Tara Fox Hall's Blog, page 10
January 19, 2012
Her Name was Abby
Her name was Abby. She was a small cat. The first time I saw her, I’d have sworn she was a kitten. Found by a neighbor abandoned in her barn, Abby was starving to death, little more than a bag of bones under solid grey fur the night my mom rescued her and brought her home.
She weighed just over three pounds, yet was close to two years old, or so the vet said. In the two weeks mom had her, Abby ate and drank ravenously, emptying dish after dish. It was a good feeling, to know she had been rescued, that she was safe now, and that she’d never be hungry again. She was a sweet cat, very vocal—as small cats often are—and loving. I looked forward to seeing her get round and healthy, and getting to know her in the years to come.
As an animal rescuer, you never want to think that it’s too late to help. You never want to give up hope, or turn away if there’s a chance. You want that happy ending for the animal that suffered, if it’s all in within your power to give. But sometimes, you’re just too late.
Abby died today, in spite of mom’s considerable best efforts. All the tears I cry now can’t bring her back, or make her purr again. Though I knew her only through daily updates and one brief visit, I dedicate this week’s blog to her. And I ask you this simple plea: Help. If you see someone or something suffering, please do something, anything. Don’t trust that someone else will take care of it, or step in. Sometimes your actions will make the difference between life and death. Don’t look away. Help.
She weighed just over three pounds, yet was close to two years old, or so the vet said. In the two weeks mom had her, Abby ate and drank ravenously, emptying dish after dish. It was a good feeling, to know she had been rescued, that she was safe now, and that she’d never be hungry again. She was a sweet cat, very vocal—as small cats often are—and loving. I looked forward to seeing her get round and healthy, and getting to know her in the years to come.
As an animal rescuer, you never want to think that it’s too late to help. You never want to give up hope, or turn away if there’s a chance. You want that happy ending for the animal that suffered, if it’s all in within your power to give. But sometimes, you’re just too late.
Abby died today, in spite of mom’s considerable best efforts. All the tears I cry now can’t bring her back, or make her purr again. Though I knew her only through daily updates and one brief visit, I dedicate this week’s blog to her. And I ask you this simple plea: Help. If you see someone or something suffering, please do something, anything. Don’t trust that someone else will take care of it, or step in. Sometimes your actions will make the difference between life and death. Don’t look away. Help.
January 15, 2012
Announcement: "On The River" is now Online!
I originally got my start writing non-fiction stories of animal rescue in the pages of a small paper magazine called "Catnip Blossoms!" This was published by Harald Moore from his catnip farm, Dusty Miller Farm, in Johnsonville, NY. Over the years, the magazine changed names; first to "Meanwhile...", when a tragic fire burned the barn down, shutting down catnip production, and then later to "On The River", when Harald and his wife Liz moved to Troy to spend their later years. Harald has always loved to write, and he usually writes a good deal of the magazine himself, with contributions from readers now and again (like me). He has gone digital in the new year, and you can now find copies of the magazine online at http://ontherivermagazine.com.
Back issues of the magazine are up now to read for free, complete with pictures, including the big Tara Fox Hall issue this past summer (Issue 6, first one listed) :) Take a look!
Back issues of the magazine are up now to read for free, complete with pictures, including the big Tara Fox Hall issue this past summer (Issue 6, first one listed) :) Take a look!
January 9, 2012
Just Shadows has published!
Greetings!
My first anthology, Just Shadows, published today!
Here is the Amazon link:
http://www.amazon.com/Just-Shadows-eb...
My first anthology, Just Shadows, published today!
Here is the Amazon link:
http://www.amazon.com/Just-Shadows-eb...
January 7, 2012
Win an e-copy of Spellbound 2011
Hi all,
There's still time to win an e-copy of Spellbound 2011. I'm blogging today at Tori L.Ridgewood's blogspot:
http://torilridgewood.wordpress.com/2...
Come on over and say hello!
Also - good news! My first horror novel, Lash, has been accepted for Publication by Bradley Publishing! Look for it in April, 2012.
Check out Just Shadows, my first horror anthology, publishing on Monday, 1-9, also from Bradley Publishing! :)
Here is another excerpt from Just Shadows, a short story entitled Hangers. It first appeared on Flashes in the Dark:
HANGERS
Fiona sat bolt upright, startled from sound sleep. Her full lips curved into an angry snarl. Damn it, it was those hangers again. They were rattling on the closet door hook, the steady breath from the fan near the open window beating the flimsy metal against the door. It was never regular or loud—just enough to startle her awake the moment she began to drift off.
But she was comfortable, too comfortable to move. Just ignore it, and sleep.
Twice, she nestled back and began to succumb to her body’s yearning for rest. Twice, she was jerked awake, the metallic banging jolting her senses.
Swearing, she got out of bed, and threw the hangers off the hook onto the floor. Yelping at the cold air on her warm toes, Fiona jumped back into bed, lying down.
She was almost asleep when the noise started up again.
Livid, she jumped out of bed, and yanked open the closet door. Grabbing the empty hangers and the full ones, she jerked them all off the long dowel, her clothes rustling as they fell to pool on the closet floor.
“Damn it, I need my sleep,” she said angrily, yanking the covers back over her head.
Blissful silence descended, the only noise the slight pattering of rain on the roof. With a relaxed smile, Fiona let out a sigh, then let her head sink back into the pillow. Her thoughts began to drift, becoming vague impressions and feelings.
There was a slight rustling, as if a piece of cloth was sliding across the floor.
Fiona snapped open an eye, unsure if she’d really heard something, or had begun to dream.
There was no noise, other than the now steady rain.
She closed her eye in relief, letting out another sigh. Stretching languidly, she yawned, then rolled onto her back.
Something settled beside her in bed, a weight pressing down along her side.
Fiona’s eyes snapped open, her mouth opening in a scream that never came as dark red lips pressed against hers. Powerful, clawed hands held her down to the bed. The succubus leaned into her, its heavy weight crushing her. Fiona writhed frantically, desperate to escape, the suffocating kiss stealing her oxygen. The demonic beast atop her fanned its leathery wings, then pushed its lips harder against hers, gathering her life force in long swallows. Fiona gave a last futile push, then sank back into the mattress, jerking slightly as the creature took her last breath.
***
“Another heart attack,” the coroner said, shrugging his shoulders.
“You just said she suffocated,” the detective replied, aggravated. “So which is it?”
“She’s lying on her back, and there’s no sign of anyone else being here,” the coroner retorted grumpily. “Yet people don’t suffocate themselves, in my opinion.” He stood up. “There’s no evidence of any respiratory ailment in the victim’s medical history. So I have to conclude her heart stopping caused the lack of air, not the other way around. Therefore, the most reasonable cause of death is a heart attack. It sure wasn’t her great housekeeping.” He indicated the piles of clothes and hangers mounded in the empty closet and strewn out into the room.
“Likely not,” the detective agreed. “But it’s odd that the closets of all these recent heart attacks have all their clothes on the floor.”
“Not really,” the coroner said with a snort. “You just don’t have experience with teenagers. Trust me, this is normal.”
The detective picked up a hanger, and then another one, looking at the smooth, thin wire as he hooked them together. “I almost wish she was strangled, instead. Then at least I could go after the maniac that did it.”
“You’re morbid,” the coroner said, picking up his bag. “But I agree. A death at that age is a terrible waste of life.”
The detective paused, staring at the hangers, his expression thoughtful. “Something still seems off to me—
“Come on, already,” the coroner said, striding out. “Next you’ll be telling me there’s a demon hiding in closets and harvesting souls, or some other nonsense. Let’s get some coffee.”
The detective carefully hung the hangers on the closet door. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
There's still time to win an e-copy of Spellbound 2011. I'm blogging today at Tori L.Ridgewood's blogspot:
http://torilridgewood.wordpress.com/2...
Come on over and say hello!
Also - good news! My first horror novel, Lash, has been accepted for Publication by Bradley Publishing! Look for it in April, 2012.
Check out Just Shadows, my first horror anthology, publishing on Monday, 1-9, also from Bradley Publishing! :)
Here is another excerpt from Just Shadows, a short story entitled Hangers. It first appeared on Flashes in the Dark:
HANGERS
Fiona sat bolt upright, startled from sound sleep. Her full lips curved into an angry snarl. Damn it, it was those hangers again. They were rattling on the closet door hook, the steady breath from the fan near the open window beating the flimsy metal against the door. It was never regular or loud—just enough to startle her awake the moment she began to drift off.
But she was comfortable, too comfortable to move. Just ignore it, and sleep.
Twice, she nestled back and began to succumb to her body’s yearning for rest. Twice, she was jerked awake, the metallic banging jolting her senses.
Swearing, she got out of bed, and threw the hangers off the hook onto the floor. Yelping at the cold air on her warm toes, Fiona jumped back into bed, lying down.
She was almost asleep when the noise started up again.
Livid, she jumped out of bed, and yanked open the closet door. Grabbing the empty hangers and the full ones, she jerked them all off the long dowel, her clothes rustling as they fell to pool on the closet floor.
“Damn it, I need my sleep,” she said angrily, yanking the covers back over her head.
Blissful silence descended, the only noise the slight pattering of rain on the roof. With a relaxed smile, Fiona let out a sigh, then let her head sink back into the pillow. Her thoughts began to drift, becoming vague impressions and feelings.
There was a slight rustling, as if a piece of cloth was sliding across the floor.
Fiona snapped open an eye, unsure if she’d really heard something, or had begun to dream.
There was no noise, other than the now steady rain.
She closed her eye in relief, letting out another sigh. Stretching languidly, she yawned, then rolled onto her back.
Something settled beside her in bed, a weight pressing down along her side.
Fiona’s eyes snapped open, her mouth opening in a scream that never came as dark red lips pressed against hers. Powerful, clawed hands held her down to the bed. The succubus leaned into her, its heavy weight crushing her. Fiona writhed frantically, desperate to escape, the suffocating kiss stealing her oxygen. The demonic beast atop her fanned its leathery wings, then pushed its lips harder against hers, gathering her life force in long swallows. Fiona gave a last futile push, then sank back into the mattress, jerking slightly as the creature took her last breath.
***
“Another heart attack,” the coroner said, shrugging his shoulders.
“You just said she suffocated,” the detective replied, aggravated. “So which is it?”
“She’s lying on her back, and there’s no sign of anyone else being here,” the coroner retorted grumpily. “Yet people don’t suffocate themselves, in my opinion.” He stood up. “There’s no evidence of any respiratory ailment in the victim’s medical history. So I have to conclude her heart stopping caused the lack of air, not the other way around. Therefore, the most reasonable cause of death is a heart attack. It sure wasn’t her great housekeeping.” He indicated the piles of clothes and hangers mounded in the empty closet and strewn out into the room.
“Likely not,” the detective agreed. “But it’s odd that the closets of all these recent heart attacks have all their clothes on the floor.”
“Not really,” the coroner said with a snort. “You just don’t have experience with teenagers. Trust me, this is normal.”
The detective picked up a hanger, and then another one, looking at the smooth, thin wire as he hooked them together. “I almost wish she was strangled, instead. Then at least I could go after the maniac that did it.”
“You’re morbid,” the coroner said, picking up his bag. “But I agree. A death at that age is a terrible waste of life.”
The detective paused, staring at the hangers, his expression thoughtful. “Something still seems off to me—
“Come on, already,” the coroner said, striding out. “Next you’ll be telling me there’s a demon hiding in closets and harvesting souls, or some other nonsense. Let’s get some coffee.”
The detective carefully hung the hangers on the closet door. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
December 31, 2011
2012 begins
As the new year dawns and the old one draws to a close, take a moment to think about what you want in the new year. What really makes you happy?
There was a book I read in my childhood called "The Big Orange Splot"
http://www.amazon.com/Big-Orange-Splo...
The book is about being who you are, and the refrain is that your house should refect who you are, and its okay if its weird to other people. I suggest in 2012, you take it a step further. Let your life reflect who you are.
Maybe you can't quit that job you hate, because you need the money. Maybe you aren't happy with your spouse, your kids, or your friends. Maybe your relatives hate you, and you're estranged from them.
The above probably applies in some way to everyone. We're all not perfect, though this is the season when we all try to be what everyone in our lives expect us to be. But in 2012, I invite you to just be who you are for an hour each day.
If you dream of being a wolf biologist and you're an accountant, take some time each day to read about what you love, or correspond via email with someone involved with wolves. If you wanted to be a teacher, but ended up a construction worker, look for volunteer opportunitues where you can work with children. If you wanted to do something with your life, and you didn't do it, find a way to get some of that happiness back, even if its just for a few minutes a day. Maybe you can't live your dream right now. You can still nuture it, and find some happiness. Embrace your own orange splot proudly! And then, make it yours! A Happy 2012 to everyone!
There was a book I read in my childhood called "The Big Orange Splot"
http://www.amazon.com/Big-Orange-Splo...
The book is about being who you are, and the refrain is that your house should refect who you are, and its okay if its weird to other people. I suggest in 2012, you take it a step further. Let your life reflect who you are.
Maybe you can't quit that job you hate, because you need the money. Maybe you aren't happy with your spouse, your kids, or your friends. Maybe your relatives hate you, and you're estranged from them.
The above probably applies in some way to everyone. We're all not perfect, though this is the season when we all try to be what everyone in our lives expect us to be. But in 2012, I invite you to just be who you are for an hour each day.
If you dream of being a wolf biologist and you're an accountant, take some time each day to read about what you love, or correspond via email with someone involved with wolves. If you wanted to be a teacher, but ended up a construction worker, look for volunteer opportunitues where you can work with children. If you wanted to do something with your life, and you didn't do it, find a way to get some of that happiness back, even if its just for a few minutes a day. Maybe you can't live your dream right now. You can still nuture it, and find some happiness. Embrace your own orange splot proudly! And then, make it yours! A Happy 2012 to everyone!
December 25, 2011
A Long Winter's Nap - Merry Christmas!
I forwent the usual Saturday post in favor of a Christmas one.
Today is Christmas day, 12/25. We are all frantically seeing family, delivering cookies, maybe even wrapping a last minute gift. Enjoy all this, as it comes only once a year.
But later tonight, when the gifts have all been opened, the cookies eaten, and the guests and childen have either left for home, or are busy enjoying their gifts, I recommend a nap.
For many people, particularly those in service jobs, tomorrow is another workday, and the grind begins again. Even for those of us that have 12/26 as a holiday, tomorrow will be filled with more meeting and greeting, if not a quest for deals amidst the crowds. So take some moments for yourself tonight. Grab some eggnog (or something more spirited), ease into a comfy chair, and invite up your favorite cat (or a warm lap robe, if you are cat-less). You don't have to read anything, or think anything, or talk to anyone. You don't have to be anything but yourself. Just relax, and be warm, and let yourself rest. You earned it. You've made it through another year! My best wishes to you and yours!
Today is Christmas day, 12/25. We are all frantically seeing family, delivering cookies, maybe even wrapping a last minute gift. Enjoy all this, as it comes only once a year.
But later tonight, when the gifts have all been opened, the cookies eaten, and the guests and childen have either left for home, or are busy enjoying their gifts, I recommend a nap.
For many people, particularly those in service jobs, tomorrow is another workday, and the grind begins again. Even for those of us that have 12/26 as a holiday, tomorrow will be filled with more meeting and greeting, if not a quest for deals amidst the crowds. So take some moments for yourself tonight. Grab some eggnog (or something more spirited), ease into a comfy chair, and invite up your favorite cat (or a warm lap robe, if you are cat-less). You don't have to read anything, or think anything, or talk to anyone. You don't have to be anything but yourself. Just relax, and be warm, and let yourself rest. You earned it. You've made it through another year! My best wishes to you and yours!
December 17, 2011
Black and Blue Christmas - some offbeat Christmas Cheer!
I wrote this for the Songwriter's forum Christmas Constest Last year. Enjoy!
Black and Blue Christmas
T’was the month before Christmas
I was feeling real good
I’d started the shopping
And gotten the eggnog from Hood
My spirit was peaceful
The gift-wrap had been found
There was order, not chaos
A happy holiday sound
Fa-la-la-la, fa-la-la-la, fa-la-la-la-La!
T’was the day before Christmas
I was decking the halls
When I fell off the ladder
Right onto Mr. Claus
Santa Baby dashed rolling
Into the fire to roast
Tangled in lights, I followed
My chestnuts were toast.
Fa-ow-ow-ow, Fa-ow-ow-ow, Fa-ow-ow-ow – Ow!
The silver bells rang
To the hospital I rushed
The night wasn’t silent
Nor was it hushed
The drumming of my heart
Was loud in my ears
What would become of my Christmas?
More important, my beers?
Argh-argh-argh-argh, Argh-argh-argh-argh, Argh-argh-argh-argh- ARGH!
Ahead in the fog
The emergency sign glowed
Looking to me
Just like Rudolph’s nose
Then who to my glazing eyes
Did appear
but grandma and grandpa
They’d crashed into a deer
And sister was there
Having eaten some nuts
She’s allergic, you know,
To that kind of stuff
And Uncle and Brother
They were there, too!
They’d cut down a tree
and gotten hit by the yew.
It was all just too much.
We were all black and blue
We all started to laugh
(You would’ve, too.)
Ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha- Ha !
Black and Blue Christmas
T’was the month before Christmas
I was feeling real good
I’d started the shopping
And gotten the eggnog from Hood
My spirit was peaceful
The gift-wrap had been found
There was order, not chaos
A happy holiday sound
Fa-la-la-la, fa-la-la-la, fa-la-la-la-La!
T’was the day before Christmas
I was decking the halls
When I fell off the ladder
Right onto Mr. Claus
Santa Baby dashed rolling
Into the fire to roast
Tangled in lights, I followed
My chestnuts were toast.
Fa-ow-ow-ow, Fa-ow-ow-ow, Fa-ow-ow-ow – Ow!
The silver bells rang
To the hospital I rushed
The night wasn’t silent
Nor was it hushed
The drumming of my heart
Was loud in my ears
What would become of my Christmas?
More important, my beers?
Argh-argh-argh-argh, Argh-argh-argh-argh, Argh-argh-argh-argh- ARGH!
Ahead in the fog
The emergency sign glowed
Looking to me
Just like Rudolph’s nose
Then who to my glazing eyes
Did appear
but grandma and grandpa
They’d crashed into a deer
And sister was there
Having eaten some nuts
She’s allergic, you know,
To that kind of stuff
And Uncle and Brother
They were there, too!
They’d cut down a tree
and gotten hit by the yew.
It was all just too much.
We were all black and blue
We all started to laugh
(You would’ve, too.)
Ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha- Ha !
December 10, 2011
Short Story - Miracle
Miracle was previously published in On The River magazine. I think of it as a sort of sequel to the story Sunset.
Miracle
The morning was already hot, the forecast high in the nineties. I was late, as usual, and trying to hurry, casting anxious glances at the shrinking pools of shade. A pile of wood waited to be split. I heaved back the stubborn barn door. At my feet were two struggling moths, a large Cecropia, and a small Sheep Moth. Both had been zapped by the mercury barn light last night, and could do little more than shake and spastically beat their wings in the dirt.
Knowing they were done for, I put them on the stacked wood out of the hot sun so they wouldn’t get stepped on, and went to work. When I returned to the woodshed, the larger moth had fallen down onto the ground and was trying hard to make it into the sunlight. There was no sign of the smaller moth.
I watched the struggling moth, debating if I should kill him and put him out of his misery. “You can’t fly anymore,” I said gently. “There’s no use trying.” Picking him up, I brought him into the sun. He shook, his legs jerking badly. Then curiously, one by one, he got them under control and grasped my finger, sitting there. Pity stayed my hand.
“I can’t hold you,” I said regrettably. “I have work to do.”
The moth sat there, his wings flexing now and again, obviously calmed by the warmth of my fingers.
“Here,” I said, quickly putting him into a small pail. “Stay in here so a cat doesn’t get you and I don’t run you over. I’ll take you to a tree in the field after I’m done.”
Soon, it was close to noon. I’d run out of shade and it was time to call it quits. After I put all the equipment away, I went to the pail. The moth inside was still trying to fly. I picked him up, noticing he was spasming worse than before.
He wouldn’t live much longer. “You can come with me to the house,” I said kindly, gripping his body with my fingers so as to not hurt his wings.
I began to walk. The wind was gusty, and the moth was still trying to fly. Several times, he escaped and landed in the grass, beating his wings and flopping around. Each time I picked him up, and told him, “Stop trying to fly. You can’t anymore. Cooperate.”
I walked unto my deck and put down my gloves and earmuffs. A sudden breeze launched the moth from my hands. He flew directly into the deck’s support, bounced off and then fell to the floor where he lay on his back still flapping.
“Stop trying to fly,” I said, exasperated. “You can’t.” I picked him up again, but a sudden gust and his flapping blew him off the deck onto the railing. He fell over the side.
Sighing, I went down to gather him up. He was crawling up a blade of grass, still beating his wings. I gently picked him up, and he perched on my finger, his wings still.
He’d flown successfully for a few seconds on the deck. Maybe he had enough for one small flight on the lawn, if he caught a gust of air at the right moment. It was worth a try. As the breeze intensified around me, I reached out my hand with the moth, and a sudden gust propelled him aloft, frantically beating his wings. I waited for him to fall, to be slammed into the house or branches by the wind. Instead, he kept flying higher.
I couldn’t believe it was happening. Stunned, I watched him clear the tree, then circle upward, catching the higher air currents. Soon he was over the electric wires, then the much taller trees, a tiny speck still rapidly beating his wings. He leveled off, and then began flying east, the speck finally disappearing from sight over the forest tree line.
I can’t explain how the moth was able to fly away, yet I know what I saw. Even in today’s world of reason and rationale, sometimes you can still get a miracle.
May we all be blessed with a miracle of our own this holiday season.:) May you succeed even when all the odds are against you, and everyone tells you you can't. Never give up what's in your heart, ever.
Miracle
The morning was already hot, the forecast high in the nineties. I was late, as usual, and trying to hurry, casting anxious glances at the shrinking pools of shade. A pile of wood waited to be split. I heaved back the stubborn barn door. At my feet were two struggling moths, a large Cecropia, and a small Sheep Moth. Both had been zapped by the mercury barn light last night, and could do little more than shake and spastically beat their wings in the dirt.
Knowing they were done for, I put them on the stacked wood out of the hot sun so they wouldn’t get stepped on, and went to work. When I returned to the woodshed, the larger moth had fallen down onto the ground and was trying hard to make it into the sunlight. There was no sign of the smaller moth.
I watched the struggling moth, debating if I should kill him and put him out of his misery. “You can’t fly anymore,” I said gently. “There’s no use trying.” Picking him up, I brought him into the sun. He shook, his legs jerking badly. Then curiously, one by one, he got them under control and grasped my finger, sitting there. Pity stayed my hand.
“I can’t hold you,” I said regrettably. “I have work to do.”
The moth sat there, his wings flexing now and again, obviously calmed by the warmth of my fingers.
“Here,” I said, quickly putting him into a small pail. “Stay in here so a cat doesn’t get you and I don’t run you over. I’ll take you to a tree in the field after I’m done.”
Soon, it was close to noon. I’d run out of shade and it was time to call it quits. After I put all the equipment away, I went to the pail. The moth inside was still trying to fly. I picked him up, noticing he was spasming worse than before.
He wouldn’t live much longer. “You can come with me to the house,” I said kindly, gripping his body with my fingers so as to not hurt his wings.
I began to walk. The wind was gusty, and the moth was still trying to fly. Several times, he escaped and landed in the grass, beating his wings and flopping around. Each time I picked him up, and told him, “Stop trying to fly. You can’t anymore. Cooperate.”
I walked unto my deck and put down my gloves and earmuffs. A sudden breeze launched the moth from my hands. He flew directly into the deck’s support, bounced off and then fell to the floor where he lay on his back still flapping.
“Stop trying to fly,” I said, exasperated. “You can’t.” I picked him up again, but a sudden gust and his flapping blew him off the deck onto the railing. He fell over the side.
Sighing, I went down to gather him up. He was crawling up a blade of grass, still beating his wings. I gently picked him up, and he perched on my finger, his wings still.
He’d flown successfully for a few seconds on the deck. Maybe he had enough for one small flight on the lawn, if he caught a gust of air at the right moment. It was worth a try. As the breeze intensified around me, I reached out my hand with the moth, and a sudden gust propelled him aloft, frantically beating his wings. I waited for him to fall, to be slammed into the house or branches by the wind. Instead, he kept flying higher.
I couldn’t believe it was happening. Stunned, I watched him clear the tree, then circle upward, catching the higher air currents. Soon he was over the electric wires, then the much taller trees, a tiny speck still rapidly beating his wings. He leveled off, and then began flying east, the speck finally disappearing from sight over the forest tree line.
I can’t explain how the moth was able to fly away, yet I know what I saw. Even in today’s world of reason and rationale, sometimes you can still get a miracle.
May we all be blessed with a miracle of our own this holiday season.:) May you succeed even when all the odds are against you, and everyone tells you you can't. Never give up what's in your heart, ever.
December 3, 2011
Excerpt from The Oath
Here is an excerpt from my short story The Oath, releasing tomorrow 12/4/11 in the anthology Wicked Christmas Wishes from Melange Books!
Link: http://www.melange-books.com/authors/...
Later that night, Danial and I sat by the blinking Christmas tree in the great room. Suri and the other werefoxes had helped me put it up earlier that day. I’d brought some lights from home, but others I’d made with the help of Ivan, Janice, and Demetri: popcorn strings, cookie ornaments, pinecones, and various nuts and feathers.
Theo had declined to help, saying he had work to do. Yet he’d come in with a golden star when we were almost done, and I’d seen the pleasure in his face when he’d put it on top. By the time I’d turned to ask him about it, he was already gone.
He’d been distant to me ever since I’d moved in. The few times we’d needed to talk, he’d been polite but short. I wondered if seeing Danial and me so much in love hurt, if he remembered Tawny and missed her.
“You look tense,” Danial said. “I can fix that. Slide your feet this way.”
He proceeded to give me a foot massage. I writhed in pleasure and uttered moans as he eased all my tensions with the deft manipulation from his strong hands.
“Is there anything you aren’t good at?” I asked, sighing with contentment.
“Not many things,” he said immodestly.
I laughed. He tickled my foot, and I shrieked. Ghost and Darkness, our dogs, looked up, decided it was nothing important, and laid their heads down again.
“I have something for you,” he said. “Look under the tree.”
“Really, Danial, you give me too much as it is—”
“Shh,” he said holding his finger to my lips. “I’ll get it.”
He got up and retrieved a gift bag from the tree’s base. “Open it.”
I opened the package and took out a beautiful black velvet robe. As I slipped it on over my nightgown, I felt something in the pocket. It was red velvet box, containing a pair of stunning gold earrings. I fingered the choker at my neck with the same symbol: the gold fox head, ruby eyes glinting.
“They’re beautiful,” I said, giving him a kiss. “Thank you.”
“Put them on.”
I removed my earrings and slipped on the others.
“They look lovely. See for yourself.”
Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I thought it might be too much. Between the scars, the choker, and the fox earrings, I felt like I had a sign on my forehead that said “Danial’s” in huge letters. The ruby eyes winked at me in the light and I moved my head to make them flash and sparkle. “They’re beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like them,” he called from the great room.
I paused before the mirror. This was it, the moment I’d planned on telling him I would swear to be his. Like before, my uncertainties arose. I couldn’t ever leave him if I did. Not ever. Was I that sure?
Words my friend Kat had spoken earlier came back to me. Why haven’t you told him you’ll marry him? Are you crazy? You love him; he loves you; he’s rich; and he’s gorgeous! How can you even have to think about it?
I went to the bedroom door. Danial waited for me, the strong lines of his face relaxed in a happy smile as he studied the tree. His freshly cut hair feathered back except for a loose wave that fell over his forehead. I loved him so much my chest ached.
It was now or never. It was the perfect moment. Kat was right; things weren’t going to get any better. If I didn’t do it, I’d wonder the rest of my life what it could have been like with him, what I missed out on by not taking the chance.
I walked to the couch and bent over, kissing him on his lips. “They are beautiful. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like them.” He reached for me. “Sit with me.”
I took hold of his hand and gently pushed it back toward him. That got his attention.
“Sar?” he said, alarm and wariness clouding his features.
“I have something for you, too.”
I went to my knees beside the couch. He watched me, riveted.
God, I so wanted to do this perfectly, like I’d mentally rehearsed all afternoon. “I’m yours, Danial Racklan, for tonight and the rest of my life. I, Sarelle McGarran, promise myself to you.”
Link: http://www.melange-books.com/authors/...
Later that night, Danial and I sat by the blinking Christmas tree in the great room. Suri and the other werefoxes had helped me put it up earlier that day. I’d brought some lights from home, but others I’d made with the help of Ivan, Janice, and Demetri: popcorn strings, cookie ornaments, pinecones, and various nuts and feathers.
Theo had declined to help, saying he had work to do. Yet he’d come in with a golden star when we were almost done, and I’d seen the pleasure in his face when he’d put it on top. By the time I’d turned to ask him about it, he was already gone.
He’d been distant to me ever since I’d moved in. The few times we’d needed to talk, he’d been polite but short. I wondered if seeing Danial and me so much in love hurt, if he remembered Tawny and missed her.
“You look tense,” Danial said. “I can fix that. Slide your feet this way.”
He proceeded to give me a foot massage. I writhed in pleasure and uttered moans as he eased all my tensions with the deft manipulation from his strong hands.
“Is there anything you aren’t good at?” I asked, sighing with contentment.
“Not many things,” he said immodestly.
I laughed. He tickled my foot, and I shrieked. Ghost and Darkness, our dogs, looked up, decided it was nothing important, and laid their heads down again.
“I have something for you,” he said. “Look under the tree.”
“Really, Danial, you give me too much as it is—”
“Shh,” he said holding his finger to my lips. “I’ll get it.”
He got up and retrieved a gift bag from the tree’s base. “Open it.”
I opened the package and took out a beautiful black velvet robe. As I slipped it on over my nightgown, I felt something in the pocket. It was red velvet box, containing a pair of stunning gold earrings. I fingered the choker at my neck with the same symbol: the gold fox head, ruby eyes glinting.
“They’re beautiful,” I said, giving him a kiss. “Thank you.”
“Put them on.”
I removed my earrings and slipped on the others.
“They look lovely. See for yourself.”
Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I thought it might be too much. Between the scars, the choker, and the fox earrings, I felt like I had a sign on my forehead that said “Danial’s” in huge letters. The ruby eyes winked at me in the light and I moved my head to make them flash and sparkle. “They’re beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like them,” he called from the great room.
I paused before the mirror. This was it, the moment I’d planned on telling him I would swear to be his. Like before, my uncertainties arose. I couldn’t ever leave him if I did. Not ever. Was I that sure?
Words my friend Kat had spoken earlier came back to me. Why haven’t you told him you’ll marry him? Are you crazy? You love him; he loves you; he’s rich; and he’s gorgeous! How can you even have to think about it?
I went to the bedroom door. Danial waited for me, the strong lines of his face relaxed in a happy smile as he studied the tree. His freshly cut hair feathered back except for a loose wave that fell over his forehead. I loved him so much my chest ached.
It was now or never. It was the perfect moment. Kat was right; things weren’t going to get any better. If I didn’t do it, I’d wonder the rest of my life what it could have been like with him, what I missed out on by not taking the chance.
I walked to the couch and bent over, kissing him on his lips. “They are beautiful. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you like them.” He reached for me. “Sit with me.”
I took hold of his hand and gently pushed it back toward him. That got his attention.
“Sar?” he said, alarm and wariness clouding his features.
“I have something for you, too.”
I went to my knees beside the couch. He watched me, riveted.
God, I so wanted to do this perfectly, like I’d mentally rehearsed all afternoon. “I’m yours, Danial Racklan, for tonight and the rest of my life. I, Sarelle McGarran, promise myself to you.”
November 27, 2011
Transient Happiness - Poem
This poem was published in On The River magazine last year in early 2011. It remains as one of my favorites:
Transient Happiness
The night air is cool and insistent on my face, moving my hair like leaves in the wind
The coastal lights glimmer and sparkle like diamonds
My mother laughs and raises her glass for a toast
We toast to many more nights like this one,
Many more adventures.
I am tired but happy.
All is as it should be.
I look across the skyline toward the future to come.
I know this moment cannot last.
Instead it snaps, stretched tight like a rubber band that has lost all resiliency and strength.
The bill comes due.
The moment is over.
There will be other nights like this one, other happy times.
Each one doomed to pass as a flowers bloom fades
So I hurriedly scratch these words on a soiled napkin
To catch the moment for always
To freeze the frame in motion
Holding still in memory a moment of perfect yet transient happiness.
Transient Happiness
The night air is cool and insistent on my face, moving my hair like leaves in the wind
The coastal lights glimmer and sparkle like diamonds
My mother laughs and raises her glass for a toast
We toast to many more nights like this one,
Many more adventures.
I am tired but happy.
All is as it should be.
I look across the skyline toward the future to come.
I know this moment cannot last.
Instead it snaps, stretched tight like a rubber band that has lost all resiliency and strength.
The bill comes due.
The moment is over.
There will be other nights like this one, other happy times.
Each one doomed to pass as a flowers bloom fades
So I hurriedly scratch these words on a soiled napkin
To catch the moment for always
To freeze the frame in motion
Holding still in memory a moment of perfect yet transient happiness.
