The Christmas Gift

Margaret stood outside her sister’s door, taking a moment to admire the festive wreath on the door. Lizzie’s work, no doubt. Grace wouldn’t have thought of it herself, having spent years of George not liking a fuss at Christmas. But George had been gone for five years now, and it was nice to see a glimpse of the old Grace again. It made what she was about to do a little easier.

Gathering up her courage, she rapped briskly on the door. It only took a moment before it opened.

“Hello, Lizzie.” Lizzie was her twenty year old niece. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but I need to speak with your mother.”

“Mom and I were doing some Christmas decorating but we’ve stopped for a hot chocolate break. Come in and join us.”

Lizzie held the door open a little wider and Margaret stepped through, then followed the younger woman to the kitchen.

“Margaret,” Grace said, turning from the stove. “What a pleasant surprise.” She peered a little more closely at her sister. “You’re looking a little peeked. Is everything thing all right?”

“I—” Margaret stopped, then started again. “No, not really. I’ve something that’s been weighing on me for a number of years, and I need to get it off my chest.”

“I think I’ll run down to the store to get the butter for the shortbread,” Lizzie said, slipping out the door.

“Why don’t you sit down, Margaret.”

“I think I’d be better standing.” Margaret laid the manilla envelope she’d been carrying, on the table between them. “These belong to you. I’ve kept them all these years, and I’d no right to. I … I thought I was doing the right thing, that you’d be better off with George. By the time I realized it wasn’t my decision to make, it was too late.”

“Margaret, whatever are you talking about? What’s in the envelope?” Concerned, Grace reached out to her sister, but Margaret pulled back.

Tears in her eyes, Margaret said, “They’re letters from Liam. The first one came just before you married George. I—I—I’m sorry.”

Unable to face the shocked look on her sister’s face, Margaret turned and fled.


Grace sank slowly onto one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table, staring at the envelope as though it were a snake about to bite her. There wasn’t a day gone by in the last twenty years that she hadn’t thought about Liam McKenzie. She was still lost in thought when Lizzie returned with the butter.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Grace said. How many times had she wondered how things would have been different if she and Liam hadn’t quarrelled? How many times had she wished she’d swallowed her pride and gone to him? Too many to count.

Lizzie sat down opposite her. “What’s this?” She indicated the envelope.

“It’s … mail from a friend. It’s been coming to Margaret’s house and she saved it for me.”

“To Margaret’s house, why would it go there?”

Grace smiled faintly. “Because it used to be my house too. But that was a long time ago.”

“Well, aren’t you going to at least open it?”

“I don’t know if I should or not. I’m a little afraid of stirring up the past.” With a shake of her head, Grace pushed back from the table. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. What do you say to ordering Chinese take-out for dinner?” She looked at her daughter earnestly, silently begging her to let the matter drop.

“Chinese would be great,” Lizzie said, letting the matter drop. At least for now.


The unsealed envelope was on the little roll top desk in the front parlour when Lizzie came downstairs in the morning. Unable to get the look on her mother’s face as she stared at it out of her mind, she tipped the contents onto the desk. There were more than a dozen smaller sealed envelopes.

Frowning, she put them in order by date. There were fifteen of them, one a year for fifteen years starting twenty years ago. The postmarks for the first five years were the same, but after that it was a different country each time, like the person started travelling. The sender’s name was Liam McKenzie. The wheels started turning in Lizzie’s brain.

She’d been looking for the perfect Christmas present for her mother, what could be more perfect than a man who’d cared enough to try and stay in touch. She put all but the last letter back in the envelope and left it as she found it on the desk. Then, calling up to her mother that she was running an errand, she headed for the library.

Lizzie had always enjoyed research, and by the end of the day she knew all kinds of things about Liam McKenzie. He had a degree in Engineering, which accounted for the first five letters being all sent from the same place, and then he’d joined the army. Five years ago he’d been wounded and ended up with a medical discharge. And one year ago, he’d moved back to this city.

It was meant to be. Now she just needed to find a way to bring them together. Of course that was assuming he was still interested.

“Well,” she said, standing up, “There’s only one way to find out.”


It was Christmas Eve and Lizzie and her mother were enjoying a quiet evening at home.

“Mom, I have a confession to make,” Lizzie said.

“Nothing too serious I hope,” Grace said with a smile.

Lizzie took a deep breath, but before she could speak there was a knock on the door.

“Whoever could that be?”

“It’s your Christmas present,” Lizzie said. “I hope you like it. Stay right here, I’ll get it.”

When she returned leading Liam McKenzie, she didn’t need to say anything. Her mother rose to her feet, one hand pressed to her heart and the look on her face was anything but displeased.

“Liam!”

“Gracie, you haven’t aged a day.”

Lizzie grinned. Her mother seemed to like her Christmas gift just fine.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

Okay, it’s not really. We had a little bit of snow on the weekend, but it warmed up again so it’s pretty much gone. *sigh*

But here are some more of my favorite Christmas videos to help with the Christmas Spirit.

A Tale of Two Carts

Organizing is what you do before you do something so that when you do it, it is not all mixed up.
— A. A. Milne

Getting organized is a sign of self-respect.
— Gabrielle Bernstein

Organization isn’t about perfection; it’s about efficiency, reducing stress and clutter, saving time and money and improving your overall quality of life.
— Christina Scalise

Did I say I was feeling more writerly? Well I lied. At least for the past week I lied.

Last week I did a lot of shopping, I got my presents all wrapped, I got the tree up and decorated, did crafts with the grandbaby, and did pretty much everything except write, bog posts not withstanding.

Tis the season to be busy, fa la la la la, la la la la

My office has become the storage place for all things Christmas. It’s a little hard to get it organized when you’re buried in a sea of gift bags and tissue paper. I sit at my desk maybe once a day to check Facebook, maybe do a bit of surfing, and dream of the holidays being over so I can get serious about organizing the piles of books and papers all over the place.

One of the worst paper collectors is the stand beside my small filing cabinet. This stand is an old telephone stand I picked up at a thrift store. It has a basket on the top to hold my blank printer paper, and an overflowing basket on the bottom shelf that holds my papers to be shredded. I have my shredder sitting beside it, the idea being that I’d shred papers as I discard them. Which would be a great plan if I ever adhered to it.

Anyway, one of the ads that popped up during one of the games I’m fond of playing, was for this neat metal cart from Staples. It was about the same size as my telephone stand, but it had three shelves that had three inch sides to them. You know, like this one:

It came a LOT earlier than my confirmation email said it would, but I didn’t have time to put it together. Turns out, this was a good thing because a few days later I saw an ad for an even better cart. This one had baskets and a file drawer.

After hemming and hawing and measuring the available space, I went ahead and ordered it. It should be here tomorrow, but it’ll still have to wait until after Christmas before I have time to put it together.

The fact that this new cart is like, three times the cost of the other one it kind of a moot point for me. This one has a file drawer. And the baskets pull out like drawers. And because it’s made out of mesh, I can see what’s in what drawer.

Of course the down side to that is I can’t hide my chocolate in it, but hey, you can’t have everything. ;-)

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wordage Report

This is going to sound weird, but I kind of miss writing all those flash stories for NaNo. In fact, Friday night I was missing it so much I started thinking ahead to next Christmas, and how I wanted to do a Christmas story advent calendar – a scene or page or something a day leading up to Christmas. So with this in mind, I started downloading Christmas story prompts. Nine pages of prompts.

Now I had in mind a longer story that I could serialize in the calendar, maybe a novella or novelette. But many of the prompts were geared to be really short, like flash or micro flash, and then I got the idea of doing a themed anthology of Christmas stories for next year’s book flood anthology.

What the heck has gotten into me, thinking so far ahead, getting all organized . . . I hope it sticks with me.

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 992+518+1256=2,766
Total = 2,766 words

I managed to get all the blog posts up on time, which is a minor miracle in itself because last week was a busy week.

EDITING:
Oh, seriously. Did you miss the part where I said it was a busy week? I did have to edit Friday’s story, but that’s as far as it goes.

WHAT I’M READING:
One of the days last week was so grey and dismal and warm, that I plunked myself in my recliner and finished reading Treasured Find, by Nancy Corrigan, on my Kindle. Although I had a slight problem with the hero’s domineering personality, it was just part of the kind of shifter he was, and didn’t detract from the story itself. This is going to go on the list of books I want to get the rest of the series in when I get a new Kindle.

GOALS
The blog posts were done, and up on time, so I guess that means I did better. My over all total word count for blog posts was up, anyway.

Elemental Spirit is still in mothballs, and realistically it’s going to stay there until after Christmas at least.

Doing a freefall exercise to start my day seems like a good idea in theory, but the truth of the matter is by the time I remember I was going to do that my morning is pretty much gone. Maybe it’ll go better once I get the office organized again.

THIS WEEK’S GOALS
1. Start planning ahead for next year.
2. Get my office organized.
3. Make time to write.

Write on.

Photos

The plan going forward was to do a five to ten minute freewriting session to start each day, and then use the best of them here, for my Fiction Fridays. Obviously that didn’t happen. So instead you’re getting NaNo story #29.

Prompt: You get back to your studio to develop pictures from the hour you just spent in the park. All of the pictures turn out well, except for a select few. In six photographs, there is a man in the frame. Something seems slightly off, and rather strange about each picture. Who is he and what is weird about the photographs?

I stared down at the proofs I’d just developed and frowned. There was nothing wrong with them, but they weren’t what I wanted. While working as a freelance photographer could be rewarding, it could also be very frustrating.

I cut the power to my light board and sat back with a sigh. Of the twenty-four pictures, probably twenty of them could be used as stock photos. And let’s face it, stock photos were my bread and butter. Taking pictures of the ordinary, the mundane, was big business.

Too bad I couldn’t be content with that. I wanted something spectacular, something different, something that set me apart from the crowd. That’s why I was using a film camera when everyone else was making the switch to digital.

The others can have their photo shop and digital manipulations, I’d stick to my dark room and chemical washes, my light board and enlarger. I enjoyed the hands on process of developing the film, transferring the photos to the paper in the chemical bath, hanging them on a line to dry. It was fulfilling in a way digital couldn’t hope to be.

With digital you can take as many pictures as you want, without having to worry about wasting film. Or worse, running out of it. The processing is all done electronically. No worries about making sure the developer did its job correctly, no fear of the chemicals becoming tainted and ruining a roll of film. Digital pictures can be manipulated and tweeked online. There was no art to it. No soul.

I made myself a sandwich, one of the perks of working at home, and sat on the couch to think while I ate. When I was a kid, I was fascinated by the pictures in the National Geographic magazine my father subscribed to. I loved the pictures. The city streets that showed the light and movement, a slice of life in the fast lane. The sweeping panoramic swath of a desert, the sand shifting in the wind that swept across the top of the dunes.

Then there was the shot of a redwood, taken from the ground and looking up into the canopy, the sun dappling through the leaves. The tropical rainforests with its denizens lurking within. The full page of a snarling tiger with its fierce eyes and aggressive attitude. The shots of the stars filling a night sky, the moon so bright.

But my favorite pictures were those of the people. The child on the tundra, sleeping with its head resting against a caribou. The face of the coal miner, streaked black with coal dust. The old woman on the Isle of Skye, hanging out her laundry in a brisk wind. The smiling, coffee skinned girl, shyly offering a handful of hand made jewelry. The sheik looking out of place in a high rise office.

My childhood dream had been to become a great photographer and go to work for National Geographic. My first camera was a simple point and click I received for Christmas one year. Every penny of my allowance went to film and film processing. When I started high school I was given my first standard reflex lens camera, a Nikon that became my prized possession. I joined the camera club and learned how to develop film. I got a part time job in a department store photo department.

I took chemistry in high school to better understand the developing process of my films. And then I won a scholarship so I could pursue my dream to become a professional photography. I learned about F-stops and spectrums and shutter speeds. I learned theory and composition. I learned about what settings to use for which situations. But the one thing I didn’t learn, was my niche.

This was getting me no where. I got up and brushed the crumbs away. Maybe I’d try my luck at that park near the cemetery. The park was small, but picturesque, and it attracted a variety of people. I’d take a handful of release forms, just in case.

I started with some general shots – the fountain, the dark space in the trees where the path along the river started, the playground, currently empty. I found a cluster of daffodils and took close-ups of them from many different angles. Flowers were always a big seller.

I spent over an hour at the park. I felt like I got a few good shots, but not the shot I was looking for. I was discouraged enough that I waited until the following day before developing the film. I put the negatives up on my light board and used the magnifying glass to look at each shot in turn.

As stock photos went, most of them were perfect. The daffodils in particular stood out for me. I’d have no problem at all selling them. I looked at the ones of the fountain and frowned. Most of them were fine, but two of them had some kind of white smudge on them. I didn’t think it was a glare from the sun, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I found the same kind of smudge on a couple of shots of the entrance to the path, and on the playground. Very strange.

I wasn’t able to make out much detail with just the magnifying glass, so I took the film to my dark room for printing. For now, I only printed the six pictures with the smudge on them. I wanted a chance to examine them more closely.

While I waited for the prints to dry, I tried to think of what that smudge might be. A wisp of smoke? But then why didn’t it show up in the rest of the pictures, and how was it the same in all six pictures with their different locations? That reasoning ruled out a glare of sunlight as well. Sunlight would have looked different in the different places. And I doubted very much it was a fault in the lens. The rest of the pictures were clear.

The timer went off and I picked up the prints and took them out to where the light was better. The smudges were more distinct, vaguely man shaped. I stared at them in astonishment. They looked . . . for all the world they looked like ghosts.

I sat back and thought about this. I didn’t understand it, but it was what I called a happy accident. Maybe it was the proximity to the cemetery that caused this phenomenon. What if I’d actually taken pictures of real ghosts?

Next time, I’d go to the cemetery itself. Maybe I’ve found my niche at last.

Counting Down

The closer to Christmas we get, the more our temperatures seem to go up. *sigh*

I don’t know about you, but I need some serious Christmas music to get me into the spirt of the season.

Singlemindedness

To succeed in your mission, you must have single-minded devotion to your goal.
— P. J. Abdul Kalam

You want something? Go get it with single-minded devotion.
— Reggie Lee

Success in any endeavor requires single-minded attention to detail and total concentration.
— Willie Sutton

Yes, singlemindedness is a real word, I know because Word didn’t underline it. LOL

It’s been a week, I tell you what. The weather was really crappy, which means my energy was low and my to-do list was high.

This year’s book flood anthology was a lot more work than I expected. I thought I’d do something a little different this year and use the freewriting I did a couple of years ago when a friend and I would get together once a week to write. So I dug the stories out, cleaned them up a bit, and thought I was done. And I would have been, except for the fact that I’d already used half of them in last year’s anthology.

*sigh*

I have a folder for my short fiction, and in it I have sub-folders for things like flash stories, sudden stories, micro stories, prompts, etc. and that’s about as far as the organization of them goes. So . . . I created a couple more sub folders, these ones for my book flood anthologies, and I moved all the stories I’ve used for them into the appropriate folder.

I don’t know why I didn’t do this before, it just kind of slipped my organizational mind. I think part of it was that I figured I might work on these stories some day and try to sell them or something, and I didn’t want them hidden away. But honestly, I can find them just as easily in the book flood folders.

Anyway, this meant I needed to find other prompt stories to flesh out my anthology. Which after much deliberation, I did. And it occurred to me, pretty much all my flash or less stories have been written from prompts. The longer stories come to me in the weird and wonderful way that novel ideas do, but the really short stuff I usually get from prompts.

Once I had my stories picked out I didn’t want to just throw them together willy nilly, so I made an attempt at grouping them together. Then I decided to get all fancy and adding title pages for each section. Kind of makes the anthology a little more cohesive.

And, of course, I had to format the whole thing. The font size had to be just right because when you print as a booklet, the pages shrink down. The space between lines took a bit of trial and error too. Single space (like this is) was too close together, but space and a half seemed too far apart. Eventually I found the “line spacing options” in Word, which gave me a just right option.

Because I numbered the pages, I ended up with three documents to print for each book – the section title pages, the index page and introduction, and the book itself. I didn’t want numbers on the other pages so it was easier to just print them out separately than to try and figure out how to suppress page numbers. The section pages were done in columns and could be printed normally, but the index and introduction were printed in booklet form, which is why it wasn't all printed as one document. I still haven’t figured out how to reduce the space at the top and bottom of the page, but it’s not enough to worry me too much.

Then I discovered, when doing a test print run, that the print menu attached to Word 2019 is very different from the one attached to Word 2007. Namely, it does not allow me to print in booklet form. Oh, I’m sure you can format your document for booklet in Word 2019, but it’s a lot easier to do it from the print menu.

It took longer than I had hoped for, but the anthology is done. And I’m pretty pleased with the way it turned out.

Next year’s mission it to start on it earlier.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wordage Report

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 984+495+1,134=2,613
Total = 2,613 words

Hey, at least I got the blog posts done. I think I’m kinda done with the spice thing, so it’s just as well I remembered it’s December and I usually run Christmas videos during the holidays.

EDITING:
Other than some light editing on the stories included in the book flood anthology, I didn’t do any editing. This is a really busy time of year so what extra time I had was spent on the anthology.

WHAT I’M READING:
No reading, Christmas shopping and book flood anthology sucked up all my time.

GOALS
Well, I don’t know that I did better on my blog posts. I got them done, but not all of them up on time. I’ve given up on the spice thing in favor of Christmas videos. I may, or may not finish the spices in the new year. Or I might just move on to a series on herbs.

Elemental Spirit is still in the mothballs, but I’ll finish binding the anthologies today, so I’m sure to have time next week to get started on the editing.

Finally, a goal that’s been met! I got the book flood anthology done.

THIS WEEK’S GOALS
1. Do better on the blog posts.
2. Start the edits on An Elemental Spirit.
3. Start doing a freefall exercise every day.

Write on.

Vampire

This was actually Story #2 from my NaNo adventure and in the process of editing I cut about a thousand words from it. I may redo this story at a later time and add back in some more relevant details, but the words I cut were pretty superfluous.

Prompt: Go over to your bookshelf, close your eyes, and pick up the first book you touch. Open the book to a random page, read the first full sentence on that page, and use it as the inspiration for a story or scene. Please include the original line at the beginning or end of your response. The book I touched was an anthology by Somerset Maugham, and the sentence comes from the story, The Death of Ivan Ilych.

While she was kissing him he hated her from the bottom of his soul and with difficulty refrained from pushing her away. But he had a job to do, and pretending he cared for her was part of it. He poured himself into the kiss when what he really wanted to do was sanitize his whole body, from the inside out.

“There now, darling. That should hold me until I get back.” She ran a hand suggestively down his body and he hoped she took his shiver for excitement, not revulsion.

With a swirl of her cloying perfume, she was gone, leaving him alone in the opulent sitting room. Sighing with relief, he went over to stare into the fire that he’d laid in the fireplace not two hours earlier. It was still burning well, but he stabbed at it with the poker anyway, imagining he was stabbing her.

Knowing he was being watched, he sighed again and strove to look sad that she’d left him alone. Going over to the drink cart, he poured himself a shot of twenty-year-old Scotch whiskey – one of the few perks of the job. Tossing it back, he enjoyed the burn on its way down and then poured another.

Taking his time with the second drink, he wandered over to the French doors and looked out at the estate gardens. A flash of something in the tree line caught his eye. He frowned as the flash repeated. Sipping his drink, he opened the French doors and stepped nonchalantly through.

He worked his way casually in the general direction of the flash. A bend in the path and he was out of sight of the house, but not of the watchers. He knew there were cameras in the woods too. Whoever was out here was playing a dangerous game, for both of them.

“Has she tasted you yet?” a voice whispered from the underbrush.

He paused, as though taking a rest, and answered quietly, with the minimal amount of movement of his lips. “Yes, just a taste though. She seems distracted.”

“No, she’s just taking her time. Pretend to tie your shoe,” the voice ordered. “Set your drink down beside this tree so you can use both hands.”

He did as he was instructed, taking his time as he fumbled with his shoe. It didn’t surprise him in the least when the liquid in his drink jostled, then stilled again.

“The serum’s perfected?” he asked under his breath.

“Yes. Bon appetite.”

He rose, bringing his drink with him, and casually circled back towards the house. Pausing in the rose garden, he tossed back the rest of his drink, managing to keep his face expressionless despite the bitter taste the serum imparted. A hint of a smile hovered over his lips as he felt it coursing through his system. It was only a matter of time now.

He could feel it changing his blood to something deadly, and it made him happy. His family had been killed by the queen’s vampires, although she had no idea. Not that she would have cared even if she did, other than the fact she wouldn’t have trusted him enough to get close to her.

He thought about indulging in another scotch while he waiting for her to return, to bolster his courage for what lay ahead, but he wanted to face her with a clear head. He knew she was getting tired of him, and exactly how their special night was to end tonight. He knew he should be scared, but what he was he was feeling was a profound sense of relief.

There was a noise in the hall and he braced himself. She was back.

“Hello, darling,” the queen said, sweeping into the room. “Did you miss me?”

“Always,” he said, smiling at her.

“Would you like something to eat? I know you humans gain your energy from food.”

“All I need is you,” he said, rising to his feet and going to her. “I burn for you.”

“Well,” she said, pleased. “Then you shall have me.”

Without further ado she led the way out of the room and up the stairs to her opulent bed chamber. “I’ll just call the maid, shall I?”

“Let me be your maid,” he said earnestly. “This is a special night, after all.”

“You almost make me want to keep you,” she said, smiling indulgently. “Shall I make you one of us?”

“As milady wishes,” he said, undoing the buttons on the back of her gown slowly, to prolong things. She preferred to wear old-fashioned dresses with many buttons and flounces. As he worked his way through the many layers, he murmured endearments and compliments, touching and stroking as he went.

“Yes,” she said on a gasp. “Perhaps I shall make you one of us.”

“Whatever pleases milady.”

“What pleases me right now is to take you,” she said. She pushed him down onto the bed, ripping away his clothing, and then mounted him.

“Yes!” she hissed, fangs showing. She rode him fast and furiously.

“Take me, take me now!” he demanded, just as he was about to climax. He turned his head to bare his throat to her.

She hissed, jaws open wide to show her fangs, then sank her teeth into his neck. He felt the sharp pain of her bite, then a pulling sensation as she began to drain his blood. When he felt her start and begin to falter, he held her head in place, as if he could force her to keep drinking his tainted blood.

“What have you done to me,” she demanded, pulling back.

“You don’t look so good, darling,” he mocked. She was no longer young, and her beauty was fading.

“What have you done to me?” she repeated. She pulled completely away from him, trying to rise from the bed but having trouble doing so.

“Only what you deserve,” he said, sitting up, oblivious to the blood trickling down his throat.

She fell off the bed, writhing on the floor as his tainted blood coursed through her. “I am the queen!” she said, voice cracking. “I am supposed to live forever.”

“Nothing lives forever,” he said dispassionately, looking down on her as she began to age rapidly. “Not vampires, and not humans.”

As she turned to dust he lay back with a sigh and closed his eyes.

Happy Wednesday

As you may have noticed, I didn’t manage a spice post last week. What can I say? Time got away from me. December is a busy month for me, and I don’t necessarily mean writing wise. I have a lot on my plate right now so I’m going to suspend the spice posts until after the new year.

But never fear! I have something else in mind to keep you entertained on Wednesdays. Traditionally, this is the time of year I post Christmas music videos. So here you go with the first batch. Hope you enjoy.

You have to be a certain age to remember this one from 1984, Band Aid’s Do They Know It’s Christmas.




Mariah Carey does it with style, with All I Want For Christmas.




Nothing beats the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby. And you can sing along, too.




Best version of Feliz Navidad I’ve seen yet!

Moving Forward

The only thing a person can ever really do is keep moving forward. Take that big leap forward without hesitation, without once looking back. Simply forget the past and forge toward the future.
— Alyson Noel

Take time to deliberate; but when the time for action arrives, stop thinking and go in.
— Napoleon Bonaparte

March on. Do not tarry. To go forward is to move toward perfection. March on, and fear not the thorns, or the sharp stones on life's path.
— Kahlil Gibran

NaNoWriMo ended just in the nick of time. Saturday (last week) my NaNo Mojo started wearing off, so the last few stories were a real struggle. But I did it, 30 stories in 30 days. A grand total of 65,846 words for the month. Whew!

The shortest story I wrote was 1,402 words, and the longest was 2,828 words. All but the last were written from prompts from Writer’s Digest. My two favorite stories are the first one and the last one. The first one changed its direction when I was about halfway through it, so I’ll be doing some changes to the beginning so it makes better sense.

The last one, however…I knew how I wanted it to go, but I was running out of time and a couple of the key points of the story eluded me. So I came up with an alternate ending, which is okay but not what the story is going to ultimately be once I figure out the motive for murder. Or maybe I’ll leave the ending it has now, which is kind of a happy ending but not the love story I intended.

Would I do a story a day for another NaNo? You bet I would! BUT I would plan ahead. I still like my themed anthology idea, but I would want a solid idea for each of the 30 stories beforehand. And I had another idea for a themed anthology, which would also require pre-planning.

There were a few times when I struggled with one prompt, finally give up and pick a different one, only to go back to the first one on a different day. And I have about three stories that never got past 200 words that have been consigned to my idea file. Sometimes they just required too much thinking about.

It felt a little strange on Wednesday to not be thinking of the next story. I was going to take the day off but I started feeling antsy and started going over some options for this year’s book flood anthology. Then I started writing a poem for Friday’s post. Thursday, I finished the poem, which I think is the best Sestina I’ve ever written. Friday, I read my reward book (the book I picked up in October to reward myself after NaNo). The Saturday I started putting together my book flood anthology.

Now you may be wondering what’s wrong with all that. Well, I’ll tell you because it’s part of the magic of this year’s NaNo. Normally after a NaNo that’s pretty much it for the rest of the year. I usually even scale back on the blog posts, never mind any other writing or editing. This year I just seem to want to keep up the momentum. It’s downright weird!

AND as soon as the book flood anthology is done, I want to dive right in on the rewrites of An Elemental Spirit. And yeah, it does need to be rewritten, not just edited. The plan is to print off what I have, then delete the thing and start from scratch using the print out as a guide. Yes, it’s that bad.

Finally, I’m back to feeling like a writer again. :-D

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wordage Report

NEW WORDS:
Flash anthology – 5,952
Blog Posts – 1060+737+833=2,630
Total = 8,582 words

Well, I did warn you to expect a drop in words going forward. Almost 6,000 words for the flash anthology is pretty good, considering I only had three stories to go. But my over all total would have been better if I’d done my spice post last week.

EDITING:
Started editing some pieces for the book flood anthology.

WHAT I’M READING:
I finished reading Local Hero and All I Want For Christmas by Nora Roberts rather quickly as it was a yucky week weather-wise, and I felt more like reading than writing. But I waited until after NaNo to read my reward book, Mile High With A Vampire, by Lynsay Sands.

I finished Fated Mates, by Alicia Montgomery and guessed right as to why the heroine was eating so much. LOL Now I’m starting Treasured Find by Nancy Corrigan. How about that? I remembered to write it down this time. LOL

GOALS
I completed my goal of finishing 30 stories in 30 days for NaNoWriMo – go me! Now I just have to edit those suckers. LOL

Apparently I must do better when under pressure. The spice post did not get written last week. In my defense, I had a busy weekend, which is when I usually do my research, and Monday and Tuesday weren’t much better. I focused on getting my stories done, and I have no regrets in that department.

I have a pretty good idea of what I want to do going forward, but I think I’m going to refine it and start in the new year.

THIS WEEK’S GOALS
1. Do better on the blog posts.
2. Pull Elemental Spirit out of the mothballs and start editing.
3. Work on this year’s book flood book.


Write on.

Eternity’s Desire

In 2009 I participated in the Writer’s Digest PAD Challenge – writing a poem a day from prompts they provided for the 30 days of April. What is it with me and these 30 day challenges, eh?

Anyway, one of the prompts we were given was to write a Sestina. Well, I’d never heard of this form before, and quite frankly, when I looked at it I wished I never had. There’s no rhyme, no syllable count, but there is a strict pattern to it. But I persevered and it set me on the path of my love of forms.

The Sestina was invented by a French troubadour named Arnaut Daniel. The troubadours first appeared in southern France in the twelfth century. Their name is extracted from the verb trobar, meaning "to invent or compose verse." They were famous, celebrated, much in fashion, and eventually very influential on the European poetry of the next few centuries. They sang - their poems were always accompanied by music - for French nobles such as the Duke of Aquitaine and the Count of Poitiers, and competed with one another to produce the wittiest, most elaborate, most difficult styles.

The Sestina was one of several forms in the complex, elaborate, and difficult closed style called trobar clus. It consists of 39 lines divided into 6 sestets and one triplet, called the envoi. It is normally unrhymed - instead, the six end words of the first stanza are picked up and reused as the end words of the following stanzas in a specific order. In the envoi, one end word is buried in each line, and one is at the end of each line.

Lines may be of any length, although their length is usually consistent in a single poem. The six words that end each of the lines of the first stanza are repeated in a different order at the end of lines in each of the subsequent five stanzas. The particular pattern is given below. (This kind of recurrent pattern is "lexical repetition".)

The pattern of word repetition is as follows, where the words that end the lines of the first sestet are represented by the numbers "1 2 3 4 5 6":

1 2 3 4 5 6 - End words of lines in first sestet.
6 1 5 2 4 3 - End words of lines in second sestet.
3 6 4 1 2 5 - End words of lines in third sestet.
5 3 2 6 1 4 - End words of lines in fourth sestet.
4 5 1 3 6 2 - End words of lines in fifth sestet.
2 4 6 5 3 1 - End words of lines in sixth sestet.
Three line envoi using end words in the middle and end of each line

Possible formats for the envoi are:
1-2, 3-4, 5-6
1-4, 2-5, 3-6
6-2, 1-4, 5-3
or 6-5, 2-4, 3-1

And here’s the example I wrote to help you understand the form. This is only the fourth Sestina I’ve ever written, but I think I’m getting the hang of it. :-)

The words I used are:
1 Eternity 2 Desire 3 Moon 4 Lies 5 Regret 6 Ashes


Eternity’s Desire

You pledged me an eternity
Your eyes full of desire
But in the light of the full moon
I could see your words were lies
Spoken without regret
And our love turned to ashes

In my mouth, the taste of ashes
When I think of you and eternity
And if I have any regret
It’s the wasted desire
I felt for the lies
Spoken under the moon

I bathe in the light of the moon
As the world around me turns to ashes
And I feel like I’m buried in lies
That have built up over an eternity
Disguised as eternal desire
That does nothing but fill me with regret

A life that’s filled with regret
Stays in the shadow of the moon.
Knowing nothing of desire
The soul is covered in ashes
As the winding of eternity
Conceals humanity’s lies

I feel surrounded by your lies
But believe you’ll be the one to regret
Missing your chance at eternity
Blessed by the sanctified moon.
Instead you’ll have nothing but ashes
Where once there was desire

I will find a new desire
One unsullied by lies
Like the phoenix rise from the ashes
With nothing left to regret
And dance in the light of the moon
As I take my place in eternity

I live eternity with my heart’s desire
A blessed moon erasing lies
And all regrets are burned to ashes.

Twenty-seven Down, Three to Go!

Having an end date for your quest through the noveling unknown is like bringing along a team of jetpack-wearing, entrepreneurial Sherpas.
— Chris Baty

Despite what you may have learned last month, sustained writing is best accomplished as part of a balanced lifestyle, one that includes things like grocery shopping and speaking in complete sentences with your significant other.
― Chris Baty

I tend to celebrate crossing over with a meditative ceremony where I print the book out and neatly stack its pages on the floor. When everything has been properly laid out, I take a few steps back from the work, close my eyes, and offer up my thanks to the writing powers for another bountiful harvest. At which point, I get a running start and dive headlong into my word-pile, rolling around and snorting like a pig. And then I fall asleep for three days. How you celebrate is up to you.
― Chris Baty

Well, this is definitely a first for me. I actually reached the 50,000 word mark on Wednesday. In other words, I finished NaNo a week early. I still can’t believe it. This has never happened to me in all the years I’ve been doing it.

AND for the first time ever, I never fell behind in the words once. It was steady progress the whole time. But I’m not done yet. I said I was going to do a story a day, and I have three more to go.

When I decided to do an anthology instead of a novel, I honestly never expected that I’d be able to keep up the pace. This week actually went better than the week before. All except Friday. I picked out my prompt for Friday early, and then struggled through most of the day trying to get it done. Finally, in the early evening I gave up and switched to a new idea. Not only did I get it finished in time to log it on the NaNo site, I really liked the story.

And just to prove I’ve been under a magic NaNo star . . . I got an email from one of the organizers telling me my name was drawn from a pool of others who donated (NaNo is a non-profit organization). I’m not sure what it is, but it’s on the way. Also on the way is the shirt I liked but had to wait until they restocked before I could order it.

Once again I used a prompt that I used before, but again the story was totally different. The first one was only 500 words for one thing, and the ending was different. The new one, aside from being much longer, had more interaction between the characters and ended in a budding romance. Definitely a keeper.

Even though I have more energy and time in the mornings, I’m finding I’m getting my best writing done in the evenings. I have no idea what’s up with that. I was really hoping to spend more time in my office to create a routine in there but it just didn’t happen.

One of the reasons is, it’s been sunnier than I expected. Not that I’m complaining, far from it. I’ve been grateful for the sunny days because they energize me. But I can only sit at my desk early in the morning or late in the afternoon. The rest of the time the sun is angled just right to reflect off the screen of my computer.

Of course I’m an early riser, and I’ve got a good two hours before the sun’s a problem, so I really can’t use that as an excuse for the entire day. And it’s no excuse at all for the grey days, which we’re going to be getting a lot of this winter, according to the weather man.

Maybe it’s just a case of mind over matter. I need to stop thinking about it and just do it.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wordage Report

NEW WORDS:
Flash anthology – 16,161
Blog Posts – 1044+662+365+1204=3,475
Total = 19,636 words

Down to the home stretch with NaNo. There’s going to be a serious drop in new words next week. LOL

EDITING:
Actually looking forward to editing these stories.

WHAT I’M READING:
Despite the fact I’ve getting higher word counts, I did more reading last week. I treated myself to a new Nora Roberts book, a two-in-one called Christmas Everlasting. ‘Tis the season, ho ho ho. I’ve only read a couple of chapters, but it beats playing online games.

On the Kindle I finished reading Werewolves Only, by Carrie Pulkinen, the book about the cop and the werewolf. I really wanted to thump the hero so he’d tell the heroine the whole truth, but everything worked out in end, as it should.

Then, for something different, I read Seduction Games, by Allyson Lindt. It was about three gaming friends, the woman meeting the two men for the first time. The hotness of it didn’t take away from the greatness of the story over all.

Now it’s back to the werewolves with Fated Mates, by Alicia Montgomery. So far all I’ve read in this story so far is the main character (whose name I forget) is a private detective who’s just found out she’s a vampire.

GOALS
Crossed the finish line with NaNo and I’m still going. I’m back to having fun with the stories, maybe because the pressure’s off.

The blog posts all got up on time and I had no problems writing them, unlike the way it was going before NaNo. Maybe I do better under pressure.

I’ve been toying with ideas for my post NaNo plan. Instead of scheduling things for a specific time, I’m going to try listing things I want to accomplish and give myself a time limit for them.

THIS WEEK’S GOALS
1. Finish NaNo and celebrate.
2. Keep up the good work on the blog posts.
3. Refine my post NaNo plan.

Write on.

Story Eleven

Believe it or not, I actually reached my 50,000 words for NaNo on Wednesday, but I also pledged to write a story a day, so I’m still at it. I actually edited this story to shorten it up for the blog, hopefully it still makes sense.

Prompt: You receive a mysterious call from a friend who asks you to meet him or her at a secret location. When you arrive, that friend reveals that he or she is, by night, a superhero. What’s more, the friend needs your help in solving the latest case. Only problem is you can’t help. When your friend asks why you reveal the big twist—you’re the villain.

It was an ordinary enough day, I went to work, flirted with the new mail guy, came home, and after treating myself to Chinese take-out for supper, relaxed in front of the boob tube. A pretty boring start to my weekend maybe, but life’s not excitement all the time. Sometimes you just have to sit back and enjoy life, you know?

Right on cue, it was at this juncture the phone rang. I looked at it and considered just letting it keep ringing. And in retrospect, the way things turned out I wish I had. But curiosity got the better of me and I picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Santos, I’m so glad I found you at home!”

“What’s up Walt?”

“I’m working on something big, something really big.”

“I’m listening.” I reached down and picked up my bottle of beer from the coffee table to take a swig.

“I can’t talk about this over the phone. You’ll have to come and meet me.”

“Aw, man. I was planning to stay in tonight.”

“Please, Santos! You’re the first one I thought of to help me. Let me give you directions to where I am.”

“What the hell,” I said with a sigh. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

He began to rattle off directions and I wrote them down, hoping I got them right. “Okay, Walt, I think I’ve got it. Do—”

“Just hurry,” he said, and hung up before I could reply.


I got lost twice trying to follow Walter’s directions, and I had to back track once. The novelty of him being so mysterious had totally worn off by the time I reached the end of his instructions and parked my car. I was in a small parking lot close to a wooded area. There was no sign of Walter so I leaned into my car and tapped the horn.

“Quiet!” Walter hissed from behind me.

I whirled around. “Jeez, give me a heart attack why don’t you, Walter.”

I waited a couple of minutes before asking, “So what was so important we needed to meet at night in the middle of nowhere?”

“First, I have something to share. Something no one else in the world knows.” He hesitated. “I just don’t know where to start to explain it to you.”

I leaned back against the side of my car. “Just spit it out, Walter.”

“Okay. Here goes. I’m the Avenging Angel.”

I stared at him a minute and then I started laughing. “Good one, Walt. I could have done without the convoluted trip out here, but nice to see you’ve developed a sense of humor.” I turned to get back into my car but his voice stopped me.

“I am the Avenging Angel.” His voice sounded deeper, more sonorous.

I turned around slowly, and there beside me stood the Avenging Angel, the super hero that had been in all the news for the last three months. There had been a great deal of speculation over who he might be, this strange hero in the white spandex suit with the enormous, white, feathery wings. He wore a mask over his head, leaving only a small patch on his throat bare.

He appeared suddenly, three months ago, just in time to save a female politician from being assassinated. He’d been appearing regularly, if not sporadically, ever since. The thing was, he seemed to cherry pick those he helped – the rich politician, the jewelry store owner, the high profile couple who’s baby had been kidnapped. But that was a private observation and not one the public had put together yet.

“Why are you telling me this?” I wondered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m honored, but I don’t understand why you would share this with me of all people.”

“I’m working a case, a very important case, but I can’t do it alone. I need your help.”

“My help?”

“You’re the only one I know who can not only keep my secret, but help me in my task. You’re strong, and smart, and you’re good at keeping secrets.”

“Well,” I said after hesitating for a moment, “If nothing else, you have me intrigued. What’s this case, and how do you think I can help you?”

“I’m going after the Whirling Dervish.”

My eyes widened. “You know who he is?”

The Whirling Dervish had appeared shortly after the Angel, acting as a counter part to him. He’d been villainized by the press, accused of interfering with the Angel’s good deeds and setting criminals free.

“No,” he admitted, turning to pace. “I don’t know his identity, but I’ve come up with a way to trap him, only it will take two of us.”

“I’m listening.”

He went on to tell me that he’d studied the videos of the Dervish, and figured out his fighting techniques. He proposed to create a crime, with me acting as the criminal, and when the Dervish appeared to help me escape, I’d shoot him with a specially made dart. The serum on the end of the dart would paralyze the Dervish long enough for the Angel to swoop in with a magnetic net.

“You’re sure this would work?”

“Absolutely. Like mine, his powers manifested during that magnetic pulse that hit the earth three months ago. I’ve heard of a few others who’ve been blessed with super powers, but none as strong as the Whirling Dervish and me. He needs to be stopped.”

“It’s a solid plan,” I told him in genuine admiration. “There’s only one little problem.”

“What’s that,” he asked indulgently, as if I wasn’t smart enough to find a flaw.

I started to spin, and before he could react, I had my talons buried in his throat, the only vulnerable place on him. “I’m the Whirling Dervish,” I whispered in his ear.

He gurgled a response, which only became more pronounced as I let him drop to the ground. I stared at his cooling body. Who’d have thought mousey little Walter had been the Avenging Angel, there was just no telling about people.

Closing my eyes, I let my Dervish personae subside and became simply Santos again. That had been easier than I expected. Walter liked to pretend the Avenging Angel had been the hero of the story, but the truth was he was making a fortune getting kick backs from the stores he “protected.” Most of the other crimes had involved actors hired for the job.

Just because he was dressed in white didn’t mean he was the good guy.

Spice of Life Part XIII Cardamom

Description:
Cardamom comes from the seed pod of the Elettaria cardamomum, a perennial plant in the ginger family. The entire cardamom pod can be used whole or ground. The seeds are small and black, while the pods differ in color and size by species. It has a warm, pungent, sweetly aromatic flavor.

Cardamom can be used in both savory and sweet dishes. It’s a popular seasoning in Indian and South Asian dishes, especially curries. In Scandinavia it’s used in pastries and mulled wine. Cardamom is a key ingredient in Arabic and Turkish coffee, as well as masala chai.

History:
Cardamom is one of the most ancient spices in the world, dating back at least 4000 years. Initially it grew wild in South West India where the native tribes harvested and sun dried it to trade. It was brought to merchants who took it to the ports along the Malabar coast. From there it found its way to the various trade routes.

The Egyptians used it in medicine and also added it to the oils used for preparation in the mummification process. The Arabian traders introduced cardamom to the Romans and Greeks, and it became a popular trade item with the Babylonians, Mesopotamians, and Assyrians as well.

The Vikings came cross it in Constantinople, and introduced it into Scandinavia, where it remains popular to this day. During the 19th century, British colonists set up cardamon plantations, some of which are still in use today, although Guatemala is the largest commercial producer of cardamom. In some areas, it’s considered an even more valuable crop than coffee.

Medicinal Uses:
The Ancients used cardamom to help with digestion issues, specifically indigestion, nausea, and relief from ulcers. It’s both an antioxidant and a diuretic that may help lower blood pressure, and it’s believed to contain cancer fighting compounds. Its anti-inflammatory compounds may help protect from chronic diseases such as liver disease.

Chewing gum often contains cardamom to fight off the bacteria in your mouth that cause bad breath, although chewing on cardamom pods after a meal can have the same effect. Breathing in essential oils containing cardamom can help relax your airway, stimulating your oxygen intake which is helpful when treating asthma. Cardamom extracts and essential oils have compounds that fight many strains of bacteria that can cause fungal infections, food poisoning, and other stomach issues.


Recipes:

Cardamom Sun Tea

Ingredients:
6 cups water
1/4 cup loose white tea leaves
6 whole cardamom pods
Honey

Directions:
Place water, tea leaves and cardamom pods in large container or pitcher. Stir. Cover with lid or plastic wrap. Let stand in sun for 3 to 5 hours.
Strain tea, discarding tea leaves and cardamom pods. Serve over ice or refrigerate until chilled. Sweeten with honey, if desired.


Indian Rice Pudding

Ingredients:
2/3 cup jasmine rice
5 cups milk
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons flaked coconut
6 whole cardamom pods
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
2 tablespoons toasted sliced almonds
2 tablespoons raisins

Directions:
Combine rice and milk in medium saucepan. Bring to boil on medium-high heat, stirring frequently. Reduce heat to low; simmer 30 minutes or until rice is tender and creamy, stirring frequently.
Stir in sugar, coconut, cardamom and vanilla. Pour into bowl. Cover surface with plastic wrap. Refrigerate 2 hours or until ready to serve. Remove cardamom pods. Sprinkle with almonds and raisins before serving

Twenty Down, Ten to Go!

The biggest thing separating people from their artistic ambitions is not a lack of talent. It's the lack of a deadline. Give someone an enormous task, a supportive community, and a friendly-yet-firm due date, and miracles will happen.
— Chris Baty

A deadline is, simply put, optimism in its most kick-ass form. It's a potent force that, when wielded with respect, will level any obstacle in its path. This is especially true when it comes to creative pursuits.
― Chris Baty

In the context of novel writing, this means you should lower the bar from “best-seller” to “would not make someone vomit.” Exuberant imperfection encourages you to write uncritically, to experiment, to break your time-honored rules of writing just to see what happens. In a first draft, nothing is permanent, and everything is fixable. So stay loose and flexible, and keep your expectations very, very low.
― Chris Baty

It’s the start of week three *whoops! that should be week four* of NaNo, can you believe it? Ten more days. Ten more stories. At this point it’s not the words I’m worried about – with my average story being 2,000 words long, I technically only need to write five more stories – but I really want to keep to my pledge of a story a day.

The novelty of writing a story a day is starting to wear off. At first it was kind of fun, you know? Now it’s more like a chore. It’s getting harder and harder to pick an idea, and I need to pick them earlier and earlier in the day so that I have time to think about them for a while before I start writing.

And it’s taking me longer and longer to get going once I start writing. I flounder around for the first five, six hundred words and then about halfway through the story I finally figure out where it’s going. Story eighteen I was almost 1000 words in before I figured out what I was doing.

So far, I’ve been sticking with the prompts I cherry picked from the Writer’s Digest prompts archive. I copy/pasted them into a single, ten page document and I’ve been picking them at random, highlighting the ones I’ve used. Lately, I’ve been going back and picking prompts I originally rejected.

I keep having to remind myself that nobody really needs to see any of these stories unless I decide to let them. I just need to write – to get the words down, any words. They don’t have to be good words or even make any sense, they just have to be words.

That doesn’t really work though, I don’t listen to myself. I’m making it harder than it needs to be because I like stories to have a point, to make sense. And with some of these prompts that’s a little hard to do. Also, some of the prompts really don’t lend themselves to a story that’s at least 1667 words long.

So far, I’ve written a couple of stories I really like, and some that I really don’t. The first story I wrote was supposed to be funny but took a serious turn. I can’t wait to edit it because I think I’ve got a winner there. And the aforementioned story eighteen – now that I figured out what it’s really about, I think it’s going to be a keeper too.

But there are more than a few stories that are real dogs, like story nineteen, which was a prompt about waking up in the body of a baby. Or the story written from the prompt where you go to bed wishing to wake up as someone else, and you do. Not too sure about yesterday’s story either, which I attempted to make funny but I’m pretty sure I fell way short. LOL

One thing most of these stories have in common though, is that they’re mostly written in the first person. I don’t know if it’s because the prompts are geared that way, or that’s just the way I’ve been interpreting them, but the weird part is, I don’t usually write in the first person. Could a first person novel be far behind?

God, I hope not! *shudder*

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wordage Report

NEW WORDS:
Flash anthology – 14,822
Blog Posts – 1226+776+634+1383=4,059
Total = 18,881 words

Still ahead of the game over all. But the bloom is off the rose now and I’m beginning to struggle.

EDITING:
Yeah, who am I kidding? When this is all done I hope I’ll find some editing mojo again, but right now it’s all about the NaNo words.

WHAT I’M READING:
Doing even less reading than last week. I read one chapter of The Book of Magic by Alice Hoffman. It’s not that I’m not enjoying the book, I just don’t seem to find the time right now. Too busy writing, I guess.

What reading I’ve been doing is on the Kindle. I’m about halfway through a book about an Alpha werewolf who’s falling in love with a cop. The complication is the fact there’s a demon who’s going around raping and killing and causing mayhem, and they’re both after it.

GOALS
Once again I got two out of three. My NaNo is still progressing well, even if some of the stories suck. But I got all my blog posts up on time, so there’s that.

Did not get out to enjoy the sunshine, not that there was a lot of sunshine to enjoy. If it wasn’t raining it was windy, sometimes both. Cold and windy just doesn’t appeal. Maybe I’ll get out there for a walk come spring. LOL

THIS WEEK’S GOALS
1. Keep pushing forward with NaNo.
2. Keep up the good work on the blog posts.
3. Start working on my after NaNo plan. You know, the one for developing a better work ethic, like writing every day, doing some editing, maybe *gasp* try a little marketing.

Write on.

Story Ten

This is one of my shorter stories, but I still pared it down by 400 words to shorten it up further. Mostly it was description, you’ll never miss it. LOL

Prompt: You (or a character, or perhaps two) have been enjoying a leisurely walk down a familiar wooded path for about an hour, when you suddenly realize that you no longer know where you are. Trusting that your current path will lead you back home—after all, it logically should—you turn around and head back the way you came. After a few moments, you conclude that you must have somehow strayed… because before you stands a structure that appears to be made of gingerbread.

One of my dreams has always been to live out in the country, but until I can afford to make that happen, I have to content myself hiking in the national park whenever I can. They have many trails to choose from, and on this particular Saturday I picked a medium length one.

I didn’t meet anyone on the trail, nor did I expect to. Who wanted to get up early on a Saturday morning to go hiking? Besides me, I mean. Later in the day would be a different story, but by then I’d be well away from here.

There were a lot of limbs down from the storm we had the previous night, but that was to be expected. Then I came to a massive tree, I think it might have been a beech tree, that had been uprooted and fallen right across the path. It seemed like a good place to stop for a snack while I contemplated what I should do.

I sat on a large rock near the roots of the tree and alternated sips from my bottle of water and bites of my ham and cheese sandwich as I went over my options in my head. I could try climbing over the tree, but it looked like it took a couple of other trees with it and I wouldn’t want to get tangled up or maybe injured.

I could just go back and take another, shorter trail to round out my hike, but the trails were probably starting to get busy by now. Did I really want my peace and quiet shattered by shrieking children and barking dogs? I shuddered at the thought.

The logical option was to just go around the tree. I tried to push my way through the dense brush around the exposed roots of the tree, sneezing at the dust from the loose soil. It didn’t take long to realize this wasn’t going to work. So then I tried going the other way, following a faint game trail along the length of the tree as best I could and then circled round the top to get back to the trail I’d been following.

It seemed to take a lot longer to find the trail than it should, but I did eventually find it. Something seemed a little off about it, but I shrugged the feeling away. Then I came to a stream. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be a problem, the stepping stones made it easy to cross, but I didn’t think any of the trails crossed a stream. Could I have gotten turned around in my detour around the tree?

Uneasy now, I went a little further. The trees were getting denser on either side of the trail and I didn’t recognize any of the land marks. I thought I knew all of the trails in this park, but this one was totally unfamiliar.

I slowed, and then stopped. I had no idea where this trail was leading me. The safest thing to do was to re-trace my steps. I re-crossed the stream and found my way back to the game trail, which led me back to the main trail again, but there was no sign of the beach tree. This trail, too, was totally unfamiliar. I couldn’t understand how I could have lost my way, but obviously I had. Now what should I do?

This time a stump served as my seat, and I took out another bottle of water and one of the apples I’d packed. It was a little embarrassing to have to admit I’d gotten lost. There was no point in trying to retrace my steps again. My best bet would be to follow this new trail. It would have to circle back to the park entrance eventually, or at the very least it should cross one of the trails I was more familiar with.

With a sigh, I hefted my back pack again and started off, figuring at least I was going in the right direction. My sense of optimism wavered as the trail began to narrow, and it died away altogether as the trail ended in a small clearing that contained a small cottage.

I didn’t realize they allowed cottages in this area of the park. There were cabins you could rent on the far side of the entrance, and a large camp ground beyond that, but this section of the park was strictly for hiking. Or at least it was.

But whatever. I couldn’t deny the evidence in front of me. Hopefully there was someone at home and they could point me in the right direction for the park entrance. I was more than ready to get out of here.

As I drew closer to the cottage, I saw that it wasn’t made out of wood, as I’d first assumed, but of some kind of brownish substance, like adobe. And was that gingerbread I smelled? I stopped in my tracks. The tiny house was made out of gingerbread!

This was crazy. Or maybe it was me who was crazy. I couldn’t help myself. I reached over and broke off a piece of the window sill and gave it a sniff before popping it in my mouth. Nice and crispy, full of gingery goodness.

I broke off another piece just as the door opened and a little old lady dressed like a witch appeared.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she screeched.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered.

“Now that you’re here you might as well come in.”

Filled with wonder, I followed her inside. The cottage was one, large room. There a large oven up against one wall and a work table in front of it.

“The least you could do is make me a new window ledge,” the old lady said. “I’ve already mixed up the dough, you’ll have to roll it out and bake it.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I said.

I rolled out the dough, then cut it in a wide strip that was about the same size as the window ledge. Carefully, I transferred it to a baking sheet and turned to slide it into the oven. As I did so, I felt a tremendous shove from behind. The old woman pushed me right into the oven!

“That’ll teach you to leave the trail,” she cackled. “You inhaled some toxic mushroom spores. They’re making you hallucinate.”

I blinked my eyes open. “What?” I asked blearily.

“I said, you inhaled psilocybin mushroom spores,” the main dressed in white repeated.

“Where am I?” I looked around in confusion.

“You’re in the hospital. The park rangers found you stumbling around in the forest, high as a kite. The storm we had last night caused a beech tree to fall across one of the trails—”

“I remember that,” I said. “I tried to go around it, and I think I got lost.”

“When the tree uprooted it exposed a large patch of psilocybin mushrooms. The nearest they can figure, you inhaled the spores and started hallucinating. You’re lucky you didn’t go far from the tree.”

“I didn’t?”

“Just try and get some rest now,” the doctor said. “It’ll take a while for the drug to work its way out of your system.”

“But what about the witch?” I asked.

“What witch?” the doctor asked, trying not to smile.

“Never mind,” I muttered.

The doctor exited, and I was left to contemplate what had happened to me. I wondered how much of my hike after encountering the fallen tree had been real. I also had an incredible craving for gingerbread.

Spice of Life Part XII Anise

Description:
Though similar in flavor to star anise, anise is quite different. It comes from the Pimpinella anisum plant, which is part of the parsley family. It has a sweet, aromatic flavor that is much like black licorice. In fact, it is often used to flavor licorice as well as black jelly beans.

It comes from the Mediterranean region and is a key ingredient in candy and alcoholic drinks, such as Ouzo, Sambuca and Absinthe. It pairs well with seafood, and can also be used in dairy products, gelatins, meats, and breath fresheners. In Europe it’s used in cakes, cookies, and sweet breads, while in the Middle East and India it’s used in soups and stews.

History:
It’s generally agreed that the Egyptians were the first to have cultivated anise, more that 2,000 years ago. Both biblical and ancient Egyptian texts mention its use for both culinary and medicinal purposes, and the seeds were often entombed with the bodies of Pharaohs.

It was also cultivated by the Greeks and Romans, and made its way to Europe by the Middle Ages. By the 14th century, anise could be found throughout the Mediterranean as well as Germany and England. Anise seeds were introduced to the New World by the Spanish and the Virginia colonists, and made its way to Mexico where it became a staple in many Mexican dishes.

Medicinal Uses:
Anise is most commonly used for indigestion, and to reduce the pain and bloating of irritable bowel syndrome (IBS). A cup of anise tea before bed is thought to reduce the symptoms of asthma and sleep discomforts due to allergies. Anise seed extract has been taken to reduce the frequency of hot flashes in menopausal women. It is sometimes used as an expectorant for dry coughs, and aniseed tea can help alleviate the pain of a sore throat.

Other Uses:
Anise has a wide history of use in folklore. Ancient Greeks and Romans believed anise seeds had the ability to avert the evil eye. It was also believed to act as an aphrodisiac. It was used in voodoo and lunar rituals, and it was believed that filling a small pillowcase with anise seeds will prevent nightmares, while the fresh leaves will ward off evil spirits.

In modern use, anise seed extract is used in perfume, soap, creams, sachets, and toothpaste. It can also be mixed with lard for a treatment for insect bites.


Recipes:

Anise Milk

Ingredients:
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon crushed anise seeds

Instructions:
Place milk and anise seeds in a pot and bring to a gentle boil. Strain into a mug. Add sweetener if desired.


Bizcochitos (Anise Cinnamon Sugar Cookies)

Ingredients:
1 cup butter
1 3/4 cups sugar (divided)
1 1/2 teaspoons aniseed
1 large egg
2 tbsp rum
3 cups whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Instructions:
Preheat oven to 300 F. Grease a baking sheet or line it with parchment paper.
Cream the butter and 3/4 cup of the sugar until light and fluffy.
Crush the aniseeds in a mortar and pestle.
Add the crushed aniseed, egg, and brandy to the creamed mixture and combine thoroughly.
Add the flour, baking powder, and salt. Stir to combine.
Divide the dough in half and pat each half into a 1-inch thick disk.
Wrap disks of dough in plastic and chill for at least 30 minutes.
In a medium bowl, combine the remaining cup of sugar with the cinnamon.
Working with one disk at a time, roll out the dough to about 1/4-inch thick on a well floured board. Cut the dough into shapes.
Dip in the cinnamon-sugar mixture and put on prepared baking sheet. Repeat with the remaining dough.
Bake for 12 to 15 minutes.
Transfer to a rack to cool.

The Train Is Still On the Track!

You are doing this because you are fantastic and brave and curious. And, yes, you are probably a little crazy. And this is a good thing.
— Chris Baty

As Isaac Newton observed, objects in motion tend to stay in motion. When writing your first draft, being busy is key. It may feel frustrating at first, but having daily writing periods curtailed by chores, family, and other distractions actually helps you get the thing done. This is partly because the hectic pace forces you to type with a fleet-fingered desperation. But it’s mostly because noveling in the midst of a chaotic life makes “book time” a treat rather than an obligation. It’s a small psychological shift, but it makes all the difference in the world.
― Chris Baty

Deadlines bring focus, forcing us to make time for the achievements we would otherwise postpone, encouraging us to reach beyond our conservative estimates of what we think possible, helping us to wrench victory from the jaws of sleep.
― Chris Baty

I don’t know if it’s because of the pandemic, because we’re not supposed to go out and do stuff, but I don’t feel as frazzled with this NaNo as I usually do. In past years I’ve climbed aboard the crazy train trying to get everything done and get my words in, but I’ve been very Zen this year.

In the past couple of weeks I’ve interacted with friends, cleaned my office, made the meals, done laundry, took a couple of trips up to Costco and other shopping, kept up with my blog posts without having to stay up extra late to do so, and even took a road trip with the daughter to pick up her new puppy.

Could I actually be getting the hang of this NaNo thing?

I can remember when doing a story from a prompt once a week became such a chore that I finally stopped doing it. But now, I’m doing a story a day and I’m pretty much rocking it, if I do say so myself. My longest story so far has been 2,808 words, and the shortest has been 1,402 words. In fact, out of the thirteen stories I’ve written so far, only three have been under 2,000 words, and only two failed to meet the 1,667 daily word goal for NaNo.

In case you’re wondering how I’m keeping track . . . I used to keep track with pen and paper, writing down my daily word count and keeping a running total, but someone posted an Excel Spreadsheet template on line about 10 years ago and I’ve been using it ever since. I keep a blank one as a master, and just have to change the year at the top and save as that year.

I really wish I could remember who posted it, they did an amazing job. It shows the goal, the daily quota, word tally, words left, daily average and a bar graph at the top. Below that it has columns for the date, target total, words today, hours today (which I don’t fill out), running tally, percent today, words left, days left, daily average, projected finish date, and percent complete. The only one I have to fill out is the Words Today – everything else is automatic.

AND there are tabs at the bottom for pages for Progress (which is a bar graph), Novel Info (for your cover picture and synopsis), Characters (with a chart for character names and descriptions), Chapters (for titles and outlines), Plot Sheet (with helpful suggestions for plotting as well as space to do it in), Character Sheet (for individual characters), and Plot Example (a filled out plot sheet to show you how it’s done).

Clearly someone put a lot of work into it, but to be honest, the only thing I use is the Word Tracker. Being a pantser, I tend to let my characters reveal themselves to me bit by bit, and I never plan ahead for chapters, even when I do chapters that begin with journal entries. As for plots, well, they never turn out the way I expect anyway.

Still, having worked with Excel, my hat’s off to whoever created the spreadsheet.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wordage Report

NEW WORDS:
Flash anthology – 14,880
Blog Posts – 1231+707+542+1278=3,758
Total = 18,638 words

I was a little more up and down with the word counts for my stories last week, but I’m still ahead of the game over all. After all the editing and re-writing I was doing over the last many months, it’s kind of nice to write something fresh.

EDITING:
It occurs to me that just because I’m doing NaNo, where you’re not supposed to edit until you’re done, doesn’t mean I can’t be editing something else. I’ll have to think about that going forward.

WHAT I’M READING:
Still not doing a whole lot of reading. I’m about a quarter of the way through The Book of Magic by Alice Hoffman. It’s making me want to read the others in the series again, only I’d want to put them in order first. Still working away reading Lichen, and I’ve discovered it’s a literary journal put out by a writer’s group (I think).

On the Kindle I finished Signed, by Layla Nash, which was about mail order brides and bear shifters. At one point I really wanted to just thump the two main characters on their heads – if they’d just talk to each other they could’ve avoided a whole lot of misunderstanding, but of course if they’d done that it would have made for a shorter book, so I guess I’m glad they didn’t. LOL

Now I’m reading . . . to be honest, I’m not sure what I’m reading. I started reading another bear shifter romance, but I didn’t like the way it was starting out so I switched to something else, only it’s been a couple of days since I’ve been on my Kindle so I don’t remember what it was. Oops!

GOALS
Well . . . two out of three ain’t bad, right? I’m still acing my NaNo, and I got all my blog posts up, although when I scheduled the spice post to appear I forgot to schedule it on my regular blog so it didn’t get up on time.

But as far as getting out to enjoy the sunshine, that was a bit of a bust. I did get out one day for a walk down to the beach with a friend, but it started drizzling, and then turned to rain. The only other day I got out was Wednesday, when I drove the daughter to pick up her new puppy (two hours each way). I guess that doesn’t really count, does it?

THIS WEEK’S GOALS
1. Keep up the good work on NaNo.
2. Keep up the good work on the blog posts.
3. Try to get out and enjoy the sunshine, if we get any.


Write on.

Story Nine

I gotta tell you, I’m having a lot more fun with this Nano than I expected to. I’ve been keeping up with my story a day pledge, and to my surprise, most of them have been over 2,000 words. For the first time since I started NaNo (in 2006), I’ve been steadily ahead on words. (*knock on wood*, don’t want to jinx anything). So far I’ve been using prompts from Writer’s Digest. In case you haven’t guessed, this was story #9, and yes, I did edit it a bit.

Prompt: After a grueling day at work you go home. The sweet allure of your couch and captain crunch is over powering! You arrive at the door, stick in the key, yank it open and … see a writhing horde of Minotaur chanting in the night and then one notices you and charges. You slam the door, wait a minute and try again. This time it’s a mountain with climbers clambering up the towering heights. One waves at you. What do you do? What’s going on with this door of yours? Do you go in?

Work was insane today. It was one order after another, the boss was on a tear, and Jen, my cubical partner, went for lunch and never came back. She’d always been a little flakey, but this was totally unacceptable. And the worst part was, this wasn’t the first time she’d pulled this shit on me and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Finally, quitting time. I finished filling my last order and logged off, shutting my system down for the weekend. I met up with my friend Terry at the exit.

“I saw Jen slink back in,” she said. “I guess Boris is getting an early start to his weekend.”

I snorted. “At least somebody’s getting lucky.”

“Another dateless weekend?” Terry asked sympathetically. “Me and Lauren and some of the other girls are headed for the bar, why don’t you join us?”

“To be honest, I’m too beat to do anything but flake out on the couch tonight. It’s been a hell of a week. I’m going to eat a box of Captain Crunch cereal and binge watch something on Netflix.”

Terry made a face. “I don’t know how you can stand living in that creepy building. I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink, no matter how tired I was.”

There’d been a lot of odd rumors about the building, everything from it being a refuge for witches during the Salem witch trials to fairies from the old country possessing it, but I’d been desperate enough for a place to live that I ignored them. It was rather nondescript, not any more remarkable than the other small apartment buildings on the block, but there was something about it, something odd.

There were stories, of course, several stories, to account for the oddness, and several mysterious deaths. There was the blond actress who’d been found in her locked apartment. She was laying peacefully on the satin coverlet on her bed, dressed in an evening gown, fully made up, and not a mark on her. Then there was the musician who appeared to have choked to death, but there was nothing in his throat and no marks on the outside of it.

There were also several stories about mysterious disappearances but none of them were enough to offset the insanely low rent.

“The bar is doing a karaoke thing tonight,” Terry said in a wheedling voice.

I suppressed a shudder, an even better reason to go straight home. “No thanks.”

“You know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, Terry. Say hi to the girls for me, and have a good time.”

We separated outside of the building and I headed two blocks to the subway. Of course it was running behind, and it was as busy as my week had been. And of course it was continuing good luck that the train stopped dead in one of the tunnels because there was something on the tracks. It took over an hour before the tracks were cleared again – I was starting to wish I’d taken Terry up on her offer.

Finally, we were moving again. I made it to my stop and dragged myself up the stairs to the street. Two blocks later I was outside of my building.

“Please,” I muttered, ascending the steps. “Let the elevator be working.”

For a change it was, although it creaked and protested all the way to the third floor. By the time I put my key in the lock I was really dragging. I opened the door and blinked in surprise.

Through the door, where my apartment should be, was a scene out of a fantasy, or a nightmare. It was dark, and the cool air held a hint of salt. There was a ring of stones and writhing and dancing around the stones was a herd, or maybe that should be a hoard, of Minotaur. It looked to be some kind of ritual or ceremony, and they were pretty intense, stomping and bellowing. Then one of them looked right at me, gave a ginormous bellow and charged.

I slammed the door shut and then pressed my back against it, expecting any second for him to burst through the door and send me flying. But seconds passed and nothing happened. I shook my head and gave a laugh. I must be more tired than I realized, I was starting to see things.

Another couple of seconds passed and then I took a deep breath and opened the door again. This time it opened on a vast space, giving me a sense of vertigo. There were mountains in front of me, and several yards across the span were a couple of mountain climbers working their way up its side. One of them glanced my way and lifted a hand to wave hello. I gave a half hearted wave back and then shut the door, quietly this time.

They had to be some kind of projections. But who was doing this, and why? I slid down and sat on the floor beside my door, too tired to stand there any longer. I had to think this through.

The Minotaur, straight out of mythology except the setting was all wrong. Weren’t they native, if they’d been real, that is, to the Mediterranean? The setting looked more Celtic, with the smell of the sea, nice touch by the way, and the standing stones. Someone had mixed up their myths. But they did a real nice job on the Minotaurs, they were very realistic looking.

And the mountains… The sense of space was amazing, and it was so real that I’d felt myself swaying, as though standing on a precipice. But again, who was doing this? And more importantly why would anyone go to such trouble. If they were trying to freak me out, it was working.

This was ridiculous. I was tired. All I wanted to do was relax and I wasn’t going to do that sitting in the hall.

“Okay,” I said out loud as I clambered to my feet. “You’ve had your fun, now cut it out and let me get some rest.”

I opened the door one more time and stared around in wonder. There was a beautiful glade, I could hear water and imagined a waterfall just beyond the trees. The ground was covered in a thick carpet of moss and there were flowers everywhere. Although I couldn’t see them, I could hear birds singing. It was idyllic, the escape I’d always dreamed of.

This time, I stepped through the door.