A Story is Born!

As many of you know, I write a lot of flashfiction. I find it helps me tighten up my writing and makes my longer stories that much more believable and crisp.

It also brings new characters and stories into being. In fact, today I just wrote a third piece about a woman named Detective Cassie Tucker. She came into being from a 100 word flashfiction piece on Stevie McCoy's #TuesdayTales challenge. We had the word "legion" and the following photo to write on.

Cassie stared across the humped white backs of abandoned cars in mute frustration. Scuffed footprints marred the pristine snow covered spaces between them. Only the “road closed” sign hung in stiff silence, frozen solid, undisturbed.

She flicked the safety off her Sig and advanced slowly, holding her breath to hear anything in the winter silence. Snow dragged at her feet, thick enough it would take a legion of snowplows days to clear.

Cassie paused beside a silver Lexus and dropped her shoulders, sighing in defeat. No more footprints, not even tire tracks.

The kidnapper and the little girl had disappeared.

My writing twin asked me which WIP Cassie was from and I said I'd made her up just for the flash. But she'd planted a seed, because for last week's #FridayPictureShow hosted by Jen DeSantis, I added another 100 words for Cassie to the following photo.

It emerged from the golden wheat like a breaching submarine, dragging a wake of sunflowers with its heaving body. Cassie paused at the flower show to stare, a smile curling her lips.

“I’ve seen flower beds with head and foot boards, but never a flower caddy.”

“What are you talking about? Isn’t a caddy what the Brits call a cart?” Pierce quipped, laying one hand at her waist. “That’s just a bigger version.”

She laughed, reveling in his touch and the levity. It had been so long since she’d found joy in anything.

“I’d say it’d win best in show.”

Then today, again on #FridayPictureShow, Cassie made another appearance in 100 words to the next photo.

The mannequin lay in the wooden boat, rocking stiffly on the oily surface. Huge bug-eyed glasses reflected the multihued shimmer and brightly striped tights covered the legs under the torn skirt. The model’s hips and legs lay twisted ninety degrees from its shoulders, giving the body a broken look. The nails on the hands had been painted the color of dried blood.

Uniforms waded through the greasy water to retrieve the boat and its grisly contents.

“Shit.” Detective Cassie Tucker snapped her phone shut. “We got another one.”

Detective Daniels raised his eyebrows. “Another mannequin?”

“That’s not a mannequin, Daniels.”

And Voila! A new story is born. Where will Cassie go? How will she find her Happily-Ever-After (I am a romance writer, after all)? And since I tend to write paranormal, what fantastic creature will she encounter? Don't know yet. Have to see what other flashfiction pulls out of her. :)

Just a quick side note: I was the overall winner for #FridayPictureShow for Cassie's Mannequin story. Woo-hoo! Thanks to the judge and host for that one! :)

FlashFiction summary 11-21 thru 11-30

Last week I was out of town visiting family in Seattle and didn't get the chance to write a lot of #flashfiction, and this week, I have an interview with erotica author Emerald on Friday, December 2nd, so I'm offering the summery of flash today. I hope you'll come back on Friday to read the interview and get insight into an erotica author's perspective on sex.

Last week was Thanksgiving, but I did manage to write a #MenageMonday entry that won Honorable Mention from the judge. We had to write a 200 word story to the following prompts. The photo, the phrase "the difference between", and the story had to include an astral projection (out of body experience). I wrote two entries because the host complained that everyone wrote about car accidents. ;) The first is entitled, "Next Turn".

The difference between living and dying was a heartbeat; a speck of time immeasurable in its smallest aspect.

Lillian found herself standing at the edge of the grass boarder between the sidewalk and the road, the sun painting hazy shadows of a street light on the ground. A crumpled plastic garbage can with 602 painted on it lay discarded a few feet away from her feet.

602 . . . that was her house number. She shifted her distracted gaze to her yard and confusion swamped her. A mangled hunk of twisted metal and glass marred the collapsed wall of what had been her bedroom. She could only tell it was a car from the tail lights glaring red. A bloodied man struggled to get out of a warped car door, his actions unsteady and inebriated.

A breeze ruffled her hair just before a warm body pressed to her back and gentle hands settled on her shoulders as white leathery wings embraced her. Lillian tried to see who held her, but she felt as uncoordinated as the drunk driver who’d hit her house.

“It’s time to go, Lillian,” a warm voice murmured.

“Go where?”

“The next turn on the Wheel.”

The second entry came from listening to Barenaked Ladies' Elves' Lament, and has no car accidents.

“Hit it again!” Sparkles shrieked as Tinsel walloped the fat plastic container with an industrial-sized candy cane.

“Harder!” Wreath shouted gleefully.

“Don’t you know the difference between cheap plastic crap and real craftsmanship?” Tinsel grunted, slamming the cane down again. “You fat bastard! We work our asses off to make beautiful toys and you want that junk found in dollar stores!”

Garland gestured for the cane. “My turn.”

Tinsel handed it off.

“You think you’re a god?” she snarled, aiming for the crude writing on one side. “Without us, you’d  just be a fat, lazy schlep who couldn’t get anything done, much less deliver toys on time!”

“You mean, deliver crap on time!” Tinsel added.

Garland hit the can so hard, a piece broke off the cane and slammed into Wreath’s head, knocking him off his feet. His form shimmered, then dissolved into a hazy wraith with a black frown and arms akimbo.

“Oh shit, he’s lost control of his form!” Sparkles gasped. “We better get out of here. It’ll be dawn soon.”

The elves grabbed the broken pieces of candy cane and beat a hasty retreat back to the North Pole before the boss realized they'd been gone.

I'm still chuckling over that one. Remember folks, don't buy dollar store crap! Lol. This last Monday, I wrote another #MenageMonday entry for Cara Michaels to the following photo, the phrase "the dying light", and unwarranted enthusiasm from everyone except the protagonist. It's entitled, "Clue Party."

“This is so exciting!” Blanca gushed as she stapled my arm to her plush breasts and bounced a little. “I can’t believe we’re going to take part in a Clue party!”

I tried to give her an encouraging smile as I swept my gaze around the foyer bathed in the dying light of the setting sun. The open front doors to the mansion let in the scents of wet autumn air and a deluge of people attending the Clue Event: A Night of Mystery and Humor. Most of them chatted with voices full of excitement and Blanca dragged me over to a sidebar with silver candlesticks, an ornate clock, and a minipalm set on its glossy surface.

“Welcome!” The butler’s British voice boomed out over the crowd. “Once we close the doors, the show will begin!”

“Why is everyone so damn enthusiastic?” I grumbled while Blanca picked up a candlestick. “Why am I here, again?”

Unease snaked up my spine as she turned her brilliant smile to me. “Don’t you remember? You signed all the release forms.”

“The release forms for what?”

“To be Mr. Body.”

She swung hard and I heard, "Mrs. White in the Foyer with the Candlestick."

Mwahahahahaha! I loved both the movie and the game. :) On Tuesday this week, we were given the following photo and the word "Twist" for a short 100 word story for #TuesdayTales. Mine is entitled "Winter Retreat."

He’d made it! A simple solo fishing and backpacking trip had turned into eighteen hours of slogging through the worst freak autumn snowstorm in twenty years.

Max damn near cried when he saw the old green wooden cabin, the red roof festooned with sharp icicles glittering in the waning sun.

He leaned his forehead against the frozen door, huffing his relief. Shelter and the possibility of a hot meal made him twist the doorknob and shove his way inside.

Light from single broken window illuminated his surprised feline companion.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one seeking shelter and hot meal.

Nice kitty-kitty. :) Today, I wrote 100 words for the #HumpDayChallenge to the following five word prompts: "Friday", "Painful", "Grandma", "Skip", and "Glazed". Mine is entitled, "Skip's Friend" (and I won Honorable Mention for it, too.  :)

Skip stood beside his brother Joey, his eyes glazed with tears as the others lowered the casket into the dirt. He’d been looking so forward to this Friday when they’d all planned to go to the beach to throw the Frisbee with Hank and search the tide pools for critters. Hank loved doing that.

Each thought of his friend was a painful reminder of the loss and Skip angrily wiped the tears away with his sleeve. Grandma would’ve given him the gimlet eye for that, but he didn’t care. Someone had poisoned his dog and he’d make them pay.

Never, ever, kill a kid's dog. That's just wrong! I hope you've enjoyed my #Flashfiction entries for this week (and last). Thanks for stopping by and happy reading! :)

The Week in #FlashFiction Summary 11-14 thru 11-18

This was an interesting week for me. Busy and full of meeting new folks, both online and in person. It gave me a chance to really reflect on how much I enjoy talking to people. So if you were one of the ones I chatted with this week, I'm so glad I had the opportunity to hobknob with you! On with the summary.

On Monday, I entered the #MenageMonday challenge hosted by Cara Michaels. This time it was a YA version because her judge was the birthday boy and had just turned 10 years old. It was fun to come up with 200 words to the following photo, the phrase "eye of a [...]", and using Sherlock Holmes as a character, though not necessarily the main character. I won Honorable Mention for my entry.

“It’s gonna work, Tiffany,” Ryan stated as he set out all the paraphernalia he needed.

“You’re gonna bring Sherlock Holmes forward in time to help us solve the mystery of why your uncle went missing? Ryan, he’s a fictional character. You can’t bring him ‘forward in time’ when he never really existed.”

“He did,” he insisted. “And I’m gonna prove it. And then he’s gonna find my uncle.”

Four pop cans with railroad spikes wired to them stood half buried in the sand of the old playground, wired together in a large square. One corner went under the old swingset, but Ryan said “it couldn’t be helped” and they’d wound the swings up on the crossbar. Ryan said the sand was perfect for the “space bubble” to make the time tunnel.

“Okay, are you ready?”

“Are you?”

“Here we go.”

Ryan touched the wires to his dad’s car battery and the flash of light knocked him on his butt. A blue bubble grew beneath the swingset.

“It looks like the eye of a husky,” she whispered.

When the tall man in a long checkered coat holding a funky pipe stepped out on the sand, Tiffany's jaw dropped to the ground.

Elementary, my dear! Also on Monday, I wrote a 500 word piece for #MotivationMonday hosted by Wakefield Mahon. It's entitled "Amazing Grace" and I was the winner. We had to write to the following photo continuing after the phrase prompt:

“I heard the Asian preacher playing trumpet outside of the station.”

When Grace looked up at the strange statement, she almost dropped her latte. It wasn't an Asian preacher, but an extraordinarily beautiful male with a long horn pressed to his lips on top of the courthouse across the street. Chiseled features stood out starkly against the crystal blue sky as his chest expanded to blow another anthem of notes. Grace stopped short, gaping as a pair of great white wings extended out behind his back and the music of the horn danced through the autumn air. Grumbled comments of other pedestrians who hadn’t expected her to stop surged around her.

Grace glanced at her fellow foot travelers, wondering if they saw the handsome man with the wings and horn, but no one else stopped. She frowned and looked again, but he’d disappeared.

I must have imagined it.

She shook her head and resumed her journey, going over the chores she had to finish when she got home that day. She hadn’t realized she dropped her head until she ran into someone. Someone tall and hard, who smelled like sandalwood incense until her latte added its own scent when it splashed across his belly.

“Be easy, Grace. I’ve got you.”

She looked up, way up, into the light brown eyes of the man holding her steady and froze. The same chiseled features she’d seen on the rooftop faced her with a compassionate smile curling his sensual lips. The wings visible over his shoulders shone white in the reflected light off the buildings, but no feathers shifted in the mild breeze. The skin was leathery, like a bat’s wing, and a small clawed thumb gripped the edge of the longest wing-finger.

“What are you?”

He cocked his head to one side as his smile broadened. “What do you think I am, Grace?”

“When I first saw you with the wings and the trumpet . . .”

He laughed and the music in his laughter tempted her to join him. “An angel?”

“Yes, but now . . .”

“But now?” he prompted.

 She huffed with exasperation. “Now you don’t have a trumpet. Where did you put that thing, anyway? And what’s with the bat’s wings? I expected feathers.”

He laughed again, tucking her arm into his as one leathery wing extended around her shoulders, hugging her to his side.

“Contrary to popular belief, angels come in all shapes and sizes, with all kinds of wings. Mine just happen to look like this.” He pulled her against his chest as the other wing closed around her, encasing her in a sandalwood scented world with his blazing golden eyes staring down at her. “I wanted you to know I’m here for you.”

“Here for me? What are you talking about?”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then returned her to the world in front of a speeding taxi. Horns blared and people screamed as her world shattered into brightness, her latte spilling across the asphalt like golden blood.

“Be easy, Grace. I’ve got you."

Dragon winged angels are my all time favorite! :) On Tuesday, I found Buffy Christopher hosting Six line Sunday on her blog and while I was a little late, I couldn't resist writing a short six line story to the following photo. 

“Lift me just a little higher, Max.”

“I don’t want to lift you, I want to kiss you,” he grunted as her knee hit him in the side.

“But I want to climb the wall.”

“You’re not wearing the right shoes, Tess,” he remarked.

“Since when has that ever stopped me?” she retorted, reaching higher.

He sighed as he pulled her butt up higher, enjoying the soft press of her breasts against his face as she attained her goal.

Also on Tuesday, I wrote a quick 100 words for #TuesdayTales hosted by Stevie McCoy. There were two prompts, the word "hastate", which means "spear shaped" and the following photo.

Mirriam stared in wonder as she crouched at the edge of the glen. The sparkling lights had beckoned her from her home to Sherwood Forest and she’d expected faeries dancing in a sacred stone circle. But when she arrived, the lights glinting through the trees came from flowers. Each flower started as a hastate bud, then opened in a brilliant shot of light, adding its color and scent to the air.

One steel blue bud swirled open below her nose, bathing her in glorious sapphire light.

“Blessings be with you,” she heard whispered and her heart sang with peaceful joy.

Today, there are two blogs I write for. The first is #100words with the #FridayFictioneers hosted by Madison Woods. We were asked to write 100 words to the following photo. This is the beginning to a story that has been brewing for a few months and is waiting for the editing projects to end. I've entitled this 100 words "Taking the Reins".

Bethany viciously kicked the loose stones on the road as she walked while Killian ambled along beside her. She wanted to scream and hurl the rocks in a tantrum, but she had too much respect for her equine companion and her hands fisted on the reins.

“Damn him!”

Killian tossed his head at her outburst and she patted his neck. It wasn’t her horse’s fault her father was a controlling, arrogant bastard. Just because he was a US Senator didn’t mean he could dictate who she’d marry. Dammit, this wasn’t the middle ages when men sold off women for land!

More to come on Bethany and company soon! Also, today I wrote 100 words for #FridayPictureShow challenge hosted by Jen DeSantis. The requirements are 100 words exactly for the following photo prompt. Mine is entitled, "Seven Sisters."

Seven sisters in a line

Waiting for rescue sublime.

Seven songs sung at the dawn

Bring them to windows drawn

To gaze upon a frightful sight

Of Demon Horde and one black knight.

Says he, “One of you will have to pay

So others may survive this day.

Choose one among you for sacrifice

To pay for all the pain and vice

You’ve brought to our simple land.”

Seven sisters then clasp hands

And Serena, youngest one of all,

Offers to be the one to fall.

For six sisters she loves most

To save them from the Demon Host.

Thank you for joining me today and I hope you enjoyed all the stories. Come back for a snippet of a Pirate tale on Sunday and have a great Thanksgiving week! Happy reading! :)

#FlashFiction and News of Monumental Proportions (at least to me)

Sorry I've been so quiet lately. I've been working on organizing a few things, writing some #flashfiction, and sitting on a HUGE secret that I haven't been able to share until now.

But first, to build tension as every good author should, I'm going to offer you a look at the flash fiction I wrote this week (at least my favorites) and then I'll reveal the news.

First was #TuesdayTales hosted by @theglitterlady and she had two prompts: the photo below and the word "preternatural". Only 100 words allowed.

I stared in horror at my sister’s slack face. Thick red lines drooled from her lips over her chin, dripping off onto her chest. She lay with her head against the back of the couch, her eyes mere slits. Her arms draped haphazardly on the seat cushions as if to ward off some preternatural creature. The air smelled of burnt toast and cinnamon and the crumbs of some dark pastry marred the pristine white porcelain of her plate.

“Heidi! Oh, God!”

She jerked awake, blinking at my recoil.

“What happened?”

She wiped her face. “Sorry, red velvet cake sugar coma.”

My great friend Cara Michaels judged this contest and while I didn't win, I had a heck of a good time writing about miss droolface up there! ;)

Yesterday, I attempted @DRyanLeask's #3-4Thursday Classic challenge (up to 300 words) and there were three prompts: Special prompt "macabre", Phrase prompt "fear pulsed through (his/her/its/my) veins", and Word prompt "congeal(ed/ing)". There's voting today for the best story. Just click on the link and vote for your favorite. :) Mine is below and a title was required.

To Dance Forever

“Macabre? Why does everything in October have to be nasty and congealed for the flash fiction challenges?” I shook my head as I clicked on the different links. “Same stuff, different blog.”

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” my sister remarked.

“Says you who LOVES the dark and slightly frightening.”

“What, did you only want to write about flowers and butterflies?” Linda scoffed as she typed another 100 entry like a pro.

“No, but it’s all the same, you know? Dead things and blood. What about the more mystical?”

“Fine. There’s always cemeteries.”

I sighed. “Yeah, cemeteries and ghosts.” I grabbed my coat and car keys.

The Danse Macabre; the dance of death. I’d never seen it. Visiting cemeteries at this time of year was something my Spanish teacher in high school liked to do for Dia de los Muertos, but no fear pulsed through my veins then. Nothing happened in cemeteries. They were full of dead people. Big deal.

But tonight in the mists wafting off the cooling grounds, I caught sight of a pair of apparitions wheeling between the headstones in a stately waltz and rare excitement and wonder zinged through me. The couple winked at me as they passed, then they were gone.

I sat down with the thump, ignoring the damp soaking into the butt of my jeans. Wow, how cool was that? I rested my chin on my knees and wondered what it’d be like to be loved like that; loved so much my honey would dance with me through the mists of death.

“I’ve missed you, dearest.”

I twisted around at the hollow voice and stared into night sky eyes of a handsome man dressed in a tailcoat and cravat.

“You’ve missed me?” I squeaked.

He brushed my cheek gently. “Shall we dance?”

He he he, I really enjoyed writing that one. So much for nothing ever happening in cemeteries. ;)

Today, I tried a new challenge. It's called #FridayPictureShow and it's hosted by @JenD_Author. She had only two requirements: the photo prompt and exactly 100 words.

“Did you see that hit? It was outta the park!”

“Shhhhh! I can’t hear my soap. Derrick’s gonna tell Susannah about his incurable disease!”

“Oh, man, that chick dancing with Donny is soo hawt, but she can’t hold the rhythm much.”

“Do you think Castle’s gonna get to kiss Det. Beckett this season?”

“Caw-ha-ha-ha! Jeff Foxworthy cracks me up!”

A piercing whistle stopped all conversations and the viewers looked over their shoulders as Death stepped into the room.

“Break’s over, guys. Time to get back to work.”

Grumbles followed as each TV was clicked off and Death’s messengers took wing.

This one cracked me up while writing it. If you can't laugh at your own writing, you're in the wrong field. I hope you enjoyed the little snippets I had to share.

Now . . . (deep breath) A week ago I mentioned that a publisher told me they were interested in my werewolf tale. I received the contract last night and am thrilled to announce I'll be publishing through Sapphire Blue Publishing for this first novel. I don't have an idea how soon it will come out, but I promise I'll shout it to the rooftops when I do know! Thanks for keeping up with me and cheering me on (you know who you are: LR, GV, EKY, SA, CM). Your faith has been the best any author can hope for. I hope your week as gone as well as mine and keep your eyes peeled for my upcoming release!

God it feels great to say that! Happy reading! :)