Portraits. Hanging in the gallery; all her own work. Self-portraits, and ones of famous people, she had finally found her passion.
Buyers, on-lookers, and art collectors alike all came to marvel at the paintings. The gallery was on Main Street in the City. Nashville had always been her home, and her dream to have her portraits on display for the Country Music Capital dwellers.
Her favorite portrait was one she had painted of her and her brother Damien. This one in particular, Leila was sitting on Damien's lap, looking up at him while their cat, Josephine was sitting at her...
The sun this morning grows short thick shadows from the cobblestones. A sweaty head against the curb, red hatching at his temple, bleeds dark light onto the lane.
Did someone win last night?
No, the square is too clean.
But it's too late for so little noise.
Perhaps the town has emptied its contents into the universe, jettisoned the citizenry, the mutts and ferals, the tourists and the visitors.
Oh, the visitors.
Who were those visitors? Cheerless, I thought at first. But, no, I reconsidered, occupied.
I look back at the sweaty head, shake mine, and continue, hand in my...
This is the draft of my next novel
This is the scene/event that my subconscious created for me that caught my imagination, and made me believe it could be spun out into a whole book, because it was so good. SO good!
This is the ending I thought my agent/publisher would probably want me to finish it with. I don't actually like it that much.
This is something that happened in my actual life that is funny/poignant/unbelievable but I think will add gravitas and depth to the book.
This is the point when i start grasping at formula to pad...
She held the cat tightly in her arms, relishing in the warmth. It was comforting, strangely comforting, how much she could rely on her cat. His name was Alfie and he was her life. However sad it may have seemed that cat was her life.
She carried the cat out into the snow, watching as his eyes looked curiously around, desperately trying to take in all the new sights.
He'd never seen snow before. That's why she'd brought him out in the first place. She hated snow herself. Hated the way it melted the moment it touched her. Hated the...
"Do you know how much you're paying to be there?"
Of course she knew, looking at her shoes. They were pretty shoes - very nice ones. She was glad she'd worn them. Something good to look at, a pattern to lose herself in as she tried to drown out the sound of her parents raging at her.
About university, this time, but really it could be anything. Insert subject here, and they would rant.
Lots of spirals on these shoes. Lots of colours, too -
Oh. They were looking at her. Expecting a response.
"Yes."
It seemed to be the...
afraid I can't follow the prompt
it's entirely outside my area of expertise
guess I could make it all up
but that's not my thing today
thought I would be writing truth
and deep strongly held beliefs
but the prompt about news reporters
and grabbing for glory
doesn't sound like my kind of story
glad for the time limit
as it ticks away I think
at least I will not be verbose
and yet there is something
I really wanted to say about
praying for peace and going to war
and fighting terror with terror
that niggles at my gut...
Do you want to hear about it, she asked. The doors slid shut.
I couldn't say.
There was the first ding.
No, I said. Not really.
I want to tell you about it, she said.
The second ding.
She stood next to the panel. I leaned back against the opposite corner. No others at this time of night, in this elevator, in this place.
Fine, I said. Tell me about it.
It was warm. We in our winter coats, too warm, as far as we could get away from each other in our opposite corners of the elevator.
The third...
It seemed so simple. Walk in, say hi, grab a cappucino and go. I didn't realize just how complicated it would actually be. it started like any other run to Starbucks. I walked in the door and was greeted by the wired girl sitting by the door, in the exact same spot where i had seen her last. She told me that this was her 34th latte that morning. As usual, i edged away, as she continued to chatter. I walked up to the till and was also greeted by Allie, the clerk i saw every time i came by....
I could hear it whipping in the wind outside my bedroom; his coat that was left on the laundry line to hang dry. You can't leave clothes out on a line when it's winter in New York; 'specially the mountains. The cuffs and the buttons froze when I finally had the courage to get it. A crow sat on the line right by it and cawed when I went to release the jacket from the clothespins.
I brought it into my mama, who told me he aint' never comin' back to Saranac. It's sad, you know, that he left her....
"She's missing!" my sister cried, "Melissa is missing!"
We tore through the house, calling out for my niece, looking in her room and under her bed, but she was no where to be found. My sister was crying. She wasn't even looking any more, she was just kneeling on the floor and sobbing like a child. I called the police, and they came with sirens wailing and started to canvas the neighborhood.
How old was Melissa? Three
What was she wearing? Dora pajamas
What color was her hair? Blond.
Did she have any distignuishing marks? She sucked her thumb.
They...