G.U.S.

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This story was inspired by a painting created by Biz Boston, my sister. It hangs in my home office. I see it every day, and I often make up stories for how this gorilla ended up with a flower sitting on a bench.

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gorilla

When I arrived at the zoo, the zookeeper thought the delivery man said, “Gus has arrived.” But what he actually said was “G.U.S. has arrived.” The difference is that the way the zookeeper heard it, Gus became my name. What was actually meant was that a Gorilla Under Sedation had arrived.

Oh well, I don’t mind being called Gus.

My life at the zoo was normal until the little girl with the purple rain coat started to visit.

She started coming in the spring. At first I paid her little attention just like most of the visitors to the zoo. She would come and stand at my pen and just wait to see what I would do. One day I decided to go to the edge of the pen where she was standing to see how she would react. She was not afraid of me, even when I pretended like I was throwing poop. It was just dirt clumps. She didn’t react other than grinning at me, but the taller person she was with came to get her at that point. I thought she might not come back after that.

I was wrong. She was back the next day.

Instead of behaving badly, I wanted to impress her. This time, I picked her a really great stick out of my pen and took it over to the spot where she stood. I put the stick against the glass so she could see it. She smiled at me.

The next day she was back and this time I sat by the glass and just looked at her. She put her hand flat on the glass. I didn’t know what it meant but she smiled anyway.

She came to see me every day, and we took turns showing each other cool things. One day she sat by the glass and I could hear her humming. I liked her humming.

The next day I tried to hum for her. Most of the visitors seemed freaked out by the sounds I made, but not the little girl. She just smiled.

Every day I waited for her and it was the best part of my life at the zoo.

During late summer, the zoo had a benefit. The zookeeper gave a speech about how I was thriving in the zoo and one of the favorite exhibits that visitors came to see. I was glad that he seemed pleased with me, but I didn’t know what any of that meant.

I just looked forward to seeing the girl in the purple rain coat every day.

Round about that time, she started to bring me a flower every day. She would sit it next to the glass so I could see it. The flowers were different kinds: tulips, roses, daises, etc… she even brought a bird of paradise one time. Each time she brought a flower, she would tell me what it was called. I always listened very carefully so I could remember the name. I also studied the flowers intently because they were always swept up each night.

In the fall, the weather began to change and leaves began to fall. The little girl still came to see me most days, but not every day. I didn’t understand this, but I was happy on the days she did come.

Then several days went by and she didn’t come. I was very sad. After a couple of weeks, I lost hope. I didn’t understand why she didn’t come any more.

I wasn’t very hungry and didn’t feel like eating. The zookeeper said that I wasn’t looking well and that something needed to be done.

I never really understood what the zookeeper wanted of me; I just wanted to see the girl with the purple rain coat again.

A couple days after the zookeeper noting my declining health, I saw the taller person who usually came with the girl outside my pen just standing on the other side of the glass staring at me. When she saw that she had caught my eye, she bent over and placed a flower by the glass and then turned and left.

She didn’t tell me what the flower was, but I remembered thinking it reminded me of the sun. I also knew this person could lead me to my friend.

I decided to leave my pen and get the flower. It wasn’t actually that difficult to get to the flower. Once I had the flower, I ran as fast as I could after the tall lady.

As I was running after her, I heard screams and people scrambling. She must have heard them too because she stopped and turned in my direction.

I ran up to her clutching the flower waiting for her to move again.

It was then I noticed she was crying. She saw the guards and zookeeper approaching and she must have seen the desperation in my eye.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me after her. We ran for a long way until we couldn’t run anymore. When I looked around I could see that we were still in the park surrounding the zoo.

The lady sat down on a nearby bench and began to sob. I decided to sit next to her until we moved again.

“We can’t out run them. I’m too old for this.” She looked up at me and said, “It’s a sunflower. She wanted you to have it. She grew it in her garden. She asked me to bring it to you. It was her last request.” Then she sighed a deep and cleansing breath. She patted my knee and walked away.

I was going to follow her but I began to feel very sleepy.

When I woke up, I was back in my pen and the perimeter had changed. The fences were now made to keep me in.

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March Prompt

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Ren? Magritte, The Son of Man, 1964, Restored by Shimon D. Yanowitz, 2009  øðä îàâøéè, áðå ùì àãí, 1964, øñèåøöéä ò"é ùîòåï éðåáéõ, 2009Last month’s prompt was just three words: Arthurian, Invention, and Priest.

What I came up with was the story Sir Gawain and the Priest. The story that evolved was an epistolary short story. This is my first attempt to write a story entirely in letter form. I really enjoyed the outcome. I feel like I could have added more to this story but the end of the month came after only 28 days last month… funny how that works.

In addition to my own story, if you get a chance, read another take on February’s prompt. My friend Jennifer’s story can be found on her blog.

If you want to join us this month, March’s prompt is being taken from yet another source. For this month, I am turning to a book called The Writer’s Block. If you haven’t seen it before, it’s a little book that has pages with story prompts. The suggestions vary in their type from one word “spark words” to just pictures and even suggestions from well-known literary figures.

March’s prompt from The Writer’s Block (with some modifications):

A.S. Byatt won a Booker Prize and international acclaim with her novel Possession, a genre-bending story-within-a-story about two young scholars researching a pair of Victorian poets. More recently, she completed The Matisse Stories, a trilogy of stories that all concern (at some level) the life and works of the modern French painter. In an interview with The Writer magazine, Byatt explained that all three stories developed individually, and linking them together was not her original intention: “It was more that I am totally obsessed with Matisse. He sort of gets into everything I do. He’s my touchstone for art, the importance of art, as opposed to anything else, in its purest, most uncompromising state.” block

Is there a visual artist who influences your work? Perhaps you’re mesmerized by the surreal designs of M.C. Escher, or the all American tableaus of Norman Rockwell. Whoever influences you, write a story inspired by that artist. Your story could focus on a specific piece or details of the artist’s life.

I am really excited about this prompt. I recently read the novel Sacre Bleu by Christopher Moore that creates a fictional story surrounding the lives of several impressionist painters. It was amazing! I loved how Moore pulled in facts and incorporated works of art into the story line and then added his own unique twisted sense of humor.

sacre bleuHappy reading and writing this month!

Next story to be posted: March 31, 2015

Sir Gawain and the Priest

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time machine

Sir Gawain,                                                    

            You do not know me, but I am writing to request a favor. You do not know me so I cannot hope that you will grant a request of a total stranger, but I require your aid. It is a matter of life and death. Before I ask my favor, I would like to tell you my story and perhaps then you will take pity on me and grant me your grace and understanding.

            My name is Father Opmet. I am a humble member of the clergy, and I dwell in a small seaside village in Northern Spain. I have lived here all of my life. I was never a strong swimmer nor was I cut out for a life at sea. However, I excelled at school, and at a young age, my family decided I was destined for priesthood. I do not regret their decision because a life surrounded by books and learning does suit me well.

            Because of my passion for learning, my family even saved to send me away to live for a time under the tutelage of one Father Narl. He is also someone with which you are probably unfamiliar. He was one of the greatest scholars and thinkers to grace this Earth. It saddens me to say that almost a decade ago he passed. My personal problems and the reason I am contacting you began shortly following his death.

            I learned of his death through a letter from another clergy member. About a fortnight after that a carrier service knocked on my door. They informed that they had been paid in advance by Father Narl to bring me all of his belongings upon his death. After discussing this with the courier, I looked outside my door to see four wagons full of crates with items piled haphazardly across all of them. Before I could protest that I did not have room for all of those things, men started to carry everything into my small two room quarters and pile things anywhere they could fit. At one point they ran out of room in my dwelling and they began to pile things in the yard. It took them several hours to unload everything and when they finished, I thanked them. When I informed them I had no money to tip them for carting everything such a long way, the head carrier said it was unnecessary. They had been handsomely paid by Father Narl.

            Just as they were about to leave, their leader jumped down off his wagon and handed me a letter and was away before I could ask what it was. I recognized the handwriting on the envelope as belonging to Father Narl.

            The letter was not what I expected after receiving the entire contents of his life on my doorstep. The short version of it is that he wanted me to have what he had discovered because he felt like I was the only one who could appreciate his work. I admit that I was overwhelmed and perplexed. I knew that of late Father Narl had fallen out of favor because of some of his more outlandish theories, but in most circles he was still a highly respected scholar.

            Even when I had been his student, he entertained wild notions about discovering what he called “ultimate proofs.” He truly believed that through ingenuity he could create or discover physical proof of Our Lord’s existence.

            It seemed that in his old age he had held onto those notions and indulged his fancies to the point of excess. His letter was cryptic about what specifically he had discovered but it raved about “the thing that would prove IT all.” Of course, in true Father Narl fashion, it did not say what the thing was or what it was.

            Even though I found the language of the letter confusing and at the same time I longed to discover its secrets, I knew that I first had to deal with the mountains of crates in my yard and filling my living space.

            It took me the better part of a week, but I went through every piece of Father Narl’s belongings myself. Most of the items were junk and I donated them to the appropriate charity. However, some of the items were foreign even to me, an avid inventor since a child. I decided to hold onto these fantastic items and I also kept every handwritten piece of text. Father Narl had been a prolific journalist. I kept all of his journals, and over the next several months I scoured their contents to the point of neglecting my priestly obligations.

            One journal in particular kept me up at nights. The journal was about Father Narl’s attempts to discover time travel. Can you believe it? I do not think I slept for the better part of a month when I finally figured out that was what he had stumbled upon. Father Narl’s problem was that he understood the theories behind a lot of subjects but had very little mechanical knowledge.

            I was an avid student of mechanical things. I was obsessed with carriages, mills, and trebuchets. Anything that moved that was not a living thing was a personal hobby of mine. I read and reread Father Narl’s journals and then spent the better part of the next decade trying to figure out how to make it work. I admit that I became known as the village loon but then again, everyone had always felt I was a bit off anyway, so their treatment of me did not change that much.

            Even though the villagers did not feel differently about me, my fellow clergymen treated me like a leper. I did not let their cruelty deter me though. I have endured ridicule and shame at the expense of Father Narl’s and now my own goals.

            Even though it took me a decade to figure out a way to make his invention work, I finally did it. You read that correctly. I know how to do it. I created the device that allows a man to travel in time.

            At this point, you probably think I am just some crazy eccentric who has spent too much time in the seawater, but I promise you that is not the case. Before you dismiss me as someone without substance, let me make a plea for your aid once again.

            You see, in my studies with Father Narl, he told me, quite fondly of Arthur and his knights of the round table. A central figure in these stories was always you. Father Narl believed that you were the most noble, loyal, and truly good knight that lives.

            In addition to learning of your goodness, I also heard stories of the quests that you and your fellow knights are still undergoing. A central quest, and one that to my knowledge you and your fellow knights are still trying to finish, is the search for the Holy Grail.

            What if I told you I knew where it was? What would you do? To what lengths would you go to aid your king in his quests?

            I have found my own proof, and I know how to help you find yours. I am afraid that this knowledge, these ultimate proofs, will fall into the wrong hands. There have been strange men hanging about lately watching my every move. I do not recognize them, and in a village this size, that is a rare occurrence.

            I need your help. I need some where to send my device. If you can provide me with a safe location, I will aid you with your own quest.

            I await your response.

 

With hope that this letter finds you well and noble,

Father H. Opmet.


Father Opmet,

I admit that your letter was troubling to me. At first I admit that I was unsure what to make of your letter. I also admit that I doubted its authenticity. I was tempted to contact someone to check in on you and remove you from a position of religious authority. I was deeply concerned for those in your village.gawain

However, the day after I received your letter, I noticed there were men following me wherever I went. And my own spies said that the men arrived on the boat with your letter which leads me to believe that someone at least believes the contents of it and this troubles me.

You are right to think that a device that travels in time should not fall into the wrong hands. If it were me, I would destroy the device and any such documents that attest to its creation. I know that is probably not what a man of learning such as yourself wants to hear, but the world is not ready for such a thing. We have enough trouble in our time; we have no right to travel to others taking those troubles with us.

I would also recommend that you get yourself to a safe place. Unfortunately, I am not familiar with your village and what might be near enough for you to turn to, but please do not put yourself in jeopardy.

As to my own quest, I would gladly accept any guidance you can give me. As you claim to know, this is a quest that my King has devoted himself and all his knights to. Any aid you can give us would be greatly appreciated. We have already sacrificed too much to a purpose that seems unsolvable.

I am sending this letter with my own personal courier who is capable of handling such delicate matters and ensuring the delivery of this letter without harm to himself.

With faith that you will be safe and Goodness will guide your decisions,

Sir Gawain


Sir Gawain,

            By the time this reaches you, I intend to be unfindable. When your courier arrived, I knew what to do as soon as I read your letter.

            This letter is being trusted to your courier along with a crate containing two items:

  1. My time travel device. I took your advice and destroyed my notes and Father Narl’s but I did not have the heart to destroy the device. Do what you will.
  2. The Holy Grail.

Thank you for your aid in this. The words of a man such as yourself gave me the courage to stop myself from using the device again and trying to change history. I know that you will do what is right.

I hope the Grail is enough to satisfy your king.

To never be seen again,

Father Opmet

chalice

Join in the fun!

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Creative-writing-courses--007One of my friends has decided to join me in writing a short story every month, and she is using the prompts I am creating.

Read her January story here on her blog: http://jenniferclarkwriter.blogspot.com/2015/02/january-prompt.html.

I find it intriguing how different our stories are from the same prompt. Want to join in the fun? Join us for February. See the prompt for February on my blog.

Happy Writing everyone!

February’s Prompt

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My January story is posted. You might be wondering what prompted the story that emerged. I honestly don’t know. I didn’t write from an outline like I have in the past. Instead, what I did is every time I sat down to work on it, I just wrote what came to mind.

The process ended up being fairly painless. In the past I have sat down and written out a rough map of where I want my story to head and any key events I want included. I didn’t do that this time. I just wrote.

I have mixed feelings about the experience, but I think I’m going to try it again.

Anyway, if you get a chance, read The Photo in the Hall. It was based on the following prompt:

“While dog-sitting, a mustachioed private detective uncovers a hidden family secret.”

For February, I am using a different method of topic generation. Last month, I used The Amazing Story Generator. It is a little book with pages that you can mix and match to create story ideas. I let my husband pick last month.brainstormer

For February I decided to use an app. The app is called The Brainstormer.

Essentially, the Brainstormer lets you hit a dice and it randomly selects 3 words for you.

So, February’s prompt is….

“Invention.” “Arthurian.” And “priest.” arthurian book

Happy writing everyone!

Next story to be posted… February 28, 2015.

Photo in the Hall

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Photo in the Hall

“Please tell me that is a disguise,” I said to my twin, Everett, as he walked into our office. He had the most ridiculous mustache I’ve ever seen. Which answered my question about what he did while I was on a three-month tour of South America. After our last case, I took a vacation. It only seemed like a good idea after I was shot in the arm. I sat on many beaches, drank a lot of tequila, and tried to forget that I let a handsome man fool me for many months.

At some point, I realized I needed to return to the real world, to my world. A world that I shared all too often with my twin brother, who looked nothing like me right now due to the scraggly facial hair he was trying to pull off.

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “This is all me.” He stroked the ends of the mustache and smiled like a mad man.

I probably didn’t want to know the answer, but I asked anyway, “What made you want to grow a mustache?” Before I finished the question, I knew the answer.

“There’s this new lady cop…” He stopped midsentence when he saw the look on my face.

We might be twins, but I didn’t want to hear him carry on about some blonde (which was always his type). A long time ago, we’d made an agreement. He wouldn’t tell me about women he liked, and I wouldn’t tell him about men I liked. And considering the catastrophic end to our last case, our mutual agreement was even firmer now.

“Sorry there Jo. You know how I get carried away,” he apologized as he looked quickly through his missed calls. Without looking up, he said, “Sometimes I forget you’re not one of the guys.” He sat down across from me, and despite the ‘I will kill you if you don’t shut up’ look I was trying to project, he started up again, “Tanya is blonde, and…”

He stopped when I threw a stapler at him. Wise decision on his part. He had just enough time to duck.

Before he could slip wistfully into daydreaming about Tanya, I asked, “Any new cases while I was away?” Everett and I own and operate a private detective agency after being kicked off the police force at the exact same time on opposite ends of the city, but that’s another story.

piOur cases are usually small and involve tailing cheating significant others of various types. Nothing to even get armed for. My brother seemed to take to the insignificant private sector of detective work like a duck to water, but me, I longed for the days where I needed at least two weapons and a bullet proof vest to get through the day. Getting shot hadn’t changed that for me.

After our last case and before I took my vacation, my brother said I’d let myself be fooled by a criminal because I was addicted to danger. He was probably right about that, but I couldn’t tell him that.

I was lost in my own thoughts so I didn’t notice my brother actually answering my question until he stopped talking and was sitting across from me waving three messages idly back and forth.

I blinked and then asked, “What? I didn’t hear you.”

He put the messages down and stared at me with concern. “Are you sure you’re ready for a case Jo? After the last one…” He didn’t finish his thought.

“Just tell me about the cases.” I didn’t want to be treated like a delicate creature. I would be fine.

“Okay,” he said. “We have three possibilities. Two of them are affairs. So, tail a cheating spouse, take some pictures, present them to the client.”

I tried not to roll my eyes but couldn’t hold back.

Everett pointed at me to emphasize his next point, “Hey. They pay the bills. If spouses didn’t cheat, we’d be homeless.”

“What’s the 3rd one?” I was trying to change the subject.

“The third one is a routine background check for the mayor’s personal assistant.”

“Jeff? Why would he ask us?”

Jeff was a friend of my brother’s, but even so, our business hadn’t taken off that much and I was surprised the mayor’s office would hire us.

“He didn’t ask us sis. He asked me. I’ll take that one.”

spy

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Two weeks later, both of the affair cases were closed one way or another. Life was becoming routine again. We didn’t have any new cases but for some reason my brother had barely been into the office at all. Surely a routine background case could not be taking up that much of his time.

I sat quietly for a minute and tried to focus my feelings on Everett. I didn’t feel any alarm bells go off. Sometimes our freaky twin connection made me feel like I had zero privacy, but today I was hoping it would clue me in. Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way. I decided to resort to more direct tactics and sort through the papers on his desk for clues.

My desk was clutter free and had nothing on it but a phone, a rolodex, and the stapler that I frequently threw at Everett. His desk was nothing but chaos. There were wrappers from partially eaten food, notes from old cases that he hadn’t filed away yet, newspapers with cup rings on them, stacks of messages that had already been answered but he didn’t apparently have the heart to throw them away, and his phone, which I didn’t understand how he managed to find so readily when clients called.

I figured any recent paperwork would be near the top of the pile, but after looking over the top layer of debris, I didn’t see anything even dated within the last month. He must have his current case notes on his person, which given the state of his desk made sense. If he placed current case work on this desk, it would never be seen again.

I let out an exasperated sigh and decided to just call him and see if there was anything I should be doing.

His cell went straight to voicemail. Great. I was bored out of my mind and I didn’t want to just sit around in an empty office staring at Everett’s messy desk. My ADD and OCD couldn’t handle that.

As I was heading out to my car, I saw Everett standing next to his car talking on his cell phone. As I approached, he quickly told the person on the other end, “I gotta go.”

He looked up at me. He looked deeply concerned. The only time he looked that way was when he couldn’t put two and two together. Something was bothering him, that much was obvoius.

“How’s it going Everett? Still working on that background check?”

“Nope.” His answer was clipped and his brow was furrowed.

“So… new case then?” I was hoping he would just tell me, but evidently he was going to be difficult today.

“Nope.”

“What have you been doing then? You’ve been busy lately.” I don’t think I could have been more clear that I wanted to know what was going on.

“I’ve been dog-sitting,” he said.

“Dog-sitting?”

“Yep,” he answered.

I couldn’t believe the conversation I was having with my brother, or more acurately, the lack of conversation. I just stood there at this point and let him work through whatever it was that was troubling him.

It took a couple of minutes of just standing there, but finally he opened up.

“I’ve been dog-sitting for Tanya.”

That didn’t surprise me. He hasn’t met a blond yet that he didn’t like. I still didn’t say anything yet because I assumed there had to be more to the story than what he’d said so far.

“I discovered something at her house, and I’m not sure what to do about it. Will you come take a look at it with me and see what you think?”

“Of course,” I said. I was intrigued. What could he possibly have found that troubled him so? Was she selling drugs? Did he find evidence of a murder? Honestly, nothing short of  a serious crime could possibly bother my brother this much. We’d been cops; we’d seen some awful stuff. And even though we no longer worked for the so-called good guys, we clearly had lines of right and wrong. If Everett had stumbled onto something serious, he would report it. Wouldn’t he?

As we drove to Tanya’s house, my mind was frantically over working. I asked him at some point, “What did you find?”

Apparently, I had to see it to believe it, because he answered, “You’ll see.”

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shabby chic

We entered Tanya’s house. It wasn’t large, but it was nicely decorated. Evidently Tanya liked shabby chic everything. Every peice of furniture looked new but was painted and then distressed to look older.

The next thing I noticed was what appeared to be her dog.

Everett said, “Say hi to Fluffy.” He was pointing at a Chinese Crested.

Personally, I thought Fluffy looked like the evil spawn of a gremlin and a hairless cat. I will never understand why some people have those dogs as pets. Who wants to live with something that ugly that can creep into your room at night?

“Hey there Fluffy,” I said. “Please tell me the disturbing secret is this ugly dog and you are wondering if you should call animal control.”

Everett just rolled his eyes at me. “No. And Fluffy isn’t ugly. Just because you don’t like him, doesn’t mean Tanya doesn’t love him.” He walked into the hallway and said, “Follow me.” fluffy

Honestly, I didn’t feel entirely comfortable walking through her house while she wasn’t home, but my brother was worried so I let my own feelings go for now.

As I went into the hallway, I saw Everett standing near the end looking at a framed photo on the wall. When I was standing next to him, he pointed at a photo of two men standing on the deck of a ship holding rifles.

At first I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. I instantly recognized the two men. So many questions were going through my mind. The first one to actually make it’s way to my mouth was, “Does Tanya know she has a picture of our dad in her hallway?” What I didn’t say was that it was our dad and his best friend slash co-conspirator. Our dad was known for exactly one thing – human trafficking. His current wearabouts were unknown. He was also the reason we’d been kicked off the force. Apparently local officials thought the children of a known internationally wanted criminal shouldn’t be on the police force.

Everett answered my question, “I didn’t tell her that it was our dad. She thinks its a picture of her dad and his best friend.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What? How can that be? Does she know who her dad is? And what he does? How is she on the police force but we are stuck being lame p.i.s?”

“Slow down Jo. I asked her about it. She doesn’t know anything. What she told me is she’s never even met her dad, and this was the only picture she’s ever had of him. Her mother gave it to her.”

I didn’t have words for the weirdness of the situation. “You have to tell her. If you plan on having a relationship with her, you have to. What if she finds out later that you knew about this and didn’t say anything?”

“Believe it or not, that’s not what is bothering me about this situation.”

“Okay. What then?” I couldn’t imagine what else was bothering my brother.

“She told me she was contacted by her father recently and they are going to meet and have dinner soon.”

Whoa. Tanya didn’t know it, but she was sitting on information that everyone from the mayor’s office and every cop from the police comissioner down wanted to know.

All I could think was how this couldn’t be happening again. The last time information about our father had come to light, we’d lost our jobs, and I personally hadn’t been the same since.

Before I could really process what all of this might mean, Everett said, “We have to tell someone. Tanya will be gone for two more weeks. If we tell someone in the mayor’s office or one of our old departments, they could get on this right away.”

“You’re right,” I said. “You do know that the second Tanya returns to town, she is going to hate you.”

“She might,” he agreed. “But if we don’t try to find these two, we will live in their shadows forever. Personally, I am tired of people assuming we know anything about what those two are up to.”

He had a point. We left the hallway and made our way back to his car. We never made it to the car. Two shots were fired before we knew anyone was even near us. Both hit Everett. I threw myself against the car and got low. I pulled out my cell and dialed 911.

He came around the car and shot me point blank in the chest.

“You should mind your own business,” he said as he left Everett and I there to die.

The pain overwhelmed my senses before I could even focus on who was speaking. The last thing I thought was how Everett and I would die at the same time.

January’s Prompt

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As I said in my first post of the year, my goal is to write one short story a month. For the sake of a guideline, I am going to use the following reason to set a length for my short stories.

The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America specifies word lengths for each category of its   categories:

Classification Word count
Novel over 40,000 words
Novella 17,500 to 40,000 words
Novelette 7,500 to 17,500 words
Short story under 7,500 words

So, my goal is a story that is somewhere between 1,000 and 7,500 words every month.

As to what I’m going to write about, my plan is to sit down at the beginning of each month and chose a prompt and see what happens from there. For January’s story, I am going to use The Amazing Story Generator to create a prompt. Someone bought it for me, and I’ve never used it to write a story.

cover of book

For January, the prompt is….

“While dog-sitting, a mustachioed private detective uncovers a hidden family secret.”

detective

Story to be posted…Jan. 31, 2015!

(I let my husband use the story generator. Sigh. Oh well, let’s see what I come up with.)

Happy writing!