Friday, March 18, 2011

Sitting at a typewriter opening veins...

There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein. -Red Smith

That's what I'm doing for the next month, opening veins. Sorry, I won't be posting, but I will visit occasionally. I'll be back early April.

I have a lot of writing to do before I embark on my month-long sojourn in mid-June to Paris, the Dordogne, S.W. France, Andorra, San Sebastian Spain, Bordeaux, Morocco, Paris...

Sorry if you came to read my #fridayflash but I'll have plenty of stories when I return...

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Broken Hearts Blogfest

Thanks to Dawn Embers for hosting this blogfest. For my entry I have taken an extract from my WIP Ruby and edited from 1000 words down to a little over 500. Much sharper now.
I'm publishing here as I'm hosting Roland D Yeomans on L'Aussie Writing, so sorry for the extra click! If you haven't visited me here before, it is where I post my short, sharp stories so it is quite apt.
Now read and enjoy:

She was about to put the key in the door when she saw him. He was leaning against the wall of her cottage, his open shirt catching the breeze.
‘Michael,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve come.’ Kiss me.
‘He lifted his head, words tumbling, pouring into the space between them. ‘I had to Ruby. I couldn’t just walk away, let it end like this. I thought we were doing great.’
‘We’re heading in different directions. We’ve too many conflicts.’ I love you my captain.
He turned towards her. She studied the moonlit ocean. What could she say—she didn’t want them to break up either, but was there any choice?
He was close enough to reach out and touch, but to Ruby there was a huge chasm between them and a violent current raging down that chasm, forcing them apart.
He stepped across the imaginary divide, surprised her with the lightest of kisses. His lips felt warm, so warm. Michael. Michael. Michael.
She opened her mouth to speak but her bottom lip trembled so much she couldn’t.
He took her in his arms. He ran his hands down her body and she couldn’t help it – she gasped with pleasure. His fingers found the soft ruffle of her thin summer top, then lightly brushed her bare shoulder. Michael, that’s not fair.
Her trembling fingers touched his bare chest. She put her arms under his shirt, and tugged him close. She lay her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, loving the male scent of him.
She stiffened. Jumped back. What am I doing?
‘What?’ Michael murmured, ‘Don’t stop.’
‘We’ve got to stop.’
‘You can’t mean that?’ his voice sounded ragged, his breathing heavy.
‘You know it’s a bad idea. It doesn’t change anything between us. It only makes things harder in the long run. Better a clean break. Now.’ She stepped back, the chasm cracked open again.
‘I don’t understand, Ruby. I love you. I want to be with you.’
And I love you too, Michael.
‘Go. Quickly.’ Her voice broke on the words, her tears flowed, her whole body revolted.
He looked at her for the longest time. He held out his hands. Ruby nearly gave in. He dropped his hands, his face bereft.
‘I don’t understand. Why do I have to walk away? Surely you feel it too? Don’t you love me a little?’
Not a little, Michael, I love you desperately. But she didn’t say that. She lied.
‘No, I don’t love you. I’m setting you free. There are things you have to do with your life and I’m not going to hold onto you and prevent you from following your dreams.’
‘What are you talking about? You are my dream. There’s nothing I want to do that would come before you.’
‘Are you sure about that, Michael?’
He ignored her question.
'If I have to leave you tonight, Ruby, I won’t come back.’
Ruby stood before him, body shaking, tears falling, resolute.
No words.
A terrible silence.
A chasm neither could breach.
His eyes, blue as the ocean he was returning to, searched her green ones. Ruby tore her eyes from his searching gaze. He reached for her face, knuckled her tears, turned and walked away.
Ruby watched him leave, hot tears streaming down her face.
She unlocked the door to her Marie Antoinette suite. It suddenly looked ridiculously romantic to someone who’d just turned her back on love.

Now go and read some more entries ...

Friday, March 11, 2011

It's My Birthday Today - #fridayflash

The Big Three-Oh.
Am I having a party, you ask?
No party for moi.
I've found a new way to celebrate
this special milestone.
I'm going to prison.
For murder.

I'm afraid.
Sure I am.
When the fear gets too large I claw my thoughts back
To Zack.
To what we had.
What we shared before we did IT.

I wish he were here with me.
I would find strength and love in just one look from him.

But I've never been a logical person have I?
If Zack were with me
I wouldn't be in this fix.

He's the reason I'm going to prison.
They say I murdered him.
There's no such thing as 'mercy killing' in this state.

My 'mercy' has come back to sting me - hard.

The rest of my life will be a nightmare.

I'll have plenty of time
to think about what I've done.

But I'd do it all again.

For Zack.

Tell me what you think...

Friday, March 4, 2011

Meet me at Union Station - my entry in the 'Race to 200' contest. #fridayflash

This is all happening thanks to J.C. Martin @ Figher Writer. My entry is doubling as my #fridayflash story for this week. After you have finished reading my 'race for survival' story, click on the badge opposite to read more entries.

My 300-word excerpt is from a short story I've been working on. I've already posted the beginning in the previous post for #fridayflash. You might like to read that first...

'Meet me at Union Station' (cont...)

Where was I? Where was Union Station? I studied the grubby map. Why hadn’t I mastered iPhone apps?

     Relax. Stay calm. Concentrate.
Right ahead I saw the winery, art galleries and stalls, then by cricking my neck I could make out Union Station just ahead. There – the clock tower rising, pointing to God, its creamy colours framed by palm trees and blue sky. I felt weak with relief but that was short-lived - the big hand was just seconds from the hour.

Oh my God! How many seconds did Angelique’s life come down to?
I staggered past the sundial in the station forecourt. The inscription flashed in the sunlight:
Vision to see
Faith to believe
Courage to do

Tears ran down my face as I limped past, knee throbbing, my breath nearly done. Yes, yes, let me see, let me believe, give me courage
I hesitated. Where do I go now? Inside, I must get inside.
I pushed past the tourists with their clicking cameras. No architectural lovefest for me. No discussion of the glorious mismatch of styles – Moorish, Mission, Moderne…I didn’t care.
Not today.
‘Angel. Angel. Angel.’ I chanted, her name a prayer as my boots slammed each step.
‘You’re nearly out of time!’
I hit the top step, tore through the glass doors, all the while mewling like an alley cat and acting just as fierce. I elbowed people out of the way with a ‘Move it, move it,’ hiss. I landed in the huge forecourt just as the clock boomed the hour.
 An archway three stories high led into an immense waiting room. Despite the mob, I felt myself in church. I’m here…I made it. My heart steadied. My eyes skimmed the rows of chocolate-covered padded leather seats...
What was I seeing? What? Why did he send me here?