Nicole Murray: WIP

While I was gone...

2011-09-13T19:47:00.015-05:00

Let's see. (index to lips in great concentration)
Since the last time I tapped keys in this neighborhood Jim and I visited this place again...
Yep, Jim's folks on the Big Island were and are still doing fine in the Aloha State. I took this pic across the street from their condo the last night we were there. As always, there were no loss of beautiful memories to be had or gorgeous days to enjoy those 3 weeks. And it was a wonderful place for a Baby Moon (wiggles brows). But, FYI: Air flight while pregnant can be and truly was a bitch! I'm sure I will find a way to get that experience in here one of these days. All experiences have their use when one is a writer, right? Right? And it was just sooooo dang fun I'll have to share... :-P

And then this Spring Jim and I bought a house in preparation of our growing little family. Behold yet another room under construction (below). This is good but frustrating, but mostly really really good thing. Because with each wall of plastic, nail struck, floor refinished, each treasure found and personal touch placed in our new old house, makes it even more our home. And not the neglected red headed stepchild (and it was red when we bought it) of the neighborhood that it will soon not be. I knew my addiction to HGTV would save me some day...

And then exactly one week after moving in--I want you to think towers of unpacked boxes, dusty cobwebs yet un-mastered and barely a bedroom to sleep in--we had James. Nearly 9 pounds, 22 inches. James Alan Murray was born healthy and happy on May 24th.

And now...

My Man and my little man just the other day in front of the tube. Jim was teaching James the fine art of channel surfing at the time. Lord, in the short time that little monkey has been in my life I have learned so much more than I could have ever guessed about parenting--hell, about life. No talent for empathy prepared me for feeling what its really like to be a parent. I don't think I could love another human being more...and I love his Daddy a considerable amount.

I had said that my son would be my best WIP. The truth is, he is his own WIP and I am so much a WIP still.

As for WIP's, Ghost Mountain is still a go, although it had stalled for a bit, due to EVERYTHING!!!! I have started this again...

And not just writing, but sketching again, home repair and decorative project making again. I still have a pile of boxes in the third bedroom where Salvaged Beauty will begin again, so no jewelry at this time. But it will come.

And with my creative self finding its way back again, my socially active self has been making its way around. Slowly I make contact with old friends and soon I hope to attend a writing group session again. And while I dip a toe or two into the waters of my small social pond, my mind has already been taking dips into the much bigger pond--our nation and the world.

A anniversary solidified my need to voice some long held opinions. 9-11 and those days that followed to be exact. I remember that day, a decade ago like most. I was working a double at my old job as a mental health worker. We had a small TV in our office. The Today Show was on while I went over the log entries from the day before. And then I heard something that caught my attention--Matt Lauer reporting on some plane hitting one of the World Trade Towers. Something similar had happened many years ago. In 1945 a B-25 Bomber smacked into the Empire State building. A horrible accident. But this day.... As soon as I watched a second plane do the same to the second tower, I knew what I had seen was a act of terrorism. I had never felt so angry or hyper aware than I did that day in front of that small TV, side by side with staff and half the clients stable enough in the building to do so.

When the next day came I was still angry, still raw from what I had bore witness to on live TV. But I could sense something else in me as the day drug on with each new bit of horrifying footage from all 3 sites. This thing swelled in me. A protectiveness, a patriotism, a pride grew in me while I watched those who had come out of the dust or those brave enough to travel into it, band together in the rubble strewn streets of Manhattan, the defiled home of our military in DC and that scared field just outside a small town in PA. For the first time in my life I saw what I knew my America was capable of. What my grandparents always reminisced. A America that didn't hold into account your sex, religion, race, or economical place when the shit hit the fan. You were a human being in need of help and that was all that mattered. We were all in it together. We were Americans. I just wish it hadn't took 9-11 to remind people of that.

And now--oh how times have changed and not at all how I would have imagined or hoped. I remember who we were those hard horrible days, months, years. I see the good and feel the pride of being a American still, but something has changed. Something wrong floats in the air and I want to help air it out if it still can be. How will I do this, I am still figuring on. I know it may be wise to keep some sort of separation between my writing and jewelry biz self and my inner politico. Maybe I can find a way to do that on Blogger? But after all that has gone on these last few years, I need to get a few things off my chest and out into blogisphere.

So, I am back. There will be some changes here and there, but I am still me--a eccentric, hopeful WIP.

Sunday Musings From Under the Steps: A Quiet Gift

2011-01-31T01:10:00.004-05:00

I think this article said it all for me this week...

A Quiet Gift

WIP Wednesday/Sunday Musing: A Quote...

2011-01-19T20:28:00.003-05:00

...life is much more manageable when thought of as a scavenger hunt as opposed to a surprise party.

~~~Jimmy Buffett

Allthough, I must say "surprise party" usally means a great plot twist in the WIP world

Wednesday WIP: The Road Isn't to Hell...

2011-01-12T19:55:00.010-05:00

"The road to hell is paved with works-in-progress.”

~~~Philippe de Comines

I'd say the road to publication in paved with rejection letters. WIP's are not good intentions to me, they are proof that our dreams can become tangible, viable steps towards our goals. So, long live WIP's!!!!

BTW, check out NPR's website. They are starting up another round of Three-Minute Fiction, Laughing And Crying is the subject and per usual, a 600 word limit. Winners are read on the air and published on the web site. Take a peek.

Sunday Musings from Under the Steps: Time to Make Hero's

2011-01-09T21:47:00.008-05:00

A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer.

~~~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I do not believe we need larger than life hero's to save us from our hard times. We need everyday people with immense hearts and even larger volumes of courage. I like the quote above for that reason.

Heroes can be the guy who sells insurance down the street or the granny who smiles at you every morning at the Circle K. All of us hold a possible hero within us. All we need to do is hang on just a little while longer...

WIP Wednesday: The Sex of My Little WIP...

2011-01-05T22:07:00.003-05:00

Lets just say that my little WIP will be peeing standing up...

IT'S A BOY!!!!!

Just a few more months till I meet him in the flesh. My son, James Allen Murray. Till then ultrasound images of his little face and the perfect shot of his little bum and manly junk, will have to suffice.

Let's just say, little James is proving not bashful.

Sunday Musings from Under the Steps: Happiness is...

2011-01-02T19:21:00.003-05:00

One of my facebook and writing buddies wrote what happiness meant to him. To him, happiness comes from was measuring yourself against those who had not done as well as yourself. Cynical maybe or just a little off put humor I should expect from my writer friend. But it did provoke me to think what happiness was to me.

I would say happiness for me, is doing better than I did yesterday. Use no other person but yourself when measuring your successes in this life--writing life or otherwise. I also feel that happiness comes from knowing what YOU want, and not going through life traveling someone elses path. And as I've grown older, I have come to believe that happiness comes from knowing the people you share your life with are doing well or breaking even at the least.

...happiness is also chocolate, a cats purr, super hero's, good music, a clean house, diversity, creativity, a trip to the park, museum, amusement park, a child's laughter, target practice with dad, a visit to the in-laws in Hawaii, family, friends, soft leather, a good book, a productive day, a husbands unguarded smile and......

Just find it where you can.

The Day After WIP Wednesday

2010-12-30T08:26:00.004-05:00

The two rules of procrastination: 1) Do it today. 2) Tomorrow will be today tomorrow. ~Author Unknown

Sunday Musings from Under the Steps: Talent Knows No Style

2010-12-26T20:32:00.003-05:00

I think when two opposite forces, beings, cultures, styles collide something beautiful can come from it. I think the world of art and entertainment thrives on this.

Take Bing and Bowie as the perfect example...

Merry Christmas folks!

WIP Wednesday: The Curse of Knowing What You're Doing.

2010-12-22T22:32:00.005-05:00

"Fiction writers, present company included, don't understand very much about what they do-"not why it works when it's good, not why it doesn't when it's bad."

~Stephen King.On Writing.

BUT... We sure as hell know when we are dragging our feet. Procrastination--we the procrastinators. We are our own worst enemy...

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go kick my ass.

Sunday Musings Under the Steps: Words You Live By

2010-12-19T19:18:00.008-05:00

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Invictus, William Earnest Henley

I had found this poem not long after recovering from an extensive and life changing back surgery, when I was 12 yrs old. In no time I remember it word for word (keep in mind I've often forgotten my own phone number) and to this day I can recite it at the asking.

The poem inspired me-made me feel stronger and made my situation feel more real while making it also more manageable. Back then it had made me feel less alone. The irony in that is it took me 22 years to research the writer and find he'd wrote this from his own hospital bed, recovering from a amputation--the result of a illness he was diagnosed with when he was 12. Maybe a century separated us but his words had been there for me when I truly needed them.

How many of you have words that do for you what this poem has done for me--still does? Or a writer thats reached across cultures or time to lend you inspiration?

WIP Wednesday: Inspiration Through Reading Old Blogs.

2010-12-15T22:06:00.005-05:00

OOOKAY. I was going to write out a nice, long sentimental WIP Wednesday entry involving the similarities of nursing a WIP and impending motherhood. Even made it a point to go looking through older entries to find the link to another entry of similar but not same nature and then it happened...

INSPIRATION!

The last few days I have been a little lax writing new material for my WIP 'Ghost Mountain'. I have been...distracted. Well, I fell into reading some of my old blog entries concerning said WIP and its MC Wyatt and BAM!!!!!!!

Soooo, have a lovely evening all and nice of ya to stop by, but I have a date with my WIP.

Sunday Musings from Under the Steps: Jelly of the Month Club

2010-12-12T20:19:00.004-05:00

This Sunday Musing is neither serious nor sublime. Just funny as hell and so so....life.

To all of us who have felt like this....

And had the humor and family support to get through it.

Thanks Eddie!

WIP Wednesday: Self Realization Time Again.

2010-12-08T17:54:00.000-05:00

When starting this blog, I referred to myself as a Work in Progress. I don't think I fully appreciated that statement or that fact at the time.

More than anything, the WIP part was pointed more at my professional and creative endeavors. I understood that through working on these things, I would find changes in myself. This occurs with any new road one takes. What I didnt fully grasp or maybe just wasnt ready to see yet, was the more personal--more elemental things that would-could change in me when the WIP's in my life delved into big life changes (i.e. the little space alien inside my tummy and what its birth will mean).

You see, I have had some major shake ups in my life within the last few years, but the changes they evoked in me were somehow different than what I am experiencing now. I would sooner name all the stars in the heaven than I could exactly or accurately explain what I am feeling now... but I like it.

So many changes are coming for me. Things that will join my present works and other things that will change them. Jim and I will find a house before spring and that will be a big change in our daily lives--but a welcome one. I will continue to care for my little family and myself and fall in love with him or her as the day grows nearer. And then I will be a mother, a job I believe I have been in training for a long time and will justly make my priority.

But how will these changes mix with the things I want for me? Should they be pushed aside and turned away like many of the women in my life have done? Or maybe WIP's and dreams do not have to disappear, only change a bit. The true nature of a WIP don't you think?

Sunday Musings from Under the Steps: My Gift to You.

2010-12-05T13:35:00.006-05:00

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?"

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8 year old Virginia wrote this letter to the editor of New York's Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history's most reprinted newspaper editorial ever.

And although the earnest words of that child touches me, it is the response that warms me each time I read it. My gift to all of you this hectic holiday season. A bit of perspective--a moment to see how we should see this time of year and every day that follows it. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

WIP Wednesday: NaNo Sum Up and Continuation

2010-12-01T17:39:00.003-05:00

This year was my 3rd entrance in NaNoWriMo. The first two times I surpassed the 50,000 words and came away with the rough ideas for two novels. This year I entered the fray, not to write 50,000 wrds of new material, but use the one month experience to sort out last years novel idea I had been tangling with since.

I'd say I've just about done that. I did get some bugs worked out and came up with a few clearer scenes than before. Even better, the writing--as always--gave me the chance to get to know my characters better. For this I am very pleased. This month will most definitely make the continuation of my WIP easier.

How did all of your NaNo endeavors go this year. Find yourself a new story or a new idea to change a old one?

BTW, thank you for all of your support and kinds words last week regarding my latest and greatest WIP--my future baby. It put a smile on my face. ;-D

May I Introduce My Latest and Greatest Work In Progess...

2010-11-25T21:38:00.003-05:00

Yep, I'm working on a baby. I'm 3 months into this project and so far so good. I'm a bit tired, naturally worried for a multitude of mommy-to-be reasons. And I feel impossibly happy everytime I think him/her/strange little space alien in my tummy.

I think this may be my greatest work ever.

Happy Holidays!!!!

Sunday Sermon Under the Steps: A Poor Trade Off

2010-11-21T20:39:00.005-05:00

"Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.' Benjamin Franklin, 'Pennsylvania Assembly: Reply to the Governor,' November 11, 1755."

I'd say this makes as much sense today as it did in Ben's time. Keep these words in mind now and in the days to come.

WIP Wednesday: Journey to a Unknown Destination NANOWRIMO

2010-11-17T18:56:00.009-05:00

Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
The Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to
Alice: I don't much care where.
The Cat: Then it doesn't much matter which way you go.
Alice: …so long as I get somewhere.
The Cat: Oh, you're sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.

This is sort of how I'm seeing NaNoWriMo this time. And I am very happy with that!

Sunday Sermon on a Monday Because I Can. SO THERE! ;-P

2010-11-15T11:26:00.007-05:00

I get up in the morning, torture a typewriter until it screams, then stop.

- Clarence Budington Kelland

My intention is to continue to do just that this week! To continue the pursuit of my story with a wild combination of violent aggression and love, making it succumb to my desire to make it more than words on a page...

Now I need a cigarette.

WIP Wednesday: Veterans Day Reminder

2010-11-10T20:38:00.004-05:00

"Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of readiness to die."
~G.K. Chesterton

Through ink lines and key strokes, some of us labor to create men and women who epitomize noble courage. Tomorrow, remember that there are those of flesh and bone who 'are' courage.

Honor our vets by remembering them tomorrow. Let their courage be your muse.

Sunday Musings from Under the Steps: Take Heart on Your Creative Journey

2010-11-07T22:32:00.005-05:00

"The public has an appetite for anything about imagination - anything that is as far away from reality as is creatively possible."
Steven Spielberg

And yet what we most easily digest is what's closest to our hearts. Remember, whenever, wherever or whatever place you take your story, do not go there without the understanding of the human heart.

WIP Wednesday: It's Elementary Dear Watson!

2010-11-03T18:48:00.012-05:00

Like a WIP...

"Good books don't give up all their secrets at once."
— Stephen King

So be patient while you type away at that WIP. Keep writing--I've told myself and now I'm telling you. It does pay off and when it does--when you've excavated away the filler in your WIP, made the connections, and deduced a mountain of scattered ideas into a story--you feel like the most brilliant detective on Earth. Move over Sherlock!

It is amazing to be not only the asker of the mysteries, but the answerer as well. Our writing and our writing hangups/issues come from us, so essentially we are fixing "us' while we write... I think? I hope?

Good luck with all of your WIP mysteries.

Sunday Musings from Under the Steps: Poison Control

2010-10-31T17:23:00.006-05:00

Self doubt is failures poison of choice. Don't drink!

WIP Wednesday: A Rehash on Luck

2010-10-27T18:58:00.005-05:00

I do believe luck exists, but more and more I see it as something that needs our assistance. Do we make our luck? Maybe we simply entice it.

Example. I sit, do nothing with my WIP and it all slows down. I wish for some luck to come my way while I get a little more depressed about all my projects in general and therefore I become unattractive to Luck. Luck does have its standards after all.

So I wait and nothing really happens while I wait for Luck—correction, life happens and it feels like filler. No substance. Nothing I can hold onto later and show for my time on Earth.

Now, I do something. Maybe not a big something, but a few well placed something’s and I do them with regularity. I work hard at these little things that slowly grow in size and reach. I may feel frustrated at times, when nothing seems to have bloomed, but I take comfort in the growth of my projects just the same. I feel inspired by the time I have spent on my projects, the large accumulation of things I have done to feed my work a slow and stead diet. My work is healthy with my care as am I by the process and Luck likes healthy things best.

Luck likes healthy things best, but it will also visit what shows promise—what shows a spark of ambition or hope. Luck rewards those who wish to work for its attention. Hard work is a Luck attractor, so apply as much as you can if you want visited by it.

Good things can happen by simple luck, but extraordinary things happen with hard work.

Sunday Musings From Under the Steps: Human 101

2010-10-24T20:42:00.004-05:00

If you learn what a man loves and know what he fears, you will understand what he hates and why.

WIP Wednesday: What I Want it to Be

2010-10-20T20:17:00.001-05:00

While sorting out the plot of my long suffering WIP Ghost Mountain, I’ve found my mind drifting towards the stories intended Mood and Tone.

I know how—I’ve done it before and to varied degree’s. It just feels so vital for me to think on it now. Setting the right Mood and Tone for my novel is like starting the heart beat of a living thing to me. I want this beasts heart beat to be strong and I want it to be right.

I think my concern may be due to the multiple genre’s mixed together in this story. Paranormal Romance with a side of Mystery, Suspense, Action, Drama and a fair amount of Humor. I’ve dabbled in mixing genre before, but not this many. I feel it is doable and even feel confident in my intended mix. I just—I just…

I want you, the reader to go through my story and feel the heart and wonderment of a Steven Spielberg film. To feel good that you’ve met my characters and believe in their story. I want you to care so much about their journey, you’ll believe anything I put them through. I want you to pay attention to the details, the way JJ Abrams made me for six years and counting. And then I want you to feel gotten in a good way when you get to the end, like M. Night Shyamalan (the earlier works).

I want the suspense, the twists, turns and thrills of Deaver, Koontz, Grisham, Crichton, and Patterson. I want the foreboding foreshadowing and fear of King, along with the dance he does with good and evil, human frailty and human strength, the everyday and the paranormal. I want dialogue like Elmore Leonard—plain, simple but colors the readers mind and lets my character breathe like real ‘folk’. The real complexity is in simplicity kids. My characters will show you what there made of, not tell ya about it.

I want to give you a world where you find yourself on your back in the bed of a pickup truck, watching stars and fireflies on a cool clear night with a lost love. And then in the same chapter, have you chasing ghosts through burning buildings right after being shot at by a gun toting granny. I want heat to radiate off the stares my would-be lovers will throw and laughter when they make fools of themselves in the pursuit of love and forgiveness.

I want all this and more and maybe something will fall short or drift away in the editing. Maybe not. But whats in my writers mind and heart right now are all the above things and more. But most of all I just want to finish…

Wyatt tilted his head back and let out a deep huff of breath into the chilled autumn air.

It was nights like these he found himself talking to the stars. Not like they would talk back or give answer to all life’s mysteries. He just liked to say his peace to something bigger and grander than himself, hoping to find perspective in the process. And sometime—sometimes, he could hear a old voice…

“Now boy, let me tell you about that mountain.”

~~~Chapter 1: Just Howling at the Moon. Ghost Mountain.

Sunday Musings From Under the Steps: The Darker Side of Goose

2010-10-17T19:55:00.006-05:00

"For every evil under the sun, there is a remedy, or there is none. If there be one, seek till you find it; If there be none, never mind it.
~~~M. Goose

A lovely fairytale survival lesson that translates so well to the real world.

WIP Wednesday: NaNoWriMo to the Rescue!!!!

2010-10-13T12:41:00.003-05:00

Come one, come all WIP's! As mentioned last week, I will be untangling my present WIP with the help of NaNoWriMo this November. 30 days and nights of wild writing abandon, how can I resist. And what can I say, my WIP needs the extra attention after the physical neglect I have given it.

Now I didnt say emotional neglect. Maybe I havent been stroking my fingers up and down the keys in a age old dance--writer and filling a blank screen/page. But my story and its characters are always on my mind. I have a steno pad and a computer full of bookmarked info and images to prove it.

I just need to write!!!!!!!!!!

So if ya have a neglected WIP or would like to take the NaNoWriMo challenge, 50,000 words of original story in 3o days, JOIN ME!!!!!!

Sunday Musings From Under the Steps: To Be A Individual

2010-10-10T20:34:00.007-05:00

Individuality is what opens the coral, frees you from the rest of the herd and gives you the opportunity to find greener pastures.

Individuality is never apologizing for being different from the flock.

Being a individual is loving yourself enough to not only march to a different drummer, but do so while wearing a cowboy hat and a tutu.

And sometimes, being an individual wasn't a choice. But accepting and making it work for you was.

Homeless local. Kailua Kona, Big Island of Hawaii.

Be brave, my individuals. Be you.

WIP Wednesday: What WIP's Do When They Are Sick

2010-10-06T10:00:00.002-05:00

First, thank you all for your well wishes. I am feeling better. Thank you and I shall be catching up in the blog world this week. I will not bore you with the details of having a cold or sinus issues, but I will say I started feeling sick about a couple weekends ago.

The Sunday before, I attended my first International Woman's Writing Guild meeting of the season. It was great to be back with the gals. Pot luck treats and writing prompts abound for our season starter.

Unfortunately, I felt the 'walking dead' feeling on and off through that day and by Monday I so knew I was sick. This did not bode well for the rest of my week. Aside from my other obligations, I was in the final stages on getting ready for a area craft show, my first.

So what do WIP's do when they are sick? They improvise and soldier on.

Welcome to my tent at the 34th annual Boardman Rotary Oktoberfest! Sad to say, the day was cold and rained part of it. Not good for getting over being sick. Happy to say I did enjoy the experience, the people and made my space for the day with a little extra. All of this let me ignore the whole wet and cold thing.

The tent is Jim and I camping pavilion when we go to the astronomy field. The pretty little table up front is my great grandfathers. The photos of my wares and said wares are of my creation of course. It was Jim's idea for me to place some of my pics out to advertise (good hubby) and the displays are of my creation. And if you ever wanted another use for a old type drawer, try it as a craft and jewelry display. Just $5 at my local junk store.

And some of my crafty neighbors and patrons milling about old Boardman Park.

Now, be sure to take a card before you go. All not sold at the show will be up on etsy soon enough.

Now, as for my sick WIP Ghost Mountain, I have found some good medicine. A lovely writing pal of mine, Eliza, reminded me that National Novel Writing Month is upon us and NaNoWriMo may be the perfect chance to untangle my WIP while pushing a steady word count towards completion.

I say it sounds like just what the doctor ordered.

WIP Wednesday: Rain Check...

2010-09-29T11:26:00.002-05:00

Enough said. Type at ya guys later.

Sunday Musings From Under the Steps: K.I.S.S.

2010-09-26T08:59:00.005-05:00

"Genius is the ability to reduce the complicated to the simple."

~~~C.W. Ceran

...at this point I am still a moron.

AND...

~~~Einstein Quote Generator

Here's to stripping life down to idiot proof!

WIP Wednesday: WIP Tug-of-War

2010-09-22T06:39:00.005-05:00

Do you have two WIP's fighting over your head space, heart and time? I do. Presently both are showing me the best of themselves, taunting my muse to take on one and not the other. All the while they have pulled my nerves so taut, I'm not in a place to work on either of them.

HEEEEELP!

I am very certain I am not alone in this dilemma. How do the rest of you sort out this tug-of-war of your muse?

Sunday Musings From Under the Steps: The Highest Reward...

2010-09-19T14:00:00.001-05:00

"The highest reward for a person's toil is not what they get for it, but what they become by it."

~~~John Ruskin

Writing anyone?

Shhhhh Its a Secret Blogfest!!!!!!

2010-09-18T08:25:00.001-05:00

My late entry for the Shh It's a Secret Blogfest being held by the lovely Summer Ross (BIG congrats on your first Blogfest!) at My Inner Fairy. Under 700 wrds BTW! Stop on by her blog and check out all the other wonderful entries this weekend and have a great day!

From my shelved WIP 'Touched' (Never got to editing stage—so I have 2 POV going in this...bad Nicole). The moment is shortly after Mike(my MC's best friend) blows up and demands Logan (my MC) tell him what’s going on, after Logan uses some of his abilities to help Mike subdue a bad guy on the island (My FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT BLOGFEST ENTRY). Logan has just told Mike about his secret abilities--his biggest secret, and now Mike wants Logan to show him some proof. So Logan shows his friend his mind reading skills. The scene is in the chapter, ‘So Is It a Jedi Mind Trick or What?’

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Mike grimly eyed his long lost friend. He still wasn’t sure about any of this, not by a long shot, but this ‘more human human’ before him was still the guy who had saved his life the night before and tried saving his late brothers life those many years ago. Logan was a friend. Hell, to a Mahoning that made you family. And even this new version of Logan, the jaded arrogance, coarse humor and darkness—he was still Logan. Aside from not telling him and his family that he was Seer Islands answer to Superman, Logan had never lied to them or taken advantage. He’d never hurt them...

‘Just kept one hell of a big honkin secret.’

“So what am I thinking now?” The bulky blond challenged, crossing his arms over his uniformed chest in a mildly childish stance.

Honestly, Logan had expected Mike to ask him to levitate a table or prick a finger and heal it. He’d already been witness to Logan’s strength and endurance. But the mind reading?

Quirking a dark brow at his pragmatic friend, Logan pushed off the window sill and stood before the young deputy, holding his friends unremitting stare. “Looking for proof, Sheriff?” Mike nodded. Logan simply shook his head, this moment bordering on a childhood dare. “Okay.”

Taking another step closer to Mike, Logan felt his friend flinch, but hold his spot at the center of the old hardwood floor. “You’re sure?”

“Do it.” Mike swallowed hard. Logan smirked then shook his head once more. He’d never been in the position where the person he was reading asked for it.

Taking in a deep breath, Logan raised his hand between them, palm out to Mike’s chest. He could feel the hum of life within his friend’s body—strong and steady like the lapping of warm ocean waves. Slowly his hand hovered to the side of Mike’s curly headed skull and began to see the shades of images sharpen and sounds become words. It was no surprise to Logan that his friend’s thoughts came to him as straightforward as the man who had them—with little hesitancy and no doubt.

“So-so what do ya see?” Mike blurted out.

Logan grinned, his eyes still closed. “I see a pretty brave guy for letting his ‘alien’ friend have his way with his brain.” Logan felt Mike’s entire body go ridged and smiled in spite of himself. “Kidding, buddy. Kidding.”

Logan lowered his hand and opened his eyes. He saw a lot inside the stalwart man before him; more than what he was comfortable revealing to the other man if he wanted to keep him as a friend. Things like how Mike had secretly envied Logan when they were children or the extent of Mike’s present fears—that he would not be able to keep the people of this island safe during the coming storm. No, what needed to be said now had nothing to do with the things he saw within his friends mind, but the reason why his friend had let him see them at all.

“You trust me.” His eyes steady on his friend. “You think I’m a little fucked up and you’re uncomfortable when Anne [Mike’s sister, also Logan’s childhood friend] and I are alone” Logan knowingly smirked when his friend’s eyes fell to his boots “but you trust me.”

Mike raised his head again and silently nodded.

“And that same trust does not extend to my family.” Logan continued.

“I’m sorry, Logan…”

“Don’t be. You are right not to.” Logan turned from his friend and walked back to his view of the mounting snow fall. Hell, he didn’t trust his own family. He was intimately aware of what his family was capable of and viewed mistrust as a survival skill when dealing with anything of his kin.

“And Anne?” Logan felt Mike’s brotherly concern before he spoke it. A pregnant silence fell between the men.

“I’d never hurt her, Mike. Believe that.” Logan just wished he could believe it too.

WIP Wednesday: Writing What You Have Felt.

2010-09-15T13:30:00.001-05:00

I think I speak for most fiction writers when I say we write what we know. Even when we think we’re writing/thinking outside our mental box, we’re really just borrowing something we have already absorbed from the world around us and now see from a different view. Living does that. Life demands it.

Moments in our lives can take what we thought we knew and widen it to proportions we will never be able to shrink back from. And then with the same gusto, break our thoughts and dreams down to scatter them to the winds, only to be rebuilt again different. Moments shine lights on ideals and set fire to new ones, but just as easily can yank them by the scruff of the neck and tosses them into shadows making us ask… “What the hell just happened?”

But what about writing based on what we feel through our empathy and observation of others? What about writing from other peoples experiences?

Like many writers, I am a people watcher who can be both distant and empathetic towards my subject. During my decade long stint in the “other people’s problems” business I accumulated an extensive and diverse catalog of other people’s emotional baggage that’s kept my writing well versed in human behavior. And of course there is the over thirty year diet of TV watching, movie watching, book reading and music rolling around like loose candy in my piñata head.

The fact is, I have relied heavily on this 'observers' stockpile to bring life to many of my characters and very little of my own personal plights. And for some reason I have yet to define, I feel as if I have cheated my writing in some way. That I haven't 'bled' for my writing.

Anyone feel this way? Do you use writing as a therapists couch or a working amalgam of the things you have seen around you? Maybe both? Do you have to 'bleed' for your writing to have it have heart?

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I wrote this about a month after my own father’s death, two years ago. I think it was the first time I wrote something so close to home. The very first time I felt like I bled for a story.

This bit was from my Jericho Fan Fiction Chapters Series, the last chapter out of 22. Another example of my favorite mistake--TWO POV's in one scene. Jake (the MC) is in a dream talking with his dead father, Johnston. It's sort of a 'coming to terms' and a good bye.

A deep bark of a laugh rose from Johnston Green’s chest while he smiled at his son.

“You know you’ll get some stuff right, too? When you do it will make all the wrongs worth the gray hairs. I know that from my own personal experience.”

Jake looked up and gave his father a slight grin.

“You’ll do good, son. Might even get a little more right than your old man did.”

Jake watched his father smile and felt his heart pull. His mind was spinning trying to take in all that was said tonight. He wanted to remember this moment, when his eyes opened and this dream came to a end.

If only his father could be with him again, not in this world of dreams and memories, but with him like he had once been. In that moment, Jake wished more than anything, to take his father with him. To take Johnston Green back over the great divide.

“I miss you, Dad.”

Johnston reached out to his son’s cheek and watched the younger man swallow down emotion.

The elder Green gladly acknowledged the man his son had become, but right then the father in him could only see the young boy he’d once been. He saw that naked honesty in his son’s soulful eyes and not the stubborn silence that took him in the teen years. He saw his son’s limitless courage and heart, things that life’s circumstances never took from Jake, only buried for a time to be found once more. It seemed to Johnston, that in some strange way his son had finally come full circle. Back to his family, back to himself, back to life. It’s all he could have asked for.

“I’ll always be with you, son.” His words deep and warm. “Always.”

Sunday Musings From Under the Steps: My Lying Little Writer Heart

2010-09-12T06:05:00.002-05:00

"The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense."

~~~Tom Clancy

And I have already proclaimed fiction writers to be wonderful liars, haven't I? Well that is how we make fiction make sense. How we make others believe our outrageous tales. 'Suspend Disbelief' they say. We flavor our fiction-our lies, with truth and that makes our lies believable.

The best writers and liars know when to ration out a little truth now and then. The truth is the best bones to support a body of lies. So research my writing friends. Whatever your genre or storyline, dip into the real world for some real facts now and again and you shall spin the best of lies.

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Now my lies and truth I told in participation of The Bold Face Liar Award Friday. I found it interesting what some found believable and not. I guess we really can be anyone we wish here in the blogisphere. ;-D Remember, lies are best told when paired with some truth...

1. I visit China with my husband every 2-3 years.
I visit Hawaii every year with my husband. We visit his parents and their hide-a-bed. I haven't found my way to China yet.

2. I've seen a ghost.
I have seen a ghost. This is the full truth, cats and kittens.

I once worked in a old Tudor style home that had been converted into a mental health facility. It was one of my favorite jobs, but it often had me coming and going at odd hours. During my first month working midnights, I could not help but feel that I was being watched or not alone when I knew for certain that I was at the time.

And then one night I saw a pale human form go through the front door without setting off the alarm and take the steps without a creak to the old hardwood boards. My older co-worker noticed me seeing this but said nothing. Later that night it happened again and she finally sat me down.

She told me of the young man who once was a client and how he meant no harm but liked to play. He had been a simple minded young man and this had followed him into the afterlife. She told me she had not only seen me react earlier in the night but earlier in the month and was just waiting to see if I said something--or I could be trusted. She said she knew he would like me.

The remainder of my midnight shifts, if I felt I wasn't alone on my rounds or the cat wasn't following me per usual, I would tell the ghost I had to work, but to go play without me.

3. I've talked a person out of killing someone.
I have talked a few clients out of killing themselves. One was serious, the others were looking for a reaction. The 'reaction' folks, the whole killing thing was a weekly or monthly conversation.

And does talking someone out of beating the ever loving shit out of someone count?

4. I was published in Writers Digest.
Nope, not yet. Sooner or later I will bite the bullet and enter one of there contests. I swear!

5. I live in a fairly old and very creaky Colonial in the country.
I hope to in the next year. It's a goal for me and hubby. And if not Colonial, something of the sort. But definitely back to country living at some level.

6. I killed my cousin.
I attacked and then choked my older first cousin till he turned blue and briefly passed out. It had been coming for years. That day he was messing with my sister and you do not mess with family--unless the family is doing the messing.

I told you--long long fuse with a big boom.

7. I use to 'dance' in college. It paid good.
I enjoyed dancing with friends in college, but not professionally. ;-) But I was mistaken for a local stripper by the old lady who sold me flowers every Sunday down at the market. She kept calling me 'Star' and then apologize. She would always give me this odd little smile, like I was lying. Maybe I was...

Photo courtesy SXC.

Finds and Friends: Thank You's and a Award.

2010-09-10T06:00:00.004-05:00

I have a couple thank you's and a award to pay forward this Friday. First, a big long over due thank you to the ever multi-tasking and always generouse Lydia Kang at The World is My Oyster for the wonderful opportunity to win this...
...and a few other of it's deliciously wonderful smelling friends from...

I am LOVING the lavender soap. Thank you so much for the chance to enter your contest and congrats on making it past 300 followers. It was a wonderful prize. I am now no doubt hooked on the stuff!

Also, be sure to check out Doc Lydia's blog every Monday for Medical Mondays. Have a fiction related question regarding health and medicine, visit HERE and e-mail Lydia your question.

And a shout out and thank you to The Words Crafter over at The Rainy Day Wander, for awarding me The Bold Face Liar Creative Writer Award. I sort of hoping to get one of these. I love the concept. First, I am a wonderful liar. It's just true. But I have used it more for good and entertainment, I swear... *smirk* And second, I think a good fiction writer is a good liar. We fabricate stories around bits of truth and fiction, and then swindle others into believing the entirety of it. Journalist peddle the truth, Fiction Writers craft amazing lies. I truely have found my place.

So thank you my dear Words Crafter, and I shall pay this bit of fun forward. FYI, if you are not following this chick you are not one of the cool kids. So go HERE and enjoy yourself. You will find few bloggers so creative, supportive and thoughful of others in the bloggisphere.

So, the Rules atached to The Bold Face Liar Award...

The Bold Face Liar Creative Writer Award requires you to:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award and link to them.

2. Add the award to your blog.

3. Tell six outrageous lies about yourself and one truth. (Another variant: Tell six truths and one outrageous lie. YOU get to guess which variant I chose – and which statements are true, as well as which are lies.)

4. Nominate six creative liars writers and post links to them.

5. Let your nominees know that they have been nominated.

Can you figure out which group I went with? 6 lies or 6 truths? We'll see.

1. I visit China with my husband every 2-3 years.

2. I've seen a ghost.

3. I've talked a person out of killing someone.

4. I was published in Writers Digest.

5. I live in a fairly old and very creaky Colonial in the country.

6. I killed my cousin.

7. I use to 'dance' in college. It paid good.

Now you tell me if I won this award fairly. =^.^=

And I award The Bold Face Liar Award to...

1. Cort Ellyn at Wordweaver

2. Justin W. Parente at In My Write Mind

3. Old Kitty at Ten Lives and Second Chances

4. Roland at Writing In The Crosshairs (Because ya are ;-D)

5. Summer Ross at My Inner Fairy

6. DL at Cruising Altitude

And a extra Bold Face Liar award goes out to whoever guesses my lie or truth first!!!!

Thanks all, and I hope to have some more blogfests and contests up for your viewing soon. And check out all the nice folks above. They're a batch of great 'liars' and blogging friends!

WIP Wednesday: Writing Recycling (And My Weekend at a Glance)

2010-09-08T10:00:00.000-05:00

Sooooo. Have ya ever recycled bits of one WIP to feed another WIP? I assume you have. This 'recycling' is often what sparked the new WIP in the first place. A scene or a character didnt quite fit the project you were working on, but you liked it. So you kept it like the treasure hunting magpie that writers are and at some point it began to germinate into it's own story.

But what about using a piece of WIP from a Fan Fiction you wrote? I know the disclaimer--the characters and the story do not belong to me....blah blah blah. But what if the story bit was out of story cannon or non-specific of the original characters created for the original work of fiction? It's your writing right???? Writers find inspiration in others works all the time, don't they?

It's a topic that has crossed my mind now and then. I was wondering if anyone else has come across a similar dilemma?

BTW, Napoli (pictured in his favorite hiding place--my grocery bags) say's "Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. And remember my cat treat."

Below is a bit from a Mentalist Fan Fiction I am hoping to recycle into my present WIP, Ghost Mountain. It would not be word for word do to the many differences in the characters and works, but the gist would be there.

"Just the slightest touch from him was beginning to feel like the biggest leap into the unknown. So many voices of reason and experience told her to take her hand away, but so much of what she needed—what she knew he needed, was allowing his fingers to entwine with her own and hold tight. She simply needed to trust…"

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As for this past week and weekend--and the reason I've been off the grid more than usual. Jim and I headed off to Cherry Springs PA, about 3 hours from our home in Ohio. Once again we enjoyed some camping, hiking, stargazing and a whole bunch of astrophotography (i.e. half our gear consisted of astronomy, computer and photography equipment).

We stayed from the 1st to the 6th. A long hall this time but worth the stay.

These are just a few images I took of our camp site on the astronomy field, the valley below our elevation (2,300 feet), and a few misc photo's including a engineered image my husband took of the Milky Way last trip.

photo by Jim Murray

And then, when we got home Monday, we unpacked some of our gear and headed off to the county fair...

Come one, come all! Welcome to the 164th year of the Canfield Fair!

For every year I have been alive I have gone to this mainstay of Mahoning County. One would think I'd tire of the giant pumpkins, row after row of animal barns, craft barns and exhibits, rides, funnel cakes and tractor pulls but alas I have not nor do I see this happening anytime soon.

The fair represents something to me--something pure and happy and unchanging in its way. And after 164 years, it is nostalgia of the very best sort for this country girl. And the best way to say so long to Summer and greet the Fall.

And these last few years, I have found a way to participate in this event. By entering the Fine Arts and Photography exhibit with my husband Jim.

My entries this year...

I hope all of ya had a great Labor Day weekend and I'll type at ya Friday!

Sunday Musings From Under the Steps: Doing Great by Great People

2010-09-05T10:22:00.000-05:00

I believe that the acts, struggles and triumphs of good men and women are not solely owned by the race or nationality in which they came. Although the places from which these individuals hail, should take great pride in and take honest advantage of their native son and daughters greatness, I believe the good works of such good people should be shared with all of humankind.

Humankind.

Do you believe in God? Buddha? The Great Spirit? Allah? Yahweh? The Goddess? Non-denominational? Many Gods or no Gods at all? A city dweller or of country kin? Blue collar or white? Silver spoon or plastic spoon? The list can go on with our differences, but the simplest thing that brings us together is that we are all human and in possession of a soul.

Because in the end, strip it all away and you are left with the fact that we are all human. Try as some may to separate themselves from the rest of humanity, we are all flesh and blood homo sapiens with souls.

I believe that a good person is one who not only understands this but lives by it. This man or woman reaches across race, religion and nationality and inspires ALL of us with their words and actions...

"In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force...

...And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." ..."

~~~Martin Luther King, Jr. Quotes from "I Have a Dream" delivered 28 August 1963, at the Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.

photo unknown

WIP Wednesday: Another Lesson Learned

2010-09-01T09:00:00.003-05:00

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft a-gley.

~~~ Robert Burns ("To a Mouse")

[Popularly misquoted as: The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray]

When beginning and following through with any project, one must be a good judge and scheduler of time. I was neither this weekend or even now, while I write this post. But I had the best intentions...

Like most of you, I have personal and professional obligations in my life. In order to keep those obligations met, I follied my writing and blogging time. I could have scheduled better. Coulda Woulda Shoulda.

Lesson learned: Continue to advertise others Blogfests and Contests. It's fun to do, good for the writing community and it's just good karma. But... NEVER enter one unless you have the time to visit other entries and give them the time you hope they give to you. It's just the right thing to do--the fair thing.

I wish all of you luck and a better scheduled week than mine. I hope to stop by and see a few of you soon.

Good day and good writing!

N.

The Fight, Fight, Fight! Blogfest!!!

2010-08-31T06:41:00.007-05:00

And now, my entry in the Fight, Fight, Fight! Blogfest, being held by JC Martin at Fight Writer. Check out all of the other entries here.

I had posted this yesterday, after my Fairytale Blogfest entry. I figured posting it on its own today might be easier for folks to get to. Less scrolling.

And thank you to all who also commented on my Fight entry yesterday!

I have written shoot outs, verbal fights, fist fights and even a cat fight. This ‘fight was a bit different for me.

This is a part of scene from my temporarily shelved WIP, Touched. Logan is my MC. He is a telepath, amongst other things. He is helping his childhood friend Mike (a deputy), with a dispute outside of town. The islands dock manager, Stan Murdock, is drunk and taking revenge on Dr. Melbourne, a marine researcher who runs the science center.

I attempted to give the reader the viewpoints of both Logan and Mike. I am not sure it worked (hence shelved WIP). In this scene, Mike gets a small hint that his long lost friend has something more than money and attitude going for him….

WARNING: Curse words and some crude epithets of a derogatory nature. Do not read if this offends.

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“Hey, Buddy?” Logan called out just as Murdock slammed the axe into the door hinges. “How about ya call it a day and go sleep it off…”

“FUCK YOU!” Murdock bellowed, now focused on the embedded axe.

“No, I don’t think so.” Logan knowingly smirked, his eyes solidly trained on the axe wedged into the door.

When the big man reached for his weapon of choice and pulled, the axe stayed put by the sheer strength of Logan’s telekinetic stare. Murdock’s hands slipped from the handle, sending him staggering back from the door and into a table top.

Taking the opportunity, Mike moved to Logan’s side. Murdock found his unsteady footing and was reaching for the axe once more.

“Come on Stan, let the axe alone…” Mike calmly ordered the bleary eyed dock manager. At this point, a voice could be heard from behind the mangled door.

“It’s Deputy Michael Mahoning, Doctor. We are here to help…”

“You people get this deranged Neanderthal out of my lab!” The muffled sound of authority bellowed from behind the door. “To protect and serve, my ass…”

Logan could only feel indignation and a over bearing sense of entitlement emanating from Murdock’s target behind the door. (through his ability) For a half second, he considered allowing the big brute to bag the snooty intellectual and call it a day.

“FUCK YOU TOO, YA MURDERIN TREE HUGGIN FAG!” Murdock yelled his unoriginal epithets to the scientist behind the door. “I told ya I’d get ya for burnin my boat, ya freekin fairy…”

“You stupid, half breed ogre.” The doctor retorted. “I don’t give two shits about your precious rat trap skiff. Why would I burn it?”

“Shut up! SHUT. UP.” Murdock’s screamed at the top of his lungs and pulled angrily once more on the axe handle, becoming more frustrated with each try.

Logan took the opportunity to step away from Mike and walked closer to the exit door, cautioning his friend the deputy to stay put.

Mike watched his friend with raised brow, his gun now trained on Murdock who was still trying to move the strangely unmovable axe. ‘What the hell is Logan doing?’ And then he realized and his stomach went sick.

“Hey big guy…” Logan could almost taste the immense swell of anger and frustration swirling in the alcoholic whirlpool that was Murdock’s head. It was familiar and it tasted bitter, but it was strong, too strong for the man to stop the path he was taking now.

‘Need to focus that nasty elsewhere. Need to distract…’

“Tell me, what kind of man will your girl think of you for killing this guy…” Logan nodded to the storage vault. The large man abruptly turned and let out a bull snort, focusing his full attention on Logan. “Then again, I guess it wouldn’t matter much anyway, being that you’re not much of a man to begin with, being a wee thing and all…”

Mike’s eyes grew wide when Logan raised his thumb and pointer finger to demonstrate the size of the large man’s questionable manhood.

Murdock screamed with rage and lunged, knocking Logan into the emergency exit he'd purposely positioned himself. Logan had hoped to take the party outside.

‘Oh, shit.’

Logan realized the flaw in his plan too late. The door was locked. Something he was quickly remedying with his ability, while trying to avoid getting smashed like a bug by the larger man pinning him into the door.

Mike joined the tussle, throwing his own body weight onto the man to try and subdue him. And then the lock on the emergency door disengaged, and all three men went sprawling out into the back parking lot. The door alarm blaring.

“Holy hell, Stanley. Knock it off!” Mike yelled, reaching for his cuffs, trying to sit on Murdocks flailing legs.

Logan pushed his weight into the man’s head and shoulders and into the ground, trying to get his arms. “Mike. Cuffs!”

This needed to end.

Logan closed his eyes, before they began to blur, the hand he held down on Murdock’s head began to hum with everything—all the anger and humiliation and even pain that drove the man struggling under him. The fast frightening beat of the mans heart became Logans own and he focused on it, held it within his own mind as tight as his grip on the mans body. ‘Slow…’ Logan breathed out, eyes squeezed tight. ‘Rest. You are done, here.’

Mike could feel the large man slowly begin to still under him, giving him enough time to catch the hands that now lay limp on the snow and gravel. Finally cuffing the man he sat back on the now listless man’s legs, and looked to his friend who had rolled off the big man’s body and was now on his back in the snow.

The young deputy felt a shiver go down his spine; the light blue of Logan’s eyes almost appeared white when he opened them to the overcast sky. Something had just happened here and Mike was damned if he knew what.

Before he could say a word, the frazzled but no less indignant Dr. Melbourne walked through the alarming exit door, reaching up with his key to shut off the sound. “So you got the son-of-a-bitch…”

Logan sat up, wiping the snow off his body and out of his unruly hair. Mike turned his attention to the scientist and the large axe in his shaking bony hand.

“How did you get that out of the door?”

The doctor continued to eye his ex-captor, now trussed up on the ground like Christmas Turkey. “Found it on the floor.”

Mike turned back to Logan and found his friend’s cool crystalline blue eyes dulled and settled upon him. His expression unreadable.

“Keys? I’ll pull the Jeep around and help ya load ‘Gigantor’.” Logan snarked, his voice calm and even while Mike still found himself panting for breath.

Mike nodded and flipped him the keys. “Thanks.”

Logan nodded and turned, feeling his friend’s eyes and questions follow him into the falling snow….

Thanks for reading folks. I will be around to ya soon!

Fairy Tale Blogfest AND Fight, Fight, Fight! Blogfest

2010-08-30T07:06:00.002-05:00

I have duel entries to give today. Both around 1,000 words so be warned.

The first is my entry for The Fairy Tale Blogfest. Hosted by Emily White at Stepping into Fantasy. Love the pic BTW! Go here to read all the other wonderful blend ups.

I am unsure if the story I chose these characters, can be considered a fair tail, but I definitely have two genre's colliding. You be the judge.

My Fight! Fight! Fight! entry is right after. Scroll down!!!!!! Thanks all!

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“Shahryar!” The old Vizier squinted mirthfully at his youngest grandchild, stalking him just outside the kitchen backdoor.

“Come child; give your grandfather an ear.” The old man heartily patted the edge of the fire hearth beneath him. “I have another tale for you.”

The Viziers smile grew wide while watching the small prepubescent quietly acquiesce and step obediently inside. He’d found his entertainment for the evening, a perk of being a grandfather.

“It’s not another sea monster tale is it Pa Pa? The boy cautioned, dark wide eyes reflecting in the late evening light. “Mother said I cannot listen if it’s a lie about sea monsters and such. She said I might have nightmares...”

“No monsters, only facts child. Besides, your mother would not deny a good story telling. Your father can attest to that fact. ” The old man winked at his would-be audience. The child quietly took the offered seat.

“Besides, I told your mother you are made of the stronger stuff—I know it! And to be honest, it’s tales of the truth that’s scarier. My ‘monster tales’ as your mother calls them can be given a happier ending if I see fit. A story can be as kind or as sensible as you wish in its telling. But the real can be just as dangerous and unexplained as it pleases. And if you wait long enough, the real becomes story with each new generation of tellers...” the Vizier rambled on.

“Grandfather?” the child questioned.

The old man ceased his lecture of the real and make believe and smiled conspiringly at his young charge. “If your mamma asks, just tell her I was saving your soul, a thousand and one tales at a time.” The small boy raised his brow but dutifully nodded. The old man began.

“This story goes back a while and it starts simple enough. A boy, not much older than you, was helping his Uncle on his fishing boat, the Dunyazad. Two days into the trip, the crew saw a man afloat upon the sea. They pulled him aboard—naked as a newborn babe and so very pale. They weren’t expecting the man to have breath left in him. It was all a shock when they were proven wrong...”

“So he was alive, grandfather? How did he get out there? Was there a ship?”

“Now you get talkative with all your questions, huh?” a twinkle lit the old storyteller’s eye. “Of course there had to be a ship, child—man out in the middle of the ocean—and yes he was living. What did I say? Now listen.” The old man smirked unperturbed and began again.

“Well, when this man started to come around he began to mumble things in some sort of foreign tongue unfamiliar to the boy or the men. It wasn’t long before the stranger opened his eyes-pale silvery grey eyes...” the old man trailed off into silence for but a moment, his own eyes reflective and far away.

“Well, after talking to the man and clothing him, the man began to make more sense. He told the crew about his ship and its crew. Said it was in trouble and demanded the Captain take the Dunyazad out of its way—out into the great sea near a coming storm. A dangerouse storm, growing red and angry with each passing hour. ”

The old man leaned back against the far corner of the immense old fire place and breathed in the supper cooking there.

“A day glides fairly quick when you’re heading to somewhere you don’t want to be.” The old man nodded to the child. “It felt that way to the crew of the Dunyazad. It didn’t help that the pale man sending them on their present journey took to pacing the bow of the ship—faster and faster with each knot they came.”

“It was around about supper time, the storm promised itself just over the horizon. Clouds taking out the last of the sunset and the glow of lightning taking up where the stars should have been. It was about this time did the stranger stop pacing on the bow and stood dead center, his eyes out over the sea.”

“By then the crew was busy batting down the ship, for the storm had picked up, but the boy kept watch on the stranger. Even with the ship tipping and rolling, the man stood at the front of the ship, steady legged and sure. And then, just before the ship hit another wave, the pale man turned to the boy and smiled...” the old man trailed off while he held the frozen and attentive stare of his grandchild.

“And then he looked to the sky...” the old man looked up to the ceiling and then back to the wide eyed child.

“It was in the light of the next lightning strike, did the boy see something he would not forget to this day. The strangers eyes, those pale grey eyes had taken on the glow of the lighting—the lightening that now seemed to be steadily following the ship over the waves into the night. Before the child could blink another bolt of light shot across the bow of the Dunyazad but at a strait vertical, sending the boy for cover. When he turned back to the bow, both the stranger and dancing lightning were gone.”

A silence fell over the kitchen, the crackle and pop of the fire filling the space.
“What ha-happened to the stranger Pa Pa?” the young boy finally spoke. The old man gave the child a quiet smile.

“Some say he fell overboard, maybe got hit by the lightning. No one but the boy was watching him at the time, but no one believed what 'I' told them when we got back to port...”

“So the boy was you Pa Pa!” the boy exclaimed in awe. The old man gave a nod. He’d only partly meant to let that bit of information slip.

“I told you I tell stories about the real—it’s what I saw.” The old man leaned in close to his grandchild, placing a wide palm on the boys shoulder. “And I say that the stranger didn’t drown or get burst apart by a lightning zap. And he wasn’t looking for his ship that night out on the sea. I say he wanted to be taken back, so his ship could find him and take him up and away into the stars...”

“Father, Shahryar...”

The steady foot falls of the lady of the house neared the kitchen threshold. The Vizier’s daughter had come to take away his young audience.

“In here, Scheherazade.” Quietly, the storyteller raised a finger to his lips and winked at his grandchild. “Tomorrow I shall tell you the one about the giant squid...”

(One Thousand and One Nights or Scheherazade and the 1001 Arabian Nights and a visitor from anther planet tale.)

And now, my entry in the Fight, Fight, Fight! Blogfest, being held by JC Martin at Fight Writer. Check out all of the other entries here.

I have written shoot outs, verbal fights, fist fights and even a cat fight. This ‘fight was a bit different for me. This is a part of scene from my temporarily shelved WIP, Touched. Logan is my MC. He is a telepath, amongst other things. He is helping his childhood friend Mike (a deputy), with a dispute outside of town. The islands dock manager, Stan Murdock, is drunk and taking revenge on Dr. Melbourne, a marine researcher who runs the science center.

I attempted to give the reader the viewpoints of both Logan and Mike. I am not sure it worked (hence shelved WIP). In this scene, Mike gets a small hint that his long lost friend has something more than money and attitude going for him….

WARNING: Curse words and some crude epithets of a derogatory nature. Do not read if this offends.

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Musings Under the Steps: A Apt Definition

2010-08-29T07:51:00.005-05:00

INVITATION

If you are a dreamer, come in.
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer . . .
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire,
For we have some flax golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!

by Shel Silverstein

A fairly apt definition of a writer, I think. Dream well my writing comrades. Write well and often.

Finds and Friends Friday: Blogfests and a Thank You!

2010-08-27T13:00:00.001-05:00

Let me start by saying how much fun and how happy I was to come across a crop of new friends during the most recent Blogfests I've participated. Guess That Character Blogfest (my prt.1 and prt.2 reveal) hosted by Jen at unedited. And The Rainy Day Blogfest (my entry) hosted by Christine at The Writers Hole.

Again, I recommend entering one of these bits of entertainment, socialization and dare I say challenge to your writing skills.

While reading through many of the other entries, exchanging messages with other participants and browsing others blogs, I was reminded of what a great comfort having this creative outlet has been to me. I know I am not alone in my creative journey. That I have all of you--most I have never met face to face but found something in your entries that talked to me and made me a follower of you. You give me thought provoking articles, links, words of wisdom and folly. I enjoy or am moved by your stories and pictures. And I am given warmth when I get a personal message outside the blogisphere, showing me you have become more than a follower or followed, but a friend.

Having a blog, having followers (and I do not care if its just 5 or 500) has provoked me into being more aggressive with my writing schedule and my writing goals. Now that I have others eyes on me (paranoid much?) I feel more compelled to finish projects on time. 'Gettin er done' has taken on a more professional vibe for me--a good thing for a procrastinator.

And having this blog has sorta become my own version of mom's fridge. I cut, paste, link and write here, the things I have accomplished, things of pride and things I see as solid stepping stones on a right path.

So I raise my fresh brewed to you from under the steps and thank you for reminding me that I am not crazy! I am just a writer...

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BTW, a few upcoming blogfests to enjoy. If you have one coming up or know of one I do not have, drop me a line. I think when I hit my 100 mark, I will toss one of my own. *thinking*

* The Fairy Tale Blogfest is being held by Emily White at Stepping into Fantasy, August 30th. Love the pic!

* Fight, Fight, Fight! Blogfest is being held by JC Martin at Fight Writer. August 30th-31st. Felines really do kick ass!

* Flash Fiction contest held by Anne Riley at Anne Riley. Deadline Aug 31st.

The Blogfest of Food is being held by Angela McCallister at Jaded Love Junkie. September 23. Yum!!!

* And Michele Emrath is having a Happy Birthday Blogfest at Southern City Mysteries. September 24. Congrats!

Rainy Day Blogfest meets WIP Wednesday!

2010-08-25T00:16:00.000-05:00

Welcome to my entry to The Rainy Day Blogfest, brought to you by Christine at The Writers Hole and some Wednesday WIP. So please follow the link and read the rest of the wonderful entries after your time here with me and my rough bit of WIP.

In this scene, my MC Wyatt, his heroin Mary and half the town have met at the church to go over Mercy Corners Fall Festival plans for the coming weekend. A early fall rain storm is the back drop and a mood setter for this bit.

It’s Wyatt’s first time back in church since his Uncles death and has been talked into singing (once a choir boy). He sings because something in him, something Mary has awakened in him since her return, makes him say yes.

It’s sort of an odd but touching scene. A rough looking, quiet manly man singing with a soft grace in front of his town and the girl. At this point in the story it’s a surprising change in his character. He’s trying to live…

The first section fits in the under 500 wrd count for the Rainy Day Fest, the rest is there if you would like to continue reading some of my WIP. Thank you.

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…When we've been here ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we've first begun.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

Wyatt’s warm vocals trailed out into the stilled room and then faded into the thunder that growled outside the chapels opened window panes.

Mary was feeling that thunder—or was it her heart.

Wyatt’s eyes, which he’d kept strictly focused on the back wall of the church during his performance, were now wide and open and trained on her own. She was struck by what she found there.

He’d sung of redemption and grace in a voice full of honesty and confidence. If anything, it was how most saw him as a man. But in his eyes—those dark fathomless eyes, Mary could see redemption and given grace were things Wyatt felt undeserving.

Right then and there, Mary sent up her own prayer within the little house of God. She was out of practice, but it was a simple one.

‘Please let him forgive himself.’

“Well thank you there, Wyatt.” Reverend Wright stepped back up to his pulpit and waved on the warm swell of applause rising and falling through the room like the rolling clouds coming in. It wasn’t every day the town protector dipped his shield and sung to a packed church.

Wyatt humbly nodded to the Reverend and quickly took his seat in the front pew. Through announcements and the reading of the closing prayers, Mary could not keep her eyes from the back of Wyatt’s ridged form.

“Almighty and most merciful Father, we humbly beseech Thee, of Thy great goodness, to restrain these immoderate rains with which we have had to contend. Grant us fair weather for our jubilations. Graciously hearken to us as followers who call upon Thee that, armed with Thy power and love, we may advance from our yesterday’s storms and to better days, and conquer our fears and bring out your glory in all of us. Amen.”

“Amen” Mary whispered.

In the prayers ending, Wyatt partly turned his head in the direction where she sat. A wind gust blew into the little chapel, heralding in the first rains of the coming storm.

****************************************

“Hon, ya want a ride back to the Inn before I go to Molly’s?” Aunt Sissy had sidled up to Mary’s side after the meeting let out. Mary had left before Wyatt could turn around, she was still angry at him for earlier in the week. But she couldn’t leave.

“That’s okay Sissy.” Mary smiled and placed her hand on the perfumed one that squeezed her shoulder. “I need to talk to the Reverend about scheduling at the Red Cross tent tomorrow.” She hoped Sissy humored her lie and walked on without giving one of her patent pending looks of knowing.

She didn’t.

“Sure, hon.” The intuitive redhead cocked her brow and glanced to the back of the church. “See ya tomorrow then.”

Mary didn’t answer, but it seemed Sissy took that as all the answer she needed. Smiling wistfully, Sissy again glanced towards the back of the church and then to Mary. Sighing deep, Sissy winked then stepped out onto the front steps, popped her umbrella and leisurely sauntered out into the rain.

Mary just shook her head, watching her too-smart-for-her-own-good Aunt smoothly dodge mud puddles to her lemon yellow VW.

“So, did she say it’s Molly’s she’s going to?”

Startled, Mary closed her eyes and smiled away her surprise. She turned and found Wyatt standing at her shoulder looking out into the rain.

“You really should wear a bell.” Mary grumbled.

Wyatt offered a light smirk, but continued to look out into the rain.

“So where is my Aunt going?”

“Marcus Wheeler”

“No. The two of them?”

“Since early Summer. Not long after his wife died of cancer. Sissy thinks she needs to hide it, being that he’s so recent a widow.” Wyatt shook his head and shrugged. “All I know it’s every other Sunday she goes to Huntsville to see him. She wears her heals and her good perfume for church service and then she tells Jack she’s going to Molly Jones house afterward for a visit.”

It made sense. Mary had felt something was different about her Aunt this visit. Different, but good. It explained why Sissy had been trying so hard to push her closer to Wyatt. People in love always had a thing for meddling in others relationships. Happiness was its own spreadable disease.

“But that sort of thing shouldn’t matter. They’re not hurting anyone.” And it didn’t surprise Mary that Wyatt was keeping tabs on her Aunt. Wyatt the constant Sheppard. “And besides, their just giving each other comfort…”

The rain had begun to fall hard, splattering off the concrete steps and onto the pair where they stood under the overhang.

“Everyone deserves that…”

Mary’s words failed her when she turned to find Wyatt’s eyes boring through her. She felt like a butterfly pinned or prey found under his piercing stare. She had never known another man like Wyatt, whose stares spoke louder than most men’s loudest roars.

She never knew another man who could make her feel what she felt right now…

She doesn’t quite remember when she’d accepted his offer of a ride back to the boarding house or even if he gave one. They hadn’t spoken a word after leaving the church steps.

The rain poured now. Both had been soaked to the bone and Mary had begun to shake, but it had nothing to do with the rain or the cold.

She watched him put the car in park in front of the house and swore she saw his shoulders begin their downward dip by a weight from some unfathomable source.

“Wyatt?”

Before she could say another word he had bridged the gap between them and had her ensnared in his arms. Overpowered and overwhelmed by the feel of him—his intensity, she gasped for air in-between their kisses. It felt frightening and familiar and oh so good to be held this way again.

Mary quickly caught up with Wyatt in the moment, crawling up into his lap and held on tight. Her hands reached out and grasped the sopping fabric that covered the lean lines and physical strength Wyatt had become. But what hadn’t changed—the most important thing—he still could make her feel so special and so lov…

“No…”

Before she could respond, Wyatt had roughly slid from under her, depositing her against the car door and pulled himself back to his side of the Jeep.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Wyatt placed his hands to the wheel and focused on squeezing it to death.

“Goodnight Mary.”

“Wyatt?”

“Don’t…” His order came out as a plea. A smothering silence descended on the two.

At this point Mary wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel…embarrassment, hurt, she defiantly felt confused. So she picked an emotion she had come to grips with earlier in the week----anger.

“Don’t what Wyatt? I’m not the girl you left behind fifteen years ago. You can’t just run and not expect me to ask why this time. You have NO RIGHT to push me away.” Only the thunder outside the car was louder. “If anything at all, we are friends and I care…”

“Mary, please…”

“So don’t what Wyatt…” Her voice had begun to waver. “…care?”

The silence ticked between them once more when he didn’t answer.

“Is this where you run from me again, Wyatt?”

Wyatt’s eyes shot around and met Mary’s in the dim light. She was startled by everything that glistened in his onyx stare--all of it complicated. She realized she couldn’t handle complicated right then. Not tonight.

Mary turned away, opening the car door to step out. She stopped when she heard his voice drift just over the sound of the rain hitting the Jeep roof.

“I ’m not the man you think I am, Mary.”

A small fraction of Mary’s anger slipped away and was replaced by hurt—for both of them.

“No Wyatt, I guess you are not the man I know you to be.” She turned back around to meet his eyes. “The man I know isn’t a coward.”

Mary stepped out into the downpour and slammed the car door, leaving Wyatt behind.

TBC. and edited.

Sunday Sermon: Musings from Under the Steps. The Less Traveled Road.

2010-08-22T09:08:00.008-05:00

"...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."

~~Robert Frost. The Road Not Taken

I remember a Chinese New Year Ceremony I attended with Jim and his parents on the Big Island of Hawaii. We were in for a visit and one evening we all went up to Waikoloa Village to watch the Lions dance in blessing of the local shops and businesses. It was a wonderful evening full of color, athletic show, breathing fire and the heart echoing beat of drums. I took pics of the ceremonies, ate my fill of traditional Chinese fare with the family and sat around and watched…

I watched. It’s something I am very good at. Writers are people watchers, voyeurs of the worlds around them and sometimes beyond. But being only a watcher can leave a person and a creative mind stagnant.

So against the better wishes of Jim and my in-laws, I disappeared into the crowd with my camera and followed the Lions out into the night…

I fed a Lion my prayer envelope a blank wish, one to be filled by myself someday. I mingled with excited children dancing around acrobats in large sparkling costume, waiting for candy to be tossed and lettuce offerings to be fed to the dancing Lions at shop doors (pictured right).

(and then the Lion enters the shop, below)

To me, these moments on my own in the crowd—participating, was better than any choreographed show I could have enjoyed. I felt the energy. I felt the crowd. I took the path less taken and it led me to a gift I at present have no name for.

This small vacation detour is so very small in comparison to the other stranger and longer paths less traveled in my life. Going to college in my family was one. Entering into the Mental Health field was another. Taking the leap into writing again and beginning my own business has been a favorite of mine as of late. And there are more personal paths I will not mention, but they were jumps of faith (or impulse) just the same.

But I share this small moment because it fits this format best. I can give you tangible proof that the road less traveled taken has its rewards. And if you should meet a Lion on this path, give it a wish and someday it may come true.

Guess That Character Blogfest: The Reveal

2010-08-20T09:00:00.002-05:00

Day two of G uess That Character Blogfest. Brought to you by Jen at unedited. Thanks Jen, it has been a blast!!!!!!

And now may I introduce to all, Wyatt Paxton...

Wyatt is in his mid to late 30's. He has dark deep eyes he often quints. Eyes that speak wistful thoughts or shoot out commands. Dark brow and brown hair he keeps close cut to his head. Military grooming but not man-scaped. Has stubble later in story.

He is fit and lean with broad shoulders. Long limbs. Broad calloused hands and long fingers. Just under 6 ft. but appears taller due to his carriage. He moves like a cat on calm days and a fast moving freight when in action. He does wear a uniform well, but often opts to go plain clothed on duty as Sheriff. Henley pull-overs over wife beaters or button downs over T's, uniform pants or jeans. Utility type outdoors jackets in neutral or dark shades and tough outdoors man boots.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wyatt Paxton is the visual amalgam of a boy I knew in High School, military men and characters I have found impressive and the two men below (the closest I can come without drawing a picture)...

Pissed Wyatt.
Friendly Wyatt.

I loved Tim Olyphants eyes, set of his jaw and the easy way he moves around. He can look sort of harsh often but then gives those warm smiles. And Adrian Brody (circa 'Preditors') I saw the professional in my character. The man of cool calculating action and the hair.

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As for Wyatt's personality...

He was a physically abused child pushed too far. He became "Mr. Responsible" when he was given a better home. He left his small town after high school to join the Marines (Sniper). He wanted to prove he was better than his old man...

Wyatt is a quiet man. He is loyal and smart, but he gets dense when he's being stubborn. He smiles on rare occasion, but they are worth waiting for. His wit is a bit dry. He has a long fuse but it's a fierce blow when it gets there.

He is not concerned with his own safety but always concerned about everyone around him. He is his towns Sheriff, protector, unofficial leader and the guy next door that the young ladies wink at (he rarely notices), children wish to emulate, old ladies smack on the arm and men respect with little question. He is capable of great kindness, but he is very capable of great harm to anyone doing wrong to his friends or his town. He uses his military training sparingly and prudently.

Wyatt can stand very very still. Something he learned as a sniper. He radiates a cool calm that calms others around him. He is a quiet watcher of men and situations. He likes to keep control. Even though he is well mannered, his logical side can come off gruff. His gruff side often offends but he does not care--not really. Not if its for the greater good.

He is quiet about what personal life he does have and his own wishes. He ignores his own needs because he feels undeserving. Because deep down he feels like the boy his father called 'a do nothing' and 'useless'. His greatest fault (aside from his stubborn streak), is holding onto the past. Because in the end he is the 'Good Guy' who doesn't see himself as a good man. Or at least no yet. That is where I come in.

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Thanks to all of you who stopped by and giving me a look into how others see Wyatt. All but a few of you were close or on the mark with Wyatt's character. I am happy for that.

I think all of us bring with us and take away from a character and a story different things. I love that about fiction and the imagination. We as writers can envision our own characters, write them as we envision them, but in the end it's the readers who 'sees' them. Once we begin to read, the characters face becomes a personal thing. As we write, we can only hope the 'character' of the character becomes a universal thing.

Have a great weekend all!

Guess That Character Blogfest!!!

2010-08-19T09:03:00.004-05:00

Welcome! First, a shout out to Jen at unedited, for throwing this wonderful Blogfest, the G uess That Character Blogfest. What a great way for all us to introduce our characters to the blogger world AND test our own view of what we want our characters to be.

Today will be the introductions to our characters. Just a bit of story to give ya a taste. Please take a peek at mine below and then tell me who you think my character is. What does he look like? How does he see himself, his world? And then check out all the other wonderful entries listed here.

Tomorrow, all participants in the fest will unveil our take on the characters in question and give you a visual of the faces that haunt our imaginations.

Have fun and happy reading folks. Thanks for stopping by!

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And now, may I once again introduce Wyatt Paxton from my WIP, Ghost Mountain...

Down went the wood gavel in fast and furious succession. “Folks, we need to start this meeting…”

Wyatt closed his eyes before he had the chance to roll them. Mayor Jenkins attempt at order had rapid fired through his skull one too many times tonight. So quickly Wyatt stepped from his inconspicuous vantage point outside the crowd and stealthily moved to the front of the meeting hall, and then took the small stage in one leap.

A shrill whistle rented the air. Wyatt lowered his fingers from his lips. The roar of the room quickly faded to a few whispers and coughs from his friends and neighbors.

“Mayor.” Wyatt nodded to his flustered but relieved Major, knowing and not caring that the man was annoyed at his assist.

Mayor Barney Jenkins had been Deputy Mayor only five months before. But after Mercy Corners much loved Mayor Branagan passed on unexpectedly of a heart attack during a fishing trip, the job fell to Jenkins to finish the remainder of the term. It didn’t take a rocket scientist or a leader of men to see that the new title was chafing the less experienced man in spots that were bound to make Wyatt and the rest of the town uncomfortable for the next six months.

“Thank you Sheriff Paxton.” Mayor Jenkins acknowledged through tight lips without looking at him. “Now lets begin this meeting by introducing…”

Impervious to his Mayors slight, Wyatt made to step down from the low stage, forgetting all eyes had fallen obediently to him earlier, including Mary’s…

‘Damn, she’s still beautiful.’

In that moment, Wyatt felt like his boots had been nailed to the steps and at some point between restoring order to the room and finding his old high school sweetheart staring up at him, his heart had stopped along with his motor skills. Wyatt felt like he was falling and he didn’t like it one bit.

Maybe if he'd been thinking strait, he would have noticed just how struck Mary had been seeing him too. It had been fifteen years. But then again, Wyatt's sniper vision had always been a bit blurry when seeing himself through others eyes.

WIP Wednesday: What WIP's Get Happy About?

2010-08-18T14:03:00.007-05:00

What does a Work In Progress get happy about? What made me happy this week?

2,000 more words added to my WIP Ghost Mountain yesterday. (Check out the simple but happy little word counter on the left column. Watch her climb!)
My Focus on Fiction Group at my local B&N is this Sunday. A WIP--or at least this WIP, always looks forward to my writing groups.
Two jewelry pieces picked to be on Etsy Treasury this month. HERE and HERE!!!!!! It's nice being noticed by your creative peers. The newest pick was my Regal Beach Pearls and Crushed Velvet Multi-Strand Necklace.

Here is a BIG ;-D for the week. I won a $15.00 Gift Certificate for Barnes and Nobles for my entry and advertising of DL's High Drama Blogfest at Cruising Altitude. THANK YOU DL! And a big congrats to the other six winners! It was a blast!!!!!
How about the opportunity to join in on another wonderful Blogfest in the VERY near funture! Remember Jen at unedited, is throwing the Guess That Character Blogfest August 19th and 20th. That's tomorrow kids!!!!

I am thinking I may use that new bit of WIP that I was going to use for the Weather Blogfest but then said I was going to use today for WIP Wednesday. That will work.

I have also enjoyed new blog designs and Etsy Widgets this week. The Blog header was a pic I took of some of my things lain about--WIP sorts stuff, and then I used Adobe to play with the image a bit. And I do like the wider look of this new blog design a lot better. And the Etsy Widget can be found just under my followers and traslator. Cool, compact and useful I think. I know a few of you who follow have a Etsy shop, so check it out and see if ya want one for your own.

So what got the WIP in you all geared up and cheery. Share! It's good for the creative ego. Ya know ya wanna!

Sunday Sermon: Patience...

2010-08-15T09:01:00.011-05:00

"If you sit by the river long enough, you will see the bodies of your enemy float by."

--A Misinterpretation of Confucius?

And how does this patient and wise proverb have to do with finishing my WIP's?

Yes, my WIP's are not my enemy, although they may seem it some days. And most will say that nothing gets accomplished when you just sit around waiting for something to happen. Especially writing or business! AAAND by nature I usually take a more direct route with my enemy when so unlucky to come across one. So I guess its the patience part I'm taking away from this quote. Not the sitting-on-your-ass-waiting-for-your-enemy-to-either-hang-themselves-with-enough-rope-or-hope-that-another-enemy-kills-them-for-you part. That would be Karma.

I do love this quote and envy those who can relate to it. I envy patience, patience that is worth more than all the treasure in the world. Because with patience comes continuance and with continuance comes completion. And with completion something tangible has been accomplished in this world.

So I will be patient and sit at my computer typing till all the ideas flow and the pages fly by and into a book.

Picture by N. Murray.

The Weather Blogfest!!!!!

2010-08-14T15:49:00.002-05:00

From the nice folks at A Little Slice of Nothing, The Weather Blogfest!!!!!

I was originally going to enter a new bit from my WIP Ghost Mountain, but found it well exceeding 1,ooo words. I wouldn't feel so bad boring all of you with something of this length on a WIP Wednesday, but I've learned to be a bit more length savy when entering a blogfest. It's just fair.

Anyhoo, I shall bore you with the WIP bit on Wednesday and shall give you this petite offering from my Jericho Fan Fiction "Chapters".

Jake, the MC, is about to dance with his long longed for love at a friends wedding and a storm is about to roll in. The chapter this bit comes from was titled 'Watershed'. It was fitting.

Jake turned back to his silent companion when the first few notes of Garth Brooks’ ‘When You Come Back to Me Again’, drifted out into the evening air and mixed with the rumbles of thunder in the nearing distance.

The wind had kicked up again, molding the fabric of Heather’s dress across her body, brushing her hair over her face in gentle wisps. All the while she stood completely still before him, waiting against the backdrop of the coming storm.

Till the day he died, Jake knew he would always remember just how beautiful, how vulnerable she had looked in that moment.

WIP Wednesday: My Other WIP Salvaged Beauty

2010-08-11T13:54:00.000-05:00

As stated in my About Me, I am a WIP who is juggling a few WIP's at present. My Jewelry Design Business, Salvaged Beauty, is definitely one of those.

I've never had a business of my own. It can be a lot of preparation and planning. It's a lot of multitask check off lists throughout a week. It can be frustrating and sometimes lonely even. But I like having something that is all mine. And I do like being my own boss. I mean--my boss may be a bit lazy sometimes, but she lets me drink as much coffee and eat as much chocolate as I like. AND she doesn't even blink when I show up in my comfy clothes for work or when I'm late finishing an assignment. Okay, she rocks!!!!!

Good things I have accomplished recently:

Applied to enter one of my area's largest craft shows. *Crossing fingers*
Collecting craft show set up equipment (displays, tables, a sign, etc...)
Created a business card...

(Just image on linen textured and colored paper with a decorative red inked stamp in the right corner.)

And I am working on a new jewelry project. Painted wood beads for Halloween. Eyes and planets so far. Maybe skulls later?

And today, the decider of this post, was a lovely message I received on Etsy, telling me I have once again been chosen and placed in another sellers Treasury. A Treasury is where members create curated lists of enjoyed or favored items and share them with the Etsy world. And it's another way to get free andvertising for your shop. So thank you Lizzie Caye of Lizzie Caye Uniquely Made Handbags!

The chosen piece is my Bollywood Disco Pendent Necklace. My mind had went strait to good old fun lively glittery Bollywood when I found this fun bit of salvage at the market.

Measures at at 31 inches, not including the 3 1/2 extension of chain and 1 inch ball pendent. Suspended on brass crossover chain and accented with two gold Czech beads and black glass beads, this is a easy wear necklace for summer, fall or winter.

To view the rest of the Treasury check here.

And a writerly note, remember Write On Con is still going on, so check it out. And some up and coming blogfests...

* And at A Little Slice of Nothing, "The Weather Blogfest". Due August 14.

* The Literary Lab's second annual Genre Wars Anthology presents "Notes From Underground" contest!

* Jen at unedited, is throwing the Guess That Character Blogfest August 19th and 20th.

Know any other great contests or Blogfests let me know!

A Sunday Sermon from Under the Steps: Life as a Scavenger Hunt

2010-08-08T12:14:00.000-05:00

"Searching is half the fun: life is much more manageable when thought of as a scavenger hunt as opposed to a surprise party."
~~~Jimmy Buffett

Life as a scavenger hunt keeps ya busy while you find needed or just plain fun things to use and share along the way. The hunt--journey helps you grow and lets you determine your life's direction when you come to the next new situation in your life. And when you come to that next event in your life, you may find that some of the things you've scavenged will help you get through.

Now, life as surprise party may be fun on occasion, BUT... its a bitch when the lights pop on and 'SURPRISE' is yelled out by all of your friends, family and your families priest when you're already half way out of your pants...

Mental picture? Yep. That's what living life as a surprise party feels like. If you spent your life drifting--unprepared, everything feels like a surprise your not ready for and it overwhelms.

Do not spend your days simply reacting to life. Live your life searching for a better you in it.

The High Drama Blogfest!

2010-08-07T10:00:00.000-05:00

Welcome to my entry to DL's High Drama Blogfest and thank you DL for holding such a fest with so many possibilities. I urge all to stop by his cool blog Cruising Altitude and read all the other high drama entries!!!!!

I am still working through some plot issues in my own WIP, so I found this bit of fan fiction drama to fit. I wrote the original draft of this piece a couple years ago. It was for my ‘Chapters Series’, a Jericho Fan Fiction. My first multi-chapter anything. The below scene was originally 3,000 words, so it took a bit of editing to get it down around 1,000. That sort of heavy editing of story material was a learning experience all on it’s own, let me tell you. And DL, I am so glad you raised the number to around a 1,ooo. I like to build drama and that takes a few more words.

Now, when I wrote this bit, the show was still on its way to being canceled outside its first season. I made Jake become Sheriff, I had him talking with his dead granddad and father for closure purposes, I paired him with Heather and not Emily (do not get me started), and I made it a point to allow Jake and Heathers characters to grow. (REMINDER: Disclaimer, the show and characters are not mine...)

Months later, the show got another chance but was canceled in its second season (due to bad writing). They did make Jake the Sheriff and had him talk to his dead granddad, but they paired him with Emily and still had him acting like a half cocked gun.

Can ya tell it bothered me?

SO, my entry...

The MC of this story and this scene is Jake Green. He was once a rebel without a cause, but after the apocalypse, he becomes his town’s hero. He had a lot of baggage and in this scene he finally comes to a point where he wants to tell someone. That someone is Heather Lisinski , the town good girl and his love interest. He is telling the story from a hospital bed after once again saving the day through his own sacrifices.

~ENTRY~ENTRY ~ENTRY~ENTRY ~ENTRY~ENTRY ~ENTRY~

“Going overseas—it was like nothing I had ever known. If the situation had been better, it would have been one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Everything seemed so different. The places I went, the cultures I was submerged in...”

Jake leaned into his hospital bed, leveling his eyes on the emerging moon. It was getting more difficult to look at Heather. He wondered if she would have the same problem with him after his story was told.

“I’d made alot of local contacts in Baghdad. A man named Ahmad was one of our most trusted information peddlers. He was Sunni Tajik, wanted change, wanted peace, or whatever was passing for it. He believed the US could help…”

Jakes eyes narrowed at the moon outside his window.

“I liked him.” Jake finally spoke. “Ahmad had this twinkle in his eyes, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t. Something that made everything else bearable. I think that thing had been his family…” Jake trailed back into silence, thinking of the old widower and his six children; five sons and a girl…

In Jake's silences, Heather watched him. Her lover may as well have been on the moon the way he stared at it now. She felt him distancing himself and all she could do was listen and watch him go.

“We were waiting for our transport back to the airstrip with a group of US officials. Our transport was late—had to change route when fighting intensified on the southern end of the city…”

Thing about waiting, it left time open for situations to go wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Fuck!” Jake irritably spat, taking one last drag off his cigarette, snuffing it out in the sand.

Rapid gunfire echoed out over the eastern corner of the city, making the newbie beside him jump. Jake shook his head while eyeing the surrounding buildings with the barrel scope on his riffle; only getting a view of vacant eyed windows and an unsettled feeling that they were not alone.

He’d told Ahmad about the buildings having eyes earlier in the week, when the elder man had invited him to his home. They’d just finished lunch with Ahmad’s extended family before sitting to watch the younger children play ball in the back courtyard.

‘Shadows have eyes here, Jake Green.’ He’d said. ‘Make sure you do not blink.’

“You’ll get use to the sound.” Jake told the newbie without looking away from the buildings on the other side of the square.

“Get use to it!” Freddie raised a questioning brow to his unaffected superior. “When’s that happening?”

Jake smirked while he continued his watch, the sound of gunfire could be heard peppering the air several blocks from their position.

Jake was use to the gunfire. It was as common place to him as birdsong back home. But the sound of explosions still made him hold his gun tighter, his head dip down lower and his feet move.

“Green. Ready to roll. Transport in five.” Jake nodded to his communications officer then shouldered his weapon.

“We’re getting out of Dodge, Freddie.” Jake smirked. “Not a moment too soon.”

Jakes eyes drifted back across the street while he stepped towards the square. Something in the shadows caught his eye once more. It was small and moving quickly.

“Shoma?” Jake yelled in broken Farsi at the approaching form.

“Amal!” He heard Ahmad yell at the small figure and Jake realized it was the old mans daughter. “Amal stop!”

The roar of truck engines could now heard coming through the neighborhood. The girl continued her walk out to meet them in the square.

Amal had not come to see her father, but the men he was helping. Her oldest brother believed this action took honor away from their family. She was told, by doing this—she would be saving her family and her beloved father from great ruin. She was a good, obedient girl.

Jake yelled the girls name, now recognizing her, as the first truck cleared the street corner into the square. She had turned to her father and then to Jake; he would remember those frightened brown eyes for the rest of his days.

Jake followed her wide eyed gaze to the center of her small body and felt his insides burst with a numbing cold when he traced the outline of a bombers belt just under the young girl’s robes.

Jake watched her hand trail down to her side and he felt his gun rise as if in slow motion. Without hesitation, Jake made a choice…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Everyone hit the deck.” Jake’s voice was weak, a lifeless whisper. Heather kept her stunned silence. “None of it—what I had done, hit me till Ahmad ran into the square…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She would not have done it!” Ahmad’s voice rose in anguish as he cradled his daughter’s lifeless body in his arms. “I could have talked to her—my Amal!”

The old man’s words trailed out into a howl of misery as he tore the belt off his daughters limp form and threw it into the gutter, not caring if it exploded on impact.

Jake stepped closer, but stopped when he could see the girl’s lifeless face when her father layed her small body down to the bloody sand.

“You killed my girl!” The old man yelled.

“I had no choice…!” Jake screamed his only defense, dropping his weapon onto the street.

In that moment the old man charged down upon Jake, brandishing a dagger, consumed in a fathers rage.

“Nooooo!” Jake screamed as another gun shot rang out through the square.

Ahmad stopped within a few feet of Jake, his eyes wide with surprise. His knife fell from his hand. Before he could take another step, he fell dead in the street.

“He was gonna kill ya, Jake!”

“No choice…” Jake fell to his knees in the sand.

Time would pass after that day and he’d wish that Freddie had been a worse shot....

(End of entry but not of story. BTW, Heather didn't turn away after the story.)

And now the muffins...

Finds and Friends Friday: Confernces and Blogfests and Awards OH MY!

2010-08-05T21:57:00.000-05:00

FIND: I was catching up on my blog reading (still am) and found a FREE On Line Conference mentioned on the lovely Lydia Kang's Blog, The World is My Oyster. The WriteOnCon is an online writer's conference for kidlit writers, but all are welcome, since many of the programs will deal with writing in general. For more details you can check out this page. It's being held next week.

And also a reminder, The Muse Online Writers Conference is being held October 11-17. Just click the link on my side column.

FIND and FRIEND: Sharde at Realm of Randomness was nice enough to award me with this award...

And in turn I am to pay it forward to…

Ira Mency at Ira Mency

Victor at Only this, and nothing more

Cort Ellyn at Wordweaver

Clutterbug at ...and then...

and Justin W. Parente at In My Write Mind

Now you lovely folks now need to pay forward this pretty bit of blog bling to 5 other lucky bloggers you know and love. AND everyone else, stop by and check out these fairly new bloggers to the blogisphere.

As for Sharde, she is presently trying out a bit of a “social experiment” she is calling, I Write to You From…A very cool letter writing campaign this coming week. Check her out!!!!

And some reminders (who are friends)...

DL at Cruising Altitude has a prize filled High Drama Blogfest August 7th! So come one, come all!!!

And Roland at Writing In The Crosshairs continues his story, Ghost of a Chance. A wonderful tale about a writer and his amazing adventures through fictional worlds of his own making, while accompanied by the ghostly embodiments of his many writerly muses. At present, he is being accused of killing ghosts and on the run!!!

Miss someone or something, let me know!!!!!

WIP Wednesday: My GUILTY!!! Pleasure Fan Fiction.

2010-08-04T08:48:00.000-05:00

GUILTY!

Just place the bar of numbers across my chest and please call my lawyer. I did it again!

I strayed, I cheated on my WIP and wrote a....

FAN FICTION!!!!!

Evidence A: Read at own risk...

The Fan Fic...

In my defense, I was inspired by the new Stephen King inspired show on SyFy, Haven. I love Mr. Kings works, I love small towns, and I love Sci Fi, sooooo.......

Yep, making excuses. *hangs head in shame*

I guess I'm just a sucker for stories in the beginning stages, when there are so many roads for characters and plots to take. Haven is only a few episodes in, but I've already imagined some possibilities for the story and a few of it's characters.

My writerly indiscretion is a short shipper (relationship) one-shot. The last FF, I am promising my WIP. I did it because I could not say no to the scene in my head. I did not turn it away, because it came easy to me, unlike my present WIP. I wasted a few hours time messing around with a badly edited bit of fluff that gets a 'disclaimer' stamped on the top because the characters are not my own and I can not forward my own writing aspirations with its creation.

Maybe I can count it as practice???

So I am guilty of stalling and procrastinating my own work--sabotaging my time and my WIP once again with a detour into the FF world. THIS is my biggest writing sin (aside from my grammar), Fan Fiction.

Gotta go. A writer from the 'Buffy' fandom is eyeing me up and I only have a few smokes to barter for my safety. I'll type at ya later after I make bail...

Milestone Blogfest and more!

2010-07-31T12:27:00.000-05:00

Today I'm making timely use of Donna Hole's Milestones Blogfest! A chance to toot your or someone else's horn! I plan to do both and very simply.

As of this week, I now have 50 followers. I like to think of that as a milestone in bloggerland. And I want to thank all of you who have stopped by, read my rambling prattle and decided it was interesting enough to stick around to read more of said prattle. Again, thank you so much for stopping by and staying.

I would also like to send a shout out to all the lovely bloggers who have and will be holding blogfests in the near future...

* DL at Cruising Altitude has a prize filled High Drama Blogfest August 7th!

* And at A Little Slice of Nothing, "The Weather Blogfest". Due August 14.

* The Literary Lab's second annual Genre Wars Anthology presents "Notes From Underground" contest!

* Jen at unedited, is throwing the Guess That Character Blogfest August 19th and 20th.

* And check out The Funniest Blogfest Ever at Thoughts by Lilah Pierce, held on September 1st.

Missed any? I will be happy to put them up on my Blogfest and Contests tab!

WIP Wednesday: There is nothing to fear but fear its self!

2010-07-28T12:36:00.000-05:00

While stumbling about the net while Under the Steps, I came across a fairly straightforward little piece on Writer's Digest's website about the obstacles we directly and indirectly set to sabotage our writing dreams. Top 10 Productivity Pitfalls for Writers to Avoid by Sage Cohen. Read the 10 and I swear you'll find at least half you've done to yourself at one point in the writing process. I did and have. But the one I kept coming back to was #3.

3. Fear. Risk is the hinge on which productivity turns; if we aren’t in danger of failing, we aren’t growing. When we let fear prevent us from taking steps that could bring our writing dreams closer, we limit our opportunities to succeed.

Now I will be the first to accept my old moniker "too stupid to be afraid" and will proudly tell the tales of facing down 6'5 schizophrenics and chasing off thieves with office implements, but I do fear... I fear success. Why that is will have to wait for another day. And I know I'm not alone, which in the end does make me feel better. And seeing those 1o pitfalls spelled out so clear also made me feel better.

Better??? you ask?

Because facing a fear (or issue) with all the lights on, makes me feel braver. When something is spelled out in black and white its no longer allowed to linger in the hazy shadows of anonymity. And if you can clearly see the obstacles you have placed before yourself...

Then you can figure out how to get around, over, under or through them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now a small bit from my WIP, Ghost Mountain. I have been trying out POV's other than my MC Wyatt. This is Mary (heroine) quietly watching Wyatt, her old childhood friend and high school heart break, for the first time in 15 years.

"She found him standing out in the square, staring up at the night sky like he was about to howl at it.

He was taller than she remembered, broader in the shoulders too. His once enviable dark mane was now cut so short it followed the lines of his scalp. And even if she hadn’t seen his shoulders slump when he turned away from the stars, she knew he’d become a whole lot older than he was suppose to be."

Sunday Sermon: Pick up those Pennies

2010-07-24T20:05:00.000-05:00

"If you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted with pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days. It's that simple. What you see is what you get."

--Annie Dillard

How we use our time and opportunities has a great deal to do with how we perceive them. Make a meal of every crumb of time. Use it. Treasure it. Own this belief when tackling any WIP or life in general. MAKE THE MOST OF YOUR TIME!!!!!!!

Dramatic? I have to be when reminding myself of important lessons I am stubborn learning. Let's see if we can all do better.

Just a quote that needed repeating (for me).

Finds & Friends: Authonomy, Legend Fire, Etsy and a Thanx!

2010-07-23T11:01:00.000-05:00

Hello from my cluttered little base of operations Under the Steps. Napoli the Cat,if you can see him in the pic, says hello too. I hope your end of the week was worth the fight to get to it and success to your weekend plans.

Now I have some finds and a thank you to share today.

First...

authonomy is a on-line community for writers, readers and publishers, created by book editors at HarperCollins publishing.

For the writer, authonomy is a place to expose your finished or close to finished works to the reading public, other writers, publishers and agents. You can set up your own on-line profile, get and give reviews of other works, all the while competing for a spot in the rankings and the possibility of getting your book noticed by agents and publishers alike.

It's different and maybe not for everyone, but its a site worth checking out.

LegendFire is a free, author-driven, online creative writing community. Its a fairly cozy spot for authors and poets alike, from a broad range of genres. You can exchange feedback, offer and participate in writing challenges and contests, participate in interactive writing projects, find resources and make friends in the writing community.

The site does represent a fair share of genres, but its especially friendly to the sci-fi, fantasy and horror folks. Stop by and check them out!

Now I know you folks have spotted my Etsy shop add at the right of my blog, Salvaged Beauty by Nicole Murray. This is part unabashed plug to get you nice folks to visit my small and fairly new shop. Yes--yes it is!

BUT...

It's also a invitation to all of you out there who have considered selling the lovely things you create with your own two hands. You know what I am talking about. Those great handmade gifts you give to your friends and family on holidays and birthdays. The jewelry or cloths you make for yourself, but everyone compliments. The skill or project that you always thought you might be able to sell if you just had a good place to do it. Etsy could be that place for you.

I have found the site easy to navigate and I enjoy having a spot to show and sell my jewelry and art projects for only a small fee and a bit of my time. I have found the selling and buying community on Etsy to be supportive, resourceful and inspiring. And of course Etsy is a great place to find one of a kind handmade gifts, vintage finds and a wide variety of art and craft supplies.

So push the Etsy icon. I know you want to.

And my thank you goes out to the lovely Tessa at Tessa's Blurb who awarded all participants in her Blogfest of Death. Thank you Tessa!

My entry...

And as always, check out my Contests, Blogfests & Sales tab at the top of my blog. I add new when I find them.

Have a great weekend folks and thank you for visiting Under the Steps.

2010-07-22T20:44:00.000-05:00

LegendFire: Creative Writing Community

WIP Wednesday: A Character Named Dialogue

2010-07-21T07:00:00.000-05:00

"My most important rule is one that sums up the 10: If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it." And "Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip." -- Elmore Leonard. "Elmore Leonard's Ten Rules of Writing,"

I am of the camp that believes dialogue should sound like it's being spoken by a living breathing person from inside the page and not being recited by the living breathing person holding the book. Not only does dialogue set a time and place, it also brings characters to life (the whole speaking to you from the page thing).

Dialogue done right, should help the reader enter into the story and into the minds of the characters in it. But of course to do this mind manipulating feat, one must butcher spelling and defy the Grammar Police. Not something that comes easy to the timid or better educated of us. I am neither, BTW. *smirk*

My question is, while writing my present WIP, how far can I take this defiance without turning off future potential agents and publishers? Or is my defiance of proper grammar in dialogue (the rest I will fix in editing...PROMISE!) a important feature of my writing voice and I should just flow with it?

Chime in if ya like. It's something that's been concerning me while I type away Under the Steps, so I know it's been a concern to some of you out there.

I leave you with another rough bit from my WIP Ghost Mountain, illustrating dialogue as I like it.

‘Maybe I would have avoided the whole bloody mess if I’d just let Old Ginny have her say.’

Sheriff Wyatt Paxton popped the empty shells from the shotgun and into his pocket. Evidence bags hadn’t made it to Mercy Corners.

‘And bloody…,’ Wyatt roughly ran his hand over the back of his buzz cut and turned to survey the nightmarish scene around him ‘Not the whole la-tee-da English cussin bloody. I mean bloody as in the nice little old church lady went ape shit, shot up her neighbor Old Man Mirty and half his beef cows due to the fact she felt I didn’t let her make it clear at the town meetin how much she didn’t want trespassers on her property—bloody!’

Settling the double barrel at his hip, the young Sheriff could only shake his head in disbelief. The buzz of horse fly’s resonated in the cooling fall air. The smell they came looking for—brown and black mounds of flesh, sinew and bone, lay scattered at the outskirts of Ginny’s vegetable patch and past the first row of corn. Further out into the yard, just a stone’s throw away from his fallen heard, lay Titus Mirty slumped up against Ginny’s outhouse. One shot taken to his head from off of Ginny’s back porch. Wyatt had to admit old Ginny was a hell of a shot if she had been planning it.

“Teddy, see about callin’ Marcus and the boys down from Fairways farm. We need these cows buried. And tell ‘em Doc’s off for the weekend so he might want to stop by the coroner’s office for a body bag.”

“What about Ginny, Sherriff?” Deputy Reed sidled up to his boss, earning himself a hard glare from the man. “I mean I know she’s bat nuts but look what she done…?”

Wyatt walked away before his deputy could continue and approached the back seat of his Wagoneer. Ginny was a whole lot quieter now. She’d taken to muttering under her breath while she sat cuffed and rocking in the back of the Sheriffs SUV.

“Ginny.” Wyatt opened the back door. “Ginny?”

“Why Sheriff, have ya seen my Pa? He’s lookin’ for his shotgun…”

Wyatt leaned heavily on the open door, said shotgun in hand.

“Ginny, your Pa is dead. Has been for some fifteen years…”

“There’s my daddy’s gun!” The frail little woman smiled brightly, ignoring the stated facts. “You know how he won that state wide skeet shoot with that gun? Or when he shot that interlopen bear trying to get at our pigs?”

“Ginny” Wyatt Paxton was never one to humor anyone’s delusions or false hopes and he wasn’t about to start now. Squatting down on his haunches, Wyatt met his prisoner and old friend eye to eye.

“Why did you shoot Titus and his cows, Ginny? Did Titus get in the way when you were shooing the cows? You shouldn’t have been using that shotgun to go doing that. Your daddy wouldn’t have approved and if ya had called me…”

Without warning the old woman’s smile turned saccharine to sour. Before Wyatt could stand away, Ginny leaned forward in her restraints and spat in his face. Wyatt reeled back and stood, wiping away the spittle, shocked.

“Don’t go saying what my Pa wants! He can speak for himself!” Ginny howled, bringing the deputy to his sheriff’s side. “He told me to protect what’s ours like he did the day of that bear. And those trespassing cows got in the way of MY bear!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shortly after the boys from Fairway’s arrived, Wyatt had his Deputy take Ginny to the clinic a county over in Essexville for a psych eval. It knotted his gut to think little old Ginny so gone she could kill her neighbor over cows, but if bothered him more to think her a cold blooded killer. At least being crazy meant she hadn’t been herself.

Wyatt stepped onto Ginny’s porch and into the house while the workmen made short work of the fallen herd and their master. The screen screeched then slapped behind him. His eyes fell to the far wall of the front parlor.

Pictures, a littering of faded and worn frames covered the wall with faces, some familiar and most gone from this world. Ginny was the last descendent of the Kale family line.

Wyatt had been thinking of his own long gone kin a lot these last few months; in passing and sometime in dreams that woke him up drenched and heaving. But he wasn’t thinking any of his dead to be alive. Maybe with him because the dead never do leave when their held onto too tight, but not here on this Earth wanting to be heard. Hell, Heaven knew Earth was better off with most of his kin gone from it.

Reaching out to one of the frames, Wyatt tilted it straight and then stepped away from the dusty and crowded shrine.

And even if the dead were speaking to him too, he’d never listened to them when they were living. Why start now?

Shakespeare and THE BLOGFEST OF DEATH!

2010-07-17T11:04:00.000-05:00

"Alas! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning?"

In Act V of Shakespeare's Hamlet, the titled character finds the unearthed skull of a old friend and wistfully reminiscences about the lighter, happier times spent with his dead but not forgotten friend. I personally took from the scene, that Hamlet once found good lessons to be learned from this old friend--the jest and light heartedness he attempts throughout the story. Knowing this person had a positive impact on him. And now, holding his friends skull in his hand, even good memories have a haunting effect on him.

I feel that my MC Wyatt (Ghost Mountain) is going through a similar painful remembrance of his not long dead Uncle. In his case he misses him and hasn't dealt with the loss, so much so even good memories--and the positive life lessons this kind and funny man gave him--now hurt Wyatt to even think on. Before the story begins, he has already chosen to block out the things that hurt and that means the good stuff too.

"There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will."

What tragedies (death) does is change us--alters relationships and life paths. I hope to have my hero believe more in personal choice than in divinity or fate. Unlike our poor Hamlett.

Below is my entry for The Blogfest of Death at Tessa's Blurb. It's a flashback to the night Wyatt's Uncle was killed. This flashback occurs when Wyatt visits the property for the first time in over a year since that night. He stops by the property after leaving a domestic dispute call that's left him shaken and confused. This way too real remembrance of that night will not help my MC's mental state, but I hope it will illustrate how memories are becoming too real to those having them in Mercy Corners.

So read up and please stop by Tessa's Blurb linked above and read all the rest of the wonderful entries being born into the blogisphere this weekend!

Wyatt stepped further into the overgrown clearing on autopilot, wide eyed but seeing nothing but the past.

The sunny fall afternoon faded quickly to night, the grass under his feet sunk away to charcoaled wood and rubble. The heat of flames joined the slick of sweat on his skin. And the buzz and chatter from his portable, along with the building breeze, grew into the paralyzing scream of a man.

“Willis…?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“WILLIS!”

The newly appointed Sheriff of Mercy Corners dodged the town’s two fire trucks and jumped over hose, slamming into the shoulders of Volunteer Fireman and neighbors alike to get to his Uncle Will.

“Damn it…WILLIS!” Wyatt jumped to the first fiery step of the salt box house he and his Uncle shared and was caught in a flying tackle that pulled him backwards and to the ground before he could reach the second. “No…!”

“Wyatt we tried. We tried…” Tim Clark, friend and Fire Chief, still held onto Wyatt’s middle, while two other sets of broad hand came down on his arms and shoulders to pull him further away from the flames. “It’s too late, Wyatt.”

Wyatt slowed his struggle long enough to look into the smudged and desperate face of his childhood friend. He’d never seen a lie in his friend’s eyes. He saw none now.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHG AAAAAAA!”

His Uncle’s dying shrieks set off another fight to hold Wyatt to the ground and away from a heroic but certain death. Mere moments after, the second floor of the old farm house fell into the first, sending out a spray of sparks and flame.

Wyatt sank slowly from his friends grip to the ground. No more sounds but the pop and crack of fire could be heard from Willis Paxton’s childhood home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He had stayed on his knees that night and his friends let him, with no attempt at comfort. There was none to be had and even if they had tried, he wouldn’t have felt it or anything else for that matter.

The young Sheriff was on his knees now, the wisps of stray weeds and wildflowers bent and danced on a sunny fall afternoon breeze around him. The only burn Wyatt felt now was in his eyes and throat and the sun beating down his back while he slumped beside the year old rubble of his family’s life.

Finds and Friends Friday: An Award and BLOGFESTS!!!

2010-07-16T12:23:00.000-05:00

Hello folks. First, I figured out how to work my new Net Book Webcam this morning (Does that look like a morning face or what?). I am happy that my Net Book bits work, but taking my own pic this way felt kinda--oh, I don't know? Vain?!? I really am a young old fuddy duddy.

Anywho...

This Friday Under the Steps I have a award to pass on to some nice folks and a update on any Blogfests you might not have found on your own. (If you have one I missed, lay it on me and I will add it to the list. Thanx!)

Not long ago The Words Crafter at The Rainy Day Wanderer awarded me The Versatile Blogger Award. Thank you my blogger buddy. And with this particular award comes a few rules:

Thank the giver(s) and link back to their blog(s).
Share seven things about yourself that others probably don't know.
Pass along to eight (originally fifteen) bloggers. Criteria: Adaptable, Flexible, Multifaceted, Resourceful, Multi-talented, and Versatile Bloggers.
Comment on their blogs to let them know about their award.

Again, thank you Words Crafter!!!!!!! And now a little bit about me...

I grew up poor. As in lived in a trailer, grandma had a outhouse till I was 12, rural poor.
I worked in the Mental Health field for over a decade. Started while I was still in college.
I have 3 cats. Napoli, Angelina, and Isis (or Issy The Flying Cat)
I really do enjoy being married.
I wrote fan fiction under the name Ann Pendragon.
I once chased off a group of drug addled teenagers trying to steal my car with a pair of scissors and a whole lot of obscenities. It was at a job site. The car was a piece of shit, but it was my POS.
Up until I was a pre-teen I wanted to be a paleontologist, a archeologist or a cop. A secret agent on really energetic days. I switched up these dreams about every other month. ;-P

NOW, the 8 lovely bloggers I shall pass on The Versatile Blogger Award... (And I hate picking people for these things because I know I have left someone out that I also enjoyed very much!)

Roland at Writing in the Crosshairs

Lydia at The World is My Oyster

All the lovely ladies at Prairie Chicks Write Romance

DL at Cruising Altitude

B.E. Sanderson at The Writing Spectacle

Luli at Ler, comer e amar

cArLa at pApEr cLiPPiNgS oF a WaNdEriNg ArTiSt

Raquel Byrnes at Raquel Byrnes

...lord that was tough. I had to pull a couple out of a proverbial hat because its hard to choose.

Now winners, enjoy and go share the award and a bit of yourself!

AND some upcoming blogfests. Take the pics and post them on your own blogs to spread the fun!!!

* Looking to kill off a character? Do it here. The Blogfest of Death at Tessa's Blurb. July 18th!

* Festival of the Trees is having a call for Submissions: Festival 50, Trees Through a Child’s Eyes Fest! July 29th is the deadline.

*And July 31, toot your own or someone elses horn at the Milestones Bogfest! Brought to you be Donna Hole.

* DL at Cruising Altitude has a prize filled High Drama Blogfest August 7th!

* And at A Little Slice of Nothing, "The Weather Blogfest". Due August 14.

* The Literary Lab's second annual Genre Wars Anthology presents "Notes From Underground" contest!

Check back for more Blogfest and Contests. Just go to my Contests,Blogfests&Sales tab at the top of my Blog!

WIP Wednesday: Cut, Paste and Blend

2010-07-14T11:37:00.000-05:00

I am a member of two writing groups, Focus on Fiction at my local Barnes and Noble and the IWWG (International Woman's Writing Guild). I love the companionship I have found in these groups and both afford me wonderful contacts, a test audience and editing staff, a sounding board for my creative gripes and useful knowledge about the writing world. Not to mention I enjoy being all those things for the others of my group.

Well, my FoF group and soon my IWWG group, enjoy writing prompts and take home assignments. Recently I have been using some of these prompts as scene starters for my WIP Ghost Mountain. I complete my assignment, I get a audience for my story and I have another scene for my book. TA DA!!!!!!

Of course the scenes I have created from these prompts are in no particular order in my story. Like so many other scenes we write when something inspires us on a lark, I find myself stowing away these scenes and sprinkling in bits of them as I write my WIP. Cut. Paste. Blend!

Below was a prompt I assigned my FoF group a couple months back. I gave them three pictures and asked them to write a scene from the POV of the person or persons in it. It went off well, being that the creative mind is a visual mind. I chose the woman looking out over a lake to a mountain. Go figure.

Do any of you have a great cut, paste and blend story or have a piece that still needs a home? Do you do this sort of bit and piece writing or are you a shoot straight through sort of writer?

The scene below is in the running with two other "finally we are together" moments I have written for my MC Wyatt and his gal Mary. It's from Mary's POV. It's rough and I have a few issues with it, but it also has enough merits not to be embarrassed by it. Keep in mind, it is at the end of the story and there is a bit of spoiler in the scene.

Thanks for stopping by Under the Steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A scarce grin lifts my lips. I can still hear Aunt Sissy grousing about the meal I didn’t eat to Mr. Morrell in the B&B’s back kitchen. I didn’t want supper or the coffee that now grows cold before me, but she made them just the same.

Sissy wants to take care of me. I understand. And I understand that worrying about me right now is easier than distressing over all of the wondrous and insane things that have occurred these last few days. So I am happy my eating habits have given my dear Aunt’s worrying a narrower focus, but I can not help but envy her for it.

Leaning further onto the porch rail, my stomach empty and my head full, I watch the colors of evening continue to dim and darken into dusk over what remains of Mt. Hesper. To think only a month ago, it was just a silent sentry on Mercy Corners horizon and not the hiding place of a possible threat. We now know our mountains secrets and all questions have been answered. All but one of my own...

Wyatt...

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes in attempt to give my thoughts their own focus.

Wyatt Paxton, Mercy Corners Sheriff, town hero and my long lost childhood friend and heartbreak. He’s the reason why my appetite and my heart feel so ill tonight. Why I wish it was only the unbelievable events of this past week that’s left me spinning still.

I finally know why Wyatt left me and Mercy Corners all those years ago. He became a Marine to be a better man than his father, although I never had a doubt the kind of man he would be. And he left me because he believed—my self sacrificing, frustratingly stubborn and oh so stupid Wyatt—believed that I deserved a better future than barefoot and babies in a small town and a better man not to have that with.

So I know why he did the things he had done. My question left unanswered tonight—hell, since coming back to Mercy Corners—has everything to do with ‘what now?’

Pulled from my thoughts, I hear what sounds like Brownie dog scratching at the kitchen screen door. I reach for the table light and set off down the veranda and into the house. Aunt Sissy and Mr. Morrell must have just left for bed. All I see in the kitchen is the dim light of sunset bouncing off the floor tile and Brownie’s tale wagging in and out of sight just past the entryway.

“Brownie what are you...”

My hands still over the dogs collar before I can pull him away from the screen. A shadow stands at the edge of the back stoop.

“Wyatt, is that you?” I know it’s him, but still I don’t open the screen door.

The shadow nods from the bottom of the steps and my chest tightens. I can just make out the glint of his big black eyes in the dying light.

“Wyatt, you live here too. Why don’t you just come in?” My eyes are more focused now and I can see Wyatt’s head lower and his broad hands squeeze the hat he holds. But he makes no move to step forward and I make no move to open the door.

“Wyatt—Wyatt, talk to me...” I didn’t want it to sound like a plead, but it couldn’t be helped.

Abruptly he steps up to the closed screen and I involuntarily flinch. His frame fills the door and his face is now inches from mine. I see things I recognize in his eyes and things he has never let me see. With each exhale of warm breath into the cooling evening air between us, I know my last question needs to be answered tonight.

“Wyatt?”

I can do this. I have been through an earthquake, had half my loved ones in the hospital, was nearly buried alive and faced down a UFO, just within the last week, so I should be able to ask a question?

“Wyatt, do you still love me?”

Wyatt’s eyes close and I can feel his ragged breath warm my forehead through the screen. My own breathing has already ceased. And then he gently nods and I hear a soft but solid “Yes”.

“Wyatt, do you want me?” I swallow hard when his eyes draw open and I see my answer long before he gives it.

“So much” a wistful glint lightens his gaze and I can’t help but brightly smile. “So very, very much.”

I clear my throat and straiten my shoulders while reaching for the door latch. “Then I think you better step back Sheriff, so I can open the door.”

Weekend Recap: Paintbrushes and Predators

2010-07-12T08:26:00.000-05:00

This weekend I enjoyed paintbrushes and Predators *evil smirk*. The paintbrushes were a part of my Volunteer gig at my old Alma Mater Youngstown State University. The Summer Festival of the Arts played out this year under blue skies and packed full of Art Booths, Food Vendors, Performance Art, Children' s crafts and clowns--a lot of clowns.

On that note, say hello to my new friend. We met while I was helping ankle biters--said lovingly--make beautiful messes at the Children's Craft tent. He squirted me in the face with fake ketchup (later he gave me the secret recipe) and I told him his monkey needed feeding. I think he was attracted to the bright, coma inducing colors of my above shirt *rolls eyes*. (Really, I loved the shirt. I felt very safe walking across traffic.) Ya gotta love fast friends, art fests and the projectile stage prop.

All kidding aside, I volunteered last year at a friends insistence and plan to do so from now on. It's just that much fun to me. The kids, the art and the crowds make for a wonderful weekend. And YSU always had a beautiful campus. It's a great place to do time in the name of art and volunteerism.

And it was a great chance to talk to other Artisans and vendors. Next year I thing I may set up my own tent for Salvaged Beauty. Help the Children's tent set up first and then sell my pretty bits of jewelry and art. So maybe...
...and the paintbrushes I promised you.

Now the Predators. I am a huge fan of nail biting action and of course Science Fiction. No matter how many high heels I've bought or chick flicks I have watched, my thirst for blood and bullets has only grown, much to the delight of my husband.

I blame my father for that. Early on I was armed with a pocket knife, good aim, a independent attitude, the mantra 'Don't you ever start a fight, but you sure as hell better be the one to end it' and a steady diet of Rambos, Die Hards, Lethal Weapons with a education from teachers such as John Wayne, Bronson, Eastwood, Lee and Schwarzenegger. So no matter matter how much Jane Austen, high heels or pretty things I place my life I shall always yell proudly.....LONG LIVE ACTION!!!!

The new reboot of Predator definitely appeased my old school action sci fi lust and gave me a new look at a favorite actor Adrian Brody. Some critiques may have originally paned him "he's no Arnold" and "The Pianist Guy who kissed Hale Berry at the Oscars?", but I loved him as Royce the MC. He looked the part and moved like the part of a professional killer. He behaved the part as a dark, skilled, all business soldier turned merc who'd become a predator of men because he felt he could not be anything else. A quote he gave in explanation of his 'predator' status amongst men...

"Certainly there is no hunting like the hunting of man and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else thereafter."--Ernest Hemingway (from "On the Blue Water" in Esquire, April 1936)

Add a few other well cast killers--predators in his or her own right, throw in alien hell dogs, nasty Predator aliens and a insain Lawrence Fishburn and it was a satisfying evening of popcorn and mayhem.

Sunday Sermon: The Hope to Be Found in Love

2010-07-11T09:18:00.000-05:00

"When the universe was young, and the stars were barely new, when the oceans began to crash upon the shores of worlds unknown, and the suns began to rise on the new ground they watched over, a story began. When the world was light and hope and joy and love and creation, remembering, remembering remembering.
This was their time."
Their Time is © 2006 C.M. Williams

My muse for love stories is fed by many things, but hope is what drives them home to me. Hope that is stronger than the ocean waves and just a tireless. Hope that can be trampled, distorted and buried but still can be seen glimmering silently--waiting for the chance to grow again and conquer.

When we fall in love, hope is what we carry, like a torch (maybe a pocket lighter at first...depends) But we carry hope that this new thing we have found that fills us, distracts us and rearranges our lives will not leave us and drop us back to where we had already been. Love changes us, and I have met few who do not hope for that to some degree.

I don't care if you are a cynic or a saint, we all want to be something more and for some of us that is being someone better. I believe love does that or at least I hope...

Big Island of Hawaii/N.Murray

Zombie Luv Flash Fic Contest

2010-07-10T19:23:00.000-05:00

I know its a little late in the day (I went to the site and found the contest already closed????)but I'd like to put out my entry for the Zombie Luv Flash Fiction Fest

Oh well. I have never written a Zombie fic and it was fun. So here we go, in all its sick glory. I promise I know how to write happy stuff!!!!!!! Just not today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What Lonely Wanted

She was special. She was special before the world went into the shitter. Back in the day, any guy would have given their left nut to be with Missy McQueen and now… Well, Chaz Dooley was going to give a lot more.

Chaz leaned his shotgun against the steel gate forgotten and then tossed his jacket up on the fence never to be worn again. Stepping into the corral, a deep guttural groan greeted him from the far end of the paddock. Chaz smiled wistfully.

They had been together before; she was his second living dead girl. Hell, there were more living dead girls than the ones with heart beats these days, so a guy had to take his chances “dating”. Chances being cornering, roping and then gagging the date so extremities weren’t eaten. The rest was the “dating” part.

“Missy, I’m back. I told ya I would be back.”

Dark ruby eyes glowered from the shadows, sending a groin tightening chill up Chaz’s spine. Stepping closer he could see that she was nearly free from the bonds he had left her in earlier this week. Her long flaxen hair hung in clotted dreads and dirt. The last outfit she wore before her change torn asunder by her months questing for flesh and brains and Chaz and her ‘lovemaking’.

Chaz took in an adoring sigh and came up to his captive/loves gagged maw. “I missed you and now I’m going to join you my beautiful girl.”

This last month, life in Tulsa had taken to a whole new level of living dead apocalypse hell. Besides Chaz, only a handful of humanity was left within the city limits and with no contact from the rest of the world abroad it was looking pretty bleak. All of his friends, family, even most of his enemies were now dead or living dead. Just this morning his Mom wobbled by the house and he threw her a rat for breakfast.

Chaz was lonely and people like Chaz made lonely an obsession. He ached to be a part of something because the living crowd he was presently a part of was dwindling down to dust.

And when he ran into Missy or ran from Missy a month ago while looking for canned goods down 5th street, he knew he had found that something—that someone he was needing.

Missy had begun to thrash and gurgle. The gag in her mouth was now bit through in anticipation and the ropes anchoring her to the barn fence threatened to give. It’s what Chaz wanted. He wanted her to free herself and come to him—embrace him in her fierce primeval grip and claim him.

“Take me Missy.” Chaz raised his arms up and out, welcoming his becoming. “Take me—make me one of you so I’m not alone…”
And she did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some would say Chaz Dooley was a fairly sick SOB for loving a Zombie like he did. Others would say he was just crazy lonely in a world gone mad. I’d say Chaz found Zombie luv.

The "I Can't Say It" Blog Fest AND Wednesday WIP!

2010-07-07T11:23:00.000-05:00

Shelley at Stories in the Ordinary is hosting the "I Can't Say That!" Blog Fest today. Follow the link and stop on by. Check out the other wonderful and varied offerings from other writers in the blogisphere.

Since said Blog Fest fell on a Wednesday (Wednesday WIP), I wrote mine as yet another scrap to arrange into my WIP (and edit later when I have more of that chapter). I even had a place for said scrap before I wrote it, just hadnt gotten to it yet. The below bit will be in my WIP 'Ghost Mountain and will be used as a flashback later in the story. A scene that helps the reader better understand why my MC Wyatt made some of the choices he did.

Enough chat. Here we go...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ya tell people what they’ve meant to you, boy…"

Wyatt shook away his Uncles words and stood a little straighter in the doorway of his father’s hospital room. ‘I can do this.’

“So ya just gonna slouch there moping? You were always such a god damned mope.”

“How would you know Eli, you haven’t seen me in six years…”

“That was your choice, boy. You and that milquetoast brother of mine. I say you deserve one another.”

It WAS Wyatt’s choice and it was his uncle who gave it to him—his Uncle, Ms. Sissy and Mary. A chance at a new life away from this man.

“So you think showing up at your daddies deathbed is gonna make it all better then!” A harsh bark became a fit of ragged coughs. Emaciated, life worn, cancer riddled and as mean streaked as he always was or would be, Eli Paxton bent forward in his hospital bed clutching his snot rag to his mouth and then spat another clot of blood into the emptied bed pan in his lap.

Wyatt made no move to help the man, nor did he leave. He was here to tell Eli—this never-was-a-father-by-a-long-shot man exactly what he meant to him. How after all Eli had done, it would not stop Wyatt from becoming a better man than the man who bore him. Wyatt was going to tell him so he could let him go…

“And you brought that Givens girl with ya.” Eli nodded past Wyatt to the young girl down the hospital hall. “I heard about you two. My do-nothing mope of a son fornicating with that uppity little Givens girl.”

“Leave her alone…”

Eli snorted at Wyatt’s disdain. “Oh I am certain her pa is none too pleased. Already knows what kind of mate Paxton’s make. You’ll mess her up good, boy. And you’ll run just like your mamma.”

Silence fell between the men where Wyatt had wanted his words to begin and underlying fears found their way into Wyatt’s heart. He wanted to tell his old man he’d never run. He wanted to shout that it was Eli who chased his mother away. And he wanted to swear he would never hurt Mary—never Mary. But the words didn’t come. There would be no strength in them and his Uncle always told him saying nothing was better than saying something you didn’t feel.

Not long after, Wyatt stepped out into the hall knowing if he’d said how he felt to the old man the words could have built in strength. Maybe he would have believed them in time if he’d just said them aloud. And not long after Mary wrapped her arms around his ridged form in support, did Wyatt realize he would let his father’s dying words come true.

Paying Forward: The Bloom of an Idea Award

2010-07-05T17:03:00.000-05:00

I have recently won a couple awards and both were the pay it forward type in one way or the other. I thought that since I reached my 20th follower this past week, I would give a award to all of you who clicked 'follower' when I have so few, inspired me by something you wrote on your own blogs and made me a follower of you.

The Bloom of an Idea Award goes to those who gave me something to think about--from your own post or a comment on my own. I am glad to have you and hope to hear from all of you soon. And I hope you enjoy this thank you.

My new friends...

Roland D. Yeomans at Writing In The Crosshairs
Stephanie at Stephanie Boman
Lydia Kang at The Word is My Oyster
Susan Fields at Susan Fields
Shelley at Stories in the Ordinary
B.E. Sanderson at The Writing Spectacle
The ladies at Prairie Chicks Write Romance
Andrea at Andrea Pearson Books
Alexandra Crocodile at Friends & Crocodiles
Jen at unedited
Diamond at Diamond-Yup,Like the Stone
DL Hammons at Cruising Altitude
Mia at My Literary Jam and Toast
Anne Gallagher at Piedmont Writer
Doris at "Hold my hand": a social worker's blog
Julie Musil at Julie Musil
Elliot Grace at So close, but...
The Words Crafter at The Rainy Day Wanderer
Melissa at From my somewhat serious mind
Angela A at Highly Active Imagination
Janet at Janet's Journal

Sunday Sermon: We hold these truths to be self-evident...

2010-07-04T10:51:00.000-05:00

Now it can never be said you didn't read this important document. What better time than this day. Happy Independence Day all.

~Nicole

IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America

hen in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

—John Hancock

New Hampshire: Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple, Matthew Thornton

Massachusetts: John Hancock, Samual Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry

Rhode Island: Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery

Connecticut: Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott

New York: William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris

New Jersey: Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark

Pennsylvania: Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross

Delaware: Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean

Maryland: Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton

Virginia: George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton

North Carolina: William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn

South Carolina: Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton

Georgia: Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton

Finds and Friends Friday

2010-07-02T16:41:00.000-05:00

First the friend. Alexandra Crocodile awarded me a very lovely bit of blog bling today. A wonderful surprise at the start of a 3 day weekend. Thank you so much and I will be happy to pay it forward this weekend to 15 other followers (and followed since I'm still new). Alexandra hails from Norway and is a student, a writer(loves mystery), a hat and chocolate and cat lover and the custodian of a very lovely blog Friends and Crocodiles. Check her out!

And my find is The Muse Online Writers Conference. A FREE (Free till August 15th) online writers conference coming up October 11 through the 17th. Sign up now and enjoy a full week of online seminars and meet and greets with published writers and writing professionals. I signed uplast year and enjoyed the comradery and the info. Definitely check it out.

Well then, off to the races. Type ya Sunday and Happy 4th!

The Best Bead Give-A-Way Ever!!!!!!

2010-07-01T09:14:00.000-05:00

The Best Bead Give-A-Way Ever!!!!!! At Denise Yezbak Moore's Blog Bling It On!

Winner will be Announce July 2nd. You still have time to enter!
Facebook counts as a share. The weight of the beads are 7 1/2 pounds! Well OVER $350.00 worth of beads out of my bead stash! Some still have the tags on them! Followers have a vote. Split the stash 6 ways for more happy or one big prize. Sign up today! There is still time.

WIP Wednesday: My First Blogger Contest!

2010-06-30T14:24:00.000-05:00

Today I entered The First Sentence of your WIP contest at A No.2 Pencil Stat! I have been meaning to enter a on-line contest at some point and I am very pleased to see so many here on Blogger. My entry to this particular bit-o-fun is from my paranormal romance, Ghost Mountain:

"It was that feeling again, like having your hand palm down on a railroad track, knowing the train was on its way."

As for my WIP, I am diligently typing away at it today and hope to have more to share with you in the future. ;-D Actually I am more like fusing bits I did months ago into what I wrote last week. Some stuff is getting axed leaving room for new things to grow and evolve.

Oh well, its fun anywho! Happy writing folks.

The Hope To-Do List:

2010-06-28T13:09:00.000-05:00

This weekend I enjoyed the camaraderie and the critique of my writing buds at Focus on Fiction. We meet at our local Barnes and Noble every 4th Sunday of the month. And I also sold another pair of earrings to a friend. A friend? but a sale none the less and most appreciated. Both happenings reminded me of what I must focus on when filling this weeks to-do list. Make more jewelry and make more words!!!!!!

The Jewelry shouldn't be a trouble. I have quite a few to post on Etsy this week and I have about six to photo today or tomorrow. I am also at present trying out painting wood beads. My first set resemble the planets in our solar system, the next earth tones and possibly Fall and Halloween themed beads. (Will definitely be posting pics) I also have new batch of re purposed pearls and glass beads on their way to becoming multi-strand statement pieces. (So going to take pics)

As for my WIP, lets just say the reviews and critique at my FoF meeting went really well. A lot of honest raves and very helpful hints and critique. This week I will brush up what I had critiqued and then slide into the rest of Chapter 1.

And of course participate in The First Sentence of your WIP contest at A No.2 Pencil Stat! I hope you join me!

And Happy 4th BTW! Remember that we are our country. Your neighbor, your friends, the goofy guy selling shoestrings down the street--we are all what makes this United State of America the amazing home that it is. Make sure to stand and be counted this patriotic day. Celebrate, enjoy your family and friends, fly that flag and remember we are the people of the United States. Remember what it took for us to be this freedom laden land and that it means to keep those feedoms secure.

"They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety." - Benjamin Franklin

Sunday Sermon

2010-06-27T21:23:00.000-05:00

"I have never felt like I was creating anything. For me, writing is like walking through a desert and all at once, poking up through the hardpan, I see the top of a chimney. I know there's a house under there, and I'm pretty sure that I can dig it up if I want. That's how I feel. It's like the stories are already there. What they pay me for is the leap of faith that say's: 'If I sit down and do this, everything will come out OK.'"

-----Stephen King (Quoted in Writer's Digest Jan.2010 issue)

I completely agree Mr. King. Any of you agree with me and Mr. King or is writing something else to you?

Finds and Friends Friday

2010-06-25T16:28:00.000-05:00

A FIND & FRIEND: (One I know I will be using some time soon for my WIP!)

I am fairly new to Blogger and I am fairly certain the few that follow me so far know Lydia Kang at The World is my Oyster, a blogger/Doctor/Writer/Mothers...and the list goes on. Every Monday is Medical Monday at Lydia's blog, where fellow bloggers can e-mail their fiction-related medical questions and read other queries answered so generously by the good doctor. Of course any other day of the week is a wonderful time to find wonderful insights on writing and blogging life at The World is my Oyster. ;-D

And Lydia was nice enough to pay forward some of her numerous blog awards to a bunch of her followers this week. I picked this one out of the litter.

Thank you Lydia! I can honestly say the "scrap" that comes out of me is plentiful, but it is honest and I love the award.