Fanatic {Write On Edge/Studio30Plus/ Trifecta)}

He ran, cutting through the fields behind the school, the weeds and long grass slicing his bare legs. He ran, with his heart pounding, blood pulsing and his lungs ready to explode in his chest, but he could still hear the jeers.

Looking up into the crowd to calm his nerves, his eyes had settled on a mop of blonde curls,  eyes of crystal blue and lips painted cherry red.

She’d winked at him, a delicious slow execution that caused his focus to shift for a millisecond. Not long enough to satisfy him, but just long enough to cause his fingers to fumble against the stitch marks. The ball left his hand effortlessly and sailed toward the basket, but that second of damage was done. It veered a centimeter off course and banked off the rim.

Before the swift swell of a collective boo from the fans or the noisy buzzer of the time clock could reach his ears, his humiliation pushed him from the court and out into the chill.

He stopped when he reached the clearing at the far end of the field. His breath coming in small painful gasps he put his hands on his knees to stop the pulse beating in his ears.

He never heard her approach.

“Hi.”  A voice purred.

Jumping back, he quickly looked left then right to see where the tease was coming from.

“I liked watching you.” The voice continued.

Squinting in the direction of it he shook as a pair of crystal blue eyes lit up the dark.

“Who are you?”

The eyes danced while her features slowing came into focus one by one.

He didn’t know if it was the temperature or the eyes that chilled him.

“Do I know you?”

The curls shook while her cherry mouth broke into a smile that made him dizzy.

Nails as red as if she had dipped them in blood reached for him.

Her touch tingled on his skin.

“Not yet.” She purred.




This week for the Write at the Merge:

This week – whether memoir or poem, fiction or creative non fiction – we invite you to write a story to send a tingle down our collective spines. In 400 words or less.

Write something that could be told around a popping, crackling fire. Or bubbling cauldron.



the word of the week:


 3 (verb) to show dislike or disapproval of someone or something by shouting “Boo” slowly



Studio 30Plus:

Words of the WEEK:

Red and Mask 



for your viewing pleasure

My very own Giants Player (Giovanni)


and King Peter of Narnia (Jacob)


Behind Blue Eyes {Write on Edge/Trifecta}

Daphne realized the enormity of the snub as she applied a third coat of mascara.

Robotic and familiar her fingertips rubbed blush into the apple of her cheeks and then rummaged through the cases and brushes before selecting a palette, sliding the bristles across the powdery hue before transferring it onto her eyelids in swift easy strokes.

Her hair was dry but hanging in her eyes and her lips were bare, waiting for a ruby stripe of color to perk them up.

When was the last time she’d looked at herself?



Under the fluorescent lights of her bathroom she calculated;  ticked off the moments when she’d glanced at an outfit, straightened a skirt or decided on a shoe in the glass without allowing her gaze to creep up to her own face. Suddenly nauseous and dizzy Daphne gripped the ceramic sink to steady herself.

It was an old joke that her hazel eyes became indigo when she was sad seemingly taking on the color of her disposition.

They were her tell-tale heart. Spilling all her secrets even when her glossy red mouth lifted in a smile; a weak, airy phantom of a happiness she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

She wondered how much longer she would pine for what could have been without sinking down into a bed of hopelessness? Or how many times she could refuse to have her picture taken for fear of what the film would expose? Days would  eventually melt into weeks until she’d  stand at another porcelain pedestal  and confess that she was existing in a half life, ignoring her existence  and waiting for the jolt that would startle her back into her own life.

Stand back folks, turn up the juice. 

Yearning for a peaceful end to it was what forced her eyes up and into deep pools of azure, as blue as the Caribbean.


Write on Edge’s Prompt this week is

Trifecta’s Prompt this week is


3 :  a representation of something abstract, ideal, or incorporeal – 


I am also excited to call myself a Published Author this week.
My story “Kismet’s Kiss” is part of


Precipice Volume 2, The Literary Anthology of Write on Edge. 

blog Precipice_print 3-D

Have you picked up your copy yet?

It is a fantastic collection of stories, poems and memoirs from some of the best voices on the internet.

I promise you’ll love it.


PUBLISHED: Precipice Volume 2 : The Literary Anthology of Write on Edge

blog Precipice_print 3-D


You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.” 

Cormac McCarthy, “No Country for Old Men” 


In the second volume of Precipice, twenty-four authors from the Write on Edge community explore the concept of luck in twenty-six works of poetry, short fiction, and memoir.


In 2010 I found an online writing community and friendships that would change my life when I wrote a piece for a Friday prompt with THE RED DRESS CLUB which would become WRITE ON EDGE. 

I fell in love with writing fiction and I met other authors that would motivate and inspire me.

Every writer dreams of the day that something they have crafted will be published and today that dream has come true for me:



Write on Edge has published a new Anthology of Poetry, Memoir and Fiction.

A small scene from my NaNo piece appears in it and I couldn’t be more giddy about it.

You can get your own copy and read my piece, Kismet’s Kiss along with incredible offerings from some of my favorite authors.


Precipice Volume 2 is available today:

Amazon Kindle and the Kindle App (click!) 

Amazon in Print /Paperback form (Click!) 

 All digital formats on Smashwords (click!)

In the next few weeks it will also be available on iTunes, Kobo and through Barnes&Noble. *Stay tuned*


Get your copy today!


Special thanks for the staff of Write on Edge for their tireless work and dedication to this project.
Cam, Angela, Mandy & Rox

This book is a beautiful testament to your love of words and writers.

I am so proud to be a small part of it.


What A Fool Believes {Write on Edge/Studio30Plus}

The warmth spread up my spine, hugging one vertebrae and then another, enveloping me in a cocoon of hopeful expectation.

Blue eyes met brown, fingertips brushed and our bodies began an intimate satellite of each other, senses sizzling, crackling with a force so powerful that it spun my head until I heard the slight, distinctive tinkle of connection like magnets when they find one another.


Days later, Verizon facilitating, I heard, rather than saw, the smile light your face.

Something was coming.

With the intuition of a brightly scarfed clairvoyant I saw the future.

The glass clouded, the earth moved and my hand shook in my effort to warn, plead, implore.

Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

Trusting invisible cables to carry my message of caution, I sat in a haze of quiet, still expectation, while my extremities tingled with impatience for the dam to break or hold.


But your intentions spilled without a hesitant pause, your feelings so clear they pierced my heart, bringing tears to my eyes.

Belief flooded my insides, buckling my knees.

I should have known, only a fool believes.

Three words you never meant.

Three words meant to injure, hurt and debase when you snatched them back.

Our leap impeded by your parachute for one, nothing to hold me but the air.



Write On Edge is getting ready for the Publication of the 2nd edition of Precipice on October 22nd.

(and on Tuesday, I’ll be a published author)

so Angela picked two glorious  words to prompt us:
Anticipation and Leap.




Studio 30Plus this week had two wonderful prompts this week too:
Weapon and Tinkle

Thanks so much for stopping by to read , hope you’re having a wonderful week!

What Can I Get Ya, Hon? {Write On Edge/Trifecta/Studio30Plus}

 Photo/quote courtesy of Write On Edge

Rumi quotations



“Who am I ?” she asks the mirror, flicking a soft brush of pink up the length of her cheekbone.

Ruby red gloss slides across her bottom lip as she hums along to the songs

I am 32 flavors and then some

She could be anyone.

All the world’s indeed a stage and we are merely players

Sweet enough to tickle a tongue

I’m your hell, I’m your dream

tart enough to purse a mouth.


With every click of her heels, she sidesteps the cracks along the sidewalk; her small clutch balancing her stride, the point of her stiletto avoiding the deep gouge of the potholes.

She wears her face in the latest styles:

A warm smile here,

Averted eyes there.

A carefully placed smirk or eye roll followed by

A deliberate eye lock.


An angel today.

A devil yesterday.

Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing

Repentance last week, retribution tomorrow.

Lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice

A neon sign beckons and for a moment there will be nothing a martini can’t fix.

The barmaid chews a swizzle straw, tucks it inside her cheek to quip:

“The special today is a Zombie.”

Sometimes there is freedom in never knowing who you really are inside.

Her voice fills the air, unsettles her when she hears it, as if she is never quite certain of the way she’ll sound.

I’m every woman, it’s all in me 

“Yes,” she nods, “Make it a double.”




writing prompt

This week for Write on Edge it was all about the many faces of us, seeing things in new way, a new light.

The beautiful picture and quote at the top of this piece is courtesy of them.

Who knew CRAZY TRAIN could sound like that?


Trifecta asked us to use the word ZOMBIE

as in the Drink.



Studio 30Plus had two words:
I took a little liberty with SPEAK, but I think you get the point.


Also, thanks for Ani, Rush, Meredith Brooks, Goyte, Stevie Nicks and Chaka Khan for the lyrics.

Just Say the Word (Write on Edge: Studio30Plus: Trifecta)

Previously with Shelby & Gunnar :


Shelby pushed into the apartment, deposited her backpack and made her way toward the intoxicating smell of sweet marinara and garlic bread. Leaning against the door jamb she took in Gunnar hovering over a pot brandishing a wooden spoon and humming along to a country music station.

“Hey cowboy.”

Startled he looked up but a smile spread across his face. “Hey.”

His tan was fading and this place seemed like a sweater in the right color but wrong size for him, it simply didn’t fit. In fact she  probably wouldn’t blame him if he grabbed his boots and moseyed home, this was her dream after all, but she kinda liked having him around.

“Whatcha cookin?” she asked wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Ah, my girlfriend the smart-ass.” He teased.  “How’s my favorite grad student today?”

Shelby sighed and plopped into a chair, “The test was hard.”

Gunnar turned the gas off under the sauce and turned toward her. “I’m sure you aced it.”

Shelby shrugged and picked at the garlic bread.

“Well let’s see if I can make your day a little better.” He said pulling a present from under the table.

“What’s that?” she grinned.

He ripped the paper revealing a picture of the night sky over her parent’s fence, countless stars lighting up the inky atmosphere. Shelby swore she could smell the grass and hear the chirping crickets.


“Oh Gun…”

“You know we’ve been here nine months today?  I figured the only thing we really missed about home was the view.”

Shelby chewed the inside of her cheek, “You hate it here.”

“I do…” he confessed kissing her nose, “but I love you.”

Shelby’s eyes welled with the enormity of his admission.

She stood and leaned into him.

Stay.”  She mouthed against his chest.

The picture above is one of the two lovely picture prompts that WRITE on EDGE is offering this week, along with a sweet spirited opportunity to “VOTE” for your favorite pieces. Come on by and WRITE WITH US!!!!! 


Prompt: WORD 




ASS. (enough said???)

3. (adverb/adjective) often vulgar—often used as a postpositive intensive especially with words of derogatory implication – See more at:

Proceed with Caution {Write on Edge/Studio30Plus/Trifecta}

Photo courtesy of Mandy Dawson


He was a peripheral accent to her world. That is to say, she knew him. She’d spoken to him about their respective children, had laughed at his banal jokes and shared enough eye rolls with him to recognize him in a crowd.

So her mom and best friends would have told her to just walk away. They would have implored her, the same way you plead with a driver to apply the brakes, to turn her head and ignore his mere presence if they’d witnessed the electricity their locked stares generated that night.

But left without those people to intervene or mediate she’d  met his smoldering gaze and felt her inhibitions melt like butter in a hot pan, spreading out and sizzling while reaching into every untouched corner.  His dark eyes asked and she’d answered with a  simple blushed bowing of her own head, a submission to whatever he had in mind.

From across the room she waited, anticipating the change in the character of the room, as he came toward her.

Breath quickened and lips moistened she knew better than to speak, she merely took hold of the hand he offered and followed one step behind until they stood, first in front of and then with a quick swipe of a plastic square, behind an anonymous door.

His hands at the sides of her face made it easy to yield to the instinct of lust. Like an animal that lacked both reason and caution, she allowed herself the simple joy of pleasure, sinking deep into the kisses he tendered.

A sweet memory or a mistake?

All she knew was that every time she thought of him she was reminded of how he’d  tasted like sweet autumn peaches.




Write at the Merge this week was Mandy asking us to

start from scratch, to start something new.

She gave us that prompt along with that picture of gorgeous peaches above.


Trifecta’s word of the week:

3  :  a human being considered chiefly as physical or nonrational; also :  this nature




Studio30Plus has two prompts

one of them I used here:

the other I will be using tomorrow.


Chase the Rainbow (Write at the Merge/Studio30Plus/Trifecta)


 LAST TIME with Gunnar and Shelby: 

(read this to get caught up. The following installment takes place immediately after this) 



Unsplash photos

Image courtesy of Unsplash, Creative Commons

The pick-up bounced along the red dirt road, kicking up a steady stream of dust in its wake. Shelby gave up on trying to cat-nap when her head rebounded off the worn leather seats for the third time.

“Gonna hit every single pothole, Gun?” she yawned.

“Jesus, Shelb, you know the roads to your farm are shit, always have been. My daddy’s sick of asking yours to think about paving some of this stretch.”

Shelby snorted, “Like thats ever gonna happen.” Reaching out to tousle his hair, she changed topics, “You need a haircut.”

Gunnar’s chuckled as his hand came up to meet hers tangling their fingers in his curls, ‘Yeah.”

His touch fluttered her heart and some other tender places south of it. Pulling her hand away she shifted and rolled down her window. Breathing in the early morning air she sensed a chill that hadn’t been there a week ago even as she realized that photosynthesis was having its way with the leaves on the giant oak in the front yard. The bursts of red and copper co-mingling within the lush green told her Fall was coming even while Summer lingered like a hazy humid house-guest.

Gunnar slowed as they approached the farm and she smiled when she saw the telltale sign of  her mother’s  plans to can today visible in the mason jars drying on the tips of the property fence.

Anxious to escape she fumbled with the door latch, “Thanks for the ride…”

“Anytime.” He answered winking at her.

“Well…bye?” She said, unsure of how she wanted this to end.

Gunnar turned to lock eyes with her, “So you’re really going? Off to chase the rainbow?”

Shelby felt the flutter again, but held her ground, “Dammit Gun, yes, I’m going. By now you sure as hell know why!”

Eyes twinkling he reached for her, “Yep,  I’ve memorized all your reasons. I was just wondering if you’d consider taking me with you this time?”



writing prompt

 This week , inspired by a quote from Angela for Write At The Merge:
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.

(Sylvia Plath)


The word of the week for Trifecta is


[from the impossibility of reaching the rainbow, at whose foot a pot of gold is said to be buried] 

:  an illusory goal or hope –



One of the Prompts for Studio30Plus is



Thanks for reading!!!




No Lifeguard on Duty {Write on Edge, Studio30Plus, Trifecta)



Feet and feelings shuffling, yearning for purchase, finding, instead, a shifting shoreline underneath me.

This is you and me, stuck in the muck of goopy wet sand, awkwardly sidestepping the jagged edges of beautiful seashells, while the salty ocean swirls around our ankles.

Standing side-by-side, our hands never touch until it is time to rescue one another from tilting, faltering and falling into the churning waters. Then we reach, in an act of innate survival, using the leverage of commonality to right each other.

Reality suspended.

Fingers fumble.

I know there is no grace in neediness or tear-streaked cheekbones, but I let my eyes fill anyway, ready to blame the sunbursts tickling the waves for their glistening.


Write on Edge

Write at the Merge offered us two songs about the



Trifecta asked us to use the word:

: a charming or attractive trait or characteristic

: a pleasing appearance or effect : charm <all the grace of youth — John Buchan>

: ease and suppleness of movement or bearing




offered two word prompts: 

I chose to use NEEDY.


Thanks for visiting!
Hope you’re having a good week!

No New Messages {Write At The Merge/Trifecta/Studio30Plus)

There was blood in the water. 

And beds were burning.

Even as Daphne came out of her shitty night’s sleep she could almost smell the strange aroma of iron and sulfur that had infused her dreams.

Something was coming and it wasn’t good.

So she stretched, kicked off the warm covers and hesitantly reached for her phone. Lights were blinking, notifying her of various things and people, but the colored icon that she desperately longed to see wasn’t making an appearance this morning.

He’d texted yesterday to tell her that there would be no more communication between them, as if leaving her had just been one of the many tasks he’d needed to address that day. She’d expected it, if for no other reason than earlier in the week he had been attentive, sweet, even surprisingly engaged which naturally meant that he would begin the gentle art of pulling away in shame or regret.

Hey, he wasn’t perfect but damn he was predictable.

Maybe the greatest lesson he’d taught her was that she could count on him to charge and then fall back, rely on him to confess that he “just couldn’t do this anymore” and then show up as if he were just as surprised at his own presence.

But yesterday the texts that had started with the usual accusations of her had melted into “My feelings have been… fleeting…for weeks.”  As if he’d searched his vocabulary for a word that could explain their relationship away.

The word had hurt.

Even as her fingers hovered over the virtual keyboard, silently imploring a word of her own to change his mind, she wondered if one even existed.

Suddenly she’d felt nauseous.

Suddenly her own pleas of love had sounded as weak as she felt.

“Please don’t do this” she’d finally typed before closing her eyes to dreams of razor-like teeth and bright orange flames ripping at and scorching her skin.

*no new messages* 

Oh yes, there was blood in the water.


writing prompt


This week at WRITE ON EDGE there were 2 prompts

both having a DOWN UNDER feel

Kangas and “BEDS ARE BURNING” by the Aussie Band, Midnight Oil


for Trifecta, the word of the week was the 3rd definition of WEAK

3: not factually grounded or logically presented  




For Studio30Plus, the prompts were the words FLEETING and SHARKS.


Whew! I think I about covered ALL OF THAT wouldn’t you say?
Thanks for stopping by…HAPPY WEEK/HAPPY WRITING


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