Tag Archives: story

I Am An Author


I am an author. Did I say that right? I am an author. Hard to believe. Every year I participate in Nanowrimo and write a story. I have written three novels that are all in various drafts. I did that. I am an author. It’s hard to believe that I wrote them. I look at my drafts and smile, reminding myself that it’s achievable.  I have to remind myself because there are times when I believe I suck and that I could not possibly be an author. When I sit to write a new story I am amazed that I can not get the first sentence out. When I sit to write a new story I am frustrated that writer’s block has pushed me in a corner. Then I look at the drafts of novels I have written and remind myself that I am an author. I get back on my keyboard and try again.

I think I can. I think I can…..write.

To get somewhere, you have to start somewhere. Never give up. Be an author.


Just My Luck


I got pulled over today. Lucky me. I asked the officer how he knew something was wrong with my insurance. He said that he was behind me and just decided to run my plates. Nice, real nice and lucky me again. I told my wife that since I’ve met her I have been pulled over twice. Of course it is not her fault. But it is her fault. I feel better.

I pulled the weeds from my rose bed. Well, they are actually miniature rose bushes. It was all spooky looking with the sun dried weeds that spread like webs, torn plastic bag pieces and a grocery receipt. It was windy today. Now the area looks all yuppie and decent. Still more work to do. Next time I will wear a hat. Found a caterpillar in my hair when I stopped to get gas.

I couldn’t pick up my kid today due to the insurance issue. So he had to stay at his grandparents for the night. He threw such a fit because he wanted to come home. So my wife met them half way and brought him home. He can’t live without us. And we can’t live without him. It’s sickening.

I read an article about free writing. I have a hard time moving the rock to write stories and that same rock gets in front of me with writing as well. Sometimes I have to push harder if I have no subject in mind. It is still a great thing to do. You have to push, push, and push. It keeps the juices flowing. One day I’ll get something out of a mess of nonsense and have a great story.

My day did not go the way I thought. But I have Guinness. Now everything is alright.

As always, I’m happy writing. Happy writing to you.


Critiques Needed: Flash Fiction. Thank you.

Got Away

I don’t know what we were thinking. That we could get away with it perhaps? Jenny sat in the passenger seat with eyes and mouth wide open. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Why did I get her involved? We came to a red light on Ferge and Cuda Rd. I looked both ways for traffic. No cars on the road. In front of us was the way out of town. I checked my review mirror for police lights and saw none.

My dad’s car, which I stole, rattled as if it was about to cut off. Jenny heard it and looked terrified. I pressed the gas pedal and the engine died. I turned the key again. Nothing. We were definitely stuck. Sirens rang in the distance behind us. I thought about when I was a child as I waited for the lightning then counted until the thunder boomed. Wish I could judge the distance of the police and calculate how much time we have to figure out what to do. With my shaky hand I attempted to rub Jenny’s hair, and she jumped. She unfolded her hands on her lap and there, the blood, our father’s blood. She had the knife. Fresh tears flowed.

Her scream blended with the sirens closing in behind. “Get out of the car!” I yelled. She leaped out and I noticed the blood on my dad’s door handle. My stomach turned. My first thought was that he was going to be mad at me. My second thought was that he could do nothing about it. “What are we going to do, Jon?” she asked. I stared at my sister. She was the one with blood on her hands. “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

As the police arrived I took off across the street. She ran after me, trusting me, not realizing that I had left her to take the blame for our father’s death. Gun fire exploded behind us. I thought of the lightening and picked up my pace. I slid to a stop past the border then turned around. That’s when I saw her, crumpled in the middle of the road like a small dead deer. Her blood now mixed with my father’s blood as it was in her bedroom. I hit him and busted his lip, his blood and hers on the sheets. I defended her and she followed me. I grabbed a handful of rocks as they approached her. They will not touch her. I ran toward her body, throwing the rocks.

A flash of light followed by smoke blinded me. My chest burned. Grabbing my chest, I thought of firecrackers and the 4th of July at my family’s barbeque. Everyone excited as dad set off the poppers. My legs buckled just as I reached Jenny. She looked at me as I fell on top of her. We both stared at each other as death gave us darkness and peace.