Book Review – Secret of the Haunted Mirror

The Secret of the Haunted Mirror by M.V. Carey

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Still as much fun as it was when I was a kid. Anyone who wants to find a good mystery series for kids, skip the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew and get the Three Investigators. It’ll also be a fun introduction to a time before cell phones and the internet. 😀

I reread this as part of my 2015 Reading Challenge (category – book from my childhood).

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Book Review – Write Your Novel from the Middle

Write Your Novel From the Middle: A New Approach for Plotters, Pantsers and Everyone in Between by James Scott Bell

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

It may be a short book, at just under 80 pages, but it doesn’t need more. He gives helpful information without padding the book with useless tidbits. The examples are clear and concise. I especially love the “suspension bridge” analogy for creating a solid, readable story. It’s a valuable tool I will refer back to on a regular basis to improve my writing skills.

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Justice

Back after another long hiatus with a new story for Friday Fictioneers. I know this is possibly too soon to write on this incident but the words refused to leave. I couldn’t think of anything else to write for the prompt. All I could think about was a frightened five year old. I apologize if this bothers anyone.

 

Photo Prompt – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

Justice

It’s been forty years since the tragedy, since my grandma held me still while people died all around me. Most of what I know of that day comes what I was told, from the stories about Great Aunt Susie, about my brave uncle. All I remember is feeling scared but safe in grandma’s arms, of the certainty that I mustn’t move a muscle or look at what was happening. I remember the ceiling, the first thing I saw when the police showed up.

So much pain. So much loss. And it changed nothing. No justice, no peace. My administration will change that.

#prayingforcharleston #blacklivesmatter

I really don’t like Pagan Standard Time

I had no idea this was even a thing. It certainly shouldn’t. Self-importance is running rampant these days.

Writings of a Pagan Witch

Don’t live on Pagan Standard Time

There! I’ve said it. I don’t like the whole excuse-ridden idea of “Pagan Standard Time”. We’re all familiar with it. You’re going to a Pagan ritual and the host says to arrive between 7 – 7:15pm for a 7:30 start and you should all be heading home by 10pm.

Only when you arrive at 7, you find you’re the first person there. The host is still running around in bedroom slippers trying to get kids fed and dogs watered and other mundane rituals of daily living sorted, ritual space is no where near being ready to be created, and the whole place just feels chaotic. Finally around 7:30 the next person arrives, and over the next hour the rest trickle in.

“Oh, sorry. We’re running on Pagan Standard Time. Teehee.”

Just when you think things aren’t going to ever actually start, they begin the…

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Fading

Photo copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Fading

The photo changed for the last time when Geraldine died. Years ago, it was full of smiling faces lined up on the veranda the day of our big family reunion, the one time we were all together. First we lost Grandpa. I knew the picture was different when his image vanished from it. Then went Uncle Charles. One by one, the family disappeared, the photo more lonely and bare. I’m all that’s left of the group. The only part of the image left now is the family homestead. What will happen to the picture once I, the photographer, am gone?

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Here’s a VERY late submission to Friday Fictioneers.

Destined to…

Photo copyright – Melanie Greenwood

This week’s story started out in my mind as something more melancholy or ethereal. As is usual for me, it didn’t actually come out the way I planned. I never know where my muse will go until she’s already left me behind. 🙂 Hope you like my take on the photo for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I’m still not sure how I feel about it. Ah, well. There’s always next week.

Destined to…

It seemed like a fun way to spend the day, to lose myself in the beauty of nature. I turned my face to the warmth of the sun, stiff breeze at my back, and entered the maze. I felt an energy the moment I crossed the threshold. No sounds penetrated the green walls. The energy tugged, a faint voice directed me to the center, to the answer to all my questions. As I entered the heart of the maze, the voice said, “Your gift in this life is–”

Awoken from the dream by my stupid cat, now I’ll never know.

Charlie

Photo copyright Ted Strutz

Time for another Friday Fictioneers! I’m not sure what I think of this one but I’ll share it anyway.

Charlie

“Are you sure it didn’t start at one of the power outlets?” Ted pointed at an unplugged switch plate.

“We checked them. No scorching, no residue,” Kurt sighed. “They’re clean. Well, relatively clean.”

“The fire had to start somewhere. And don’t say it was spontaneous human combustion.”

“Of course not. There’s no such thing,” Kurt huffed. “The fire didn’t spread across the body. It consumed everything at once. What could cause that?”

“Hell if I know. You’re the expert.”

Kurt didn’t voice his thoughts. Five strange fires. Victims all child molesters. He knew pyrokinesis sounded crazier than spontaneous combustion.

The Fictioneer gang’s all here!

Lady of Shalott

       Photo copyright – Georgia Koch

Sorry so late to the Friday Fictioneers game this week. A new semester and two new classes had me scrambling on this one. I’m still not all that happy with this piece but I was determined to come up with something. I need to push through the harder ones and not only try ones that immediately spark an idea. I didn’t put the official inLinkz code at the bottom. It seems to be giving me some trouble. Most of my links from older stories have broken or vanished altogether, so I’m using a traditional text link until I can figure out the problem.

The Lady of Shalott

Much like Anne Shirley as she floated down the river reciting the Lady of Shalott, I was minding my own business. Not at all in need of a rescue. Mother nature had other ideas. A sudden deluge washed my tiny Yaris into a ditch before I could react, quickly rising nearly to the windows. I crawled out the window and onto the car as the water continued to rise. I was never happier than that moment to see the Ford F-350 pull up close. “Hop in the back,” he said. Damn. He was the last person I wanted to see.

Here’s all the other fine work for the week

2014 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 360 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Above Reproach

Photo Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

I couldn’t seem get a solid handle on a story for last week’s Friday Fictioneers. Several possibilities popped into mind immediately this week. I look forward to reading the myriad of interpretations.

Above Reproach

It was his fault. He posted articles online. He joined the movement. He was the one to speak out against the corrupt government, bought and paid for by the major corporations.

Nigel assumed he was untouchable, that his family’s status would shield him. He never considered the consequences to his family. Away for a weekend of protests, Nigel returned to find an empty home. While he played crusader for strangers, the mayor’s personal army came for his mother and sisters. Cold dinner waited in the kitchen to be served. Nigel waited at the window, hoping against hope for their return.