Coming Around Again

Shelby let the imitation fabric slide through her fingers. The robe could convince you it was cherry spun silk until you touched it and realized rogue bracelet charms or an unfiled fingernail could snag a thread and unravel the whole illusion.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. This should have been one of the happiest times of her life. Grades were recorded, interviews (gratefully) were over and once she crossed the stage she’d be able tack three letters onto the end of her signature and move on with her life. She should have felt like a bud right before it opened and bloomed.

But she missed him.

She’d never expected to miss him.

A tear slid off her cheek, staining the material, when she felt rather than saw a shadow in the doorway.

“Hey.” He said.

Shelby turned toward him, “Gunnar?”

He smiled and opened his arms, “You didn’t think I’d miss your graduation, did you?”

She stepped into the warmth of his arms, allowing the hug to peel away the layers of regret between them.

The last time she’d seen Gunnar his face was a twisted mess of pain and sadness caused by her indecision. He’d left taking his melancholy out the back door  and leaving her standing right where she was currently rooted.

Gunnar pushed back, kissed her temple  and grabbed the robe, holding it open for her to slip into.

“Ready?” He asked, holding out his hand.

Moving toward the back door, she slipped her palm into his and hoped he’d kept the diamond he’d offered before he left.


Have you heard?
Tara and I have taken over the prompt page of Studio30Plus.

WriteWithUs so come over and visit the page.

Since I missed last week’s prompt I used both sentences in my piece this week.

“peel away the layers”

“he took his melancholy out the back door” from Katy


the prompts this week at WRITE ON EDGE were

a coral colored blooming flower

and a this quote:

Why should I be unhappy? Every parcel of my being is in full bloom.
― Rumi

Stand Alone {Studio30Plus/Velvet Verbosity/Write On Edge}

I tried to meet his eyes, with the canned laughter of a sitcom blaring around us, standing in our living room.

Too afraid to attempt this confrontation anywhere else, I’d dismissed our master suite for fear of succumbing to a deluge of his deceptive words of love. And holding court in the kitchen, with its cheery yellow curtains billowing above the wooden block of knives, would just smack of hypocrisy.

I cleared my throat.

He never took his eyes off the screen.

“I told you, she didn’t mean a thing to me.”

“ But, ” I countered,  “He meant something to me.”


I missed a link up with Write on Edge but I wanted to use the quote:

We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

also linking up LOVE (3rd definition of “passion/want” )
with Studio30Plus



and Smack 

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge

for 100 Word Challenge  with
Velvet Verbosity

In my  “Write Your First Novel”  class we were discussing POV and this is based on something I’d written in 3 minutes in that class. 

Feelings. Focused.

The photo was worn at the corners so that its fringy edges fanned out like frayed peacock feathers, colors seeping into one another; a captured moment stained by tears and misunderstandings.

She supposed  the image would  have remained that way, unchanged, forever,  if he hadn’t called, 2 years later, asking her to lunch in a halted , “um”-filled and uncharacteristically contrite speech.

So she dressed in a skirt that barely hit her knee and sat across from him checking and resetting her heart.

The silence between them was almost translucent as she focused on his face.

His eyes said it all.


Write on Edge:

“When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.”
~Ansel Adams

Velvet Verbosity


Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge

The Space Between: The Love Story of Kimmy & David: Chapter 12 {Write on Edge}


continued from here:


Nico unzipped his wetsuit and peeled the material from his body, allowing the early morning sun to dry his skin.  Running a soft towel he’d pilfered from the beach cart on his way down to the rocks through his damp black curls, he realized with sudden clarity that his affair with Daniela was (finally and almost certainly)  over.

A sense of relief flooded his senses as he grabbed his stuff and started up the stone stairs toward the center of town. He’d been feeling the pull of both the bull and the bear for a few weeks now, his brain itching to calculate and manipulate numbers, his neck missing the silken noose of a Windsor knot. For as sweet and sensual as their time had been, Dani (even a tipsy and naked Dani) would never hold his attention the way the floor of the exchange could.

Nico reached the top of the stairs, heading toward the hotel to pack and book a flight back to New York City before he had time to change his mind, when his phone hummed with an instrumental version of Volare that Dani had insisted he download.

He mentally reminded himself to delete it as he answered.


“Nico! Enjoying your sabbatical?”

“Marco! Fratello!!”

Marco’s chuckle traveled across the Atlantic to Nico who instantly became even more homesick.

Cavolo! How the hell are you Marco?”

“I’m good, but Mom misses you. I think it’s probably the stock tips.”

Vaffaculo!” Nico shot back, settling into the easy banter of twins.

“Ah I see Dani is teaching you all the important phrases” Marco tossed back with Nico catching the hitch in his brother’s voice and familiarity as he said her name before he cleared his throat and shot back, “and you can go fuck yourself too.”

“It’s nice to see nothing changes with us, Marco.” Nico chuckled and then remembered his brother’s impending nuptials. “So how is our Kimmy?”

His brother hesitated a fraction of a second too long, “She’s why I’m calling Nic, Kim’s been talking to David.”

Words got stuck in Nico’s throat at the sound of the name. “Just talking?” he asked.

“I saw him kiss her in a parking lot last week.”

“Oh that ragazza sciocca, silly, silly girl.” Nico said more to himself than Marco. “but…”

Marco’s sighed, “She kissed back. More than once.”

Nico let a long low whistle pass between their cell phones, “When should I expect you?”

“I’m already here, at the airport in Naples.”

“Ah, and Kimmy?”

“Well for now, she obviously needs a little time and I need some distance.”

Nico nodded as if Marco could see him, “I’m on my way.”


this week for WRITE ON EDGE

“Time is the longest distance between two places.”
~Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie

and a continuation of my WIP:
The Love Story of Kimmy & David

Love’s Respite {Write at the Merge}

The bells of St Brigit’s are calling tonight.

Josie hurriedly made the sign of the cross and pressed the accelerator causing the car to hug the curb around the old wooden church and nearly take out Sister Agnes’ prize begonias.

The last time she’d noticed their chiming he’d been courting her.  

“I really like you.” She’d tendered, playing coquette.

“I feel so much more.” He’d answered, as if he’d meant it.

Josie remembered swooning.

True love is always the tease’s downfall.

Sadly, he’d never meant it.

“Oh, Georgie…” she whispered as she sped toward the beach and forgiveness.


I missed the prompt last week so I decided to combine both this week.

100 words about the bells of St. Brigit’s and words written in sand.

If you must speak ill of another, do not speak it, write it in the sand near the water’s edge.
~Napoleon Hill

Meeting Delaney {Write On Edge/Trifecta/Studio 30 Plus}

Delaney bumped into Joe at the corner of Spruce and 1st.

That might sound like a “meet-cute” from a romantic movie, unless you’ve met Joe or you happened to see Delaney in the aftermath of the shit storm he’d put her through all in the name of love. If you were witness to any of  it (like we were) the only word you’d come up with was ironic or agree it was the worst case of serendipity you can imagine.

As it was, Delaney was rummaging through her over-sized purse, sidestepping cracks in the sidewalk that threatened her skinny stilettos and talking to herself when she literally bumped into the chest of the man she’d never meant to fall in love with.

True to form, Joe hardly noticed her. Oh, he might have been just as surprised to be standing in front of their old apartment building staring back into her hazel eyes but the spark that lingered between them excited and then scared him so much he decided to do what he did best.

He talked about himself.

Delaney listened as he stroked his own ego, bringing attention to his successes, both the imagined ones and the real ones. She knew what he’d been up to, of course, but she feigned interest and surprise, nodding like a duck bobbing for fish.

A slight breeze lifted her gauzy skirt and rustled the tattered curtains that now hung in the window of apartment 743. She got lost in a memory of the water stain on their kitchen ceiling that resembled the inside bark of an oak tree and the quaint tchotckes she’d filled the built-in bookshelves with trying to make a home for herself and Joe.

She forced herself to forget the white iron rail bed where he’d touched her inside and out, loathing the quickening pulse it incited.

That’s what happens when you fall in love with a myth; you become part of a lie that becomes a legend.

When there was nothing more to comment on, Delaney forced a smile and began to move away, crafting a place she needed to be.

As they made their way in opposite directions along Spruce Delaney turned to take in his purposeful stride.

She chuckled.

He’d gotten chubby.


Write on Edge

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

Sometimes legends make reality, and become more useful than the facts.”

~ Salman Rushdie



Word of the Week:



Studio 30 Plus:

Press Repeat : The Love Story of Kimmy & David Chapter 9 {Write On Edge/Studio30Plus}



continued from here..




Lost in each other Kimmy and David squinted into the blinding sunlight as they exited the theater.

But as David reached for Kimmy’s hand she froze. Unsure, she let him take it but it was a stiff offering.

David held tight, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” she answered, allowing her fingers to slowly relax inside his. “It’s just feels weird to be holding your hand.”

“Weird?” David frowned, pretending to be hurt.

“Yeah. Weird.” You never held my hand when we, um, when we were…” Kimmy’s face flamed as she tried to explain what they had been to each other.

“I know.” David sighed, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss between her knuckles. “But that was a long time ago.”

There was a pause as their foreheads touched.

“David…?” Kimmy whispered.

“Hmm? “He answered. His mouth was dangerously close.

“…What made you call? The other night, you sounded drunk, I mean, I think you were drunk. So if you didn’t really mean any of it … “she heard her voice sputter.  

 David shifted, raking the hand that wasn’t holding hers through his hair and then gently trailing it down the side of her face. “I meant every word. I know I was drunk, but the things I said? I couldn’t be more serious.”

Kimmy’s breath caught in her throat as tears spilled down her cheeks. Her shoulders heaved, “You made me feel unlovable.”

“Unlovable?” David’s eyes clouded as if he’s heard her wrong. “You’re the least unlovable person I know.”


“I never said it.” David admitted,” I don’t think I knew. Or maybe I did, but I thought you and I were too different to last. I’m not sure I even wanted to feel that way about you or anyone else but then you left, and I was… well, I was…” he searched for a word, “… surprised.”


“Yeah. I was surprised when you left. Then I found your letter.” He paused, drawing a deep breath. “It took a long time to realize how much I’d hurt you. ”
“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. It was your way of telling me stuff I didn’t want to hear. You know I’ve carried that letter around for the  past two years?”

Reaching into his back pocket, he slowly unfolded the two sheets of lined paper that she had poured her heart out onto. Blue ink had seeped into the creases and they spoke of it being handled over and over again, folded and refolded, as if it held the answers to a mystery.

“See?” David said, offering it to her but even as her hand came up to grasp it, she didn’t need to; she remembered every bitter word she’d written.

You don’t love me.”

Anger and frustration had poured out of her.

I mean nothing to you and it’s tearing me apart!

Desperation had threatened to swallow her alive.

I only want to be with you, please stop pushing me away.”

She shuttered as she remembered how the words had simply tumbled out of her but she hardly recognized the girl who had written the last line, “I HATE you! I wish I’d never met you!”

She swallowed the memory of the pen channeling her emotion, almost ripping the paper, as she scrawled her name to the bottom of the page.

Kimmy’s handled the flimsy paper, careful not to tear it along its worn seams. Her voice came out so soft David had to lean in to hear her, “I can’t believe you kept it.

David tipped her chin with his finger, “Sometimes I wish we could go back, so you never had to write it.”

“Me too.” she sighed, forcing a weak, watery smile. “But that was then and this is…”

“…Now.” He finished and kissed her, both of them completely unaware Marco was watching from across the parking lot.


It’s been a while, but it feels good to be writing again.

I saw the prompts from WRITE AT THE MERGE and decided to “kill my babies” with this piece.

I ripped the original apart and came up with something I like a lot better.

“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.”
~ L. P. Hartley: The Go-Between (1953)

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

also my good friend Marie is back and playing with prompts with
STUDIO 30 Plus

the prompt of “TIME” seems to fit so well here.



If you’re visiting and haven’t ever written for WRITE ON EDGE or STUDIO 30PLUS before I encourage you to join

both communities.

We’d love to read your words and hear your stories.

Liquid Courage {Write at the Merge/Trifecta}

Instead of sipping the mimosa, Calliope put the flute to her lips, tipped her head and let the champagne laced orange juice flood her mouth and then, eventually, when the glass was drained and the stinging in her throat had subsided, she righted herself and exchanged the empty for another as a waiter passed by.

She’d sip this one.

The ballroom pulsed with the energy of the conversations filling the room. Calliope smiled as she took it all in from the edge of the dance floor, found her hips swaying to the Christmas music and began to make her way across the sea of people to table 31, so thankful for the bustle of the crowd and the boozy haze she was now floating in.

“Nice tush!” she heard as her skinny stilettos made contact with the hardwood. Ignoring the voice, she didn’t notice him in her peripheral until he’d matched her stride.

Calliope stumbled, her right ankle twisting in protest and met his eyes.


“I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t be here.” She squeaked as if it were a perfectly acceptable way to greet someone.


Lifting her ankle to rub it she sputtered, “I just thought, I mean… why did you come? You hate Christmas.”

He nodded.  “I do.”

“Three years ago you weren’t too fond of me either.”

“It wasn’t you I wasn’t fond of, it was our circumstances.”

Calliope peered into her champagne glass, suddenly thirsty for something, as he came closer.

Hoping her voice wouldn’t crack above the din she asked, “Do you ever think of me?”


“Does it make you angry?  Letting yourself think of me?”


“Me too.”  She admitted, putting the glass to her lips again and taking a generous sip before posing her next question.

“Do you miss me?”

He frowned, “I’m not sure.”

She flushed and drained her drink, “Well then I think you should kiss me, you know, just to make sure.”



Write on Edge this week:

F Scott Fitzgerald quotes



On now to our one-word weekly prompt.  This week we wanted to do something to mark the Jewish holiday of Hanukkah, and we foolishly thought that would be easy.  There are so many amazing Yiddish words that found their way into the English language, and we thought it would be great to highlight one.  To find one with a third definition, however, was not so easy.  We thought all was lost until we stumbled upon this gem.


1. a long pointed tooth; especially : a horse’s canine2. an interjection used to express disdain or reproach3. buttocks (slang)

Happy Hanukkah to our Jewish friends.  Now let’s all write our tushes off.

Got the World on a String {Write on Edge/Trifecta}

My life is made up of moments;

small pinpoints of light where love and loss seeped in,

Eking their way past the rocky palisades of my best intentions,

until they transformed me.

I suppose I could have settled; waited for something (someone?) to pluck me like an ember from the fire,

while I silently smiled and blew on the fingers to stem the sting of the burn and called it (you?) savior.

But in every moment I chose, instead, to turn and unleash the lexicon that would unfold my soul, reveal my true nature, demonstrate my spunk.

And I was rewarded.

Tiny fingers wrapped around the finger that a silver band encircles.

My name whispered in a hallowed voice that drifts in and out of my dreams.

And within my life, my people; some blood,  so many others not; seep and eke and pour until I am full, teeming with gratitude.

My life is made up of moments.




In this season of Thanks, Giving and extreme Gratitude I had two prompts from two writing communities that I am humbled and honored to write for each week.

Write On Edge:

 my home, my light, my north star of writing 

THANK YOU for the opportunities and support you offer me.

and Trifecta

thank you inviting me in & allowing me back week after week.

asked us to give them 100 words on GRATITUDE (I might have gone over…oops 😉 )

Trifecta’s word of this Thanksgiving week is


3: to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly 


Wishing you all a grateful Thanksgiving, from my family to yours.

The Offering

decemberists lyrics, hazards of love, quote, writing prompt


The altar

Your fingertip traced my naked skin, a small pulse beneath the fleshy pad beating out a predetermined path from my cheekbone down to the indented curve of my hip until your hand rested on my ass.

Naturally, without a fight, a gentle nudge opened my body to yours.

I lifted my face to the kiss, your hands gently taking hold of my breasts.

“Goddess.” You breathed as I held my own, waiting.

Knife sharpened

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than this; the assurance that the hazards of love would never trouble us again.

After all, weren’t you here, inside me, on top of me, filling me with the sweet nectar of your lies?


The shackles clamped shut

Knowing your words appeased me like a fattened calf you tipped my leg and took me from behind, spilling your confessions mid- thrust.

“I won’t be able to call from Paris.”

An intentional avoidance of my pleading eyes as your blade pierced

Now, I was the obligation; the relative you remember at Christmas out of a sense of responsibility.

Maybe it was better that you couldn’t see the tears that threatened, that the sound of our bodies meeting in pleasure masked the barely audible rip and tear of my heart.

Better that you witnessed my legs shake and my body ripple with satisfaction as you placed a kiss in the hollow of my neck.

“I love you, beautiful.”

The cut was deep, crimson blood ran in a painful river down the pedestal you erected

I winced.

There is no stitch that will ever close that wound.

Even now, when I know not what waits on the other side, I lie still and spread on that slab.

Your sacrifice.


I am so sorry for combining so many prompts but I wanted to write for everyone and I’m in the middle of a busy week.

Write on Edge

prompt above with a lyric by the Decemberists.

Trifecta’s word of the week:


3 a :  to keep in mind for attention or consideration    b :  REWARD – 


Studio 30 Plus :


Master Class with SAM 


Because I’ve missed writing for her:

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