Oct 25 2017, 11:56 pm in Family, Flash Fiction, Romance
Ring Pop
Graham was kneeling, sinking into the muddied trail, with a broad smile and his arm outstretched holding the ring. A cherry red ring pop.
“You’re such a son of a bitch,” Annie said, biting her lip, hands hard on her hips.
“Get up,” she said, cocking her head and motioning with her hand. Seriously? What is this? He can’t really….
“Answer me first.”
Thousands of thuds pounded around them, spitting through the naked tree limbs laced thickly above, smacking against rocks, earth and piles of sun burnt leaves around their feet. Looking up, Graham belted out a hearty laugh.
“What’s so amusing?”
“This,” he laughed.
“Can we just go? We’re getting soaked,” Annie sputtered, looking frantically around. I can’t do this. I’m not ready.
He coughed and shook himself, his hair flying around like a wet dog.
“Not until you give me an answer woman,” he said in a playful draw, fluttering his thick brows.
“You can’t be serious. This isn’t the time for this!” Annie’s arms though covered in her jacket, were rife with goosebumps, her nerves flying electrically through her skin. She shook her feet alternately, her socks swollen with water than had soaked through her sneakers and diverted her eyes. Damnit.
“There’s never been a better time,” Graham said, broadly swiveling around, gesturing around them. “C’mon love. Say you’ll marry me. Take me, here, now – all these trees will stand witness.”
Annie smiled, but her heart rose sharply into her throat.
“I love you,” she said. “Really, I do but…..”
“Then say yes.”
“I don’t want things to change,” Annie said, her voice cracking. He moved to her, lifting her chin gently to see into her eyes.
“WE won’t,” he said.
“Then why? Why do we have to be married?” Annie said. I’m going to lose him. Here. Now. This is how this will end.
“Why?” Graham repeated, with a soft smile. “Because I love you. You love me. I want you to be my wife. To be married. Married old fools who go hiking in the rain.”
She shook her head, trying to throw the words away from her. I can’t….give that much…..Bare myself….risk it all. Again.
“I can’t…”
Graham’s brows hardened and his jaw twitched at her words.
“I just can’t,” Annie repeated quietly.
“You’re not making sense,” he said, bobbing his head trying to regain eye contact.
She turned and walked into the trees, leaning against one heavily.
“You don’t understand – what it was like to….try so hard…..lose so much……”
“You’re right, I haven’t been through what you have.” He trudged up behind Annie, turning her with a solid yet soft grip on her shoulder. “But love, I am NOT him.”
“I know that.”
“Then don’t let HIM, what he did, ruin US. Please,” Graham said. “What we have is great. It’s actually pretty fucking great. I love you. You’re a STUBBORN ASS, but you’re brilliant, and funny, and sexy as hell…..We’re good together. Better than any of that bull-shit. You know that.” He shook his head. “Damnit. Have I ever done anything like that? WOULD I? Don’t be afraid of me because of…….”
“It’s not just me in this,” Annie said sharply. “You know that. I love you. So much. I just don’t know if getting married is the right thing. I promised myself that I wouldn’t – for Adam’s sake. He’s the most important thing in my life.”
Graham’s shoulders pulled back, as a wave rolled through him.
“I know he is. He’s your son,” he said.
Annie nodded, crossing her arms over her chest as hot tears rose behind her eyes.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
“That’s all over. Behind me.” She looked away, lost in thought.
“He’s a great kid. Adam.”
“He is.”
“He told me you liked cherry.”
“What?”
“Cherry,” he said, flicking the ring pop into his mouth and winking at her. “I almost forgot. He wanted me to give you this.”
Graham handed her a sloppily wrapped box and then held his backpack over them like a canopy.
“You work so hard,” he said as she pulled at the crinkled paper. “You do everything right by Adam. For him. And you love him fiercely….”
Annie opened the flaps of the box and saw a card. “Mommy”.
“I want to be a part of that. Take care of, and do right by you BOTH. You – and Adam – deserve that. I know he’s not my blood, but I love him. And with every part of me, woman, I love and adore you,” Graham said, his hand brushing the line of her cheek. “Adam has an incredible, strong mother – I’d like to show him what it’s like to have a real man for a father. One who respects his mother. Treats her right. A man, a father, who will fight to my very last breath to give you both the world. Let me be that man. Let us be a family.”
A small sob escaped as Annie opened the card. Adam had drawn a picture of the three of them on the mountain – him in the middle, holding both of their hands. On her other hand was a large cherry red diamond. The curved smile drawn on his face spoke volumes and three words he had written in crayon were simple and blunt – “say yes Mommy”
Annie straightened, her eyes tracing over the soaked mess in front of her. This is a good – really good – man. And he’s right. THIS is right. I can’t let fear…my past…dictate my future.
Graham nodded towards the box and the blue jewelry box nestled into the bottom. When she opened it, a ring with three diamonds sparkled up at her.
“One for each of us,” he smiled, with a large exhale. Tears freely falling, she leaned into him, kissing him on his cherry flavored lips.
“You’re right. There’s never been a better time.” She smiled, her heart warm and at peace within her chest. “Yes.”
I’m addicted to words. As a kid, I wrote about bunnies. My teenage years were full of short stories  and poems, as I tried to figure out who I was and where I wanted to go with my life. At 40 – the road here and ahead look pretty grand. I’ve dove head first into writing and research as I work to complete my first novel in a trilogy – a lifelong dream that I’m working hard to realize. In my “spare time”, I’m a military spouse, mother of five (awesome) children and one furbaby (meow), volunteer and “Peaker”. Currently located in Germany, (which luckily supports my research habit of studying castles and medieval life), my greatest joy now is balancing raising five good hearted resilient children with my best friend, with combatting the stress of military life and special needs parenting, while happily re-adding the word “writer” to my life story. Rebekah
Oct 24 2017, 11:45 pm in BFFs, Flash Fiction, Florida Writer, Romance
Burning Revenge
“Mal, I don’t think this is such a good idea anymore.” Katie’s dark-lined eyes scanned the corridor they stood in. Her hands nervously tugging the cords hanging from her black hoodie. They thought it would be a good idea to dress in Mission Impossible black outfits for their covert op, but now she looked down at herself and best friend, she felt ridiculous. This was probably the stupidest thing Mallory had ever talked her in to. She might as well put the handcuffs on right now.
“This is a brilliant idea. Best one yet. Have I ever steered you wrong?” Mallory crouched in front of apartment G-7 and aptly pick the lock.
“Yes, on several occasions.”
“Pff, I get you out of that damn comfort zone you’ve boxed yourself into.” Mallory jiggled the door knob and it opened. She gave Katie a sly smile. “We’re in.”
“How do you know how to pick a lock?” Katie asked. An incredulous tinge to her voice.
Mallory stood, shrugging her shoulders. “I know people. Now let’s go.” She pulled her hoodie down and walked into the apartment as if she had every right to be there.
Katie’s eyes darted around the hallway again. Why did she agree to this? Oh-wait, that’s right. Her ADHD on crack co-worker did everything he could and almost succeeded in sabotaging the promotion she’s been busting her ass for. Anger jackhammered through her as the memories of today’s meeting flashed in her head. She was not going to let that dickhead Tommy Trent get away with what he’d done.
They spent the next few minutes sorting through the two boxes of dildos that cost damn near half her paycheck. The plan was simple. Decorate his entire apartment with them and ruin his top-secret date with Daisy, the HR Director with their firm.
“Who knew they made so many different types. I mean look at this one?” Katie said holding up a double headed penis. It was velvety soft and confused the hell out of her. “How does this even work? Is it like a raunchy tug of war game?” She tilted her head and squinted.
“Ooo, what about this one!” Mallory held up a gigantic cock like a trophy. Her fingers didn’t come close to meeting as she waved it back and forth like a sloppy noodle. “Awe, that’s sad. I think this one needs some Viagra.”
Katie laughed. Snorted and then laughed harder causing Mallory to fall backwards laughing hysterically. Katie hit Mallory in the arm with the double edge dildo. “Shh” snort snort “We’re gonna get caught.” Snort. “Seriously…” and she was gone, lost in fits of snorting hysteria.
“Who’s going to catch us the dildo police?” They dissolved into hysterics again.
“Ohmygod, did you hear that?” Katie pulled herself upright.
Voices came from the other side of the door. Mallory’s eyes widened and Katie’s mouth dropped.
“I thought you said he had reservations.” Mallory whispered. Straining her ear toward the door.
Katie shrugged looking at the colorful penis display they had thrown around them. “Maybe she stood him up?” she whispered back, swinging her arms wide. “What are we going to do?”
Mallory bit her bottom lip as she tossed her hands up with the larger-than-life dildo still in her hand.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Mallory’s mouth dropped open. “Ohmygod, Katie. It vibrates.”
Katie rolled her eyes. “Well, it has to do something besides being limp. Now, turn that thing off.”
Mallory turned it upside down, then rolled it in her hands before looking back at Katie. “I don’t know how.”
Katie’s lips pulled to one side as she stared at the puzzle in her friend’s hand. “Shake it?”
Mallory pumped the mammoth penis in the air three times. Harder each time. “I can’t get it to work.” She looked at Katie in disbelief.
Katie chewed on the inside of her cheek, desperately trying not to lose it. “Don’t!” She held up a finger in warning to Mallory then pointed to the door.
Mallory’s eyes danced as she scrunched up her face.
The snorting hysteria followed.
The sharp click of the lock sobered them in an instant. Plastic penises flew through the air as they scrambled to find a hiding place finally cramming into the pantry.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The hum of the vibrating Goliath dildo still reverberated through the apartment.
“What the fuck?” Tommy’s voice boomed.
Katie scrunched her eyes closed. They were so getting busted. She could smell the stale, musty jail cell now.
“Is this some kind of joke Tommy? Or do you have some kind of fetish?” Daisy’s soft southern belle voice floated through the apartment.
“No. NO! I-I don’t know what this is. I swear.” Tommy said.
“Cause, you know, I don’t mind.” Daisy said all breathy.
Katie and Mallory side-eyed each other.
“I think it’s sexy,”
“You…uh…you do?” Shock evident in Tommy’s voice.
“Mmhm… like this one. Ooo, it’s already turned on for me.” Daisy giggled.
Katie pulled back bumping into the shelves behind her. She looked to Mallory. “If they go at it right here and I have to listen to it, I’m killing you.” She half mouthed- half whispered as low as possible.
Mallory gave an outrageous eye roll then mouthed “whatever.”
“Well.” Tommy cleared his throat. “I guess we should put this to good use then… in the bedroom?”
“You read my mind, you dirty, dirty boy.” Daisy giggled again. “Oh, grab that bottle of lube too.”
Mallory gave Katie a broad smile and two thumbs up. “Told you, swapping out the lube with unscented Bengay was going to be epic.”
Katie glared at Mallory. “I hate you. I’m never letting you talk me into shit like this ever again.”
Mallory laughed. “Sure you will. Now, move it before we get caught.” Her eyes glittered in the dark, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Think he’ll get fired?”
“Oh yeah.” Katie grinned back.
I’m Alyssa Henderson. Like all things in my life, I came a little late to the writing party. I’ve been a professional dreamer all my life, but it wasn’t until my early thirties my stories refused to be squashed. I  began writing and I haven’t stopped since. Creating the perfect plot twist for my story is seriously one of the best things EVER. I am a book junkie with a coffee habit and no desire to stop either. I love practicing yoga, enjoying good food with my family and friends – with wine, of course (got to balance out the caffeine) and walking my dogs if the weather is nice. When I’m not writing and juggling daily life, I love traveling and using my experiences to enrich my stories and characters and meeting up with other writers. The writing community is truly amazing.
Oct 20 2017, 6:09 am in Finland, Flash Fiction, MPC Writer, Romance
Today
“So, what’s it going to be today? Chicken or ham?” Her voice wasn’t as chipper as it could have been but then given the sodden trainers that were squelching her around the office space and the torrential rain battering the windows, no one could have been overly surprised.
“Do you have tuna?”
“Really? We’re really going to do this. Again.” The sandwich girl sighed wearily, switching her basket of clingfilm smothered sandwiches and rolls to the other hip. The plastic wrap decorated with droplets of water that sparkled under the lighting. She rolled her shoulders to try and get the wet shirt to stop clinging to her back, the fabric making her want to shiver.
“Well, do you?” his tone was hopeful.
“Dan, let me ask you a question. It is Dan, isn’t it?”
Dan nodded.
“Dan, did I have tuna yesterday?”
He shook his head.
“Or the day before?”
Another shake and his overly bright smile began to fade ever so slightly.
“Have I ever, in all the months I’ve been bringing sandwiches to your office, had tuna?”
“No,” he replied quietly.
“And do you know why that is, Dan?”
“Because no one orders any?”
“Because no one orders any. No one has ever ordered tuna and so no tuna sandwiches ever make their way into my basket. And yet every day, every single day, you ask if I have one.” She tried to keep her voice down but there was little chance that her words didn’t carry to the nearest cubicles around them, even more so given that most people seemed to have paused their work to listen in. “May I suggest if you’re so keen to have a fish based sandwich for your lunch, Dan, you bloody well order one when asked!”
In the silence that followed a droplet of rain dripped from her pixie cut hair and ran down her forehead and dripped off the quirked brow currently aimed at the hapless Dan.
Somewhere, in someone’s cubicle, a phone rang and the bubble burst instantly. Quiet noise filling up the office space once more and prompting Dan into responding.
“I’ll have ham, please,” Dan took the offered sandwich with a muted word of thanks, dropping some coins into her outstretched hand to cover the cost.
Closing her eyes and taking a slow breath to try and calm herself down she turned away from Dan and his non-tuna filled sandwich and headed to the next cubicle. The man inside clearly amused by what had just gone on given the grin on his lips.
“Well, that was rather dramatic for a Tuesday lunchtime, even for you and Dan and your daily battle of the baguettes.”
“You need to get out more, that was nothing. You want drama? Go to the office where only one gluten free sandwich has been ordered and someone else has taken it.”
“I can imagine,” he chuckled, holding out a box of tissues. “Handbags at ten paces.”
“You’re not far off,” she smiled gratefully, setting her basket down on the corner of his desk and taking one of the offered tissues to wipe at her face.
“Aren’t you worried someone might make a complaint?”
“Oddly enough, this isn’t my dream job,” she countered defensively, balling up the damp tissue and tossing it into a nearby bin. “If I’m completely honest, when I left the sandwich shop and the heavens opened I was genuinely tempted to just chuck this lot on the ground, put the basket over my head and go home.”
As if to emphasise her point there was a massive flash of lightning outside followed by a crash of thunder so loud it shook the huge windows that stretched from floor to ceiling.
“I don’t blame you,” he assured her, frowning slightly. “But, even so, you’d probably need a reference, wouldn’t you? A bad comment from a client could really mess that up.”
“I appreciate your concern,” her voice was a little softer, it surprised them both, “but if he hasn’t got the balls to order the sandwich he wants I highly doubt he’s going to be picking up the phone to start making complaints any time soon.”
“Fair point.”
“I’m sure I’ll be back here tomorrow, with a basket devoid of tuna based lunch items, just as I always am.”
“Well, I hope so. I kind of like watching you and Dan every day.”
“Then I’ll do my best not to disappoint, assuming I don’t get washed away on my way to the next office on my list of course.” She blushed slightly. “So, what’ll it be? Chicken or ham?”
“Today?”
“Today.”
“Today I’d really like to take you out for dinner but I didn’t put that on the order slip this morning so…” his words tailed off and her eyes rose from the basket to his face. “I guess it’ll have to be chicken.”
“Dinner?” she repeated quietly, suddenly hoping her eyeliner wasn’t too badly ruined by the rain.
“No, chicken,” he repeated slowly, stressing the syllables slightly.
Grinning bashfully, she pulled out a chicken roll from her basket and held it out.
“But, I don’t even know your name,” she admitted as he took it from her and pulled his wallet from his suit jacket pocket.
“You’re Sophie, the sandwich girl, and I’m Chris. I like sandwiches and walks in the rain. Seems like we’d be a good match.” He held out a ten pound note to pay for the sandwich along with his business card.
“I don’t have enough change for this.”
“Don’t worry, you can bring it along tonight. Give me a call or a text later and we’ll sort out where to meet.”
“Ok then,” Sophie smiled, pocketing the card and hoping like hell that it survived the rest of the lunchtime deliveries.
“Ok,” Chris repeated, watching her walk away.
“So,” Sophie approached the next cubicle with a much brighter expression than she had been wearing a few minutes earlier. “What’ll it be today?”
I’m Jo Jackson and I’ve been writing stories since I was a child. I wrote my first serious attempt at a novel at the age of 14 and wrote regularly after that until real life and ‘adulting’ got in the way.
A few years ago I allowed myself to have enough belief and confidence in my writing to try and do something about the stories that have been trapped in my imagination for too long. I’m a British born preschool teacher and photographer who’s been living for the last 12 years in Northern Finland with my husband, two children and our crazy black labrador. Here I write under the northern lights in winter and the midnight sun in summer, taking large amounts of inspiration from family holidays spent in the Scottish Highlands as well as the adventure games of my childhood. I tend to write about love, in various guises. Check out my book, ‘Moments Matter: The importance of family photography’
Oct 20 2017, 6:09 am in Flash Fiction, Florida Writer, Mystery
Bitter
The woman thrashed across the bed. Sheets and covers tangled her legs. She clawed at her throat, fighting to breathe. Specks of light floated before her eyes as she strained to see through the darkness.
Familiar male laughter rumbled over the ringing in her ears.
Jane Harris gasped awake. Her heart pounded as she struggled upright and flipped on a lamp, focused on her surroundings. She scanned her small Manhattan bedroom. Empty. The scent of sour sweat sickened her as she raked trembling fingers through her hair.
She hadn’t heard the last of her ex-boyfriend.
Slipping out of bed, she checked the window latch before heading to the kitchen. Lights flicked on as she went.
See? He’s not here. No one’s here. He can’t hurt me again. Her hand tightened into a fist. He won’t.
She inspected the apartment, then entered the bathroom. Stared in the mirror as she filled a cup with water. The woman reflected looked alien: hollow blue eyes and snarled hair framed an ashen face. A quick swallow, then she faced her bedroom again. And thoughts of Tom Ridley, her ex of two months past.
Memories chased away sleep. The first bruising grab after she teased his football team’s loss. The belittling of her choice of Miles Davis over his AC/DC. The time his punch cracked her ribs because he claimed she’d flirted with another man.
As if I’d ever do that. I can’t even think of other men. Another slow breath. But at least I finally ditched him.
Spring blossomed the next week. The dream didn’t return, and Jane enjoyed the mundaneness of spring cleaning, errand-running, and doctor visits that marked her personal season change. Routine brought a gratifying calm.
One evening, an eerie sensation crawled over her as she left the dentist. Dusk crept into the streets. Lights winked on but didn’t dispel sidewalk shadows. She glanced around. Nothing unusual. Still, tingling iced her spine. Entering a boutique on her block, she ducked behind a display, and turned to look outside.
Tom Ridley pinioned her with his stare.
Minutes ticked by.
He didn’t move. She couldn’t.
A clerk approached. The distraction startled Jane, and she bumped into the rack, dislodging items. She stammered an apology, then looked toward the window.
Tom had vanished.
Oh, God, where is he?
Fumbling fingers dialed her friend Helen. Voicemail. She hesitated, then slipped out. Phone and keys in hand, she peered around and hurried home. The deadbolt slammed behind her.
Over the next week, Jane’s life deteriorated. The standoff with Tom left her jittery, fearful of other surprises. Her nights became restless, nightmare-plagued. She suffered through long days with an achy head and an acid stomach.
“Maybe visit your dad for a couple days,” Helen suggested. “Get your mind off things.”
“I’d hate to worry him. He and Tom never got along, and hearing this would upset him.” She shook her head. “I’ll just hope that was the end of it.”
That night, Jane writhed across the bed. Rough hands choked her again. This time, though, she awoke gagging. She stumbled to her bathroom, spat out the mouth guard she slept with. She’d cracked off a piece and swallowed it.
What a joke! This is supposed to help?
Her dentist instructed her to sleep with the guard because stress had her grinding her teeth. She returned to bed, but nausea and sleeplessness overwhelmed her.
Her boss frowned when he saw her the next morning, noting her sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes. “You look like death with a side of fries. You need a doctor.” He patted her shoulder. “Go on, get outta here.”
Great, I’m freaking him out, too. I guess the doctor isn’t a bad idea.
She’d tried over-the-counter remedies. Nothing helped. Still queasy, she felt more drained every day. The negative pregnancy test result brought relief, but even one less major stressor didn’t alleviate her symptoms.
Something else was wrong.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Harris,” said the doctor. “We’ll have your results in a few days. The office will call to follow up. In the meantime, try to get a good night’s rest.” Her hand twitched, wanting to smack him.
She headed to the dentist next, to replace her mouth guard. The entrance flung open, and Jane jumped as a man dashed out, nearly sideswiping her.
Tom.
She stumbled backward. Her uneasy gaze scanned the area for help before she noticed his lab coat and supply bag. She’d forgotten he was a technician for one of her dentist’s suppliers, though they’d met during his rounds.
His gaze pierced her. “You feeling okay, Jane? You look like hell.”
She ignored him, hurried inside, feeling daggers in her back.
The dentist took Jane’s guard to return to the supplier. Because Tom had left, the lab dispatched another tech for the pickup.
Now we wait and see….
Three nights of solid sleep helped, but a call from her dentist disquieted Jane. The tech examined her mouth guard and found it wasn’t made of the usual material. Molded to last for years, it shouldn’t have broken. The tech was running tests to determine its chemical composition.
The phone rang again. What now? Her doctor’s words chilled her. Her bloodwork showed unusual inclusions; she was to return to the office immediately.
Jane listened to the doctor as a steady buzz intensified in her head.
Traces of arsenic.
“What? Poison?” She hugged herself tight.
“Exposure occurs in numerous ways. From the volume we detected, it was small but prolonged. Let’s go through any changes in your routine over the past two months to see if we can isolate anything unusual.”
Jane’s horror escalated as they dissected her life. She described her recent improvement and the conversation with her dentist. She shook her head. But she couldn’t ignore her mouth guard as the likely conduit.
And Tom Ridley the only suspect.
The arresting officers found his apartment abandoned. Fear, fury streaked through Jane when she heard. Soon after, she began to plot her revenge.
Carolyn Greeley is the award-winning author of Emerald Obsession. Equal parts city slicker and beach bum, she concocts mystery-adventures, combining elements of both locales. Contemporary action and historic exploits infuse her stories, creating an engaging escape. A former Manhattanite, she now lives in St. Augustine, Florida, where things like cellphone photography, wine-and-cheese adoration, dictionary reading, and investigating everything are perfectly acceptable pastimes. Visit her at carolyngreeley.com. Follow her on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, GoodReads, and Pinterest.
Oct 18 2017, 12:01 am in Authors from around the world, Why I write
WHY DO YOU WRITE?
Authors are frequently asked this question. To us it’s akin to being asked why we breathe.
We have to write.
We are addicted to writing. Generally we use a computer to capture the words. 
Sometimes we make hand written notes. We have pen and paper in every room to jot down ideas.
Bottom line is we get the heebie-jeebies if we go too long without putting words on the page. Honest.
I asked author friends from around the world why they write. You can see no matter what the genre we write, or where we live, our reasons are similar.
I write because I can’t imagine not writing. I love the thrill of a new story idea, the first words at the start of a new adventure, the first conversation with a new friend. I write because my mind is full of stories and stories are supposed to be shared. Jo Jackson, Finland~http://amzn.eu/ac5mdRg
Writing for me is a tiny escape from my life like reading is for my readers. I love to step into another world, meet new people and play the what if game with them. Writing is one of my passions. ~ Autumn Jordon, USA, award-winning author of contemporary romances and mystery/suspense novels. Check them out at www.autumnjordon.com and while you’re there join my occasional newsletter.
I write because it is the way I express myself. Like breathing and moving it is a part of me and needs to be written. When I write I am free to create new worlds, characters and circumstances. When I write I can have a part in engineering my soul and the souls of others. ~ Liza Roberts, Australia.
Writing is a craving deep in my soul. Breathing life into characters and places breathes life into me, allowing my overactive imagination freedom to run wild. So often bad things happen in life-writing fun, and captivating stories to share is something I want to be a part of.~Alyssa Henderson, USA~Facebook
My short answer is because the characters in my head are so interesting and I want to tell their stories. It’s an escape into another world. The even shorter answer is actually in my bio. “She writes to reclaim her sanity.” I started writing when life was uprooted by a big move across country, and then I kept writing to feel I was doing something for myself after I had kids. Readers can find more about me at AnneMarieBecker.com (where they can sign up for my newsletter) or on Facebook at “Anne Marie Becker, Author.” USA
I write because a story lodges itself in my brain and I begin to daydream about the characters, often at inopportune times, like when I’m driving on the highway or riding my horse. It just feels better to let it out rather than keep it bottled up. ~ Bev Pettersen, Nova Scotia~ Author of Shadows of the Mountain
Writing is my release, my heart speaking through pen as words are painted onto the page. Stories, real and imagined, are breathed into life, as my thoughts, emotions and ideas are released through my hands. Parts therapy, artistry, documentary, and challenge, writing is my personal path to creativity and growth. ~ Rebekah Simmers, Germany.
Writing and storytelling make me happy, especially when doing so makes others happy. I love to share new experiences, offer a small escape from the everyday. Give the opportunity to explore, learn, create something new. My imagination overflows sometimes, so I have to bring it to life with words and share the adventure. Writing helps me do that, and I just love it. ~ Carolyn Greeley, USA ~Author of Emerald Obsession
I have stories swirling in my head demanding to be told. Characters fighting to get ‘their’ story told first. It was a very long time before I realized not everyone made up stories about anything and everything they saw and carried on conversations with people inhabiting their heads. I write to keep the voices at bay and….because I absolutely love it~ Rita Henuber, USA.
Are you an author? Tell us why you write.
Sep 29 2017, 9:40 am
Not all who wander are lost…………….
Sometimes they’re just trying to find coffee.
Happy Coffee Day. Rita
Sep 28 2017, 4:53 pm
September 28 National Poetry Day. I know nothing about poetry. Except what speaks to me. When I open a book of poems I can honestly get lost in them. I marvel at the author’s ability to tell me a story in a few lines. To draw me in and make me feel. I’m sharing a few.
Impromptu – To Kate Carol – Poem by Edgar Allan Poe
When from your gems of thought I turn
To those pure orbs, your heart to learn,
I scarce know which to prize most high —
The bright i-dea, or the bright dear-eye.
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Oh, the Places You’ll Go! By Dr. Suess
Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
Any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The Toucan by Shel Silverstein
Tell me who can
Catch a toucan?
Lou can.
Just how few can
Ride the toucan?
Two can.
What kind of goo can
Stick you to the toucan?
Glue can.
Who can write some
More about the toucan?
You can!
An Irish Poem
Death leaves a heartache
No one can heal
Love leaves a memory
No one can steal
~Unknown
Unknown Author
Greasy grimy gopher guts.
Mutilated monkey meat
Little dirty birdies feet
And I forgot my spoon.
~Unknown because who would admit to writing this?
Do you have favorite poems? Please share.
Jun 27 2017, 7:27 pm
April 19th is the anniversary of Shot Heard Round the World, i.e. the beginning of the American Revolution. In a few days, July 4th, we celebrate the result of that revolution. They say no one knows who fired the first shot but I think they do and they’re just not telling. The American Revolution is extremely fascinating to me. So many untold stories. I marvel at the battles that took place. At the tactical mistakes made. The arrogance and inability to adapt by the British military. The fact that several officers of the Continental Army were former British officers. They resented officers like George Washington and Benedict Arnold considering them undisciplined, uneducated low class rabble, Most notably was Gen. Horatio Gates who did his best to undermine everything George Washington did. General Gates led the battle of Saratoga. He feared, so it is said, Benedict Arnold would outshine him in the battle so he ordered him to stay in camp. Arnold disobeyed the order and led his men to ultimately take the win for the battle of Saratoga.
Washington and Arnold had very similar early lives.
In my opinion they were both brilliant tacticians and military officers and loved the infant country they were fighting for. So why, how did Arnold go astray? There are lots of theories. Many history books depict Arnold as arrogant and selfish. He was. Guess what? So was Washington. Vet you didn’t know that. Arnold wasn’t quiet about what he thought, what he wanted. Washington was. I think he knew how to play the game of politics before it was even called that. But what I think really did Arnold in was Peggy Shippen. Miss Shippen was known as the most beautiful women in the Colonies. Yup. Yet another general getting into trouble because of his privates.
For a long time it was thought that Peggy was taken in by Arnold and forced to help in his treachery. But in the last 30 or 40 years things have come to light that make it seem as though Peggy was an accomplice. In fact, encouraged Arnold. My own opinion is that she was an agent of the British. Why do I think this? Because for a long period of time before she became involved with Arnold she and a British officer, Maj. Andre, were romantically linked. Hmmmm. All very interesting.
BTW this picture of her was done by Maj. Andre.
Some military and political historians credit Arnold’s treachery with actually turning the war around. The colonists were at their lowest point. Hearing of Arnold’s dirty deeds rallied them. I mean, go figure. Americans, what can you say?
I so wish my historical author sisters would write about these times. Maybe when one of them has a free weekend they can write about it. (That’s a joke.) AMC network has a series called TURN about the Revolutionary war and does present some of these characters. Doesn’t an historical romantic suspense sound interesting? I’ll write it, if someone will do all the research for me. Any takers?
May 9 2017, 12:27 pm in Lighthouses
The Amelia Island Florida lighthouse has guided sailing ships to modern freighters and fishing boats safely into the channel toward Fernandina Harbor since 1838.
It was constructed using materials taken from the former little Cumberland Island light. Cumberland Island is in Georgia just north of the inlet built in 1820. The best explanation I found for all of this lighthouse moving around stuff was that the US simply did not control of Amelia Island in 1802 at the time the first light was built. The area became a major black-market home to scores of smugglers, drunkards, and prostitutes that spilled over into the southern states. The US had enough, stepped in and took control of the island in 1819.
The Amelia light stands in a tranquil setting on the northernmost barrier island on Florida’s Atlantic coast. It is the state’s oldest lighthouse and is the only one surviving from Florida’s territorial period 1819-1845 without major rebuilding. The brick tower was 50 feet tall. When the lantern was installed it increased the tower height to 64 feet. 21 keepers have been responsible for climbing the tower’s 69 granite steps to attend the light. One keeper, John Miles, who served from 1880 to 1895 had an artificial leg with rubber foot attached.
When the light sent its first beam out to sea Florida was not yet state. Since then eight flags have flown over Amelia Island. French, Spanish, English, Patriots, Green Cross of Florida, — had to look this one up. In 1817 a Scottish soldier and adventure, Gregor MacGregor, claimed Amelia Island on behalf of “the brethren of Mexico, Buenos Ayres, New Grenada and Venezuela. I’m from Florida and never heard that one before—the other flags were Mexico, the Confederate States of America, and the United States.
The area was also known as home to the largest concentration of pirates in America. Blackbeard, the Lafittes, Calico Jack, Anne Bonnie and Luis Aury. The rich pirate history gives credence to area stories of hidden treasures and ghosts.
The Amelia Island light reaches 16 miles out to sea. Its white light flashes every 10 seconds then turns red when covering shoal water in the Nassau sound.
Electricity was installed in the tower in the 1930s and the station was automated in 1970. In 2000 the Amelia Island lighthouse was declared surplus and offered to the city of Fernandina Beach and was officially handed over.
If you visit look up the current lighthouse historian, Ms. Helen O’Hagan Sintes. She is a direct descendent of the first keeper and lived in the lighthouse as a child.
Have you been to this light?
Apr 30 2017, 11:29 am in Lighthouses
Let’s take a visit to the Ponce De Leon Inlet lighthouse.
The light is located 10 miles south of Daytona Beach in the town of Ponce Inlet. That’s about an hour’s drive south of me but I’ve never been there. The Ponce Inlet lighthouse is the tallest light in Florida and the second tallest masonry lighthouse in the country second only to the Cape Hatteras lighthouse on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. There are 203 steps to the top of the 175 foot tower situated on the north bank of Ponce Inlet where the Halifax and Indian rivers flow into the Atlantic Ocean.
This light, built on 10 acres of land was originally called the Mosquito Inlets Lighthouse.
If you’ve visited Florida in summer you probably have no problem figuring out why they called it that. As so many lighthouses do, this tower has some sad history. The chief building engineer and three others drowned in the inlet right after construction began in 1884. Despite this the tower was completed in 1887. At the time it was said the light could be seen 20 miles to sea. A most definite advantage during the many storms that raked the Florida coast.
In the 1920s the lighthouse service added indoor plumbing and bathrooms to the keeper’s buildings. A generator was also installed bringing electricity to the keeper’s home. In 1933 the tower light was electrified with a 500 watt lamp.
In 1939 the lighthouse was transferred to the care of the United States Coast Guard. During World War II Coast guardsmen protected the light and stood watch for enemy submarines that cruised the Florida coastline.
This light is one of only a handful of 19 century light station to have all its original buildings still intact. In 1998 the light was designated a national historic landmark.
I really do need to get myself in gear and go down and see this light. Have any of you been there?
|
