#FlashFiction Inspired

My inspiration for stories…

They come from everywhere.  Bits of conversations overheard in the grocery store sometimes spawn complicated love triangles, and don’t even get me started on the secret life of the cutie check out guy.  Although I’m sure my imagination is nothing like his real life … poor guy.

Today I awoke to snow on the ground and grabbed my camera and headed to the wooded area at the end of our neighborhood to take pictures of the trees, creek, and snow with every intention of making it into a book cover some day.

Here’s how the walk went…


There is a hidden waterfall I’ve never seen because I rarely walk back this far.  It’s beautiful, with the rust covered leaves of autumn and sound of the water rushing, I feel as if I’ve stepped into a hidden forest.


The snow covers the leaves, and underneath the ground is soft clay, a remnant of the flood two months ago.  I imagine a man walking; spotting something vibrant green in the snow and realizing it’s a toy takes it to the neighbor’s yard, whom he’s never met.  Cue cupid, cue adorable love story – oh-oh-oh  – she’s not the nanny, she’s actually married to a horrible man and the kind toy-saver helps her break out of her abusive marriage and take her child and gives her a new identity, and… and…


Holy hell!!!  Look at the erosion going on over there!  I love how the tree root dangles, the cold water rushing over the flat stone.  Hmm, in summer time I imagine looking for lizards or bathing on the flat rock, but right now, all I can imagine is the dead body, caught on the rocks, her long black hair floating over her face and her bright red jacket is stained with brown.  The attractive police detective questioning the neighbors, one is nervous but swears she’s never seen the woman before.  Ohh, I could work with this story line.


That root hanging down is really crazy looking.  Perhaps in the summer ancient rites are performed under the root of knowledge…  Or maybe a gang of kids try to shoot it off with a bb gun, one gets injured and a nearby neighbor comes to his rescue.  She calls his dad…  Hmm, it has potential but I still like the dead body better.


This would be a pretty book cover, the meandering creek in the dead of winter bringing life to the critters downstream.  Perhaps she’s a wildlife photographer that gets snowed in and the ranger is furious that he has to go out and find her.  Meh… Not loving it.  I’m getting cold and want to return home.


Black bark with white snow, the trees are sentries, keeping me on the low ground by the creek.  I attempt to walk back up the hill, but now the soft clay is shifting under my feet and I slide.  Suddenly the story of the photographer becomes a missing person, search and rescue sent to find her.  She’s broken her ankle and made a crude shelter, drinking creek water to survive.

My foot slides further, my body weight shifting and I’m unstable.  My hands scramble for purchase and find only frozen leaves and broken branches.  Ohmigod, I’m going to slide into the creek.  This isn’t funny.  Do you know how many pictures of man candy are stored on my laptop?  What will my kids think?  My obituary will read middle-aged housewife, died of hypothermia after slamming her head against a rock and freezing to death in a creek.  Next time I’m bringing rope and a friend!

Finally, my foot finds purchase against a tree and I wrap my hands around it, my face plastered against the rough textured bark and I don’t care.  I’ll tell the kids their father and I had kinky sex on the carpet to explain the facial abrasions.

At home, I wash clay, leaves, and pebbles from my shoes, change my clothes and imagine an interview with Jimmy Fallon, who congratulates me on being a NY Times Best Seller and RITA award winner and when he asks me, “Where do you get your inspiration?” I giggle and shrug coyly.

By the way, that whole experience took about thirty minutes.  I have too many stories, not enough time to write!

#FlashFictionFriday The Temp

He stood, back against the door jamb, just out of her line of sight and waited.  She stuffed her scarf in her bag, changed her heels for flats and smoothed her skirt down her legs before turning toward the elevator.  The doors opened and he moved then, slipping between the doors before they closed.

Her breath faltered, her pulse quickened, and she nodded and then lowered her eyes to the floor.

He growled, loving that simple act of submission.  He stilled his hands from reaching toward her, fisting them behind his back.  “Good evening.  You’ll be back tomorrow.”

Her eyes met his, blinking, a beautiful rose color flushed her cheeks and she stuttered, “I, uh, I, no.”

He smirked, “No?”

“No.” She held his gaze, no submission this time.

He smirked at her defiance, the excitement of breaking her thrilling him.

1980 Olympics… #WTFWednesday How did I miss this? #PaulHunt – Oh yeah, #NadiaComanici and her perfect 10

Paulette Huntinova???  Why don’t I remember you, my dear?   The video is so hilarious and the thing is, I remember “Short People” by Scott Hamilton in 1976.  Ohmigod – 1976? Is it possible that I’m that old.  I don’t feel old but since I have three kids in teens – with the oldest VERY close to… (oh God it’s hard to admit) –  her twenties.  Still, I feel young.  I was suprised when I came across the video from 1980 when I was SO familiar with the 1976 Scott Hamilton video the reason????  Nadia Comanici and her perfect 10.  She was the only thing I remembered from the 80’s Olympics.  Thanks to youtube I can relive my youth (and it really was my youth) and catch up on the good stuff I missed.

This is How I Flirt #FlashFictionFriday

This is how I flirt.

There he was and I was prepared.  It was time.  I psyched myself up, ignoring the giggles of my teammates as I approached him in the library.  This was my mother’s idea… she promised to pay for therapy if it went wrong.  She promised me it worked for her.

Oh God, he’s looking at me…

His eyes fall to the table and he shuffles the papers in front of him.  His shoulders are tense and he’s tapping his pencil.

Oh God, I can’t do this.  My heart races and I can feel my chest tensing so tight my fingers tingle.  Oh God, I’m going to have a panic attack.




I slip my hand in my pocket and my fingers clasp around the keychain Mom sent me last week.  Brass balls that I’ve used as a worry stone for six days.  There’s a piece of paper too, seemingly inconsequential and yet it will either bring my happiness or humiliation.


He looks up at me and his gaze softens giving me confidence to continue toward him.  I stop in front of his table, the whispers of the library patrons are hushed and my breathing sounds too loud.

My fingers, still numb, pinch the paper and pull it from my pocket.  I put it on the table and push it towards him, giving him a chin nod.  He glances down and reads the scrawled print, “This is how I flirt” and my phone number.  His breath catches and his cheeks bloom a rosy pink but then he smiles before dropping his head, pulling the paper toward him and slipping it into his pocket. 

Oh God, I need to leave.  The plan was to leave.  Move body!  Move!

His friends laugh, my friends and teammates cheer and finally my feet respond and shuffle.  I concentrate on breathing and walking.  Please God, don’t let me trip…

#ManCandyMonday Kit Harrington – on the wall, against the wall… any way works.

Jon Snow, or Kit Harrington, either way you would spend time on the wall with him, wouldn’t you?  On the wall… against the wall… on your knees…  yup, all that imagery works for me.  On a side note, it’s not a kilt he’s wearing but he’s rocking that look too.

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#charliehebdo Images that cost twelve lives

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Ok – I write romance and I know that the graphic nature of some of my novels is offensive to some and enjoyed by others.  I assume those offended won’t purchase my books, not open fire…  I have published the above political cartoons because the traditional cable news have mentioned that the attack yesterday was due to the cartoons and yet they never showed the pictures.  Huffington Post has a story with most of the pictures here.  Tucker Carlson suggested that instead of tweeting “jesuischarlie” we actually post the pictures and that struck a chord with me.

Last words on this political subject… multiculturalism like communism is a beautiful idea but is incapable of functioning in our world because we are human.  We are animals – big bags of hormones that have reflexive responses and pretending we aren’t doesn’t make it so.