Marian Allen's Blog, page 401

3 #StoryADayMay Into the Breach

Imma jump right into this one and put the prompt at the end. This is one I got out of my bits binder. I don’t know what I had in mind when I scribbled it down, but this is what came when I read it this morning.

Into the Breach

by Marian Allen

The voice said, “Next.”

Uniformed officials opened gates in the four arenas within sight and admitted contestants two by two.

The keeper of Gate #3 drew a sword when more than two tried to push through. They had orders to let more than two in sometimes, but it wasn’t pretty when that happened. Melees were always messy.

This one was a wrestling match. Sometimes they were slugfests. Sometimes they were games of chance. A lot of them were talent shows; those were fun. Now and then, there would be puzzle-solving competitions or debates. Brain stuff. Those were Gatekeeper #3′s favorites. Most of them were this brute force stuff, though, and it sure got old.

But hold on! This one was different!

The combatants were unevenly matched, which usually made for a short bout. One was sturdy, almost to the point of bulkiness, vibrating with physical power. The other was slightly but noticeably smaller, slimmer, weaker. But the weaker one was holding out against the stronger, brain against brawn.

Gatekeeper #3 felt interest stirring in the usually impatient crowd around the arena’s edge, too.

The combatants circled, facing each other, but Big was just working up steam; Small was watching for an advantage. Big plowed in, shoving a shoulder toward Small’s torso. Small dodged aside, leaving enough leg in the way for Big to trip over and go sprawling. Quick as lightning, Small knelt on Big’s back, twisting one of those bulging arms up over the raging face.

The crowd roared rough blessing for the winner, for diversion in the infinity of round after round of combat that only mattered to those inside the arenas.

They roared too soon: Big bucked that broad back and flexed those steel-cable muscles and swept Small off onto the ground.

Small rolled and leaped upright. Big wrapped both arms around Small, squeezing mercilessly. Small’s head lolled back. Unconscious?

No! Small’s head snapped forward, hitting Big’s nose with a crunch that bounced off the wall of spectators. Big, blinded by pain, fell, but took Small down, too.

Hard to tell who was winning, now. The two were entangled, Big seeming to be everywhere, Small’s hand gripping Big’s heel.

A voice bigger than all creation intoned, “Time!”

The figures in the arena vanished, with no clear winner.

They’d be twins, then.

The voice said, “Next,” and Gate #3 swung open to let two more contenders into the arena.

~ * ~

MY WRITING PROMPT: The unborn chooses to be born, chooses parents, directs and compels it to happen.

MA

2 #StoryADayMay Slob v Snob

Okay, so Jo Robinson of Africolonial Stories was talking about authors promo-bombing social media, hitting people in the head with their books and shoving them in their faces. Then she was talking about hocking gobs. She’s actually a charming and highly literate person, so of course I had to take her out of context.

This story is also a nod to fellow Story A Day pal Chris V, to my brilliant friend Michael Williams, to my husband, who used this title in the classroom to spark discussion, and to my grandsons (who love everything this main character hates).

Slob v Snob

Jonathan had always detested dystopian, post-apocalyptic literature. It irritated him beyond telling to now be living in such a world. Irony was a bitch.

His one point of brightness was that he had been provident enough to lay in a goodly supply of excellent boots. They were heavy but almost silent, with soles thick enough protect his feet from the rubble, and to hold him above the muck.

A sucking, rattling rasp warned him in time to stop. The yellow gob, with iridescent white foam quivering atop it, landed in front of him instead of on his trousers.

Two badly shaven men shambled out of the alley to his right, grinning, their teeth still straight and whole from pre-apocalyptic dentistry, but filthy from post-apocalyptic personal lack of hygiene.

They began a rhetorical call-and-response ritual, the overture to the main feature: violence.

“Whadda we got here?”

“Wull, it looks like one o’ them fancy Bookers.”

“Naw, he ain’t no Booker.” A grimy hand, one grimy finger extended, poked him in the chest. “You a Booker? Eh? You read?”

“I bet he reads them hard books.”

“That right?”

Irony being a bitch with a sense of humor, the Hocker who had asked about hard books was struck in the head by one, and stumbled into the street. The face of the Hocker who had poked Jonathan now slackened into panicked pleading.

“Sorry,” Jonathan said. “The Bookers are expanding their territory. Bookers claim Norrel Avenue. Tell your friends, if you have any.”

The Hocker dove back into the alley, giving his associate up for lost. Jonathan watched avidly as bespectacled men and women converged on the fallen Hocker, pelting him with mass market paperbacks and the occasional slim volume of verse.

When they retreated to their new front-line headquarters, Jonathan knelt by the bleeding man. The Hocker’s eyelids fluttered. Breath wheezed through his open mouth, his nose swollen and his nostrils stuffed with pages.

It was better when they were alive. Fresh food was so much better for you.

Jonathan had always hated zombie stories, too. Oh, irony!

~ * ~

AND

Bargain with Fate, Book 2 of Sage is now available in electronic format at Amazon’s Kindle store and on Smashwords. It’ll be in print SOON!

MA

 

1 @StoryADayMay Steffie at the Stove

Today is the first of the month, so I have a new Hot Flash. It’s also Wednesday, so I have a food post for you. It’s also the first day of Story A Day in May, so I have the first of 31 short story attempts. I got up at 6:00 this morning, so I hope you appreciate it. That’s 6:00 in the AM!!!

One of the writing groups I belong to had a writing challenge I hadn’t done yet, so I took that as my prompt. Write a story using the words: caramel, binder, Stonehenge.

Steffie at the Stove

Steffie was an international spy, but sometimes she liked to pretend she was the star of a cooking show. Nothing calmed her down at the end of a mission more than messing about in the kitchen.

Today, she didn’t even need to take down the old blue binder, its denim covering faded and threadbare, filled with the recipes she’d been collecting since high school. She knew what she had a taste for.

“There are many uses for caramel,” she said aloud, smiling for the imaginary camera. “One can make caramels, of course, which make lovely gifts, wrapped in twists of cellophane and piled into a pretty box.”

She measured equal amounts of butter and brown sugar into a ceramic saucepan, turned the heat to medium high, and began the stirring that would continue for three minutes after the candy came to a boil.

“One can pour it over popped corn, one can use it to make Soda Cracker Candy, one can top ice cream with it.” Or one can cook it longer than three minutes, producing a substance so hard and sticky that, had Stonehenge been put together with it, Stonehenge would still be complete.

Caramel needed attention. That was why she didn’t realize Donhoff had infiltrated her home base until she felt his Glock at her temple. She granted him the right to his triumphant grin.

“I have caught you unaware! Few can claim that. Now, where is –”

She tossed the pot over her shoulder, wiping the grin off Donhoff’s face with a coat of scalding, clinging (but delicious!) syrup.

He screamed and dropped his gun. Fortunately, she never went anywhere–not even to the kitchen–without her own. She fired twice: once in the heart and once in the head.

As she waited for the Agency clean-up crew to arrive, she said, “Yes, one can always put caramel to some good use. Till next time, this is Steffie At The Stove saying, Let’s get cooking!”

~  *  ~

During May, the daily writing prompt will be the one I used for my story. You’re welcome to use them yourselves. You’re also welcome to drop a link to your Story A Day post so I can come read yours.

MA

Spring Has Sprung!

My grandfather used to say:

Spring has sprung,

The grass is riz.

I wonder where the flowers is?

I’ve just been browsing the internet and have found various versions involving birds, but this is the way Grandpa used to say it, so this is the spring poem for me!

And I’ll answer it, too: The flowers is outside!

The snowdrops are finished, the daffodils are finished. The wild iris and lilies of the valley are blooming their pretty little heads off, and the creeping phlox … well, just LOOK at it!

Ain’t that a pip?

It’s Tuesday, so I’m posting at Fatal Foodies with a veggie wrap thing.

Tomorrow is the first day of Story A Day May! It’s also the first of the month, which means a new Hot Flash. It’s also Wednesday, so I have to work food into the first daily story. Anything to keep life simple, eh?

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: What would your main character do with a brick?

MA

#YA Author Writes From Her Own Life

I have a new internet friend. Yes, I know: On the internet, nobody knows I’m a dingbat. Excuse me? Whaddya mean, “Yes, they do”??

ANYWAY, her name is Jennifer Gibson.

Jennifer is an award winning photographer, freelance Illustrator, graphic designer and published author.

Her photography & graphic design has been featured extensively in many media formats including CHEX TV, National Geographic, SNAP magazine and Watershed Magazine as well as various local tourism/promotional materials. Jennifer’s current line of work features professionally designed book covers for authors from around the world.

Jennifer was selected as one of 12 winners for the prestigious 2010 Oticon Focus on People Award and the only Canadian to have won in this national competition (North America). She was nominated as an outstanding individual with a hearing loss and for the portrayal of a hearing impaired teen in her young adult novel entitled Sway.

Blurb about the Trilogy Series:

The trilogy series is an honest portrayal about a teen who is severely hard of hearing and struggling to get through high school.  It’s a rare insight into the world of a young person living with a disability where the reader essentially walks a mile in Jessie’s shoes.

From the very beginning we watch Jessie as she tries to find her place in the society.  In Sway, we begin to see her change and make interesting decisions based on what happens to her.  Gradually, her path in life begins to shift and goes towards a new direction in Compass.  She becomes more aware of who she is as a young person. The third book, Destiny,  becomes a pivotal turning point that sets her on the right path where she becomes empowered and emerges a stronger person.

Throughout all three books I’ve incorporated visual symbolisms or representations that feature hope.  Stars play a big part in Jessie’s world.  Whenever she is struggling, especially during those dark emotional times in her life, there is usually a sign to help her stay strong such as the appearance of a special spirit guide or messages given to her such as “To reach the stars, all you have to do is Believe.”  There is a sense of magic woven into the fabric of these stories.

Synopsis for Compass:

“Being a teenager is hard enough. To be hard of hearing on top of that is like being stuck in the middle of a never ending soap opera.”

In Compass, the sequel to Sway, Jessie’s life begins to change its course, sending her towards a new reality. When her world is ripped apart by an angry rival, the one person she trusted to stand by her side, simply walks away. With her composure shattered, Jessie questions everything she believed about herself, and as her life takes her on a new path, it becomes a perilous journey, full of surprising twists and turns.

Compass recently hit the TOP-20 bestselling list for young adults at  All Romance eBooks!

My Blog: “Why are you in my head?”

Anyone that knows me and has read my books will very quickly realize that some of it seems familiar.  Why? That’s because the trilogy series is based on my life growing up with hearing loss.  I’ve incorporated many of my experiences in the story to inject some realism into it, including the gritty aspects of it that makes you want to throttle someone.

I’ll admit that it wasn’t easy reliving some of those intense and emotional moments and in fact, some of it was a revelation in terms of why I went through it all, to make me stronger in some ways – ironically.  Even though the main character, Jessie is the focus of the series as a young teen, I’ve included many snapshots of my life from when I was a young child up to today.  I felt that it was an important attribute to the story, that it had to be said to show others how that particular situation had an impact on me and still does to this day.

I’ve had readers comment on how descriptive my scenes seem to be and that’s partly due to my creative nature and a “side effect” to my hearing impairment.  You may be familiar with the idea that when you lose one sense, you gain another.  Such as the case when someone loses their eyesight, their sense of smell, touch and hearing become much more sensitive.  They become more aware of their surroundings in a different manner.  That’s what happened to Jessie as well as to myself.  Our world became more profound in other ways.

Since my hearing loss was so severe, nearly deaf actually, I became more focused on what was happening all around me.  I was more visually aware of colours, designs and nature, particularly as a country girl.  I loved the way they conveyed emotions, altered my moods and even inspired me.  Due to the overwhelming chaos in my life as a child, I retreated into art and photography, a place of serenity that I desperately needed.  For me, capturing these moments is a pure joy and often has a meditative quality.

Like myself, colours are extremely important to Jessie, she’s very selective about what she wears which is a good indicator about her state of mind – she often feels lost and is searching for ways to feel grounded.  She does a lot of soul searching, trying to find ways to fit into a society that has trouble accepting her.

Throughout the turmoil in her life, Jessie discovers that she has friends in the most unexpected places.  Together, they guide her through some of the darkest moments she has to endure and they bring in light and magic to help her rise up and believe in herself once again.

When you read Sway, Compass, and Destiny, you’re living in my world and following in my footsteps.

Jenn

Visit Jennifer’s new website at: www.jennifergibson.ca

“To reach the stars, all you have to do is BELIEVE.”

Love books? Go check out Jennifer Gibson’s debut novel, “Sway” at www.kobobooks.com – www.amazon.ca – www.barnesandnoble.com

Jennifer Gibson’s Facebook Author Page

Jennifer Gibson’s Amazon Author Page

Jennifer Gibson’s AuthorsdB Page

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Grab a random photograph, preferably one from a book or a really old one, and write about the people in it.

MA

#SampleSunday – Mandate From BARGAIN WITH FATE

I’ve been proofing the electronic and print galleys (doncha love that writerly jargon?) for Bargain With Fate, Book 2 of Sage. Therefore, I decided to give you another snippet from it. This clues you in on why there are pictures of Dragon, Phoenix, and Tortoise on the covers of the three books, but no pictures of Unicorn. “Alicorn” is another word for Unicorn’s horn.

Here goes:

From Bargain With Fate, Book 2 of Sage

Mandate Bag

by Marian Allen

Kinnan unbuttoned his pocket and drew out the striped shreds, holding them reverently on his palm. “Alicorn.”

Elsie stretched out a trembling finger. At Kinnan’s nod, she touched them.

A shudder ran through her.

“I can almost see it,” she whispered. “Bigger than a horse, much bigger. Its horn, as long as my arm. You can feel its heart beating. You can feel it breathing. There’s a sweetness… deeper than a smell….”

“You’ve seen it, too,” said Brady.

“Did you feel all that?” Elsie asked.

“No, but…. How many legs did yours have?”

“…I don’t remember. If I really saw it at all, I didn’t see it clearly. Maybe that’s why I felt so much.”

“It had four legs, of course,” said Kinnan. “How many legs should it have?”

“Three,” said Brady. “Like the one we saw.”

“It didn’t have –”

“How would you know?” said Brady, more violently than he had intended. “You thought it was a horse!”

“Three legs,” said Moder. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Where does that come in the story?” Kinnan asked. “I never heard that part.”

“It isn’t in the story,” said Brady. “It isn’t in any story. That’s just the way it is. Everybody knows that.”

Kinnan laughed. “Everybody in Kozabir, maybe; but, in Layounna, unicorns have four legs.”

“Like regular horses,” said Brady. “And they’re little, and pretty, and prance around with flowers in their manes and tails.”

Moder quaked with silent laughter, tears popping out of the corners of her eyes.

“What’s funny?” Kinnan asked.

“You,” said Moder. “Sitting there, displaying relics as evidence of something you don’t even seem to believe in.”

Kinnan closed his thumb over the curls and quirked one side of his mouth in a cynical smile. “Lightning can do peculiar things to wood. If one form of damage goes by the name of ‘alicorn’ and people believe it comes from a mythical beast, the power I get from it is real. Let me show you something else.” He reached into his pack. “This is what will finally win me the throne, and keep it for me, too.”

He pulled out a bundle, untied it, unwrapped it, and lifted a bag. It was made of cloth of gold, with small tiles of silver sewn to it.

“Quite a tobacco pouch,” said Brady.

Kinnan didn’t bother with a squelching look. “It’s a mandate bag.”

“Yours?” said Moder.

“Of course, mine. I told you who I am. You said you believed me. Whose else would it be?”

“I only asked.”

Kinnan put the alicorn into the pouch. “Some of the old people say the true royal line – my line – the House of Onagros – held the throne by right of mandate, represented by a bag. None of the old folk agreed on what was in it except for one item – alicorn. Now I have that. The other things… Some say amber. Some say silver. Some say dried clay made from ashes, fertile soil, and the blood of a white dove.”

“Ugh!” Moder screwed up her face and pushed Kinnan’s words away with hand and pipe. “Blood of a white dove…. Prick your finger and use the blood of an ass, instead.”

Kinnan laughed, shrugged, and put the bag away.

~ * ~

Soooon! Sooooooooooon!!!!

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: What does your main character consider representative of power?

MA

#Caturday – Audacious Henry

Today, I’m very happy to have as my guest #4 Daughter — aka Sara Deurell, author!

Sara is a fiction author and freelance editor currently working on a degree in anthropology with a minor in Russian studies.  She enjoys cross-genre fiction, hiking, and music, and is secretly a little ashamed of her addiction to home design magazines.  Her novel, The Life and Death (But Mostly the Death) of Erica Flynn, will be released by Hydra Publications sometime within the next year.

The Life and Death (But Mostly the Death) of Erica Flynn blurb:

Erica’s daredevil streak gets the better of her after an argument with her husband, and she winds up dying in a car crash.  Being a modern, down-to-earth skeptic, she’s curious to find herself in an afterlife that’s something between Greek mythology and quantum theory gone haywire.  Despite the allure of the Underworld and a happy reunion with her deceased Uncle Jeff, Erica feels she’ll never be able to rest in peace until she’s resolved her pre-mortem fight with Dominic, her husband.  Haunting a medium doesn’t get her satisfactory results, and Hades, ruler of the capitol city of the Underworld, forbids her to make contact with the Upper World again.  Against all advice (which is how Erica usually does things), she pits herself against Hades and faces the treacherous road back to the Land of the Living, determined to make things right.

AUDACIOUS HENRY

At my previous apartment (before I moved in December), I was sporadically graced by an uninvited visitor named Henry.  He clearly wasn’t a stray–he was too well-fed and too friendly to be an alley cat, plus he had his nametagged collar–but he was definitely a rambler.  My guess is that he belonged to someone in the apartment complex, and came and went as he pleased around the parking lot and patios.

I’d see him around when I was on my way to or from somewhere, would stop to pet him and chat with him a bit, and then came the tidbits of leftovers when my boyfriend and I were coming back from dinner out.  If Henry was in the parking lot, he always greeted me.  If the door was propped open for maintenance or moving, Henry was lounging on the landing at the top of the stairs.  Sometimes he’d slip into the building and no one would notice, and I would come home to be greeted by him in the hallway.  I tried to let him back outside, but he was uninterested.

One morning, I came outside to find the lady in the building across from mine standing in the doorway, perplexed, trying to figure out how to get Henry to leave the hallway and go back outside.  “He does this all the time!” she told me.

“Oh, are you Henry’s person?”  I thought I’d finally found out his true home.

“No!  He’s not mine, he just always follows me in.”

He just liked to visit people.

And one evening when we got home, Henry strolled in right past us, like he owned the place.  He inspected the living room and kitchen and part of the hallway before we’d even decided whether or not to let him hang out for a minute.  We looked at each other, and then I sat down on the floor and let Henry hop in my lap.  I haven’t had an apartment that allowed cats my entire adult life, so it’s been a while since I’ve had a cat in my own home.

I never encouraged Henry to visit–I only ever fed him tidbits in the parking lot, not when he was in the apartment–but every month or so he’d drop in, make the rounds looking at and sniffing all my furniture, then hang out for a while to be petted and talked to.  His name, to us, became not just Henry, but Audacious Henry.

The last night at the old place, with a friend helping us move some of my furniture out, Henry showed up.  I guess an apartment complex cat knows when people start putting stuff in the back of a truck, it’s time to come say goodbye.  I think he spent about an hour sitting on the dining room table while we moved stuff past him; then he moved into the hallway to watch us until we left to unload at the new apartment.

He wasn’t around the next day, and I haven’t seen him since, but I have to admit that whenever I’m near the old place, I always have my eye out for Henry.  I wonder what new friends he’s made, and if there are tenants in my old apartment by now, if they think Henry is a pest or if they find his audacity and charm as irresistible as I did.

~ * ~

Thanks for sharing this wonderful story, Sara! What a beautiful cat Henry is, too.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Would you consider Henry a pest or a friend? Write two characters in the same apartment complex who differ in their attitude.

MA

Prompt Resources for @StoryADayMay

First, there’s this very same blog as ever was. Yes, this very one that you’re reading now. I’ve put a prompt at the end of almost every single daily post, so feel free to bring up a post at random and snag the prompt from the end.

If you have time and money to make a purchase, try Bonnie Neubauer’s Story Spinner. I just LOVE it, and I’ve gotten some really good story starts from it. She also sells books of story prompts.

Here are some more:

Ten Minute Tuesday – Even if it isn’t Tuesday, you can search for the Ten Minute Tuesday prompts.

That Darn Kat story generator – Another one I love. And it’s fun to click the clicky thing.

Prompt Generator – Just what it says.

Writing Prompts – Click on Random for a new one – And a cute li’l dancing pencil, too!

Creative Writing Prompts – hover over a number to see one – When I first saw this page, I thought I had stumbled onto a cryptography site. But no.

And here are a couple more aids, from #4 Daughter (who is joining me tomorrow with a guest post for Caturday) and me. Choose two or more from list 1 and one from list 2.

List of occupations.
List of meeting places.

Use the comments section here to suggest other occupations and places to meet.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: A character puts together a list of resources for another character.

MA

I Do Get Around (Round Get Around I Get Around)

Also: Joanna Foreman

The Indiana government has me on their web site! NO, NOT ON A WANTED POSTER!

The delightful Jessica Nunemaker of little Indiana wrote an article about That Book Place’s Authors’ Fair, and mine was one of the pictures she took and one of the names she mentioned. So I’m pretty stoked.

I also got an email from Jo Ann Spieth-Saylor, editor of The Corydon Democrat, that the email interview she did with me is in the paper this week (it’s a weekly). Alas, it is not online.

Whoop! Whoop!

Also, because everything is not all about me, here is a beautiful picture of a little planter outside Mom’s eye-doctor’s office.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Take that planter of flowers for your inspiration.

MA

 

#Vegetarian Stuffed Mini-Peppers

I hate to disappoint you, but this is NOT a recipe for mini-peppers stuffed with vegetarians.

Charlie loves stuffed peppers, and I found these tri-colored mini-peppers at the store, so I was inspired to make this dish. It’s a bit fiddly for me, which should make it just about right for anybody else.

Vegetarian Stuffed Mini-Peppers

mini-peppers
vegetarian taco filling (We like Fantastic World Foods)
cooked rice
sliced carrots
sliced broccoli stems

YES, SLICED BROCCOLI STEMS! You cut off the tough outer part, cut the stem into two semi-circles, and slice them thinly.

Okay.

Cut the peppers lengthways down to the cap but not through the cap. NOT through the cap! Okay, never mind. Put that one aside and use it for something else. Now do it the way I told you. Okay. Take out any seeds. If you use colored mini-peppers, there won’t be many seeds. Rub the outside of the peppers with olive oil and stuff them with prepared taco mix. If you do cheese, put some cheese in there, too. Close the peppers. Bake the peppers at 350 F for 10 minutes.
Meanwhile, boil the carrots and broccoli in salted water until tender.
Also cook the rice.

If there’s one culinary affectation I hate more than any other, it’s “plate the food.” So don’t “plate the food.” Put the food on a plate. I put a big lump of rice in a soup dish, then arranged the peppers atop it, with some extra taco mix, and put the carrots and broccoli around the edge for, as they say, a colorful presentation.

Tasted good, too.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: A phrase your character detests is used repeatedly by someone your character can’t say anything to about it.

MA