Sacred Bonds

Spewing forth in leaps and bounds
Eternal love encased around
My heart to yours, yours to mine
Loving on the greener side

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HUCKABEE! HUCKABEE!

For the love of all that is good I'm begging PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE do NOT vote for Hillary Clinton! We're going to hell in a hand basket quickly enough on our own. Just say NO.

LAZE AND LEMONADE

I entered a contest through WRITER'S DIGEST and was given the assignment of: In 750 words or less, write a story starting with "WHEN I FIRST TOLD MY PARENTS ABOUT _____, THEY DIDN'T BELIEVE ME" and ending with "AND THAT'S HOW I ENDED UP ______."

In keeping with rules and regulations of WD, I will not be posting the story until the contest is over. If you'd like to read my creation, LAZE AND LEMONADE, email me a request.

Quotes for Apiring Writers

I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.
- Douglas Adams

Rejection slips, or form letters, however tactfully phrased, are lacerations of the soul, if not quite inventions of the devil - but there is no way around them.
- Isaac Asimov

If the artist does not fling himself, without reflecting, into his work, as Curtis flung himself into the yawning gulf, as the soldier flings himself into the enemy's trenches, and if, once in this crater, he does not work like a miner on whom the walls of his gallery have fallen in; if he contemplates difficulties instead of overcoming them one by one...he is simply looking on at the suicide of his own talent.
- Honore de Balzac

Beware of self-indulgence. The romance surrounding the writing profession carries several myths: that one must suffer in order to be creative; that one must be cantankerous and objectionable in order to be bright; that ego is paramount over skill; that one can rise to a level from which one can tell the reader to go to hell. These myths, if believed, can ruin you.
If you believe you can make a living as a writer, you already have enough ego.
- David Brin

The reason 99% of all stories written are not bought by editors is very simple. Editors never buy manuscripts that are left on the closet shelf at home.
- John Campbell

Thank your readers and the critics who praise you, and then ignore them. Write for the most intelligent, wittiest, wisest audience in the universe: Write to please yourself.
- Harlan Ellison

Get it down. Take chances. It may be bad, but it's the only way you can do anything really good.
- William Faulkner

It begins with a character, usually, and once he stands up on his feet and begins to move, all I can do is trot along behind him with a paper and pencil trying to keep up long enough to put down what he says and does.
- William Faulkner

@ First Sight

She awoke to the calling of her name just outside the door. "Beeeccaaaa. Wake up. Lunch is almost ready."

Lunch?

She hadn't yet opened her eyes, knowing the curtains were always tied open, rolled over to spare them the abuse of the morning light. Mornings were always the worst. The dull ache pulsating throughout her head was a reminder of the amount of alcohol she'd thrown back last night. This was not going to be a pleasant awakening.

Might as well get this over with.

Her eyes popped open, and for a moment, allowed her to take in the fullness of the midday sunlight blaring throughout the room.
Then it hit. Enough pain to have brought her to her knees if she'd been standing. Her head felt like a throbbing mound of flesh. Hangovers were not her specialty given the little amount of alcohol she'd consumed in her short twenty five years. She moaned in a whisper, " I'll never do that again," while fluttering her eyelids to slowly adjust her eyes to the light.
After propping herself up, swallowing a couple of aspirin she retrieved from the nightstand and sighing in anticipation of relief, she relaxed her back against the headboard and looked around the room. It was the same bedroom she had slept in for the past five years. Nothing new.
Why then did she have this nagging feeling that something was different? Not a difference with the room, but a change in her. Like her mind held a secret that it was intent on keeping, for the sheer enjoyment of teasing her with its knowledge.

What happened last night?

Nothing she could recall outside the normal Walker family Fourth of July reunion. Her family had always been very close and her mother had a hard time letting go of her and Charlie when it was time to leave the nest, so she implemented a rule of at least one reunion a year. Most years the family was able to get together more than the required one time, but if not, they were always guaranteed a gathering on Independence Day.

So what made last night any different?

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember.
She recalled arriving around six, and being greeted with a near suffocating hug from her brother. Things had surely changed between her and Charlie since they were younger. Back then he would have acknowledged her with a swift kick to the shin or a punch in the arm, before spinning around and running out of sight. She never took the time to chase after him knowing that he would always return home around dinner time. He wouldn't dream of missing a good meal. She'd wait in his room or in the upstairs bathroom, ready to pounce the second he walked into range. It was a continuous game of cat and mouse throughout their entire adolescence. But eventually everyone grows up. And with his first year of wedded bliss, and the expectancy of a baby next month, he'd by all means grown up into a fine young man.


"How's it flowing, Sprinkle?"

Okay, so he hadn't matured in all aspects.

"Stop calling me that," she replied with a swift punch in the arm.
"I can't help it. Am I wrong or wasn't it you who almost peed their pants in public?" he teased.
"That was a long time ago, not to mention the fact that I was drunk at the time, so drop it already. Anyway, I'm doing just fine, thanks for asking. Where's Sharon?"
"Bed rest. The doctor thinks it's best that she take it easy. Besides, she's miserable anyway, the heat's really getting to her."
He leaned in close, "Personally, I love this time of year."

"Yeah well, you might feel differently if you were carrying around a baby in this kind of heat."
She tapped him on the belly and laughed. "Although, it does appear that you've sprouted quite a pooch of your own since I last saw you."

Her eyes fluttered open, pausing the memory. The conversation between her and Charlie last night had flowed as easily as ever.....

2008 Roll Call

My goal of reading 50 books this year, which is a decrease from my normal goal of 75, has started with the completion of book one. Seventy-five books was just too much to handle when added to my already full plate. And though I started this book at the end of 2007, it's going in the records for 2008, the year of it's completion. Cheating? Perhaps, but it's my list and my rules! :)

1. One Mississippi-Mark Childress Rating: 8