Kat's Writing Journey

The Haunted Forest

2013-07-10T16:32:00.000-07:00

I've been writing, but haven't had anything I could include on my blog in a while. This is in response to a Flash Fiction Challenge at Musings of Alissa Leonard.

The Haunted Forest

Well, that was the stupidest thing I've ever done.

People who've known me for a long time would challenge that. They know how many stupid things I've done. There was the time I tried to create a slinky dress using duct tape. I even bought the designer blue. Hey, it was a thing on the Internet. To be honest, it wasn't totally stupid until I wore it to a club one night. Who knew one small tear in just the right place could wreak so much havoc? At least I met the cop... Joe ... mmmmm I have goosebumps.

This time, however, I think I've eclipsed my previous follies.

Last night I couldn't sleep. I tossed and I turned. Finally, I stumbled out of my bed and plodded into the kitchen. As I stood at the sink and gazed out the window into the dark, a faint light, shimmering beyond the trees, caught my eye.

I'm not sure what possessed me, but I pulled on my belated father's old wool hunting jacket and headed outside. The crisp night's air carried a promise of snow, but I didn't bother returning for shoes. My feet sunk into grass, goo sluicing up between my toes, yet I continued. The waning moon played with the fall breezes, the trees joining with them, creating nature's symphony, casting shadow dancers past the forest's edge.

Everyone in these parts knows the forest is haunted. It even says so on the local maps - "The Haunted Forest". But I didn't let that stop me. Perhaps it's more accurate to say I didn't care. The light was growing brighter. I could not stop.

With my next step, though, an eerie silence descended. Trees stilled, crickets quieted. My mind registered only my harsh breathing, although I couldn't say whether it was ragged because I was hiking or because I was scared. Another step and a huge owl swooped down, the tip of its wing fluttering not more than three inches from my eyes. My cry seemed to wake the forest. A cacophony ensued, so loud and discordant I covered my ears. Moving forward, the forest answered with a trio of raccoons, grunting and scurrying across the branches above my head. I shuddered and approached a glade I'd never seen.

There, in the middle of the woods, which I tried to remind myself were in my own back yard, stood six, no nine, perhaps even twelve creatures, surrounding a flickering fire. Even now I hesitate to call them elves, despite their pointed ears and decidedly greenish skin. Whether it was my gasp that alerted them to my presence, or the clumsy way I'd tripped over a branch to sprawl into their midst, I cannot say.

I will tell you this. No matter what books tell you, elves are scary, especially when firelight reflects from their too large eyes and their lips draw up to show you pointy teeth. Probably the guttural noises coming from their mouths didn't help either.

I ran.

2013-06-14T07:07:00.002-07:00

Last week's Flash Friday story:

Red Sky in the Morning

The sun exploded above the horizon, its brilliance sending jolts of pain through my head. The sky, previously an ominous red, flashed to white.

My head began to throb.

“Let’s take a wine cruise,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”

The deck of the big ship rolled, my stomach with it. Such was my misery that I didn't notice the dark clouds forming overhead until they opened up, drenching me instantly. The boat lurched, I lurched with it, over the rail, plummeting to the sea, the barrel which had held last night’s libations following me down.

“Nothing to do but row,” I said.

The Pawn

2013-06-13T21:07:00.000-07:00

Ok, I got honorable mention for this story. I wrote it for Mysti Parker's May Blog Contest. Feedback is welcome.

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words.

The Pawn

The phone rang. I jumped and my heart began to pound. I stared at the device as if it were a weapon of mass destruction.

"Is this Corinne Montague?"

My back straightened as I heard the unfamiliar voice. No one ever called me Corinne, I'd been Carrie since I could remember.

"Who is this?" My voice was harsh, the words clipped.

"That doesn't matter, Corinne. You will meet me at the abandoned theater down on Old Mill Road in exactly 30 minutes. Failure to do so will result in consequences you will not like. Bring the package."

"Wait, who is this? What do you want from me?"

It was no use, he had hung up.

I jumped to my feet and began to pace, twisting my fingers through the long blonde curls that danced over my shoulders. This was bad, this was really bad. I had had a feeling that Joel wasn't being entirely straightforward with me. This was proof. At least, it must be about Joel. I mean, what else could it be? My life was beyond dull. I was a supermarket cashier. I drove an old VW Rabbit. I volunteered at the library twice a week. My two sisters were happy homemakers. Nothing exciting ever happened in King's Mill. That is, nothing except for Joel.

From the first time I'd seen him, I knew he was different. It was obvious to everyone that he wasn't from around here. There he was, though, tall, dark, and handsome, with a devil-may-care smile, a cowlick pushing his hair up and off his forehead. Dressed in a tight t-shirt and even tighter jeans, his swagger accentuated the well honed muscles of his rear. When he arrived in town, there was more than one female with her tongue drooping, a bit of drool dripping down her chin.

The day he struck up a conversation with me is etched in my memory. He was in the store, buying, of all things, food. Don't ask me why I thought this was astounding, perhaps I didn't think Gods needed to eat. He waited until I was off work, then took me across the street to get an ice cream sundae at the Five and Dime.

We'd been going out for about three months when one night he bounded up the stairs to my boarding house and began pounding on the door.

"Carrie! Let me in, come on come on, open up! Hurry!"

I opened the door and he nearly bowled me over. He slammed the door and locked it with all three locks, then rushed to the windows and drew the drapes.

"Joel? What's going on?"

The wild look on his face was indescribable. It was a combination of determination and fear. I could smell the sweat that was pouring off of him.

"I don't have much time. Listen, I can't explain right now, but I need you to keep this for me. Give it to no one unless I'm dead. In that case, go to the FBI in Charlotte. Don't go to the locals, you can't trust them."

He thrust a small box into my hand.

"Whatever you do, do not open it. Promise me you won't open it!"

"I... Joel... what is going on?"

"I can't tell you right now, there's no time! I'll call you when I can. I love you, Carrie, don't ever forget that."

With those final words, he opened the window and slipped out.

It had been two months and I hadn't heard a word. I feared he was dead. I feared he told me he loved me to get me to do what he wanted. Now, I feared what was coming.

I grabbed the box and my jacket and headed out to the car. My fingers trembled as I tried to shove the keys into the ignition. It cranked once and then died. I tried again, it coughed and sputtered and died again.

"Come on!" I screamed at the dilapidated vehicle. I never screamed at my car, I loved my car, it was nearly my best friend. I cringed and apologized.

"I'm sorry, Pilar, I didn't mean to yell at you. Please, just start one more time, that's all I ask."

Sure enough, I turned the key, the engine caught and purred, and I exhaled a sigh of relief. I put it in gear and headed toward the main road, trying to think of what to do. What would Joel want? Was he in more trouble? Was he dead? Who was he anyway?

The shaking of my hands got worse as I neared my destination. I still had no idea what to do. I grabbed a canister of mace out of my glove box. Everyone in Kings Mill had one, although the worst crime that ever happened here was jaywalking.

I pulled up to the theater. It had closed 15 years before, and no one had done anything with it. No one did anything with this part of town and it showed. Trash littered the sidewalks, rats scurried to and fro, very few street lamps remained lit. I shuddered as I stepped out of my car.

"Hello?"

A large man stepped out of the shadows. Multiple scars crisscrossed his face, and it was obvious that his nose had been broken many times.

"Give me the package." The words came out as more of a growl than a statement.

"Who are you?"

He crossed the distance between us in two strides, moving so quickly I didn't have time to react. His hand, the size of a side of beef, wrapped around my neck and began to squeeze. Stars danced before my eyes. I couldn't see, I couldn't speak. I knew it was the end. I could hear sirens, but I knew they'd never rescue me in time.

I opened my eyes to the sight of my beloved Joel cradling my head.

"Shhhhhh my love, it's over. You just helped save the world. Rest, baby, rest. I'm here now."

2013-06-08T17:42:00.003-07:00

I've been writing again, mostly flash. I have submitted a couple to various sites. I doubt I'll win, but I'm going to wait to post until I find out.

I am, however, going to post today's. It is a story based on the prompt "Use 'The opening' in a story". It's for F2K, the writing course I'm interning for. It's rather lame, but I still like it. :D

****
The Opening - WC 399

Captain's Log Stardate 9X327

Our leave on the planet Santorina was an immense success. The crew is well rested, with only one member in the brig. We have set course for Jalaipa, our mission to escort the medical ships supporting the rebels from EC5. From there we embark on a journey critical to the future of humankind - the exploration of the planet Zyxus and the precious metals it...

Sirens shatter the cabin's quiet, the gritty growl of the ship's communication officer quickly following.

"Captain, please report to the bridge. Unknown object on our bow, heading 358.92. Captain, please report to the bridge."

I struggled to my feet, setting aside the tumbler of scotch I'd been sipping. The job was getting old, my sense of adventure lost. I thought back to my childhood, watching reruns of Saturday Night Live, where the One True Voice struck a chord with me, again and again.

"It's always something. If it's not one thing, it's another."

Sighing, I slipped out of my slippers and slid my feet in boots I'd worn so long their stench had died. Heading out of my stateroom I was at least partially mollified by the fact that my crew was performing at top efficiency. I mentally kicked myself in the rear and hurried to the bridge.

Once I had visual, I saw the cause for alarm. This was no ordinary supply ship, nor was it any warrior vessel we'd seen before. It resembled a scorpion, huge pincers extending from either side of its maw, the opening large enough to swallow our ship.

"Any contact?" I slid into a lush leather captain's chair that enveloped me like a glove, its contours perfectly matching mine after years of being together.

"None, Captain. We've tried all frequencies, they are not responding."

"Captain! Incoming!"

The cry came a scant half-second before the missile, or torpedo, or shot, whatever it was, struck. Lights flickered, sirens screamed. I could feel the ship lurching to port.

"Get us out of here, Lieutenant! NOW!"

I felt rather than heard the huge overdrives kick in, then the surge of the warp systems. We tore through a rip in the veil of the universe, securing our escape.

Before we could catch our collective breath, we hit an invisible wall. The ship shuddered and ground to a halt. Things went dark. Things went silent. Perhaps our escape wasn't.

2013-04-30T17:45:00.000-07:00

Dancin' in the moonlight, singing in the rain, oh it's good to be back home again

I returned to San Diego a week ago. I wrote my first story since Christmas last night (which is probably how you found my blog).

It is indeed good to be back home again! So many things fall back into place when I'm here. My first tai chi class was this morning (although we did do World Tai Chi day on Saturday). Tai chi is amazing and so good for your body and mind! Tomorrow there's more tai chi, then Friday Zumba (*groans* I've been so bad for so long, I'm going to die, I just know it!)

Anyway, the reason I started this post like this is because I've found that when I'm settled, I can write. When I'm facing difficulties, when life is uncertain or painful, I can only write things that are horribly introspective, and that is not something that's fit for human consumption. ;)

I see that I started a story in November and never finished it. I may have to, I really dislike leaving things undone. I'm also going to pull Merry and Inky out of their hiding place - in the two years that I've been traveling, they've never left my side. (They even survived the sailboat trip!) At this point they deserve closure!

Which reminds me, recently I found hiveword.com - I tend to lose details, and then I fret as I'm writing, which is not conducive to continuing to write! So I'm going to use it as I go back through Merry on Mars and ... well..... get'r'done!

Dinner and a Murder

2012-11-26T21:28:00.001-08:00

VJ's writing prompt for today is rather intriguing. Essentially, think of something that evokes a conditioned response - fright, happiness, dread, whatever, and write about it with the opposite response. Invite a murderer to dinner? Happy to!

I've been thinking about it, and I'm not so sure I like the premise. I mean, for the most part, we have conditioned responses because they're appropriate! Some, of course, are not, such as phobias. In the grand spirit of the prompt, however, here we go.

Dinner and a Murder

For months, my friends had been telling me to quit acting like I had to wait for someone to ask me out. They kept insisting that I lose my old fashioned ways and step into the modern world where woman are equal. So today, I finally shut them up. I called all three of them - Alicia, Brianna, and Trisha, and I told them about the man I'd met and finally decided to invite to my place for dinner.

I did, however, leave out one small fact. I neglected to mention the man is a murderer. No, I don't know this because I saw him on TV, nor am I one of those prison groupies who always wants to pretend to be a bad girl by become a pen pal with a convict. No, this man had never been tried or convicted for his crime. Even better, he has no idea that I know what he is.

I stared at myself in the mirror, watching my expressions as I reviewed the events of the past few days. There was a hint of excitement in my otherwise dull hazel eyes, the skin at their edges crinkling as I smiled. I reached for the eye cream as Brianna's voice intruded into my thoughts, her constant nagging about proper skin care having apparently sunk in. A laugh erupted from my mouth and I shook my head, letting the towel fall to the floor, then swiftly finishing up my post shower ritual. Finally I was satisfied with my appearance.

(To be continued...)

Small Kindnesses

2012-11-25T19:06:00.000-08:00

Fiona Robyn, author of Small Kindnesses, is hosting a blogsplash on Tuesday. Everyone will be blogging about their own small kindnesses. Since this is a subject near and dear to my heart, I decided I should participate. Duh, right? ;)

I've been needing to get back to writing anyway, so this is going to get me going!

More information is available here: http://www.writingourwayhome.com/2012/11/what-small-kindness-do-you-remember.html

I'm also going to start doing some daily writing prompts. VJ suggested this site - http://www.thingstobehappyabout.com/. I think some of the "suggestions" are bizarre, but here's one I like:

elephants sliding down a slope for their morning bath

That thought really does make me smile.

The young boy sat on a rock, enjoying the coolness of the early morning, his mind unfettered by the worries of his parents. He felt, even before he heard, the elephants approaching the small lake as they did every day at this time. He watched, smiling as always, as the elephants slid down the hillside and splashed into the water, trumpeting and spraying water everywhere. His eyes wandered over them, naming them off, noting how Darzi, the young male calf, had seemingly grown larger overnight. Suddenly the smile froze on his face. Arthola! Where was Arthola? The elder statesman of the herd, Arthola was the boy's favorite. Where was he?

2012-09-04T22:09:00.000-07:00

Wakey wakey little muse! It's time to get up and get going! Been far too long!

I'm writing this just to get myself past the "but I haven't written in so long" thoughts. Now I have. I've written three lines, and I'd guess I could probably write three more. Shades of Alice's Restaurant... LOL

GK is amusing me tonight by posting story prompts. I rarely respond to them - they seem to artificial and difficult to reconcile. For instance:

The story is about a private spy. It takes place in an insane asylum in Mexico City. The story begins with smuggling and ends with an eavesdropping. The return of an ancient evil plays an important part in the story.

However, this one gave me pause:

The story is about a cab driver who is constantly opposed by a space cargo hauler. It starts in an outlaw nation. Magic is increasing in power, and that plays an important role in the story.

When the evil warlock, Xavier, having been imprisoned on Mars since being exiled from Earth in the early 21 century, begins plotting his return to the third planet, no inhabitant of the universe is safe. Meanwhile, James John Davenport, aka Jimmy John, becomes increasingly disturbed by images he discovered on his daughter's palm-held holograph unit and narrowly misses a mid-air collision with one of Earth's most notorious space cargo pilots, a man known only as Mr. C.

Elevator Pitches

2011-07-29T19:35:00.000-07:00

Rachelle Garder has been doing a series of posts about elevator pitches. In her first post, Crafting Your Elevator Pitch, she details 8 steps to take in order to perfect your pitch. In her next post, Elevator Pitch Critiques, she takes some of the pitches submitted by readers and details why they do or do not work for her.

I started working on mine this morning while I was on my walk. It went through quite a few revisions, then more while I was driving to and fro. Finally, this evening, I typed it up. I'm sure it will be revised quite a few more times before I'm happy with it (that'll probably coincide with the completion of the book. ;))

To celebrate, I'm going to sponsor an elevator pitch contest. I'm not going to announce the details until I get back from vacation, so you have plenty of time to work on yours!

Here's mine:

It's a young adult science fiction/fantasy/romance story about Earth's most eccentric multi-trillionairre, who has devised an evil plot to seize the Stylithium mines on Mars, free the Neptunian rebels imprisoned there, overthrow the Martian government, and destroy the interstellar treaty, casting the entire galaxy into poverty. When 17 year old Merry Underwood's father is kidnapped by the rebels, it's up to her, together with twin brother Mark, handsome but mysterious Artemus, and overgrown octopus Inky to thwart Uncle John's evil plan before it's too late.

Countdown to Vacation

2011-07-23T23:26:00.000-07:00

I took the last five days off of my writing project and just sort of made notes and added my thoughts about the project (even though I kept up with the 750 words/day goal). Also, today I went and purchased a binder and some paper so that I can start making visual references. I've found them to be useful in the past, plus I am leaving on Thursday or Friday for our family reunion, so I won't be able to type much, but I don't want to lose my momentum on the story.

It turns out that either the break or the binder did the trick, and I typed more than I have in about 2 weeks. More importantly, I typed better. I went back to re-read what I wrote, and my screen saver kicked in, and I was like "wait! I need to read what happens!" Ummm... LOL! It's very rough, but I'm pretty happy with it. I'll share this part (which has to change, because I introduced a plot hole, but that's ok!)

Oh no! I'd forgotten where I was going! I grabbed my pack and took off running for class. I was finally becoming familiar with how the school was laid out. First a left, then a right, and then boom! I went flying backwards and landed on my rear again. This was not a habit I wanted to continue. I looked up into Stephen's smirking face. He reached both hands down, picked me up and pressed me against a wall, then stepped in uncomfortably close.

"I don't know who you are, carrot top, but you think you're safe because you have Art and Rick drooling around you, but you're not. I'll be here, watching and waiting. When you least expect it, I'll appear. You'll never know when or how, but one day, very soon, our worlds will again collide, and there's nothing that halfling can do, nothing my goodie two-shoes cousin can do."

He stepped back and motioned for me to go.

"Have a nice day."

I ran again.

I'm on a roll!

2011-07-20T20:22:00.000-07:00

Nineteen days in a row, I've written 750 words or more. I'm so proud of me, this is a new record! It's funny, but I'm writing a fantasy/sci fi/romance novelette. The funny part: I don't remember what pushed me into it. I'm enjoying the journey quite a lot, I had no idea world building could be such an adventure. Anyway, that's what's been keeping me busy and quiet and out of trouble (aka - my excuse for not posting here! Well that, and life got sucky, LOL.)

Also doing a 100 word story for Dr. Hurley's Snake Oil Cure on the etymology of the Irish town called Bloody Foreland. I'll be interested to see if it does well there. I had so much fun writing it, I may do another.

Last but not least, I just made a new post at The Curated Writer - 25 Everyday Things You Never Knew Had Names. Enjoy!

The Day From Hell

2011-07-09T22:17:00.000-07:00

I didn't have a good day.

You can tell I'm practicing my writing skills, because I did my best to not embellish that statement. I didn't add "very". I didn't add "!!!!!!!". I didn't include a zillion adjectives or adverbs. But just because I did not do any of that does not mean I didn't have a very very !!!!!!!!!!! terribly awfully horrendously abhorrently incredibly sucky day, because I did!

Ordinarily I would not share that thought with you. I'm one of those "in with the bad, out with the good" type people - no one needs to hear more bad things, life is difficult enough! But I shared that with you for one reason. As I've posted about before, I've been doing the 750 words thing. Most of the time I blather on for about 450 words, then I actually write/story tell for another 300 or so words. That's what I intended to do tonight, since I obviously had lots to blather on about. About 200 words into my typing, I realized I had jumped right in to my story. No preface. No blathering. No nothing. Just picked up where I'd left off last night and moved right along.

This morning I went out and did about 40 minutes of tai chi as a way to calm and focus myself. I was pleased that it worked so well. Tonight, writing had the exact same affect. It took me away from my day, from my stress. I can't begin to express how incredibly amazed and happy I am about this.

I'm on a 6 day streak

2011-07-06T16:18:00.001-07:00

I think I posted here about 750 words. If not, check out my other blog, A Curated Writer. I'm on a six day streak, so it's working. I find that I'm making myself spend the time. Like tonight, there were so many other things I wanted to do... had a busy day, not much down time, but there was no way I was going to ruin my streak!

I feel kind of bad because I haven't spent much time at WVU with my classes, but I feel like part of the reason I'm enrolled there is to make me write, so it's obviously working, right?

Oh, and I have to say, I am having a BLAST. Here is what I wrote yesterday about the story that I started:

Laura Bradford tweeted today about wanting YA stories, dark intense thriller/mystery, lighter mystery/romance, and then regular historical mystery/romance. My mind has been toying with young adult stories for a few weeks now, I keep wondering if I'm capable. I mean it's not like my mind doesn't hang out on an immature level at times anyway! So I started writing in my mind late this afternoon, and told myself that I'd write it down tonight when I sat here to write my words. One of the things I was most curious about was how far and how fast I could type before I'd run out of story line. I suppose if I'm still going strong after 500 words, I might have to give it some serious consideration. Ready? Here goes!

I'm going to keep writing and not worry too much about what constitutes YA. I'm cracking myself up though, so that's a good thing, right? Here's the part that really amused me tonight:

I stood transfixed as one of Inky's tentacles snaked out to snag a rock. Back home this would be the time to make yourself scarce. Here it was obviously the same, but my feet were glued to the dusty walkway. I guess you'd have to be here to understand, but the "nasty little Plutonian" looked like two transparent dinner plates rolling on their sides with blue goo pressed between them. When it spoke, the effect was mesmerizing. The goo changed colors in places, sometimes green, but mostly red, especially when its words were mean. I'm not sure if I should call it a he or a she, it didn't really look like anything that could ever be a boy or a girl. Man, I sure have a lot to learn.

"Inky." I startled myself with the sound of my own voice. "Let's go. It's obviously a liar. Come on."

To my surprise, he dropped the rock. But then, before I knew what was happening, his tentacle thrust out, coiled around the perimeter of the Plutonian, then released it with a classic back spin. Hearing its "whoaaaaaa" sounds as it rolled across the school yard was enough to make me laugh for the first time in days. I laughed so hard my sides hurt. Tears started coming out of my eyes. People started staring and pointing. I tried to stop, and then another "person" would stop and look at me, and I'd see them wondering why I was laughing so hard, and I'd start laughing again. It suddenly occurred to me that I was now a bonafide member of a travelling freak show! That's all my entire school was, just a bunch of freaks!

Opportunity is Knocking

2011-07-05T18:30:00.000-07:00

I've been bad about posting - had the creeping crud - that's my story and I'm sticking to it!

The following are some of today's tweets by @Laura Bradford - Bradford Literary Agency

Attention YA authors: I am looking for a dark, intense, psychological thriller/mystery for YA
I am also looking for a lighter, more episodic type of YA mystery, perhaps with some romance.
This specific request is a repeat: I am looking for a historical mystery with strong romantic elements

Makes me want to write something YA!

Dr. Hurley Goes to the Smithsonian

2011-07-03T20:34:00.000-07:00

That's supposed to sound something like "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" but somehow it just doesn't have the same ring. Oh well, I tried!

Today I was over at Dr. Hurley's Snake Oil Cure. It's a site I enjoy for a variety of reasons. One of the most recent reasons is the aptly titled Sometimes. While I was there today, I happened to notice they had announced a new project called Smithsonian Dialogues, which asks people to go to the Smithsonian's Flickr stream, select a photo and then write, draw, paint, or some other artistic thing about it. Of course I got lost in their 2,200 image library. I think I'm going to select a random number, then go to the corresponding image, and write from there. Anyone else game?

396 Books and Other Resources Writers Recommend

2011-06-29T15:50:00.000-07:00

Over at Writers Village University (which you should join, if you're able of course), Grumps posted this PDF by Holly Lisle. It turns out it's free to redistribute, so I am doing that. :) I haven't had a chance to read it yet, but Holly's one cool chick, so I'm sure it's excellent!

396 Books and Other Resources Writers Recommend - by Holly Lisle

There's No Place Like Home - BDCWB Flash Fiction Challenge #2

2011-06-23T12:37:00.000-07:00

Response to the DCWB Flash Fiction Challenge

Splat.

Splat, splat.

Splat, splat, splat splat splat.

The rain began to fall. First a drop, then two, then a handful. I turned my head to the sky, mouth opening wide to drink in the heavens. My nose filled with the pungent mixture of rain, freshly tilled soil, and cow manure. Arms spread wide, I embraced the storm, inviting its gift to soak into the dirt.

Crack. Boom!

In a single motion my back arched and I levitated three feet above the ground, then returned to earth with a thud.

Flash! Crack! Boom! Splat splat splat splat splat!

I dove for cover, threading my way between the towering stalks. I started to choke, breathing in a gagging mixture of water, dirt, and air. I ran. The field seemed infinite and the day seemed endless. At last, hunched over, hands on muddy knees, I stopped trying to escape the tempest. My initial panic gave way to an eerie calm. The palpable electricity caused goose bumps to rise and tiny hairs to stand on end. The heavens cracked again and with them a great rift moved through the middle of the rows. Not five feet away, Shoeless Joe Jackson appeared. The electricity seemed limitless, and the awe seemed boundless.

As the rain lessened, I looked down at the ground, once so dusty and arid, now a teeming mud hole, a veritable oasis for our pigs. Through wet lashes weighed heavily with rain, I could see my shoes. My ruby red slippers. My feet moved of their own accord.

Perhaps I am Daft

2011-06-19T22:46:00.000-07:00

When I posted the Lester story link on my Facebook page, I included the writing prompt and the comment "lest you think I'm daft". Predictably, people felt that my writing wasn't the sole indicator. They also hinted that they already knew my level of daft-itude - the nerve!

Why, you may ask, do I bring this up tonight? Because I found a new (to me) e-zine - Enchanted Conversation: A Fairy Tale Magazine. They have a very narrow timeline for submissions:

Issue Three: "Cinderella" theme, submission window opens at 12 a.m., EST, June 27, and closes at 11:59 p.m., June 30.

Predictably, I've decided I simply MUST write a story for this issue. 1,500 words, one week - obviously I can do that! I've also figured out that I stand zero chance of having anything accepted for publication if I don't write and submit something - genius, right? It's ok, you don't have to tell me, I already know. ;)

I started the story earlier today - actually went outside, sat on the patio, and used pen and paper to jot out some notes. When I returned to my computer, I started writing. About 45 minutes later, I'd written myself into a corner. I've let it stew since then, but I think I've now thought my way out of that predicament and am ready to get back to the typing part. That may have to wait until tomorrow, since I'm here typing this instead of there, writing that.

There's a Merry Go Round in my head

2011-06-18T22:20:00.000-07:00

All of my writing thoughts keep going around in circles all the while moving up and down, up and down. I'm sure if I tuned in, I'd be able to hear that silly carousel song that goes along with it.

I made a vision board today for exercising/fitness. As I was tearing things out, I started tearing out things for a story telling board. They made me smile. All day long, I've been on the edge of something... something in my head, riding that carousel, singing a song, needing to be heard. I don't think it's Riley and Suzy. It might not even be adult fiction. But there's a story in there, and I hope I find it before it explodes (that'd be messy).

It may have something to do with dogs. Or maybe princesses. Or knights.

Possible Themes/Titles:

Spacemen of Alcatraz

Ol' Red, A Martian's Best Friend

Marooned on Venus: Blizzards, Not Just for Dessert Anymore

The Pirates of Purchance

I seem to have an outer space theme going. hmmmm

Venturing away from the kid theme for a moment:

A Knight in the Lady's Boudoir (Comedy of course!) - ohhhh, I'm going to have to write that one!

I'm having fleeting thoughts of Heinlein's Job: A Comedy of Justice although I'm not sure why. Now that I think of it, it's been in my head for a while. I read it for the first time a few years ago, might have to go back and read it again.

Lester

2011-06-17T16:58:00.000-07:00

This is in response to a writing prompt at Writer's Village University. But first, an oldie but a goodie that someone reposted on FB today:

If a man talks in a forest and there's no one around to hear him, is he still wrong?

****

"Lester, my leafy friend, you think it's not easy being green? Being green's a cinch these days! Open a can, toss it into the recycle bin. Done with the newspaper? Toss it in the bin. Eggs all gone? Throw the carton in. Why, you can even recycle the shells. Ever heard of composting, Lester? I could compost you if I wanted, but I won't, of course. But you can compost all sorts of things. You can even compost newspapers! And egg cartons!

"I try to tell people that sometimes. I say 'you know, you can put that in the compost pile'. They just look at me like I'm speaking another language. You ever have that problem, Lester? Like you're talking and the words are coming out but the other person doesn't answer? I mean, I'm a quiet person after all. I don't talk much, mostly I listen. People talk back and forth and I sit and I watch, my head going left to right like I'm at a tennis match. Then, when they stop talking, I speak up. I say what I think. You know what happens, Lester? You know what happens when I do that? Absolutely nothing, that's what happens! It's like I never said a word. People just stare at me. Sometimes I think I have a disease. You know about diseases, right Lester? Well, ok, you know plant diseases, but maybe not people diseases, but still. I mean, maybe I don't talk right. Maybe I think there are words coming out of my mouth, but instead all I do is grunt. Or even worse, maybe I make no sound at all. Maybe I only hear myself in my head. Maybe the reason they stare is because my mouth is moving but nothing comes out. You think that's it, Lester?

"Lester?"

Not actually the beginning

2011-06-16T21:16:00.001-07:00

Many journeys start before you realize they've started. They begin in your mind. You watch something on television, you read something in a magazine. Soon you're searching on the 'net, trying to find out more information. You begin to look into the details, you start to learn about your destination.

Life's a journey, not a destination - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Before you get the incorrect idea that I'm well read, I didn't know that was a quote by him - I was thinking about the Aerosmith song and looked it up.

Here's the Aerosmith song if you're interested.

Anyway, this is not the beginning of my writing journey, I just felt like I needed to have a place to write about writing (!). So sometimes, when I'm not working on a story, I'll sit and ramble - I have a half hour a day goal that I have to meet. Other times, I will probably share what I've written, sometimes in hopes of gaining valuable feedback, and other times just for validation. Oh, and sometimes just because I've found that looking at a story when it's formatted differently makes it read differently. Weird, I know, but I never said I wasn't. ;)

F2K is officially complete until August. I'm pretty happy with how the session went. I made the commitment to write in earnest - that's a big one. I also feel like I learned a lot, most notably in the value of feedback, both giving and receiving. My wonderful mentor Granny picked one of my lessons to feature one week, and also picked my final story as the one to represent our room in the session-end contest. I was very happy about that, it felt like validation. The story did not fair well in the voting, and I'm not sure why. It may be that it's the wrong audience, it may be that the story was too ambitious for only 1,500 words, or, it may be that it sucked (of course, I don't believe that for a moment. HAH!) . I don't want to believe it sucked. I don't believe it sucked. But that doesn't mean it didn't! But it didn't! HAHAH! I will post it and let others decide!

Final item worth noting: if I post something, I would love feedback. If it sucks, I'd love to hear that - but if you're going to type that it sucks, then you have to play along and tell me why. You want me to improve, right? I know you do!

Kat's Writing Journey

The Haunted Forest

The Haunted Forest

Red Sky in the Morning

The Pawn

The Pawn

Dinner and a Murder

Dinner and a Murder

Small Kindnesses

Elevator Pitches

Countdown to Vacation

I'm on a roll!

The Day From Hell

I'm on a 6 day streak

Opportunity is Knocking

Dr. Hurley Goes to the Smithsonian

396 Books and Other Resources Writers Recommend

There's No Place Like Home - BDCWB Flash Fiction Challenge #2

Perhaps I *am* Daft

There's a Merry Go Round in my head

Lester

Not actually the beginning

Perhaps I am Daft