There he was – Officer Hottie. My heart raced and I swiped my sweaty palm against my thigh. The man consistently starred in my dreams at night. It made it impossible to meet his eye in person, because I was sure he could read my mind as I recalled all the ways he seduced me in my dreams. I eyed his belt, which last night’s served as an anchor for my thighs as I rode him. He held me against the locker room door and bucked into me hard. In last week’s dream we used the bed in the physician’s lounge, he restrained me with medical tape and I woke up breathless and sweaty — and frustrated. Now I was embarrassed – I was afraid to look at the man, afraid that he would see how much I wanted him. He was always polite to me. I saw him a […]
You’ve actually been here before, we just made sure you forgot. She couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. Perhaps it was because this was the sixth first-date in three weeks she’d accepted. The man seated across from her in the booth was bland. She pushed her fork around the plate musing that he was as bland as the food. “That’s the house specialty,” he said too loudly. “Mmm,” she looked up and sighed at his excited expression. This wasn’t going to work. She clutched her purse and slid toward the edge of the bench. “I’m sorry.” What was his name? She tried to remember, pulling forth memories of the email messages the dating agency had forwarded. Why was he so funny online but not in person? She stood up, “Thank you for your time. I don’t think this will work.” He looked slightly surprised, “Why? I mean, why exactly?” […]
The sun splintered off the interior cathedral windows, a sight Bridget had never seen before since light had never been allowed in the immense building. The ruin of the building still maintained the high arches, but instead of spider webs interconnecting the intricate mouldings they now served as a trellis for kudzu and morning glories. A diverted creek spilled through the roof purifying St. George’s sword in the small vestibule where he stood guard. The cathedral, free of dragons, was now home to other flora and fauna. The earthquake decades ago had shifted this small piece of land so that it was no longer useable. Bridget never liked cathedral for its original purpose, but now with it opened – with nature and light an integral part of its architecture she wanted to keep it exactly as it was. A pagan monument – a fitting reminder that the human species may leave a mark, […]
There was a meadow where the fairies used to live where people went to pray to the gods for help. If your intentions were pure, the fairies would guide you through the forest to the meadow. If not… you would wander for days and might not return. Maeve prayed the fairies would guide her. As she approached the forest, the cool moist air calmed her. She brought with her only the clothes on her back and a determined spirit to find a solution to help her mother without having to marry the village pig farmer. Diarmuid was a kind man, although he was old enough to be her grandfather. His portly belly and short stature was almost as repulsive to Maeve as the odor that preceeded him. He was rich and Maeve was young and her mother was getting older and needed the security of a home. Maeve’s father died the winter […]
She sat in her living room reading a book about poisonous mushrooms. Paranoia egged her on, fraying her very last nerve. If only her anxiety had no foundation. If only she hadn’t searched through Brent’s phone. If only the idiot had erased his texts to Karen, the bitch, the home-wrecker. If only she hadn’t moved in next door. Amanita phalloides, the death cap, seemed to be Lela’s most perfect solution. The bitch was having carpal tunnel surgery; it was only neighborly for Lela to bring over a casserole, or perhaps chicken marsala, Brent’s favorite meal. “Let’s go Theo,” she called to her Labrador. He slowly unfolded himself from the small bed he’d used since he was a puppy. She scratched behind his ears and snapped on his leash. Perked up, the dog jauntily pranced toward the front door. Theo was the best thing to come from her marriage, Lela realized. […]
Writing Prompt from Passionate Ink – Every morning when you wake up, something from your last dream of the night becomes real for an hour. The Fortune Cookie… Courtney wished the Ambien worked and left her dream free, but no… instead she found herself slamming her fist down on her squealing alarm clock and pushing the sand from her eyes. Dammit, the sand? Last night her dream of Rahul the towel boy plying her with Pina Coladas and offering to rub lotion into her back was pretty fantastic. Watching the sunset on the beach was lovely… but this morning did she have Rahul in her bed massaging her limbs? No, dammit, she had a freaking hangover from drinking cheap ass rum and there was sand in her hair. By the time she washed and dried it she’d be late to work, again! She pushed the bedcovers back and tromped to […]
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 […]
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.
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. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 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 […]
Mistletoe Cassidy walked into the office kitchen and immediately noticed the sprig of mistletoe hanging over the door. “There’s a sexual harassment suit in the making.” She muttered as she moved toward the coffee pot and filled her mug. She turned to find her boss standing under the door jamb, flicking his gaze between the mistletoe and her, and an uncomfortable look crossed his face. “I didn’t put it there.” Cass said defensively. He smirked, reached up and pulled it down but instead of putting in the garbage he stuffed it into his pocket. “I’m going to hang this up in my office.” He nodded as he walked past her, “If you’d like to put it to use later.”
Deirdre looked at her face in the rear view mirror one last time before resigning herself to another bad first date. This would be the thirteenth in four months, all because her well-meaning and married friends insisted that this year she would find someone. It didn’t matter that her parents cursed her by naming her after a woman who died of a broken heart. Dee wished she could meet someone, her biological clock was ticking and when her best friend announced she was pregnant she couldn’t disguise the longing she felt. Still, twelve excruciating bad dates later Dee just wanted to go to the animal shelter and find a companion there. At least she could do something about his halitosis, unlike her last date. This date was already starting poorly, the gentleman in question suggesting they attend a book club at the local library. The only reason Dee agreed was […]
#WIP #ReboundBaby3 In the third Rebound Baby book, Melinda Noonan has the worst sex of her life with Mark who informs her that the condom broke and offers to pay for PlanB. Mel’s not the kind of girl to take PlanB, in fact she really wasn’t the kind of girl to have a one-night stand. She’s sure that she’s being punished for her impulsive behavior but she’s not the kind of girl to throw herself a pity party, well, an extended pity party. When Mel finds out she’s having triplets she panics and finds her new boss’s arms very comforting. Mike Salvatore has worked hard all his life putting every thing he has into his career. First with the military where he earned the position as a recon specialist for the special forces. Retired, he started his own security company and put everything he made back into the company. He wants […]
Ahh, November the month where thousands of writers, authors, and other people with pencil and paper strive to put a minimum of fifty thousand words down in hopes that someday it will be a book. Yeah – so in between revising, editing, etc. I’m trying to write a book in November. Instead of the usual FlashFiction I thought I’d torture you with a bit of the manuscript completely unedited. This story idea started with a prompt from a writer friend/colleague Jon C. Cook so it’s his fault that I’m writing scifi! Three times per week. Three times per week they would come and feed her. There was water everyday if you could call it that. Brown in color it had a slight sulfuric smell and a bitter aftertaste. The cell Rene now sat in was devoid of natural light, almond colored cement walls and ancient floor tiles that had been […]
Halloween brought out the worst in people, he mused as a woman in a black bikini and cat ears batted her eyelashes in his direction. Disgusted, he put a twenty on the bar and headed toward the door. His hand reached for the door at the same time as hers. The only woman fully dressed at the bar. “What are you supposed to be?” His deep voice rumbled. She pointed to her pink t-shirt, “Nudist on Strike” was stenciled on the front. He threw his head back and laughed. “My name is Sawyer, and I really like your costume.”
Her cheeks were pink, her nose red and running. She sniffled against the back of her glove and grinned stupidly. “Why are you so happy?” Bridgette grumbled. “It’s sweater weather!” Becca danced in a circle and pulled at the frumpy shape that laid across her frame, it was a kaleidoscope of browns and greens and a god-awful yellow color that only came in yarn. “And that’s a good thing because?” Becca nudged her and pointed her nose toward their neighbor. She caught sight of Katrina, who just last week brought her garbage down wearing a bikini top and booty shorts. Today, Katrina was smartly dressed in knee high boots, leggings, and a chunky tunic sweater. Career Barbie would like to look that good. Becca whispered, “Now we finally have a chance with the hottie in 2B.” “Mmm.” Bridgette mumbled and wondered if it was possible to have too much self-esteem…
I love the sound of rain when I am inside. The way it beats against the skylights is hypnotic. I love how the light changes, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere. When I’m inside… When I’m outside, it’s my enemy, turning my clothes into a claustrophobic restraint, my hair into, well, it’s not pretty. And my shoes… No one should have to wear rubber boots, and yet no pump should die from water torture.
The sirens blared, but she didn’t need to hear them to know what was coming. The sky was grey, then green, the trees reaching toward the house, their green leaves plucked from the branches. The thunder was deafening, rattling the glasses in her cabinet and followed by sudden barrage of hail against the aluminum siding. Hunkered in her closet she waited and prayed, not for herself but for the baby, six weeks old that lived across the street. The storm relented and she ran to her door dumbfounded at neighbor’s house. The front wall was peeled back, giving it the illusion of a doll house. Inside, she watched as the family emerged from the closet under the stairs. They had no home, no electricity, but they were alive and that was everything.
November is National Novel Writing Month and I’m participating – again. Since I started writing years ago I’ve used November to sit down and focus on writing at least two thousand words each day. In the past I’ve written books that I self-published as Doyle MacBrayne, including Eve ver. 2.0, The Fourth Christmas, Jane Eyre Austen and… this novel which I’ve never published because it STILL isn’t ready. Below is the first chapter of Death By Zombie – a book I hope one day to finally rewrite, revise, edit and publish because I still love the characters. Chapter One: No one puts fun in funeral like your parents My parents are extraordinary people, or so I’ve been told. I believe I was an afterthought, an idea that seemed good at the time, and discarded when I became troublesome. Fortunately my Grandma never found me taxing, she took great efforts to […]
Her hand was cool against his. He held it gently in his palm and wrapping his other hand around her fingers, pressing them tightly against him. “Live. Take my strength.” Unheeded pleas welled forth from his lips, unburdening his heart’s desire to give his life for hers.
The woman from the elevator stood banging her head against my neighbor’s door. She was soaking wet, her blouse transparent and wearing a wet paper bag around her waist. Karmically dressed, I mused, still angry about the. I opened my door a crack and her eyes widened as she recognized me. She slumped against the door, laughing uncontrollably until they turned to sobs. Dammit. I opened my door fully and motioned for her to enter but she shook her head. Finally she spoke, “I’ll just wait for Mrs. Whipson.” I shook my head, “She left this morning. She’ll be back Thursday.”