Tag Archives: Writing

My New Website

I think you’ve probably noticed, but I haven’t updated in a while. I’d love to say it’s because I’ve finished writing two novels, traveled to four countries for book deals, and been too busy designing my new line of iPhone covers based off my book designs. Really, it’s mostly because I’m lazy. Sad, but true. But I’ve also just been busy with another endeavor that I can’t wait to share.

girltitleMy friend Jennifer and I have launched a new website,
affectionately called Bluestocking Bookshelf. It’s our way of slapping everyone in the face that has told us a creative degree is worthless. See? We’re finally doing something with them!

And while we both will continue to become novel writers in the meantime (especially this November), my main focus will now be on contributing to this website. So, if you love reading, seeing film adaptations, and just generally are obsessed with the written word, check out our website. And we are always looking for new books to read/review, so any comments are welcome!

Bluestocking Bookshelf is also on social media! Check us out on Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, and Goodreads!


2014 So Far

Since I completed (and won :D) NaNo 2013, some interesting things have happened that I figure deserved a post of some kind.

My God, look at all that red.

My God, look at all that red.

I let myself have December off, and made myself start editing my NaNo novel in January. I’ve edited things before, of course, whether it be for school or on my own; it’s an essential part of the writing process (unfortunately). But never have I edited something like this before. It’s not even the volume that’s the problem, though it is a bit overwhelming, especially knowing I still have more to write. No, the real problem is what exactly is on the page: most of it is incoherent, repetitive, rambling, crap. And thus I have discovered the one downfall of NaNoWriMo – you’re so concerned with reaching your word count everyday that you pay less attention to the actual words. Sure, they say “you’ll worry about it in the editing phase, just get those words on paper!” I’m sure I even said that in my last post. Well, I’m in that editing phase now, and I am in complete and utter hell.

I’m about half-way through what I like to call the “Extreme Rough Draft” phase. Then comes the “Fill in Missing Plot Holes” phase, followed by “Delete Entire Sections of Horrible Dialogue,” “Remove Flashbacks Because They’re Stupid,” and probably ending with “Jump Off a Cliff Before I Read Another Word of this Shitty Story.” So if you’re editing your novel like I am at the moment, then I wish you luck, and pray you had the sense to keep your novel all in one tense back in November (unlike myself).

On a more positive note, I’m excited to share that I’ve won (and almost won), some literary competitions over at Writerstype.com. I took first place for my flash fiction piece “True Love,” first mentioned here, for December 2013. Not only that, but I received first-runner up in the annual competition. I may not have won, but second place out of twenty-four is pretty good, nonetheless.

So close, and yet....so far....

One place away from $225 to Amazon..my heart hurts.

As far as reading goes, the most notable thing I’ve read so far this year is the Divergent series by Veronica Roth, which I have mixed feelings about. The first book is a pretty good read: the world building is excellent, as is seeing the main character, Tris, grow from being a meek, “selfless” mouse to an independent, strong, risk-taker. Plus, the love interest sounds super hot, (that’s always a plus). Sadly, that’s pretty much the end of the positives. But nevertheless, I finished it quickly and was anxious to pick up the next one.

The second book in the series, Insurgent, was hard to get through, and in my opinion, a little superfluous. Sure, some important things happened in terms of plot, but I was at the point of not caring. In my opinion, the plot was not exciting, overly dramatic, and I really just wanted to get it over with. As far as characterization goes, it was pretty stagnant. Also, I’m tired of every hero/protagonist subscribing to some noble idea that sacrificing themselves is their duty. All it does is make them sound pretentious and annoying, which is sadly what Tris ultimately became.

The third installment, Allegiant, other than having a rather stupid title, is a little controversial, the ending in particular. I’m not going to spoil anything here, but I happened to like it. I will say it was at least different from other books I’ve read, and that uniqueness is hard to come by. Whether it made the book better, I don’t know, but it at least did something original for the genre.


She certainly makes a lot of choices.

Would I recommend this series? Honestly, I’m on the fence. I would say if you’re a fan of young adult fiction, then you should at least read the first one to test the waters. Just don’t think it’s going to be another Hunger Games.

Just read it. Plus, Christian Bale is in the movie. Enough said.

Just read it. Plus, Christian Bale is in the movie. Enough said.

Actually, on that note, if you’re into YA Fiction, (something I never thought I’d enjoy reading, let alone write about, guess now I’m being pretentious), then forget all these books, Hunger Games included, and read Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s much better than all of those previously mentioned, has interesting and dynamic characters, absolutely fantastic and smart dialogue, not to mention a setting and plot that is more evocative than the world of Harry Potter. The movie, directed by Hayao Miyazaki, is just as good as the book, which is rare to do. In fact, I can’t think of any examples of where the movie is as good as it’s companion novel. This is it.

So for the rest of 2014, I’ll attempt to finish editing that damn novel, (hopefully before November omg),  try to write something to get ahead of the guy who beat me for first place, (he won last year, too, damnit), and read a book that doesn’t make me angry. Here’s hoping.

True Love: Flash Fiction

This story was inspired by the prompt: “You’re a serial killer. What’s on your DVR?” I hope it’s sufficiently creepy.


True Love

It’s dark in the small room. The walls are bare, just boards of flat wood painted a deep, dark hue. One lamp stands in the center, next to the make-shift couch comprised of two recliners. There’s a kitchen along one wall and a Murphy bed along the other. I don’t need much.

I wipe my hand across my mouth, chip particles floating downward to rest upon the plaid fabric of the arm chair. Some float farther still, nestling in-between the fringe of the brown carpet. My other hand grips the remote, the knuckles tense and white as my fingers play over the buttons.

“What do you think, Bev? You wanna watch Animal Planet?”

Bev doesn’t respond. Her eyes are glued to the screen.

“Fine, I know you never liked that shit anyway. Too boring, right?” I sigh and press more buttons, my eyes squinting in concentration. Bev always was picky. “Oh, this is perfect. I got Fight Club recorded. You’ll love it. Just give it a chance.” I glance at Bev. Her lips are set in a firm line. I place my hand over hers as she sits in the chair next to mine, and her lips seem to soften in response. She loves doing what I want.

The glow from the television spreads a light over her, turning her mousy brown hair into something glorious, almost projecting a halo. It shines into her eyes, turning their ordinary brown color into a golden, coppery shade that twinkles as the scenes change.

This is where she’s meant to be, with me. It was hard to catch her; a girl like Bev has men after her like fly’s on shit. But I knew she’d end up with me in the end. It just took her some time to realize it.

“You smell, Bev. You gotta take better care of yourself.” She doesn’t answer. She probably doesn’t like me pointing out the obvious. Bev is a woman who takes stock in her appearance. I’ve never met a woman with more lipstick and powders in her purse, but I guess it’s worth it. She’s beautiful, and she knows it. But I can tell her make-up is smudged, and her clothes are definitely disheveled, not the pristine and pressed that she likes. Maybe she’s just gotten comfortable with me? She’s letting me see her as she truly is. I smile at the thought, and my heart swells.

The movie ends, and I need a drink. Rubbing her hand in parting, I get up from my chair, stretching my back. I don’t like sitting for too long, it messes with my back. I realize I miss exercising, but I don’t want to leave Bev here alone. I can go on a run later.

I duck in the fridge and pull out a silver can. I didn’t pay attention to the label when I bought it, but it’s cold, and that’s all that matters. I savor the sound of the top opening, the hiss of the crisp carbonation. I take a swig. The liquid is cold as it dribbles down my chin onto the tile floor. I’d clean it up, but I don’t want to be away from Bev for too long. She needs the company.

I sit down on my recliner, letting all my weight come down hard. It jostles Bev’s seat a bit, and a lock of hair falls into her eyes. I don’t hesitate to brush it away, letting my palm brush against her cool cheek, just for a second.

“You thirsty, Bev? Nah, you never did like the stuff anyway.” I take another swig and she doesn’t seem to mind. I know she was a crazy party-girl in college. She wants to put those days behind her, I better not tempt her.

My hand snatches up the remote from where I left it on the armrest. I put on Seinfeld, certain the Bev will think it’s funny. Once the opening credits end, I laugh along with the laugh track, and glance over at Bev. She’s not laughing.

“Aw, c’mon, Bev! That was hilarious. Weren’t you watching?” Her eyes tell me she wasn’t. They’re glazed over, like her thoughts have taken her somewhere else.  She wasn’t even paying attention. I feel heat rise in my chest. Who does she think she is? Does she think she’s too good for this shit? I reach across and slap her across the face, the sound echoing against the empty walls.

Her head is turned a little toward me, and her eyes bore into mine. They glisten with hurt and regret. I can tell she’s sorry.

“Bev…aw, you know I didn’t mean it.” I rub the spot where my palm hit seconds before. I shouldn’t have gotten mad. Bev is too precious to waste time with. “How about we just watch something else, okay? Something you like, huh?” I smile, and her eyes shine in response. I place my hand back over hers and reclaim the remote.

Hours later, we’ve watched about as many Lifetime movies as I can stand. But I’d do anything for Bev. I glance at the glowing red number next to the TV. It’s late.

“Bev, it’s time for bed. I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.” Her head has lolled to the side even more, telling me it’s time.

“We just need to do one more thing, Bev. Then it’ll be time to sleep.” I walk across the room to the counter next to the fridge. Man, I really need to clean my knives after I use them. The blood has caked on the edges, and it really is a bitch to get off once it’s dried. I don’t worry about it now. There will be time after Bev.

I gather them up and head back to the TV. I just stand in front of the glow, peering down at her. I always get a little sad at this part; saying good-bye isn’t easy. But I can tell it’s time just by looking at her, not to mention the smell.

When I’m done, I gather up the bags that are now Bev and walk over to the fridge. When I open the freezer door, I’m a little annoyed to see how little room there is. I grunt in exasperation as I put her on the floor. I shift Carry and Emma to the right, but I have a hard time getting Sarah to fit on the left. “So fucking fat,” I murmur. Eventually I make room down the center, and Bev fits perfectly. I would expect nothing less from her. My hand rests on her for a few seconds more, savoring the feel of her one last time. It’s so hard to say good-bye to someone you love. But I remind myself as I have before, it’s not really good-bye. She’ll always be there for me when I need her, and true love lasts forever.

With that thought whispering in my head, I close the freezer door. My place is a mess, and I don’t want to make a bad first impression for the next one.

NaNo Epic Fail

So I opened my NaNoWriMo novel for the first time since November today. I’ve been avoiding it since I lost. I managed to get to 16,000, which is amazing for me, but is quite short of the 50,000 goal. I think my downfall was two-fold. 1. No planning whatsoever. and 2. My story’s scope was too broad. I chose to do science fiction, and creating a story while simultaneously building an entire world from nothing is pretty damn challenging. Anyway, I wanted to post the good that came out of that experience. And no. I won’t be posting the love scene I wrote. I still can’t believe I did, and it freaks me out. Though it is kind of good, naturally.

The following is just excerpts, nothing is back to back, but is kind of in “story order,” (kind of).



It was never quiet. Not even early in the morning, when most of the encampment slept. There was always a bird chirping, soft footsteps running in the dirt, heavy, level breathing. But these were the normal noises of life, the noises you can easily ignore, and that can even help you fall softly into sleep. What jarred my eyes open every single night were different noises. They were far away, but that didn’t make them any less important. They were the sounds of bombings, gunfire, screaming. They were the sounds that reminded you that you weren’t in your own bed anymore, the sounds that reminded you of the dead. They were the sounds of a war.

I opened my eyes and gasped, the echo of the explosion still ringing in my ears. I put my hand to my heart, reminding myself of where I was. The sky was a swirl of colors. Reds, grays, and oranges mingled with the white light of stars and the blackness of the space behind. It had been like that since the Beginning. It had become a familiar, almost comforting sight, and it had become a ritual for me to trace the trails of the clouds with my eyes. I’d follow the stark redness into the nothingness of black, and then back into orange and gray. It always helped to restore my heartbeat to a normal rhythm, my breathing into evenness. But then I’d remember why the clouds were there, and I’d shut my eyes and rise out of bed.

This morning was the same as any other. I always arose before first light, so I had become accustomed to moving about in the dark. Careful not to step on those lucky enough to still be asleep, I made my way to the stream we had begun to use for washing and drinking. We weren’t always so lucky as to have an ever-flowing water source so close to the camp. I took my time this morning, floating slowly as I watched the sun leisurely pave a path through the crimson clouds. After scrubbing my head raw, I laid on the dirty shore and waited to feel heat on my skin. I must have dozed off, because when I awoke the sun was completely risen and I had to squint my eyes. I brushed sand off myself as stood up, and walked toward the voices of the encampment.

Of course, it hadn’t always been like this; sleeping without a roof, moving constantly, listening to death, it was no way to live. But it had become normal, ever since the Beginning. I remember a time when I had my own bed, one that I called mine every night. It seems a simple thing, but it becomes complicated once you don’t have one. Every morning I awoke to the aroma’s from the kitchen wafting around me, filling my entire room. Mother loved to cook breakfast for us. Somehow she always managed to wake up early and have it done before we even stopped dreaming.

But that was before. I can’t even remember what bacon tastes like now. I sat at one of our many campfires, eating what we always ate, liquidy, colorless grain in a bowl. The taste was almost nauseating, but luckily it was filling. We had come to calling it poison, affectionately. Some of the younger boys had made a joke of it at some point, and the name had stuck. It was fitting.

As I slurped my poison, I listened to the chatter around me. Old Henry was going on about how he didn’t know how he’d ever get sand out of his shoes, how his favorite hat had ripped and now his eyes hurt from the sun…the usual. I could hear Priscilla assigning duties to her officers, which would have been more impressive if their duties ever changed. Patrol the border, watch for enemies, collect any plant life. The first true were the only real true orders. There hadn’t been plant life on the plains since the Beginning. But it was an order that was always issued. I knew better. Nothing could survive out here, nothing but us.

“You’ve barely eaten any.” I looked to my left to find Tana perched next to me. She had her usual smile spread on her face. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and she rested her head on her knees. Her eyes were fixed on my bowl. She was about eight years old, we couldn’t be certain of ages anymore, and the only one in the camp who could never get enough poison.

“You can have the rest if you want.” I moved to give her the bowl.

“No. You need to eat it. It’s you ration.” With effort she pulled her eyes away from the grayish lumps that she loved so much.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

She looked over both her tiny shoulders, and then snatched the bowl from my grasp. I smiled as bits of the stuff flew in all directions as she shoved the poison into her mouth. The spoon lay forgotten in the dirt.

I always liked being with Tana. Somehow, she wasn’t as jaded over our circumstances as the rest of us. Sure, she had her demons like all of us. She had lost both her parents years ago and for some reason had latched onto me. There were years of her life unaccounted for, before she joined the camp. She never spoke of them, and I never asked. I knew what it was like to hold onto your past. Maybe if you never spoke the words, then it never really happened. Even so, she took all the horrors in stride, never showing anything but the brightness of youth. She was my reminder that maybe there would be a future after all.

When she was finished and the empty bowl, licked clean of course, rested between us, we sat in comfortable silence, watching the flames of the fire. It would be so easy to just sit here and forget. Forget I had duties to perform, forget what the sounds in the distance were, forget I had scarcely slept or eaten in days, forget that people, like Tana’s parents, were dead and gone. I blinked into focus, and remembered.

“We better get going.”

“Aw, man. I guess so.” Tana stretched up her arms, let out an ear-shattering yawn, and hopped up. “Let’s go then!”

I was always amazed at her enthusiasm. Most kids would find doing the same things every day boring and repetitive. Tana looked each day as a new adventure. I was grateful. I’m sure the tediousness would have driven me crazy by now if not for her.

Our first and last job for the day, as it was with everyone, was to look for any possible evidence of vegetation. Unfortunately, most people only gave half-effort in this endeavor. I didn’t blame them. How many days had it been with nothing? The human mind can only take so much disappointment. I’m sure I would have fallen into that category if Tana wasn’t around. This was her favorite part of the day. She loved to over-turn rocks, dig holes in the ground, follow bugs to their hovels, and I was with her through it all. We never would find anything green, but Tana was enjoying herself, and that’s all that mattered to me.

After an unsuccessful morning search, Tana reluctantly left the valley to com down to the stream with me to perform our next task: gathering water for drinking. The running water was clean enough for washing, but it required more preparation if it was to be consumed. Over the years, the natural water supply of our world had become slightly polluted. Debris from explosions, unclean conditions, we aren’t sure what exactly did it. Not only that, something had changed our natural biology. Our bodies had begun to reject water, clean or not. This was another unknown. How could something so basic to our survival be compromised? But it had been since the Beginning. Luckily, the cleaner and purer the water, the better chance we had at keeping it down. That’s why it was so important for us to collect as much as possible. Only a portion would survive the purification process.

I didn’t like to think about the meaning behind our actions, and I certainly wanted to spare that of Tana as well, so I always tried to make a game out of it. We’d race to the stream, see who could fill their bucket the fastest, who could make the smallest splashes, those kinds of things. Anything to distract her from the true purpose.


Around the Camp

The fire crackled in the darkness. Orange and yellow sparks flew up and made shapes and patterns as they fell back onto the singed wood. My eyes grew hazy as I watched them. Members of the camp always gathered here when it grew dark, to share a bowl of poison along with their stories of the day’s adventures. Tana sat next to me as usual, slurping her food as she listened to the others with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

I found it hard to participate this particular evening as I couldn’t get the image of Priscilla and the guard walking toward the command tent, the officer clutching whatever it was that he had found. Whatever that item was, Priscilla had failed to mention it in the nightly debriefing of the day. What could be such a secret that she would pretend it never happened? Not only that, but I hadn’t seen the officer the rest of the day. This wasn’t so unusual; their job was to be unseen, after all. But even now, when most gathered, he was not with the other guards. He’s just on patrol. Not every guard is able to come to the fire at night. It’s only that. But I had a feeling deep in my stomach that wasn’t true. I don’t know how, but I just knew that something had happened to him, and it was because of the object.

“Erin! Hello? Anyone there?” Someone was snapping their fingers in front of my face. I shook my head to rid myself of the image of the guard with a sword thrust through his chest. Nonsense, I was sure. I looked up to see the offending hand belonging to Edwin. He smiled when my eyes finally came into focus. “There you are.”

“Sorry.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “How long have you been doing that?”

“Oh, not long. Just about twenty minutes is all.” He smiled, pleased with his attempt at sarcasm.

I exhaled a breath that had been caught in my lungs and rolled my shoulders. “I have a lot of my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Should I tell him? Edwin would love this sort of mystery. Anything to break the monotony of our now present existence, as he liked to put it. He had a weakness for solving riddles, and most nights, when we sat around the fire, he would push me to come up with more and more difficult puzzles. I didn’t mind. It was healthy to exercise the mind with more than just physically-focused endeavors.

“No. It’s nothing.” I smiled. “Ready for one?” His hand rubbed his chin as I recounted a riddle I had come up with during the day. He didn’t need to know. It was probably nothing anyway. The officer had probably found an interesting insect specimen or a strange rock formation, and thought his commanding officer should know about it. That’s all. It was nothing. I was a fool to think our life here could change in the slightest. This was our world now, and nothing was going to change that.

We stayed up late that night. Edwin took longer than usual to solve the puzzles, either that or I was getting better at making them. I never liked retiring to bed; I didn’t like to be alone. The tents were separated by gender and by age, so neither Edwin nor Tana were my bedmates. I did have friends among those I slept next to, but nowhere close to those two. I had formed a bond with both of them, and it didn’t leave much room for anyone else. In times like this, we had to stick together, we had to look out for each other, and at night that wasn’t possible. I felt so vulnerable sleeping, even though it made no sense. We were heavily guarded at all times; Priscilla made sure of that. And I knew that my bunk-mates would never harm me. But I still was always on high alert.



“Erin? Erin! Wake up, wake up!”

The words sounded hazy, like they were very far away. I blinked. I saw the outline of Tana, but whenever I tried to focus on her face it would fade away, until I blinked again. I could just make out the wrinkles above her nose deepened as she mouthed my name. And then a black shape was behind her. It seemed to grow as it came closer, and a pair of blue eyes flashed brightly as I dropped out of consciousness.


“Why won’t she wake up?”

“Be calm. It will take time for her to awaken. You must be patient.”

“But what if she never does? She’s been sleeping for hours.”

“She will be fine. You have my word. See? Her eyes react even now.”

Something was stabbing the back of my head. I reached my hand up to feel whatever it was, but all I felt was something smooth; a bandage. This quickened my heart beat, and my eyes shot open to discover the owners of the voices I had heard float in and out of my dreams.

Tana was there, and she looked alright, thankfully. When her eyes met mine, she smiled enough to show crooked teeth. Whatever had happened, I was glad that she didn’t sport a matching bandage. But it was her companion that most intrigued me even more. He had dark hair, almost black, and it hung below his pointed chin. He wore a scowl so perfectly I imagined he did it often. He wore all black, and had a long sword hung across his back. The hilt was beautiful, a textured grip covered with different shades of gemstones, mostly reds and oranges mixed with black. His eyes I recognized. They were the beacons I had seen in my dreams, such a brilliant blue it was almost blinding.

“What happened? Tana? Where are we?” I sat up and couldn’t breathe. I inhaled sharply and coughed, clutching my chest. Gods, it hurt.

“Careful. You are not yet fully recovered. You require more rest.”

“I can’t rest! I don’t even know where we are! We have to transport the-” Trying to move had taken my breath away. I slammed my eyes shut as tears streamed down my cheeks. I was almost glad of the pain; it had stopped me from revealing the mission to a complete stranger.

“I’m afraid I must insist. You must remain lying down. You need time to heal completely.”

“Listen to him, Erin. He knows what he’s talking about. As least I think he does.”

I laid back down, though under protest. I had to admit, the pain did subside in a prone position. “Tana. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” And she really did look fine. Her hair was a little disheveled, more than usual anyway, and she was smiling her toothy smile she was wont to do. From what I could tell, she didn’t look worse for wear. I couldn’t say the same for myself.

“I remember someone was chasing us.” I eyed the newcomer with suspicion.

“We were, Erin. We were running and running. You were holding onto my hand, but I couldn’t keep up. I told you I would slow you down! You should have left me back at the camp.” Her bottom lip was shaking. I was always amazed at how emphatic a child she was. Her emotions were always tumultuous and unpredictable.

“Tana, stop it. You know that’s not true, and you know I would never leave you.” I squeezed her hand. “Now tell me what else happened.”

After an exaggerated sniffle, she continued. “Well, at some point I hit a branch, and we got separated. It was dark, I couldn’t find you again. I heard loud voices all around me, shouting, and they were getting closer. I knew I had to find you before they did.” She took a deep breathe. “But when I finally did, you were lying on the ground. There was a man standing above you, and the back of you head was red and dirty.” Her voice started to quiver and she remembered. Her eyes were far away. “The man was so scary. He was holding a stick, like the ones the guards at camp would have. And it was shiny and wet. I didn’t know what to do!” She started to cry then, the kind of crying that comes from your stomach, that takes over you and steals your breath away. Her throat made choking noises as she gasped for air, and I was able to lift my arm just enough to wrap it around her shoulders. She buried her head in the crook of my arm. I ignored the pain. She needed this.

I heard someone clear their throat above me, and I looked up to see the man with the blue eyes. I had forgotten he was there while listening to Tana’s recount of the events. That was bad. I should be more on my guard, especially in my almost incapacitated position.

“If I may, I believe I can pick up the story from here.” He eased on to the ground beside us, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Before you do, perhaps you can tell me who you are.”

“That will become clear once I recount the events.” He stared at me in question, eyebrows raised. I nodded, allowing him to continue Tana’s recitation. “With your assailant standing over you, the bloody baton in his hand, was precisely when I happened upon the both of you. Of course, Tana, I was not aware of your presence. Had I been, I would have shielded you from such horrors.” Tana sniffled in response. “I did not know who you or the man were, but it was clear you needed help, and his intentions were most assuredly not pure. I proceeded to disarm him and knock him unconscious.”

“What does that mean? I saw you fight him! You choked him with your arm, like this.” Tana demonstrated on me, wrapping her tiny arm around my throat. I’m sure it looked almost comical.

“I believe that’s what he meant by disarming him, Tana. Let him finish.” She sighed and sat back, but did not remove her arm.

“You’re quite correct, Tana. I chose hand to hand combat as not to injure him. As I sad, his identity was in question, and I do not take killing lightly.” For someone who looked like some kind of assassin I found that hard to believe. “When your assailant was down, I proceeded to check your injuries. You had lost quite a lot of blood from a head wound, and your stomach was badly bruised.”

I blinked. “My stomach? How could you tell?”

“Well, naturally I had to check you for injuries, those covered by your clothing and those not.” My head spun even more at the idea of this man lifting my shirt to “check my injuries.” But he seemed sincere, and from his ever-present scowl, I knew what he said was not in jest. He didn’t seem to notice my discomfort as he continued with the retelling unhindered. “I deduced you had broken ribs, and external trauma to the back of your skull. It is when I moved to lift you from the ground that Tana revealed herself.”

“I thought he was stealing you! I couldn’t let him take you without me!” Tana squeezed herself closer to me, if that was even possible.

“I can assure you, Tana. That was not my intent. My only wish was to transport Erin here to a more favorable location. But I am glad you revealed yourself when you did. It helps greatly to have another pair of eyes when one finds himself occupied.” Tana puffed up her face and beamed. Compliments had a tendency to go to her head. “Not much remains. I brought you both back my shelter and I tended your wounds. You were unconscious for a number of hours. I admit, I was worried you would not awaken.”

“I knew it!” Tana’s eyes bulged. “I knew you weren’t sure!”

“Forgive me for lying. I only wished to assuage any worry you had yourself, Tana.”

“Oh, well I-” I shushed her. I needed to hear more. This stranger had me mesmerized with his story. I couldn’t believe he had chose to help me, when killing me would have been the easier option. I hadn’t known such kindness was left in this world.

“You still haven’t told us who you are, you know.” He smiled at that, and his eyes grew a deeper blue than before.

“In that you are right. Then please, allow me to introduce my self. I am Davor.” He inclined his head. “And I believe I have already ascertained your identities. You are Tana, of course,” he nodded at my child companion, who beamed in return. This much attention must be intoxicating for her. “And you are Erin. I must say, it is truly a pleasure to talk with you, and not stare at your unconscious form in hope of your awakening.”

“And it is truly a pleasure to be conscious. Well, Davor, is it? I thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I don’t doubt that man would have killed me.” I extended my free hand to shake his own. He stared at my hand for a second, squinting his eyes only slightly before clasping my hand with his own. But instead of shaking as was customary, he simply held it there. Heat radiated up my arm as the touch lingered. I looked up to search his face to find his eyes already seeking my own. I don’t know how long we stayed like that. It could have been hours for all I knew. What I did know was that staring into those crystal blue eyes before I had lost consciousness had changed my life forever. I just didn’t know yet if it was for better, or for worse.

NaNoWriMo: Because I Love to Torture Myself

So I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been pretty terrible at writing and posting things (I blame it on my short attention span). To combat this (and kick my own ass), I’ve decided to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo on the streets). I’ll attempt to write a 50,000 word novel between November 1st through the 30th.

Here’s the thing: I have absolutely no idea what to write about. Should I do a genre and write some crazy fantasy story (sans dragons omg)? Should I write a serious story about some angsty teenage girl who is mad at her dysfunctional family? How about a guy who constantly cheats on his wife and thinks about all the different women on his train ride to and from work (I have no idea where that just came from)? It can’t be anything I’ve written before; it has to be completely original.

So here is my plea: Please! Anyone! Send me ideas. Anything at all is helpful at this point. If you don’t, I’ll probably end up writing another sad little child story (and no one wants that to happen). 🙂

Also, If you are also participating (you crazy bastard), feel free to add me, I’m lindsattack on the site. Peace!

Untitled – Part 1: A Short Story

This is a story I wrote that had a terrible ending, so I just deleted it! Here is the first half. Hopefully the second half won’t take me too long to come up with, (but knowing me it probably will.) The second half was also where my original title came from, so for now it is Untitled (a cop out I know). When it’s finished, I’m sure a beautifully appropriate title will come to me in a dream or something…


Untitled (for now)

This wasn’t something I planned. It wasn’t something I expected. Sure, I’ve always wanted this to happen, but not now, not here. It was more something to look forward to, something to hope for. But it happened, and for some reason I let it happen. I still ask myself, what made me finally say yes? I’d been asked many times, and every time I would stop breathing and my ears would fill with blood. I’d hear that pounding pounding sound. It’d be so loud I’d know everyone around can hear it, wondering if someone was using a hammer in the next room over. But I would shake it off, and remember my situation. And I would say no. I’d be more depressed than ever before, but I would know I did the right thing.

But that’s in the past. And the present is far more wonderful and terrible than I ever thought. Even now I’m looking at him, and I don’t know what to feel. He’s on the couch, sleeping on a pillow, and it feels like it’s always been like this, that he’s always been here. He makes me so happy, and yet, I’m scared. I’m scared because I know he shouldn’t be here, he doesn’t belong. I’ve forced him to belong, to fit into my life, into my tiny world. He yawns and I can see his teeth. They’re perfect and sharp, but they’re not what I’m scared of. How could I be? I could never be scared of him. I might not know where he came from, how he spent his time before now, but he’s gentle, and loving, and always affectionate. How could it be wrong that he’s here? That pillow is his now, and even after he’s gone, in however many years that is, it will always be his. I will always remember how he looked stretched across it, and how he slept for hours, a paw over his eyes.

I love having a cat again.

It’s the middle of the day and I’m taping blankets to my windows. I rip the duct tape with my teeth and slap it to the wall, the blue cloth secure beneath it. Rip, slap, rip, slap, rip, slap, over and over. With every slap, the sunlight on the carpet dims, until it’s gone, and I can let out a long breath. The window is covered.

It’s the window that faces the street of the apartment complex. Now no one driving by or walking with their kids can see into my living room, but that’s not why I did it. Across the street is a building. It’s the first building I entered in the complex when I came here two years ago. It’s the building with the golf cart parked outside by the grass, hogging most of the street. It’s the building with the community room, where old people huddle together and watch even older movies, and where the garden club sits in a circle on metal chairs, discussing petunias as they shift and twist, their butts slowing falling asleep and entering numbness. It’s the building where I signed my lease and got my mail key. It’s the office, and I cannot let them see inside.

If I had known what I know now, I would have never moved here. As I pat down the blanket and check for any air bubbles under the tape, I can’t help but think about the day I wrote my initials in all the little boxes. I signed things like Satellite Dish Agreement, Lead-Based Paint Disclosure, and Crime-Free/Drug-Free Multihousing. I had no problems with these; in fact, I barely read them. They were just common sense rules to follow, and I had no problem doing just that. I remember reaching the last page, and that’s when I woke up.

No Pets Allowed Agreement.

My heart sank a little, but that was it. After all, I’d had no pets since my last cat, Maurice, had passed on. Besides, this meant I wouldn’t have to worry about stepping in dog shit on the way to my car. So I wrote LMS in that box like the others and capped my pen. A lingering thought had tried to make its way up my brain stem, but shaking my head forced it to shoot back down into nothingness. I could survive without a pet to live in one of the only apartments that had grass and palm trees. Right?

The top corner of the blanket hangs down, the duct tape flapping in the air, desperately trying to stick to something soft. I scowl and tear the tape off the wall, ready to replace it. I glance out the glass and see Ronald entering the front door of the office. Ronald. That first day is also when I met Ronald in person. He should have been my first clue to put the pen down and run.

Ronald works in the office as a leasing agent. Not only does he work there, but he lives there, too. He rents the studio that shares a wall with the office. Talk about dedication to your work. But he’s too dedicated. Not only did he reply to my “request more information” email, but he responded every day. Twice a day. For a week. Sure, I thought something was weird with him. Most of the time you’re lucky if apartments acknowledge you contacted them. But I was desperate. The rent was good, and there was grass, green grass. Not that straw shit that seems to sprout up amongst rocks and sand. But beautiful, shining, dewy grass. The kind that makes you smile as you walk by, and that you don’t mind getting mud on your feet as long as you can squish the green between your toes.

When I walked through the door, leaving a car bursting with boxes and trash cans filled with lamps and plastic cups, I looked for the desk with his name plate. Behind it was a thin man with red hair. He looked up and I saw his nose was covered in pimples, and when he smiled his teeth were crooked. Not a good start.

From that day on, he has trouble leaving me alone. He likes to lay in wait for me to get my mail or take out my trash. He likes to help me carry things form my car. He even helped jump my car when the battery sputtered out. None of these things would be all that bad, but he’s always sweating, and staring at me, and he never blinks. He stares at me and licks his lips and “accidently” brushes my hand, leaving a grease stain on my palm. I’ve been putting up with it, mostly because he lets me turn my rent in late.

But I barely think of him anymore. Now my time is spent taking care of someone. Wilson. He depends on me now, so I can’t let Ronald distract me anymore. I have to be vigilant. I stand back with my hands on my hips. The light is snuffed out completely, the windows are covered. I feel something soft graze my leg. It’s Wilson, sniffing the duct tape. I bend down, and my heart softens when I look in his green yellow eyes, and when I scratch under his chin, but my brain reminds me No Pets Allowed, No Pets Allowed, NO PETS ALLOWED! He has to be a secret. I can’t let anyone see him. When I leave for work, I lock him in my windowless bedroom, and I pray he stays quiet. When I’m sleeping, I hope to God he doesn’t chew off the tape, wanting a peek outside. I wish I could make him understand how important it is he is always quiet. I tell him to stay away from the windows, and I pull him back. I feel like it’s the cold war, and the windows are blacked out and we could be bombed at any moment. I laugh. If only things were that serious. But then I straighten my face. Things are that serious. If I lose Wilson, I lose everything.

I close the car door slowly, careful not to make a sound. I can’t help the rustle of the plastic bags I’m carrying, but I do my best to hold my arm stiff. The “Petsmart” logo is strategically facing my leg, but the red and blue are so bright against the clear plastic. I’m shaking as I start the walk to my front door, and my eyes are glued wide open. The world is silent except for the slight thump of my toes hitting the pavement and the exhale of breath through my nose. I can see the mailboxes now, I’m close. I just have to turn the corner, the corner across from the office, and I’ll be in the home stretch. I see the stairs leading up to my door, and thank God, the outside light is still broken. Just a bit closer…

“Lily! I’m glad I caught you!”

I wince when I hear the crack of his voice. I hear footsteps getting progressively louder. I plaster a smile on my face and spin around, holding my arms, and the bags, behind my back.

“Ronald, hey. What a surprise.” I back up slowly, hitting the mailboxes. My heart stops when I hear the bags crackle.

“Yeah, I was just finishing up some paperwork when I saw your car drive by.” He flattens his tie with his hands over and over, successful only in wrinkling it more. He cranes his neck from left to right. He looks like a confused giraffe. “Doing some late night shopping?”

I squeeze my hands tighter, the plastic digging in painfully. “Yes, I was. Stores are just so crowded during the day.” I grimace at my pathetic explanation. No way he’s believing that.

“Sure, sure, that’s so true. Need any help?”

“No!” I say, maybe a little too fast. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, no problem.” He holds his tie with both hands and just looks at me, his eye’s getting fuzzy.

I start to turn around.  “Well, I better get going-“

“Wait! I wanted to ask if you were coming to the community barbeque.”

I blink. “The what?”

“You know, it was in the newsletter. I put it on your door myself…” He trails off. His eyebrows form a triangle above his eyes.

“Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be there.” I force a smile. “I’ll see you there, I guess.” I turn around, but too fast. One of the bags catches on the end of the metal jutting out from the mailboxes. I see it happen in slow motion. The flimsy plastic handles tear in half, as if they were cut with scissors. The bag is airborne, and then crashes on the sidewalk, its contents spilling out. The small cans of Friskies roll down the incline and out on the dark street. Most of them stop in a pothole, but one hits Ronald’s dusty old shoe. It sways from side to side endlessly, like when you drop a coin. I can hear the wind swoosh past it as it rocks back and forth. Finally, it comes to rest with a booming echo, facing up.

“Oh, here, let me help you.” Ronald starts bending down.

“No!” I sound high and squeaky. Ronald looks at me half bent over, his fingertips almost touching the can. “I mean no thank you. I can get it.” I dive to the ground and gather up the small cans, my hands trying in vain to completely cover the label. I shove them all into my purse and stretch up almost too quickly. I have to blink my eyes to get rid of the dizziness. I dust off my jeans, thanking God over and over that I was successful.

I let a gasping laugh escape. “Well, thanks Ronald. I’ll see you later!” I’m halfway to the steps when I hear my name. I turn around, and Ronald is somehow closer than before. I’m annoyed until I see what he’s holding.

I’d missed one of the cans.

“Here…” He pushes his arm out, the label as bright and clear as the sun on a hot summer day. I stare at his hand longer than I should. His fingers are long and thin, almost skeletal. The hair on his knuckles is unnaturally black compared to the whiteness of his skin. His nails are yellow and far too long. His hands churn my stomach.

I rescue the can from his grasp, and thrust it in my purse with the rest. It’s safe now. But I can’t think of a thing to say. The look in Ronald’s eyes confuses me. What is he thinking about? Is he considering telling his boss, or is he daydreaming about my chest? Why isn’t he saying anything? Why is he so quiet! All I keep thinking, over and over again in my head, the phrase that echoes with my heartbeat: he knows, he knows, he knows.

“Well, have a good night, Lily.” He smiles showing his uneven teeth. He turns around and walks back toward the office. I’m left standing there in the darkness of the broken light, and I’m frozen.

Contentment: Flash Fiction

This is one of the first things I ever wrote, and I still think it’s awesome. It began as a “show vs. tell” exercise, so it’s filled with similes, metaphors, senses, all that descriptive-y junk. Sometimes that stuff can get convoluted, but I tried to evoke a different sense with each description so as not to overwhelm. Either way, it being pretty much the first thing I wrote is a little sentimental, so I could just be biased. One day I might attempt to rework it.



The rush of air slapped him in the face as Stan exited the complex. Gravel crunched under his tattered brown boots as he stepped forward, his eyes wide, his arms encircling himself in comfort. Men in uniform marched in front and behind, chins pointed upward. Their expressions were hidden by wide-rimmed tinted sunglasses, and with the sun’s glare at full strength, Stan wouldn’t have been able to see their faces anyway. He slowly tilted his head at an attempt to peer around the front guard, and he managed to view the bus. So this was the vehicle that would transport him into his new life? Even after fifteen years he wasn’t sure he was ready. The vehicle itself didn’t seem up to the task of introducing him back to society. Its pale paint was having trouble remaining in place, giving way to spots of rust, and the widows had all but disappeared under a myriad of dirt and grime. Flies speckled the windshield like a child’s prize finger-painting. The shrill squeak from the door opening was audible even to him, sixty yards in the distance. Clearly, the bus had seen better days. It reminded him much of himself. We’re kindred spirits you and I, Stan thought, and a small smile tugged at his mouth.

The interior of the bus mirrored the outside, and the effect was enhanced with the perfume of mold protruding from the fraying seat cushions. When he slowly eased into one at the front, Stan’s nostrils flared as the scent floated upwards, encasing him in its putrid embrace. The portly driver didn’t seem to even notice the smell, probably because his own odor rivals this one, he thought dryly. With a now familiar whine, the driver pulled the lever that shut the door, and they lurched forward. Stan laid his head back against the seat, folded his hands graciously in his lap, closed his eyes, and became lost in an antiquated world.


“Stanley darling, would you make sure there’s enough Champagne out there? I would hate to read in the newspaper how our party could have been smashing if only there had been more Champagne! That’s just what happened to the Jones’, remember? Now no one calls on them! A fate worsethan death if you ask me!”

“Yes of course, I’ll uncork another bottle right now, dear.”

“Oh thank you. Now I really must get back. That silly Morgan von Hyde is out there parading her new ring around. I just can’t stand it! And it’s just terrible looking, but of course no one says anything about it but me! You think it’s just hideous too, don’t you darling?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Well then, don’t forget the Champagne!” And with that Catherine rushed off in a swirl of gossamer fabric. Stan had trouble understanding why Miss von Hyde’s ring was of such great importance, but then again, he was used to not understanding his wife. Henry theorized he had trouble understanding all women, and maybe his best friend and business partner was right. Take this party for instance; Catherine had felt the need to throw a lavish party the second after hearing the gossip going around town about the speculative engagement. Women will do anything to upstage each other, Stan supposed as he struggled to uncork the coveted bottle of Champagne. With a pop, the cork was free and the sweet drink bubbled in thanks as Stan poured it into the stylish glass flutes Catherine had just had to have for the event. He always did have trouble saying no to her.

When the glasses were safely on a table in the main room, Stan had to admit, his wife had outdone herself this time. His usually modestly decorated living room had been transformed into a poet’s wet dream. Candles adorned nearly every surface, the orange glow of their flames basking the walls in pale luminescence. The scent of vanilla and lavender radiated out of the candles, giving the impression of being in a distant memory of a picturesque spring afternoon. Where there weren’t candles, there were vases of every design filled to the brim with flowers straight from a Monet painting. Soft jazz rose from his surround-sound speakers and showered Stan in kisses as he moseyed around the room.  As silly as he knew the party was, he couldn’t imagine a time in his life where he had been more content as he was at the second.

As if on cue, fate hurled a rock at the precious mirror that was Stan’s life. He didn’t even notice the absence of music until  hands were seizing his arms and roughly wrenching them behind his back. Cold, hard steel dug into his writs like a desperate lover. He heard words like “silent” and “court,” but it meant nothing to him. He was lost in a whirlwind of confusion. The last thing he saw until his head was pressed against a foreign car’s leather seat was Catherine’s unsurprised eyes as her lithe lips slowly formed a familiar smirk.


Stan was jerked awake by the screech of the bus door, and still a little groggy from his repressed memories, he gazed out the window. A dilapidated old building stood on the corner of an unkempt street, and he soon realized that this was his new home. This was where he would spend his time making new memories. He couldn’t say he was altogether thrilled with the idea, but anywhere was better than where he had been, right? He had better make the best of it, as he had done before, as he always did. He waved farewell to the indifferent driver, and moved into his future.

After a few weeks, Stan had neatly settled into his new life. He had made friends with his elderly neighbors, and had recently been given the honor of attending their weekly Bridge game. He had even procured a job at a local convenience store working the dreaded graveyard shift. He didn’t mind; he had trouble sleeping. When his shift was over, he usually would meander over to the small park across from his building. He would sit on his usual corroding bench, and if he was lucky, he would catch the first rays of the sun. He lived to see the violet and crimson hues that painted the sky, casting the ramshackle park in a new light. The brown dying grass became alive with freshness, the drab blossoms bloomed anew with promise, and the air imbued Stan with the memory of his perfect spring afternoon, with vanilla and lavender anything but an afterthought. The soft calling of birds awakening and the delicate laughter of children as they made their way to school would drown out all thoughts of doubt. He would smile then, his eyes closed in bliss. This is life, he would think.

He was at last content once more.