Monday, March 24, 2014

Moved to Write...Edit...Publish, a monthly permanent bloghop.

Hey there visitor!

If you've dropped by and are disappointed that I haven't posted in awhile, it is because I've begun my own permanent monthly bloghop. It was a bit much posting every Friday.

So if you wish to participate, if you live to write, visit me, and you are very welcome to post simultaneously at #FridayFlash and #WEP.

Thank you


Saturday, September 21, 2013

Just testing please ignore

Blah blah testing intense debate

Friday, July 20, 2012

#FridayFlash - The City of the Dark Gods

The City of the Dark Gods

The sky darkened as Prince Ysandir and his knight Gareth entered the City of the Dark Gods. Only blackness remained beyond the North Gate. The desert sand had disappeared; inside the City the streets were paved in black. The horses’ hooves made a dull frightening crack with every step closer to the Temple.

Then the smell hit them.

The heads of the dead were dangling from the alien buildings, a ghoulish touch to the beautiful and intricately carved timbers. Amongst them was the wizened head of the Princes father, King Naxan.

My father has given his life for our people. We will not fail.

No, my Lord. Your father lacked magic. Our magic will defeat these Dark Ones.

Their horses’ hooves were silent. The Temple loomed before them.

Prince Ysandir? You would enter our sacred domain?

From a balcony carved from glassy stone, a black figure stood, finger pointing at the young men.

Aye, demon, we enter to vanquish you and your Dark Ones.

Come then, Prince. Your mortal weapons will not touch us.

Gareth and the Prince dismounted and clasped strong hands. The magic flowed strong between them.

Mortal weapons, demon?

Holding hands, they entered the Temple.


Thursday, May 10, 2012

#Fridayflash - Vannguard Writers Group - The Last One

I've decided to combine my #Fridayflash and Writing Group challenges. 
My Writing Group set a challenge using Storywriter Cards. My three cards said - plot - The Last One, Characters (two main) a movie director and a hitch hiker picker upper. This is what I came up with....

The Last One

‘You didn’t convince me,’ Rory shouted, ‘do that again – thumb horizontal, not held down, idiot.’

‘Woz rong wid me thumb?’ the extra whined.

‘Listen, Idiot Face, don’t argue with the director. I say you put your thumb up, or walk your sorry ass outta here.’

‘I’ll walk then.’ He picked up his props and headed for the bushes.

‘No you don’t! Get back here, Dumbass! You can’t just walk out! I need to get this scene wrapped. We move onto the next scene first thing tomorrow.’

‘Tell someone who cares! You tole me to walk! Who’s the Dumbass now?’

The surly extra slung his man bag onto his shoulder. He took a swig from his complimentary water bottle and slammed the lid on. ‘I’m outta here!’

‘No, you’re not!’ Rory screamed, jumping out of his fancy chair and puffing himself up to his whole five feet.

‘You gonna stop me, Weed?  I’ve got two foot and forty pounds on you!’

‘I’ll double whatever they’re paying you.’ Rory knew he was wheedling but what choice did he have? He needed this filthy lump of lard or the shoot would go over budget. They’d already shot so many scenes with this idiot. A change now didn’t bear thinking about. And it’d mean all his putting up with this imbecile had been a waste of time.

Ah, filthy lucre worked every time. His feisty hitch hiker picker upper turned around.

‘Orright.’ He dumped his bag on the chalk marks on the grass. ‘Make it snappy. I’ve bin promised free drinks after this crap shoot.’

‘Right.’ Rory just wanted to slug this creep. Where did Casting pick up these losers?

‘Now, boss man, run it by me again…’

Rory sighed, signaled the camera crew to relax. He began his spiel…again. This guy had nothing between his ears. Probably blown all his grey matter with drugs and shit. Rory sighed again and thought about the coke at the party tonight.

‘Well, remember you’re the hitch hiker picker upper. You’ve got your car stashed away in the bushes here. You see the car coming down the lane, luscious girl driving. You stick out your thumb…horizontally. She stops, you sweet talk her, then grab her round the neck -’

‘Yeah, then I swing her into the bushes, have my evil way with her, toss her in the boot of my car and hightail it outta here. Right?’ 

Rory cringed. This guy was creeping him out.

‘Yeah, you got it.’ Rory tried to relax. He sat back down in his director’s chair. While his camera crew set up, he pictured himself at the party tonight, heading to the men’s room, sniffing a line or two.

‘Okay guys,’ he nodded to his crew, ‘I think Drongo here’s got it. We’re ready to roll.’

‘I heard that, Weed. Want I should walk again?’

‘Sorry. Let’s get this done. Light’s fading fast.’


‘Cut!’ Rory shouted. ‘Pack up. That’s a wrap. See you at dawn.’

‘Why dawn?’ Fazie, one of the camera crew was game enough to ask.

‘Because dead bodies look better in the morning gloom, that’s why. We’re going to be shooting the chick Drongo just ‘murdered’.’

‘Sure boss. Gotta say, pleased to see the back of that guy. You should’ve seen the way he looked at you. Like he could wring your neck.’

‘Fat chance. No doubt he’s in the bar already quaffing his free drinks. Me, I’ve got a party to go to.’

‘Bet you have,’ Fazie said, sotto voice.


Many happy hours later, Rory left the party in the producer’s suite. He needed some air. It’d been such a stressful shoot. All the time he’d given that Drongo. But he’d been the last one to audition and the only one suitable for the part. He looked exactly what a murdering hitch hiker picker upper should look like. No need for Wardrobe to do their thing. He was perfect, except for that sassy mouth.

Rory walked through the bushes that edged the hotel. He wanted to run through the sequence for the morning’s ‘body discovery’ scene…

Satisfied, Rory was about to head back to the hotel and his nice warm bed, warmed by that hot redhead he’d propositioned earlier. Ah, his night wasn’t over yet.

He heard something. He stepped out to the laneway. There was a car crawling down the lane, lights off. He watched, alarmed. He didn’t want anyone messing with his location.

An old beat up Dodge stopped, narrowly missing his expensive leather loafers.

‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Hot Shot Director Weed hisself!’ The Drongo slammed the driver’s door and walked around to where Rory stood.

Rory was disgusted. Drongo smelt even worse than he did earlier, no doubt from all the booze and who knew what.

‘What’re you doing here? We’re finished with you.’

‘No you’re not, Fancy Pants. I’m just runnin’ through the scene again. Gotta get it right.’

‘No need. All we got to do now is find the body in the bushes in the morning.’

‘But don’t I put her in the boot and drive away?’

‘Sure you do. But this location now becomes the place where you dump the body later.’

‘Ah, well then, I can help.’

‘We don’t need your services any longer. You’re done.’

‘Is that what you think Squire?’

Rory’s eyes popped as two beefy hands squeezed his neck. He kicked and clawed and struggled.

‘Am I getting it right Mr Director Sir?’ The vile voice spat into Rory’s ear.

Rory pushed backwards, trying to loosen the hold of those terrible paws.

‘Should I hold my thumbs horizontal d’ya think?’

Rory felt the pressure mounting. His throat rasped as he gasped for oxygen, his mouth open in a silent scream.
‘I always find it’s quicker if I push down like this, see?’

Rory gurgled.

‘Ah the crew’ll be right pleased.’

Rory felt the piss warm in his pants as his legs collapsed. The Drongo lifted him off the ground and crunched his neck from side to side.

‘I heered dead bodies look so much better in the gloomy dawn light.’


Word count - 1021


Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Due to my 2012 writing commitments, all my posts will be on L'Aussie Writing.

Hi All!

2012 is going to be a big year for me - short story submissions, a short-story collection to be published and novels to finish, so please visit me at Denise Covey_L'Aussie Writer. I will not be able to maintain all my other blogs for the near future. If I post for #FridayFlash, I will use L'Aussie Writer.

Thanks you for your loyalty and patience.

Denise, L'Aussie.

Friday, December 2, 2011

#Fridayflash - The Strange House in the Snow

This story was written for #RomanticFridayWriters but it isn't exactly romantic as such. It's been published before but has been tweaked to respond to this image in some way...

The Strange House in the Snow

The snow was exploding all around Yasmina and her mother by the time they reached the strange house in the woods. Yasmina looked up at the sky and saw a heap of tired old clouds with raggedy edges ripping apart, falling onto their heads like grey angels.

Yasmina watched her Mama trying to put the big key in the old lock. She slapped her ears with her mittens and watched the snowflakes scattering. ‘Stop it!’ Mama yelled.

Yasmina was freezing, even in the big warm coat the kind Red Cross lady had given her.

Creak! The door opened and they fell inside.

Mama dropped the suitcase onto the carpet and said a bad word. So many strange things...

The snow had followed them into the house. Bang! Mama kicked the big old door shut.

Yasmina ran to the window and looked up the road for Dada.


When Yasmina and her Mama had walked the long and lonely road to the house, the trees had scared her the way they lined up along the road in black rows like soldiers. She’d jumped with fright when the snow dropped off the branches and fell to the ground like bombs. Her Mama had pulled her from her hiding place and she’d cried: ‘I want my Dada!’
Mama had whispered, ‘I want your Dada too.’
‘Why did Dada leave us?’
‘He wanted to save us from the bad men.’
‘Do you still love Dada, Mama?’
‘I will love your Dada until I die, Yasmina. He is a wonderful man.’
‘Is Dada coming back, Mama?’
‘He will never leave us darling.’


Oh!’ Mama cried.

Yasmina turned from the window to see Mama slumped in the big stuffy chair, crying ‘Akbar, Akbar...’

‘Don’t cry Mama. Dada’ll never leave us.’ Yasmina patted the twitchy hand.

Yasmina decided to explore by herself coz when Mama got the sadness for Dada she liked to be left alone.

The house was big and empty. Not like the little house where they'd lived before Dada went away to fight the bad men.

She headed up the stairs. They went up so high she could be close to heaven if that’s where Dada was. The stairs groaned and cried louder than Mama. Spiders were knitting in the corners, trailing their threads down into the hall, their beady black eyes watching her.

She pushed open one of the doors. There was a big cobwebby window in the roof and she could see the snow whirling around the black treetops and - there was a shadow in the corner. 

She screamed.

Then…maybe…maybe…’Dada?’ She started to run and tripped on the ripped carpet.

Dada!’ Her flashlight clunked out of her pocket. She grabbed it and turned it on, but Dada had gone…again.

There was a big high bed with a lumpy quilt. She was so tired after the long walk. She undid the buttons of her coat, dropped it on the bed and jumped in.

It felt like sinking to the bottom of the earth on a puffy cloud.

‘Goodnight Dada,’ she whispered. ‘Please come back. Mama needs you.’

The snow whispered and rustled. She pulled the quilt higher over her head.

She was nearly asleep when she heard a voice – ‘Alima...Alima…Alima…’

Dada!  – ‘Alima...Alima…Alima…aaa…’ 

No one here knew her mother’s name, only Dada. Dada was downstairs with Mama. He’d come just like Mama said.

Then she felt it.

A hand crept into her hand.


His hand felt cold. His fingers shook and curled into her palm, tickling, like when they played games at their home in the mountains.

She smiled in the dark. Dada's home. 



Thursday, October 27, 2011

Haunting - A paranormal Halloween-inspired story for #RFWer and #Fridayflash

My story for #RFWer and #Fridayflash is one I'd started several months ago when I was experimenting with paranormal. I've re-crafted it as a fun piece. I've deliberately used cliches so don't get upset about that. Occasionally I long to break the 'no cliches' rule, don't you? 

Hope you enjoy 'Love Stories Suck.'

When you’ve lived on this earth for 400+ years you crave excitement. I was done with sleeping all day in a dark room, hiding from the sun, waking up to microwaved blood. What’s a vamp to do all century? Haunt the streets?
I slammed the hotel door and sashayed along Montmarte’s glitter strip, my current Parisian suburb of interest. Next to Moulin Rouge, I saw it: ‘A VENDRE’. My synapses zapped.
I’d accumulated a tidy sum in 400 years. Compound interest compounded, so before you could say ‘I need blood’ I owned a business.
The little bar was perfect, vamp chic – blood-red carpet, black walls, red bar, black furniture. Suited my little black er, heart. The pictures clinched the deal – horror-movie posters.
Now I didn’t have to prowl the mean streets at night.  

‘Ya not going to run this place all by yaself, are ya?’
I turned from admiring my Dracula poster and it was like, wow! Flowing black tresses, lush curves poured into a little black dress. Tasty.
‘You offering to help?’
“Ya, moi, who else d’ya see?’
‘You know bar work? You look, like, twelve. ID?’ I was only kidding but she whipped out the plastic.
‘Looks can be deceiving. You look, like, nineteen.’ She winked.
I flipped the ID back to her. Fake as, who cared? I want this girl-child.
‘What d’ya think? I been working bars for many a year. Know some tricks.’
‘It’s not that kind of bar. It’ll be a clean operation.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Drink, tapas, music…’
‘Boring as. But I can be boring if ya want.’
 ‘What’s your name?’ I asked, taking her hand. ‘I’m Drack Kulah.’
‘Well I’m Ruby Black, but go by -’
‘Snow White?’
‘Right on. Hilaarrious. So, whatcha think?’
‘You’re hired. No funny business or you’ll be out on your pretty butt.’
‘My butt’s pretty?’ She twirled, black lacy dress flowing like waves, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of shapely snow-white leg and a flash of lacy knickers. Pity she wore Doc Marten’s.
‘You want stilettos, you got stilettos,’ she smirked, ‘but that’s not all I got.’ She sidled up.

Who needs to go hunting? She was mine, right here, right now.
I took her in my steel-like arms, going for the jugular, then…wow! She had no throbbing pulse! That was that. Of course I knew the minute she walked in...

At least one female in the bar's out of temptation’s way.


Critique: MPA (Minor Points Acceptable) 

Go here for more stories from RomanticFridayWriters...
And here for more stories for #FridayFlash or go to the #fridayflash hashtag on twitter for stories as they're hot off the press.