IWSG meets the first Wednesday of every month. A community of brilliant writers led by Alex J. Cavanaugh. Visit the Insecure Writer’s Support Group website and database! You’ll find everything from writing to marketing, along with encouragement and support!
I think every writer, on any given day, wishes they had a clone. I’m entertaining the idea of renovating our master closet into a lab, where I’m free to practice my illegal cloning skills–take that, government drones! There’s rarely enough time to *fill in the blank* and write. With multiple exciting projects vying for attention, I’m struggling with striking a balance between the creative process and my domestic duties.
Laundry is piled high enough to conceal family members. No one’s allowed to run through the kitchen, for fear of toppling the tower of dirty dishes. Our border collie is constantly kicking up dust bunnies the size of small children–the ones normally concealed under the deepest recesses of the furniture. And, I’m pretty sure there’s a few trick-or-treaters lost in the high grass that is our front yard. I’m clearly NOT as passionate about housecleaning as I am about writerly things.
Need I mention the succubus that is social media. I’ve just recently succumbed to Twitter. There’s an amusing story behind my Twitter initiation, one involving mistaken identity and a possible clone in CA, but that’s a tale best told over wine. I understand its usefulness, but there’s a learning curve in the land of tweets, not unlike a visit to a village filled with severe ADD sufferers speaking Pig Latin.
Guess which bird I am.
So, should any lovely writerly folks have a few golden nuggets of time-management knowledge and/ or helpful tweety-bird advice, feel free to deposit them here:)
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In the meantime, stay tuned for REALMS FAIRE, kicking off November 11th through the 15th! Led by the brilliant, Mary Pax! There will be 9 fun events with chances to WIN awesome prizes, everyday! I’ll be hosting a music-inspired event with bff and critique partner, Amy Willoughby-Burle and audiomachine, for their newest public release, EXISTENCE! I wrote the commercial blurb for this amazing album by composer Kevin Rix, and we’re ridiculously excited to share it next week! There will be multiple contests/ writing challenges on FB, Twitter and our blogs, with several signed EXISTENCE albums up for grabs:)
My heartfelt thanks to the fabulous authors who graciously contributed novel prizes, and to the amazing readers, who readily embarked on this musical journey through the imagination.
This concludes the “featured author” event for Chimera. This music-inspired serial has evolved into a much bigger project, with exciting developments that will lead to a promising future for Chimera!
Readers who left their feedback in the comments section of the Chimera chapters were entered to win fantastic novel prizes from our featured authors. Congrats to all the winners and thank you for joining our adventure!
Readers who leave their feedback in the comments section below, will be entered to win the final featured prize —signed copies of Timeless and Timekeeper as well as the Timeless album of original songs from the series, from our featured author, Alexandra Monir!
When tragedy strikes Michele Windsor’s world, she is forced to uproot her life and move across the country to New York City, to live with the wealthy, aristocratic grandparents she’s never met. In their old Fifth Avenue mansion filled with a century’s worth of family secrets, Michele discovers a diary that hurtles her back in time to the year 1910. There, in the midst of the glamorous Gilded Age, Michele meets the young man with striking blue eyes who has haunted her dreams all her life – a man she always wished was real, but never imagined could actually exist. And she finds herself falling for him, into an otherworldly, time-crossed romance. Michele is soon leading a double life, struggling to balance her contemporary high school world with her escapes into the past. But when she stumbles upon a terrible discovery, she is propelled on a race through history to save the boy she loves – a quest that will determine the fate of both of their lives.
When Philip Walker appears as a new student in Michele Windsor’s high school class, she is floored. He is the love she thought she lost forever when they said goodbye during her time travels last century. Overjoyed that they can resume the relationship they had a lifetime ago, Michele eagerly approaches him and discovers the unthinkable: he doesn’t remember her. In fact, he doesn’t seem to remember anything about the Philip Walker of 1910.
Michele then finds her father’s journals, which tell stories of his time-traveling past. As she digs deeper, she learns about his entanglement with a mysterious and powerful organization called the Time Society and his dealings with a vengeful Windsor ancestor. Michele soon finds herself at the center of a rift over 120 years in the making, one whose resolution will have life-or-death consequences.
Alexandra Monir’s Timekeeper combines breathtaking romance with a tale of complex magic in a sequel that will have every reader believing in the transcendent power of love.
Hosted by Dani at Entertaining Interests and Jax at Bouquet of Books. Participants were challenged to compose a flash fiction piece of 300-500 words (mine is 352). The setting is chosen from one of four preselected pictures and the author must use three of the six magic words (ingreen).
To see all the possible settings and magic word choices, and to read more wickedly wrought tales, click HERE.
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“Alright, which one is it?” Birch barked, his breath coiling in tendrils of smoky irritation. He was anxious to return to the dance, before some other bloke noticed his absence and moved in on his date. It had taken Birch the better part of a year to gather up enough nerve to approach Holly. Instead of whispering sweet nothings in her ear, he’s stomping through the woods with a couple of sods.
“I…I dunno…they all look the same in this light,” Willow wheezed, his lanky form bent at the waist. In the space of an hour, he’d run this route twice. He didn’t much care for running.
“Looks the bloody same?” Birch throws his arms in the air. “Didn’t you think to mark it somehow?”
“I…I panicked. It..It all happened so fast,” Willow runs restless hands through a mop of wild copper curls. “I feel positively wretched. What are we gonna do?”
“Honestly, Willow. And you call yourself a wizard,” Hemlock shakes his head.
“We were running late and–”
“As usual. Ever hear of a timepiece, Willow? Magnificent inventions,” Birch tosses over his shoulder, the snapping of twigs underfoot punctuating his foul mood.
“Mum gives me a watch every year, they never keep the right time,” Willow thrusts out his wrist, “See for yourself–it moves anticlockwise.”
“Maybe it’s a time machine,” Hemlock snorts under his breath, “We could use one of those about now.”
“Bugger off,” Willow snaps. “It was his idea to cut through the woods. When we heard the howling, we took off down the hill. Bleeding idiot tripped over a skeleton. What was I supposed to do? Let him get eaten by a pack of werewolves? It’s not like I had any potions handy.”
They walk around in circles a bit, the sound of crunching leaves echoing the hopelessness of the situation.
“What kinda gammy spell did you use? You turned your little brother into a tree. A. Tree. In the middle of the woods. And ya can’t even tell us which bloody one he is. Blimey!”
“Mum’s gonna kill me,” Willow murmurs, “Dogwood’s her favorite.”
In the spirit of art influencing art, we joined forces in an epic collaboration where writers were given the opportunity to set their words to film composer, Michael Maas‘, inspiring music!
The winners will be awarded mp3 files of the five selected tracks from the exclusive film industry release “Piano and Strings Edition” as well as Michael’s new album, Illumination.
Congratulations to the winners and to all the incredible writers who participated in this collaborative challenge! Winners—send me your email address to receive your music!
Here We Go_Christine McGrew_Pen & Ink illustration by Mark Holden
I had a blast participating in a truly unique venture orchestrated by Ruth Long and musician Big Earl Matthews, where writers and indie musicians collaborated on a promotion for the launch of their new album “My Friends and I”.
The brilliant album highlights thirteen various artists and their musical talents, capturing the essence of the eclectic music scene in Modesto, CA.
Each of these songs inspired music-driven tales that were compiled in an ebook companion. Art inspiring art–artists supporting artists! The road to success is different for all of us, but with a little help from my friends and I, it’s a trip worth taking! My tale for Christine McGrew’s beautiful song, “Here We Go“.
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The music house in Modesto is overflowing with excitement, buzzing through the crowd like a live charge. Tendrils of bitter smoke lick at my nose and sharp fingers of tequila tickle the back of my throat.
Ryan Russell makes his way offstage, echoes of “It’s Your Time” still hovering in the air. My friends and I went into this together—a collaborative concert celebrating our new album.
The glaring lights obscure everything beyond this raised island. My voice clears–finger’s poised to pull the notes from eager strings.
Time to give life a show
I let the music carry me, over the crowd and out the door, until it flows, like a river, down the streets of downtown.
It’s a moment made of magic, where anything and everything is possible. I have never felt more alive!
I’m flying
My guitar sighs, its final breath caressing the crowd. The stillness is broken with applause, a reaction that feeds my spirit. I weave through the deafening maze, their words of praise widening a grin that has no room to grow.
“That is, quite possibly, the best show I’ve seen you do!” Bethany beams, pulling me into a hug. She hands me a drink and lifts her glass. “To our smashing success, rave reviews and fabulous fans!”
At the dark end of the bar, where history and love are planted in the grain, I catch a glimpse of my most recent romantic disappointment. I take the back stairs two at a time, suddenly desperate for some fresh air. I burst into the balcony and pull the night into my lungs, greedy for the relief it brings. I pierce the stars with wishes that have more to do with leaving than loving.
“Still prefer stargazing, I see. Old habits never die.”
I spin around, goose bumps racing across my skin. A figure steps out of the shadows. The moonlight reveals startling blue eyes, boyish features under barley locks, sun-kissed skin on a lean, muscular frame. He tilts his head and pulls his lips in a lopsided grin that steals the breath from my lungs.
He is, quite possibly, the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers, edging closer to me. “I was listening to your music. It’s beautiful…magical even.”
I back against the railing, my senses on full alert, though I’ve no idea why. “I’ve never been called magical before. Stubborn. Willful. Never magical.” I reply.
“The music whispers your secrets, to anyone listening close enough.” He stops just inches away, pinning me with his intensity. “Perhaps, you have more secrets than you realize.”
There is something intriguing about him, a trace of wind chimes in his voice, the smell of rain on his skin.
“You’re acting awfully cozy for a stranger,” I manage to respond, backing away to reclaim my personal space.
“I’m no stranger, darling. We’ve met before. Not in this lifetime, mind you…the one before.”He brushes a loose curl from my face, a gesture alarming in its familiarity, even as it sends ripples of excitement skittering through my core. “It’s taken me a long time to find you.”
I pull away from his reach, visibly shaken.
He closes the gap between heartbeats. “It’s me, Peter.” he says, his brow wrinkled with worry, his eyes clouded with hurt. “You don’t remember, do you?”
I try to place him. Maybe I met him at Cole’s party last weekend, when I consumed way beyond the recommended daily allowance of whiskey.
“I’m sorry, err, Peter, I—“
“She said this would happen. Too much time has passed. She gave me something to help you–to help you remember.” He pulls out a dainty leather pouch and dumps its shimmering contents into his palm.
“That’s glitter.” I announce, annoyed. Glitter is an irritating substance that’s nearly impossible to remove from curly hair. “You’re going to jog my memory with glitter?”
Why does the hot guy have to be a crazy drunk?
“I don’t know what glitter is. This is pixie dust–it will help unlock your memories.” He raises his hand towards his face, anticipation lurking behind bright eyes.
Here we go.
Not drunk. Delusional.
“You’re lost Wendy, let me show you the way,” He pleads.
“My name’s not Wendy. Now, put the glitter back in its little bag and walk your crazy a—“
The crazy hot guy blows his handful of glitter right in my face.
Before the string of expletives could escape, a barrage of images overwhelm my senses…the movement of the scene made me feel in a dream.
I see a bird’s eye view of an island. The surrounding sea dotted with massive ships. I smell flowers, their sweet scent carried on the briny breeze. I feel raindrops, icy shards melting on burning skin. I hear the roaring trumpets of a dozen boys as they charge down the beach.
The images scroll faster.
I see pirates wielding swords, Indians shooting arrows, mermaids diving and faeries darting. And then there’s Peter…he’s holding my hand and were flying.
I’m flying.
Panic claws its way up my throat. I fall to my knees.
Oh. My. God. I’m hallucinating!
“Don’t fight it, Wendy. Go with it. These are your memories.”
“What did you give me?” I demanded. The threat of nausea second only to my searing headache.
I feel his cool hands gently cup my face. “Look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t remember who I am…who you are.”
I am swimming in pools of brilliant blue. I feel the barest breath of a kiss on my lips. He tastes of the sea and the sky, of sweet honey and sweeter secrets.
I stare deep into his fathomless eyes and see…me.
Not the girl I was precious minutes ago, but the girl from centuries past.
For a list of the participating writers, visit Ruth Long over at BULLISH INK!
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Support indie creatives across all disciplines by purchasing the CD, reading the stories and leaving your feedback for the musicians and writers!Our heartfelt thanks to all those involved and the listeners and readers that travel with us on the road to success:)
I’ve joined a group of gifted writers who weave works of flash fiction from photo prompts. Each day features a different author and a new “picspiration”. Stop by Daily Picspiration and treat your imagination to intriguing tales.
Curious about the story behind this picture? Bring your tissues and have a good cry over HEARTACHE!
The world is slowly slipping into a silence that is deafening in its finality.
Life has cast its final show, the last of its players scattered, their voices fragmented and forgotten. The once vibrant landscape has vanished into the hungry mouth of devastation.
Even I grow weary of the emptiness.
I find my melancholy alarming, an affliction that gains ground with every lost sound. Every life collected pulls this land deeper into desolation. When humanity began its descent into oblivion, the music followed. The remnants of strings and keys lay discarded, their melodies abandoned.
I would surrender a thousand souls if it would bring the music back…
Yet another light dims before me. A young boy, his body battered and broken in the sugary sand, his hand still holding fast the handle of a long weathered case. I can hear the erratic rhythm of his heart as its futile beats are stolen by the greedy wind. What is it he holds so dear, that in his final moments, the last of his strength is spent on this stubborn grip.
Curious, I snap open the locks that anchor his soul.
I have not seen this particular treasure in ages.
It is an instrument of hope.
I can still hear the echoes of its past–the stale breath of its notes hovering in the oppressive air. When the boy’s shell severs its spirit, the magic in this case will cease to exist. It will become yet another trinket of a dying breed.
That is reason enough to change the boy’s fate.
I refuse to take another spirit that promises an end to the stillness. And so I surrender my claim on his life.
He will live and he will play and he will fill the void with melodies long buried…he will become an instrument of change.
It has been ages, but Death has not forgotten the power of music.
It is with great pleasure and a thrill in our hearts thatGwen Gardnerand I (Angela Brown*hugs*) reveal the covers for our follow up stories to our currently available novels: Givin’ Up the Ghost (Gwen) andNeverlove(Angela)
Paranormal happenings at the Eady household are the norm. Recently, things have become downright peculiar. Childish giggles at odd hours of the night lead Indigo Eady to her little cousin, Bryan, a guileless cherub spirit, complete with Spider Man pajamas and a set of faux angel wings. The problem is that Bryan died nearly three years ago in a hit and run that killed him and his mum. The driver was never found. Now the gang must solve the mystery of his death in order to send him back to heaven. But where to start when the trail is three years cold?
Indigo Eady
Indigo Eady is not clumsy.At least, that’s what she keeps telling everyone. Can she help that the overactive spirit community of Sabrina Shores causes her psychic abilities to short-circuit? It’s unfortunate that her cute friend Badger is often on the receiving end of her mishaps. At times, she is positively hazardous to his health. Even so, sparks fly in more than one direction.
Abby and Basil: New love reaches new heights as they finally give in to their lust and desire for each other.
Q: Consumed by the Devourer within and his base need to claim Abby as his own.
The crave: What it all boils down to. A crave for souls. A crave to keep love intact beyond betrayals. A crave for a second chance. A crave for power and The Fall of mankind.
“Love can conquer all” is put to the test and salvation may be impossible when it’s “ashes, ashes…they all fall down.”
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Gwen Gardner is a native Californian living in sunny San Diego, where her love of reading and writing led to a BA in English literature. Life is now complete with her husband, two dogs and a daily call from her daughter.
Since ghosts feature prominently in her young adultIndigo Eady Paranormal “Cozy” Mysteryseries, she has a secret desire to meet one face to face – but will run screaming for the hills if she ever does. Gwen adores travel and experiencing the cultures and foods of different countries. She is always up for an adventure and anything involving chocolate – not necessarily in that order.
Angela Brown is a lover of Wild Cherry Pepsi and chocolate/chocolate covered delicious-ness. Steampunk, fantasy and paranormal to contemporary — mostly young adult — fill her growing library of books. Mother to a rambunctious darling girl aptly nicknamed Chipmunk, life stays busy. Her favorite quote keeps her moving:
“You may never know what results come of your action, but if you do nothing there will be no result.”
Written for my husband, capturing the moment we first met…
A web of luminous strands pulsate in a riot of vibrant color, a thing of beauty only I can see. I weave in between the connections, each one a different shade of love, a different song resonating in its core.
The restaurant is alive with the sounds of a hundred conversations, plates scraping, glasses clinking, laughter and music. Not the music that trickles from the ceiling, but the songs that spill from their hearts, flowing through the threads that tie them to another, a thing of beauty only I can hear…
In a corner booth, a frustrated mother endures yet another battle of wills, the sticky strings binding her soul to her children burning the brilliant white of unconditional love. A choir of children’s voices can be heard playing along the web of a families’ deep-rooted affection.
Friends, laughing over sips of plum wine are wrapped in the glistening gold of understanding and camaraderie, their comfortable song an inviting guitar being plucked and pulled to match their banter.
An elderly couple sitting at the bar shares a plate of sushi, their iridescent blue cord humming with the steady wisdom of piano strings and a steadfast bond that time cannot touch.
Young lovers embracing near the window exude a fiery passion that glows in ruby tendrils, licking at their hearts with the intensity of a violin.
Behind the scarlet flames sits a pair I almost miss, the subtle sounds of their heartbeats slipping into silence, the drumming pulse of their connection fading. Like the yellow flower centered between them, the petals of their song have dropped, one by one, until there’s nothing left but the stem–a wilting memory of the music they once shared.
They have forgotten me…
A crackle of energy pulls me to yet another table. I watch, entranced as I’m drawn to a pair meeting for the first time. The woman’s mane of auburn curls cascade down her back in ribbons of anticipation, her crimson dress matching the flush that floods her cheeks. The young man’s chiseled jaw restlessly works to calm his nerves, his striking cerulean eyes dart from her eyes to the menu, his leg tapping a nervous rhythm underneath the ebony table.
I edge closer.
Their eyes meet. The man smiles.
The smile steals her breath and swallows her heart whole.
In that instant, a flood of silver sparks erupt between them. The music is deafening. An entire orchestra surging with the flame fiercely burning through their hearts.
It is a love they shared long ago. They may not remember the lives they once lived, but they remember me.
I am a thing of beauty anyone can see, anyone can hear. I am the whisper of possibility, the promise of connection, the passion that drives creation.
I believe in the power of music to inspire and guide our Muse. Music evokes emotions in their purest form, the seed of every story planted firmly in the soul of the notes. As the tale takes root, it bends and bows to every ear.
What started as an idea, born of music, grew into an epic journey–each branch a different voice, each leaf, a different song. Each of these gifted writers, empowered with imagination and the passion to create, went above and beyond the call of music…for this, I thank you. You took us on a magical journey, one we shall not soon forget…
It is with great enthusiasm that audiomachine and I present the winners of the Tree of Life: Branching Out collaborative writing challenge.
IWSG meets the first Wednesday of every month. A community of brilliant writers led by Alex J. Cavanaugh. Visit the Insecure Writer’s Support Group website and database! You’ll find everything from writing to marketing, along with encouragement and support!
In the meantime, stay tuned for REALMS FAIRE, kicking off November 11th through the 15th! Led by the brilliant, Mary Pax! There will be 9 fun events with chances to WIN awesome prizes, everyday! I’ll be hosting a music-inspired event with bff and critique partner, Amy Willoughby-Burle and audiomachine, for their newest public release, EXISTENCE! I wrote the commercial blurb for this amazing album by composer Kevin Rix, and we’re ridiculously excited to share it next week! There will be multiple contests/ writing challenges on FB, Twitter and our blogs, with several signed EXISTENCE albums up for grabs:)
WriterlySam 