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Showing posts from 2016

Happy New Year!

Instead of writing a story, I thought I would add a regular post (for once). This year has gone by so quickly that I sometimes wonder if it is the end of the year already. At the change of the year, I like to think back to what it was like a year ago - where I was, my hopes and dreams. In doing so, I look into the new year to see what I want to continue, what I want to change, and what I want to pursue.

Not much has changed regarding hopes and dreams. In some cases, they've shifted slightly. Not gone, but just a different avenue. With the discontinuation of Azure Maris, Azure Lights and Shamrocks of Stone in October, I have had the time to evaluate what I write. Even writing the weekly short story has helped. They have given me a chance to explore worlds, characters and ideas I've wanted to try, but haven't found the means.

Also, this year, I rediscovered audio dramas. I had started listening last year, but as things are, I fell off until I found them again. Exploring thi…

How the Gnomes Saved Santa

This is one of the few poems you will ever see me post. I don't normally write in poetic form, but around Christmas, it seems to be one of the better forms. The story of the gnomes was inspired by my students who were working on a class project, and this is the theme.

On Christmas Eve, while we enjoy our nog Sitting beside the fire contemplating a Yule time log Think of Splotch and Tom of Gnome Hollow, Those frightened yet two brave fellow Who, upon a cold winter night, Saved Santa with reindeer might. Reindeer might, of course you ask, How can a reindeer in his might bask? Listen then, of how the gnomes saved Christmas cheer With help from Jun the bear and Rudolph the reindeer.
‘Twas many years ago, Long before Santa around the world would go. In those days only a few would hear Of sleigh bells and hooves of reindeer. Even creatures like gnomes could receive a present, So Splotch and Tom to the North Pole went To ask Santa to bring presents for all, Though in a land of elves a…

Mirror Mirror Save Us All

What if mirrors were a way between worlds - a chance for us to look into another place without realizing it, or to look into the past? This story is based upon that idea. 
“Whatever you do, don’t open your doors,” Verity had warned the past ten nights.
She was the ghost who lived in the mirror from whence the knocking at 1:53 AM came every night. Her pale skin was dashed with freckles. Her hair auburn and wavy, but our eyes, our strange hazel colored eyes remained the same, as though they linked us through the mirror.
Still, I was in the twenty-first century, Scotland on a working holiday to research the Covenanters. I had rented the house for the six months, but the knocking at 1:53 AM, which began a month after I arrived, and had continued for the past two weeks began to wear on me. The house was old, cold, and more than a bit eerie even in the middle of the day.
Oddly it was the ornate mirror full-length mirror hanging in an upstairs bedroom which had convinced me to remain. Like …

Soul's Mate

A little late, but here's another Year of Short Stories addition. This one came from several story starter ideas about soulmates. I liked the twists soulmates can have, and have wondered if soulmates were necessarily meant to be only romantic or could be platonic as well. 
“Six more hours,” Mom sang as she danced through the living room. “I can’t believe it in six more hours you’re going to be a grown-up, functioning member of society, Greye!”
“Funny how you put it,” I grumbled. “I thought I was already a grown-up functioning member of society.”
“Ah, you have a flat and a job, but you need a car, house and the sound of little feet.” She sighed for the umpteenth time. “He’ll be a good man. Hard-working, local boy.”
“You mean I need to live out here like you and Dad wanted did.”
“Exactly. Everyone, when they find their soulmates, moves out to the country to have children. It’s expected. Life’s better out here.”
Arguing with my mother proved pointless, so I put my feet up on the sofa…

Cutting Lines

Sorry about the missed week. Things are little busy at the moment. This story, Cutting Lines, was inspired by a pin I saw about World War 2. It made me think about all the times we believe someone else will do something, and no one ever does. 
C’est très facile,” Jean-Marie insisted as he poured another glass of wine for everyone. “Make the little monster use his own legs.”
Antoinette, Jean-Marie’s younger sister, leaned against the door of the wine cellar. The war had ceased three days before for her beloved France when the government signed their souls to the devil. Now, news had arrived that Hitler himself was to come to Paris.
“If we do something like this, it would be a problem,” Victor, named after the end of the previous war, ground his cigarette into the stone floor. “But, it might be worth the trouble.”
“Worth the trouble; I’d say it be jolly good,” Francis, the only Englishman in their group spoke in English. He used English when exceptionally excited. “Put the little man i…

Keep Stepping

Sorry for the delay this week. It was another one of those weeks - not bad, just creatively draining. Today, I have a photo to go with the story - from the very place where Gretchen and Sung Hyuk would have climbed too. It's a long hike, but well worth it.
This wasn't her world, and they weren't her people. They chatted easily despite the climb. For them it was a Saturday's lark up the mountainside. Twice a month they did this because it made them feel young and energetic. Good for the body. "Are you all right, honey?" Sung Hyuk asked, stepping a couple rocks back to Gretchen. "Fine," Gretchen huffed. "Just fine. Just need a breather." She reached for her water bottle, but she wasn't thirsty. Sung Hyuk handed her a tangerine. They were everywhere in the stores at the moment, and Sung Hyuk seemed to have an endless supply in his backpack. Ahead of them, his parents continued their steady climb, unfazed by their second son's dilapidated …

How to be Happy

"You need to smile more." Right. Smile more. It might be pasted, but I could smile. Wasn't I smiling enough, though? People always told me I smiled a lot. Like too much. "Oh, and talk slower. They can't understand you." Check. Slower. Lifelong bane. Too many thoughts and not enough words, syllables or letters to express them. Just pretend I had marbles in my mouth. It would slow down. "Oh, and try to be happy. We want the students to remember their time here as a good time, and I'm afraid they'll think of you and not be happy." It took the remainder of the day to formulate the response to that. Thankfully, the remainder of the day was only an hour away because the bus ride home and picking up a few items at the store was all I could do to keep the tears inside. Trudging up the last flight of stairs, I paused, took a deep breath and started forward. Micheline, American, lived on the same floor I did. She worked at another school, but she never s…