3WW - Imagination

This weeks words over at 3WW are: capture, jinx and qualify. Here's a little something about my unfortunate imagination.

It doesn’t take much to capture the attention of someone like me. Someone who watches others, waiting for just the right action, a moment of inattention resulting in calamity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to jinx anyone, but a little accident makes great fodder for my imagination.

I don’t wish misfortune on anyone, but I wait for it. I watch for the hurried businessman, nose buried in the Wall Street Journal, to trip on a crack in the sidewalk, spill his $12 latte on the lawyer striding the opposite direction, engrossed in her cell phone.

My imagination spins on from there.

Her red dress ruined, the lawyer screams at the businessman, who backs up a step, whacking a homeless man with his briefcase. The homeless man careens into a bike messenger who is distracted by the race he has to win today to qualify for a triathlon. The biker spins out of control and falls onto the busy roadway. A semi truck is roaring down the street, horn blaring, tons and tons of death looming near. When suddenly, a little old lady, a grandma out for a stroll with her young grandson sees what is happening. She tells the boy to stay where he is, and swoops into action. Tossing aside her cane, the old woman dashes into the street, narrowly missing cars whizzing by, grabs the bike messenger by the back of the shirt and jerks him out of harms way.

I smile a little as I watch the reality unfold in front of me. The busy man trips and spills his coffee on the woman in the red dress. She gasps, he apologizes and they both walk away.

Shaking my head, I wander farther down the street hoping for a little more misfortune.

For more fun with words head over to 3WW. It felt so great to write this. I know it isn't a masterpiece, but it is mine and it isn't a report for work or a note for a social worker. It is just pure fiction. Refreshing after almost a month of NO WRITING. Thanks for visiting!

The Mystery of Life

Why is it that every time I feel like I just can't fight any longer, something happens and changes my life.

As some of you know, hubby and I have been trying to adopt for a while now. The process is slow and ultimatly painful at times, but we hadn't given up. When we first started out, we were positive that we could never be a foster home. How could we ever give a child that we'd grown to love back to someone that had hurt them?

Time went by and we worked with foster homes and the AMAZING foster families in our area. Still not totally convinced we waited, praying we would find the right child for us.

Sometimes, I get discouraged too easily, I know that, hubby knows that, everyone I know, knows that. I was truly afraid we would never find a child that was right for us. So, hubby and I started talking about fostering. It was still just a thought, we weren't totally committed to the idea, but we were thinking about it.

Just about the time we decided to maybe take the chance, God took over our lives.

On Wednesday, two days ago, our adoption caseworker emailed me at 4:45. There was a two year old little boy up for adoption, no mental problems, no physical problems, no real medical problems. The catch, no photo and he had to be placed by the end of the week. Were we interested?

I called hubby. We agreed that yes, this is the one we've been looking for. I called our caseworker and told her yes, yes, yes. We want him. I didn't hear from her again that night.

Fast forward to Thursday. I email our caseworker to ask some questions. Her response. The other social worker has narrowed it down to us and one other couple. It may be a while before we know anything. That was 9:00 am.

At 11:15, I check my cell phone for the millionth time, and I have a voicemail. It's our caseworker. the message: Congratulations. Your son will be in your home on Saturday.

Euphoria quickly turned to panic. It is now Friday. In 24 hours, I will be a mother of a two year old. I'm scared, excited, freaked out, terrified and totally unprepared.

Wish us luck.

Two For Tuesday

I have written absolutely nothing this week, but today I pulled up one of my unfinished manuscripts to try and get something done on it. After ten minutes of wanting to stab myself in the eye because of all the passive voice, I gave up and just started highlighting all of the be, was, been, has and were’s. It is a little depressing. But, here are the last two lines from it:

His shoulders stiffened. “Lock this behind me when I leave.” Without another word, he left her alone.
“Well, Sam,” she looked at the puppy, “looks like it’s you and me against the world.”

As for what I am reading, I just finished Jodie Picoult’s My Sister’s Keeper. Wonderful, amazing book – made me cry like a baby. I won’t give you the last two lines, but here are a few that I liked. It is more than two again, but I’ve always been an overachiever.

“No,” I say automatically. “He’s a service dog.”
“Oh.” The woman straightens, pulls her son away. “But you aren’t blind.”
I’m epileptic, and this is my seizure dog. I think about coming clean , for once, for the first time. But then again, you have to be able to laugh at yourself, don’t you? “I’m a lawyer,” I say, and I grin at her. “He chases ambulances for me.”


I hope things are good with everyone in the world.

Two For Tuesday

Things have been frighteningly busy the last few weeks and I am finally starting to catch my breath. Here’s a quick recap of recent events:

We are gearing up for a new major exhibit at work, so I am snowed under there.

Friday was my birthday and it was an extremely good and extremely bad day. My wonderful hubby hid cards and presents for me all over the house, but part of my family and most of my friends forgot it was even my birthday, and hubby was out of town. But, on the same day we received our adoption certification. We are now officially approved by the state to adopt not one, but two children. Yay us! My amazing little brother (and I use that term loosely because he is now at least 6 feet tall) took me to a horrible movie. We went to see Drag Me To Hell, and let me tell you now, the scary parts are only when someone is jumping out at you, otherwise, it is very funny. We laughed a lot, but were disappointed. We both love a good scary movie.

Saturday, hubby and I attended a friend’s wedding. She used to be one of my very best friends, and hubby actually had dated her a couple of times in college, but now, I hardly ever see or hear from her. It made me sad.

Sunday, we cleaned house, sorta, and were generally bums.

Yesterday was the big day for my brother-in-law and his wife. The doctors induced her labor and in just over three hours, we had a new addition to our family. Things didn’t go so well from there though. The baby aspirated during delivery and his lungs weren’t working well at all. Late yesterday afternoon, they intubated him. Scary stuff. He has been on the ventilator all night, but at around midnight my brother-in-law called and they are weaning the baby off oxygen, so hopefully they will take the tube out sometime this afternoon.

So, that’s it on the home front. Now on to the reading and writing portion of the day’s entertainment. Right now I am reading Whispered Lies by Sherrilyn Kenyon and Dianna Love. I’m a freak for anything Sherrilyn Kenyon/Kinley MacGregor. So, here are the last two lines I read:

Carlos slipped his knife from its sheath and entered silently. He moved two whispered steps and reached for a fist of thick, black hair. As he whipped the man’s head back, exposing his throat to the razor-sharp blade, Carlos got a clear shot of the young woman lying still as death – Mandy – her wrists bleeding profusely. Merde.

I love the tension in these sentences. Love it. And here are a couple of sentences from a freelance project I am working on:

Nobody ever told me growing up that sometimes the one you think is your one true love might not really be. No one ever told me that I might have to start looking again after I turned forty.

Now, I’m not forty, I’m (ahem) thirty something. This was written from a man’s point of view in first person. That was a challenge for me. I’m not so great at first person, I always want to slip into third, but the hardest part was writing about a forty year old man! There came a point of desperation late last night that I almost called my dad and asked him how he would react to certain situations, but I toughed it out and made it through, and I think it turned out pretty well. We’ll see if I get paid for it though, right!

Hope everyone is having a great day, and for more two sentence fun, drop by the Women of Mystery.

Really great writing

On occasion I get to read some really great writing and today was one of those days. A local second grade class came to visit us and wrote us letters to say thank you. Sometimes, it takes a group to figure out what they really say, so to help in your future reading pleasure here are some of our all-time favorite misspellings.

Here are the sentences as written, and then our interpretation of them.

Sentence - This wus the funest filchrip ever.
Interpretation – This field trip gave me a new insight on the world we live in and was highly entertaining.

Sentence – Thank you for lating us come hear.
Interpretation – It was an honor and a privilege to visit your institution.

Sentence – I came here wunts before, this is my secint time.
Interpretation – I found it to be so intellectually stimulation that I had to make a return visit.

Sentence – I liked where I culd see his musuls and bones.
Interpretation – It was fascinating to see the musculature and bone structure in such detail.

Sentence – I liked seeing the Amarikine horses.
Interpretation – I’m proud to see such a fine example of American horses.

Sentence – The herse wus really cool.
Interpretation – There were many interesting things to see, but I was fascinated by the horse.

Sentence – Thang you for the pinciels and letting us in the play aire.
Interpretation – I appreciate the gift of pencils and the freedom and intellectual opportunities in the education gallery.

Sentence – I liked it and my techar really liked it.
Interpretation – My instructor and I both enjoyed the refreshing environment.

Sentence – I loved the penicals and upsters.
Interpretation – The pencils were a useful tool to take notes on all of the amazing items displayed on your second floor.

Sentence – I relley liked it. It wus so so so cool.
Interpretation – I really liked it. It was so so so cool.

Sentence – This was abslootlee my favorite.
Interpretation – This was absolutely my favorite.

Two Sentence Tuesday

Happy Tuesday all! I hope things are well in the blogosphere. Things have been super hectic here. Our home study came back yesterday, but our social worker didn’t say it was good or bad, so now I’m super worried. On a happy note I was notified yesterday that I am a finalist again this year at the Frontiers in Writing contest. Last year I placed first in the Romance category. This year, I entered my current WIP, and I didn’t think it stood a chance. I mean, here we are smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt and I entered an erotica piece. I know I am a decent writer, but I figured the subject matter would boot me right out of the competition. It was a complete surprise when I got the email yesterday.

Right now, I am reading the Night World series by L. J. Smith. It is a set of three volumes with three books in each volume. It is marketed as a teen series, but so far, I’m thinking it is more of a young reader than a teen series. All of the characters are immature, whiny and selfish. I’m having a hard time staying interested, and wouldn’t you know I bought the whole series. I’m currently reading the third book in the first volume, titled Spellbinder. Here are the last two lines I read:

“It’s Blaise’s fault,” Thea said. She was mad at Blaise. “She does – things – to boys. Human boys. And somehow it always ends up getting us kicked out of school. Both of us, because I’m always too stupid to tell them she’s the one responsible.”

Normally, I really enjoy reading teen series. As much as everyone hates on it, I like Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight books, I love The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, The Boy In The Striped Pajamas by John Boyne, but these I’m not loving. Oh, well, it was worth a shot.

Now, here are the last two lines I wrote. Please be gentle with me, I’m feeling a little fragile right now!

Mariska like to write things down. Not necessarily things she was working on, but thoughts and ideas that crossed her mind when she was otherwise preoccupied. With the stress of holding down her job at the precinct and building up her own business, she felt the quick notes she was able to jot down were her last hope at fulfilling the dream of being a writer. They were her creative outlet inside days filled with codes and puzzles.

I know. It is more than two sentences. It is double that, but what can I say? I’m an overachiever! Send good thoughts my way about the home study, I’m a little bit freaked out. Have a great day, and for more Two Sentence Tuesday, sneak over and visit the Women of Mystery.

3WW - Meet Me At Zero's

Today's prompts at 3WW are: Cryptic, Flash, and Malign. Another semi-dark piece. Enjoy!

“Meet me at Zero’s at 11:30 tonight. I have information for the story you are doing about Mayor Ford. I’ll find you there.”

The cryptic message on her voice mail left her confused. The voice was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. And why Zero’s? The club that catered to the goth crowd.

Cynda dug through her closet trying to find something black, other than her favorite little black dress to wear to the meeting. Black slacks, nope. Black silk blouse, nope. After a few minutes of digging she unearthed a pair of ripped jeans from her college days, a blood red corset top from last Halloween, combat boots from research she’d done on survival camp, and a black leather bomber jacket her ex-boyfriend had forgotten when he moved out.

She surveyed the look in the mirror and wasn’t thrilled. “Close enough.”

Bass pounded through the cavernous space like a heartbeat. Shadows clung to everything, flickering in the dim light of hundreds of candles. Feeling smothered, Cynda struggled to draw a breath in the crush of bodies. Every few minutes a flash of light would pulse through the club, illuminating the couples huddled in the darkest corners.

The music throbbed loud and heavy, making it feel like her bones were resonating in time with the beat. She didn’t know who to look for, so her eyes briefly landed on every face in the crowd.

At the bar she squeezed onto a bar stool between two heavily muscled men and ordered a Jack and coke. Cynda sipped the watered down drink and wondered who had left her the message. The voice had been female, and something tickled her brain and told her she knew who it was.

A tap on her shoulder had her spinning around, slamming her knee into the bar on the way.

“Dang, girl! That had to hurt.” The kid standing in front of her was in his early twenties and had so much metal in his face that it had to be impossible for him to get through airport security.

She absently rubbed the ache in her knee. “What’s up?”
“How ‘bout you come dance with me?” He leered at the cleavage pushing the limits of the corset’s control. He jacked his jeans up and all the chains hanging from his pants rattled loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Thanks, but I don’t think so.” She tried to turn back around, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Look buddy –.”

He leaned in close and spoke in her ear. “Listen, I don’t want to be here any more than you do, okay. You are just supposed to come with me. She said to tell you she had information.”

Cynda gulped the rest of her drink and slid off the stood. Grabbing his hand so she wouldn’t loose him in the throng on the dance floor, she waited for him to lead the way.

He nodded and the look in his eyes far older than his years made her wonder what had happened to him. He dragged her across the club to a dark hallway that led to the restrooms. “Go into the third stall and wait there.”

She started down the hall and again he stopped her. “Watch yourself in there.”

“Thanks.”

The stall was cramped and covered in graffiti, but within seconds hard hands pulled her out and pushed her against a wall. “Why do you want information on Mayor Ford?”

The same voice from her voice mail.

“I’m doing a story on him.” The rough cinder block wall abraded her face.

“Why?” The other woman leaned heavily on Cynda.

“Because I’m a reporter, damn it. That’s my job.” Air flowed into her lungs when the pressure was taken off her back. “Can I turn around.”

“What do you know about, Daniel Ford?”

Cynda turned slowly to face her informant. Shock held her immobile for a second. “Mrs. Ford?”

“What do you know about my husband?” The normally elegant Angela Ford was dressed in leather and chains with enough black eyeliner ringing her eyes to take care of four goth girls. “I’m not going to ask again. Tell me what you know.”

Unease skittered down Cynda’s spine. “I know there is a rumor spreading that he can’t keep his hands off your babysitter.”

The ice in Angela’s eyes was malign. “That son of a bitch has a thing for teenager boys. I’m going to give you all the nasty dirty details and you, my dear are going to make sure he never sees the light of day again.”

Six weeks later a jury of his peers convicted Mayor Daniel Franklin Ford to forty years in prison. His high priced lawyer immediately filed an appeal. Mrs. Angela Ford sat in the court room day after day in her beautiful suits; her manicured hands grasped tightly in her lap and never shed a tear.

Before he left the court room after the verdict, Mayor Ford was handed divorce papers by his wife’s high-priced lawyer. His shocked eyes met hers and she blew him a kiss.

For more fun with three words, take a short jaunt over to 3WW to read more.