Fiction Friday: Anti-Resolutions

This week's [Fiction] Friday:

Anti resolutions.

We have a Time Honoured Tradition to uphold – that of sharing our anti resolutions. See some examples from pervious years below.

Annie ,  Dale ,  Jodi , Andrea and  Paul

What are your top 5 Anti-Resolutions for the coming year?

1. I will not start some insane diet the moment our new baby is born. So please don't expect to hear me raving or whining about my experiences with the Acai Berry Diet, the HCG Diet, the 17 Day Diet, or any other of the ridiculous fad diets that are featured daily on "The Doctors." I will on the other hand commit to eating more candy. Now that's a resolution I can keep. Why set myself up for failure?
2. I will watch at least one episode of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" each day in the hopes of completing all 40 discs in my new Collector's Edition DVD set before the end of the year. I will not feel embarrassed or nerdy or juvenile for doing so. I'll make no apologies for what goes on between me and my portable DVD player in the privacy of my own bed.
3. I will not have a mini-stroke every time I peek into my 10-year-old son's room. If he knows where everything is, can enjoy his millions of toys, and doesn't brake an ankle getting from the door to his bed, then I will be satisfied that his room is "clean enough." I will. I promise I will.

Choose Your Online Adventure

I've been working with the wonderful folks on the Choose Your Online Adventure (CYOA) collaborative project for a few months now. It's an exciting group of writers and editors with tons of talent, who have all put aside their personal quirks & egos to create a magnificent story. (I'll be the first to acknowledge that this is not an easy task)

The first series, History's Keeper, is due online in January 2011 with the paperback version due out later that year. I'm super excited to see some of my work in print and even more excited to have signed a contract with an amazing publishing company, officially making me a writer.

If your interested in joining the project or just checking out the work you can follow the link to http://chooseyouronlineadventures.com/

For a taste of what's to come in this first series you can read my teaser story "Villa di Pratolino." While you're there also check out  "Shore Leave" by the lovely Annie Evett.

This project has been a challenge and a blessing and I can hardly wait to begin working on the next series. Writing starts in February 2011 and without giving away too much information I can say that there will be charming Southern drawls, dusty sprawling countrsides, and I'm hoping to work in a set of spurs.

Fiction Friday #181: Mt. Pleasant

This week's [Fiction] Friday prompt:  Utilise the T.S.O.D – a NaNoWriMo tradition. The rules are simple. In your story,  kill someone. With a shovel. Read more F.A.Qs here.

Mt. Pleasant

Parker shoved open the door with his shoulder. He struggled with his load. The large duffle was just the right size. The strap dug into his left shoulder and he shifted it again, letting the blood rush back into the gouge it was making in his skin. He walked down the dimly-lit corridor, passing the other storage units. He stopped in front of the one marked 347, let the bag drop to the concrete floor, and fished in his jacket pocket for the key ring.

Parker scanned the hallway. He had assumed the place would be empty at this hour and he was right. What business would anyone have at Mt. Pleasant Store It at two in the morning? Unless they were in his kind of business. Not many were. Especially not the homespun residents of this sleepy community.

The whole scene struck him as rather quaint. The tree-lined streets, the old homes with wide porches, the occasional porch swing squeaking in the breeze. He’d been watching the town for a few weeks. The whole place just shut off around nine at night. The corner grocery closed up and it was lights out in the safe town. Folks didn’t even lock their doors. Made his job easier.

Even the storage facility had an old-timey feel. It was situated next to the train tracks in an old brick building. From the faded sign atop the three story building, Parker gathered it used to be a factory of some sort. The dark corridors were lit by intermittent bare bulbs dangling from rusty chains. The garage style doors were painted a dingy blue that had chipped and cracked over the years. It was a surreal experience this job, nothing like stalking the dank city streets, navigating crowds of vagabonds and degenerates in an effort to remain anonymous.

Here the people made a point of greeting him with phrases like “mornin’ neighbor” and “how’s it goin’?” When he had happened upon his quarry while staking out her home, she had looked up from the herbs she was tending to flash him a friendly smile and ask him how he liked the change in weather. She wasn’t even suspicious of a strange man prowling around her back yard. She just struck up a conversation.

“You must be Mr. Williams. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Sure am.” Parker thought quickly.

She strained to get up from the stool she was sitting on, dusted off her dirt-covered hands, and reached a hand out in front of him. Parker took the wrinkled hand and marveled at the tight grip. She’d been out of the game long enough to let her guard down, but he wasn’t taking anything for granted. He knew this was his chance. The two were alone in her yard, surrounded by fruit trees and other plants, under the cover of dusk. He saw the shovel leaning against the trellis.

“The change in weather is nice. It’s been such a hot summer. Don’t you think?”
“A real steamer.”
“One might wonder what brings a man like you out of the city.”
“Just a job, ma’am.”
“I figured. Well then. What do you think of our little town? It’s no big city, now is it?”
“Not in the least, ma’am.”

She turned her back to him, knelt in front of the herbs, and resumed her pruning. He heard her laughter as he swung the heavy shovel. The metal blade made a resounding thud against her skull. She fell forward into the garden, dropping a sprig of rosemary she had just plucked. Parker waited for her left foot to stop twitching before he tossed the shovel aside and made his way back to his car for the duffle. The streets were empty and only a few houses on the block still had porch lights on. He thought it must be getting close to nine. With all those friendly neighbors down for the night, he’d have plenty of time to clean the mess, dispose of the body, and finally get the hell out of this creepy place.

  

Tess: A Fiction Friday Series IV

Write Anything's [Fiction] Friday prompt #180:  Your Main Character picks a sliver of glass from their sleeve and gravely inspects it……..( now keep writing). A short installment from my series this week. Catch up by reading. "Very Mild Superpowers", "The Hunter", and "The Return".

Tess: A Fiction Friday Series IV
Jane

Jane picked a sliver of glass from the sleeve of her cotton dress. She turned the jagged piece between her fingertips, ignoring the tinge of pain she felt where the sliver pricked her fingertip. The droplets of blood quickly turned the transparent object the color of strawberry jam.

Jane crossed the grungy linoleum that coated the kitchen floor and dropped the sliver into the trash. She sucked on her throbbing finger, dismissing the familiar coppery taste, and reached down to pull a wet spaghetti noodle from her dingy slipper. The noodle clung to the matted faux fur before reluctantly letting go. It snapped back against her hand, making a quite slapping sound against her skin. Jane peeled the noodle from her skin and dropped it in the trash with the sliver of glass.

She looked around the cluttered kitchen. Cooked pasta and shattered glass made an abstract design across the green-patterned floor. A small hunk of her last piece of Pyrex Flameware was still sitting on the burner. She picked her way across the mess and turned off the gas under the broken cookware. The red sauce was still simmering on the burner next to it. Jane could see a few large chunks of glass simmering between tomatoes and lumps of ground beef. She used her wooden spoon to fish out the large pieces and then turned the gas off on that burner as well.

Jane reached inside the pantry and retrieved the old straw broom and dustpan. She swept the mess, tapping the broom every now and then to loosen a sticky noodle from the bristles. When she had most of it cornered into a pile, she stooped to sweep it into the dustpan. The dirt covered noodles mingled with stray hairs and crumbs. Dust bunnies clung to the edge of the broom and she used her free hand to pull them free, dropping them into the dustpan. Jane dumped the whole mess into the trash and then turned her thoughts to finishing dinner.

Kadie wouldn’t notice the specs of glass that were undoubtedly in the sauce, but what would she serve with it? Jane opened the pantry and scanned the shelves. She grabbed the box of Saltines from the top shelf and filled the tin plate with the hot red sauce. She had to stop herself from instinctively licking the spoon. She crumbled the stale crackers over the sauce and fished a spoon from the drawer next to the stove.

Jane opened the fridge and perused the cluttered contents, trying to decide what she would serve Harry now that dinner was ruined. She would bake the chicken and broccoli casserole she had been saving for Sunday afternoon. They always had a nice casserole after service. She would just have to prepare another before the weekend. Jane turned the nob on the oven to 350 before heading downstairs to deliver the meal.    

Tess: A Fiction Friday Series III

This week's writing prompt for Write Anything's [Fiction] Friday: In most parts of the world, Halloween is celebrated – in some form or another – this weekend. Your challenge this week is to write a horror scene ( or something horrific) using a wet noodle, a styrofoam cup and a feather. I'm continuing Tess's story again this week. Catch up by reading "Very Mild Superpowers" and "The Hunter."

Tess: A Fiction Friday Series III
The Return

"Kadie!"

Tess turned her head instinctively. Even though she'd been living as Tess for almost five years, she found herself reacting when she heard her real name. It was a habit she hadn't been able to break.

Across the crowd of children in khakis and plaid skirts she saw her childhood best friend, Amy. Amy waved her arms. Tess smiled back, keeping an eye on the line of cars crawling along the drive in front on St. Mary's Episcopal School. Tess looked down at her own pleated skirt, white stockings, and mary janes.

I remember this. A sinking feeling came over her as she tried to shake the cobwebs from her mind. She looked up in time to see the big, white truck pull to the head of the line.

She heard her name again.

"Kadie. Over here." The man in the truck was calling through an open window. He had kind, dark eyes and a reassuring smile. He propped his arm on the back of the bench seat and leaned toward the passenger side window. Kadie took a step back.

"It's okay. Your mom sent me."

Kadie hesitated for a second before convincing herself that this must be Roger, or was it Robert, her mom's current boyfriend of the month.

The details were vivid in her mind. She had relived this day, this moment, this decision countless times. She remembered the crisp autumn air, the yellow leaves crunching under her shoes, the wary look on Amy's face as she waved good-bye, and the blue jay feather that blew under the truck as she opened the door. She remembered the man's smooth voice and the rough feel of his hand against her cheek.

"Thirsty?" He handed her a styrofoam cup. Kadie took a sip of the tepid water.

"Don't be shy. Drink up, Kadie."

She wasn't thirsty, but she gulped down the water, sitting the empty cup back in the cupholder. The man pulled the lever on the steering wheel and pressed on the gas. Kadie's stomach tightened and she dug her nails into the sticky, vinyl seat.

"You don't remember me, Kadie. You were too little when your mom took you away."

Kadie tried to focus on the yellow line stretching out in front of the truck's hood. She was afraid to look at the man, knowing deep down that climbing into his truck had been a mistake.

"Look how much you've grown."

He grazed his knuckle over her cheek, ran his hand across the shoulder of her white cotton dress shirt, pausing to finger the ruffle at her sleeve, before running his calloused palm down her arm. He took her hand in his, covering it completely. Kadie looked down at his tanned skin, unconsciously counting the dark, course hairs on the back of his hand. She watched as goose bumps rose on her own arms. She smelled the distinctive scent of Old Spice cologne and tasted salt in her mouth. She struggled to keep her heavy eyelids from closing. The trees lining the quaint suburban street became orangish blurs as the truck rushed past.

"Who are you?" Kadie managed to squeak out the words as she struggled to hold back a sob.

"I'm your daddy, sweetie. Your real dad."

Tears trickled down her cheeks and the world around her began to spin. She remembered his hand on her thigh and seeing two boys taking turns on a tire swing in front of one of the big, brick houses. A shower of reddish leaves covered the road.

-----


"Kadie?"

Tess opened her eyes and immediately felt an ache in her wrist. She sat up slowly, letting the dank smell of mildew wash over her. She recognized the damp cinderblock walls, the thin cot, and the bars lining one side of the small room.

"Kadie. You're awake. You should eat something."

She recognized Jane's voice and saw the shadow of a thin woman beyond the bars. Tess let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting and rose from the cot. She started across the cold, concrete floor. Something pulled at her left leg. Tess looked down to see her leg shackled to a rusty chain.

She crossed the room, dragging the heavy chain behind her. Jane held out a tin plate. Tess could see a large black bruise across Jane's cheek. The woman had changed little in the last five years. She was still bone thin with stringy brown hair matted around her shoulders. She moved with a skittish demeanor, making stiff movements in her worn house shoes and a threadbare cotton dress. Tess noticed a wet noodle clinging to the hair around her face.

Tess reached for the plate. Jane looked down, refusing to meet her eye. Tess could see the familiar sadness in the woman's face, but she also saw relief. Jane cared about her, but she cared more about the reprieve Tess's return would bring her.

"You should never have left."

Tess: A Fiction Friday Series II

This week's Fiction Friday prompt: Include this theme in your story… After a long night, a hunter sees something he/she cannot believe.
I decided to continue my story from last week. You may remember Tess from last week's story. If you'd like to catch up you can read more about her here.

Tess: A Fiction Friday Series II

The Hunter

Tess climbed the steps to her building. In the early dawn she could hear the squealing machinery of the garbage truck as it crawled down 3rd Avenue. The sun was beginning to rise, painting a veil of pink over the East Village. She loved watching the city wake up, but this morning all she cared about was yanking these heels off her blistered feet. She fished her keys from her handbag and hurried inside.

Once in the lobby she braced herself against the wall, slipped off the offending shoes, and winced as the blood rushed back into her toes. Tess walked flat-footed to the elevator, relishing the cold tile floor beneath her soles. She pressed the up arrow and waited.

“Not bad for a Thursday.”

Tess spun around. Her eyes widened and she had to push down the urge to run. A shot of adrenaline rushed through her body and she could hear the sound of her pulse racing, a thunderous roar in her ears. She hadn’t noticed anyone following her, but now she saw him. A man’s figure in the shadow of the foyer. Who could know? Who could have seen her? How much did he know?

The man stepped from the shadow into the lobby. Tess let out a breath when she recognized her neighbor, Jim. She willed herself to keep it together. Just another college student returning from a long night.

“Not bad at all.”
“Busy night?” Jim looked down at the shoes dangling from her right hand.
“You could say that. On the prowl.” Tess tossed her head, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She pasted on a coy grin. Jim returned the smile.
“You wild woman.” He gave Tess a quick smack on the ass as he veered toward the stairwell.
Tess feigned shock and then devolved into giggles. She kept the smile until she heard the stairwell door click.
“Disgusting.”

The elevator dinged and the door slid open. Tess climbed inside and pressed the number 16. She could still feel the sting of Jim’s hand on her ass. She closed her eyes and visualized the blood dripping down her last conquest’s chest. The thick fluid had rippled over his cut abs, soaked into his thin cotton boxers, letting the limp lump beneath show through. She could feel the edges of her mouth curve into a grin.

The elevator stopped with a jolt. Tess shook off the sinking feeling in her stomach and exited. She walked the hall to her apartment. She turned her key in the knob only to find that the door wasn’t locked. The feeling of being followed returned. Tess felt the fear creep back into her veins. She reached into her handbag and curled her fingers around the knife. It was still slick with blood and she struggled to gain a tight grip.

Tess turned the knob and pushed the door open. She closed it behind her before reaching for the light switch. In the dark she searched the shadows. Nothing. She flipped the switch. The apartment flooded with light. Nothing. Her heart continued to pound.

“Found you.”

The familiar voice came from behind her. It was right in her ear. She couldn't believe he was here, that he'd actually found her. Tess felt the cold, steel blade against her neck and the warm, muscular body against her back. The smell of old spice and cigarettes. She started to gag. The knife dug into her skin and she choked back the vomit, swallowing hard.

“Drop the knife, sweetie.”

Tess obeyed. She let the blood-coated knife fall to the floor. He loosened his grip and pushed her forward out of the doorway and into the main room. He pulled the knife back and shoved her hard. Tess felt a sharp pain in her arm as she tried to catch herself against the ivory chair. Her hose slipped on the hardwood floor and she lost her balance, leaving a smeared bloody handprint on the pristine upholstery. One of her heels landed next to her. The other skidded across the tile before crashing against the baseboards beneath the kitchen sink.

The intruder walked towards her, still brandishing his knife. Tess scrambled. She pressed her back against the side of the chair and pulled her legs up to her chest. Tears began to stream down her face, leaving black rivulets on her pale skin. Watching her cower, he stopped to pick up her handbag.

“Let’s see.” He dug in the bag. He pushed aside the tube of lipstick. He pulled out the pill bottle, gave it a quick look, shook his head, and then replaced it. “Here it is.” Finding her ID case, he tore at the plastic card until it came free.

“Tess Masterson is it? So we’re still posing as a college student?” He frisbeed her NYU Student ID. It glided across the floor, coming to rest next to Tess’s toes. She looked down at the card and noticed the tears in her hose. A run had started at her big toenail and was forming a thinning vee up the top of her foot towards her ankle.

“All these years bouncing from school to school. Think you might of learned something? The big city made it a little harder this go around, with so many lost souls to sift through. But here we are again.”

Tess forced herself to look him in the eye. They were the same empty, dark pools. The last five years had managed to deepen the creases across his forehead and lengthen the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. His dark brown hair was sprinkled with glints of grey and he had put on a few pounds.

He dropped her handbag and reached into his coat pocket. Tess couldn’t shake the familiar paralyzing fear as he pulled out a syringe. He uncapped the needle, crossed the few feet between them, and squatted down in front of her.

“Please, Daddy, no,” she said as the world turned to blackness.

Poetic Subjects

This Pillow Book entry is inspired by The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon, translated and edited by Ivan Morris. Sei Shōnagon was a courtesan in 10th century Japan who kept a diary of the goings-on at court and concealed it in her wooden pillow. She made lists under various categories of specific, often quirky things.








From The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon
     The capital city. Arrowroot. Water-bur. Colts. Bamboo grass. The
     round-leaved violet. Club moss. Flat river-boats. Teh mandarin duck.
     The scattered chigaya reed. Lawns. The green vine. The pear tree. The
     althea.

Poetic Subjects

A wisp of clouds, unrequited love, a feeling one is afraid to lose, an early bloom surprises one on a morning walk, a passionate embrace, snow-covered fields, a home that once may have been warm and inviting but now crumbles under the weight of decay, a thing that is rustic and old, facing one's fears, I once had a dream and before I did not recognize the fear that lay just below my skin, gnawing at my soul, preventing me from soaring.

The Pink Evening Sky

A warm sun whispers

to your heart. Lie

down on the lingering

wind. Clutch sleep

in a dream. Your bed

is the pink evening sky.

Holding

His touch haunts

me. Between desire

and adore, a clutch

or an ache, in the embrace

of night, the lingering

caress of trusting souls.

Exchange

Escape the lusty 

Candle of day under 

her mate, the drunken 

moon. The dropping 

of hearts in wild 

darkness. The telling

of dreamy hunger, 

in sacred fire 

burning, flickers, 

as morning devours 

her night.