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First blog post

Well! I took a deep breath and jumped.

This is my very first blog. I’m kind of nervous and excited to get this started.

I’ve been writing stories on the Writer’s Digest Creative Writing Prompts forum every week for the past two years. It’s been a wonderful learning experience to take their prompts, no matter how weird or specific, and turn them into two or three completely different stories. I’ve written stories on there that I normally wouldn’t have considered writing – science fiction stories, vampire stories, and so on. My fellow forumites, who are awesome writers, have helped me with their suggestions and comments to grow as a writer.

So, after much mental fidgeting and nail biting, I finally decided to create this blog to give my prompt stories a proper home.

Hope you enjoy them!

AK

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Blue Shades And You

I don’t remember much these days.
Not the present.
Not too much of the past.
The memories I do have are
Shades of what they used to be.

Shades of color
Of mermaid blue
Of blue lagoons
Of stormed seas and oceans foam.

I remember the shade
Of deep black midnight blue
Of Callista’s and Calypso’s blue eyes.
Of oceaned kisses and lake filled tears.

I remember the blue and white
Of the morning sky
Of kites flying oh…oh…
So high.
Of summered dreams and blueberried fields.

I remember
Blue sapphires
Blue dresses
Blue harmonies
Blue suits.

I remember the
Blueness of you.
Strange, isn’t it?
The small things that
I do
Remember.

October 2019 Writing Prompts

Pinnacle of Sadness

He found her standing alone on a pinnacle of sadness.

There was no breeze.

Her blue dress hung down in straight lines. Her white stockings had seen better days. Her white pinafore was gone to points unknown.

She had chopped her blonde hair to shoulder length, but the ends were uneven as if they couldn’t remember the right way to grow out again.

He cleared his throat.

He removed his hat and cleared his throat again. “I’m here.”

“I know.” Her voice was no longer that of a child. It was sad and worn out.

“Will you come back with me?”

She didn’t respond.

“Alice.” He tightened his grip on his top hat’s brim. “Alice, will you come back with me?”

“I can’t. My heart is no longer intrigued by oddities and bizarre things. My heart has aged and grown weary.”

“Then, come with me. Find your inner joy again.”

She shook her head. “It isn’t possible.”

“Alice. Alice, please. Please come back with me.”

She sighed heavily.

“Please. Just this one time.”

She turned her head to the side.

“One last time.”

She turned to face him. Scars marred her face.

That face that he had known long ago.

“Now you see it. Now you see why I can’t go back there.”

He smiled lovingly. “Do you really think anyone there will care that your face is scarred? Don’t forget where there is. Will you come with me, Alice?” He offered her his hand. “Will you come back with me to Wonderland?”

She silently thought it over.

“Please.” He kept his hand extended. “Come with me.”

She left her pinnacle of sadness and took his hand. “One last time.”

He smiled, revealing the slight gap in between his front teeth. “One last time.”

October 2019 Writing Prompts

Writing About….Writing A Letter To Your Characters.

I ran across this post on the NaNoWriMo forums today:

Letters to your characters. As their author, you certainly have thoughts towards them that you wish you could say directly to them. It doesn’t have to be the main character. It can be a minor character, a red shirt, a villain, a character you killed off/maimed/whatever, etc.

And it got me thinking.

If I could write a letter to my characters, who would I write to? What would I say to them, to any of them? I’ve thrown monkey wrenches into all of their lives. I’ve put them all through some form of hurt and misery.

I guess I would have to write an apology note, but who to write it to? Who needs it the most? I could send it to Ambrose since he is my lead character and I have given him plenty of emotional bumps and bruises. And we’re not even going to talk about his damaged psyche.

But what about Jay? Poor guy has gone through so much stress lately. He needs to get away and go on a relaxing trip. Maybe to Florida or the Bahamas. I’ll be sure to send him travel tickets with his letter. Of course, Mark Caten would try to find a way to keep him from leaving, just because Mark is a genuinely horrible person.

Isellta and Robin both deserve an apology note as well. I wonder if I should give them a joint apology or individual ones. Hmm. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind sharing it.

Is there any reason for me to apologize to Mark Caten? Well, I guess I did kill off his only child. I also gave him that kind of toxic personality that makes everyone want to kill him. That would be a good reason to apologize.

Let me see…Who else? Umm. *scratches back of head* Oh! Right! Hildreth. There are many reasons why I should apologize to him. Some have already been written. Others are waiting to be typed up. There is one good reason why I should send him an apology, but I can’t say anything about it yet, because spoilers.

Elsie…yeah. She gets an apology note too. And maybe a big box of low-cal, low-sugar chocolates. Hildreth wouldn’t approve, but I’ll let him deal with buying her better chocolate. Wait. Did that make me sound mean and stingy? Oh, well.

I guess I should apologize to all of them, because they all have deserved it at one point or another. So, here goes….

Dear                                                               (Fill in your name here), I am deeply sorry for having wronged you.

Umm, yeah.

So, that’s it.

Sincerely,

 

Your author.

That should do it.

To my readers:  If you could write a letter to a character, whether it’s your own or one from a book you’ve read, who would you address it to and what would you say?

The Daily Spur Presents…A Cold One

I was cleaning out the fridge today and I found it— a cold one with your name written all over it.

It was the brand I never liked.

So, I popped it open and sniffed it.

It smelled like your breath. It reminded me of your laugh. It made me think of dancing with you barefoot in the grass with fireflies dancing around us.

You had written your name on it in that Detroit Tigers logo orange permanent marker you loved. As if you needed to write your name on that putrid tasting beer.

It made me think about you.

And so I thought about you over and over.

Over and over.

Over.

And.

Over.

Until I just couldn’t take it anymore.

I stood with that awful beer in my hands. It was cold in my hands. Some of it dribbled down to my hands. I could feel it scenting my skin.

I yelled and threw the beer can at the wall. It hit the wall with a splatter and a splat! I ran over to the can and stepped on it. I stomped on it. I yelled as I crushed it flat.

It was so flat.

My shoes were wet.

My feet were cold.

And my wall smelled like the cold beer that had your name on it.

https://thedailyspur.wordpress.com/2019/10/09/cold-beer-with-your-name-on-it/

The Weathered Winding Trail

She flies along the Weathered Winding Trail, chasing after comets and asteroids. Her ship is strong. Her ship is fast. It was built to withstand cosmic radiation and sharp edged space particles.

She has nothing better to do at the moment. No upcoming jobs. Nothing planned. She could have stayed home. But home for her is the skies. It will always be in the skies.

And so she flies through space’s eternal night and the stars are far above and around her.

She flies with no due course. No destination. No rush. No pressure.

She flies along the Weathered Winding Trail for the joy of the flight. For the joy of being where she knows she belongs. For the joy of it all.

She will have to return to base.

But not yet.

Right now, she flies.

She just flies.

October 2019 Writing Prompts

Bewitching Mark Caten

Author’s Note: I couldn’t resist doing one last story for Didi Oviatt’s October WIP Challenge. Especially since this was the character I automatically thought about when I read what the October Challenge was. I just couldn’t figure out the right way to go about bewitching him. Well! I finally figured it out. So, here it is!

Mark Caten picked up his magenta and gold coffee cup and inhaled the scent of pumpkin spice. “Mmm. Divine.” He took a sip. “Simply divine. But what more can be expected for someone like me? I deserve all of the best things in life, because I am the best thing in life. I am not godly. I am not god-like. I am a god.”

Preyuna heroically resisted the urge to turn him into a pumpkin and throw him out the highest window in the mansion. “Of course.”

He looked up at her. “That was a very sarcastic tone. You know how I feel about sarcasm, my little cottage flour cupcake.”

“Of course, I do. Mark. We need to discuss this. We need to—-”

“Ohhhh…” He rolled his head back. “Please not this old drudgery again. Do be a good little thing and—-”

“Mark! I want to go back to my—-”

“Yes, yes. I’ve heard this song 3,000 times by now and there is nothing catchy about it. You want to abandon me and my glorious love. I can’t imagine why.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Give me a minute and I could list all of the reasons.”

“Tsk! There you go again with that mean-spirited sarcasm. You know I don’t like that.”

“I don’t care. I want to go home. I have been here more than long enough. I have paid off my people’s debt to you. I deserve—”

He stood. “You deserve a good slap across the face for talking that way to me.”

Her eyes turned white. “If you touch me—-”

“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh, my dear seedy cupcake. You know what will happen if you hurt me. You’ll be stuck here for the rest of your days. And, from what I’ve heard, fey live a terribly long time.”

Her eyes returned to normal. “Then, I won’t hurt you.”

“Very wise choice,”

“I want to hurt you. I want to kill you, but I won’t. I’ll do something so much worse to you.”

“Hahahaha! Let me guess.” He tapped his lips with his index finger. “Oh! I got it! You’re going to talk nonstop about how much you miss your sociopathic cult club and all of that droning blather will put me into this narcoleptic sleep pattern and—”

“No.” She smiled and it was far from a pleasant sight. “I will do something so much worse to you.”

He shrugged. “I can’t imagine what would be worse than that.”

“I can.” She whispered into her hands and pushed her magic at him.

It hit him like a physical blow, pushing him to the marble wall behind him. “How DARE you!”

“Easily.” She whispered into her hands and pushed her magic at him again.

He promptly blacked out.

****

Mark Caten woke to a boiling bad headache and an uncertain feeling in his chest. He wobbled up into a sit and rubbed the back of his head. “What the—”

“Good. You’re finally conscious.”

He raised his head and gaped.

A beautiful woman with maroon and silver streaked hair stood on the other side of his desk. Her hair was down. Her floor-length dress glittered with sequins and diamonds.

He scrambled up to his feet. “Uhh. I. I…Uhhh?”

She smiled and it was like God’s joy.

“Ahhh.”

“Hello, Mark Caten.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulders. “What would you expect from a fey queen?”

“What…” He went to sit in his seat and missed it by twelve miles. He landed hard on his backside.

She sauntered around the desk.

So elegant. So poised. So regal.

He couldn’t help but stare.

Preyuna did not offer to help him up. Nor did she descend to his level. She stood with all of the dignity she possessed.

“What do you want from me? Say the word and it will be yours.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Set me and my fellow fey free. Let us go back home, Mark, with no stipulations, with no red tape, and with no further negotiations.”

He stood. “Give me one kiss and you will have all that you desire.”

“No tricks?”

“None.”

She came closer to him. “Just one kiss and nothing more?”

“Nothing more.”

She kissed him and his heart soared.

He slipped his hands under her hair, on her face. He kissed her again and again.

***

She backed away from him, breathless.

What is this?

What am I feeling?

What is the word for it?

What—

“Are you still going to leave me, Queen Preyuna?”

She took another step back. “I don’t know.”

What Is Normal?

Author’s Note: This story was based on a comment I had made on Vampire Maman’s recent post. She challenged me to write a story about it. So, here it is!

***

If a person has seen ghosts and other paranormal creatures all of their life, could they say that is their normal? Would them losing that ability to see the paranormal make them feel abnormal?

Christine read that line over and over — could they say that is their normal?

Normal.

She underlined that one word with her finger.

Nor—mal.

It’s everything I wanted to be. I don’t want to be a freak, but I am one. I don’t want to see vampires and ghouls and ghosts and fairies, but I do. If someone took that away from me, I wouldn’t be abnormal. I wouldn’t feel abnormal. I would be normal.

A melancholic dripping on the tile floor made Christine lower her newspaper. “Oh!”

Gahanna Trelurie stood in her usual place, dripping blood from the stab wound in her side. “Look.” Her voice was like papers rustling in a winter snow’s breeze. “He did this to me. Look.” She held out her mutilated hands and dripped even more blood on the floor.

Christine sighed. “You’re just lucky that’s spectral blood. If that blood were real hemoglobin and red blood cells and blood stains kind of blood, I’d get you scrubbing that floor.”

Gahanna lowered her hands. “Look.”

Christine raised the newspaper. “Not during breakfast.”

The dripping stopped.

Christine peeked over the newspaper’s top edge.

Gahanna was gone and there was no blood on the floor.

Is this sort of thing really normal? Well, I guess it’s normal enough for me. I’ve seen it all my life with no holidays or vacation time.

I’ve never told anyone.

Even as a child, I knew that it was the kind of secret that wasn’t meant to be shared. Don’t let them see. Don’t let them know. Play the role of perfectly normal little girl and win a major award for best performance by a child actor.

Quadraquille the fairy flew out of the fireplace and darted dragonfly-like to Christine’s face. She squeaked and squawked a tale of woe and misery. Cartoon-styled tears fountained out of her eyes.

“It’s okay. I’ll clean out the gutters later.”

Her crying crescendoed.

“I promise. I will take care of it later. Let me enjoy my breakfast.”

The fairy squeaked a fast question.

“Yes, I will keep my promise. I always do, you know.”

Quadraquille smiled and a small rainbow appeared above her head. She flew back to the fireplace and disappeared.

I don’t even know what it would be like to live my life without them…all of these others. Maybe it is true.

Maybe I would feel off if I couldn’t see them anymore.

Maybe I wouldn’t feel right.

Maybe I wouldn’t feel normal.

I don’t know.

Maybe I should find out.