Denise Covey's Blog, page 2

#WEP August Challenge - my #flashfiction using the movie, Chocolat as the prompt.

Hello there! I'm glad you came by to read my #flashfiction based on the movie prompt - Chocolat. Those who have read my novel, Paris Dreams, will recognise the restaurant where I set the two main characters' first break up. My follow up book, still in the works, is also set in Paris, and is based on a traditional French cookery school. I've incorporated some ideas from that as well. And even the service overseas is in my new book, so I had several ideas to play with for this story. 

Please enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this.

Tastes of Love

 

The restaurant, with itssilky red walls and black chandeliers, wrapped its dark arms around me,welcomed me home to Paris after a long absence. As a war correspondent in theMiddle East, food, any food was a bonus eaten on the run, but I can’t recallthe taste, but I recall much else I’d rather forget.

“Concentrate on the joys you’veexperienced, not the tragedies,” my therapist, Celeste, advised during  our session today.

“What do you know of tragedy?”I couldn’t help saying, raw from my latest loss.

“Pardon. You’re right ofcourse.” She smoothed her perfect chignon, freshened her bright red lipstickthen cooed to her pet birds in the covered courtyard of her luxuriousapartment. “But try.”

I’m trying. 

Immersing myselfin what has always brought me joy – traditional French food. Traditional Frenchfood never changes and tonight I relished that. I’ve had enough change for now.The meals at Le Chocolat (pronounced show-ko-lah, don’t you love it!) are typically French – plain, tasty,inexpensive peasant's food which is what I love best. It’s never fussy with modern twists and miniscule servings which don’twork for me. I rarely choose my restaurants by Michelin stars – I choose thosewith hearty, old-fashioned meals like Maman and Grand’Mere used to cook.

Waiters here are as traditionalas the food. My favorite, Maurice, caught my eye, hurried to my table, pulledout my chair, flicked a crisp white napkin and placed it on my lap. “Shall I bringthe mussels, Cara?” He scanned the room. “But where is your friend?”

Oh my heart. “He couldn’t make it, désolé.Mais oui to the mussels, s’il te plait, Maurice.”

I dealt with those rattlylittle mouthfuls of joy quickly, relishing the white wine and cream sauce, nectarof the gods. I struggled to stay in the moment, sorry Celeste; I shake my headand instead anticipate the rich onion soup, Le Chocolat's signature dish.

Maurice was already whippingaway my plate and placing a huge white bowl before me. Ooh la la. What couldbeat the shot of sweet onion fragrance on a bitter winter's night?  Hmm. Concentrate, Cara. That soakedgarlicky bread and long, stringy toasted cheese always sticks to my chin. Let’sface it; there is no elegant way to eat this dense soup, but tonight no one dabsmy messy face with a napkin. But the soup; I wanted to live in the bowl, berevived by the nourishing juices, build myself up for my next assignment,Ukraine. Where will I find food over there?

Maurice offered me a free cocktail. I held the tiny, jeweled glass againstthe light, mesmerized by the play of diamonds and rich red liquid. I held it close tomy nose, hesitated, sipped. It tasted of rose perfume, a sweet flavor thatclashed with my morbid thoughts. Guilt crept over me; I try to push itaway, but it refuses to leave. Why should I survive to live another day, eatanother joyous meal, while my fellow correspondent, Benoit, ate his last mealthen stepped onto an IB outside the restaurant? 

I will visit his parents inMontmartre after dinner which is why my stomach is taut and I’m forcing myselfto enjoy every mouthful. For Benoit. Benoit. We shared so many meals at LeChocolat and Maurice always gave us that tiny cocktail. He was performing anact of kindness, but memories turned my taste to dust.

I pushed it aside andordered a rich red to accompany the Beef Bourguignon which Maurice has delivered to my table. The sharp aromas of tiny roasted onions, carrot,and rich, red, melt-in-your-mouth beef...my stomach danced, relaxed a little.How Benoit loved this dish and always reached across the table to finish mine! 

I lifted my fork, speared a cube of tendermeat. The flavor of red wine mixed with onion and herbs revealed to me, ifthe mussels and onion soup hadn't already convinced me, that I was back in Paris.

It was pleasant beyond words to be drinking good wine and eating excellentfood - a bottle of wine and a plate of comforting food is always good company,tonight, my only company.

Maurice saw I was immersed in my food and drink and left me to my joys andsorrows, only coming by to top up my wine at regular intervals. I saw inhis doleful eyes that he’d realized Benoit wasn’t coming back, and he offeredsuccor in the way he knew best. 

He raised his eyebrows.

I nodded. Yes, please.

Chocolat.

We always finished our mealwith a platter of perfectly-created chocolat in all shapes, sizes and colors.

I reached for a dark star-shapedchocolate with golden hearts and placed it on my tongue.

“Au revoir, Benoit,” Iwhispered. “I hope you’re somewhere enjoying plentiful food, my love.”

TAGLINE: Food is a memory trigger extraordinaire!

~*~

WORDS: 817

FCA

BIG NEWS! A FLASH FICTION ANTHOLOGY!

Mock up cover only created on Canva

If you enjoy writing flash fiction, please go HERE to read about WEP's upcoming Anthology. If you've ever written to a WEP challenge, or do so before December '23, you are invited to submit.

If you like the idea of writing to prompts, October is our next, run by our very own thriller queen, Yolanda Renee. Please think about what you could do with the Phantom of the Opera prompt. Go HERE for ideas to get your creative juices flowing.

Thanks again for reading! I'll visit as soon as I can.

Denise

#IWSG August '23, #amwriting, #amediting

 Hello readers!

CLICK to read more IWSG posts!

The awesome co-hosts for the August 2 posting of the IWSG are Kate Larkinsdale, Diane Burton, Janet Alcorn, and Shannon Lawrence!

  Be sure to visit the
Insecure Writer’s Support Group Website!!!

Down to business!

Hope the month of July was a success! Thank you for those who left helpful comments on my last month's IWSG post asking for your writing schedules. Was great. 

I've been writing up a storm. How about you? So much happening - WEP challenge prepared for August 1 with Sonia Dogra, I've extended my Book Funnel sub for another year, so have been preparing book samples for a women's fiction promo which included making mock-up covers on Canva, self-editing said two novels, and sent the Fijian Princess novel to Nas Dean in Fiji. So glad. She found a few bloopers re Fijian bures. Brilliant!

Can Stock Photo of Navala Village where my two main characters sort themselves out. CSP is brilliant for images - you pay, but no sign ups etc.

And one reason I've written so much is I head off on a caravan trip to North Queensland, Townsville, to spend 3 weeks with family. Writing is pretty much off the agenda up there!

 

Lots of sunrises and sunsets

Lots of this!

Hopefully some of this!

So above discussion segues into this month's question -

 Have you ever written something that afterwards you felt conflicted about? If so, did you let it stay how it was, take it out, or rewrite it?

Of course. I find it excruciating to let go of my darlings. My leaning is more toward - oh I could have written that better! More pace? Did I really need that chapter? My cover could have been better...etc etc. I'm no stranger to re-writing, buying a new cover...etc, but there's only so much that is useful. When I publish my next two books, I'll have 8 books published. Then...I will go back to the beginning and pay for new covers on my vampire series and jump into promotion again. (Had a hiatus on that while hubs needed more attention). I've proved - no promo, few sales. 

So, have a great August, everyone!

And if you'd like to stretch yourself, here's a sweet idea. Join WEP for the August challenge!

Who's got the sweetest story?

Did you know that WEP is publishing an Anthology in May 2024? Now open for submissions for flash fiction of under 1,000 words. CLICK to learn more.

Another mock up cover made on Canva until we find the main genre in the submissions. Then Olga Godim will put her talents to work!

Have a great month. 

Denise

#IWSG JULY - HOW MANY MINUTES/HOURS/DAYS DO YOU WRITE?

How are you doing? I'm glad you found your way here on IWSG day because I want to pick your brains. I'm not answering the optional question today - I'm going my own way.

After trying for the past 10 years, I'm finally closing down my English tutoring business at the end of the senior school year. I made sure I only tutored Year 12 students this year - they'll be off to University, so I won't get tearful phone calls from mums and dads when I fling them into the big wide world without their guide by their side.

Now, my insecurity is - what do I do now I have the opportunity to write full time? Well, I have a big extended family, so there are never-ending demands on my time, but there's nothing new about that. Some clever clogs manage to write books with a baby over their shoulder, tapping on their smart phones. Wow. But I'm definitely going to have extra hours in the week to write and I fear I will fritter them away.

I'm endlessly fascinated by those threads in many FB writing groups I follow. Last week there was one on 20booksto50k whose focus is unashamedly The Business of Being a Self-Published Author. That's the crux of my problem - I don't treat writing as a business, except in my head. So on 20 books, there were the usual and stoic - "I set aside xx number of hours per day and stick to it, no exceptions" to the "I never set goals because it stresses me and I end up writing less." Hmm. Reminds me of someone.

It doesn't take much to fascinate me when writers talk about writing because I always think everyone is smarter than I am. Then I remind myself I have self-published 6 books over a couple years which sounds pretty awesome, until I 'fess I've been working on some of them since 2010, LOL. To call me a slow writer is an understatement. You know, there's places to travel, holidays to take, house to clean, meals to cook, books to read, WEP to oversee and write for, research ... you know. And I just can't stop self-editing!!

But I was truly fascinated by one clever writer who said, and I paraphrase, "I spend a month outlining/planning my next book, I spend a month (yes, only a month!!!) writing it, then leave it for a month, then I spend a month editing - self-editing, then send it to my editor and start the whole process again on my next book." Holy guacamole! Now if I try to emulate this clever author I'd fall flat on my face, seeing I've never finished a book in under 5 years!

**So how about you? Are you secure in your writing career, set a business plan and follow it, or are you more like me who doesn't set weekly goals so I'm not disappointed when I can't reach them? I'd love to hear how clever you sets goals.

And this is the purpose of the IWSG - To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!

So thanks in advance for your assistance and guidance ...

Be sure to visit the  Insecure Writer’s Support Group Website!!!

And the following kind people have taken time out of their busy writing lives to help Alex this month.

 PJ Colando,  Kim Lajevardi,  Gwen Gardner,  Pat Garcia,  and  Natalie Aguirre!

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Would you tweet for me?

Do you set#writinggoals, #IWSG, @DeniseCCovey #amwriting #writingcareer, #writersoftwitter, #writingcommunity,  https://dencovey.blogspot.com/2023/07/iwsg-july-how-many-minuteshoursdays-do.html

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And I can't leave without inviting you to write for WEP in August. 

How about this? Sure to be a favorite~yummy~

What could be sweeter than to write about chocolate?
Post - August 16th to the 18th 2023
Thanks so much -

Denise

#WEP #JUNECHALLENGE - Close Encounters of the Third Kind. My #flashfiction, Gone in 60 Seconds

 Hi! Welcome to the June WEP challenge, Close Encounters of the Third Kind using the sci-fi movie as the prompt. 

I'm sharing a nail biter I wrote in 2010 and have never shared on my blog. I think it encapsulates a close encounter. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think in the comments.

            

 Gonein 60 Seconds

 

I panic.

Forget everythingI’ve been taught.

Okay, 60 secondsof free falling has been sweet, but now the parachute is supposed to take upthe slack, but guess what? Yep. Just my luck. The shanky thing gets itselfstuck and here I go, free falling, free screaming, heading for the ground at agreat rate of knots.

Tug! Tug! Tug!

It’s stuck allright! I lose all hope of hearing that thunderous whoosh, seeing that gentlepuff of parachute silk billowing above me. Nah, this time it’s just me, the skyand that old enemy, gravity. I’m no longer floating. I’m dropping towards theground like a lead ball, faster, faster. I force my eyes open again and try toreason with myself. I probably have another 60 seconds before impact.

Think! Think!Think!

 I manoeuvre my body back into the archposition which isn’t easy when my limbs are stiff with terror. In training I’vebeen shown how you can direct your flight in free fall, so with a great deal ofeffort I pull my arms slightly back at the shoulders and straighten my legs asI’ve been taught. My heart begins to thump again. The adrenalin rushes throughme.

I know what to doand I do it.

I move backwardsby extending my arms and bending my knees like I’m trying to touch the back ofmy head with my heels. From this position I can make a left or right turn bytwisting my upper body slightly. You might be wondering why I’m bothering butI’d been told in training for my solo jump that you can survive a free fallfrom up to 50,000 feet if you stay in control and hey, I’m only at 11,000 feetso I must be in with a chance, don’t you think? A survival float, they call it.Choose your drop zone. I know I’ll have a better chance of survival if I land ona nice soft spot. Or in deep water. Or even on a car or a rooftop. Anything butcement. God, not that…

 My tactics seem to be working. I have slowedmy speed and am heading towards the beach. Of course I can’t hear the wavescrashing or the seagulls calling or the surfers cursing when someone drops in—allI hear is the sound of wind screaming in my ears and my desperate prayers ‘…helpme, help me, oh God, oh Godddd...’ About 30 seconds to go.

You know how theysay your life flashes before you as you drown, well, I’m drowning in wind and extremevelocity. My life is flashing before me like a flickering movie in fast forward.

I see my children,their trusting baby faces. I see my daughter’s triumphant smile smeared with mybright red lipstick. I see my son’s joyous high five when he won his soccergame. I flash on their birthday parties and am sorry I won’t be there to shareany more. Nor will they share mine. Today they’ll be waiting for me to comehome from ‘Mummy’s air jump all by herself’ so they can yell ‘Surprise! CleverMummy!’ I see my husband, his face white with shock when I told him I intend togo solo for my thirtieth. ‘That’s far too dangerous!’ he’d yelled. ‘For God’ssake, you have children. You can’t keep jumping out of planes! You’ll be sorry!’

I’m sorry now. Iwasn’t then. The one time I’d been determined to do something just for myself,look what happens! Any moment now. Yikes, here comes the ground, faster,faster.

I’m aware of thebeach flashing by. It always lifts my spirits, gives me strength.

I won’t make it. Thewaves, too far away, in and out, in and out, the rhythm of life. Ah, life.Relax! Relax! More chance if you relax! Bend your knees! Aim for that soft,billowy sand just ahead. Dip shoulder to the left, get ready for impact. Dropzone. Drop zone. Sand dune. Yes! Careening towards me-coloursblending-whirling-blue-green-sandy-use balls of feet-point toes-swish-thwomp-roll-bounce-coverhead-arms-close-to-ears-use elbows-to-protect-head-hold-tight-grassy-knoll-coming-thump-thump-thump-thathurt-ooh-ah-blessed blackness…

 ‘Hey! Over here! Quick! She’s alive! Call Emergency!’

©Denise Covey 2010 – Fast Fiction – Gone in 60 seconds

 

WORDS: 705

FCA

Please click on the list in my sidebar for more entries in our June writing contest. A win could get you published in WEP's 2023 Anthology.

WEP's next challenge is going to be beautiful! Based on the movie Chocolat. Please join us for this sensory feast!

#IWSG June 2023 - ...if I could no longer write.

 "You are hereby sentenced to ten years' hard labor."

My fingers clenched into my palms. My heart hammered in my ears. What did 'hard labor' mean? Would I be roused from my bed each morning at dawn in the freezing snow and chain-marched to a field to smash rocks?

"Your imprisonment will be a warning to all those who hold seditious thoughts, who write seditious thoughts. Activists like you will be silenced."

Yes, silenced so dictators like you can wreak havoc on my beloved country, with no oppositional voices heard.

"Every book you  have written, every placard that bears your name, every podcast, every social media post will be eradicated in this political purge. Every dollar you have made from your heinous words will be taken from you as the spoils of crime. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing," What was the point? Anything I said would be twisted and turned against me. 

"During your imprisonment you will have no access to pens, pencils, paper, iPad, laptop or any other writing paraphernalia. I repeat, your voice will be silenced. You will have ample time to think, to attend reinvention classes and change your ways."

The judge's vicious words flowed over me. I was already in my head, imagining what I would uncover in ten years and write about, exposing this dictator and his henchmen to the world. They could take away what they saw as my 'writing paraphernalia' but they could never take away the most important, the thoughts in my head. 

•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`

Thanks for visiting for the IWSG. Please click HERE to read more entries.

The awesome co-hosts for the June 7 posting of the IWSG are Patrcia Josephine, Diedre Knight, Olga Godim, J. Lenni Dorner, and Cathrina Constantine!

  Be sure to visit the
Insecure Writer’s Support Group Website!!!
And while you're here at mine, please consider yourself invited to write for the WEP June challenge. DETAILS HERE on June 1.Do anything you like with the movie challenge, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Ideas HERE. Guidelines only.

#guestpost - May 10 - #SupernaturalCreatures in Literature - L Diane Wolfe

Welcome!

Those of you who know me know I love my supernatural creatures, especially vampires. Today, L Diane Wolfe is going to educate us on supernatural creatures. People in times past and in the modern age, really do believe in these supernatural creatures and love to read about them. Exotic creatures such as the leviathan/behemoth, cockatrice, dragons, unicorns, satyrs, demons and others appear in the Bible, in books written by Job (the oldest in Scripture), Moses, King David, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and even the apostle John mention them! 

SupernaturalCreatures in Literature

 Denise asked me to cover supernatural creatures. You would be really surprised how many are out there. If you’re writing a supernatural tale, the sky really is the limit.

 

If you go to the Mythical Creatures Guide (http://mythicalcreaturesguide.com/list-of-mythical-creatures) you will be stunned. I had no idea there were so many! Everything from mermaids to dragons. Many of the Greek monsters were on the list, too.

 

According to Collins Dictionary (https://www.collinsdictionary.com/us/dictionary/english/supernatural-creature) :

Supernatural creatures, forces, and events are believed by some people to exist or happen, although they are impossible according to scientific laws.

 

So, they can’t be proven, but people still believe. Or want to believe.

 

Technically, only two of my supernatural creatures are on any of those lists. But I can explain why the other two qualify.

 

The first book in the In Darkness series was The Vampire. Now, vampires are certainly a supernatural creature. The idea of vampirism has existed for centuries. The word itself first appeared in Europe around 1732. An eternal creature that feeds on blood has since cemented its place in our folklore.

 

The third book is The Werewolf, another supernatural being. Werewolves can be traced back almost 2000 years ago.  Those inflicted with lycanthropy can shapeshift into a wolf. Lycanthrope is an ancient Greek term, and it’s amazing how many words in various languages are related to werewolf.

 

Now, the second book, which was just released, is The Shark. There is no shark listed as a mythical or supernatural being. The closest is the Kraken. However, I made my shark a bit supernatural by giving him the gift of speech. Yes, Clarence the great white shark  from Australia can talk! There aren’t too many talking fish unless you count The Incredible Mr. Limpet or Jabberjaw.

 

The fourth book will be The Alien. While they can’t be proved, they don’t exactly fall under supernatural or paranormal. More science fiction. However, I came up with a way to make my alien more paranormal. A unique ability that can’t be proven by science. Which makes it paranormal.

 

I hope I’ve given you some ideas for other supernatural creatures and the resources to build them. And remember—any creature can be supernatural with the right touches.

A professional speaker and author, L. Diane Wolfe conducts seminars, offers book formatting, and author consultation. She’s the senior editor at Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C. and contributes to the Insecure Writer’s Support Group.http://www.spunkonastick.net/ - Spunk On A Stick
http://www.circleoffriendsbooks.blogspot.com - Spunk On A Stick’s Tips
http://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/ - Insecure Writer’s Support Group

 

 

In Darkness: The SharkBy L. Diane Wolfe

Souls shrouded in darkness…

Focused on her studies and duties at the aquarium, Jewels prefers her solitary life. Burned many times and short on trust, she has more in common with her aquatic friends than the people around her. But she never imagined coming face to face with a shark named Clarence…a shark who talks!

As their friendship grows, Jewels must overcome her deep set mistrust. There are dangers, both in the Australian ocean and on dry land. Can Jewels depend on the great white or will his animal nature betray her?

Romance/Paranormal - Fantasy/Paranormal - Fantasy/Romance
eBook ISBN 9781939844910 $3.99

Buy Links:
Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKTLKMG4
iTunes - https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6444053123
Barnes & Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940165956393
Kobo - https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Query=9781939844910
Scribed - https://www.scribd.com/search?query=9781939844910&language=0
Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/63208820-in-darkness

 

BLOG TOUR STOPS

May 3

Lynda Young

https://lyndaryoung.blogspot.com/

IWSG Anthologies

http://iwsganthologies.blogspot.com/2023/05/rapid-release-of-series.html

May 5

Australian Romance Readers

http://www.australianromancereaders.com.au/

 

May 7

I Smell Sheep

http://www.ismellsheep.com/search/label/Policies

 

May 8

Alex J. Cavanaugh

https://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/

 

May 9

Tyrean Martinson

http://tyreanswritingspot.blogspot.com/

 

May 10

Denise Covey

https://dencovey.blogspot.com/

May 12

Elizabeth Seckman

http://eseckman.blogspot.com/

 

May 15

Jemi Fraser

https://jemifraser.blogspot.com/

#IWSG post - #Found #manuscript inspires me!

____________________________

A QUICK NOTE FOR BLOGSPOT BLOGGERS INTERESTED IN THE COMMENT DEBACLE WHICH MAY HIT A BLOG NEAR YOU.

____________________________

If you're not the patient type, stop reading and keep on using pop-up. 

Many blogspot blogs have had problems with replying to comments due to some Google messing around months ago and the only fix was to return to the old pop-up type comment where you have to do a roll-call of replies in several sessions - ugh - hate that. 

MY FIX:

- Go to Settings and change back to 'embedded' comments.

- To Reply individually to comments, hover over 'Reply'. It will be live, but not quite - wait for the cursor to show the 'hand'. 

- In a little while (this is where patience is required) you'll sing a song of joy when the little 'hand' shows up. (I go read blogs while I wait for this miraculous event).

- Click on Reply again and you can then reply individually. Woo hoo!

(You can't hurry the process but it works!) For me anyway. Check my comments! Just thought I'd share something I've discovered.

Hello there! Welcome to the May 3 IWSG  posting. 

Love this badge!

Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
The awesome co-hosts for the May 3 posting of the IWSG are Joylene Nowell Butler, Ronel Janse van Vuuren, Meka James, Diane Burton, Victoria Marie Lees, and  M Louise Barbour!


Here's the May question. Remember, the question is optional!

May 3 question - When you are working on a story, what inspires you?

Well, this question should be easy to answer, but I found it difficult. Each story inspires in a different way. But I'll tell you something related. In 2013 I worked on a manuscript set in Fiji after spending 6 weeks housesitting for writer friend Nas Dean. 

Cover mocked up on Canva in 5 minutes.

After paying for a full manuscript assessment (and cringing at the results) I was given a romance writing mentor at the Romance Writers of Australia. It all got a bit too exhausting. I felt so insecure it was ridiculous. I couldn't even finish reading the comments from my ms assistants. Stop kidding yourself, Denise, you're no romance writer, I told myself. 

I didn't bin the story, but I left it wallowing on my computer - well, it got carried forward as I've bought 3 new laptops since then.

After telling a writer friend only recently that this manuscript was going nowhere, I was scrolling through my Kindle and by accident or design I started reading this story. Geez, I thought, this is pretty cool. Who wrote this? You guessed it, I was reading one of the iterations of my story I'd uploaded to Kindle years ago when I knew how to do that, LOL.

Long story short, I then hunted for the ms assessment and my mentor's Track Changes document. And voila! It wasn't as bad as I thought! 

I'm editing this baby while my cookery school novel settles. I'll publish both this year! Fijian Princess is my only ever pure romance - most of my work is women's fiction with romantic elements. The romance tropes are there - hero and heroine meet practically on the first page - told from both POVs - Romeo and Juliet story - happily ever after ending! So as soon as it's tidied up, it's off to a romance editor. Then we'll see ...

Feeling so insecure about my writing cost me ten years with this story! But it'll be much better with what I've learned since 2013!

- How about you? Ever come across an old manuscript and see some merit? 

Thanks for coming by! 

I'm heading off on a holiday, driving 1200 klm to North Queensland. I'll be by to comment when I can!

We at WEP are waiting for the winners to be chosen for Life is Beautiful. Next challenge in June -  COME WRITE FOR US!

#WEP #AprilChallenge - my #flashfiction - The Reunion (#fantasy)

____________________________

A QUICK NOTE FOR BLOGSPOT BLOGGERS INTERESTED IN THE COMMENT DEBACLE WHICH MAY HIT A BLOG NEAR YOU.

____________________________

If you're not the patient type, stop reading and keep on using pop-up. 

Many blogspot blogs have had problems with replying to comments due to some Google messing around months ago and the only fix was to return to the old pop-up type comment where you have to do a roll-call of replies in several sessions - ugh - hate that. 

MY FIX:

- Go to Settings and change back to 'embedded' comments.

- To Reply individually to comments, hover over 'Reply'. It will be live, but not quite - wait for the cursor to show the 'hand'. 

- In a little while (this is where patience is required) you'll sing a song of joy when the little 'hand' shows up. (I go read blogs while I wait for this miraculous event).

- Click on Reply again and you can then reply individually. Woo hoo!

(You can't hurry the process but it works!) For me anyway. Check my comments! Just thought I'd share something I've discovered.

Time to publish my #flashfiction for the WEP Life is Beautiful challenge. 

POST April 19 - 21

 Here I offer one of my few forays into #fantasy. Written many moons ago, I think it encapsulates the theme. 

Enjoy my story. Click on names in my sidebar to read more.

 

The Reunion

 

Charlotte scarcely remembered the long bus ride from Sydney throughthe rugged countryside, so focused was she on seeing Jack again.

 

‘We’re here.’ The driver pulled his lumbering vehicle to the sideof the road. ‘You’re being met?’

 

‘Yes.’ Charlotte slashed her lips with the bright red shade Jackloved.

 

Slinging her black tote over her shoulder, she walked carefully downthe aisle and thanked the driver who helped her alight.

 

‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked. ‘People who wander into the Australianbush, often never wander out again.’

 

Charlotte was the happiest she’d been for years. Her heart thumpedin her ears when she said, ‘I’ll be fine.’

 

The driver’s eyes roved the empty road. ‘No luggage then, love?’

 

‘Not this trip.’

 

‘There’s no one here to meet you.’

 

‘He’ll come.’

 

‘But who? The houses were bulldozed years ago.’

 

Charlotte smiled, turned away, slipped a pill under her tongue.‘Thanks for bringing me so far out of your way, young man.’ She handed him atiny red rose from the posy she carried.

 

He twirled the flower. ‘I’ll come back. One? Two hours?’

 

‘Thanks, but no. Be on your way now.’

 

‘I really don’t mind.’

 

‘It’s fine.’ Charlotte walked away, tugging her bright red coataround her shoulders. She was relieved when the bus’s engine ticked over. 

~*~

 

It was hard going on a track that was no longer maintained, butshe made it to Gulliriviere, the tiny settlement where she once lived with Jackand their friends. It’d been named by Irish ex-convicts who were used toplentiful rains in their home country. How flummoxed they were by a river thatbore nothing but gravel year after bitter year.

 

Leaving the abandoned shacks behind, further into the bush shetrudged. Her steps slowed as she put distance between her and the desolation ofthe little street where houses were sacrificed for a lumber mill that was neverbuilt.

 

Logging.

 

Controversial even then.

 

The ‘greenies’ had chained themselves to the trees and no onecould budge them.

 

As she passed by, the eucalyptus trees rustled their arms insalute.

 

Home.

 

But home had left. Only the scraggly beauty of nature remained.Where once their cabin stood smugly, framed by the white picket fence Jackbuilt and the fragrant flowers she planted, there was … nothing.

 

‘Jack,’ she whispered, ‘there’s no clue we ever lived here … Oh …but I’m wrong. Look!’

Charlotte creaked to her knees in front of her tatty rose bush, survivingafter all these years. She tugged out weedy grasses, revealed tiny closed buds,then inhaled the earthy smell. ‘Not everything’s gone, darling Jack.’ She laythe posy beside the rose bush, memories rushing through her head.

 

She recalled her twenty-three-year old self following her love tohis rough-hewn shack in the Outback, two hours’ drive to the nearesttown and a light plane trip to Sydney. She loved the koalas who lived in thetrees nearby, she loved the solitude and yes, she even loved the big redkangaroos who nibbled the green shoots in her garden, looking cheekily at herover their shoulders as they loped away.

 

She’d set her easel amongst the trees and paint miniatue bushflora until the sun set on the faraway horizon. Her paintings would continue to hang in artgalleries in Australia and the Musée du Quai Branly in Paris long after she wasgone.

 

Living in the bush had been good.

 

Leaving it had not.

 

After their cabin had been razed to the ground, they’d relocatedto Byron Bay. Plenty of flora for her to paint, but Jack had to fly in/fly outto continue his work on the western Droughtmaster grazing property.

 

‘Hello, Madam Charlie,’ Jack would greet her at the airport.Tossing his duffle bag in the trunk, he’d hurry to the passenger door, wrenchit open. ‘Come here,’ he’d growl, kissing her over and over much to the delightof the traffic inspector.

 

Their only argument was over his retirement.

 

 ‘No, Charlotte, I won’t retire. I’m only sixty-five. Ourexperiment with the new Droughtmaster breed is ongoing. Perhaps when it’s done…’

 

~*~

 

Midnight.

 

Phone call.

 

Frank Mangin, Jack’s co-worker.

 

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sandilands ... Jack’s gone ... heart attack.’

 

The bed caught her as she fell.

 

‘We were working in the study.’

 

Garbled noises from her mouth.

 

Clunk! The phone hit the floor; Frank yabbered on. 

 

‘Mrs Sandilands? I’m calling someone.’

 

‘No!’ No one could put her back together. 

 

‘Mrs Sandilands! Jack had a message for you. He said, and I wroteit down—um—When it’s time, tell Charlie to come to the shack.’

 

‘Are you sure?’

 

‘Yes. I know your home at Gulliriviere is long gone. But that’sthe message.’

 

‘Thanks, Frank.'

 

If Jack wanted her at the shack, to the shack she would go …

 

~*~

 

Still kneeling at the rose bush in front of the shack’sfoundations, she took the gold fob watch from its pouch and let it drop intoher palm. She’d bought it years ago to give to Jack when he retired. It was awork of great artistry, with minute patterns painstakingly etched into everychain link. She read the inscription: 

To Jack, my wild Colonial Boy!Yours ever, Charlie. XX

 

She brought it to her lips, kissed it.

 

The first pain hit.

It's time.

 

~*~

 

The rose bush bloomed with blood-red roses. The fragranceenveloped her as it mingled with sweet summer smells.

 

‘Charlie!’

 

With the sweet fragrance of roses whirling around her, she ranthrough the tall grasses, trailing her fingers over the white, silky flowers.He’d be waiting by the creek just ahead, beyond the grey houses.

 

She hesitated at the stand of weeping willows, their lush tendrilslike dishevelled hair as they caressed the surface of the water.

 

Then she saw him—her Jack—running through the willows, pushingaside the graceful drapery. He hurried toward her—arms outstretched—welcomingher home.

 

She beckoned her love.

They gazed into each other’s light-kissed eyes, marvelled at theirsun-painted limbs, overjoyed at their reunion. He took the fobwatch from her soft, smooth hand, then they strolled away hand in hand acrossthe sparkling water, fading from sight in a gentle swirl of silvery mist.

 

Life is beautiful, Charlotte mused.

TAGLINE– Life is beautiful, but death can be even better.

 

©DeniseCCovey2016

 WORDS: 1049

FCA

Be on the lookout for the June WEP challenge -

#WEP #JuneChallenge - my #flashfiction - The Reunion (#fantasy)

 Time to publish my #flashfiction for the WEP Life is Beautiful challenge. 

POST April 19 - 21

 Here I offer one of my few forays into #fantasy. Written many moons ago, I think it encapsulates the theme. 

Enjoy my story. Click on names in my sidebar to read more.

 

The Reunion

 

Charlotte scarcely remembered the long bus ride from Sydney throughthe rugged countryside, so focused was she on seeing Jack again.

 

‘We’re here.’ The driver pulled his lumbering vehicle to the sideof the road. ‘You’re being met?’

 

‘Yes.’ Charlotte slashed her lips with the bright red shade Jackloved.

 

Slinging her black tote over her shoulder, she walked carefully downthe aisle and thanked the driver who helped her alight.

 

‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked. ‘People who wander into the Australianbush, often never wander out again.’

 

Charlotte was the happiest she’d been for years. Her heart thumpedin her ears when she said, ‘I’ll be fine.’

 

The driver’s eyes roved the empty road. ‘No luggage then, love?’

 

‘Not this trip.’

 

‘There’s no one here to meet you.’

 

‘He’ll come.’

 

‘But who? The houses were bulldozed years ago.’

 

Charlotte smiled, turned away, slipped a pill under her tongue.‘Thanks for bringing me so far out of your way, young man.’ She handed him atiny red rose from the posy she carried.

 

He twirled the flower. ‘I’ll come back. One? Two hours?’

 

‘Thanks, but no. Be on your way now.’

 

‘I really don’t mind.’

 

‘It’s fine.’ Charlotte walked away, tugging her bright red coataround her shoulders. She was relieved when the bus’s engine ticked over. 

~*~

 

It was hard going on a track that was no longer maintained, butshe made it to Gulliriviere, the tiny settlement where she once lived with Jackand their friends. It’d been named by Irish ex-convicts who were used toplentiful rains in their home country. How flummoxed they were by a river thatbore nothing but gravel year after bitter year.

 

Leaving the abandoned shacks behind, further into the bush shetrudged. Her steps slowed as she put distance between her and the desolation ofthe little street where houses were sacrificed for a lumber mill that was neverbuilt.

 

Logging.

 

Controversial even then.

 

The ‘greenies’ had chained themselves to the trees and no onecould budge them.

 

As she passed by, the eucalyptus trees rustled their arms insalute.

 

Home.

 

But home had left. Only the scraggly beauty of nature remained.Where once their cabin stood smugly, framed by the white picket fence Jackbuilt and the fragrant flowers she planted, there was … nothing.

 

‘Jack,’ she whispered, ‘there’s no clue we ever lived here … Oh …but I’m wrong. Look!’

Charlotte creaked to her knees in front of her tatty rose bush, survivingafter all these years. She tugged out weedy grasses, revealed tiny closed buds,then inhaled the earthy smell. ‘Not everything’s gone, darling Jack.’ She laythe posy beside the rose bush, memories rushing through her head.

 

She recalled her twenty-three-year old self following her love tohis rough-hewn shack in the Outback, two hours’ drive to the nearesttown and a light plane trip to Sydney. She loved the koalas who lived in thetrees nearby, she loved the solitude and yes, she even loved the big redkangaroos who nibbled the green shoots in her garden, looking cheekily at herover their shoulders as they loped away.

 

She’d set her easel amongst the trees and paint miniatue bushflora until the sun set on the faraway horizon. Her paintings would continue to hang in artgalleries in Australia and the Musée du Quai Branly in Paris long after she wasgone.

 

Living in the bush had been good.

 

Leaving it had not.

 

After their cabin had been razed to the ground, they’d relocatedto Byron Bay. Plenty of flora for her to paint, but Jack had to fly in/fly outto continue his work on the western Droughtmaster grazing property.

 

‘Hello, Madam Charlie,’ Jack would greet her at the airport.Tossing his duffle bag in the trunk, he’d hurry to the passenger door, wrenchit open. ‘Come here,’ he’d growl, kissing her over and over much to the delightof the traffic inspector.

 

Their only argument was over his retirement.

 

 ‘No, Charlotte, I won’t retire. I’m only sixty-five. Ourexperiment with the new Droughtmaster breed is ongoing. Perhaps when it’s done…’

 

~*~

 

Midnight.

 

Phone call.

 

Frank Mangin, Jack’s co-worker.

 

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sandilands ... Jack’s gone ... heart attack.’

 

The bed caught her as she fell.

 

‘We were working in the study.’

 

Garbled noises from her mouth.

 

Clunk! The phone hit the floor; Frank yabbered on. 

 

‘Mrs Sandilands? I’m calling someone.’

 

‘No!’ No one could put her back together. 

 

‘Mrs Sandilands! Jack had a message for you. He said, and I wroteit down—um—When it’s time, tell Charlie to come to the shack.’

 

‘Are you sure?’

 

‘Yes. I know your home at Gulliriviere is long gone. But that’sthe message.’

 

‘Thanks, Frank.'

 

If Jack wanted her at the shack, to the shack she would go …

 

~*~

 

Still kneeling at the rose bush in front of the shack’sfoundations, she took the gold fob watch from its pouch and let it drop intoher palm. She’d bought it years ago to give to Jack when he retired. It was awork of great artistry, with minute patterns painstakingly etched into everychain link. She read the inscription: 

To Jack, my wild Colonial Boy!Yours ever, Charlie. XX

 

She brought it to her lips, kissed it.

 

The first pain hit.

It's time.

 

~*~

 

The rose bush bloomed with blood-red roses. The fragranceenveloped her as it mingled with sweet summer smells.

 

‘Charlie!’

 

With the sweet fragrance of roses whirling around her, she ranthrough the tall grasses, trailing her fingers over the white, silky flowers.He’d be waiting by the creek just ahead, beyond the grey houses.

 

She hesitated at the stand of weeping willows, their lush tendrilslike dishevelled hair as they caressed the surface of the water.

 

Then she saw him—her Jack—running through the willows, pushingaside the graceful drapery. He hurried toward her—arms outstretched—welcomingher home.

 

She beckoned her love.

They gazed into each other’s light-kissed eyes, marvelled at theirsun-painted limbs, overjoyed at their reunion. He took the fobwatch from her soft, smooth hand, then they strolled away hand in hand acrossthe sparkling water, fading from sight in a gentle swirl of silvery mist.

 

Life is beautiful, Charlotte mused.

TAGLINE– Life is beautiful, but death can be even better.

 

©DeniseCCovey2016

 WORDS: 1049

FCA

Be on the lookout for the June WEP challenge -

#IWSG April 2023. My first foray into writing a book.

 So hi again. So soon. April is a feeding frenzy with the A - Z Challenge and the WEP April challenge and all sort of other writing challenges coming our way. 

The awesome co-hosts for the April 5 posting of the IWSG are Jemima Pett, Nancy Gideon, and Natalie Aguirre!

  Be sure to visit the
Insecure Writer’s Support Group Website!!!

I'm participating in the A - Z Challenge as an interviewee. Operation Awesome is interviewing some authors who suit the letter of the day and I happened to be one of the lucky ones with my pen name, Silver Tree. Interviewed on April 24.

Winners of WEP contests win critiques on their WIP and may be optioned to be included in our WEP Anthology, out in 2024.

So, the April 5 question - Do you remember writing your first book? What were your thoughts about a career path on writing? Where are you now and how is it working out for you? If you're at the start of the journey, what are your goals?

The April 5 question takes me back.

Writing was always a hobby.  I always loved to write from an early age, but never saw it as a career. Teaching was my career and writing dovetails nicely with that, especially when you're an English teacher. But it wasn't until my kids were grown that I took writing seriously. That entailed learning my craft. Sadly, (and I've heard other writers bemoan this fact) you can't just write what you like how you like - you have to write to certain tropes in your genre/s, keep the action coming and throw stones at your protagonist. That took me ages to learn.

The question is a little confusing. First book? That was a spy-type of thing that went nowhere. Many others came and were binned. I've always loved short story writing, but my first real crack at a book was written while staying in Fiji with Nas Dean. Called Fijian Princess, it was okay, but not publishable. I might pick it up down the line. Trying my hand at these books was better than any craft book. As Ray Bradbury said and I paraphrase - you have to write thousands of bad words first ... Now that I'm on my way, there's no stopping me. After terrible trouble finding an ending, I'm currently about to hand my Paris cookery novel over to beta readers and the publishing process begins.

My first published book was Book 1 in my vampire series. I've written four books in the series now and have one to go, including a prequel (already written) for which I mocked up a cover in Canva yesterday.

Unfortunately with free Canva, there are not many fonts. However, this will be handed over to Kim Killion soon and she'll do an amazing job like she did on Paris Dreams.
Have an amazing April writing! We at Team WEP would love you to join us for our April challenge, Life is Beautiful. Go HERE for the POST and HERE for ideas!
Closely following Life is Beautiful is a sci-fi (or whatever) prompt from the movie -

Wooo ... come on sci-fi lovers! Give it your best shot!