What Are YOU Writing?

    what are you writing?

    What are you working on right now?

    We’d love to know here at WritetoDone!

    A novel? A blog post? Your best article ever? A poem? A film script?

    Maybe you’ve just finished something you’re really proud of?

    Or you just can’t tell whether it should get a Pulitzer or be thrown into the trash?

    Here’s your chance to share and discuss with each other what you’re writing about.

    Whet our appetite with the opening paragraph of your future bestseller or give us a link to your best article.

    Tell us: what are you writing at the moment?

    Who knows, your piece might even attract the notice of a major publishing house!

    Here are some guidelines:

    Writers:

    Tell us what aspect you’re working on. Or give us the link to an article or give us a snippet of fiction. I’d love to know what your challenges and joys are!

    Commenters:

    * When commenting, first list everything you really like about a piece.
    * Only then offer careful suggestions.
    * Treat each other with respect, friendliness, caring, and honesty.
    * Remember that we are all still learning.

    Now it’s over to you. Take a deep breath. Then jump into the comment section and bring out your treasures!

    About the author:

    Mary Jaksch is Editor-in-Chief at Write to Done. Grab her FREE report, How to Write Like an A-List Blogger. Mary has helped thousands of students successfully create profitable blogs at A-List Blogging, and is the blogger behind Goodlife ZEN.

    About the author

      Mary Jaksch

      Mary Jaksch is best known for her exceptional training for writers at WritetoDone.com. Grab a copy of her free report, How to Create an Irresistible Lead Magnet in Less Than 5 Hours. In her “spare” time, Mary’s also the brains behind AlistBlogging.net. and GoodlifeZEN.com, a Zen Master, a mother, and a 5th Degree Black Belt.

    • Teh Vivian says:

      Hey! I’m writing a fantasy story named Tenacious and it is currently available on Wattpad. This is the newest chapter- Red Sky. Hope you’d enjoy it!

      Here’s the link:
      https://www.wattpad.com/story/28942018-tenacious-fantasy-demons-resumed

      When God wants to punish you, he grants your wish.

      I strapped the dagger to my belt. Pushing it twice to ensure it won’t fall off, I looked at the others. Yaness is busy grabbing stuff she forgot, and Gami just sat in the corner dozing off, trying to look cool. I guess she was really pulling it off with the Idontgiveashit look, but I bet she would be screaming about some stuff she forget later on.

      I sighed to myself.

      She should really stop that. Today is the last day after all, and we can’t afford to return for another forgotten accessory. I let my gaze roam around the room for the third time. Did I forget anything? Did Gami leave her rabbit behind the shelf? Is there any other thing that is useful to bring along? (Besides the useless rabbit)

      The room is small, and even when we do not have much with us, it was still cramped. So glad that we are finallyyyy getting out of here. Shouldn’t we have done this much, much sooner?

      It was the final hours of dusk. A few more minutes, and it would mark the end and the beginning of a new story.

      A thought nagged constantly at my mind though. I looked at Yaness, but she was panicking too much to care. “Where is it?? Cassie, did you see my-”

      Urgh she’s hopeless.

      Gami, on the other hand, actually managed to fall asleep amidst all these. Sometimes I really marvel at her skills. When I first met her, she was actually in charge of all these. I looked up to her, for about… five seconds? After that I realised she was assigned the role simply because no one else cared. Then again, neither did she.

      My eyes fell on my white mask I left on the table this morning.

      And… where on earth did he disappear to again? That boy. Seriously. We will be going in five minutes, and I refuse to wait a second longer. He just crashed into our party a week ago, and refused to speak a single word except for “food”. Sometimes it feels like he speaks to himself more than any of us. And he’s rude too. Always glaring at me with that eye even though he’s the one leeching on us. He doesn’t even do that to Gami or Yaness. It’s just me. Since he refused to tell us his name, we named him Rin, which meant rain. It was raining when he materialized out of somewhere and intruded into our already havoc life. Drama much.

      “Hey Cassie, I know you’re annoyed but could you not destroy that?” Gami voice brought me back to the present, and I realized I was crushing the mask real hard, and the sides have started to bend.

      I threw it back on the table, but missed. It flew to the door just as it crashed open and Rin did his materializing trick again. Speak of the Rin. The mask hit him square in the face. Unfortunately for him, Gami was leaning on the same door as well, and I know she’d be punching him any moment now.

      Except that she didn’t.

      “HOLY SHIT. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?”

      I then saw the claw marks raked across his face. I never knew a face could look so pale. And I thought his one was white enough to begin with.

      “Lost mask,” he muttered.

      Rin is speaking. The sky must be falling down.

      “They were chasing, then I… met danger…dangerous girl,” he half stumbled half fell to the floor. He couldn’t stop shaking.

      We all stared at him in shock.

      Gami patted him on the back. She didn’t say anything.

      I tried to cheer up the mood. “It’s okay, we can give you another mask.” I forced a laugh.

      No one replied, so I continued. “Um, we are leaving anyways right? So it should be okay.”

      Even those words sounded fake. I don’t believe in them, even when I tried. If anything, don’t let it be her… Don’t. I sent a prayer of some sort to no one in particular.

      He looked at me. Stared even, with a haunted look. “Blood on mask. It’s over.”

      He fainted in Gami’s arms. “R-Rin!”

      No way. Not when we waited so long, sacrificed so much for today. So many of them died for us… It’s now or never. Or we’ll have to wait another three months, and who knows if we will still be alive then? Things are unstable around here. Very.

      “Guys. We’re leaving.” I kept my voice steady. Five minutes are up.

      “No way right, Cassie? Are we gonna leave him here like that?”

      “Cassie?”

      Gami looked at me pleadingly.

      This isn’t the time to screw around.

      I bit my lips. “Yeah. And you know why.”

      We all did not say anything, but the truth hang in the air. He’s done for.

      And if we stay, we will suffer the same fate.

      “At least give him a mask.” Seems like she agrees. It’s too bad for him, but we can’t afford to let anyone else die for someone we barely knew.

      I looked at the unconscious body on the floor. This is farewell, Rin. I grabbed my things and headed towards the window.

      “Let’s go.”

      “No! I refuse.” It was Yaness.

      I sighed. “We have to. Let’s go, Yaness.”

      “I’m staying.”

      “What?”

      The sky has already turned black. Any moment now.

      “I… I don’t one to see anyone else …die.”

      If you’re staying, you will see yourself die! I screamed inside my head.

      “Fine.”

      “But Cassie, Rin’s a life, too.”

      You too, Gami?

      “If that’s what you guys want. I’m leaving. Bye.” I grabbed the mask and covered my face.

      Can’t let them see. See my tears.

      I spun around and strode to the windows. I can’t stay here any moment longer. I can’t bear it anymore.

      “Cassie!”

      I stopped. Not trusting my voice, I kept my mouth shut.

      My tears were blocking my vision, but I think Gami went to her bag and grabbed Piggy the rabbit.

      “Here take this. Pass it to me when we catch up to you again!” It sounded so cheerful. Curse my tears. I want to see their face one more time. Instead, I grabbed the rabbit and jumped.

      Stupid Gami.

      Stupid Yaness.

      They would go so far for Rin? Shouldn’t they …stay with me, instead of this stupid rabbit???

      “Cassie, take care of yourself! We’ll stay until Rin wakes up! We’re just keeping him safe until then! Meet at that place, okay?” Gami’s voice pierced me.

      It’s too loud, keep it down dummy.

      “Don’t cry!” I think that was Yaness.

      I wanted to reply so bad.

      “Sorry,” I whispered to myself, but they were too far away to hear.

      The blood moon made it appearance.

      Shit

      I can’t die.

      Gotta meet them at that place.

      I stuffed the rabbit between me and the belt, and leapt into the red sky.

      ★Don’t forget to VOTE, COMMENT, SHARE! ^-^★

      https://www.wattpad.com/story/28942018-tenacious-fantasy-demons-resumed

    • Shondra says:

      I’m working on a book called High School Chronicles: Megan’s Story. It’s my first series. Megan in a young Blasian in high school. She’s out of place with the black children, as well as the white kids. No matter what, she just can’t seem to fit in. She has a bully, who’s also a racist (his family is not the nicest of families). The school is predominantly white. My book is dedicated to my mix cousins. It’s based on some of the experiences they faced growing up mixed. Even as adults, they are treated a certain way by certain people. This book deals with societal issues such as skin color, how one chooses to wear their hair, young love, betrayal, and school shootings. It may offend some/all readers. It is designed to provoke feelings (not the type that causes people to go out and kill…just ordinary thought provoking feelings). Since race and ethnicity have been a constant throughout history in America, and since my family has graciously passed down my family’s history to me, I thought with all the craziness happening in society, this would be an awesome book to hopefully open our eyes to the not so awesome ways we’ve decided to handle this continuous problem.

    • Charlie Smirnova says:

      (Using my mother’s email account) Hello, fellow writers. At the moment, I’m forming ideas about how I want to write my first book. It’s about a woman who is on her way home from a trip and the house is very clean, yet the odor was gruesome and unbearable. She checked the house for where the smell was coming from. The trash was out and the dishes were cleaned but the smell was distinctive. It didn’t smell like rotten trash that’s been sitting out in the house. So she checked every room in the house until she reaches the bedroom, which is located in the very back of the mansion. She’s noticed that her husband is faced down and covered up. She assumed that he was just asleep and she sees absolutely nothing out of place. The whole room was dark until she turned on the lamp. Walking around, still searching for the odor, she spoke, “Robin, what have you done while I was gone, huh?”

      He didn’t respond and then she said under her breath, “He must be very tired, I guess.” She moved over towards the bed and waved flies from her face, “Damn, what are all these flies coming from?” She shook him, “Robin, wake up. I’m home.” When she was shaking him, his body felt different. He moved very loosely and he seemed lifeless to her. That was when she turned him around and saw that his face was all cut up and bruised. She gasped and removed the covers off of his body and screamed in pure horror. His chest was sliced, his ear was on his shoulder, his penis was cut off and there was blood all over the under sheet. There was a knife in his hand all covered with dry blood. A sticky note was on the knife and it read, “Sorea, you’re next!”

      She recognized the handwriting. The handwriting that she was used to seeing when she opened every threat letter she received. They were from a big known business that once manipulated her husband in his youth. Just by that one note, she automatically knew that this was murder. Emotions started to stir in her. Anger, depression, and fear. Angry that they assassinated him while she was away. Depressed that she’s lost her only life partner. Afraid of what will happen to her and her children who were at their grandparents house. Unsure of what else to do, she ran over to the telephone and called 911. She wiped her tears and the female voice on the other end said, “911. What’s your emergency?”

      “Hello, operator. Can you bring me to the ambulance?!”

      “Sure, hold on.”

      After a few moments, another voice was heard on the other line, “Hello, ambulance.”

      “My husband’s body is mutilated on our bed! I just got home from the airport and I smelt gruesome odor! Then I found my husband faced down in the bed all covered up!”

      “Okay. Where are you located?”

      “Um..my address is 1828 Spindrift Drive.”

      “In San Diego?”

      “Yes!”

      “Number?”

      “(619)-980-6794!”

      “Okay, Ma’am. Is there fresh blood on the bed or is it dried?”

      “It doesn’t look fresh at all! It looks like this was done a few days ago. There are flies all on him! Some maggots! Oh my god! My husband is dead!”

      “What’s your name, Miss?”

      “Sorea Lynn Deallo. My husband is Robin Deallo.”

      “Does he have a history?”

      “Yes. He had several heart attacks.”

      “Thank you so much, Miss. We’re on our way with the police.”

      “Thank you so much!”

      She hung up the phone and called a close friend of hers and her husband’s, Reginald O’Hara. He was a retired bodyguard of her husband’s by the time he turned sixty-three. He decided to help us out during this danger situation with the secret society that was mainly after her husband before they wanted to assassinate the whole family. We sent a few guards to protect Robin but they were not visible in the house that led her to also think about what happened to the guards. While she waited for Reginald to answer, she began to panic more of what happened to the guards. If they were here, the murder wouldn’t have occurred. He would’ve been alive.

      Finally Reginald answered, “Hello?”

      “Reginald! Come to the house NOW!”

      “Why? What happened?”

      “Robin is dead!”

      Reginald felt a pang in his heart, knowing that his best friend was deceased. He was at first in denial, “Dead? What do you mean dead? Have you checked his pulse?”

      “There is NO PULSE! His chest is cut up, his ear was cut off, his penis is cut off! There is blood on the sheets!”

      “Oh my god. How could this happen? We had bodyguards in the mansion. Where are they?”

      And that’s what I have so far. I’m sure this is what happens in the beginning. But I’m debating with myself to add a love story in this. I know it’s important to the story because it solves the question of what made this happen. I want it to be a nested story. For it to show the past and the present. I want it to be about her hiding from the people who killed her husband and the children are also in hiding. She doesn’t tell her children the situation and a person who wants to write about truth called her up before the hiding but she rejects because of the time. But then she calls her up one day and agrees to stay in the person’s home with the children. I’m just unsure to talk about the love story to see if it’s relevant. I really don’t know.

    • Charlie Smirnova says:

      Hello, fellow writers. At the moment, I’m forming ideas about how I want to write my first book. It’s about a woman who is on her way home from a trip and the house is very clean, yet the odor was gruesome and unbearable. She checked the house for where the smell was coming from. The trash was out and the dishes were cleaned but the smell was distinctive. It didn’t smell like rotten trash that’s been sitting out in the house. So she checked every room in the house until she reaches the bedroom, which is located in the very back of the mansion. She’s noticed that her husband is faced down and covered up. She assumed that he was just asleep and she sees absolutely nothing out of place. The whole room was dark until she turned on the lamp. Walking around, still searching for the odor, she spoke, “Robin, what have you done while I was gone, huh?”

      He didn’t respond and then she said under her breath, “He must be very tired, I guess.” She moved over towards the bed and waved flies from her face, “Damn, what are all these flies coming from?” She shook him, “Robin, wake up. I’m home.” When she was shaking him, his body felt different. He moved very loosely and he seemed lifeless to her. That was when she turned him around and saw that his face was all cut up and bruised. She gasped and removed the covers off of his body and screamed in pure horror. His chest was sliced, his ear was on his shoulder, his penis was cut off and there was blood all over the under sheet. There was a knife in his hand all covered with dry blood. A sticky note was on the knife and it read, “Sorea, you’re next!”

      She recognized the handwriting. The handwriting that she was used to seeing when she opened every threat letter she received. They were from a big known business that once manipulated her husband in his youth. Just by that one note, she automatically knew that this was murder. Emotions started to stir in her. Anger, depression, and fear. Angry that they assassinated him while she was away. Depressed that she’s lost her only life partner. Afraid of what will happen to her and her children who were at their grandparents house. Unsure of what else to do, she ran over to the telephone and called 911. She wiped her tears and the female voice on the other end said, “911. What’s your emergency?”

      “Hello, operator. Can you bring me to the ambulance?!”

      “Sure, hold on.”

      After a few moments, another voice was heard on the other line, “Hello, ambulance.”

      “My husband’s body is mutilated on our bed! I just got home from the airport and I smelt gruesome odor! Then I found my husband faced down in the bed all covered up!”

      “Okay. Where are you located?”

      “Um..my address is 1828 Spindrift Drive.”

      “In San Diego?”

      “Yes!”

      “Number?”

      “(619)-980-6794!”

      “Okay, Ma’am. Is there fresh blood on the bed or is it dried?”

      “It doesn’t look fresh at all! It looks like this was done a few days ago. There are flies all on him! Some maggots! Oh my god! My husband is dead!”

      “What’s your name, Miss?”

      “Sorea Lynn Deallo. My husband is Robin Deallo.”

      “Does he have a history?”

      “Yes. He had several heart attacks.”

      “Thank you so much, Miss. We’re on our way with the police.”

      “Thank you so much!”

      She hung up the phone and called a close friend of hers and her husband’s, Reginald O’Hara. He was a retired bodyguard of her husband’s by the time he turned sixty-three. He decided to help us out during this danger situation with the secret society that was mainly after her husband before they wanted to assassinate the whole family. We sent a few guards to protect Robin but they were not visible in the house that led her to also think about what happened to the guards. While she waited for Reginald to answer, she began to panic more of what happened to the guards. If they were here, the murder wouldn’t have occurred. He would’ve been alive.

      Finally Reginald answered, “Hello?”

      “Reginald! Come to the house NOW!”

      “Why? What happened?”

      “Robin is dead!”

      Reginald felt a pang in his heart, knowing that his best friend was deceased. He was at first in denial, “Dead? What do you mean dead? Have you checked his pulse?”

      “There is NO PULSE! His chest is cut up, his ear was cut off, his penis is cut off! There is blood on the sheets!”

      “Oh my god. How could this happen? We had bodyguards in the mansion. Where are they?”

      And that’s what I have so far. I’m sure this is what happens in the beginning. But I’m debating with myself to add a love story in this. I know it’s important to the story because it solves the question of what made this happen. I want it to be a nested story. For it to show the past and the present. I want it to be about her hiding from the people who killed her husband and the children are also in hiding. She doesn’t tell her children the situation and a person who wants to write about truth called her up before the hiding but she rejects because of the time. But then she calls her up one day and agrees to stay in the person’s home with the children. I’m just unsure to talk about the love story to see if it’s relevant. I really don’t know.

    • CMJordan says:

      TODAY is the first day of the rest of your life!

      You have no past to live up to…

      I ABSORBED some words Yesterday.

      I did not listen to them, I HEARD

      I did not look at them, I SAW

      I did not think on them, I WAS CONSUMED by them

      I became, as the substance in a washing machine.

      As each bubble bursts, having completed its task, I absorb the fresh air and new light from where the grime has been washed away

      “BE STILL”

      And Know

      “I AM GOD”

      It was coffee break…

      Only a half an hour long but the beginning of a journey “I knew”,.. had put to death the “Me”, I thought I was.

      My soul stirred…at first a very large whirlpool slowly swirling above me, then forming a funnel, it penetrated ,every cell of my body, to the depth of my innermost being.

      As it reached the soles of my feet, it spontaneously shot outwards, consuming the ground under me as a gigantic firework flattened. Shooting out in an ever enlarging illuminated circle of projected light beams full of energy and power…

      All thought dissipating… My heartbeat slowing to a new serenity… My awareness tuning to the whispering music of the trees…. soothing my existence…

      With new found freedom, the fallen leaves were skipping and playing on the sidewalk beside me.

      The gentle caress of tepid wind cleansing and empowering as it flowed over my face, my neck my hair, my hands… and ever so gently billowed my clothing.

      I AM ready LORD…. It’s time

      Herein lies my quest as I submerge.

      CMJordan, 20/07/2015

    • I have written a little novel called A Simple Love Story. It is my first and chances are only novel. you can find it on Google Play Books.

      https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Philippa_Dobbs_A_Simple_Love_Story?id=Bp8XCAAAQBAJ

      Here is a little sample. I would love any feedback.

      God I’m bored, really seriously bored. I need ice cream and wine, sad movie? Sure why not. I could phone Mark and Ruby, they are bound to be bored too. Surely I’m not the only person in this city with no life. No, I have work tomorrow and if I get wine then I will get a hangover with it. I could go for a run, well I say run but in reality it’s more like a short jog followed by a heart attack and a crawl home. A movie sounds like a good idea. Maybe not a sad movie though, they only make me cry and wish for so many things that are not ever likely to happen. You know, meet Mr Right who just happens to be tall gorgeous and rich. Be swept off your feet in the most romantic way and live happily ever after blah blah blah. Wine is sounding good now. OK ice cream and wine it is. I have to go and put some clothes on. Best not to be walking the streets in just a T-shirt that has a giant picture of Beaker from the Muppets on it and underwear. So what to wear?

      Do I dress up just in case Mr Right is actually out there or get realistic and just chuck on some jeans after all you are only going downstairs and along one block? Jeans it is however I will not set foot outside until I at least have my eyebrows de- fined and some mascara. Lip-gloss is also a necessity.

      Mr Leyton runs the ice cream shop. He is a lovely man with an eye for the ladies and is always full of news tidbits and general knowledge. He has been a good friend to me and always has a sympathetic ear. He is also trying desperately to get me married off to one of his sons. The shop is tiny but crammed full of every flavour and type of ice cream you could imagine. I still remember the first time I found this shop, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Occasionally his wife Simone makes pancakes or waffles. Those are the days you are glad you’re alive. I don’t know what she puts in them but they are almost better than sex.
      The little bell rings over the door as I walk into the shop, and Mr Leyton looks up from his paper beaming his most brilliant smile my way.
      “Hi Mr Leyton how’s life today?”
      “Life, like you is beautiful as always.” I always blush when he compliments me like this. I should be used to it because it happens every single time he says hello. While I’m waiting for my cheeks to resume their normal state I quickly look around for Mr Leyton’s boys.
      Things go from a bit embarrassing to downright shameful very quickly when they are working at the shop. Thankfully they are not here however I have been spotted by Mr Leyton who takes full advantage: “I can go get your future husband if you would rather be served by the most handsome man in the city.” Truth be told his boys are very average looking and really very tedious but I would never ever tell him that.
      “No” I say; probably a bit too quickly and beam a very flirty smile at him, “I would much rather be attended to by their suave sophisticated father.”
      “I’ve told you call me Barry, and flattery will get you everywhere.”
      “What will it be today my dear, Fruity Bliss, Heavenly Chocolate or French Vanilla?” It still amazes me how he can seem to remember everyone’s favourites. To- day is a French Vanilla kind of day, not bright and breezy Fruity Bliss or PMS / bad day / sad movie Chocolate. Then Barry speaks those words we all long to hear. “Would you like your ice cream served on a fresh pancake?”
      “Hell yes, with fruit and maple syrup?”
      “Anything for you my dear I’ll be right back.” Barry heads out the back and orders my pancake and fruit.
      “Hi Jeaunette,” calls Simone from somewhere behind a bead curtain. “Movie night tonight is it?” How does she know?
      “Yes,” I call back. “Sadly I still haven’t met Mr Right so its ice cream and wine at home.”
      “ Well, I can remedy that calls Barry I’m sure Tony is at home tonight and he would be more than happy to take you out dancing.” Crap! Why did I have to say something so stupid out loud? Barry would have the most tedious of his three boys here before I can say ice cream given half a chance, and dancing? A clumsy suited up spider skittering over a hot plate springs instantly to mind.
      “No, I’m good thanks, I just want a quiet night to myself.”
      “Well, if you change your mind I can have Tony here in a heartbeat.”
      Five minutes later my divine dessert is ready. My mouth is watering at the thought of it. With the Tony bullet dodged I say my farewells and head next door to the bottle shop. I don’t know if its fate or by some higher design but my two main necessities in life are right next to each other. I have lost count of the times I have thought, ‘Go to the bottle shop first!’ This as it turns out is one of the times I wish I had taken my own advice. Holding my ice cream pancake carefully like it’s the most precious breakable object ever crafted by a mere mortal I head to the Chardonnay isle. No need to browse the shelves, I know what I want and where it is. I prefer a nice oaked Chardonnay, New Zealand Chardonnays are my favourite but not necessarily the only ones I buy. This time I decide on a Nederburg Chardonnay: vanilla, oak and creamy another killer combination I just love. I grab a bottle and head towards the front counter. There are about a million people at the counter harassing the only staff member brave enough to come out and serve. OK bit of an exaggeration, there are four people asking a couple of questions about the wine they are about to buy. Don’t they realise I have ice creamy love slowly melting in a bag in my hand! I’m standing patiently waiting, well fairly patiently waiting for the people to leave when the door buzzer coughs out its pathetic little “someone has walked past me” cry and in walks the hottest man I have ever seen. I know who he is. It’s Tomas West. He is just the most gorgeous and eligible movie star in Hollywood at the moment. He is the kind of man that every girl has dreamed of marrying and has practiced writing Mrs Tomas West over and over again. What is he doing here?
      I’m trying not to stare, he keeps moving dammit. I can only casually stroll around the shop for so long before the word ‘stalker’ springs to mind. I shift from foot to foot getting a bit annoyed that my ice cream is probably totally melted and made the crispy pancake all soggy, when I get that odd feeling that someone is watching me. On no, its ‘him,’ he’s standing beside me, I mean right next to me, breathing the same air and everything. Oh hell please don’t let me swoon or worse, faint. The conversation at the counter seems to be taking forever, what do they want to know for heaven’s sake? Just buy it and drink it, if you like it great, if not buy a different one next time. It’s not rocket science! I casually glance around on the off chance that he has wandered off bored somewhere. No, he’s still right there smiling a little smile at me. God he’s gorgeous, he takes my breath away.
      Stop Staring! Say something. Anything, nothing stupid! I want to say hi or something witty but instead I completely forget how to speak. Not a word comes out, nothing, nada, nil. Even just a sound would have been better than the slack jawed brain death that has taken over my face and rendered me totally speechless. He has a look of combined pity and amusement on his face. I can feel the blush working its way up my body to my face; I’m going to look like a fire engine soon. Did he just say something, I didn’t really hear because the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat. “Pardon” I managed finally.
      “You appear to be melting,” he said as he points to the ice cream running over my hand and dripping onto the floor. Could this moment get any worse? Well, yes in fact it can as it turns out.

    • Tammy blackwell says:

      Hello, I’m working on my auto biography I’m an award winning tattoo artist, mother and grand mother.iv lived an amazing and somewhat tragic life.iv lived three lifetimes in one.iv faced the loss of a husband and a child while fighting to leave my mark on the world as a female tattoo artist back when women were more cavas than artists , a time when there were few rules in the life of tattoo.I managed to carve a small place for myself in history, but the cost to myself…blessing or curse.the anwser lies between the pages of my book “Never Judge a Book By its Cover”. Warning.this book contains adult content, and pictures.

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    • What am I writing? Rather the question – What am I not writing? (That might be easier to answer. lol)

      Seriously, I am driven to write. Dare say I’ve hundreds of stories – between what’s on my computer, and then handwritten pages.

      We all hope to share a legacy before we die… I think this will be mine. With that in mind, I decided to compile similar themed stories into a book. The hope is to have a keepsake worth sharing. (Beyond my family 😉

      I can be found at http://www.thewordswhisper.com (there’s a Facebook link should you wish to follow.)

      I share this story about Toots, our family dog. We saved her from the shelter, and then she saved us… in more ways than one. (FYI – I write about her often. A few I share here – http://thewordswhisper.com/category/toots/ but most I share in the book.)

      Thanks! Hope you enjoy! Happy Writing!! ~ Nancy

      GROWLING, SHE MADE HER MARK

      Charlee (my daughter, 7 years old at the time) and I were racing home as fast as we safely could.  I had just left work and needed to stop for groceries – necessary if we wanted to actually eat anything for dinner.  It was the speediest supermarket excursion ever. Charlee held onto the cart and ran along side.  Through the parking lot – into the store – through the isles – finding the shortest checkout counter – then back through the parking lot to the van.  She strapped herself into her seat as fast as she could, without even having to be told.  I scurried to get all the bags into the van.  We were off… only to be held up by the inconvenient timing of a train.  Charlee chastised from her seat, ‘Stupid trains!’ (‘Stupid’ is a bad word in our house, although at this moment she felt it was worth the risk of reprimand… I had to agree with her.)  We waited for the – not one, but two – trains to unload. 
       
      Waiting always feels like eternity when you have someplace you’d much rather be. “Come on. Come on. Come ON!!” We both scolded the flashing railroad gates – that for some reason refused to raise. When they finally lifted, our attitudes did as well.  Doesn’t the world know we had someone very important to see?! 

      Once in the driveway, the desire to see our new furry family member over-road unloading groceries. There she was, napping peacefully in her bean bag, until we happily woke her. Sleepily stretching her limbs, step by methodical stretching step, Toots greeted us.  Alex – aka the ‘watch-dog kid’ – had fallen asleep on the job.  Only half of his face was visible, the rest was hidden in the pillows.  “Alex?!  You fell asleep?!  You’re supposed to be watching the dog!”  I was not a happy Mommy – although there was nothing technically wrong. 
       
      I asked Charlee to take Toots – who was clearly better at waking up than my son – for a ‘walk’ in the yard.  (Mommy was thankful our cute-n-furry puppy didn’t chew or mess the house.)

      To have ‘dog walking’ as a chore seemed silly, after all – as far as the kids were concerned – this ‘real’ pet situation was long overdue. Charlee was more than happy to add this to her ‘to do’ list.

      Once they were outside, and my house was safe from potential ‘accidents,’ I turned to the multitasking of motherhood. First the groceries had to be brought into the house, then put away, then time to focus on making dinner.

      Of course the phone rang in the interim – no worries, I tucked it in the strap of my bra, and kept chopping as I chatted. Charlee was running back and forth in the driveway – I watched her from the kitchen window as she played and trained Toots. Command after command rang out – – ‘Leave it,’ ‘Come,’ ‘Sit’, ‘Stay’ – followed by the appropriate praise. They were so happy to be together, and it showed.

      Alex, on the other hand, was literally dog-tired and had not moved from the couch, though I called to rouse him a few times. He was lost in the blissful abyss of cushions and his nap.
       
      That is until Charlee bolted back through the side door, sooner than I hoped or expected. “What happened?  Did she go potty already?!”   “No Mommy!”  She was red faced and flustered.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t go outside, I heard a noise and I am scared!”  She was.  (Darn. My successful multitasking was foiled.)

      I couldn’t very well make my 7 year old go back outside, but my brave 12 year old would have no problem. {FYI – There was nothing outside, I checked.} Toots scored big points for not messing the house, that said, I didn’t want to test her limits. She was in the puppy-potty-training stage and I was not going chance her back in the house until she did ‘the deed.‘  I called to Alex again, ‘Alex, are you up?’ Grandma was still on the phone chatting and listening from my bra strap… I was still chopping my broccoli… and since Alex had not responded, I sent Charlee into the living room to wake him. Toots followed closely behind.
       
      The next thing I hear is my cute puppy, growling – and snarling – and barking! – like a BIG monster dog! (Visions of the dog attack on Charlee raced vividly through my head.) I dropped my broccoli, said ‘Mom, I gotta go!’ threw the phone, and ran to see what was going on.  There Alex sat, blinking, attempting wake himself.  He could not get a grasp on what was happening – all he knew is that the dog was intensely unhappy, and he seemed to be in the path of that intensity.  Toots continued growling and barking in his direction! I ordered the kids to not move a muscle, trying to survey what went wrong.  (Good God, this can’t be happening!  I was instantly reliving the dog bite, the hospital, the screams…)
       
      With each and every ominous bark… my heart shuddered.
       
      Growl, Woof!  Oh, No!
      Growl, Rrrrrrrrrrr, Woof!  The kids, please don’t hurt my kids…
      Growl, WOOF!   Okay! Okay!  You win dog – I’m scared…
      Growl, Woof! WOOF! Woof!  This isn’t a cute puppy – this is a monster!
      GRoOoOoWL, WoOOoofff!  Sh*t!  I’m going to have to get rid of the dog….
       
      No one moved – except me. (and at that very moment, a potty-break would have served me well…) I carefully navigated the leash around the dogs neck, praying she wouldn’t turn and bite me.  Wrapping the leash tightly around my hand, I worked my hand closer to her neck – deluding myself that this would give me the best chance to control her should she attack.  My mind was spinning, so were my thoughts.  It is amazing how fast you can think when pressure moments like this happens.  It was time to get Alex to move.  “Alex!  WAKE! UP!!” Blinking with more vigor, given the current situation unfolding in his direction, he responded, “I am.” He was not as alert as I would have liked, although the dogs behavior was quickly changing that. “Alex, get up and SLOWLY move out of the corner.” Charlee still hadn’t moved a muscle. 

      {Poor girl.  I can only imagine what was going through her mind.  She was the one that spent the week in the hospital.  She was the one that screamed in pain and horror as a dog bit her tiny hand and wouldn’t let go… only months ago.  She was the one that fought SO hard for us to get a dog, even after that awful event.  …and now she was the one that was standing – statue still and petrified – between the dog and the dogs cage.}  
       
      Alex was finally moving.  I held the leash tight.  He stood and took a step.  The dog barked and growled more.  He moved a few more steps.  I held tighter.  The dog stopped barking for a moment, and time stood still.  (We were caught between the ticking seconds of a clock.  You know, when everything slows down and clarity is at a painstaking peak.) 
       
      The odd thing is, as I held Toots, she never pulled or moved.  She just stood there.  Okay, she was not acting like the cute little puppy we all had fell in love with… but something just didn’t compute.  I just didn’t know what? …and the situation was not exactly allowing for contemplative thinking. 
       
      As Alex continued to slowly move, I told him to rub his face.  His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks and forehead were distorted from sleeping with his face embedded into couch pillows.  I thought, maybe, that was why the dog was having a problem – not that that would make this situation any better.  If that was the case, I would still have to get rid of her… can’t have a dog that attacks when you look weird…not in this house…  but first, we need to survive this moment unscathed. 
       
      Then something interesting happened.  Alex had made his way out of the corner and Toots stopped barking.  Her demeanor flipped instantly.  Enough for me to release her ability to move… but not the leash.  She went up to Alex, wagging and sniffing, clearly checking on his condition. For a moment I thought this was confirmation that his disfigured face was the issue… but then she stood by his side, turning back in the direction of where he was sleeping and started barking and growling again.  What the heck!!???  This dog was not going after Alex – she was protecting him!!!  Protecting US!  We all gasped a huge sigh of relief!!  Which was short lived… it was not over.  Toots was still not happy.  Charlee’s earlier comment, of hearing something outside, flashed through my mind.  I went and locked the front door. 
       
      The living-room shades were open, although it was dark outside.  (I was in a rush to get dinner started and hadn’t paid them any mind.)  The fact that they were open, was suddenly making me feel exposed, as a fish in a fishbowl.  I hurried around the room, closing each shade.  As I got closer to ‘the’ window, Toots went nuts.  Snarling and barking, she was delving out warnings to something.  There must have been a ton of adrenaline in the room for this poor dog.  Yes, much of it was due to her, but she didn’t know that.  As far as Toots was concerned she had a job to do, and she was not making any apologies. 
       
      The shades were closed. It took Toots a few minutes to calm down.  Pacing the living room, she kept a watchful eye on the window for any sign of trouble.  None came.  When she decided that all was ‘safe,’ she greeted Alex with wagging and licking galore.  She never intended to inflict harm to any of us. Actually, Toots just staked her claim. She stood her first ground on protecting her family.

      The focus of the room shifted to jubilance – we were all so relieved and thankful.

      But wait…

      There was another noise?

      We all quieted at once. Startled – understandable as our senses were still in high gear. 

      “Hello??” 

      Hello?  Who is saying hello? 

      There it is again… “Hello??” 

      It was coming from the kitchen.

      It was then I realized I had not hung up the phone.  Grandma was still on the line, she had been listening to the entire event unfold.  “What just happened?!”  (It must have been suspenseful hearing all that growling and barking – then the confusion hearing us all so overjoyed.)
       

      As for what Toots was barking at? If the shades are open, and it is dark outside, the window reflects like a mirror. Alex fell asleep with the television on, and though it was muted, Toots saw the image reflection and was not having any of it. (The window was just over Alex’s head.)   Mystery solved.  Doggy Rule # 1: Night time comes, shades must be closed!
       
      She may be a monster in cute-puppy-camouflage, but she’s our ‘monster.’  Tonight, we added to the number of family members. Suddenly, I feel safer in my home. 

    • What am I writing? Rather the question – What am I not writing? (That might be easier to answer. lol)

      Seriously, I am driven to write. Dare say I’ve hundreds of stories – between what’s on my computer, and then handwritten pages.

      We all hope to share a legacy before we die… I think this will be mine. With that in mind, I decided to compile similar themed stories into a book. The hope is to have a keepsake worth sharing. (Beyond my family 😉

      I can be found at http://www.thewordswhisper.com (there’s a Facebook link should you wish to follow.)

      Here’s a story about Toots, our family dog. We saved her from the shelter, and then she saved us… in more ways than one. (FYI – I write about her often. A few are on my blog – http://thewordswhisper.com/category/toots/ but most will be in the book.)

      Hope you enjoy 🙂 Happy writing everyone!! ~ Nancy

      GROWLING, SHE MADE HER MARK

      Charlee (my daughter, 7 years old at the time) and I were racing home as fast as we safely could.  I had just left work and needed to stop for groceries – necessary if we wanted to actually eat anything for dinner.  It was the speediest supermarket excursion ever. Charlee held onto the cart and ran along side.  Through the parking lot – into the store – through the isles – finding the shortest checkout counter – then back through the parking lot to the van.  She strapped herself into her seat as fast as she could, without even having to be told.  I scurried to get all the bags into the van.  We were off… only to be held up by the inconvenient timing of a train.  Charlee chastised from her seat, ‘Stupid trains!’ (‘Stupid’ is a bad word in our house, although at this moment she felt it was worth the risk of reprimand… I had to agree with her.)  We waited for the – not one, but two – trains to unload. 
       
      Waiting always feels like eternity when you have someplace you’d much rather be. “Come on. Come on. Come ON!!” We both scolded the flashing railroad gates – that for some reason refused to raise. When they finally lifted, our attitudes did as well.  Doesn’t the world know we had someone very important to see?! 

      Once in the driveway, the desire to see our new furry family member over-road unloading groceries. There she was, napping peacefully in her bean bag, until we happily woke her. Sleepily stretching her limbs, step by methodical stretching step, Toots greeted us.  Alex – aka the ‘watch-dog kid’ – had fallen asleep on the job.  Only half of his face was visible, the rest was hidden in the pillows.  “Alex?!  You fell asleep?!  You’re supposed to be watching the dog!”  I was not a happy Mommy – although there was nothing technically wrong. 
       
      I asked Charlee to take Toots – who was clearly better at waking up than my son – for a ‘walk’ in the yard.  (Mommy was thankful our cute-n-furry puppy didn’t chew or mess the house.)

      To have ‘dog walking’ as a chore seemed silly, after all – as far as the kids were concerned – this ‘real’ pet situation was long overdue. Charlee was more than happy to add this to her ‘to do’ list.

      Once they were outside, and my house was safe from potential ‘accidents,’ I turned to the multitasking of motherhood. First the groceries had to be brought into the house, then put away, then time to focus on making dinner.

      Of course the phone rang in the interim – no worries, I tucked it in the strap of my bra, and kept chopping as I chatted. Charlee was running back and forth in the driveway – I watched her from the kitchen window as she played and trained Toots. Command after command rang out – – ‘Leave it,’ ‘Come,’ ‘Sit’, ‘Stay’ – followed by the appropriate praise. They were so happy to be together, and it showed.

      Alex, on the other hand, was literally dog-tired and had not moved from the couch, though I called to rouse him a few times. He was lost in the blissful abyss of cushions and his nap.
       
      That is until Charlee bolted back through the side door, sooner than I hoped or expected. “What happened?  Did she go potty already?!”   “No Mommy!”  She was red faced and flustered.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t go outside, I heard a noise and I am scared!”  She was.  (Darn. My successful multitasking was foiled.)

      I couldn’t very well make my 7 year old go back outside, but my brave 12 year old would have no problem. {FYI – There was nothing outside, I checked.} Toots scored big points for not messing the house, that said, I didn’t want to test her limits. She was in the puppy-potty-training stage and I was not going chance her back in the house until she did ‘the deed.‘  I called to Alex again, ‘Alex, are you up?’ Grandma was still on the phone chatting and listening from my bra strap… I was still chopping my broccoli… and since Alex had not responded, I sent Charlee into the living room to wake him. Toots followed closely behind.
       
      The next thing I hear is my cute puppy, growling – and snarling – and barking! – like a BIG monster dog! (Visions of the dog attack on Charlee raced vividly through my head.) I dropped my broccoli, said ‘Mom, I gotta go!’ threw the phone, and ran to see what was going on.  There Alex sat, blinking, attempting wake himself.  He could not get a grasp on what was happening – all he knew is that the dog was intensely unhappy, and he seemed to be in the path of that intensity.  Toots continued growling and barking in his direction! I ordered the kids to not move a muscle, trying to survey what went wrong.  (Good God, this can’t be happening!  I was instantly reliving the dog bite, the hospital, the screams…)
       
      With each and every ominous bark… my heart shuddered.
       
      Growl, Woof!  Oh, No!
      Growl, Rrrrrrrrrrr, Woof!  The kids, please don’t hurt my kids…
      Growl, WOOF!   Okay! Okay!  You win dog – I’m scared…
      Growl, Woof! WOOF! Woof!  This isn’t a cute puppy – this is a monster!
      GRoOoOoWL, WoOOoofff!  Sh*t!  I’m going to have to get rid of the dog….
       
      No one moved – except me. (and at that very moment, a potty-break would have served me well…) I carefully navigated the leash around the dogs neck, praying she wouldn’t turn and bite me.  Wrapping the leash tightly around my hand, I worked my hand closer to her neck – deluding myself that this would give me the best chance to control her should she attack.  My mind was spinning, so were my thoughts.  It is amazing how fast you can think when pressure moments like this happens.  It was time to get Alex to move.  “Alex!  WAKE! UP!!” Blinking with more vigor, given the current situation unfolding in his direction, he responded, “I am.” He was not as alert as I would have liked, although the dogs behavior was quickly changing that. “Alex, get up and SLOWLY move out of the corner.” Charlee still hadn’t moved a muscle. 

      {Poor girl.  I can only imagine what was going through her mind.  She was the one that spent the week in the hospital.  She was the one that screamed in pain and horror as a dog bit her tiny hand and wouldn’t let go… only months ago.  She was the one that fought SO hard for us to get a dog, even after that awful event.  …and now she was the one that was standing – statue still and petrified – between the dog and the dogs cage.}  
       
      Alex was finally moving.  I held the leash tight.  He stood and took a step.  The dog barked and growled more.  He moved a few more steps.  I held tighter.  The dog stopped barking for a moment, and time stood still.  (We were caught between the ticking seconds of a clock.  You know, when everything slows down and clarity is at a painstaking peak.) 
       
      The odd thing is, as I held Toots, she never pulled or moved.  She just stood there.  Okay, she was not acting like the cute little puppy we all had fell in love with… but something just didn’t compute.  I just didn’t know what? …and the situation was not exactly allowing for contemplative thinking. 
       
      As Alex continued to slowly move, I told him to rub his face.  His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks and forehead were distorted from sleeping with his face embedded into couch pillows.  I thought, maybe, that was why the dog was having a problem – not that that would make this situation any better.  If that was the case, I would still have to get rid of her… can’t have a dog that attacks when you look weird…not in this house…  but first, we need to survive this moment unscathed. 
       
      Then something interesting happened.  Alex had made his way out of the corner and Toots stopped barking.  Her demeanor flipped instantly.  Enough for me to release her ability to move… but not the leash.  She went up to Alex, wagging and sniffing, clearly checking on his condition. For a moment I thought this was confirmation that his disfigured face was the issue… but then she stood by his side, turning back in the direction of where he was sleeping and started barking and growling again.  What the heck!!???  This dog was not going after Alex – she was protecting him!!!  Protecting US!  We all gasped a huge sigh of relief!!  Which was short lived… it was not over.  Toots was still not happy.  Charlee’s earlier comment, of hearing something outside, flashed through my mind.  I went and locked the front door. 
       
      The living-room shades were open, although it was dark outside.  (I was in a rush to get dinner started and hadn’t paid them any mind.)  The fact that they were open, was suddenly making me feel exposed, as a fish in a fishbowl.  I hurried around the room, closing each shade.  As I got closer to ‘the’ window, Toots went nuts.  Snarling and barking, she was delving out warnings to something.  There must have been a ton of adrenaline in the room for this poor dog.  Yes, much of it was due to her, but she didn’t know that.  As far as Toots was concerned she had a job to do, and she was not making any apologies. 
       
      The shades were closed. It took Toots a few minutes to calm down.  Pacing the living room, she kept a watchful eye on the window for any sign of trouble.  None came.  When she decided that all was ‘safe,’ she greeted Alex with wagging and licking galore.  She never intended to inflict harm to any of us. Actually, Toots just staked her claim. She stood her first ground on protecting her family.

      The focus of the room shifted to jubilance – we were all so relieved and thankful.

      But wait…

      There was another noise?

      We all quieted at once. Startled – understandable as our senses were still in high gear. 

      “Hello??” 

      Hello?  Who is saying hello? 

      There it is again… “Hello??” 

      It was coming from the kitchen.

      It was then I realized I had not hung up the phone.  Grandma was still on the line, she had been listening to the entire event unfold.  “What just happened?!”  (It must have been suspenseful hearing all that growling and barking – then the confusion hearing us all so overjoyed.)
       

      As for what Toots was barking at? If the shades are open, and it is dark outside, the window reflects like a mirror. Alex fell asleep with the television on, and though it was muted, Toots saw the image reflection and was not having any of it. (The window was just over Alex’s head.)   Mystery solved.  Doggy Rule # 1: Night time comes, shades must be closed!
       
      She may be a monster in cute-puppy-camouflage, but she’s our ‘monster.’  Tonight, we added to the number of family members. Suddenly, I feel safer in my home. 

    • After 35 books alive and available, I was asked by my daughter to write my autobiography. So far it is two fat volumes and a third is on the way. Because some of the information is classified, I can’t make it available to the public. I suppose if I get alzheimer’s I can read it to find out who I am.

    • Mark Lucchesi says:

      I started out writing my thoughts on my management style about a year ago. My style is a combo of MBWA and Servant Leadership. I’m all about leading by example. I also feel that one can get more out of their personnel with strokes and not pokes. Over the months I have drifted from my management journal and my writing has become a daily journal recording my thoughts and feelings about my life, children and daily happenings. I would like to get back on track with my management journal. Although each day when I write, I feel good about myself. Mark

    • Anmika says:

      Hi
      ..
      somewhere on the earth there is a boy, who is very simple and poor, staying in a hut at the edge of sea, he always live in dream land with his imaginations

      A morning he saw, the sky is block with the black clouds, birds are making voice in a different way and the sea is full of his swing may be its a heavy raining today this morning is going to change every thing in his life, his thoughts and his dreams…….those dreams which he love him more than himself.

      the music of the wind and a suspense in waves of sea, the trees are trying to fall down because of speedy winds, everything is going to destroy there self…..

      that boy come out of his hut to see whats happening, he just cross the little gap and look around
      he felt there is something the on his right at the edge of sea, something… something very sparkling but because of speedy winds he can’t see properly, what exactly it is so he decide to go there and check that ….

      with out the sleeper he going in very common way, beside this, that wind which is so speedy; trying to fly the boy after this when the boy is near to that sparkling thing he saw a girl, who is lay down there, her half body is on the sand of sea and other still in the water of sea her body is look like painted with the gold paint and sparkles and her blue- black eyes are not ready to open properly little close and with the little open eye the girl see the boy and BOY SEE THE GIRL

      and then………………………………………………..

      Please let me the HOW IS IT >>>>>>>

    • I an working on three writing projects:

      1. My blog – this is my latest post http://www.sophrosynergy.com/2015/06/24/the-7-commitments/

      2. The first in a series of Children’s Novels called ‘Goblin Hood’ – currently working through the final draft – not far to go on 🙂

      3. The first in a series of speculative fiction detective novels set in the near future, and starts with a strange high profile murder that makes no sense.

      Extract – The Keeper of Secrets

      Bren switched off the engine, and took a deep breath. He could feel his Hell, but it was taking a back seat now – it was no longer driving his feelings – the thought of a crime scene and a new puzzle to resolve was dominating his mind. He noticed Jack walk over to his car with a spare takeaway coffee in his hand.

      “Guv, get this down you,” he said, handing over the cup.

      Bren smiled. “Thanks. Well, what have we got?” He sipped the hot coffee.

      Jack nodded. Bren liked the way Jack nodded; it was an appreciation of seniority and a confirmation that he wasn’t talking shit. “Guv – Caucasian male, shot at point blank with a high calibre weapon through the centre of the chest – likely instant death.”

      “Who is it?”

      “Well, that’s the thing,” Bren noticed Jack’s brow furrow: his nodding stopped. “This one’s weird. There’s no ID on him. Hands, feet and head have been removed.”

    • Renee says:

      This is part of a novella I’ve been writing. It’s the first draft and needs more work. Tentative title is Manhunt. (I’m really bad at naming my stories)

      His heart raced, the drumming sounded loud in his ears as he crept quietly down the alley; the scream he heard a few seconds ago drawing him further into the darkness. It wasn’t fear that had his pulse rate up but anticipation. She had run from him and it sent a thrill through his body. He enjoyed the chase and his reward would be all the sweeter for it.
      At the next corner between a row of neat houses, their windows shuttered for the night, he turned right and there she was huddled in the corner near one of the houses. He smiled. The movement shifted the mask on his face. Reaching up to adjust it he heard a rustle. Now she was on the opposite side of the alley.
      “Please,” she begged.
      He cocked his head to the side, the smile spreading wider. Begging wouldn’t help, he thought. He had to do this. It was like she had called him, begging to be taken. He couldn’t disappoint.
      He shook his head. His gloved hands reached for her and another scream rent the air. He glanced to the right as light spilled out of the crevices in the window of the house behind him. Damn. He wouldn’t have to time to enjoy himself.
      Pulling a knife from the sheath strapped across his chest, he grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and pressed the blade into her throat. Her half open mouth opened wider and the scream died on a gurgle as blood filled her mouth then drained down her chest from the gaping hole in her throat. The warm blood covered his hands and he stared at it.
      Shock and fear filled him at the sight of the blood and people behind him started shouting. The darkness slunk away as light from a torch filled the alley. Panicked he turned to run, blindly trying to find somewhere to hide. He slammed into a fence and for the life of him was unsure of how to get away.
      “Over there!”
      They were getting closer. He pushed on the fence trying to slip through the small opening created between the fence and the wall. A hand grabbed his shoulder and an undignified screamed escaped his lips.
      “Noooo…!”
      Flailing, his body caught up in the sheets, Fynn fought to open his eyes and get out of the nightmare that once again had him trapped.

    • Lisa Lepki says:

      I’m a bit of a grammar obsessive and, while I have always loved writing, I’ve only just started writing about writing. I was so pleased when Bookbaby accepted this as a guest blog.

      http://blog.bookbaby.com/2015/06/7-ways-an-algorithm-can-help-you-write-a-better-novel/

      Now, what element of writing shall I write about next?

    • B.C. Ray says:

      I am working on the first re-write of a short story about two parents fighting for their daughter’s survival of a cataclysmic meteor strike. I’m hoping to really capture a parent’s love for a child and show the capacity for courage in the heart of us all. My tag line is “Courage is love in the face of fear.”

      I’m hoping to have it published on Amazon in the next couple of months.

    • Shahrzad says:

      I’ve written some short stories. Mostly about the people around me. One of them is about my grandma, who suffered the consequences of the war between Iran and Iraq …

    • Marni says:

      Hi, everyone. Partly thanks to WtD, also my wonderful fiancée among several other people, I didn’t totally throw in the towel and after nine attempts at finishing a novel, 12 agent & two publisher queries, my first novel is going to be published in the UK in Spring 2017. So just in case it sells, I’m currently plotting my next one – I write ‘quiet’ horror and/or ghost stories, sometimes I veer into the Lovecraftian. Good luck to all in your own writing journeys! The main thing is to be like Winston Churchill: ‘Never give up… never, never, never.’

    • Marni Scofidio says:

      Hi, everyone. Partly thanks to WtD and my wonderful fiancée among several other things, I didn’t totally throw in the towel and after nine attempts at writing a novel, 12 agent & two publisher queries, my first novel is going to be published in the UK in Spring 2017. So just in case it sells, I’m currently plotting my next one – I write ‘quiet’ horror and/or ghost stories, sometimes I veer into the Lovecraftian. Good luck to all in your own writing journeys!

    • Callie says:

      For the last year I have been writing about my families rollercoaster ride with cancer, after my husband was diagnosed. His treatment and recovery are ongoing, we are moving through each day at a pretty fast pace, jumping obstacles and taking wins in our stride.

      I started a small blog years ago about my interest in Energy Therapy; so added posts about my husbands progress to it when his treatment started, to keep our family updated. This grew into something our whole community has taken an interest in. The support is has given to us is amazing.

      The community interest in our story encouraged me to organize all of the posts about our cancer journey and put them into a blog focusing on “The Story of Us”. The link is below. There is an early archive link to all of the original posts in the navigation bar of The Story of Us.

      http://storyofus4.blogspot.com

    • Jocelyn says:

      Mary, WTD is awesome, so much great advice and lots of gentle encouragement to keep improving in a field where it would be easy to “leave it to the professionals” 🙂 I’m writing my first screenplay. Tagline WIP “While fighting for the voice of her country, a woman finds her own” Don’t have a title yet… am just at the cards stage, but having a lot of fun and ideas so far!

    • allison says:

      I recently completed a memoir that was my thesis for my MFA Creative Writing Program. It’s called Music, Men, and Me: True Narratives and Songs of Acceptance. The book shows how music has been the foundation for my life and the music I was gifted from the men I was involved in. The second half is a personal discography of important songs that influenced me and my world view.

    • Troy says:

      I am currently editing two screenplays and outlining two others.

    • I’m writing a short story about a character in my first book. I’m going to be posting episodes on my blog maybe twice a week and sharing it on social media. This is an experiment to attract more readers. The downside so far it’s taking huge amounts of my time, when I could be writing the next book in my trilogy.

      The story is Intrigue in Geneva http://spiesliesandlesbians.com

    • I’m writing a short story about a character in my first book. I’m going to be posting episodes on my blog maybe twice a week and sharing it on social media. This is an experiment to attract more readers. The downside so far it’s taking huge amounts of my time, when I could be writing the next book in my trilogy.

    • BETH NIELSEN says:

      Hi everyone I am currently working on my first novel. I’d like to run this synopsis by you all for comment please, if you don’t mind, I would love some feedback on it including what you think of my title:
      RED RAIN
      Twenty-year-old Elly Devon-Shaw yearned for a better life away from the war-torn country of Rhodesia. But with a family like hers that drained every cent she earned, her dreams of a better life would remain just that. Dreams!
      Forced to watch her alcoholic father batter and bruise her Valium addicted mother and five siblings, Elly soon reached the end of her tether. When she finally snapped one hot humid night, the somnambulist a.k.a.(also known as), the sleepwalker arose within her…to kill.
      Whilst blood dripped like red rain from the roof and wooden beams above their heads, the police do not suspect foul play, but psychologist, Dr Lydia Evans did!
      Although she had her own marital problems to think about, Lydia grows anxious when she realises she has overlooked a vital link that could prove Elly Devon-Shaw was wide awake and not sleepwalking when she committed the brutal, cold-blooded murder of her family members.
      By the time Lydia realises what the vital link is, it would be too late to do anything about it. Elly would be long gone and so would the red rain!

    • Hi there, fellow writers! I’ve just started a blog for stay-at-home moms as a place to share stories, tips and a love for freebies, bargains and contests. Of course, the content does have some cross-over appeal.

      My latest blog post was for Father’s Day, and is dedicated to my dad who now suffers from Alzheimer’s: http://9nl.co/fdtw

      Tell me what you think, ok? Hope you take a look at the other posts as well.

      Thanks for the opportunity to promote my work.

      Donna

    • Roisin says:

      I’m working on a couple of things at the moment. For my blog, I’m writing about my PhD research – why I research chronic fatigue. And I’m also working on my PhD which involves a lot of reading and writing 🙂

    • Elia Seely says:

      Love this blog!
      I have self-published a novel, and am work on another and also launching a freelance copywriting business.

      http://www.amazon.com/Whisper-Down-Years-Elia-Seely/dp/0615803776/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1435097087&sr=8-1&keywords=whisper+down+the+years

      above is the link, and below is the back text:

      Finn Ross has retreated to Scotland’s remote Orkney Islands to find clarity about his dissolving career and marriage. On a twilit midsummer ramble, he discovers the body of a local eminent musician. His involvement in the case thwarts his desire to return to his native Belfast, and Finn decides to follow his own instincts as an investigative reporter to solve the crime. An enigmatic island girl and her grandmother join Finn in his pursuit of the truth, and all three find themselves caught in a web of lies and secrets, revealing threads of old sins and links to shadowy witchcraft. The mystical, barren landscape of Orkney, the presence of folklore and ancient ruins, and the unceasing wind combine to make a compelling backdrop for this story of murder, power, and the question of justice.

    • Pimion says:

      I’m finishing my first TV script. It’s gonna be eeeeepic! I can’t tell you all the detailes, not yet. All that i can say, it’s kind of a mix of “Star wars” and ‘the big bang theory”. Sounds crazy. I know, I know…

      • Roisin says:

        That does sound crazy…but very intriguing!

    • Devika agarwal says:

      Do You See What I See In You?
      Individuals are born with different skills. I write every now and then. My friend plays the guitar and oh boy, is he good at it. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to play an instrument – to just move my fingers around a few chords and create a sound that has the capacity to make one feel liberated and joyful. It has been that One Thing that inspired me the most; that made everything seem a little less monotonous in my everyday life. It all started with mere inspiration. The “inspiration” that this world harbors in the name of “talent”.

      What is this talent that lives in us? Is it “art,” as they call it? Or just another synonym for the word “passion?” It’s important that you realize, that the purpose of asking you these questions is not to re-define or to change the meaning of what we all refer to as a “leisure activity,” but to magnify the importance of the soul retaining such a powerful capability in order to perform such activities – Communication. Yes, that’s it. Communication is the only way our world functions the way it does. It’s the One Thing that connects you to me and me to you and its important, that we communicate what we stand for – in the way we do it best. One day, when you get into literature to know what it’s like to recite Shakespeare to an audience, you’d find me to be your audience, or when you become a professor at university, you’d find me to be your student.

      We all must listen carefully and appreciate the substance in everyone to be able to communicate effectively to know what its like to be the one to invent a theory, rather than be the one to recite it.

    • Emily says:

      I am working on a book about my life, teenage drama and depression, and how art and music can help work through those emotions and stresses. It launches July 11th! Check out my page for more info and a short preview http://www.emilyfaithe.com/2015/06/11/how-music-saved-my-life/

    • Hi everyone! I’m working on a book about the journey of martial arts. Many write a book AFTER they get their black belt. I’m writing about my lessons on the path – BEFORE reaching it. It’s easy to talk about stuff after you’ve learned it. A bit different when you’re in the thick of it. So here’s a brief a snippet =D I hope you enjoy it 🙂

      On the Road to Black Belt:
      Lessons En Route

      Omar L. Rashed

      Introduction

      Judo is a sport. Like wrestling, Olympic competitions, or otherwise. It has rules, it has qualifications and disqualifications, weight brackets and referees. And it has a way to score a point – a win. A win in Judo could be throwing the opponent where they fall on their back, and the thrower demonstrates power and control. If the judo match goes to the ground, it could be holding a pin for 20 seconds, or by making the opponent tap out – submit – with a choke, arm bar, lock, etc. After winning, the match is over, the threat is done. We stand up, bow, pat each other on the back, and move on with life.

      Jujitsu is a samurai war art. Jujitsu ends when the other person has joints locked to submission, bones broken, knee caps dislocated, choked, or otherwise permanently disabled or dead. Jujitsu prepares a person in a fight with no rules. Five against one; three with weapons – knives, swords, clubs, beer bottles, whatever – against an unarmed opponent; Three against one holding your spouse or child hostage. Someone verbally accosting and demeaning you as they punch, kick, and smash you, adding insult to injury and injury to insult. A win in Jujitsu is survival. Protecting the ones you’re protecting, in the process.

      Winning in Judo is different than Winning in Jujitsu, but they share one thing in common. Getting Back up for another day.

      These are maxims I’ve developed in my training. Points to remember, lessons learned, and the stories that taught me on my path to black belt.

      Judo Maxim #1. One Who Has Balance Does Not Fall. Keep Yours, Then Take Theirs.

      The key to martial arts is balance. The one who has it wins. The one who loses it, loses. The first day of Jujitsu training starts with learning how to fall safely. If you can’t take a fall and survive, you can’t get back up. A lot of people think martial arts is about being able to beat up somebody. Everybody can beat up somebody else – particularly if they are out-strengthed, outnumbered, or outclassed. But true strength is not in being able to beat up people. It’s being able to fall and get back up.

      Learning to fall is one of the most difficult things to do. It’s not so difficult because of the mechanics. Basically, you spread the impact of a fall across your body. More surface area hitting the ground at the same time, less impact and pain to each part. In a straight back fall, you are allowing yourself to sit or squat, then you roll backwards and slap the ground loudly. And tuck your chin. Always tuck your chin.

      The hard part is learning to let go. To trust your Sensei, who is teaching and telling you that it won’t hurt, but that, your brain advises you otherwise. Your brain is telling you “Hey, don’t do it bro, it’s going to hurt; How do you know he knows what he’s talking about? Think about it!” The problem is thinking too much. It clearly looks (and sounds) painful. That’s a loud crash you hear when you see someone practicing back falls. “And I’m supposed to trust that won’t hurt?”
      Learning is a humbling experience. One in which the student has to let go, trust, and rely on the advice of another man. It involves even more trust – and risk – in a physical fitness or martial arts environment. What’s the worst that can happen if a teacher teaches bad grammar? A bad sentence. The worst that happens if you have a bad trainer or misstep is your body breaking. A bad life sentence.

    • Gena says:

      After completing a contest entry for the freeditorial.com long-short story contest, https://freeditorial.com/en/books/the-medallion, I was stuck for awhile on other stories started on tablo.io. I think with some of the tips found on this site that I’m ready to continue with the novel. What I’m working on now is starting up an author website. Not sure what to put in it just yet. I have a handful of short stories and, like others, have a bunch of half finished and barely developed novellas possibly novels if I ever get back into them. Sometimes life just gets in the way, but when it does, I should write about it.

      • BETH NIELSEN says:

        Hi Gena Just wanted to let you know and to encourage you that you are not alone in the boat. I am with you there. I also felt very lost after the freeditorial contest. I know maybe my story wasn’t that good but I still gave myself a pat on the back for trying and I give you one too because I know that was a mammoth of a mountain to climb for anybody who entered.
        Now we’re all back down on God’s good green earth, it is difficult to begin something new. But I have started and just put it online in the ‘what are you writing now’, pages of WTD’s comments. That’s when I came across your posting. In-between the flow of these wonderful novelists, poets and bloggers, we seem to all have the same dream, to aspire to being an accomplished author, some are some aren’t, but at least were are trying.
        Keep writing Gena and remember don’t give up. Believe me your muse may have taken a vacation like mine did but it will reappear.
        Good luck with your next story.

    • Finished (and now editing a 2nd time) a MS about a teen who goes back in time to the 1940’s save his grandfather from a terrible fate. He also happens to run into a professional time traveler with some interesting ties to everything. Here’s my pitch:

      If you were given the opportunity to travel back in time, where would you go? Maybe you should ask David Wilcox first.
      WHEN ARE WE? A DAVID WILCOX ADVENTURE is a Sci-Fi novel in which an unsuspecting teenager is swept up in a mystery that literally takes him back to the days of World War II in hopes of stopping a Nazi plot to take over the United States from within. The story will tug at your heart strings while ramping up the adrenaline as David has to choose between love and glory so he can somehow get home by the skin of his teeth and finish his college applications.
      David Wilcox is an unlikely hero, but upon being thrust into the dangers presented in ‘WHEN ARE WE?’ he transcends the limits of an ordinary teen and pushes his body and mind to the limit to overcome the odds. This book is the first in a series that will introduce the reader to David’s world and the people he comes into contact with. It’s an intense character-driven science fiction novel that puts David Wilcox in the middle of a temporal conspiracy conjured up by Nazis from another era. Time is running out, and it’s up to him to save the world.
      ‘WHEN ARE WE?’ is 94,200 words and is ready for immediate mailing. My synopsis and sample are below. I’m experienced and active in social networking, which will allow me to be an active participant in co-promotion, using Facebook, Twitter, blogs, websites, forums and other forms of viral marketing to build buzz for this book.
      Although this novel can stand as a solo adventure, I have outlines for additional potential stories. I would also be willing to write short stories or novellas tied to ‘WHEN ARE WE?’ that can be posted as eBooks to help cultivate and maintain readership. I’m extremely active in social media and will use the major platforms in support of my books.

    • Rachel McCreary says:

      I am working on a poem and a novel with Influences from a recent trip to Miami

      Here’s the poem:

      Here, in Miami

      I think I was meant to live here, in Miami
      The music the weather the coffee
      ‘Tis reason enough for me

      Side to side front to back and twist, clap clap
      The guido, the cowbell that salsa beat
      I can’t stop dancing, I have sore feet, and tap

      Muddled mint paired with white rum, sugar, soda and juice from a lime
      Poured over ice and shake, I sip a mojito, my senses awake
      I think I love it here, yes, I’ll be just fine

      The band plays on as the trumpet takes lead in a state of passion
      The air is thick with vanilla smoke from cigars lit at every table
      A man and woman dance a tango in true fashion

      The sun rises while my eyes would rather rest, but el café Cubano gives me reason
      Rain comes heavy to refresh the greens, a floral and citrus scent stays, to breathe
      ‘Tis hard pressed to find reason not to stay in this beautiful city, no, I’m not leavin’.

      Here is a little bit from the novel:

      Travel with Lana to Miami as she hopes this change of scenery will help to conquer her broken heart left back in Cleveland. The Latin rhythm of this story leads you onto the dance floor twisting you into a place where passion takes priority and a hangover the next morning is the norm.
      Cuban culture is displayed in beautiful fashion as Lana’s new friend Miguel opens up the doors to his way of life. Is Lana strong enough to forget her past and begin a new life? Or will she try to win her ex back?

    • I completed my first adult contemporary romantic novel which is currently being copy edited. When that’s done I’ll begin looking for a publisher – good luck on that one I know!
      I also submitted a long short story to the Freeditorial long short story contest entitled “Perhaps Next Summer.” It opens with “Sometimes, even though we love someone, the routine goes stale, the sparks no longerfly, our eyes begin to wander and we start to look around. . . . and when we do, life can get complicated. I know. It happened to me. Back then, I had no idea of just how complicated my life was about to become.” Read it and feel free to comment. And vote for it if you like it. Thank you.

    • Kellie-Ann says:

      I’m currently editing the first book of an epic fantasy trilogy, and man is it turning out to be a beast! It’s amazing how much my writing has changed since I’ve learned about the craft of writing.

      From the prologue:
      “I sense the land is uneasy, at unrest, awaiting another shake in its existence. Beware the Age of Decommissioning, for on its brink shall the Common folk tremble.”

    • I am somewhat new to actually writing, as opposed to “wanting” to write, or saying I wanted to write. Torn between a horror genre, a retelling of Pilgrim’s Progress, and a Southern gothic. Sorting these out and writing a bit on each.

    • Chase Glantz says:

      I’ve been working on a book of short fiction, poetry, and odd facebook statuses. It’s an eclectic mix of humor and drama all about the human experience and wordplay.

      A humorous blurb:Chase G. had a very stern talk with a noun today. I said, “Look, I’m just not looking to be plural right now.”

      She gave me a death stare and said, “I saw you eyeing that gerund yesterday. You totally ogled her ‘ing’s.”

      I put my arm on my chest, “Look… maybe it was nice to see a noun that wasn’t so possessive.”

      “Well I,” she said, fidgeting with her apostrophe, “I thought that wouldn’t matter to you.”

      “Well…” I said, “We never really do anything. We kinda just look at people, places, or things.”

      Getting more agitated, she threw her little black MLA handbook at me, “FINE! Since you like gerunds so much, why don’t you go chase after some verb.”

      I furrowed my brow, “Really?”

      She swallowed, “Of course. I hear that’s where the action is these days.

      I tried to comfort her by putting my arm around her, “Naw honey, I just want to be.”

      The most beautiful noun I’ve ever seen stood up, threw my arm off and said, “So THAT’S it! You’ve been cheating on me with a ‘be’ing verb. Well fine. I am, are, is, was, will be, THROUGH WITH YOU!”

      With that, she adjusted her apostrophe, and slammed the door behind her, leaving a modifier from the wall dangling.

      Perhaps I should go visit my dear, ol’ grammar and console myself.

      • Wow. That’s awesome!

        As a word junky, wordplayer, wordsmith, comma nazi, editor and writer, I love this piece. It’s phenomenal.

        Where can I see more of your stuff?

    • Liz Leist says:

      I recently self published my memoir, Finding Mary. A complex story of intertwining events including dissociative fugue, amnesia, trauma, chronic illness, homosexuality, AIDS and the hopelessness experienced within the mental health profession. The sub title is, A courageous fight for truth.

    • Ohita Afeisume says:

      I am writing poetry at the moment. I am reworking several poems I had written long ago. Currently, my poetry explores global issues such as climate change resulting in global warming, natural disasters and the like.

    • Lynda Panther says:

      I’ve been invaded by the soul of a lost kitten. I hope it will be a short story. It’s ghoulishly mawkish.
      Other projects : The Sorcerers of Dalmyre, Three Colours, a history of growing up in the fifties: For The Flowers, a futuristic horror fantasy, Tekwars, an SF/ supernatural melange, and of course, The Bloodwitch Chronicles.
      At this rate I will have no time to die since there’s so much to be written.

    • I’m on the last straits of a novel “Karrana”. See Chapter 1 on Anne Skyvington: A Writer’s Blog–Fiction Excerpts. My blogging also takes centre stage at times. Find tips for improving your craft from a long-term passionate writer. thanks so much for the chance to publicise moi

    • Wendy says:

      I’ve been writing on my blog most days for the last five years. Over 2,000 posts. I write about my “on the edge of ordinary” life as an Australian missionary in Japan, as a mum, wife, magazine editor, and writer. It is a challenge to come up with relevant posts that often, but it’s been good for my writing. It is also challenging to write in the midst of daily life, especially when daily life includes, as it does for me this week, shifting my family between countries.

      • Chase G. says:

        As a writer, missionary, and one day hopeful parent, I approve of this post. 😛

    • rosemarie says:

      My blog is a journal of experiences. We’ve moved to Indonesia and love it.

    • Wayne Kelso says:

      I’ve written 2 novellas, a few short stories, a handful of flash fictions, none of which I have published, but have received some positive feedback from friends. Am currently working on what I hope will be my first full length novel about the struggles of a lonely writer who loathes the book he has just finished and wants to destroy against all advice. I find it very easy to come up with brand new ideas and start new projects, but not so easy to follow them through to their end, As a result, I have many half-baked projects that I need to finish.

    • Alta says:

      I am working on two things:
      1. Just published an article on freelance content writing
      http://www.careerchoiceshelp.com/freelance-content-writer.html

      Want to add pictures, flow chart & more illustrations to make it an epic content.

      2. Working on my first fiction. This will be a romantic story of two old friends fall in love but can’t marry. This story is based in Kolkata, India.

    • JJ Soto says:

      Had to repost. My dyslexia was showing: A novel about 6 guardians handling the evil that surrounds a neighborhood in Brooklyn.

    • JJ Soto says:

      A novel about 6 guardians handling the evil that surrounds a neighborhood in Brooklyn.

    • romayne says:

      I have finished writing three short stories and in the process of editing. I am not happy with my book “the wedding reunion” I started a blog this year, I have a number of pages connected to writing. The writer’s diary is my thoughts on writing and the story board looks at short stories I have written from writing prompts.

    • I am working on a relationship book/ romance book. I have no clue when I am going to be done with this one. I do have one book publish on wattpad.com. The book is call New bosses. I am TiffanyCompton1 there. Go ahead and check out New bosses if you want.

    • I am writing the next episode in my future history series, and I have an interesting problem. The very deep backstory is that some alien race re-engineered rocky planets about Epsilon eridani, then, about 65 million years ago, relocated some dinosaurs there, then directed an asteroid on Earth. Five million years ago, species evolved from the velociraptor formed a civilization on one of the planets, Ranh. When it came to their forming a theory of evolution, it became apparent that there were no fossils from which their dinosaur ancestors came from, so they formed a theocracy, and now have taken up space travel and recognize Earth as the planet of origin. It is therefore sacred, but they have been forbidden by treaty to be there until Earth citizens become aware of alien species. This annoys them severely, however, they have sent small expeditions to surreptitiously spy on Earth. Then (in Miranda’s Demons) the battered remnants of an alien fleet entered Earth’s space, there was war, and Earth won. However, there is evidence that now Ranh might want to destroy humanity and take over the planet, and a small group of humans have gone there to negotiate a treaty. The Ranhynn fall into two groups: those who will do the honourable thing and negotiate the treaty, and those who secretly want to recover the planet of origin for themselves. This is my attempt at a dinosaur story that involves something other than two naught brats trying to avoid being lunch after having been stupid.

      Now, for help, one of the things I need to do is to develop an alien culture, and any ideas shall be welcome. Where I have got to so far is the national sport is tailball, the equivalent of a café culture involves generous servings of raw liver and live rodents, their most important status involves honour, while fighting to settle disputes where someone is accused of being dishonourable involves tooth and claw, and if one surrenders, the ultimate humiliation is to be plucked and singed.

    • Don Karp says:

      After publishing my memoir two years ago–“The Bumpy Road: A memoir of Culture Clash, Including Woodstock, Mental Hospitals and Living In Mexico”, I’ve gone on to helping others caught in the mental health web. To that end, my landing page, https://bumpyroadwork.leadpages.net/bumpyroadwork-landing-page/, offers a free video and script for self-hypnosis. For promotion, I am doing guest bogging, and recently was accepted by LifeHack.org. First article published by them was on schizophrenia: http://www.lifehack.org/articles/communication/15-truths-about-schizophrenia-many-people-may-not-know.html. Another, coming up in a week of two will be about using self-hypnosis to boost self-esteem and self-confidence.

    • romayne says:

      I have completed three short stories. I am not happy with the “wedding reunion” still working on it. Started a writing blog. The writer’s diary looks at my thoughts on writing and the story board looks at short stories. I have also included other pages such as the bucket list and let’s read.

      romaynepavan.weebly.com

    • Well, after dying on March 5, 2015 (Full cardiac arrest) then ICU & comatose for 10-12 days & a four month rehab, I am thrilled to be both alive and loved by many many (5,000) people. (I think they must have bugged God enough that He said “Okay, let me be already! I DO have other things to do you know!”) While in rehab hospital I got so bored that I started two sequels to The Brede Chronicles and Isadora DayStar (& they said I’d never use my hands again) in longhand (no computers there) and got back my fine arts back with major hand embroidery (massive and detailed).
      Right now I’m hoping my publisher(s) will want these “Book 2’s” so we’ll see how that goes.

    • Here’s a direct link to a portion of my work in progress. The name is currently undecided, and it needs a fair amount of editing. But most of the final elements are in place.

      http://jimcriglerbooks.blogspot.com/p/title-redacted.html

      • I meant to say this: This is a mystery novel with elements from a couple of other genres.

    • Michelle Casilla says:

      I am writing a novel about a abused women in the 1800’s. It is a romance, exposition of law and territories and developing transportation. There is much research to do and it is a good story keeping my ADHD mind moving.

    • I’m writing a Blog post, the final draft for http://NumberoneBatfan.wordpress.com about the values that Superman and John Wayne represent as avatars of the American dream and american values, but also the american nightmare.

      An extract from the article (which is around total of 6000 words):

      Modern Superman is smart and capable, while the sungod from Smallville walks among us, no less man than a God, he is still flawed and deeply human. He makes mistakes and questions his actions like any sane person would do. Modern Superman is more complex, more intelligent, more strong and most importantly more human than his earliest incarnation.

      Superman is in a sense the best of us, or one potential version of what we imagine the best version of ourselves to be. He is a man from Smallville, a farmer, a keen eyed reporter, a living deity of near limitless power, to some he is Hercules and Samson, to others he is baby Moses floating down the Nile river, to others he is a messianic Christ like figure who suffers for our ill-informed choices, and never complains as all he has for us is Love, no matter how badly we treat him.

      Superman can take it, because now and always, he is “the guy”.

      The cloth, the mold from which all Superheroes are cut and defined.

      NumberoneBatfan.wordpress.com

    • Currently I’m finalizing my third book (for children) for its July 2015 release, Rosco the Rascal Goes to Camp. I’m also blogging about the process. Check it out here: http://authorshanagorian.wordpress.com/2015/06/16/author-interview-part-1-what-in-the-world-prompted-you-to-write-fiction-for-kids/

    • Always when I am passing near the slums surrounding me I am thinking why the government or NGOs ignoring these families living in a very poor conditions? Their children have no at least basic education, basic health facilities, clean water and a proper shelter to protect them from the coldness of winter and heat of summer. I always want to visit these slums and talk to the people living there. I want to know more about them and want to help them to come out from such condition in which they are willing. I come to know that many of them don’t want to leave slum type of residency, I am not sure that statement is true or false but if this statement is true so I want to know what are the reason that these people prefer to live in slums instead of normal houses like other people.

      Want to Live with in Slums and Write a book in their Life how they are living. Any suggestion for the name of the book you have?

    • Fiona says:

      Currently I’m working on a zombie novel. 🙂

    • gigi says:

      I’m at about page 120 of my second book of memoirs: ‘Gypsy Rose Me: The Open Road Is No Place To Go Commando’. My first is still in the editing stage: How Time Flies: My Pan Am Years, The Smell of the Jet Fuel and the Roar of the Passengers.

      Kindle is my go-to publisher. Don’t have the patience or real desire to send manuscripts to publishers. If anyone is looking for deep, dark, and serious, they won’t find it in my stuff. I am constitutionally incapable of being serious for more than five minutes. People who learn anything from my blog posts have completely missed the point.

      Excerpt from the first chapter of Gypsy Rose Me:

      Australia and Me: The Dingo Was My Baby

      ‘There’s a reason I’m two degrees from being a gypsy. My parents were gypsies. We didn’t live in an adorable horse drawn wagon, curtains fluttering at the windows, but we moved a lot. If it had been up to me, I would have lived in one of those wagons by myself, telling fortunes for the townsfolk, the flickering flames from a campfire casting shadows across my face, while I tried to pass myself off as twenty-five, not twelve.

      This is a good reason to discourage your children from reading books about orphans, which coincidentally, dominate children’s literature. Superheroes, Tarzan, boy wizards, adventurous girls. All orphans. If you’re a parent, relax on the sofa and have another Margarita. Your kids secretly want to be orphans, and raise themselves. Considering the quality of modern parenting, they will no doubt do a better job.

      My great-grandfather, the only relative to achieve wealth and fame in the family, (I think; some people might be holding out on me) ran away from home at age ten and became a stable boy, then a jockey. He bought racehorses later, and raced them up and down California. He didn’t literally race them up and down the state, but had other little guys race them, and win him a lot of money. He didn’t grow up listening to parental edicts of concern and business advice, ‘Get down off of that horse before you get hurt!’ Or, ‘Racing? Kind of a risky business, isn’t it, Son?’

      Gypsy tendencies are genetic, and I could prove it, if my genes didn’t keep packing up their crap and moving on. This could be construed as identity theft, but genes have really tiny wrists, too tiny to slap handcuffs on them.

      My mother, all unknowing, had a song that was affecting the *neuronic synapses in my brain, synapses which had the power to decide if I would be a stable, productive citizen of one community all my life, or if I’d be moving along soon and not be putting down roots, so don’t ask me to volunteer for library fund raisers.

      My mom was old school, and a real classy dame. When she needed to, she didn’t use tampons, she used a belt and napkin, and she’d start singing ‘I’m back in the saddle again!”, a song that clearly denotes the life of a happy wanderer. Maybe a wanderer with PMS, chowing down on chocolate. I would totally share that chocolate with my horse, if I was back in the saddle again.

      It’s clear to me my mom was at fault for my love of horses, riding, the smell of good leather, and men wearing chaps. Since my dad was Air Force, I don’t know where my love of men in sailor suits and dress whites comes from; maybe from eating Cracker Jacks growing up.

      Wherever it stems from, my dad was never happy to see me down at the docks waiting for the fleet to come in. I thought it was just because the Air Force and the Navy were natural enemies in the wild. (If he’d have let me, I could have paid my way through college.) We lived near Portland, Oregon for many years, and the fleet really did come in once a year, during Fleet Week, otherwise known as the Portland Rose Festival. Girls are still waiting eagerly for those ships to visit.

      I harbor fantasies of riding the Appalachian Trail on horseback, and always moving on, because cowboys are a lonesome lot, and can’t be harnessed and saddled and made to stay in one place.

      We four kids and my mom packed up many times to follow my dad to the Philippines or Hawaii , or Australia, and back again. I don’t remember much about Hawaii, except for a little girl my age on the boat who was wearing a **harness with a leash. She didn’t appear happy about it, but it kept her from going overboard.

      ….. ‘My father took Australia up on its offer to become a modern pioneer, settle in the outback, and become a blooming citizen. He had retired from the Air Force, earned his helicopter pilot’s license, and flew small aircraft. He and a partner started a crop dusting business. It fell to my mother to hold down the fort at home with four kids, and after two years of uninterrupted single motherhood, she packed us up once again, and we boarded a Quantas flight to New South Wales.

      After a suitable interval of getting to know Dad again, we set out for Kununurra, a tiny town in the outback of Western Australia that looked like the town where Crocodile Dundee lived when he wasn’t wrestling crocodiles’.

    • Sara McG says:

      I wrote a novel from start to finish…six years ago. I was afraid to edit the damn thing let alone try to get it published. Not sure why. A distant friend recently published a series of 3 novels online. The writing was awful…I realized her first book sounded a LOT like mine…in how bad it was. I suppose the first is the worst, right?! Six years later, I’m ready to start again. Do I edit and rework the first? Or start completely over with something new? Better yet, if my first novel was crap, am I even meant to be a writer? Is anyone in this boat?

      • gigi says:

        Yes! I spent a month editing every single one of my blog posts after studying it online. Editing seems like it’s never done, but it’s worth reading other people’s lessons on it. My posts read so much better and cleaner, now.

    • Douglas Winslow Cooper says:

      Thanks to Write To Done, I received a contact from a woman who has a memoir well worth preparing, publishing, and promoting…via writeyourbookwithme.com. How nice!

    • Rod Baker says:

      I am working on…feelings that came up on a long plane flight:

      The Wings of Time

      Three hundred of us sit facing forward in a metal cylinder sliding through the stratosphere at 900 kms per hour. Hemmed in by passengers on either side, my body is confined to minor movements. The sun stole the night by setting too quickly, then rising too quickly, and the torrents of air hissing by the fuselage vaporize any hope of sleep.
      I touch the LED screen on the seat in front of me, which says entertainment. The cheap earphones distort the voices of the American criminals—not the best enunciators in the world. I struggle to understand what the characters are saying; it’s work, not entertainment, but I keep trying because on a nine-hour flight, even part of a plot might lift me away from the body lock-down of the long distance air traveler. Half-an-hour later, I tire of the effort and turn the screen off, disappointed.
      I flex my buttock muscles rhythmically for five minutes, theorizing the flow of new blood to the squashed muscles will ease the dull ache. It doesn’t. I’m sure human beings aren’t meant to sit still for nine hours. I think three hours is probably the design limit and I am coming up for six.
      The lucky passengers either side of me sleep. I want get out and stand up for a while but can’t without waking one of them. Should I do that? After I stretch my legs I will have to disturb that person again to sit back down. It didn’t seem fair and might be embarrassing. I remained in suspended animation.
      My mind is trapped in an uncomfortable body. It looks for an escape—the present unpleasant and the future too much work. It drifts through a hidden portal to the past-familiar: forty-two years ago I made this plane journey for the first time. The immigrant’s return to his birth country after five years in Canada. I felt proud. I was bringing my wife and one-year-old son back to see my family, my country and my friends. I wanted people to know that I had made something of myself—graduated from trade school, become a boat-builder, married a beautiful woman, had a son, and bought a house.
      I wanted to give Louise a taste of my own culture and introduce her to unmet relatives. I hoped she would like them and they her. I was giving my son a new grandma, two new aunts, a new uncle, and a chance to eat the same food I had eaten as a child—beans on toast and liver. Turned out he didn’t like liver. I was the valet opening the door to another world for them. I was worried about finding work–there was always that concern, but it had worked out. I am back in those years, delicious yet precarious, feeling the hopes, and happiness I had as a young man—leading my family upon a grand adventure as we explored England together. I felt the excitement, unmarred by the pain of divorce or the grief of my son’s death in a car accident.
      It was a grand time. We were in our twenties, in the prime of our lives, and imbued with the youthful naïveté that embraces the world and everything in it. We rented a bungalow next to my mother. I got a job on the ferries, Louise got a job at Vacco and we bought a Volkswagen van for trips. My twin sisters were sixteen, my brother nine, and mum forty-nine.
      After three months, we let cousin Frank borrow our house for his honeymoon while we all went camping in the van to France. We bought wine, cheese, and baguettes, spoke bad French to each other and giggled in the van as we drove between campsites. When we arrived, we larked around putting up the tent, the women made an easy dinner, and we played games by candlelight.

      “Good morning. The seatbelt signs are on, please secure your seatbelts if you have not already done so. We will be landing in Heathrow London in approximately twenty minutes.”
      I felt the plane slowing, dropping down, down to earth as the ailerons were deployed and acted like brakes. The pilot had said the same thing all those years ago. My life hadn’t worked out how I had thought it would, but it was still mine, my life, my tracks, my arc across the universe: I’d been lucky enough to experience the wonder of love, the joy of children, the comfort of friendships. I’d bought houses……

    • Uncertain Moments

      Hi, I would be glad to hear back from you about my latest article on Linkedin

      https://www.linkedin.com/today/author/29093768?trk=pulse-det-athr_posts

    • Lynne says:

      I’ve just finished my tenth ‘elemental’ blogpost on the theme of fire – a quarter way through my blogging year charting the four elements, and what they can teach us about living closer to nature and closer to our truest lives. Still struggling with finding the right tone – succinct yet creative, informative yet not dictatorial is what I’m aiming for. See what you think…. http://blossomquest.com/elementalliving/fire-10-an-invite-to-honour-your-inner-fire/

    • AshleyMae says:

      I am working on a novella in which I titled “Damned If I Do.”
      For my novella, I have been working on it for a few months and have about three chapters of it down. It takes place around Gabriel Patterson, co-founder of the Glassview Gallery newspaper publisher. He and his best friend, Brian Chapman, built the company from scratch and have been working to expand it ever since. Gabriel is a successful young man who is finishing college and is in the army reserves. He is ambitious and determined; he finds extraneous activities and relationships to be a waste of time. Brian’s sister, Daphne, moved in with Brian and his fiancé, Maya Shaffer, while she was on the look for an acting position. Daphne visits the office a lot and Gabriel and she have a ‘slight’ relationship. Daphne is the foil to Gabriel; she likes living off of Brian and doesn’t understand why he and Gabriel work so much. Maya is offered a full scholarship to a university that is hours away from Glassview; Brian decides that he is going to resign for her to follow her dreams. Leaving Daphne in Glassview, Brian finds a replacement for his position, Helena Flynn, while Gabriel is away at training. With Brian gone, Gabriel feels extremely overwhelmed but is interested in Helena. Gabriel has to find a healthy balance between work, school, and relationships or he faces his own downfall.
      Snippet:
      I don’t think he meant it,” she murmured, “No one tries to be… abusive, it just happens.” Gabriel’s eyes widened in disbelief as she continued, “I believe that he loved me, and I certainly loved him; as I still do. When you have known someone and been with someone for so long, it just feels natural. I couldn’t have imagined my life without him. Honestly, he was a great man; sometimes he just lost his way and got angry. But don’t we all? No one is perfect, I couldn’t have expected him to be any different. I loved him for who he was and I wouldn’t change that. No matter how hurtful he could be.” After Helena had choked out that last sentence, she rested her head on Gabriel’s chest and quietly sobbed. All he could do was wrap his arms around her as he processed everything she just said. Finally he asked:
      “I guess I just don’t understand, if he was this awful and hurtful to you, then why stay?” Gabriel questioned, staring into Helena’s sad eyes. He immediately regretted asking her because could see how much this question pained her; however, she drew in a deep breath and began:
      “Everyone has a weakness, right? We’re all addicted to one thing or another; and he was mine. He was intoxicating, you see, and I was tired of being alone. He was poison that seeped down into your pores and ran throughout your veins. Then it began to race through your body and, in turn, you broke down and succumbed to the feeling. It’s like, you know how wrong it is but you’ve been numb for so long that you’ve craved this feeling; any type of feeling. Where you’d rather hurt than feel nothing at all. So you drink; you drink every last drop of the poison until it engulfs you; until it has complete control over you. You search and you search for some sensation that isn’t emptiness. I was desperately trying to fill this void that ate away at me; and I still am. I’m just a shell.” Helena continued to quietly sob after she finished speaking. Gabriel was speechless. They sat in silence for a while; Gabriel had wrapped his arms around Helena as they laid outside. He didn’t know how to explain how he felt for her; he had never thought that he could feel this way about anyone.

    • Jan Mannino says:

      Medical malpractice thriller that involves cultural issues, legal strategy and foreign intrigue, is my latest project. A young girl has a genital mutilation surgical procedure in a Washington, DC hospital, without the consent of her parents. Eva Simone, a young attorney is retained by the child’s mother to sue the hospital and surgeon. During the discovery phase an international political incident leads to the State Department getting involved. The many twists and turns keeps the reader involved with the characters and makes them wonder if justice will be done.

      If any of you have questions or suggestions, please send them on.

      Thanks.

    • Jasmin Desrosiers says:

      I finished a short story about the horrors of warfare and the effect they can have on not only the soldier’s, but their families and friends. It is around 1,000 words and is included in this post.

      The battlefield was strewn with the red of the men’s effort and very few a body breathed the hopefulness of life. Arrows were plunged deeply into the bodies of men and the survivors were gripped with a fear so deep not even the time they still had left to live could comfort them.
      Women rushed out from the safety of the blackened forest to stare into the faces of the fallen men, dreading the familiarity of one of the death-smeared faces. Cries rang out from all corners of the deserted battlefield, a terrible wailing sound that felt as if it was engulfed by enough mourning to rouse the dead men. The mud was dyed a scarlet color and all the enemy had left behind were smoking shells of bombs and the weapons that had been used to kill so many of their number.
      It was a terrible sight to look upon; children grasped in mother’s arms, sobbing at the cold, dead feet of the ones they had known and loved. Elthia had been in their place; she had experienced the horror she never had expected she would face. It was a terrible fate to be choked by the cold hand of death, but even worse to feel its presence always, without ever having the satisfaction of it crushing in upon you, putting you out of your misery.
      She had received the news of her father’s death when she was only seven. Her childhood was ripped away from her at that point, but for her weak mother, his demise had been the end of her world. She had spent the preponderance of her time wrapped in a thick, wool shawl by the window, the clouds rolling over Elthia’s tiny little house, refusing to eat, leaving the household for Elthia to uphold.
      Her mother died not two months later- of sorrow or starvation Elthia would never know. Since then she had devoted her life to the art of combat, and learned everything that she could in her position.
      At the age of thirteen she had gone to join the service, only to be turned away and laughed at by men that didn’t realize their lives would soon be in this small girls hands. Elthia was hired as a nurse on the battlefield when she was fifteen. It was a heart-wrenching job to feel required to save somebody you are sure is beyond saving; to have not only their lives in your hands, but the fate of so many families.
      With each man that passed away, on the field, or in the medical tent, Elthia’s despair grew deeper and deeper. She yearned to die a hero’s death, as her father had; she yearned for the glory of marching into battle, but most of all she yearned to avenge all the pain and suffering she had endured since the war had began so many years ago.
      The men who had stayed off the field for the day began to pile the limp bodies into a large pile of rancid, burning flesh. It was terrible to watch and Elthia turned back into her tent as the screams of the people echoed in her ears.
      Elthia slept fitfully that night, nightmares plaguing her sleep incessantly. The tribulations of life were relentless in their torture of her, and not even sleep could keep her away from it.
      The next morning rose up from the ground like a blossom, shining, the smell of death sequestered by the smell of morning dew and the evergreen trees. The birds hung like bluebells on the branches and you could feel the humidity filling every pore of your body, overwhelming your senses. The pollen of the flowers growing near the edge of the forest was so strong you could taste it’s thick, sweetness. However, the perfection never lingered for very long.
      The camp was in a state of perfect peace, the likes of which could not be disturbed.
      Soldier and medic alike sat in a tight, quiet circle, their lips tingling with speech, but yet no words were spoken. It was the kind of silence that is to be expected, and not dreaded, with nothing but the deepest mourning about it.
      As the day progressed people got back to their jobs and a type of easy, flexibility befell them and the small army worked and thought as one. They were all exhausted, preventing them from worrying about anything other than the boxes of supplies that had not yet been unpacked.
      The sun rose higher in the sky, the blood-red color leaving it, producing memories of bright summers, and blissful times where sadness was but a mystery.
      Then the incursion began.
      The enemy attacked relentlessly; As bombs exploded all around camp, suitcases were blown open. Screams rang out sharp and clear. It was then that Elthia realized how merciless the enemy was as she layed on her back, aching from the force she had been slammed to the ground by. Eight years worth of bitter sorrow pulled her to her feet, urging her towards destiny’s inescapable grasp.
      She seized a sword and charged through the smoke, which blinded her momentarily. This was the moment her spirit had yearned for. Vengeance for her lost childhood.
      The childhood that had been ripped away by the ineluctable hardships that had loomed over Elthia the entirety of her life. She felt the imposing fulfillment of her ambitions creeping closer and closer. With each step she could feel it coursing through her body. Stronger every moment. Elthia plunged into the sea of armored men, her passion fueling her into the destruction of hundreds, and not once did her resolve falter. She felt blood plastered onto her body, both her own and the blood of other men. It poured down the side of her face and arms, urging her into superlative vehemence.
      And, as she fell beneath the profusion of soldiers, she smiled, for she had found resolve in the grave face of death.

    • Brent van Rooyen says:

      I am working on these two Poems -Brent van Rooyen

      Poem #1: the lamp and my fear.

      I cannot blame you
      -doing what you did-
      In fear I left you 
      And dropped off the grid.
      I had to run away 
      I was afraid. 
      Now, I want back the day,
      The day I strayed.

      How can I blame the one 
      That unmasked my fear?
      Better to blame the sun,
      For making night clear! 
      True Love is a power, 
      (destroys unprepared) 
      Us two in that hour 
      Both blessed to be scared.

      Your lashes were lightning-
      A lamp for my soul-
      But, my mind kept fighting, 
      Fighting for control.
      So..I left you to cry,
      (war will have its way)
      And a part of me died 
      When you, went away.

      Some say,love’s a game
      To be played and won. 
      I say; nay. Love’s a flame
      Sourced straight from the Son. 
      It shows us the way, 
      To our own soul. 
      So I wish I’d stayed,
      And I, would be whole…

      Poem #2: I long to forget her.

      Thinking of my sweet 
      -the only respite-
      Is to walk the street,
      By blackness of night.
      I long to forget her
      Or,turn back time 
      I long to forget her,
      She,who’s not mine.

      We talked and we flirted
      (I thought it was real) 
      It was I who blurted,
      “this is how I feel.”
      With hindsight I now know
      That love is aloof.
      Air gives fire space to glow,
      My lost love is proof.

      I think and dream of her,
      From then until now.
      I long to forget her, 
      But I don’t know how. 
      I still see her shy smile 
      With eyes of my mind.
      Sweet memories are vile, 
      But blindness,is kind.

      Nothing was wasted
      (I tell myself this) 
      The moment I tasted, 
      The kiss of pure bliss. 
      I long to forget her, 
      But,why even try?
      Must I forget her,
      And live out a lie?

    • I’m working on the fourth edit of the second book in a fantasy series for kids. The series will inspire kids to be kind and help each other when in trouble while empowering them to seek help against the social injustices which plague our children. The series is targeted at kids 8 thru teen. The protagonist was ten when the series began, but she will continue to grow as she helps winged creatures from another dimension protect the children of Earth.

    • Jim says:

      “And now, my watch has ended.”

      No, that’s not what I’m working on. It’s simply my realization that
      my watch’s battery has died, and it’s time for me to get another
      watch.

      I need a watch to remind myself that I must work every day on the
      final editing of my novel. (Sorry, my publisher says I can’t release
      the title nor the subject matter yet.)

      But I can tell you this: it’s a novel that gets right into the faces of a
      group of people who are passing on a dangerous and perhaps
      untrue idea–I believe many people are in danger of dying at the
      hands of another if they take the word of this group of people as
      true.

      I can’t watch the entire American continent. But perhaps my story
      will warn people.

    • Brent van Rooyen says:

      These are two poems I’m working on. Brent van Rooyen -South Africa.

      I long to forget her.

      Thinking of my sweet 
      -the only respite-
      Is to walk the street,
      By blackness of night.
      I long to forget her
      Or,turn back time 
      I long to forget her,
      She,who’s not mine.

      We talked and we flirted
      (I thought it was real) 
      It was I who blurted,
      “this is how I feel.”
      With hindsight I now know
      That love is aloof.
      Air gives fire space to glow,
      My lost love is proof.

      I think and dream of her,
      From then until now.
      I long to forget her, 
      But I don’t know how. 
      I still see her shy smile 
      With eyes of my mind.
      Sweet memories are vile, 
      But blindness,is kind.

      Nothing was wasted
      (I tell myself this) 
      The moment I tasted, 
      The kiss of pure bliss. 
      I long to forget her, 
      But,why even try?
      Must I forget her,
      And live out a lie?

      Second poem: My fear and the lamp.

      I cannot blame you
      -doing what you did-
      In fear I left you 
      And dropped off the grid.
      I had to run away 
      I was afraid. 
      Now, I want back the day,
      The day I strayed.

      How can I blame the one 
      That unmasked my fear?
      Better to blame the sun,
      For making night clear! 
      True Love is a power, 
      (destroys unprepared) 
      Us two in that hour 
      Both blessed to be scared.

      Your lashes were lightning-
      A lamp for my soul-
      But, my mind kept fighting, 
      Fighting for control.
      So..I left you to cry,
      (war will have its way)
      And a part of me died 
      When you, went away.

      Some say,love’s a game
      To be played and won. 
      I say; nay. Love’s a flame
      Sourced straight from the Son. 
      It shows us the way, 
      To our own soul. 
      So I wish I’d stayed,
      And I, would be whole…

    • This is an excerpt from my new project, a novel based on a true story: ‘Let Him Hang’ . It is set in New Zealand in the 1950s :

      Frederick Foster knew, without doubt, even after Mr Finlay’s absolute assurance he would get manslaughter, the verdict would be murder. It couldn’t be anything else the way the trial had gone. He was resigned now but he still managed to grasp onto a slender sliver of hope, even after all the agonising hours he’d spent in the courtroom listening to witness after witness condemn him, and reliving the nightmare of Sharon lying dead in a pool of blood on the milkbar floor.

    • I am working on my third fantasy for young readers. As with my previous two books, this one continues to introduce youngsters to endangered animals via a fast-paced adventure. A glossary at the back of the books provides bits of info and web links. I would love some comments on these first few opening paragraphs (keep in mind that the main character is an anthropomorphized animal.) 🙂

      Chapter 1
      Keera, the Numbat
      Her oasis surrounded her. Its lush green ferns grew beside white blossoms of scented sundew and the fragrant flowers of the grevillia. Tall pines and gum trees reached for the sky, their canopy letting in slits of sunlight that fell to the ground in splotches. She slowed as the parched landscape of the outlands peeked through the thick foliage before her. She parted the wonga wonga vine, which twisted its way to the top of a nearby gum tree, and stared out at the dry landscape. Out there the sun seared the ground, its relentless rays burning Sunderland. Here and there a small shrub and an occasional tree grew, but their leaves were a dull green, drained by the severe heat and too little rain.
      Everything was thinning. The forests were thinning, the rivers were thinning, even the life, which was once plentiful, was thinning. There were some forests left, but they were not here. And if the scourging continued, the rich land that remained and the creatures that lived within it would be thinned out as well.

    • I just wrote about how I attempt to go a step further when I’m struck with new ideas…where they come from and where I try and take them. It’s all in my blog post “Every Idea Must Go Somewhere: Connecting to Emotions” at http://teresatysinger.com/2015/06/22/every-idea-must-go-somewhere-connecting-to-emotions/.

    • I’m working on a the second draft of a novel. It’s a complete rewrite from the first draft and I’m loving it so much! It’s better thanks to the helpful comments of my writing group.

    • Cynthia says:

      I’m continuing to write for The Huffington Post as often as possible here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/cynthia-dagnalmyron/

      But my passion is my novel-in-progress, “Educational Experience,” that already has 16,700 readers on Wattpad. Here’s the logline:

      Sent back to high school as a condition of probation, a teen adult entertainment tycoon falls in love with a troubled teacher.

      And here’s the Wattpad URL: https://www.wattpad.com/story/15293054-educational-experience

      Do stop by!

    • My 1st book, a memoir titled, Deliver Us From Evil will be published November 17th. It is about my Mormon bishop father who molested and raped my older sister and I in our young childhood. We were threatened by him to never tell and when we were in our 30’s we did remember but not before he got to the grandchildren when he was bishop the second time. It’s about a journey through hell and through recovery and being a social worker and therapist I threw in some self-help chapters also. Its a story of losing ones power and then getting it back.

      I had to take many writing courses to get it even to a basic level of writing. I am not that great of a writer I learned a lot also where my coach told me to put commas take most of my “had’s” out and so on. She is now my writing mentor.

      You can go to my website hit blogger and read the first 2 pages of the book. My website is http://www.deliverusfromevil.us/. Thanks. I have loved everything you have written, especially the poetry.

      • Hi Deborah. Wow, your memoir sounds powerful! I’m heading to your site now to check out the preview chapters. Thank you for sharing your story with the world and being a beacon of hope for people looking to heal from trauma.

    • Cynthia says:

      I’m continuing to write for “The Huffington Post” as often as possible. My archive is here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/cynthia-dagnalmyron/

      But my passion is my novel-in-progress, “Educational Experience,” that already has 16,700 readers on Wattpad–not a big audience by their standards, but I’m delighted. Here’s the logline:

      “Sent back to high school as a condition of probation, a teen adult entertainment tycoon falls in love with a troubled teacher.”

      And here’s the Wattpad URL: https://www.wattpad.com/story/15293054-educational-experience

      Do stop by!

    • Thanks for asking. I work on my blog weekly. I am also working on a 5 book acrostic Bible series.
      Magazine articles are at the top of my list.

    • wycliff susiku mubita says:

      Am just working an article entitled “My fishing ordeal”.This is an article that depicts me in the deep waters battling for life in the face of a gigantic hippopotamus

    • I’ve just finished the first draft of my first novel. It takes place in France, where I have lived for the past ten years. Here’s the opening few paragraphs:

      ‘It’s not as bad as it looks, really,’ said Jean-Luc, the owner of the building with the spider-webbed, crumbling walls that were supposed to be graced with Roman murals. When the whole dank room would be turned into a wine tasting room, in just ten short weeks.

      Sara trotted out her best French and answered, ‘No, it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s much worse. I can’t paint murals on these walls. They were supposed to be plastered.’ The tile floor had been installed, she noted, at least in this larger room. The late afternoon sun made the tiles glow. At least there was one thing that was finished. Nothing ever seemed to be finished on time here.

      Sara had moved to France fours years ago, after inheriting two aging houses from an also aging aunt, and she had made a precarious living since then by painting frescoes and murals on walls of old and would-be old houses. She needed this job. It might well be her main income for the whole season, which often meant the whole year, the foreign house owners being the ones most often in want of authentic looking murals to make their newly built houses look as it they were hundreds of years old.

      She looked around again at the walls of this, the larger of the two rooms. She was to paint frescoes on these walls, make them look like the crumbling interior of a thousand year old Roman villa. Well, she thought, crumbling would be no problem. That’s what these walls were. Except for the short wall at the far end of the room, none of the walls had been plastered, contrary to what Jean-Luc had promised when she agreed to take on the job two months ago.

    • Marc says:

      I have just recently jumped back onto an old, old blog I have, Family, Fitness, Fun. I am not a trainer or kinesiologist, I am a fitness buff with more than 20 years military experience in physical fitness, have a powerlifting background … well, it’s something that I am really passionate about and into.

      My goal is to post weekly, two weeks met! So far, so good!!

      I am also working on a new poem to post on my other blog, http://mjtrepanier.blogspot.com

    • I have just finished a book titled ‘The Zen Approach to Modern Living. Vol 1. ‘

      I will be uploading it to Amazon Kindle in the next few days, to be sold at 99c, but if anyone would be open to write an honest review, I would happily send you a free copy.

      My email address is [email protected]

      • Gary, that is an intriguing title. Can you share a few details about what you cover in the book? As someone who once lived in Sri Lanka and who became somewhat absorbed in the Buddhist philosophy (still am, actually), I agree we need a calmer, mindful approach to modern living’s fast pace. It would also be great to know how you chose to write a book on the subject. Best of luck! Jay

    • I have just finished a book titled ‘The Zen Approach to Modern Living. Vol 1. ‘

      I will be uploading it to Amazon Kindle in the next few days, to be sold at 99c, but if anyone would be open to write an honest review, I would happily send you a free copy.

    • I am writing a book on trauma. Included are several stories of people who have survived and been healed of various traumas. I need two more stories and I would like one to be on domestic violence. Finding people with stories that are real and them feeling comfortable telling them has been difficult.
      The good news is that several after telling their stories have found further healing.
      I just started my author page on Facebook in lieu of a website until I find a decent reasonably priced.website provider.
      If anyone has a story to share please contact me on Facebook.

    • Ian Francis says:

      I am writing a novel set against a backdrop of the London rave scene at the end of the 1980s. It’s about a guy who falls in love with a psychologically scarred woman – they are both in their early 20s – who leaves him for an older man. Just when he thinks she has left his life for good he gets deeply disturbing letters from Paris where she is living with the older man and tells him she needs his help. But he is plagued by his inner critical voice, he has issues about his identity and lost his mother when he was only four. His inner critical voice tells him he has only fallen in love with this woman because subconsciously he is looking for someone like his mum. The novel’s themes are about identity, defining love and fighting an over active e inner critical voice that he is always in conflict with.
      When he goes to rescue her she does not show up and he learns she is dead.
      Fast-forward 40 years and he’s in an unhappy marriage and yearns for the summer of 1989. One day he receives an invite on Facebook and it is the woman he thought was dead and had left his life for good.
      Below is an extract, please note this is from the first draft so it will need refining. It is an extract where he goes to Paris to rescue her but wonders whether he is doing the right thing
      He takes the lift to the top of the Eifel Tower and surveys the city bathed in sunshine. Somewhere in this city she is, somewhere beyond the rooftops and buildings, somewhere beyond the river, down there with the rest of life on on her own with her fears and traumas. Jean, beautiful Jean. He looks at his watch and realises if he is going to meet her he has to set off now to make it in time.

      He watches the tourists taking their pictures, couples arm in arm looking down on the City of Romance (check) and looks at small children laughing and being amazed by the views. Happy people high in the sky, looking down.

      Somewhere she is out there, down below and right now he has this yearning to see her again, a yearning so strong the voices in his head are silent. His heart is the only element of him that has any any audibility. You cannot turn down this chance to see her again, you cannot walk away because that is the easiest thing to do, but walking away will leave you with what. Regrets? Doubts, curiosity, sadness? You have come this far, you are so close to her now, in the same city, just streets away. And she is expecting you, I want to see you, no, need to see you, maybe you can rescue me.
      Images of last summer come careering back into his head, the raves, Brighton, the seafront, the nights of shining stars and crashing waves. And out of those images emerges her face, her smiling face, her gleaming blue eyes, her shining blonde hair, her everything. A tear rolls down his face and he realises he is here now and he must see her, he has no doubts, no voices, just the thumping beat of his heart.
      ———————————-
      He finds his way to the district she told him, just outside the Latin Quarter and locates the bar they are to meet in. He is a good hour early so walks around the area soaking up these Paris streets. On one are rows of stalls selling cooked food, postcards, second hand books and another sells posters of old newspapers. He takes in the smells and atmosphere of the little outdoor market. Does she come here, he wonders, to buy her books, try the food?

      He walks past the stalls and ends up in another side street full of food shops and bakeries, signs above their doors stating their business: boulangeries, patisserie, pharmacy, boutique. He finds these foreign words thrilling, proof he is abroad, in another country.

      The area is a warren of streets and you go down one and that takes you to another. He is conscious of getting lost and then being late so turns back the way he has come, recognising shops and stalls to remind him the route he took.

      After a few minutes he is back to the street of the bar and realises he is still early but decides a few beers on his own before she arrives will relax him, loosen him up.

      Nerves are beginning to permeate and he realises he is actually quite tremulous. Yes, a few beers to help him formulate what he will say, how he will greet her – with a kiss? – and how he will react to the horror stories she is sure to recite. What help will he offer and will she take it? Will she look as beautiful or will she be ravaged by her awful experiences and the terrible life she has plunged into? Another awful life. As if she hasn’t already suffered enough.
      The waitress takes his order and he asks for a French beer. She is cute, very French with blackboard dark hair and a slender but busty figure. About 20 he guesses. But his mind races back to why he is here. Jean. If Jean were his he would never look at another woman again. There would be no need. Can I make her mine tonight, can I bring her back, can I take her away from all this? Maybe rescue me. I want, no, need to see you again. A mutual need then. Something in common. A thread, a connection to a possible life.

    • Pankaj says:

      Social media Analytics and Startups.

      I’m working on simplifying the analytics and social media marketing approaches. Like how to use Twitter for social media marketing. Why and what Analytics should you focus on etc.
      Recently one of my work- how to run effective meetings – got featured at Inc. Magazine by one of the CEO, Bill Carmody. I’d like to get your feedback on my latest post at HackInterns.com which is about Social Media Marketing and its approaches through Twitter..

    • Steve says:

      An article I published recently in a local magazine. It concerns a piece of land in Malta that is currently under threat of development. This in a country that is already 33% built up… and a coutry where one sixth of the population suffers from asthma – partly due to construction related dust.

      http://www.stevebonellocartoons.com/blog/a-last-ramble-at-zonqor

    • Abby says:

      I’m not currently writing anything. I’m trying to figure out what to write a novel about. I’m good at writing snippets that sound decent, it’s just putting them together that I have trouble with. If anyone has suggestions for my problem, please let me know. But here’s one of my better pieces, titled Silence:

      The Silence is suffocating.

      It’s the same Silence that chills me when my peers stab a hole into my head with their razor eyes and then softly, with complete ease, remark that they hate me.

      It’s the same Silence that burns me when I remember my former best friend sitting, doing nothing when I was falling beneath the onslaught of bleeding words lashed upon me.

      She quickly became the bearer of those crimson words… And they still lash me, even three years later.

      Now it’s become the Silence that slips two bony knuckles around my throat, encompassing me into a cut-off world where I eerily gaze at the strangers who happen to stumble into my excuse of a life. They hardly glance at me, for the Silence hovers at my side, hailing its oppressive burden on me at all times, choking back the words that rush to my lips and then hurling them back down the atrocious pit of fear that bores deeper and deeper into my stomach every single day I am cursed to muck through this routine of stress and worry and fear. The knowledge of this cryptic agent carves itself into my skull, screeching from the mere friction of my dreams and this bleak lie that somehow becomes the singular, unquestionable truth. It pounds and beats and bruises and it hurts, it stabs, it chokes.

      But I’m still.

      I follow Silence’s example.

      I have to

      or else I’d go crazy.

    • Robert Doucette says:

      Here is a snippet of my first draft. The story concerns a couple of stranger thrown together on a European trip. Hilarity and romance ensues. This is a first draft and it needs more description and emotional weight. Here is a scene near the beginning of the trip when they are late getting to the airport..

      Jason and Evelyn ran through the Milan airport, their roller bags flipping with every turn. Evelyn felt the sweat begin to soak through her blouse and underwear. She stopped to catch her breath and saw Jason run on to the gate. “I’ll meet you there,” she wheezed.

      When she reached the gate, the gateway door was closed and Jason was arguing with a young man in a uniform. Between ragged breaths she heard something about missing the last call and the plane was getting ready to move to the runway. Jason was trying to keep his voice calm but the gate manager stood with his arms crossed. “Cripes,” she thought, “he thinks he can use logic on an Italian bureaucrat.”

      She walked over to the window, and opened her jacket to cool off. In the window’s reflection, she saw the sweat had caused her blouse to cling to her body. She looked into the cockpit and saw the co-pilot tap the pilot and point to her. ‘OK, boys, now that I’ve got your attention, maybe I can use this.’

      Evelyn put one foot up on the lower window sill and pulled up on her dress exposing most of her thigh. Both men in the cock-pit stopped everything and stared at her. She raised her eyebrows and pulled down the corners of her mouth, then mimicked a tear falling from one eye. Then she pointed to the closed doorway, put her hands in prayer and mouthed the word “Please.”

      The pilots laughed and one spoke into a headset. After a few words, he made an “OK” sign to Evelyn and waved her in.

      By the time she had walked to Jason, the gate manager had handed him boarding passes and was opening the jetway door. Jason looked around in puzzlement. “Wait. You mean we can go on? What happened?”

      The gate manager waved Evelyn towards the jetway door with a bow. After she passed, he stood up and said, “Your girlfriend. She is very attractive. You are a very lucky man.”

      When he caught up to Evelyn, Jason said, “What happened? What did he mean ‘girlfriend’ What did he mean attractive?”

      Evelyn steamed to the airplane.“Oh, just shut up and walk. When you think about it you can thank me later.”

    • R.F. Marazas says:

      I’m still trying to get my novel, Dimensions In Ego, published after having won first place in the Dahlonega Literary Festival 2007 Novel Contest and tied for first place in the A Word With You Press 2014 Once Upon a Time Contest, and I just won The Maine Review’s Grand Prize For Prose for my short story The Toast family’s Magic Radio.
      So now I’m in the middle of a massive writer’s block.

    • omeka says:

      Just wrapped up my second book “40 Days of Fasting to a remarkable marriage” Reloaded.
      I was excited to see it come in the mail this past Saturday. The first one was an ebook and though that brought excitement, this one was even more special.

      This book is my way of giving back to God after helping me to transform my marriage.
      Through my experience, I found my life’s purpose.
      I am giving my first speaking engagement next week.
      I hope that my book will be a blessing to many people in this online community and beyond!?

    • Douglas Winslow Cooper says:

      I am finishing WRITE YOUR BOOK WITH ME: Prepare, Publish, Promote, and Perhaps Profit.

      It will be of help in my coaching activity at writeyourbookwithme.com and probably become the basis for a subscription video series.

      I’d be happy to email a draft to those willing to give me some feedback on it.

    • Now this minute I’m writing sales blurb for the Spanish second edition of my guide book to the European Northern Observatory. The blurb for the English version goes:

      “A Breathtaking Window on the Universe: A guide to the observatory at the Roque de los Muchachos SECOND EDITION”
      By Sheila M. Crosby
      (Non-Fiction Paperback)
      164 pages (16 more than the first edition)

      Welcome to the Roque de Los Muchachos, where 15 telescopes from 19 nations use the best night sky in Europe to explore the cosmos. Find out what it’s like to work in this strange world above the clouds. Learn about each telescope, how they’re run, and a little of what they’ve discovered.

      This book is written for the general public rather than professional astronomers, with over 120 photos and diagrams, and a full glossary of all the technical terms for non-geeks.

      Most days I’m working on a whodunnit set in the same observatory.

      Chapter One

      Monday November 21st, 10:00 am

      Marty sat on the floor in lotus position, eyes closed, and took another deep breath, murmuring, “Helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll”
      It was the only method of stress relief that ever worked.
      “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn!”
      In the only place where Jack Hinckley couldn’t interrupt.
      “Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”
      Coming to work at the British telescopes in the Canary Islands had been a huge mistake. But Marty couldn’t hide in the toilet much longer.
      “Buggeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!”
      Aphrodite Martin got up and washed her face. She disguised the red rims of her eyes with eye-liner and mascara. Then she shoved her yard-long plait safely down inside her overall and stowed her make-up in her pocket. She checked her reflection. Her fried nerves didn’t show. Good.
      She crossed to the door on wobbly knees, telling herself not to be such a wimp. Jack, her boss’s boss, must have left site by now. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
      Jack Hinckley, Head of Engineering, stood in ambush outside the ladies’, his face red and his arms akimbo. His six feet two inches towered over Marty’s five foot four, while his greying temples gave the impression of wisps of smoke rising out of his ears.
      He glared at her. “And you’re still saying you’re confident about finishing the job?”

    • Karen says:

      I’m working on a new parenting article and outlining a couple of guest posts to help promote my ebooks about freelancing, writing and solopreneurship. I love writing guest posts that help other freelance writers, like this one. http://www.freelancewritersonline.com/freelance-writer-double-income/

    • YA fantasy novel with a touch of scifi…second in series & 3/4 done! Challenges: many, especially when my characters start talking all at the same time. Joys: also many, as it’s a world rife with possibility and a hefty dosage of issues, even if the leaders choose to ignore them. There is nothing so fantastic or frustrating as a writer’s life – wouldn’t have it any other way.

    • Shaun Moss says:

      I’ve recently completed “The International Mars Research Station – An exciting new plan to create a permanent human presence on Mars”, and am now working on a scifi novel in which protagonist lead is the the CEO of a multi-billion dollar technology company, working on robots, flying cars and a space program, but opposed by a shady international cabal who prefers the world just the way it is…

    • peter dohan says:

      i am a 69 y/o retired surgical pathologist who suffered the genetic illnesses of ocd/bipolar2. many hours of rumination and years of depression admixed with hypomanic episodes, the ordeal is over now – i am free of disease. i am writing a two part memoir – the first the experience of ocd, the second the neurobiology of these and other psychiatric disorders. as a physician i can digest and make comprehensible that which is largely misunderstood by the lay public. peter

    • Andrew says:

      I’m writing a science fiction novel for teenagers. A little of it is this:

      There were no traces when he left as the next day came. Confused, Sarah and her friends tried to travel around the city as they thought he couldn’t go far. Hours passed as the sun started to show, but he was still missing. Suddenly, a soldier runs to them, and the answer they heard was
      unbelievable…

      I’m still practicing step by step, but I will never give up!!

    • from “Good Graces”
      (completed Contemporary Christian Fiction novel – seeking representation)

      “Liv. I’m done.”

      “Oh. Okay.” Livy turned away from the dark window and swung her legs over the edge of the narrow cushioned seat. The sigh that followed spoke more to her exhausted heart than her body.

      Thirty minutes earlier when Sam had arrived to collect the last of his things, Livy settled at the window of her tiny Manhattan apartment, stared up at the sky and fixated on the dark vastness. The brick and concrete exteriors towered over the city like ancient tree trunks. She thought again, as she often had during her eight years here, how one could feel so alone in a city of over a million people.

      She thought back to her first week in New York. It surprised her that she could pass a sea of faces on the busy avenues without making eye contact with even one. The horns, construction machinery, and hissing steam rising from the subway grates each became indistinguishable as they sound-tracked her surroundings. It was a far cry from the quiet of her father’s farm outside of Raleigh, North Carolina. Now, she found herself living a life she never expected, in a place that didn’t feel like home even after all these years.

    • Lisa Potestio says:

      The greatest gift that I own is the courage to expose my soul. I live a life you will never know because of the demons you carry will always keep you blind to the power love holds. You are a prisoner of your own experiences. Love is the key. I pray that you set yourself free, to soar in the sky with me.

    • William Perry Jr says:

      I am about to write a love story about a guy that is known as a cool dude. My story will most likely be set in Massachusetts. I don’t have a name for the cool dude yet, but he is admired by this young lady. She thinks he is so kind and handsome. She is so head over heels in love with him. That’s all I have at the moment. 🙂

    • After working with an experienced editor and an ACFW critique group, I am pleased to be in the final stages of rewriting this full-length novel. I am seeking representation for this first installment of what I plan to be a multi-book series set in the quaint mountain town of Laurel Cove, NC.

      Heartbroken, she seeks peace at the home of her late grandmother in the quiet mountain town of Laurel Cove. She hopes fixing up the old cottage she now owns will help mend her broken life. As she is reunited with handyman Jack Bowdon, however, she begins to wonder if she’s back in Laurel Cove for another reason entirely.

      Below we meet Livy Johnson in her NYC apartment facing a big life change.

      ————–
      from Good Graces by Teresa Tysinger
      (completed Contemporary Christian Fiction novel)

      “Liv. I’m done.”

      “Oh. Okay.” Livy turned away from the dark window and swung her legs over the edge of the narrow cushioned seat. The sigh that followed spoke more to her exhausted heart than her body.

      Thirty minutes earlier when Sam had arrived to collect the last of his things, Livy settled at the window of her tiny Manhattan apartment, stared up at the sky and fixated on the dark vastness. The brick and concrete exteriors towered over the city like ancient tree trunks. She thought again, as she often had during her eight years here, how one could feel so alone in a city of over a million people.

      She thought back to her first week in New York. It surprised her that she could pass a sea of faces on the busy avenues without making eye contact with even one. The horns, construction machinery, and hissing steam rising from the subway grates each became indistinguishable as they sound-tracked the city. It was a far cry from the quiet of her father’s farm outside of Raleigh, North Carolina. Now, she found herself living a life she never expected, in a place that didn’t feel like home even after all these years.

      • Your description of New York, Teresa, brings me back to the days when I used to be a graduate student at Fordham in the Bronx. The absence of eye contact rings true. I think you were a little polite to simply refer to one sound as “horns”. I might have added “angry”, “wailing” or “impatient” before “horns”. There’s no place quite like New York to hear the sound. Best of luck seeking representation; it sounds like you have a very good idea.

    • FIRST OF JULES

      Copyright © 2015 by Gene Hilgreen

      http://www.baddaypublication.com

      First of Jules is a Young Adult Crossover (what is that you say). I think it is too mature for a twelve-year-old, so I’m going with 15 and up.

      Born with eidetic memory, sixteen-year-old, child protégée, JULES SPENSER, finds her academic studies turned upside down, and her life in peril after involving herself in the disappearances of two of her classmates.
      Thought to be off gallivanting by all but Jules, the two girls turn up dead and showcased for the world to see. The race begins in earnest to stop the serial killer before he or she strikes again. Jules is convinced the killer is someone she knows from around the school.
      With her ‘devil may care’, “I’m invincible” attitude, Jules must use her intelligence along with a bit of help from some of her grandfather’s old team of professional soldiers to solve the mystery of who are the killer’s main targets.
      But this is no ordinary serial killer. This psychopath has an objective and will stop at nothing to achieve that goal—even if it includes killing Jules in the process.

    • Hi everyone,

      Best of luck on all of your work!
      I’m currently shopping for a short story and editing a feature screenplay, a novel and a TV pilot.All to be queried/pitched soon. 🙂

    • Joanne Carpenter says:

      With another year or so before I complete my BA Professional Writing and Publishing, I am always writing. At the moment I am writing a very short essay on suicide for a sociology unit and an equally short feature on future design trends inspired by climate change and it’s ensuing changes in the way we will be living. I can’t wait to start writing ‘out there’ instead of just for my tutors.
      All the best.

    • Celeste says:

      Hey everyone! I’m working on a picture book called Sailing Le Cirque. You can follow my progress on my blog or check out this link.

      https://learnher.wordpress.com/2015/03/09/oscillating-procrastinating-and-deep-breaths/?preview=true

      Another progress post will be up later today, so check it out!

    • I am writing comments on my website, http://www.billdequill.com, on Karl Barth’s mammoth Church Dogmatics. I invite you to drop by and leave a comment on any one of my short posts.

    • Natalia says:

      I am literally working on finding my voice. So I created a free digital magazine:)
      http://healthy-intent.com/newsletter/

      Here’s an article from it:

      FINDING YOUR AUTHENTIC VOICE
      For the longest time I was afraid of writing. I’m not talking about homework assignments or book reports. I am talking about the kind of writing that captivates the reader; that goes along with expressing your truth. The kind I needed to produce for my business. But the truth is, I was scared of thinking! Growing up in a society where you were fed selective truth by a slotted teaspoon, I was not encouraged to have an opinion. To this day the idea of an authentic thought or my accent coming through my writing puts me in a state of panic. I talked about this with so many people, and someone had told me… think of Deepak Chopra, or Arianna Huffington, Mother Theresa or Dalai Lama. Each one has a different message, yet such powerful voices. The encouragement I have received over the years from my friends and family have grounded and lifted me up at the same time. Some of the first words I was able to string together in English were poems. After fifteen years of marriage, my husband and I still exchange poems on our anniversary. I have learned to stand up taller and to speak up in a room full of people. And to think, fifteen years ago I wouldn’t pick up the phone to call a plumber. I still get flashes of paralyzing fear. But what helps me get over it is the immense desire to be of service. To humbly offer you my perspective on life. To help you discover your personal beautiful truth and the courage to express it. Your words are magic. Even if your magic has an accent!

    • Nothing right now. I’m deciding if I want to focus and be an abstract artist and do writing for fun on the side or be a writer and paint abstract paintings on the side.

      I’ve decided to do the former.

    • So I’m taking a break for a few minutes from my morning writing. Finishing the first draft of my first novel. I wrote 50K words during NaNoWriMo 2012 and then let it sit on the back burner of my heart until I felt strongly impressed, while vacationing at the SC shore in May, to finish by summer’s end.

      Here’s the opening paragraphs: Would LOVE to know if these words make you want to read more…???

      Aurora by Sheila Kimball ©2015

      Trapped. And tired of life. Her life.

      That’s how she felt. And so she paced. Relentlessly back and forth along the third floor corridor creaking.

      In the old house on the hill. The one where she was born and had lived most of her life. The home where her story began.The place where she first got broken.

      And now this, her latest heartbreak.

      So morning and night, day in and day out, for so many months that she had lost track of how long, she put one foot in front of the other. Pacing, pacing, pacing as if by sheer repetition alone she might rewrite her tortured tale. Or at least erase a few chapters.

      But what is done, is done. And what has been done, and choices made, forms the foundation or at least direction that a life can take.

      Yet opportunity for change exists as readily as one’s next breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. And each heartbeat sounding a siren call to not give up. Ever.

      And the rain fell hard this November afternoon fading, and the wind screamed. Fog like a soaked shroud hugged the hills along the banks of the Hudson River in the tiny hamlet of Joppa, N.Y., halfway between Manhattan and Albany.

      In the distance a long, low wail reminiscent of a loon’s plaintive cry indicated a passing cargo ship as it labored through the storm up the ancient river that flows both ways.

      Ships passing in the night and life passing by the slender woman whose arms were wrapped around her waist as she gazed out the window of her study. Holding herself tight as she tried to hold it all together.

      But she couldn’t. 

      Not anymore. Not for another moment could she keep going through the motions. Groping in the darkness swirling, trying to find her way.

      Lost.

      So much lost. A life once lustrous and full of promise, now not more than a quiet existence in the shadowlands of memories haunting and regrets reaching stranglehold proportions. And all of it swirling negative in an ever downward spiral.

      Twisted.

      Wreckage of a lifetime of bad choices, lost loves and a hurting child gone were like a thousand sharp-edged pieces lying shattered across her path, piercing her heart with pain beyond words.

      She sobbed. Rain beat down merciless and she was barely able to breathe through her wailing. Her heart bleeding bitterness. And her fearing…

      • BETH NIELSEN says:

        Hi Sheila
        Just read your post. You have the makings of a terrific story here. Yes I would like to read more. I could honestly see your character and relate to her in a big way. Maybe because I’ve been done that road in my own personal life. It also seems ironic that whilst your character is sitting in pain so is mine. The title of my novel is RED RAIN. I have just started on it and already finished the first chapter. When Mary put this blog up I thought it would be good to put up the synopsis for commentary as I mulled over it for hours. Would you be so good as to look it over and tell me what you think of it. I would really appreciate it. Thank you. God willing someday I’ll be able to hand it over to a publisher or maybe I’ll just do self publishing. What will the title of your novel be and I’ll keep an eye out for it.
        Keep writing.

    • Ken Hughes says:

      I’m on books 1 and 2 of a contemporary fantasy series. THE HIGH ROAD answers two questions: “What do you do if the girl you grew up with finds she’s the heir to the secret of gravity control and the next target of a hidden sorcerer?” and “How good a cliffhanger can I write when my heroes can fly?”

    • I am working on a few things at the moment, first of which is just for fun. I am reviewing books and interviewing authors on my website:
      http://www.melonyteague.com/

      As a freelance writer I am working on many non-fiction projects and I love the variety and flexibility I have.

      Some of the things I am working on are:
      1. Revisions for manuscript to be published April 1, 2016 : http://www.melonyteague.com/as-the-ink-flows/
      It is a collaborative project, a devotional for Christain writers and speakers called, “As the Ink Flows” – Jusdon Press
      2. I will be working with a client to write her biography starting next month, telling her story about what it was like as a person of colour to grow up in the apartheid era in South Africa
      3. I am working at finishing up a 25th Anniversary commemorative booklet for a NGO this week.
      4. I am starting a new project this week which involves interviewing and capturing the stories of some very inspiring people in the world of sport.

      I love the variety that freelance work provides, the challenge is time management!

    • Cassidy Loman says:

      I’m working on a teen fiction romance (hopefully to be posted on Wattpad) under title currently known as “Her Elegant Napoleon”. It gives focus on an Autistic teenage girl. Who faces mental challenges such as depression, Anxiety, trauma, and pressure from the world we live; and a callous, sophisticated “It-Guy” socialite from a Billionaire family and around her age. I want this work to feel like a classic, (again also) sophisticated, and different the rest.

    • Scott Blackmore says:

      I’m currently writing my first story, whether I can stretch it out to a Novel remains to be seen. Earth is abandoned after chemical warfare renders it inhospitable and the inhabitants escape to Jupiter’s moon Io to a new colony of advanced technology imbued upon them by neural implants. Meanwhile the Human Martian penal colony is abandoned and falls into a state of mayhem as the guards leave for Io, leaving Chorrus, a hardened prison veteran to take control of the inmates and lead them back to Earth where they form a new civilisation. Hell bent on revenge, Chorrus finds a way to manipulate the Ionian technology and exact his revenge on his captors from afar, leading to an all out war between the two worlds

    • Jared Rauch says:

      Currently finishing up an outline for my first novel ! Super excited to start the first draft and adding all the details !

      • Good luck. I wrote 50K words on my first during NaNoWriMo in 2012. FINISHING the first draft by THIS summer’s end. Wish me luck, too!!

    • I have just finished ‘interviewing’ author K.J. Rollinson on my website. She is a prolific writer and has written everything from lovely, descriptive poems, and short stories, to no less than five books:four for children and one for adults. I’m also editing my husband’s hand-written memoirs, and writing a short story for an anthology ‘Food Glorious Food’ to be published by WordPlay Writers Forum.

    • Rhonda says:

      I am currently working on a series of short erotica stories.

    • I am doing so many things right now, but mainly reviewing books and running author interviews on my website (that is all just for fun)

      What I am working on are numerous freelance projects, some of which include biographies, a 25 anniversary booklet celebrating 25 years of service for a NGO I work for.

      Next month I start writing a biography (book) for a client.

      I am working on final revisions on a collaborative project for our book to be published April 1, 2016 by Judson Press. It is a devotional for Christian writers and speakers called “As the Ink Flows.”
      http://www.melonyteague.com/as-the-ink-flows/

      This week I start a new project that is so exciting and a privilege to be involved with…can’t say more about it until the press release has been posted.

      No fiction work happening, I mainly do non-fiction work.

    • Jo Ann says:

      I have recently written around 40 articles for http://parentingsyrup.com/ and http://familyfig.com/. I am also busy writing for a new website yet to be named.

    • Ty says:

      New blog post! I wouldn’t mind feedback! Please and Thank you!
      https://itisaweirdworldoutside.wordpress.com

    • Mark Tong says:

      working my way through a post at the moment: 7 Simple Questions That Will Transform How Happy You Feel Every Day. Trying to make sure it’s useful, inspiring and not trite:)

    • Thomas Noel Smith says:

      Adam and Eve: A Love Story
      The warmth of the morning sun touched Eve’s skin softly. She stretched her arms over head and then turned on her side in the shade of an old stately oak. Everything felt good—the warmth of the sun, the softness of her grassy pillow, and the sleep that embraced her. She began to drift into a deeper sleep, but then the voice came.
      “Eve…Eve…Wake up sleepyhead. I just created you and it’s time to get up and get started..”
      Eve sat up, rubbed her eyes, and yawned loudly. “Yeah, right. Tell me another one while you’re at it. You just created me. I’m not that gullible. You think I was born yesterday?”
      “No, you were ‘born’ at 8:35 a.m. this morning. Think back. Can you remember anything
      before today?”
      “You got me. I can’t remember. Are you gonna hold that against me?”

      • As one who knows the story…wondering how your rendition winds up! Good spin.

      • I like it. It sounds pretty sharp and witty. Good luck with the rest of the story. I wonder if Eve will put God in His place. Or Her place. In any case, I’m pulling for Eve. 🙂

    • tulika says:

      hi ! I have started this new blog and here’s the link to my first post- http://randomscribblific.blogspot.in/2015/06/words-in-trouble.html
      it is basically sarcasm on the maddening internet abbreviations used nowadays written in a hilarious language. Almost everyone can relate with their first experience of being on a social networking site after reading this post….
      check it out, NOW!
      Thanks WTD for letting me share my piece of writing with the world…

    • Scott Gregory Smith says:

      Written By Scott Gregory Smith (Under the name Gregory Scott) ©2015

      For three days and nights they heard Rosh’s screams, moans, and cries. And for those three days and nights they all remained locked in their cages. Dorinda came down to give them their food, handing out simple meals of meats, breads and cheeses of various types. The cook looked after them but she didn’t say a word, she just look upon them with pity.

      On the fourth, it all came to an end, when the girl awoke to silence. It scared her. She looked about the cage to see if Rosh had returned. He hadn’t. She cast her gaze about the basement. She didn’t have to look far. Rosh’s body laid atop the refuse pile.

    • Ty says:

      I have the uncanny ability to become pissed off with the manners of television. On the other hand, you want to learn about a culture look at its television. I’m going to do a public service to you, my readers. I’m going to let television swallow me whole. I’ll travel into its stomach, scream in agony from the burning of the gastric acid, slowly absorbed in the colon, and finally pushed through the anus into the toilet. A mind numbing experience not for cowards, so I’ll sacrifice myself in order to bring insight into our lives. I may be gone for a while.
      -excerpt Television ingested me, and I’m trapped in its Bowels!
      https://itisaweirdworldoutside.wordpress.com

    • Started a new series this past month, an off-shoot from my original PNR series. New series title: Blades Special Forces. 1st book in the series: Mission, Middle East.

    • Ynne says:

      A comics script. 🙂

    • I’m working on the third novel in the Inspector West series of crime stories. I’m about 55,000 words into the first draft.

      The opening snippet:

      When Maurice opened the door at the back of the old church, a stream of pale yellow light bathed the solitary vehicle in the car park behind the building. Dressed in black, he stepped out into the night and walked past the battered van, bearing the signage of St Frank’s, on his way home across the expanse of the yard separating his residence from the old church. Darkness reclaimed the van when the door closed behind the him.
      Father Maurice Skinner had no need for a light. The dim moonlight penetrating through the low cloud was more than sufficient to illuminate his path. Besides, he knew all there was to know about walking in darkness.

    • Poem I’m working on Copyright Louis Stevens 2015

      This world’s left me weary
      I have seen all there is to see
      All I long for is my family
      To walk this journey with me

      I have kissed the night
      Watched stars warm the winter sky
      Felt the sway of love at first sight
      And grappled and danced with life

      I’ve held love and cupped despair
      But I’ve yet to be anywhere more content
      than when I held the embrace of my friend
      Don’t let me be afraid

      Hold me up I think I’m falling
      I’m afraid of the coming morning

      One day my yesterdays
      will outnumber my coming days
      I am far away, I am on my way
      Let our fears and all our tears
      be washed away

      Hold me up I think I’m falling
      I’m afraid of the coming morning
      Don’t let me sink into despair
      When this world grows too heavy to bear

      When our time is done
      And ashes return to dust
      When we’ve lived and done our dreams just
      What will be left?

      But my hopes are high
      I keep pressing rewind
      Like time never stopped
      Forever I pray
      We remain

      When I’m far away and dreaming
      Trying to find rhyme in reason
      It’s you that’s always on my mind
      And if I live to be seventy-five
      or a hundred-and-nine
      I pray you’ll always be by my side

      Still I hold on
      to moments long gone
      to seasons fought
      and memories lost
      If there is one gift I’d leave behind
      It’s that you see yourself through my eyes
      Fill up your soul like you fill up mine
      May it be this way till the end of time

      • Beautiful. Evocative. Keep writing!!

        • Maryan says:

          I am not a star that every one like to me,i am a human a few people likes me,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,??????

      • Celeste says:

        This is a great poem. I can really feel your heart through the words.

    • Viktor says:

      I against I

      My life is on the verge of becoming completely meaningless. At first, I was trying to start doing something. I was writing. People even liked my writing. I’ve been writing mostly about myself and things going on around me. It was a blog. However, the people whose opinion I cared about didn’t go online to read my blog. Moreover, I didn’t want them to. The mere name of my blog was “dj-uebok” and that was just so bold I couldn’t let any grownups know the URL to my blog.
      Regardless of the name, I wanted those people to read what I had to write to get their approval or criticism. I wanted to remind them of my ability to think and analyze. It was important to me. I never talked a lot. Ever since childhood, I was usually told to keep my mouth shut. Now the people who told me to shut up or who were around when I was told to shut up don’t understand why I’m so uncommunicative. God, I hate hypocrites.
      I was always alone but never completely independent. I got scared quickly. And now I don’t even give a shit. I mean nobody around me would be surprised if I killed myself. Nobody would be too sad. My parents are ready for it. That is my problem.
      Things that have been happening to me these last few years are either weird or not even worth mentioning. I went to an American university. I failed it miserably by flunking out during my fourth year there. That’s right. My last year there I didn’t even go to finals. I came back to Russia, worked for a year and went to the army. I found a girl during the year in the army. I dumped her to go on vacation with my friend whom I met in the army. I work for my dad… I’m just doing everything the wrong way around. I should’ve stayed in school. I shouldn’t have dumped her the way I did. I definitely should not work for my dad. Right now I realize I never cared that much for my dad’s work. I tried. But trams and buses and big bosses with lots of money and power is not the reality I’m interested in. I like robots. I like girls. I like books and movies. I like sun. And sea. I like my life to be less about paper and money and deadlines and negotiations and politics. I like it pure. I want my life to be about kids and robots and books and land and sea. And music of course. Can’t go far without music. I want to be able to do something with my own hands. My dad would call up a professional even to change a light bulb. Who has the real power? My dad with millions of dollars in bank account that he mostly wastes or the guy he calls to change the light bulb who is usually drunk and divorced? That’s right. Neither. That’s why I don’t want my life to be about this competition for power. You never win. You might think you won for a while. But then you realize you are not one bit happier then you were before you got the power. If anything, you feel more stressed.
      Have you ever wondered why in English we write “I” with a capital letter but in Russian we write “я” with a small letter?
      My life is on the verge of becoming meaningless.

      • gigi says:

        I so hope this is a fictional account of a life. It got me hooked, and I hope it’s from something you’re writing and is not autobiographical. I’m alone much of the time too, except for the congenial company of my dog, and I’m hooked on writing. Someone will have to stage and intervention one day to pry my fingers off the keyboard. Don’t stop writing.

      • Jen says:

        Turn this into a screen-play, seriously…the ending is still unfolding. Don’t kill off the hero. We stumble and fall for a reason, every single day.

      • Dear Viktor,
        You are a powerful writer because you made me feel something. By taking me through the saga of your mistakes, and then turning it around with the realization of what you like, I am cheering for you to succeed.

        You are in control of your life. You don’t have to be meaningless. Keep writing and see where it takes you. Pursue what you love and what you know is good for you.

        Write more!

    • HENRY JOE SAKALA says:

      Night Nurse

      Written By Henry Joe Sakala ©2015

      She stood before his motionless body. She was the only nurse in a room of full of more than 50 patients suffering from different ailments. Far in the back of the ward, a patient wailed continuous in pain. She, however, was oblivious of the wailing. Her mind was dead to the rest of the room and alive only to the body before her.

    • I just finished my first historical fiction book Tragedy on the Twenty and am planning a book launch party on July 19 in Fulton, Ontario, where the tragedy took place in April of 1933. After a short reading, I am planning to ask some trivia questions about prices during that period or the town where the story takes place.

      • Hey, Barbara, what exactly IS Tragedy on the Twenty? Does it relate to the Great Depression at all? Would like to know more. Good luck with the reading. Jay

    • Nancy Rouse says:

      My project I’m working on is a television show about a young man and his family are living in the gang wars of the Hispanic and black gangs in Chicago and trying to help those who don’t want to be in it.

      • Hi Nancy. Your project sounds amazing. Being from Chicago, I’m particularly interested in work with a sense of place in the city. Can we find your work online somewhere?

    • judy murphy says:

      I’m a gnat’s whatsit from finishing my very first childrens’ rhyming fantasy/educational bestseller!! 😉 … Yes of course I’m realistic, however my optics are spotless and you know, you can’t be optimistic with a misty optic! :/


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