It starts with stealing Donald Trump’s jet

Truth or Dare on an EPIC scale! This made me laugh out loud.😀

The Green-Walled Tower

copyright Rich Voza

“We’re gonna get murdered.” I unlocked Donald Trump’s private jet with stolen keys.

“It was your choice,” Jack said. “You wanna switch?”

“No.” I climbed into the cockpit and consulted the WikiTheft page on flying a stolen jet.

Somehow we took off. Somehow we flew to Mexico City and crash-landed in the busiest airport in Central America.

Somehow we spray-painted “To Mexico, love Donny” on the side and escaped the authorities.

“It’s your turn,” I said as we sat on a sidewalk, trying to think how to get home.

Jack looked thoughtful. “I think I’d better pick Truth this time.”

*FYI*

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Ellis Island

Wow! I can’t believe I’ve been gone since January. I’ve discovered a new artistic outlet in art journaling and neglected my words online. Okay, well I also finished my BLA in English and History. Now I’m working on my genealogy home study course through the NGS. It’s already been a VERY busy year. This week’s story for Friday Fictioneers was inspired by an episode of “Who Do You Think You Are?” from the current season. The names are all from my family tree. Hope you like it and I hope to make this a regular habit again. For anyone who is finding this and hasn’t tried Friday Fictioneers (write 100 words for the weekly photo prompt), do it. It’s wonderful for getting the creative juices flowing and honest, constructive feedback.

Ellis Island

Albert paced nervously at the back of the room, wearing a groove in the tile floor, as he waited for her turn.

“Achelpohl.”

As an illiterate, she was denied official entrance twice before. He couldn’t bear to lose her for good. Their homeland was no longer safe. Deportation meant certain death.

“Diekmann.”

Government bureaucracy didn’t understand the concepts of love and family.

“Feldmann.”

It was bad enough losing his brother. He couldn’t lose Clara too. Albert would marry her, not simply for the obligation of yibbum, but for love.

“Mueller.”

He saw the answer in her tears. She was home.

Whims of Fate

Back for another installment of Friday Fictioneers! This one was inspired by the volatile weather that blew through here the day after Christmas. My roommate and I spent the long night watching storm track after storm track head our way gaining intensity, only to drift east. We were grateful to be spared, not knowing what was happening elsewhere. While I (tucked away safely in Fort Worth) was very lucky, eleven people in Dallas were not. Tornadoes ripped through neighborhoods, across a busy major freeway, and destroyed homes, businesses, and churches. The system moved across the United States adding to the death toll and damage. It still seems very surreal even though I live in prime tornado territory.

Whims of Fate

Photo copyright – Jean L. Hays

Sherry surveyed the damage, trying not to burst into tears.

The diner had fallen on hard times. It was in the Boecker family for generations. She was in danger of losing it in the economic downturn. Sherry considered selling it. Then the tornado blew through leaving behind one wall and a pile of rubble where her business once stood. Now she couldn’t even sell.

Her son Ricky called out, “Look, Mom! Dad’s stained glass window made it.”

The real miracle came two days later when she found the insurance policy her husband took out on the diner before he passed.

———————-

Check out the rest of the great stories using this photo prompt by clicking on the little froggy below.

2015 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 380 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

MyNoWriMo

Okay, so the official NaNoWriMo was an epic fail. As usual. I’ve tried several times and have yet to win. So far. This year’s fail was a bit more stinging. It was the first time I pledged to write 50k since I realized that writing is what I want, what can make me happy no matter what I do to earn a paycheck. Though I do hope someday that my writing will bring that paycheck. But, as much as the loss felt worse, I also recognize that as long as I’m trying to work a full time job, take care of 5 kitties, and take college courses that the added pressure of a 50k word sprint was not conducive to sanity. Or happiness. Or sleep. And as the picture shows, I need to embrace the failure as a necessary part of the writing process.

Which is why I’m claiming December to be MyNoWriMo (my novel writing month) with a goal of 25k. January will also be MyNoWriMo. I’m going to set realistic goals to match my free time and finally set a writing routine. I think this will free up expectations and help me enjoy the process of pulling stories out of my head and on to “paper.”

My final papers for the semester are due on Saturday and Sunday so soon the words will flow and the nifty little word count meter will grow. More importantly, I’ll tell my cozy mysteries and have a fair trade with my writing buddy for the story she’s working on now. Coming soon…writing prompts to help me figure out my world building and character development.

 

00 / 25000 words. 0% done!

p.s. If you haven’t seen Inside Out yet, GO BUY IT NOW! It’s spectacular. It’s everything a good writer hopes they can achieve as well as a great vocabulary for expressing feelings. My roomie tells me I’m very much Joy, though I feel like I relate to Anger better. That might just be the genius of having Lewis Black as the voice of Anger though. Perfect. Or the retail job.😉

Help!

Back for another Friday Fictioneers! I tend to use the photo prompt as literally as possible. This week’s photo immediately gave me an idea that is not of the place shown (West Bay, Dorset). It’s a bit silly and fan fiction-ish but I couldn’t resist the plot bunny that took up residence in my brain for this.😀

Photo copyright – Sandra Crook

Help!

It had been a long journey but I finally made it.

First stop was freezing cold water, lots of ice, and an explosion. When I surfaced, four young men stared in astonishment. I inquired and they pointed me in the right direction. For some reason they seemed familiar.

After many wrong turns, my last mistake brought me to the Bahamas. Sandy beaches and warm water washed me up the shore. Again the four young men though now I realize why they looked familiar. They’re somewhat famous as musicians in England. One last time I ask directions, “White Cliffs of Dover?”

100 words exactly🙂

I would’ve included a video clip instead of a still photo but YouTube and Universal Music Group have parked all Beatles videos behind the YouTube Red pay wall. Boo!

The Last

I never know where the Muse will take me when I start a Friday Fictioneers story. Mine tend to be less bleak. I guess this one is the product of a less than stellar summer. Or maybe it’s just a story my Muse really wanted to tell.🙂 On with the words!

Photo prompt – © Jennifer Pendergast

The Last

As I maneuvered the rusty little boat onto the lake I looked back at the makeshift grave stacked with stones. We came so close to making it all the way. We got careless, sure of our invincibility. I’m the only one to see the dream come true. She is gone.

Darkness fell before I reached the shore, lights beckoning. I dug through dwindling supplies for my binoculars. I wanted a glimpse of the new world. All I saw was death. On the shore. In the windows. Bodies ravaged by the mutated flu virus. Only lights remained. I am the last.

Pardon Me, Your Age is Showing

How old are the modern Pagan religions? Probably not as old as you think. #thepaganexperience

Source: Pardon Me, Your Age is Showing

Connections

This summer has been a bit rough, leaving very little time or energy for much more than going to my “day” job. I hope to get back to more writing. It boosts my confidence and helps me forget evenings in retail for a while. I’ve tried and failed a few attempts to get any serious work done on my cozy mystery. But I’ll get there soon. I’ve slowly gotten together my main cast of small town Texas characters and now need to get on with the details of the homicide and ensuing investigation.🙂

This week’s picture for Friday Fictioneers reminds that I’ve let another thing I enjoy immensely (my genealogy research) fall by the wayside with the drama and stress of the last couple of months. Hopefully I can get back to that as well. Enjoy the micro story!

PHOTO PROMPT – © Claire Fuller

Connections

Sally was so close to finding Barbara, the sister she’d not seen since third grade. She thought Barbara died. Mother wouldn’t talk about her. Grown-ups got quiet anytime Sally asked.

It was fifteen years before Sally discovered their father took Barbara when he lost parental rights. It took another year to figure out he’d dumped her at his grandmother’s house. He died shortly afterwards without telling anyone about his wife and other child. Now all Sally had was the grandmother’s name and hometown.

Heading into search Clarksville city records for information, she stared at the clerk with her face.

“Barbara?”

One of My Familiars

Back again for Friday Fictioneers! Sorry if the story is a bit sad but it has a bit of reality to it. It wasn’t what I started out to write but I guess it was what I needed to write this time. 100 words exactly.

 

PHOTO PROMPT -© Madison Woods

One of My Familiars

Trying to call the quarters, my energy is as intermittent as the sight of the full moon as it disappears and reappears from the wisps of clouds. Tonight is important and the spell needs to be perfect.

I face North and call to Earth.

I face East and call to Air.

I pause and wait for a larger cloud to move past before continuing.

I face South and call to Fire.

I face West and call to Water.

 

Now that the circle is created I can call upon Bast. Watch over my lost feline familiar. She’s in your loving arms.

************

I made a minor change. The last two words (originally capable hands) didn’t feel like it fit the rest of the piece.

This one is for my little old lady, Aku. She was about 16 years old when her kidneys began to fail a few weeks ago.

Aku with her buddy Bert the farting hippo.