Painting Stories #6

What I got:

Through the darkening sky, she could see the shifting twinkle of the stars clearer than any in her realm. They shown like glitter reflected by the sun as it dipped beneath the horizon and it reminded her of the music festivals in Bethlehem and the Karmiel Dancers. The colors were vibrant and the scent of the air was heavy with sweet spice. That night, when she was fourteen, she received her first kiss. The next morning, she and her mother fled the country.

Photo courtesy of this place.

Painting Stories #5

What I got:


She did not know where the road led, whether it ended like all things in this place, into the whirling abyss. Beyond the fog lay endless twists and avenues left uncharted from before Man's time began on Earth. The air grew thick and she could smell the bittersweet taste of rain touch her tongue. She let the wind blow violently against her face, move her fringe, lift her collar and then, she step forward.

Share Your Heart Auction

For those of you that don't know, one of genre's best is dealing with a pretty serious illness and, as seems to be the way the industry works, the troops has rallied together to help LA Banks with her medical expenses.

Normally, I wouldn't ask y'all to RT non-chat or BD related things, but I think this one is important. That rallying of the industry is a big one...an auction with some serious professionals with major skills coming together to lend a hand. So do me a favor and RT the following and, if you're the praying sort, send a few words up for Ms. Banks.

Thanks, guys

#ShareYourHeartAuction for LA Banks wonderful items up for grabs! http://www.labanksauction.org/Auction.htm

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Painting Stories #4

What I got:

She lay there-- amid the browning leaves and the sweet scent of morning as it came. Another morning isolated from normalcy, another day in Changeling Fields.

Photo courtesy of this place.

Painting Stories #3

What I got:

Washed away from the streets, from the cool, black pavement was the past- those years of heartbreak, miles of empty promises and, for a moment, I was pleased.

Photo courtesy of Nola.com

The People Who Live in My Mind and...Painting Stories #2

A friend of mine said to me today, 'your writing output is crazy lately.' I took that as a compliment. I'll let you in on a not-so-secret-secret: I don't write everyday. I'm not ashamed about that small fact. I don't write everyday because when I do write, I generally produce anywhere from 1000 to 3000 words in a three or four hour period. I can't write at work because the distractions of smacking, gossiping, fussing fellow corporate drones is a bit too much for the muse to ignore.

So I come home, deal with my green, furry and real children, get dinner prepared, catch up on any BDCWB duties I didn't get to during the day and THEN I decompress and finally write. Sometimes, when the muse is in a particularly creative mood, that means all other duties are cast aside. That might mean I'm a bad mama or networker or editor. But I simply can't help it.

Fortuantely, during the past month, the spurts have been wonderful and many. I've revised one short, (nearly there), written an entirely new 4k word short and submitted it in addition to writing three more chapters in my novel. Not bad, I don't think, for a month's work. Bear in mind that on top of all the above, we are renovating on the weekends, visiting family and preparing for the forthcoming week.

I am busy...very busy, but you know what? I still find time for my little spurts. When they come, particularly when they compel me to keep writing, they are, for me, bliss.

My muse puts me into these worlds - these fantastic, grand, eerie, mythical worlds that captivate me...that hold my attention so that all I want is to be there, to live and breathe with these wonderfully flawed people who exist only in my mind.

That's where I am now. My thoughts and attentions are focused completely on my young protagonist and the odd freak that follows her around like a puppy. I am right there with her when she runs from mythical creatures who scare the crap out of her. I'm hunkered down and shivering as she leaves her life behind in a futile search for her mother. My heart skips when she realizes, unexpectedly, that she loves that freakish puppy.

This total immersion doesn't happen with every story I write...God knows I wish it did, but I think it's common with stories we write that have greatest potential. I'm thrilled when that happens, depressed when it doesn't.

So, I guess this post has been pointless, but I just wanted to encourage you to continue...to find the story that compels you. My prayer is that you can be immersed in a world of your own design - living lives that shadow those of your characters, even if that immersion doesn't happen every day, it's still nice to visit.


Painting Stories #2





What I got from this image:

It was then- when the road rose up, clear and present, when the winds had died and the light ahead came from a rainbow and not the blazing glare of a bomb - that she remembered hope. She had long forgotten the sensation, but now it came to her and settled over the loss, the danger and covered her heart.