Tuesday, April 5, 2011

'D' is For...??

Jessica Bell and I are A-Z Blogfest writing partners!  Today, we've chosen a word, a noun, that refers to a particular emotion / feeling / state of mind that starts with 'D'.  Based on my fictional paragraph(s) below, try to guess in the comments what emotion/etc. I've depicted.  Then, follow the link at the bottom to Jessica's post and read her take on our prompt word! (BTW, yesterday's word was 'Confidence'!)


Here's my 'D' entry:


Every sound soothed my frazzled soul:  the gentle swells lapping against the row boat as it slipped along the lake’s surface; the hollow clunk of the oar when my inexperienced movements banged it against the craft’s aluminum side; the loon’s haunting song.  I’d been in desperate need of this little excursion, to a place of childhood memories where I’d spent carefree summers before… well, before.

Another couple pulls of the oars and I steered the boat into what we kids had dubbed Beaver Bay.  The inlet of water protected a cove where the reeds grew tall and beaver houses dotted the surface.  I lifted the oars out of the water and twisted around to view the bay.  The smell hit me, fetid and rank.  My jaw dropped open.

Trash littered the shoreline.  A mound of tires, black and baking in the afternoon sun, rose to the right.  As the boat drifted closer, I looked over the edge.  I could just make out my reflection, eyebrows knit and lips pursed, despite the rainbow sheen coating the water’s surface.

The boat’s bottom scraped along the sandy bottom of the shore.  I stood to get a better view, but I wouldn’t get out.  Flies swarmed around a torn white plastic trash bag next to the boat.  I lifted an oar out of its pinning, staggering a bit under its unbalanced weight, and poked the bag.  The flies lifted for a moment, but settled greedily on their meal.  A soggy egg container fell apart, revealing a mass of wriggling, rice-like maggots.  I covered my mouth, gagging, as the oar clattered to the bottom of the boat.




Any guesses?  Leave me a comment telling me the emotion/feeling/state of mind you think I was describing.  And please shoot over to Jessica's blog (LINK HERE) to my partner's paragraph.  See you over there!


Thanks for reading!!  

                                    

Sunday, April 3, 2011

'C' is For...?

Jessica Bell and I are A-Z Blogfest writing partners.  Today, we've chosen a word, a noun, that refers to a particular emotion / feeling / state of mind that starts with 'C'.  Based on our fictional paragraph(s), try to guess in the comments what emotion we've depicted.  Here's a hint for mine:  It's NOT the POV character who is 'showing' the emotion(/etc.).  It IS through the characterizations of the other character that you should base your guess.

Here goes:


I expected Catherine Pouvoir to be loud, since everyone who had ever spoken of her to me seemed to use the word 'fabulous.'  So rather than watching the doorway for her to make her entrance, I had my ears tuned while I read over my agenda for the day.  I heard no resounding laughter or boisterous clamour from an entourage, but I knew instantly that she’d arrived.  Every head in the room had turned in the same direction.


She stood in the doorway, indubitably commanding time and space.   Beauty emanated from her like the dazzling flecks of early morning sunlight reflected off the gently lapping water at a lake’s edge, blinding everyone brave enough to stare directly at it.   We all waited for some sort of cue from her, collectively unable to proceed without it.


Glancing at her wristwatch, her angular facial features quickened in comical disbelief.  "Impressive!" she said.   "You all must be incredibly punctual, if I’m the last one here!”  


Appreciative applause, sprinkled with laughter erupted from the room.


What emotion / feeling / state of mind is Catherine Pouvoir emanating?  Any guesses?  Leave it in the comments!  Thanks for reading, and please shoot over to Jessica's blog to read her 'C'emotion-inspired paragraph.  See you over there!

                                    

Saturday, April 2, 2011

'B' is For...??

It's Day Two of the A to Z Blogfest and Jessica Bell and I are going strong.  See, we teamed up for this adventure with the hopes of stretching our writing muscles.  Be sure to follow the link at the bottom of this post to her blog.

Here's the deal: We have created a top secret list of A-Z prompt words to inspire our blogfest entries.  The words are all nouns, and they are all emotions.  We challenged ourselves to come up fictional entries that 'show' a character(s) in the grips of the emotion of the day.  We ask you, awesome reader, to read my entry (since you're here) and guess, in the comments, what emotion I've depicted.  Then shoot over and read Jessica's entry.  Still think you've guessed correctly?  Let her know!  (And natch, if you happen upon her blog first, in future, won't you shoot over here after you comment there? :D)

So, without further ado, here's my 'B' entry.  What 'B' emotion have I described??

Jenna stared into the deep, inky pools of Cliff’s eyes.  Had it just been two hours ago that she’d felt lost in them?  The urge to glance at her wristwatch (again) and verify the time was strong, but she resisted.   Instead, she forced her eyes wider, just a tab more, and redirected her focus to the tiny mole just northeast of the bridge of his chiseled nose.  In her peripheral vision, a waiter in black and white passed with a tray of steaks, sizzling on cast iron plates.  The smell taunted her famished stomach.  Cliff was still talking, his words mingling with the restaurant’s din.  She admitted he was the most handsome blind date she’d ever gone out with, hands down.  But he’d turned out to be all looks.  His conversation dominated the evening, his baritone voice a constant drone of self-proclaimed accolades that left her wishing she carried a pistol in her purse.  The question was, who would she aim it at first?  Cliff?  Her own temple?  She narrowed her eyes.  No...she'd take a shot at Sara, her soon-to-be ex-friend who’d set her up in the first place.


Figured out what emotion that starts with 'B' I described?  I can't wait to read your comment :))  And, to read Jessica's 'B' entry, click THIS LINK.  See you over there!

                                    

Friday, April 1, 2011

'A' Is for...??

The A-Z Blogfest is finally here!  And ‘cause that’s how we roll, Jessica Bell and I have teamed up -- once again -- as writing partners.  We decided to challenge ourselves with identical A-Z prompt words. 

Together, we created our list of twenty-six nouns, all of which are emotions.   Each day, we will each write a paragraph showing a character feeling that emotion.  It’s going to be fun for us to read what the other has come up with!  And, hopefully it will be fun for our blog visitors, too.  

Here’s how we want to draw you into our little fest: Say, for example, the prompt for A (today) was 'Acceptance' (it's not, btw).  You read my post, and then, awesome reader, you have the opportunity to GUESS in the comments what emotion my character portrayed.  After, click the link at the bottom of my post to visit Jessica’s blog and read her paragraph.  Still think you guessed the right emotion, based on her flash?  We’d can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Here's my 'A' Entry:


Caty screamed, at the pain, at the pain.  Relentless, it crashed in overlapping waves, drowning every corner of her mind and every inch of her body.   The world was one, giant, cruel vortex, pulling her down, down and inside-out.  She gasped, gulping the air, and screamed again.  From somewhere Gary’s voice floated, reminding her to pant.  She spat a string of stinging obscenities at him.  Another voice, commanding, insisting, announced that this was "it."  The voice called her name, twice.  It ordered her to focus now; now, now you push.  Harder, Caty.  That’s it, here she comes, Caty.  And Gary’s voice coached in her ear; his gentle hands held her under the arms, pushed forward on her back, his strength seeping through her skin and into her soul.  And she was one with the pain, the pain was one with her.

Gary eased Caty back against the pillows, as the doctor laid the baby in her arms.  Giant navy eyes stared up at her.  Caty stared, stared back.  The pain was gone.  Gary wiped a stringy strand of hair to the side of Caty’s brow, and a tear fell and mingled with her sweat when he kissed her forehead.  She couldn’t think, couldn’t process what her eyes saw, her ears heard, her heart felt.  Her daughter was here, she was her.  She was the most beautiful thing Caty had ever seen, and she was really here.


So, can you guess the emotion (a noun) depicted in this piece that begins with the letter ‘A’? (Hint: The prompt word I share with Jessica is gleaned from the second paragraph, but I can think of an emotion or two that fits the first paragraph.  Guess at both, if you like!)  All guesses and thoughts in general are welcome!  And please shoot over to Jessica’s blog to read her interpretation of our ‘A-prompt word.  Here’s the link!



                                    

Monday, March 28, 2011

You've GOT to see THIS!

This is the just released book trailer for Jessica Bell's highly anticipated debut novel, String Bridge. Not only is this trailer hauntingly beautiful, but its music track features Jessica singing the lyrics and accompanying herself on the guitar. She IS my definition for crazy-talented!

Enjoy the video first, then read on to learn how you can be in the running to win fabulous book prizes, including signed copies of String Bridge!





Here's a blurb from Jessica's blog post today:

I would really like to get the trailer for String Bridge circulating around the Internet. Do you think you could help me out?.....It's easy. All you have to do is link to my BOOK TRAILER somewhere on the web. In return, I am giving away FIVE books (from a choice of fifteen) -- so that's FIVE WINNERS (open internationally)....

For all the contest information, shoot over to Jessica's blog post (LINK here). See you there!!

Oh, and Jessica? Congrats on this awesome trailer, and on all your successes, present and future!

                                    

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

My Second Crusader Challenge Entry

The Challenge:

Write a flash fiction story (in any format) in 100 words or less, excluding the title. Begin the story with the words, “The goldfish bowl teetered” These four words will be included in the word count.




Inside a Fishbowl


The goldfish bowl teetered on the table’s edge.  Marilyn jerked back her finger, leaving another greasy fingerprint.  Inside, tiny swells crashed, sloshed backward.  Marilyn glared at the fish.  It hovered, serene, unaffected by the waves she caused or by her unwavering vigilance.  She scowled and jabbed the bowl again.  Too hard

The bowl plunged from its perch.  Shards of wet glass splattered across white, sterile tile.  The goldfish floundered, gills gaping and yawning, sucking useless air.  Marilyn’s mouth twitched.  Balancing, she stomped, ground her heel. Lab coat-clad men scribbled on clipboards on the other side of the plate glass windows.


(100 words)




Check out other challenge entries by Crusaders HERE!


Thanks for reading!              

                   

Monday, March 21, 2011

Field Trip ~ Mortuary

Artwork by ~En-Gel @Deviant.com

We rode together in Courtney's Yukon to the funeral home.  It was the first time I'd been in her car, even though we go back nine years.  Actually, in all that time, I'd never met her outside the hair salon.

With gas prices so high, it didn't make sense to drive separate cars the seventy miles, round trip.  But the real reason?  Neither of us wanted to be alone with our thoughts.

Courtney had called me the night before.  Again, I'm usually the one calling her, to make my hair appointments.  But she'd remembered months ago I'd asked about her training, and about whether mortuary beauticians also learned their trade in regular beautician schools, or if there were specialized schools for that industry.  At the time, she told me there hadn't been anything in her curriculum about mortuary hair and make-up techniques.  But she had worked on deceased clients.

Our eyes had met in the mirror.  See, I was crafting a character at the time and was seeking avenues for research.  I picked Courtney's brains that day, the whole while she worked on my hair.

So she thought of me when her friend contacted her last week.  

Her friend's family was in the throes of tragedy.  Courtney's friend's brother-in-law, Carl had been going through a lot recently.  Work sucked.  He'd been fighting with his brother.  His girlfriend split with him.  But no one thought he'd take his own life.  He was just twenty-four.

On the phone, Courtney asked if I'd like to go with her in the morning to cut Carl's hair.  It's one thing to want direct experience when researching for fiction, but the reality of this situation took my breath away.  Still, I couldn't -- wouldn't -- pass up the opportunity.  I wanted to know too much.

Of course, I wanted to be able to describe the inner chambers of a funeral home.  What you see, smell, hear.  But I was more curious about the people who work there.  I'd read that mortuary staff view their work primarily as services they provide for the surviving family, to comfort them and minimize their grief, by laying their loved one to rest in a way that honors that life.  But the staff works, hands-on, with dead bodies.  How, I wondered, do they maintain a level of professionalism that weaves compassion with the detachment necessary for their line of work

We walked into the funeral home.  A faint smell of cut flowers hung in the air.  My heart was pounding.  I couldn't really feel my feet as I walked down the carpeted corridor to a glossy, wooden door with a plague that read 'Business Office.'

We were led by a young, round woman, whose red beaded necklace jingled as she walked, to the end of a back hallway.  She asked us to wait there and she'd "pulled him out."  Courtney and I exchanged a nervous glance as the woman disappeared behind a door.

My body was in a heightened state of awareness but my mind had gone into numb survival mode.  I felt like I'd accepted a dare and passed the point of no return, only now I questioned whether I wanted to -- could -- follow through.   Too late.  The door opened again and the woman ushered us in.

Carl lay on a gurney in the center of the small room.  He was dressed in a suit but covered from the chest down by a blue blanket that hung halfway to the floor.  I could tell that beneath the blanket his hands lay folded on his stomach, and his shoes lay flat so that his heels faced each other, toes pointing at the walls to the left and right.  The floral scent of the hallway was gone, replaced by what smelled like my fifth grade science classroom, the week we dissected fetal pigs.  Only stronger.

Courtney told the woman she'd brought a drape from the salon.  The woman thought it wasn't necessary, that normally they simply placed towels under and around the head to catch the hair clippings.  From a wall of cabinets to the right, the woman retrieved two white, bath-sized towels.  She plopped the short stack on Carl's chest.  Carefully, she slipped a hand under Carl's head and lifted, pulling the neck stand away.  His neck was surprisingly pliant.  With her free hand, she snapped open a towel and maneuvered it to cover the end of the gurney.  It started to slip, and Courtney grabbed the towel and held it until the woman had the neck stand back in place.

She tucked the edges of the bottom towel  under Carl's shoulders, then draped the second towel across his chest.  She pulled the center edge up under his chin and flattened the rest down the backs of his shoulders.  When she was satisfied, she asked Courtney if she needed anything, then left us alone.

By now, I'd been in the room about five minutes.  My heart rate had slowed, but when I walked closer to help Courtney get her hair dryer and clipper cords plugged in, I noticed my feet were still numb.

I've been to wakes and funerals.  This was not the first time I'd looked at a dead person.  But it was the first time I'd stood over one, close enough to see the wrinkles in his skin, the glisten of glue holding his lips closed, the stitches, barely visible, woven into his eyelashes.

Courtney misted Carl's hair with a water bottle, working the humidity in with her fingers.  "Feels like mannequin hair," she commented.  She worked the scissors at increasingly complicated angles, cutting as best she could considering her client was flat on his back.

During this time, there was a shift in my sub-conscious mind.  All remnants of fear dissipated.  I was at ease on a level that I couldn't have imagined fifteen minutes before.  It was surprising to realize.  It was very clear to me that Carl was not there.  His life-force, his soul, his energy had moved on, and we were attending to his human shell, left behind.  I can see people's auras.  I tried hard to see Carl's.  There wasn't anything to see, not a shimmer, not a color, not a thing.

Going around Carl's ear with the clippers, Courtney touched him.  She'd been trying hard not to come in contact with his skin, out of respect, I think.  But she looked at me after she nudged him.  "He's so cold," she said.  

I moved next to her, hovered my hand above his face.  Cold radiated from him.  With as much gentle reverence as I could muster, I grazed the tip of his ear with the the top side of my index finger.  It was stiff, velvety soft, and cold.  Sadness squeezed my heart.  Things could have been different for this beautiful human being.  So sad.

Within thirty minutes, Courtney was finished.  I asked her how she was feeling, as we packed up her gear.  She said she never feels sad in here, working on people she knew.  But she anticipated breaking down at the wake the following evening.  She said that's when it usually hits her.

The atmosphere in the car on the way home was more animated than the ride there.  We talked a lot about what we'd just experienced together.  I felt the exhilaration that follows a long period of fearful anticipation.  Or maybe it was because I'd just lived an hour wholly present, in the moment.  Either way, I felt good.

It took a few hours, though, before I didn't think I smelled formaldehyde everywhere.