Musical Musings


This month’s Musical Musings topics are: parents, siblings, and childhood.

For me, parents and childhood are kinda the same. I don’t think their taste in music changed from what they listened to when I was young. You know, before I picked my own music. But here’s some of their favourites…


A few of my first musical decisions, lol…

And my brother…we honestly shared and still share a lot of the same interests. I’m way more country now, but he’ll give a few of my faves a listen. So, he listened to the same as mine above, plus a few more…and here’s some of his new faves.

That’s it for me. Now check out the other ladies…

Bronwyn Green  |  Deelylah Mullin  |  Gwendolyn Cease  |  Paige Prince

Song Flash Fiction ~ All American Rejects

I’m familiar with a few of their songs, but hadn’t heard this one before. Here’s the video for those of you who’d like to give it a listen, and the resulting story…I’m sure I’ll think of something. Prays to the muse gods for a save… (I’d like to use a lifeline. Call a friend. Poll the audience.)

Oh and I don’t really get the whole them in the ocean in this video but…maybe that’s just me.

“Dave? Buddy, you okay?”

Dave Attison stared out the window, watching the gathering of people a few hundred yards off.  They sat in rows, heads bent in conversation as the storm raged around them. A large tent fluttered in the strong breeze, the hollow sound of the rain against the canvass echoing across the open space. He shifted his gaze to the man standing at the end of a red carpet—white square glowing like a beacon against his collar. He wasn’t talking to anyone, his head held high, a book clenched in his hands.

Dave swallowed against the bile cresting his throat. They’d been sitting in the damn truck for twenty minutes, but Dave hadn’t been able to wrap his fingers around the handle—step out into the rain. His stomach clenched at the thought, threatening to spill his recent coffee across the dashboard, not that he’d care. Hell, he hadn’t cared about anything—anyone—in months.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he forced himself to turn—meet Barry’s gaze. The man looked as uncomfortable as Dave felt, his buddy’s eyes darting between the crowd and him. Creases furrowed Barry’s brow as the man released a shuddering breath, giving Dave what he assumed was supposed to be an encouraging smile.

“Ceremony’s about to start.” Barry swallowed with apparent effort. “Don’t you think we should join in? Might be rude to walk over there halfway through. You know how Father Sean is about tardiness.”

Dave snorted. The man he’d planned on spending the rest of his life with—his fucking soulmate—was ready to pledge his love to someone else, and Barry was worried if Father Sean would flip his shit if Dave showed up late.

He glanced away. “I just need another minute.”

Barry sighed, the sound sparking another clench of Dave’s gut. God, how he’d come to loathe that sound—the pity that seemed to ooze out of it. The way it curled around him, reminding him about all the ways he’d failed. How he hadn’t been enough.

Barry gave his shoulder a squeeze. “We’ve been here for a while. I’m not sure another minute is going to make this any easier.”

Dave scoffed, meeting his friend’s sympathetic gaze. “Easier? Julian is marrying another man, Barry. And as much as I want to walk over there—prove to everyone I’m a bigger man, that I can take the high road in this—all I can think about is how unwanted I’ll be. The man walked out of me. Let me for that…” Dave blew out an exasperated breath. “Four years, and he threw it away because I wanted more. Only to turn around and get engaged three weeks later.” He snorted. “Christ, it’s like some damn soap opera, only so much worse. Poorly written.”

“Julian invited you. Hell, he called the house half a dozen times to confirm you’d be here. Bastard still seems to think you can be the best of friends. So, I’m pretty damn sure that means you’re wanted.” Barry huffed at Dave’s silence. “Are you worried Paul might throw a scene? That he never wanted you to come?”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then explain it to me, because you’re the one who insisted on accepting the offer. On torturing yourself more.” He thumbed the steering wheel. “I know you loved him, but…he doesn’t deserve another minute of your time. Fuck, he never deserved you.”

Dave closed his eyes. If he were honest, he didn’t know why he’d insisted on coming, either. He’d tried to convince himself it was for closure—a tangible way of dealing with Julian’s departure. But as Dave stared at the last few stragglers walking across the rain-slick grass, he knew it was a lie. Hell, it’d all been a lie. Their life. Julian’s love. None of it had been more than a mirage. It had just taken Dave four years and a shit load of ninety-proof to get any clarity. To see it for what it really had been—wasted time.

He clenched his jaw, then reefed open the door, stepping into the rain. It stung his face as he stood there, still staring at the make-shift chapel. He drew a deep breath, glancing at his buddy. Barry looked at him over the top of the truck, seemingly unsure whether to join him or simply stand there. Dave closed his eyes, searching for some kind of sign, when the wind picked up, curling around before continuing down the road.

Barry cleared his throat. “Well? We going over there?”

Dave lifted his head. “I think I’ve already gotten all I need. It’s time to stop chasing what was never there.” He looked at Barry. “Beer? First round’s on me.”

Barry grinned. “Hell, yeah. Second round, too, buddy, for making me put on this godforsaken tie.”

“Fine. Two rounds.” He smiled at his friend. “Thanks.”

Barry cocked an eyebrow as he slid in behind the wheel. “For what?”

“Not saying I told you so.”

“Night’s young. I could still gloat.”

“I’ll consider myself dully warned.”


That’s all for me. Had a hard time with this one. Now check out the other ladies, who probably scribbled three pages without effort.

Bronwyn Green  |  Kayleigh Jones  |  Deelylah Mullin  |  Siobhan Muir 



Promptly Penned ~ May

This month’s prompt is an interesting one.

Magic isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For example, there are 20 spells for making tea but none to save yourself from falling off a cliff.

Let us, begin…



Magic isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For example, there are twenty spells for making tea but none to save yourself from falling off a cliff.

At least, that’s what played over and over in Sebastian’s head as he balanced on the slippery crag, body plastered to the unforgiving rock, each gust of wind threatening to dislodge his grip. Rain fell in torrential sheets from the dark expanse of clouds blanketing the sky, soaking through his woollen coat—making it feel as if it weighed another ten stone. He shifted his weight, trying to find better purchase on a small ledge just off to his left, but his boots slid along the slick surface, nearly tumbling him into the gully.

A laugh bubbled up through his chest, breaking free as nothing more than a murmur as the wind whipped through the opening in the cliff, drowning out any other sound but its echoing whistle and the rattle of what remained of the wooden bridge he’d been crossing. Inappropriate or not, he had to admit, his current situation was funny. Bone deep hilarity that would either end as a tale of his greatest adventure, or the markings on his epithet.

He laughed again when he realized it was most likely the latter. Not that he should have found his last moments of life funny, but… It was more the circumstances of how he’d gotten himself into the deadly situation to begin with.


He knew better than to trust them. To put blind faith in their ability. After all, most of them were just skilled at reading people. Noticing subtle changes in a person’s facial expressions or how to draw out information all the while making it appear as if they’d received divine guidance. But he’d been desperate—more than desperate. This had been his one chance to track down his brother’s murderer, and Sebastian hadn’t been willing to simply give up. He had magic. Was it too farfetched to believe at least some of these so-called fortune tellers also possessed abilities.

Of course, he’d picked the one without an ounce of magical essence. But that was just becoming obvious now. At the time, he’d thought…

He sighed. He really hadn’t been thinking at all. After a week of tracking the man he believed had struck his brother down, his spell had simply vanished. Either it’d been blocked, or broken—hell, for all he knew a much more powerful mage had rewritten the damn thing and his prey was now stalking him. Either way, Sebastian had ridden into town without a clue of where to head to next.

So he’d taken his only other option—he’d asked a gypsy. And now—now he was trapped on a crumbling ledge a few hundred feet above a rocky gorge doing his best not to tumble to his death.

Sebastian released a calming breath. He was a mage. His magic was real. Surely, he could remember one tiny spell that would save his hide, yet again.

A metamorphosis spell. 

He shook his head. They were notoriously long and overly complicated. The chances of him getting every pronunciation and intonation correct while barely holding onto the ledge or hurtling to his death seemed unlikely at best.


A great plan, except for the part where he could only induce it within a few feet of the ground. Once he stepped off the ledge, the spell would fail.

Maybe he could manipulate the rock? Mentally carve out a set of steps or…

The wind eddied around the protrusion next to him, blowing him off balance. He shoved his fingers farther into the cracks, trying to flatten his body as best he could. But the searing cold crept up his hands, numbing them to the point it took all his concentration just to wiggle the tips. One more blast like the previous one, and he’d fall.

Sebastian grunted, drawing himself up. Metamorphosis it was. He’d just have to concentrate—ensure he didn’t make a mistake. He inhaled, mentally working his way through the spell, when pieces of rock and dirt sprayed down from above him, stinging his skin as they bounced off his face. He looked up, wondering how this day could possibly get worse, when a rope bounced over the outcrop above him, settling into place beside his head.

He stared at the offering. It wasn’t a regular rope, the shiny golden strands glowing in the waning light as sparks of energy arched off the surface. The rope swayed in the breeze, snapping with apparent annoyance when he didn’t grab it outright. The end curled toward him, more of the strange arcs brightening the small circle of space.

He sighed. While this appeared to be a miraculous answer to his prayers, he knew better than to believe it was anything other than another trap. Though, not falling to his death meant he’d be alive to create another escape plan.

He reached for the rope, cursing when the end snaked toward him, twirling up his arm then around his chest. He tried pull free, gasping when it shook him off the ledge, keeping him suspended above the gorge for several frantic heartbeats before bobbing him upwards. He bounced along the rock, groaning as pain ignited across his ribs and limbs only to be dumped on his ass in the mud.

The sloppy dirt soaked through his pants, tripping him twice before he finally gained his feet. The rope uncurled, hovering in front of him then winking out. Sebastian flicked some of the muddy water off his clothes, scanning the small clearing when a shadow moved out from the thicket of trees just off the winding path. The cloaked figure walked along the flattened stones, a golden glow colouring his hands. He seemed indifferent to the rain, the searing chill of the wind, as he headed toward Sebastian, stopping several feet away. A battle-scarred sword hung around his waist, the hilt poking out from between the edges of his overcoat. He raised his head, tilting his hat back just enough to expose his face to the yellow light.

Emerald eyes stared back at him.

Killer’s eyes.

He quirked his lips, allowing one side to lift into the beginnings of a smile. “Sebastian Thatcher. I’d say this meeting is long overdue.”

Sebastian grinned, allowing his magic to burst across his palms and up his limbs, surrounding him in an ethereal blue glow. He took a single step forward, the muddy water hissing as his power heated the air around him. “Lucian Charlemagne. Just the man I’ve been looking for. Raise your guard and prepare to die.”


That’s it for me. Now check out what the other ladies did with the prompt.

Jessica Jarman  |  Bronwyn Green  |  Gwendolyn Cease

Deelylah Mullin  |  Siobhan Muir

Hindsight is 20/20

It’s random Wednesday and this week’s topic is… I wish I’d learned this earlier. Now, I’m not sure if this is supposed to be purely associated with writing or just life in general…though if it’s life in general, I might run out of space 🙂

So… if I look at it solely for writing, here’s my list of things I wish I’d known starting out.

Dialogue tags…

I discovered a few novels in that instead of having endless, he said, she said, he yelled, she exclaimed, or she muttered, etc, that tagging with an action eliminated the need for these. I occasionally will use a tag here and there, but using action tags keeps the story flowing and avoids endless repetition of other tags. I remember reading a book where every character ‘bit out’ every sentence. Even ‘said’ eventually feels overused.

Keeping POV for entire chapters.

While I can say I’m not a POV hopper, I did tend to change POVs in the middle of a chapter. But I realized that the story flows better with less chances of having a reader get pulled out if I kept POV changes to entire chapters. This might be a personal choice, but…I do wish I’d started out this way.

Looking more into the future, with respect to publishers.

I’ve been pretty lucky. I have some really good publishers. But I do wish I’d been a bit more hesitant to sign up for long contracts or to get too caught up in some of them. ARe… I’m looking at you. It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement. I really need to ensure I look ahead before making decisions in the future.

Learned how to do marketing.

This is self explanatory. I suck at it. I’m trying to learn, but… I do wish I’d learned how to do that from the beginning.

Lastly, I really wish I’d made the decision to pursue writing sooner.

Okay, that’s it for me. Please jump on over to the other ladies to see their lists.

Bronwyn Green  |  Jessica Jarman  |  Deelylah Mullin  |  Gwendolyn Cease

wordless Wednesday ~ spring

It’s a picture post, but of course I’ll break that rule. But no flash fictions, lol. This month the topic is SPRING. Usually, spring starts at the beginning of March, but this year, with all the snow and colder temperatures, we’re a good month behind. But, at least it looks like things are getting back on track.

Cherry Blossoms…nothing quite says spring like these.


White ones, because who doesn’t love variety.






Spring means rain and lots and lots of mud. I miscalculated today. Soaked through. Glad these weren’t my new shoes! Those are for tomorrow.


Spring means training. A shorter one in preparation for the long-ass weekend runs.


This view never gets old. And doesn’t change all that much 🙂 Gotta love BC.


Okay, that’s all I have time for. Go check out the other ladies…

Bronwyn Green  |  Jessica Jarman  |  Deelylah Mullin

Song flash fiction ~ Rob Thomas

For the record, I love me some Rob Thomas. Solo. With Matchbox 20. I don’t care. The guy’s voice is just so damn good. But knowing the song doesn’t mean it’ll be easy to write something. But it was a nice surprise to recognize the title right off. Though I do like discovering new songs and artists, too.

Also… we have a new member playing along on all the flash fiction pieces. Waves at Siobhan. She’s great and you’ll love reading her short pieces.

Okay… here’s the song if you’re not familiar with it, and the resulting story. (PS… really Rob? This is a weird ass video, but… great song, just the same.)

I decided to continue on from the March’s Promptly Penned. You can read that one or just jump right in….. March Promptly Penned. I was away this weekend, and got home super late, so… this one is going to be short….


“Come on, Alex, it’s not that cold.”

Alex Fontain snagged Bailey’s elbow, stopping her from walking past him. “While I love the thought of skinny dipping with you, the water’s far too cold for even a quick dip. Unless you’d planned on including a bout of exposure to your to-do list for the weekend.”

She shrugged but didn’t pull away. “If you stay out, you can warm me up.”

He clenched his jaw at the thought. While he hadn’t seen Bailey for ten years, he sure as hell hadn’t stopped thinking about her. They’d been inseparable growing up—their shared love of adventure usually getting them into trouble. He hadn’t really noticed the sexy, beautiful woman she was maturing into, until just before he’d quit her father’s company. They’d been at a family function—like a thousand others they’d been forced to endure—but she’d shown up in a strapless, red dress that had taken his breath away. Made him look at her in a completely new light.

He sighed. Whatever he thought they might be able to have had quickly vanished when he’d finally taken a stand and walked out—joined the Marines then made his way onto JAG. While he didn’t regret his decision, he’d always wondered if he’d left the best part of him back home. If he’d ever find another woman like Bailey.

He hadn’t—a fact that was instantly apparent as soon as he’ spotted her across the room, trying hard to blend in. He’d spent an hour watching her—looking for her date, only to realize she’d come alone, just like him. A quick chat with Lizzie had confirmed his childhood best friend was still single. In fact, Lizzie had gone as far as to say Bailey hadn’t been involved since she’d had her bastard of an ex charged with assault.

He tamped down the anger just thinking about it. Thankfully—according to Lizzie—Bailey had had the strength to walk away after the first, and only, incident. Hadn’t fallen for the apologies and token promises. Not that Alex expected any less of her, but he wasn’t naive. He’d been involved in more than a few domestic violence cases with the service, and he knew leaving someone you loved wasn’t always the easiest road—even if it was the right one. Knowing Bailey had stood up for herself—had seen that the asshole was charged—made him extremely proud. He only wished she’d called him for help.

He sighed. He hadn’t so much as called her since he’d stormed out of her father’s office. It wasn’t any mystery why she’d chosen to face her issues alone.

He smiled, running his thumb along the inside of her arm. “If you freeze your adorable ass off, I won’t be able to let you drink anymore alcohol. Not when it will only lower your core temperature more.”

She arched a brow. “And here I thought you were a lawyer, not a medic.”

“Multifaceted, sweetheart.” He lifted the bag he’d managed to fill before they’d snuck away. “Which is it going to be?”

“Like that’s a choice. Obviously, the booze.”

He chuckled. “Good thing you’re not flying any time soon.”

“Three whole days off. In a row. Which means I can be plastered for two and a half. I’ll be sure to stop twelve hours before I’m due back.” She arched a brow. “Since when do you worry about how much I drink?”

“Since I realized you’re the only person here that I want to spend any time with. And I’d like you to remember at least some of it.”

Her expression changed as she swept her gaze the length of him before settling on his face. “How about I make you a deal? You stay at my side, like the old days, and I’ll stay sober. Won’t have another drink.”

“I thought you needed the alcohol to avoid bloodshed?”

She smiled in a way that made his chest tighten and his heart race. “Not if I have you.” She held out her hand. “So, do we have a deal?”

“I was thinking I’d counter-offer.”

“You’re a lawyer. Of course, you were.”

He tugged her closer, grinning at her sharp intake of breath as her body pressed up flush to his. “I’ll stay at your side, but I don’t want it to be like the old days—back before I realized there was a woman beneath the jeans and tee. In fact, I’d like to get very, very…” He leaned down, nearly brushing her mouth with his. “Very close.”

Bailey stared up at him, eyes wide, breath noticeably increased. Her lips quirked before she wet them. “Now, Counsellor, are you suggesting a weekend of no-strings attached, blow your mind, friends-with-benefits kind of arrangement? Because I could make that deal.”

He dipped in, nipping at her bottom lip then letting it go. “Actually, I was thinking of far more than just this weekend. And when it comes to you—strings are a given.”

A shiver worked through her, and he wasn’t sure if he’d unwittingly crossed a line she wasn’t prepared to step over just yet. She stared up at him, worrying the lip he’d snagged then sighed. “You’re looking for complicated, huh?”

“Anything worthwhile rarely comes easily.” He nuzzled her nose. “So?”

She eased out of his embrace, a wide smile on her face. “Complicated it is. Which means I’m definitely going to go for a dip. So I suggest you start stripping because once I get back, you’re going to have to use your body heat to save me. And I have a feeling that rescue is going to take all night.”


And that’s it for me. Go check out the other ladies… lots playing today.

Bronwyn Green  |  Jessica Jarman  |  Siobhan Muir  |  Deelylah Mullin

Gwendolyn Cease  |  Paige Prince  |





Promptly Penned ~ April

Time for another monthly edition of Promptly Penned. And I love this month’s prompt. The only problem is… so many possibilities!

“Wow. Can we just pretend, for one second, that you’r not a complete douchebag?”

And here is the resulting story…

“Don’t worry, Mr. Hayward, I’ll keep—”

 “What the hell is he doing here?”

Samuel Montgomery paused mid-sentence, twisting to gaze at the woman standing partway down the broad staircase. He didn’t miss the tight press of her lips, or the hint of colour high on her cheeks. She glared at him as she continued down the last of the steps, her boots sounding loud across the old hardware floors as she walked halfway into the parlour.

Her father gave her a wide smile, extending his hand toward Sam. “Ah, Bridgette, just the person I needed to see. This is—”

“Sam Montgomery. Yeah, I know who the jerk is. What I don’t know is why he’s standing in my house.”

Her father frowned. “You two know each other?”

She leered at Sam, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hard to forget the guy who took you to prom, then slept with your best friend instead of driving you home. So, yeah…we’ve met before.”

“Oh. Well, then I suppose I don’t need to introduce you.”

“No. You need to answer my question.”

The man sighed. “He’s here because it’s been three weeks since you promised you’d hire a suitable security detail and you’re still walking around on your own as if nothing ever happened.”

Her jaw hinged open, her gaze sliding to Sam’s. It swept the length of his body, openly assessing him before settling on his face. Stunning blue eyes stared back at him, the corners creased in irritation. Though Sam noticed the flash of fear before she broke eye contact, glancing at her father.

“Dad. While I appreciate you’re only trying to help, I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself.”

George Hayward arched his brow. “You’ve been getting death threats for six weeks. Someone smashed in your windshield and slashed your tires. Then, just last week, someone sent you a bunch of photos in the mail of you jaunting about town by big red Xs over your image.”

“It’s just posturing. One of Stevens’ underlings flexing their muscles. Trying to unnerve me. It’s not the first time a defendant has tried to intimidate me. But I don’t scare easily. Besides, all of that happened at work. That’s why I came back to stay here until the court date.” She snorted. “Trust me, no one’s following me to this blip on the map.”

George frowned, turning to Sam as he pointed to his daughter. “Samuel. Please talk to her. Tell her I’m not being some overprotective, helicopter parent. That she should take these threats seriously.”

Sam glanced at Bridgette. God, she was stunning. Not in a New York model sort of way, but more of a homegrown, girl-next-door kind of beauty. Long, golden hair, smooth, symmetrical features, with a hint of natural blush on her cheeks, and curves that put any backroad in the country to shame, she didn’t strike him as a hot-shot attorney. But then, he’d learned not to judge people by how they looked—it usually came back to bite him in the ass.

He braced his feet apart, copying her stance. “Your father’s right. You need to stop being so stubborn.”

Her left eye twitched as she stared at him. “Stubborn? You think this is me throwing a tantrum?”

He shrugged. “Your words, not mine, Bridg. But since you brought it up—I’ve seen the photographs. Read the letters. They aren’t idle threats. And denying help because you don’t want to choke on your pride isn’t a wise choice.”

Her eyes rounded, then narrowed, as she took a calculated step forward. “Choke on my pride? Who the hell are you to judge me?”

“The guy who deals with this kind of situation on a regular basis. Who might just be able to keep your ass in one piece. That’s if you stop whining long enough to actually listen to what I have to say.”

“Okay. Wow. Can we just pretend, for one second, that you’re not a complete douchebag? Or is that impossible? First, I never said I wasn’t taking it seriously. That’s why I’m here. I’m distancing myself from the case—from my life—to let things cool down a bit. Second…” She uncrossed her arms, shaking a finger at him. “If I hired a bodyguard every time a defendant threatened me, I’d have a harem by now. It comes with the job.”

A loud ringing sounded in Sam’s head before he closed the distance, purposely invading her personal space. “Am I hearing things, or did you just say this wasn’t the first time you’ve been threatened?”

She palmed his chest, trying to shove him back, but he answered her by walking them backwards until she was trapped between him and the wall. “Damn it, Sam—”

“Answer the question.”

She huffed, fluttering some strands of hair against her cheek. “I’m a prosecutor for the DA’s office. I try murderers and mafia henchmen and drug dealers. People who aren’t worried about breaking the law to send me a message. So yes, I’ve been threatened before. Sometimes it’s photos. Sometimes vandalism. Or a creepy ass message on my work cell. And every time I increase my vigilance. Make sure I lock my doors, don’t wander down dark alleys at night.” She quirked her lips. “Don’t pick up strange men at bars, or go for a run in the park after sunset.” She poked his chest with one delicate finger. “Not a damsel. Don’t need some alpha male to ride to the rescue.”

Sam placed his palm over her finger, pressing her entire hand against him. “Oh, sweetheart. If only I had a dollar for every time a client has assured me they didn’t need my services, I’d be one rich son of a bitch.” He eased away just enough to reach into his pocket and remove an envelope. “Your dad didn’t want to upset you, but these were waiting on your doorstep when he arrived this morning. It’s the reason he called me. Because what’s in here—it’s so much more than some pissed off lackie throwing smoke bombs your way. This—it’s serious.”

She frowned as she took the envelope, staring at it as if it might suddenly burst into flames. “Someone sent this here? To Montana? As in, my actual address?”

“Looks like your little hideout isn’t quite as secret as you thought it was.”

She swallowed with effort, worrying her bottom lip before tilting her head and staring at him. “Why are you even here? I thought you joined the military? Became some special ops soldier or something.”

Memories flashed through his mind, but he managed to shove them aside. Avoid the gut-wrenching episode that generally followed. Now wasn’t the time to show any weakness, not when he needed Bridgette to understand this wasn’t some token prank.

He nodded as he stepped back. “I did. I’m not anymore.” He glanced at her father, then motioned to the door. “I’m leaving for exactly five minutes to get my equipment out of my truck. I suggest you jump on board in the time I’m gone because whether you like it or not, I’m going to be shadowing your ass until you head back to Seattle for the trial. And before you lose your shit—I’ve already cleared it with your office. They agree. And for the record, I never called you a damsel. But I’m fairly certain those kick-boxing classes you’ve been taking don’t compare to my level of training.”

Sam turned and marched out, smiling when something hit the door just after he closed it. While running into Bridgette hadn’t been something he’d ever expected to happen—especially with how they’d broken things off—he was having a hard time being as upset as he’d originally thought he’d be. Maybe it was her feisty personality, or her obvious intelligence. Either way, he needed to find a way to work with her, because if the people who sent those threats turned up, things were going to get ugly.

Okay, that’s it for me. Go check out the other ladies…

Bronwyn Green  |  Jessica Jarman  |  Gwendolyn Cease  |  Deelylah Mullin

Top 10 ~ I’m out of here…


So, we’re switching hats, in a manner of speaking. Every author is also a reader, lol. But I’ll admit, I’m picky when it comes to what I read. Maybe it’s like that old saying… doctors make the worst patients… maybe authors are the toughest readers to please, lol. Whatever the reason, here are ways to lose me if you’re an author.

10 — No research… This is a huge pet peeve of mine. I used to be a commercial pilot and honestly, helicopter fiction is some of the worst. It only takes five minutes to know what the controls are called… so don’t, for the love of God, call the cyclic a joystick. And don’t tell me you can fly from Las Vegas to New York in a chopper, or that anyone would arrange that. Do you know how much helicopters cost? Yeah, not happening.

I don’t expect you to know everything. Just do enough I don’t feel the need to fact check. And if you don’t know, don’t put it in writing. I love writing old west books, but some stuff I have to leave out because I just can’t find the answers I’m looking for. Also… and this is huge… please don’t put EVERYTHING you know into the book either. While some well-place medical jargon is great, endless paragraphs of every medical term known to man to ‘prove’ you know your stuff is equally frustrating. Just tell me enough I’m confident in your knowledge and let me enjoy the fiction part of the story.

9 — Poor grammar/too many typos… I’m not talking about the odd typo or wrong/missing word. Every book has one. I mean books wrought with them. Everyone needs an editor and a copy editor. That’s just the facts.

8 — Too many flashbacks, forwards or sideways… If I get whiplash, it’s a few too many. If I have to constantly go back to check what year I’m in… if I have no idea if this is the present, the future or the past, it’s too many. I don’t mind a few. But I think the book loses traction when you spend too much time going backwards. Stephen King did a fabulous job of dealing with this in the book IT… he actually had a bunch, but it was executed well. Flow is a huge issue and if you don’t have it, I probably won’t finish reading.


7 — Too much name dropping… Hey, I love movies, shows, songs, books, you name it, as much as the next person. And I’ve done some name dropping in here, lol. But when it’s every other page… it gets tedious. It also dates the work. So while I get you love Vampire Dairies or True Blood… please don’t show us that a dozen times over.

6 — Unrealistic dialogue… No one says a person’s name every time they address them. And people speak in contractions (unless they’re alien or robots, maybe). Even in most historical periods, I’m sure they spoke in contractions because humans are lazy about speech 🙂 And I think we all know bad dialogue when we read it. Don’t ask me to suffer through three hundred pages of that.


5 — Too stupid to live characters… One of the best lines ever is from the movie Scream… Sydney say… I hate horror movies because the bitch is always running up the stairs when she should be running out the door. But it applies to lots of other situations. So, if your book has our heroine deciding to cut through an alley in the city at night when she’s being stalked? Yeah, I probably won’t finish that one.

4 — Heroines who are weak and whinny… I think this says it all. Not all heroines need to be martial arts specialist, or boxing champions. Strength comes from within. So stop waiting for the rescue and rescue yourself. I think Dean says it best…

3 — Heroes who are controlling assholes. Do I really need to say anything else? I honestly don’t understand why so many people love stories where the guy is a controlling douche. It’s not romantic and I’ll toss that paperback across the room if your hero is a stalker jackass.

2 — No plot… I know, this could and maybe should be number 1, but…while I love some hot sex as much as the next person, please have some sort of plot. Something to keep me turning pages, because I should be able to skip the sex scenes and still enjoy the book. Obviously, it might be a short one, lol, but that’s okay. While the sex can, and often does, drive the book forward, it shouldn’t be the only thing that does. And please make sure I can’t drive a big rig through your plot. I can suspend belief a bit, but don’t ask me to go to Narnia every time I turn a page.

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1 — POV switching EVERY FREAKING PARAGRAPH. People… this is not how good writing happens. Pick a head and for the love of all that’s holy on this green earth, stay in it. At least for a scene. And try not to change more than once, maybe twice in a long chapter. And I don’t want to know what the gardener is thinking, or the maid, or even the hot doctor if the hot doctor is not the hero or heroine of this book. I’m here to read your hero’s/heroine’s story. Let me learn about them. What they think, what scares them. I’m all for a hot doctor, but give that man his own book (or girl, however you write it).


And that’s it for me. Check in with the other ladies and see their lists…

Bronwyn Green  |  Jessica Jarman  |  Gwendolyn Cease  |  Deelylah Mullin

Photo Flash Fiction ~ April


Well, it looks as if spring is finally here. Snow is gone (at least down lower) and I’ve been able to wear a tank running a few times. I love this time of year. The temperature is perfect. Anyway, it’s time for another flash fiction. Here is the photo… yes, it screams Steampunk. I’ve never written anything steampunk, so perhaps fantasy?

38846997 - steampunk man wearing mask with various mechanical devices. fantasy.

38846997 – steampunk man wearing mask with various mechanical devices. fantasy.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

Randy bit back his reply as he glanced at Matt over his shoulder, silently promising to strange his buddy if he bitched one more time. “I thought you wanted to get to know Ashley Banks? In the carnal sense?”

Matt gave Randy a light punch on his back. “You know I do, jerk.”

“Which is why we’re going to the event tonight.”

Matt huffed, jogging a few steps to catch up as Randy began walking again. “It’s a charity auction for the museum. Why would that make a good impression on Ashley?”

Randy stopped dead, spinning to face his friend. “Have you listened to anything I’ve said over the past several hours?”

“You talk way too much, buddy.”

“So, that’s a no.”

Matt crossed his arms over his chest. “Something about a charity event. Costumes and that Ashley would appreciate my effort. That about cover it?”

“And to think you’re applying to the Bureau after graduation. Dude, her mother is the head curator. The woman has like three PhD’s. She’s the one organizing this event. As you can imagine, her loyal and oh-so-supportive daughter will be there. And when a smuck like you walks in—in costume, no less—she might actually see you as more than a abnormal psychologist geek with some decent upper body strength.”

Matt stared at him, eyes wide, before punching him in the shoulder. “Decent upper body strength? That’s what you think I have to offer?”

“Seriously? That’s your takeaway from what I just said.”

His lips quirked. “I might have heard the part where you’re actually helping me out.” He tugged at the neckline of his outfit. “Though, I still can’t believe you had these hanging around.”

“What? I happen to like Halloween. Girls think it’s sexy when guys get into the spirit crap. And I happen to like sex, unlike you, who hasn’t seen a vagina in…how long?”

“Screw you.”

“You’re so not my type, even if I swung that way. I’d want soft, supple hands, not those things you have with callouses all over them.”

“I’ll never make it into the Bureau if I can’t fight, or shoot, or do another half a dozen things they screen for. And not jumping every woman that smiles at me isn’t a bad thing.”

“Which is why I’m dressed like a damn knight straight out of King Arthur’s Camelot.” Randy tugged on Matt’s sleeve. “You’re just lucky I want you to get laid enough I gave you the Assassin’s Creed costume. Because you would not like how this chainmail rubs. Trust me.”

Matt snorted, shaking his head as he fell into step beside Randy. Randy grinned, crossing the road, then jogging up the steps to the museum. It was weird seeing the place lit up this late, with banners fluttering in the wind and a fancy red carpet leading up the steps and into the gallery.

They walked through the revolving door, making their way toward the main exhibit at the end of the hall, nodding at the guy who walked out of the brightly lit room, heading for bar set up along the far side of the hall.

Matt stopped, pulling Randy to a halt with a hand around his elbow. “What the hell was that guy wearing?”

Randy groaned. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe a costume for the freaking costume party?”

“I know that, jackass. And call me crazy, but that doesn’t look like a medieval or prior costume.”

“Say what?”

Matt shoved him. “His mask, Einstein. It’s all gears and, well, gears. That’s not Arthurian or even remotely medieval. I know the whole Assassin’s Creed aspect is pushing it a bit, but…”

Randy frowned, stepping inside the room. He cursed under his breath, gazing around the room and a hundred people dressed exactly like the man they’d passed in the hallway.

Matt muttered under his breath. “Um, Randy? Have you noticed that everyone else is dressed like that guy? With the gears?”

“Don’t be an ass. Of course I see it. But…”

Randy groaned inwardly when Ashley sauntered over to them, her headpiece even more elaborate than the rest. “Randy. Matt. How…nice of you to drop by.” She pursed her lips together, obviously trying not to laugh. “Those are…interesting choices for costumes.”

Matt scrubbed his hand down his face. “My buddy, here, told me it was medieval dress.” He glanced at Randy. “Thanks for that.”

She laughed. “Medieval. Steampunk. I can see how he got confused.”

“Look, we don’t want to embarrass you. We’ll just go—”

“And ruin all the work you guys put into these ones? You look fantastic.” She winked at Matt. “Assassin’s Creed is one of my favourite games. And that hoodie…”

“Then, I guess we’ll stay. Even if we don’t fit in.”

She stepped closer, drawing her finger down his arm. “Fitting in’s overrated. Can I get you both a drink?”

“Sure.” Matt swatted Randy once Ashley had walked off. “Steampunk? Seriously?”

He gave his buddy a shove. “I thought it was some medieval thing. Sue me. Besides, you look way better in that hoodie than some funky outfit like those other guys are wearing. And the whole point is to get Ashley to take the next step, right? Which is looking pretty promising.”

“Just, don’t do anything to embarrass us further, okay?”

“When have I ever…” He coughed as Matt glared at him. “Fine. I’ll behave. Now, go impress your girl.”


And that’s it for me. Go check out the other ladies…

Bronwyn Green  |   Jessica Jarman  |  Kayleigh Jones  |  Deelylah Mullin

Be afraid. Be very afraid…

So we’re talking fears. Fear and anxieties. But not the spider kind. It’s what we fear or get anxious over with respect to writing. So this is going to be a super short blog, because the answer is … EVERYTHING!!!!

Okay, maybe not everything but it often feels like that. But let’s look at the obvious ones.

  1. That my books will or do suck. I’m sure most authors worry over this at some point. But that doesn’t seem to be at all comforting. It’s like a constant battle between reading your work and thinking… wow, did I actually write that? It’s pretty good. And… EVERYTHING SUCKS. I suck. The plot sucks. The characters suck (or maybe they didn’t suck and that’s the problem 🙂 Did you get that pun, lol. Though, I hope that worrying means I care. As long as it doesn’t come to this…


2.   That I’ll get a few chapters into it and just have nothing. No more plot, no more anything. And I have more than a couple of half started books to prove this is a real issue. Now, I try to tell myself I WILL go back and finish them, but it’s definitely the cause of some sleepless nights.


3.   That my characters aren’t likeable. I quite enjoy writing the adorable asshole hero, but it’s a fine line between being likeable and readers thinking he’s a douche.


4.   That when I write suspense/thriller my characters will either be too stupid to live, or I’ll mess up on the plot and it won’t be at all suspenseful.


There are lots more, but… it’s mostly along the same lines. I fear I’ll never build a readership. That I won’t ever feel as if I’ve made it. But I’m trying to just keep moving forward. Now go visit the other two ladies and see what their lists are.

Bronwyn Green   ||   Jessica Jarman