ and everything is fine, but sometimes something happens and everything just takes a slide into chaos. It can’t be stopped. It’s even worse when I try to stop it. Every once in a while, I have to let it out and let it play. It doesn’t mean it controls me. It doesn’t mean it controls who I am or what I do.

I control it.

Most of the time.

Most of the time I am stronger than that.

Stronger than what was done to me.

Stronger than what was said to me.

But then, every so often, in the dead of night and in the darkness of my room, I fall apart.

Does it mean I’ll jump off a bridge or put a bullet through my brain?

No, it doesn’t.

Not anymore.

I never have.

I never will.

What doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger.

More entries are at Now Hark This!

Sun, sea and salty tears - all audiences

Heya guys and gals.

Here's the second of my "just for fun" and completely "out of time" stories based on the Writer's Weekly 24-hour contest prompt, kindly provided by Susie.

I am wishing I had known about this contest sooner, because these prompts are absolutely awesome.
Remember, the story doesn't have to copy/use/mention the entire prompt, it just has to be obvious the story was written based on that prompt.

I hope you'll enjoy the read.

TODAY'S TOPIC!

With blistered, salty skin and matted hair, they were down to their last sips of fresh water. A recreational day at sea had turned into a fight for continued existence. Slumped on the bow, searching for any hint of a breeze to sooth her burning face, her eyes widened when she noticed something fast approaching in the distance...

WORD COUNT: Stories for today's topic must not exceed 875

words. (Your story's title is *not* included in the word

count.)

Sun, sea and salty tears.

A lovely day announced itself on a warm breeze and the soft rustle of spring leaves. The smell of summer was in the air and she opened the bay window to let it into her house and into her soul. Finally winter had left. Finally summer was on the way. Today had been announced to be the warmest day of the week and she got an early start. Preparing sandwiches and a few bottles of water, she hummed along with the tune playing on the radio. She couldn’t remember the name of the band, but it was a catchy tune and she really liked it.

Twenty minutes later, a rebellious hairdo walked into the kitchen, the young teenager below it much less awake than she had been when she opened her eyes.

“Hey, brighten up, summer is coming.” she said cheerfully, hoping to coax him out of the lingering sleep.

“Hey, mom.” he replied flatly, “How come you’re up so early?”

“Your uncle called, we’re going on a boating trip. Everything is ready. Well, everything except you.”

She gave him a meaningful look.

“Eat your breakfast, we’re going in 20 minutes.”

“Do I have to come?”

“Yes, Adam, you have to come.”

With a sigh, he dropped onto the kitchen stool and poured some cereal into the bowl his mother had prepared. Moments later, he was munching on the crunchy hoops, trying to come up with an excuse not to go on that boating trip. It would have to be a good one, his mom wouldn’t let him get off the hook with a lame excuse.

Problem was, he didn’t have one. And he was too tired to come up with one. With another sigh, he got up and put his empty bowl in the sink. Leaning over, he gave his mother a wet kiss on the cheek.

“Morning, mom.”

It put a smile on her face and she ruffled through his rebellious hair.

“You need a haircut.”

“I know.” he replied, running his right hand through it as well.

Ten minutes later, he was ready, a bag with his swimming trunk, diving gear and a small towel thrown over his shoulder.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She gave him another smile, picked up the cooling box and waved her hand towards the front door.

It meant she was.

 ~~~

How long had it been?

She couldn’t remember.

The sun was ablaze high above their heads, the skies a stark blue, cloudless stretch. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze to soothe her burned face.

They were down to their last sips of fresh water. Thankfully, her brother still had some clarity of mind and they were keeping the bottles on a rope under the boat. It was the only way to keep it something resembling cool. She couldn’t think straight. Not after what had happened this morning.

Desperate to find help, Adam had taken it upon himself to swim to shore. She hadn’t been awake yet and her brother hadn’t been able to summon the strength to stop him.

She was devastated, desperate for a sign and mad as hell at both her brother and her son.

Why did the men in her family have to be so damned stubborn?

It was that same stubbornness that had gotten them in this predicament.

It had started out so well. A quiet day with her brother and her son, the 2 men who meant most to her, much more than her estranged husband. It was supposed to be a relaxing day. It had been, until disaster had struck and their engine had failed. For hours, her brother had tried to get it to work again. Hours during which they had drifted, further and further away.

Now, they were close to exhaustion with no hope of a rescue.

Her thoughts were of Adam. Of the horrors of drowning, exhausted after long hours of fighting against the same currents that had carried them out to sea.

A single tear formed in her eye, she had no more moisture left.

She couldn’t cry any more than this over her loss and she had no tears left to cry over her own misfortune.

Squinting against the glare of the sun, she strained to focus her vision.

Something was at the horizon and it appeared to be coming in their direction.

Fast.

Her eyes widened in surprise as it drew nearer.

It took only minutes to arrive, the waves causing their boat to dance on the water.

“You look like you could use some help.”

The booming voice was warm and comforting.

“Yes,” she croaked, “our engine died.”

“Here.” he handed her a bottle, “Drink.”

The milky white liquid soothed her throat and gave her instant energy. Enough to find her brother and give him some as well.

Meanwhile, a rope was attached to their bow and she felt the sudden shock as the boat started to move, towed by the other vessel.

“My son.” she said, a quiver in her voice.

“Is safe.”

The sigh of relief made her weary body shudder.

“Thank you.” she said in a half whisper, “Thank you so much, Neptune, for saving my family.”

The Motivator - Friday Flash Fiction - all audiences

Yes, I'm early. Not by much though, it will be Friday here in 85 minutes.

This week's prompt over at +Krisann Gentry 's blog is as simply as it is complex: write a short essay from the starting point "an inspirational speech in under 50 words".
That can go anywhere.
It did!

Enjoy the read :o)

The motivator.

Yeah!

That’s a nice title.

If I were to make new business cards, I might add it, but then again, why do I need business cards. I don’t need them for my job and I don’t go out a lot, so I certainly don’t need them to hand out to all my new ‘friends’. Why would I need to have them?

Or should I make them for fun?

As a way to get a chuckle or a smile out of people when they check them?

I could.

But that’s not what I wanted to write about.

No, it’s the ‘motivator’ thing I need to write about. Well … need … it’s a big word. Then again, I do need to write. I need to keep busy and help myself move forward. I need to expand my horizon, break out of the box I have been locked up in for such a long time now. I need to find other things to write about. Other than the eternal Jack Bauer.

I love to write about him, though. He’s so flexible, yet so rigid. So outlandishly awesome, yet so humanly flawed.

It’s a character I love to work with, because I can do anything to – or with – him.

It’s Jack Bauer’s ‘fault’ I’m here tonight, working on this piece. It’s so totally Jack Bauer’s ‘fault’ I started writing in English and it’s even more Jack Bauer’s ‘fault’ that I keep getting better at what I do. It’s also Jack Bauer’s ‘fault’ I met some of the most awesome people ever, because without him, I wouldn’t have visited the sites that I did. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have connected with these people; I would never have met them and I would certainly never have had the chance to meet them.

Four words come to mind (and I actually have a badge that says that): Jack Bauer is God.

He sure is my God (as in “oh my god, he’s awesome” LOL).

But enough!

That’s not what I wanted to write about.

I wanted to write about this week’s prompt.

About ‘an inspirational speech in under 50 words’.

That’s what made me think I should add ‘Motivator’ as a title on those business cards (I won’t make).

As a mother, that’s what you are - must be - end up being - never thought you could be.

It’s something that comes naturally (I think) when faced with your own personal mini-me(s). That something that makes you say the right things at the right times to make all the stress, strain, anxiety and/or fear go away. That what will encourage the mini-me to go for it, to give it his best shot, to take that leap or jump off that rock. That something that makes the difference between wanting to do it and actually doing it.

But what is it?

What is it, that gives mommies (only speaking for myself here) the ability to take a child’s hand and help it fly? Is it superhuman strength? Is it an invisible umbilical cord that connects us and feeds my courage straight to my mini-me? Is it an echo of words once heard oneself and merely repeated to the next generation? Is it a never ending gift, passed on along with our other skills and talents, straight down the family tree?

What is it, that gives us the ability to talk sense into young rebels? To give them focus when their heads are in disarray? To give them courage when their heart has sunk into their heels? What is it, that lets us say what needs to be said? Do what needs to be done?

Maybe Jack Bauer isn’t the only god around here.

Maybe I’m a goddess myself.

A goddess and a motivator, inevitably able to sway the most discouraged, fearful, young one into giving it his all.

Ha!

How’s that for a motivational poster!

If that doesn’t inspire you … let me see if I can find something else.

Here are a few words of wisdom:

·         Never give up on your dreams, they are what keeps you alive on the inside

·         What doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger (and I am living, breathing, writing proof of that)

·         Always expect the unexpected, you will never be caught off guard

·         Tomorrow is only a day away

·         The grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the street

·         When at first you don’t succeed, try again

·         On your next birthday, remember you are only one day older than the day before

Enjoy your life, you only get one shot at it.

Make it worth your while.

More entries can be found at Now Hark This!
Feel free to join in if you'd like.
The more the merrier!!!