Happy Monday everybody. It’s time once again to celebrate ourselves. Tell us about something good that happened to you. Something that made you happy. Something that you did that made you feel good.
It doesn’t have to be big news or anything earth shattering. Small is good, too.
Today I want to celebrate my weekend. I may have spent most of my waking hours this weekend in a car crisscrossing four states a couple of times and done nothing at all productive, but for the first time in a long time all four of my kids were home at the same time. Yeah, their friends were all here as usual, but I found I was strangely nostalgic for that.
Mother’s Day was nice with dinner and cards and presents. And yes, I did get chocolate.
I hope you all had a great weekend and that all the moms out there had a wonderful day.
And yes, I'd like to celebrate and thank all my new followers. If you've recently started following and I haven't returned the honor, it's because your profile doesn't show up and I can't find you. Drop me a comment and I'll be happy to follow you, too.
Now what about you? What’s happy and/or good going on in your life? Share it with us and celebrate yourselves.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
TGIF! and a Blogfest
Today after school I'm headed back to Chicago for a quick weekend trip. But I'm leaving you with a little something. Andrew over at The WriteRunner is hosting a Bad Girl Blogfest. So here's my entry. I'll see you all on Monday, and I hope you have a great weekend.
She’s been here a week, stalking her prey, before she finally decides on the killing ground. She knows the when, the how, and now the where.
She also knows the why; she just doesn’t care.
Objective.
She’s trailed him four times now, marked his route. He’s always in early and out late; straight shot, no stops. And he always uses the stairs to enter and exit the skyway that connects the parking garage with the high-rise tower that houses his small, low-level government office.
Mission.
At this point of convergence, she times it perfectly.
She knows the lower levels are empty, and smiles up at the shriveled little man hurrying down as she climbs.
The landing is narrow where they meet, and she nods as he angles slightly to give her room to pass. She steps and pivots as her right hand pulls up her pistol and fires into the back of the little man’s head from a distance of less than six inches.
The suppressor is more than worth its cost. There isn’t a sound except the snick of the trigger as the man’s thin hair puffs out in a sudden splash of pale pink and crimson.
The body crumples and begins to fall. She follows it down, fires a second shot into the head as legs and arms splay on the ground.
Execution.
Stepping over and away from the body, she heads back down the stairs and out into the quiet of a dark, empty street.
In less than an hour the sun will rise and she will be gone.
She’s been here a week, stalking her prey, before she finally decides on the killing ground. She knows the when, the how, and now the where.
She also knows the why; she just doesn’t care.
Objective.
She’s trailed him four times now, marked his route. He’s always in early and out late; straight shot, no stops. And he always uses the stairs to enter and exit the skyway that connects the parking garage with the high-rise tower that houses his small, low-level government office.
Mission.
At this point of convergence, she times it perfectly.
She knows the lower levels are empty, and smiles up at the shriveled little man hurrying down as she climbs.
The landing is narrow where they meet, and she nods as he angles slightly to give her room to pass. She steps and pivots as her right hand pulls up her pistol and fires into the back of the little man’s head from a distance of less than six inches.
The suppressor is more than worth its cost. There isn’t a sound except the snick of the trigger as the man’s thin hair puffs out in a sudden splash of pale pink and crimson.
The body crumples and begins to fall. She follows it down, fires a second shot into the head as legs and arms splay on the ground.
Execution.
Stepping over and away from the body, she heads back down the stairs and out into the quiet of a dark, empty street.
In less than an hour the sun will rise and she will be gone.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
In the beginning
Among the myriad other issues and problems I’m currently wrestling with, I’m having serious problems with deciding where and when to start my WIP. I’ve got a number or possible starting points, but I cannot for the life of me make any of them work for me in the long run. Anyway, Pub Rants had a really great post about this here that you should check out.
How do you know you’ve got the right beginning? Do you use back story? Think it’s a good thing? How much description is too much? How do you know?
How do you know you’ve got the right beginning? Do you use back story? Think it’s a good thing? How much description is too much? How do you know?
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
One Hundred Posts and the Primal Scream Blogfest
On New Year’s Day I began this blog as part of a resolution. Today I am posting my one hundredth post. I’d like to thank all of you who have welcomed me and made this possible.
And what better way to celebrate the big one hundred than with a blogfest entry? This one is for Raquel Byrnes’ Primal Scream Blogfest.
They met no resistance as the swarm of black copters entered hostile air space. Following a tight vector, they moved fast and low over the breakers between a littered, white sand beach and the sunlit blue vista of ocean and sky.
Curled into his seat, long legs pulled up close against his chest, O’Neill felt the anxious anticipation that seemed to have become a part of him simmer just beneath his skin. Felt that edginess and tension spark between the others like an electrical current arcing within the confines of the ship.
The pilot’s voice sounded in his ear. “Two minutes.”
He pushed to his feet and watched the squad do their weapons check. Fifty pounds of gear and ammo. Grenades and grenade launchers. Shaped explosive charges. M-16s all around.
“Hang on.” The warning came harsh over the comms as the pilot wrestled with the controls and the helicopter bucked hard in the turbulence of a sky that was on fire.
O’Neill braced and watched Afram and Diallo go through their silent personal rituals of preparation and last minute mental checklists.
The ship slowed just as he finished his own brief final run through.
Hit the ground. Find the hatch. Blow the hatch. Cover their asses.
Pulling on his gloves, he flexed his fingers, triple checked his weapon, and rehearsed his choreographed moves.
Hit the ventilation ducts. Cover their asses.
“One minute.”
Find the elevator. Hit the down button. Cover their asses.
He stood and moved carefully with the rest of the team to stand next to the door as the ship moved down over the city and approached their target site.
Search the tiers. Cover their asses.
He braced again against the sudden change in pitch as the helicopter hovered over the brown storm of swirling dust kicked up by the rotating blades.
Find Zoë. Cover her ass.
Under his flack jacket, his heart pounded in his chest and over the sound of the rotor and engines, his pulse roared in his ears.
Out the way you came in.
“Fifty seconds.”
Don’t fuck this up.
Everything sharpened into vivid relief. Looking around, he saw Afram tap his helmet with two fingers. O’Neill reached up and lowered his faceplate as the copter hovered and silently began counting down.
Going to get Zoë. Gonna bring her home.
Then they were through the worst of it and pilot flared the ship, settled it gracefully, and screamed his final instructions over the comms as the hatch dropped open.
“Go. Go. Go.”
O’Neill followed Diallo out the door, in position, weapon ready. He barely registered the hazy heat shimmering like a wave, the trails of smoke that hung in the heavy air, or the plumes of ash rising in the burning orange distance as he scanned for targets and threats.
Afram took point, moving quickly toward the ventilation shaft. Reaching the hatch that led inside, he put a shaped charge in place before retreating a safe distance. When it blew, they followed the blast, diving inside.
Ninety seconds later, moving in formation, they had worked their way to a grille. Afram braced and kicked it out. Diallo tossed a high velocity shaped charge down the hole. The blast came almost immediately and then they were moving forward, dropping down through the hole and firing on guards as they landed in the main control center.
Weapons fire lit up the room as O’Neill rolled to cover under a console, counted, then came up to spray continuous fire in his target window.
“Elevator,” Diallo hissed over the comms when it was over.
Afram stood and pointed to the far wall. Stepping over bodies, the tall male commando led the way to the door and hit the call control as they flattened themselves against the wall and waited.
It was empty when the doors opened and the ride down wasn’t long.
Coming out, Afram was back on point and they were moving in formation down the tunnel, scanning for resistance in their target windows. Fifteen seconds later, an explosion and shots from a side tunnel indicated they had finally found it.
Gun fire jumped across the junction. As he hunkered down against the wall, a second explosion came from O’Neill’s left.
RPG?
He rolled across the junction, popped up to lay down suppression fire as Afram and Diallo took up position and began firing at their targets. Two explosions in quick succession had his ears ringing, but even so he could still hear the sound of someone screaming instructions.
He looked across at Afram, who nodded and snugged his rifle to his shoulder and began laying down cover fire that lit its way down the tunnel as O’Neill pulled a grenade.
Squeeze. Throw. Dive.
The shock of the wave sent him into the wall and O’Neill heard more missiles go off as he rolled again and took out one guard in his target window. Shots to his right alerted him to a missed target. He popped up from cover and squeezed off five shots. In his peripheral vision he saw Diallo off to his right, taking out another guard while scanning for other threats.
The next explosion, when it came, deafened them all.
And what better way to celebrate the big one hundred than with a blogfest entry? This one is for Raquel Byrnes’ Primal Scream Blogfest.
They met no resistance as the swarm of black copters entered hostile air space. Following a tight vector, they moved fast and low over the breakers between a littered, white sand beach and the sunlit blue vista of ocean and sky.
Curled into his seat, long legs pulled up close against his chest, O’Neill felt the anxious anticipation that seemed to have become a part of him simmer just beneath his skin. Felt that edginess and tension spark between the others like an electrical current arcing within the confines of the ship.
The pilot’s voice sounded in his ear. “Two minutes.”
He pushed to his feet and watched the squad do their weapons check. Fifty pounds of gear and ammo. Grenades and grenade launchers. Shaped explosive charges. M-16s all around.
“Hang on.” The warning came harsh over the comms as the pilot wrestled with the controls and the helicopter bucked hard in the turbulence of a sky that was on fire.
O’Neill braced and watched Afram and Diallo go through their silent personal rituals of preparation and last minute mental checklists.
The ship slowed just as he finished his own brief final run through.
Hit the ground. Find the hatch. Blow the hatch. Cover their asses.
Pulling on his gloves, he flexed his fingers, triple checked his weapon, and rehearsed his choreographed moves.
Hit the ventilation ducts. Cover their asses.
“One minute.”
Find the elevator. Hit the down button. Cover their asses.
He stood and moved carefully with the rest of the team to stand next to the door as the ship moved down over the city and approached their target site.
Search the tiers. Cover their asses.
He braced again against the sudden change in pitch as the helicopter hovered over the brown storm of swirling dust kicked up by the rotating blades.
Find Zoë. Cover her ass.
Under his flack jacket, his heart pounded in his chest and over the sound of the rotor and engines, his pulse roared in his ears.
Out the way you came in.
“Fifty seconds.”
Don’t fuck this up.
Everything sharpened into vivid relief. Looking around, he saw Afram tap his helmet with two fingers. O’Neill reached up and lowered his faceplate as the copter hovered and silently began counting down.
Going to get Zoë. Gonna bring her home.
Then they were through the worst of it and pilot flared the ship, settled it gracefully, and screamed his final instructions over the comms as the hatch dropped open.
“Go. Go. Go.”
O’Neill followed Diallo out the door, in position, weapon ready. He barely registered the hazy heat shimmering like a wave, the trails of smoke that hung in the heavy air, or the plumes of ash rising in the burning orange distance as he scanned for targets and threats.
Afram took point, moving quickly toward the ventilation shaft. Reaching the hatch that led inside, he put a shaped charge in place before retreating a safe distance. When it blew, they followed the blast, diving inside.
Ninety seconds later, moving in formation, they had worked their way to a grille. Afram braced and kicked it out. Diallo tossed a high velocity shaped charge down the hole. The blast came almost immediately and then they were moving forward, dropping down through the hole and firing on guards as they landed in the main control center.
Weapons fire lit up the room as O’Neill rolled to cover under a console, counted, then came up to spray continuous fire in his target window.
“Elevator,” Diallo hissed over the comms when it was over.
Afram stood and pointed to the far wall. Stepping over bodies, the tall male commando led the way to the door and hit the call control as they flattened themselves against the wall and waited.
It was empty when the doors opened and the ride down wasn’t long.
Coming out, Afram was back on point and they were moving in formation down the tunnel, scanning for resistance in their target windows. Fifteen seconds later, an explosion and shots from a side tunnel indicated they had finally found it.
Gun fire jumped across the junction. As he hunkered down against the wall, a second explosion came from O’Neill’s left.
RPG?
He rolled across the junction, popped up to lay down suppression fire as Afram and Diallo took up position and began firing at their targets. Two explosions in quick succession had his ears ringing, but even so he could still hear the sound of someone screaming instructions.
He looked across at Afram, who nodded and snugged his rifle to his shoulder and began laying down cover fire that lit its way down the tunnel as O’Neill pulled a grenade.
Squeeze. Throw. Dive.
The shock of the wave sent him into the wall and O’Neill heard more missiles go off as he rolled again and took out one guard in his target window. Shots to his right alerted him to a missed target. He popped up from cover and squeezed off five shots. In his peripheral vision he saw Diallo off to his right, taking out another guard while scanning for other threats.
The next explosion, when it came, deafened them all.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
How do you read?
Like most of you, I like to read. A lot. And I have very fond memories of doing just that as a child and growing up. Reading all kinds of things in all kinds of places from curled up in bed or on a couch to reading in diners and coffee shops.
I read all kinds of things now. Newspaper and professional articles, student work, lesson plans, blogs of all kinds, and tons and tons of online articles in the name of research for either my writer or teacher personas.
I’m currently reading historical fiction about Germany and Russia’s invasion of Poland that kick starts WWII. I like the book a lot, but it points up to me again how very little reading I do anymore for pleasure. And how much being a writer influences the way I read.
Criminal Minds has two really interesting posts here (don’t read the second half of the post about Goldman-Sachs if that’s not your thing) and here.
So tell me. What are you reading now? More or less than before? Does being a writer influence how/what you read? Your enjoyment of it?
I read all kinds of things now. Newspaper and professional articles, student work, lesson plans, blogs of all kinds, and tons and tons of online articles in the name of research for either my writer or teacher personas.
I’m currently reading historical fiction about Germany and Russia’s invasion of Poland that kick starts WWII. I like the book a lot, but it points up to me again how very little reading I do anymore for pleasure. And how much being a writer influences the way I read.
Criminal Minds has two really interesting posts here (don’t read the second half of the post about Goldman-Sachs if that’s not your thing) and here.
So tell me. What are you reading now? More or less than before? Does being a writer influence how/what you read? Your enjoyment of it?
Monday, May 3, 2010
Celebrate Monday and Giveaway Winners
Here we are again at Monday and it’s time to celebrate ourselves. Tell us something good that happened to you. Something that made you happy. Something that you did that made you feel good.
It doesn’t have to be big news or anything earth shattering. Small is good, too.
Today I want to celebrate the winners in my 150 followers contest. There were a ton of entries and my husband did the honors of picking the winners. So here they are.
The winner of the first prize of a $20 gift card is VR Barkowski. The two winners of the $15 gift cards are Justine Dell and Summer from …and this time, concentrate.
Congratulations to all three of you. Click on my email in the sidebar if you would please, and shoot me an email with your email address and your choice of gift card, and I’ll get that out to you as soon as I can.
So that takes care of that. What about you? What’s happy and/or good going on in your life? Share it with us and celebrate yourselves.
It doesn’t have to be big news or anything earth shattering. Small is good, too.
Today I want to celebrate the winners in my 150 followers contest. There were a ton of entries and my husband did the honors of picking the winners. So here they are.
The winner of the first prize of a $20 gift card is VR Barkowski. The two winners of the $15 gift cards are Justine Dell and Summer from …and this time, concentrate.
Congratulations to all three of you. Click on my email in the sidebar if you would please, and shoot me an email with your email address and your choice of gift card, and I’ll get that out to you as soon as I can.
So that takes care of that. What about you? What’s happy and/or good going on in your life? Share it with us and celebrate yourselves.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Last Lines Blogfest
These are the last lines of a roughly 7000 word short story where I played with switching POVs. It's my entry in Lilah's Last Lines Blogfest. Go here to check out the other entries and have a happy weekend.
You stretch and shift and reach for her in the dark. Your eyes snap open; the sheets are cool beneath your hand. Pushing up on an elbow, you listen hard in the silence.
You leverage yourself upright, swing your legs around. Your feet hit the floor and you push off the bed; long strides march you across the room to the crib.
It’s empty.
Glacial cold crawls out of your gut, climbs up and into in your chest; makes it hard to breathe.
Two silenced clicks split the stillness, and you’re moving before the muted sound of two quick thumps in succession, snagging the Berretta as you edge out of the room and into the hallway.
You almost trip over the first body and your hands come up, palms out as the pistol swings to target you.
“Where’s the baby?” Raw words tear at your throat, explode in the silence.
“Down the hall.” Her voice is low and harsh; a fierce whisper as she drops her weapon, reaches over to check for a pulse on the other body.
You stand in the dark and the silence and look at the woman you love.
And you hope.
“We have to go.”
She looks up at you through the tops of bright, brittle eyes set deep in the shadows of her perfect, pale face.
Biting down on her lip as she flows to her feet and stands, she doesn’t say a word as she pushes past you into the bedroom.
************************
You shrug the flight bag higher on your shoulder as you bounce on the balls of your feet, sharp eyes scanning the length of the dim hallway.
In less than an hour the first red-orange brush strokes of the sun will be rising over the foothills, waking the city, and you want to be gone.
The door snicks open beside you and she slips out, baby on her hip, shadowed figure behind her.
She steps to your side and the old woman’s eyes slide over you as gnarled fingers come up to cup her face.
“Be safe.”
She smiles and turns, shifts the baby more comfortably on her hip as she walks down the hall.
The door snicks closed behind you as you follow, catch up to her.
You slide your arm over her shoulders and she doesn’t pull away.
You stretch and shift and reach for her in the dark. Your eyes snap open; the sheets are cool beneath your hand. Pushing up on an elbow, you listen hard in the silence.
You leverage yourself upright, swing your legs around. Your feet hit the floor and you push off the bed; long strides march you across the room to the crib.
It’s empty.
Glacial cold crawls out of your gut, climbs up and into in your chest; makes it hard to breathe.
Two silenced clicks split the stillness, and you’re moving before the muted sound of two quick thumps in succession, snagging the Berretta as you edge out of the room and into the hallway.
You almost trip over the first body and your hands come up, palms out as the pistol swings to target you.
“Where’s the baby?” Raw words tear at your throat, explode in the silence.
“Down the hall.” Her voice is low and harsh; a fierce whisper as she drops her weapon, reaches over to check for a pulse on the other body.
You stand in the dark and the silence and look at the woman you love.
And you hope.
“We have to go.”
She looks up at you through the tops of bright, brittle eyes set deep in the shadows of her perfect, pale face.
Biting down on her lip as she flows to her feet and stands, she doesn’t say a word as she pushes past you into the bedroom.
************************
You shrug the flight bag higher on your shoulder as you bounce on the balls of your feet, sharp eyes scanning the length of the dim hallway.
In less than an hour the first red-orange brush strokes of the sun will be rising over the foothills, waking the city, and you want to be gone.
The door snicks open beside you and she slips out, baby on her hip, shadowed figure behind her.
She steps to your side and the old woman’s eyes slide over you as gnarled fingers come up to cup her face.
“Be safe.”
She smiles and turns, shifts the baby more comfortably on her hip as she walks down the hall.
The door snicks closed behind you as you follow, catch up to her.
You slide your arm over her shoulders and she doesn’t pull away.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)