updates – and a published short story!

Hello world!

It has been too long. In addition to helping my brother raise over $24,000 for cancer research, I’ve got lots of fantastic personal developments going on right now. I think about writing often and plan to return soon, hopefully. But in the meanwhile, I am happy, healthy and very excited for what the future holds.

In the meanwhile, I have a short story that you can read! My short story “Paperweight” has been published in the literary journal Precipice! This lovely little journal is edited by the fabulous folks over at Write on Edge, my favorite writing community.

You can get your own copy in a variety of formats:

I hope you will purchase and enjoy “Paperweight” and all the stories in the collection! Be well, world.

The Literary Anthology of Write on Edge

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Hey world!

I just wanted to let you know that I am taking a short hiatus from writing to concentrate on a cause that is INCREDIBLY important to me – helping my brother raise funds to fight cancer.

Read more about his inspiring story here.

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Her skirt was still hitched into her belt. Jasmine didn’t see why she should bother to take it down. After all, another customer would be along soon enough and certainly his money would be just as good as the other two.

Her hand picked at her bodice, tugging it into shape. Jasmine’s stomach rumbled and she wondered whether or not she had a moment to duck into the shop on the corner and have a quick bite. She decided she could risk it. The theatre crowds wouldn’t make their way down here for another half hour at least.

In the pub, with an ale in her hand and food in her belly, for a moment Jasmine felt something resembling contentment. Then the serving lady began to sing. To sing something so soft, so low, so familiar, that it was impossible not to go back…to go back to before…

There was always someone singing in the house where she grew up, a house full of women laughing and talking, dancing and drinking.

Jasmine remembered always being held, given sweets, being dressed in cast-off silks. She remembered feeling coddled and protected, kept away from the business of the house. She was the daughter that all the women wished for, but none had the courage to have.

She remembered one day especially, how she had finally plaited her doll Rosamond’s hair in just the right fashion, when her mother came and sat down beside her. The other women melted away.

Her mother took her hand and led her upstairs. She pointed to a door.

“It’s time, dear. Time for you to earn your keep.”

The door opened before Jasmine; the darkness loomed.

“Jasmine…Jasmine!” The soft tones of her youth had turned once again into the rough reminders of her present. “Get yourself out there, girl. Theatre crowd’s here. It’s time.”

It’s always time, Jasmine thought, gathering herself to go through the door and into the night. Again.

This week’s prompt is from Trifecta: between 33 and 333 words on the third definition of the word below:

TIME (noun)

1a : the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues : duration
b : a nonspatial continuum that is measured in terms of events which succeed one another from past through present to future
c : leisure <time for reading>
2: the point or period when something occurs : occasion
3a : an appointed, fixed, or customary moment or hour for something to happen, begin, or end <arrived ahead of time>
b : an opportune or suitable moment <decided it was time to retire> —often used in the phrase about time <about time for a change>

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march madness – day 13

Today I wrote for the Trifecta prompt… it actually came quite easily! A few edits for tomorrow and it should be ready to post.

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fear of flying

The view was spectacular.  Hank was pissed.

High in his bubble, watching as the castle came closer, Hank could barely breathe. The bubble was stifling. Sweat dripped off the edge of his wand and his vision was warping where a puddle had formed on the bubble bottom.

No one ever tells you about this part when you take your Entry tests, Hank thought. No one sits you down and tells you that magic can be a drag. That it can make your eyes glaze over. That it can make your pits smell.

No one sits you down and says, hey, Hank, I know you want to be a sorcerer, but you do know that everyone learns teleportation via the bubble, first. You know that right?

Fricken bubble.

Hank drifted over the forest and approached the clearing that meant this obscure rite of passage would soon be over. A movement at the tree line caught his eye. Hank couldn’t make it out. Probably just a patrol.

The forest was a massive, old growth, stretching from the castle to Munchkinland border. Ever since the Munchkins had revolted against the crown and created their own sovereign state, the safety of travel through the forest had decreased dramatically. Patrols were sent out from the castle to make circuits through the forest and keep the violence in check.

Hank wiped a hand over his brow, wishing the bubble’s form could be altered to include even a hint of a breeze.

There it was again. Movement. Something was stopped at the edge of the clearing. Why didn’t the patrol just keep moving towards the castle? Unless—

In spite of the heat, Hank chilled. Unless it wasn’t a patrol. Unless the Munchkins were surveying the castle.

Hank heard the voice of Alaster, the cantankerous old crone who taught Prisms 101 as clearly as if she were in the bubble: “Any clear surface can be manipulated.” A mirror can be a portal, water can be a scrying mirror; and a window can be a magnifying glasses.

Windows, Hank thought, rolling up his sleeves and gripping his wand tight. Why not bubbles?

He focused his eyes on the bottom of the bubble, weaving his wand in the pattern and speaking the words. Suddenly, Hank could see the forest as if he were standing a mere ten feet above it.

The boot. The color. The—a face came into view. A Munchkin. There could be no doubt.

Hank broke the spell and came back into awareness into his bubble

His heart was still. He would give the warning the moment he landed and the spell popped.

Years after, when the First Munchkin War was a story told to children and Hank led students of his own, he never allowed a student to progress until the bubble was mastered.

After all, he told his students, you just never knew what the bubble might show.

Prompt via Write on Edge. For Write at the Merge this week, we were given the photos below:


Image courtesy of imgur.net

Image source.

click here for picture source

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march madness, day 11

Today, I began my story for the Write on Edge prompt…

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madness on the 10th

Yesterday’s double posting, so as to take advantage of two weekend challenges.

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The prodigal daughter – a parable reimagined

When she moved home after college, her parents were relieved.

They heard the stories from their friends: sons and daughters running off to New York to live impossible lives and living in communes.

She was home. And safe.

When she took her first job, her parents were happy. The teller position in the bank offered some financial security and place to be every day.

She would work. And be safe.

When she lost her first job, her parents were understanding. The bank really was asking a little too much; she was trying her best, why didn’t they see it?

When the second job was lost, her parents were confused. She was trying so hard, why wasn’t it happening for her?

By the third job, her parents were learning. She simply didn’t care, did she? And why would she?

She was home. And safe.

When the door closed on their daughter, her parents stood behind it. Devastated but determined. She might end up in New York. She might live in a commune. She would find her way. She would have to. Wouldn’t she?

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the weight

Viana knew the penalty. Yet still she stood. She knew he owned the vote. But she knew another would rise. And another, and another. Until he fell.

As first stone flew, she knew.

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madness on the 8th

Today I read and made comments on the blogs of fellow writers.

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