Serial Story: Rattlesnake Falls, Book 1, Ch. 12

This serial story is posted one chapter per week on Fridays, in unedited (draft) form. It may contain adult situations that might not be suitable for children. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! 

No, I still haven’t decided on the title. One should come to me eventually. Just gotta keep writing….


Rattlesnake Falls Book 1

Chapter 12

“Shelley. Hey. Time to wake up.”

Something nudged her thigh, and reluctantly she allowed herself to be pulled back to the present, but it still felt like a dream. Blinking her eyes until they would open all the way, she sat up and yawned. The road had turned to gravel, though the truck moved over it much more smoothly than her car had the day before.

“How long did I sleep?” She stowed the pillow back behind the seat and smoothed her hair as well as she could with her hands.

Dillon shrugged. “Long enough for us to be getting close to the spot where your tire blew. I can reach your car, if there are still things you need. It’s not going anywhere until a tow-truck can get out here. Andy, the guy who owns the garage in Rattlesnake Falls said he’d be out sometime later today or tomorrow.”

Shelley shook her head, not wanting to slow down for anything. “I’ve got my bag — thanks to you. Anything else can wait.”

Dillon nodded, and then pointed to her right. “There’s your car. Slid broadside right into those trees — you’re lucky the passenger side hit instead of the driver’s side.”

Shelley stared at the mangled mess as they drove by. It seemed so surreal, like it wasn’t even her car, but something tragic that had happened to someone else.

And now she was sitting here with someone who was still practically a stranger, going up into the mountains to rescue her cousin who was lost in the woods with another guy who was practically a stranger, on the stranger’s home turf.

If she’d been watching a horror movie with this plot, she’d have already left to avoid watching the whole killing-and-never-finding-their bodies scenario.

Considering she was living it, she had no choice but to keep moving forward. With any luck, it wouldn’t turn out to be a bloodbath.

The trees were getting denser and the road was climbing in front of them. Shelley felt like they were driving right into the mountain.

“So how does one go about buying a mountain resort?” she asked, leaning as far forward as she could to peer out the windshield at the thickening canopy above.

Dillon shrugged. “Knowing the right people helps.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a slight smirk. “And you may not have been completely wrong in your assessment the other night. I dabbled in a little IT work right out of college. In the bigger cities, it pays better than anything we could find around here. Spent a few years socking money away, came home, bought the camp.”

She nodded. “So you always knew that’s what you wanted to do though. Run the camp, I mean.”

“Yep. I never wanted to be stuck working in an office building somewhere looking at other office buildings. I always wanted to be outside, be close to nature and away from lots of other people. So I did as much time as I had to, and escaped.”

“I take it you knew the people who owned it before?”

He nodded. “Josie and Daniel Humbart. The camp started out as their homestead, and I spent a few weeks every summer up here with them when I was a kid. They always said that’s what gave them the idea to turn the place into a camp. So they could take more derelicts like me off their parent’s hands for a week or two every summer.” He turned to grin at her, and she could see the mischievous boy he’d been in those eyes and that knowing smile.

“Well that seems like an incredibly nice thing to do. I’m sure they were happy to pass it along to someone who would take care of it and keep it going.”

He nodded, eyes back on the road. “They lived up there with me for the first two years, showing me the ropes and making sure I could do okay with it. It was a sad day when those two took off. But we all knew it was coming.”

Shelley frowned. “They just packed up and left? Where did they go?”

“No one knows. They didn’t take anything with ‘em, not even a vehicle. Just stole away in the middle of the night and no one ever saw ‘em again.”

“Wow.” Shelley shook her head, watching as the road finally flatted out, and a huge green meadow full of green grass and white, purple and yellow wildflowers spread out in front of them, more mountains framing three sides. It was like driving through a gate into heaven, she thought, momentarily speechless.

“It is pretty spectacular, isn’t it?” Dillon pointed at something to their left and off in the distance. “That’s the main building right out there. There are small cabins up where the mountain swells, a kitchen and dining hall, a chapel, and an activities shed where we keep equipment.”

They were almost to the turnoff, and Shelley saw emergency vehicles parked haphazardly between buildings. As Dillon turned in, a uniformed officer stepped out of a car sitting just off the road.

Dillon pulled his wallet out of his pocket and set it on the seat before he brought the truck to a stop.

“Here we go,” he said, rolling down the window.


Thanks for reading! Check back next week for Chapter 13!

Like this post? Support your author (Amazon links):

Tempest | The Biker’s Wench (Fantasy Ranch Book 1) | MacKenzie Saves the World: A Comic Shop Romance

Poem-A-Day Challenge: Week 3

Whew! I kept up better this week, but I’m not sure the poems are any better (and some of the daily prompts were…difficult, as you might be able to tell from a few of the poems).

One more week to go – and next week’s post will be up sometime Sunday, as that’s the last day of the challenge (that way I can post the full week’s poems together).


Saturday, 4/15: Rejuvenation

There in the wasteland I heard the voices.
They called to me with whispered fervor
I could not ignore.

There flows a river in the cave, they murmured.
Immerse yourself in the dark damp womb.
Listen to the silence.

I found the maw and entered the gloom,
let the rushing black water infuse my soul.
Waited in meditation.

Anguish and anxiety considered a toll,
freely sacrificed to quiet the river roar.
Flood of emotion.

Silence at last reveals a musty, moist core
full of secrets stale as the dank, slimy ground.
A heart wide open.

Let everything out while there’s no one around,
examine, release, tidy up, empty out.
Listen to the voices.

Spirit renewed, it’s the end of a drought,
Rise and leave the dark damp behind.
Find light and laughter.

Sunday, 4/16: Piloting

Nothing above me and nothing below,
the wind is my playground
the sky is my home.

Swooping and swaying on currents unseen,
I catch a big air-wave
surf my mighty machine.

Roll left, then right, then into a dive,
my stomach jumps lightly
reminds me I’m alive.

Someday I’ll go higher, straight into the stars,
zero-gravity beckons,
and perhaps even Mars.

Monday, 4/17: If Only…

If only I could capture in words what I feel
and spin them into wonderous stories
when I sit down in the deep dark of night.

If only the thoughts that swirl and bounce
could be expressed in words and freely shared
when I need to be there for a friend.

If only all the sage wisdom of our ancenstors
could be collected in a bottle and used as vaccine
when idiocy touches people in the head.

If only there were a way to take a trip and
experience all the many lives we might have lived
when we made one choice over another, over another.

If only sleep was quick and deep and restful,
uninterrupted by demons or nightmares or cold feet
when my head finally settles heavy on the pillow.

Tuesday, 4/18: Shower Spectre

The shower is warm,
the curtain is tight,
a cool draft ‘crossed my body
brings no real delight.

A noiseless whisper
of soul brushing skin,
I shiver when touch comes,
spin ‘round again.

Who are you, I murmur,
and what do you want?
my shower is really
no place for a haunt.

No answer is given,
nor will ever be.
I suspect that my spectre
is only just me.

Wednesday, 4/19: The Perfect Cup

Open the bag,
inhale the fragrant leaves
deep and earthy, like fresh loam.

Fill the kettle,
with cold, fresh tap water,
wait for the heat and steam.

A china cup,
a pretty saucer, perhaps.
Or a thick mug, if you please.

The leaves dance,
plump up, unfurl and release,
steeping gentle in stainless steel mesh.

Savor the taste,
a robust feel on the tongue,
the rich, heady flavor of nature.

Thursday, 4/20: Mirror Dear

Who’s the fairest,
mirror dear?
I think the answer’s
all too clear.

Colored gray hair and
problem skin aside,
we both know who’s
witty and funny and wise.

Long shapely nails,
colored bright hues,
pale blue-gray eyes
and all sorts of tattoos.

Everyone needs
imperfections you know
but do we really need to mention those?

A thoughtful mind,
a logical brain,
boring to some,
but intelligence won’t wane.

No need to respond
mirror dear,
I think the answer’s
all too clear.

Friday, 4/21: Connections

There’s a moment in time,
one not often felt,
when you feel a soft rhyme,
that connects with someone else.

A look, a touch, a vibration of air,
a warmth that won’t ever let go,
that incredible knowledge you’re part of a pair,
and only the two of you know.

No matter the troubles,
or how far you may roam,
the safe, cozy bubble
of shared affection is always home.


Thanks for reading…feel free to share your own poems below. And stop back next Sunday for the last week’s worth of poetry!

 

Serial Story: Rattlesnake Falls, Book 1, Ch. 11

This serial story is posted one chapter per week on Fridays, in unedited (draft) form. It may contain adult situations that might not be suitable for children. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! 

No, I still haven’t decided on the title. One should come to me eventually. Just gotta keep writing….


Rattlesnake Falls Book 1

Chapter 11

“How long will it take to get there?” Shelley looked anxiously out the window as she and Dillon cruised down the highway at a cool ninety miles per hour. They’d just left the city limits, and while technically the speed limit was sixty on this stretch, she appreciated Dillon’s willingness to leave that in the dust, so to speak.

She just hoped they wouldn’t find Tabitha too late.

“A couple hours, give or take. You should try to rest, if you can. There’s a pillow just behind the seat.”

Shelley shook her head. “I appreciate that, but I couldn’t possibly sleep thinking about Tabby. How long has she been out there now? It seems like forever.”

“It was yesterday morning when she took off — you were at the hospital all night. Mike found the trail this morning, so she was on her own for at least twenty-four hours. Hopefully Mike has found her by now. I’m sure someone will call if there’s any news.”

She nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. And I can’t believe I was out for so long. Or that I didn’t check my tires before I left home to come up here in the first place. If I had, we’d have been there already, and not lost nearly a whole day’s worth of light to look for her.” A stabbing pain shot through her side when she reached up to rub an eye. She didn’t make a sound, but couldn’t quite keep the sharp intake of air to herself.

“Does it hurt pretty bad?” Dillon glanced at her sideways, and she tried to play it cool.

“Not too bad, all things considered,” which was code, of course, for the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure she could raise her hand over her head again without passing out. “The doctor said it was just bruises.”

“Yeah, but they still hurt like crazy.” Dillon gave her a pointed look. “Do you always act this tough?”

Shelley narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t act tough. Pain is mostly in our heads anyway — my dad said that once upon a time, so to speak. Guess I take him at his word for that.”

“There’s a certain logic to that,” he said, shooting her a lazy half-grin. “Is dear old dad still alive?”

“’Fraid not,” she said. “My dad died a few years back of a heart attack. The nurses say my mom died of a broken heart a few months later, but I’m not sure if I believe that or not. She did die, but they never could find a cause for her death.” Shelley breathed.

Dillon glanced at her with something other than the expected grief and pity.

“I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds like you loved them a lot.”

“Thank you.” Shelley looked out the window trying to figure out how to change the subject gracefully. The emotional stuff wasn’t her strong suit, and it was easier to avoid it when she could.

“I think I will rest for a little while, if you don’t mind.” She reached behind the seat, trying not to wince and found the pillow he’d said was there earlier. Turning away from him, she propped it against the door for her head and got as comfortable as she could.

Just a few minutes, she thought, and closed her eyes.


Thanks for reading! Check back next week for Chapter 12!

Like this post? Support your author (Amazon links):

Tempest | The Biker’s Wench (Fantasy Ranch Book 1) | MacKenzie Saves the World: A Comic Shop Romance

Priorities & Forced Balance

Last week wasn’t nearly as bad as the week before in general, which is kind of odd since work was decidedly difficult. The difference is, I dealt with it much better, and while I didn’t stay caught up all the time, I did prioritize a lot better. It’s amazing how much just setting solid priorities can alleviate so much stress – and allow us to get more done than we might otherwise.

The poetry challenge was especially “challenging” this past week, but I managed to end Saturday caught up for the week (I’m behind a poem again as of right now, but I’ll catch up tonight). Poetry is all about “flow” and ironically, fitting it into my schedule has been exactly that. Looking for the proper flow, so I can slot it into each day at some point.

I think I mentioned that I was trying to use some of my nightly knitting/crochet/TV time to catch some of the overflow, and my body told me very quickly that it was just not going to happen. My eyes went downhill again, my brain refused to work, and pretty much every night sitting there with the computer on my lap, I eventually just gave up and shut it while I finished my hour-long TV show.

Incidentally, we’ve been watching Iron Fist and Wynonna Earp on Netflix. Iron Fist is entertaining, but I highly, highly recommend Wynonna Earp. So, so good!

In any case, that hour is very necessary down-time, and my body & brain were quick to correct me when I tried to use it for work. So…it would appear that time is just as sacrosanct as my writing time. This week, I’ll get the knitting back out while watching TV.

My neck is healing, but very slowly, and I’m kind of to the point where it feels like it just needs gentle stretching and then to build up the muscle around that nerve to protect it from being pinched again. I have to be careful, as it still won’t really “work” at several angles, but I’ve started doing light weight training in my shoulders/arms again. We’ll see how that goes, but hopefully it will be helpful. Stupid neck.

In any case, my writing output increased again last week, and no matter how much this poetry thing stresses me out, I am *loving* what it’s doing as far as just getting me back in the daily writing habit. That right there was worth the cost of the workshop (though I’m obviously learning so much more…).

And for those who have been following along weekly – yes, my taxes are done and will be in the mail on April 18th. I’m not efiling because I owe the feds money, and they can just wait for my check to get there, thank you very much. This coming Friday night, I’m adding some dedicated bookkeeping time to my weekly business hours.

I’ve been thinking lately of pulling a couple of shelved drafts out and reworking them for publication. The basic plot is sound enough, but they need revision/additions to work. I do believe that might be something to work on after poetry month is over. I’m excited at the prospect, and I hate revising with a passion. So there’s gotta be something there, right? We’ll see.

Serial story chapter coming Friday, and another week’s worth of poems Saturday. Stay tuned!

Poem-A-Day Challenge: Week 2 Poems

Our National Poetry Month challenge continues…don’t forget to check out Carol’s poems too!

This week, I tried to be more descriptive. Description is my personal writing “unicorn”, if you will. I’m not good at it for several reasons I’ll discuss once I figure out how to do so, but in the meantime, I’m working on it. These are definitely more descriptive, but some of them are still pretty rough around the edges. Not too bad though, methinks…


Saturday, 4/8: Spring Fever (also featured on the BSB blog – a prompt story)

Thick strappy leaves wave merrily
propelled by warm fuzzy bodies
under bright spring sunshine.

Happy tails move this way and that
sending the occasional loose petal
flying free of its cup-like structure.

Red and yellow dominate the field.
A pleasant breeze ruffles ear-fur and
delights busy noses that sniff and seek.

Is there anything happier than soft
wigglebutts and bright fresh blossoms
on a warm spring day?

Sunday, 4/9: Bookkeeping (because…taxes)

What have I done?
Slacked off here, left off there,
shirked responsibility.

Need to fix this,
but there’s so much to do.
Just want to chuck it all.

Promises, every year,
to do better than the last.
Never happens.

Maybe next year.

Monday, 4/10: Morning Noise

It’s so loud —
the six am meeting of the
finely feathered & famished.

Like old friends,
they greet each other with
soulful salutations & song.

The sun rises
and the joyous treetop choir
summons the sleeping to stir.

But…it’s so loud!

Tuesday, 4/11: Lost It

It’s gone.
I don’t know where or how or when,
but it was here, and now it’s not.
I can’t believe I lost it.

I seek.
At home, at work, the car, the bed,
it simply vanished, so it seems.
I don’t know what to do.

I pine.
It was so lovely, useful, perfect.
Not sure what I’ll do without it.
But I must move on.

I buy.
It will be shiny, new, and updated.
This one as perfect as the last.
Maybe even better.

Wednesday 4/12: The Dentist (because…fillings)

It starts with a “pinch”
to numb out the pain.
A brief, quiet wait
until no feeling remains.

The man in white comes
blue mask and gloves donned.
I try to relax,
put my best game-face on.

The drill starts to whine,
burnt enamel fills my nose,
my fingers clench tight,
water & suction whoosh through a hose.

Above me four eyes,
quarters are tight,
gloved fingers, small tools
and that big too-bright light.

My tongue tries to hide
from the chemical tastes,
and the bite of a tool
weilded in haste.

All eventually ends
and my head spins to adjust
when they tip the chair upright
and wipe off the dust.

A necessary evil
this nightmare routine
but it happens less often
with good dental hygiene!

Thursday, 4/13: Daydreams

A wisp of wind swirls through newly born leaves,
green grass swishes softly in a warm summer breeze.

Air fresh and sweet caresses her skin,
she closes her eyes as the daydreams begin.

The hammock sways gently ‘tween two big birch trees,
the afternoon’s quiet save the low hum of bees.

Restless, she shifts, dreams of her paramour.
Does he dream of her too, the one she longs for?

Her heartbeat is loud, her adrenaline flows,
the mere thought of his touch makes her tingle and glow.

It’s all in her head, a fairy-tale ode,
another time, another life, another untaken road.

She opens her eyes, watches shadows diffuse,
waits for the stars to wish for her muse.

Friday, 4/14: A Bad Day

The alarm was off and so was I,
that long and fateful day.
It’s been awhile, so I can scoff,
but things were really gray.

Late to wake and late to work,
nary a sunshiny ray.
A server was down, tempers were up,
and many a nerve set to fray.

Car broke down and dog got sick,
the money drained away.
Dinner was burnt, rain came down,
and left no chance to play.

TV was awful and so was the news,
all touting political sway.
Too fried to write, to tired to read,
but sleep was respite from the grey.


Thanks for reading…feel free to share your own poems below. And stop back next Saturday for another week’s worth of poetry!

Serial Story: Rattlesnake Falls, Book 1, Ch. 10

This serial story is posted one chapter per week on Fridays, in unedited (draft) form. It may contain adult situations that might not be suitable for children. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! 

No, I still haven’t decided on the title. One should come to me eventually. Just gotta keep writing….


Rattlesnake Falls Book 1

Chapter 10

“What did the sheriff’s office say?”

Dillon’s hushed voice was the first thing Shelley heard when she came to, and she instinctively turned her head toward him. He was pacing in front of a large window, cell phone to his ear and worry lines creasing his face.

Her throat was dry. She swallowed hard, and then reached for a cup on the bedside table, but only managed to knock it off. Dillon turned, and he smiled, though the worry lines didn’t quite go away.

“Hey  — Shelley’s up. I gotta run. I should be back in a few hours though. Have everyone stick close to camp until I get there, okay?”

“What’s wrong?” Shelley managed. Dillon got her cup from the floor, washed it in the sink and filled it with water from a nearby pitcher.

“Let’s start with the good news instead.” He grinned. “The docs say you’re perfectly fine, just took a hard hit to the noggin and a few other parts of your body. They want you to rest for awhile, but the good thing is, you can do that at home. They’ll discharge you in an hour or two, or so they say. I can set up a ride to take you home when you’re done, if you want.”

Shelley took a long pull on her water, and set the cup down. “What’s the bad news? Who were you just talking to?”

“That was Jerry — our foreman at the ranch. He oversees day to day operations when Mike and I aren’t there.”

Her heart nearly stopped right then and there. “Why isn’t Mike there? Did he find Tabby? Are they on their way home? Why isn’t that good news? What aren’t you telling me?”

Dillon sighed deep and crossed his arms over his chest. Leaning one hip against the side of her bed.

“I’m sorry, but they haven’t found her yet. Mike found her trail and went after her, but neither of them have come back.”

He reached out to lay a hand on her arm, but she pulled away.

“We have to go — we have to get out there and find them. They could be hurt or stuck somewhere! How fast can you get us to your camp?” She reached over and was about to pull the IV out when there was a knock on the door.

Not waiting for an answer, a tall, young guy in a white coat and full beard approached her bed. She thought he was smiling, but it was hard to tell with all that hair around his lips.

“Hi Shelley — I’m Doctor Grant. And you are one lucky lady to have survived that crash without any real injuries as a result. You’re going to be sore for a few days, but there’s nothing major to worry about.”

Shelley nodded, impatient. “So can I go then, Doc? How long does it take to get out of here, because we have a long drive ahead.”

The doctor looked at her strangely. “I didn’t know you were from out of town. Where do you live?”

It was Shelley’s turn to look confused. “What? No, I live here. If ‘here’ is Billings, anyway. So I can go, right?”

“Yes, but you need to wait for the nurse to get the paperwork done. She’ll be by to remove that IV line too — don’t pull that out yourself. But I’m releasing you to go home and rest, not to travel. Wherever you think you need to go really needs to wait.”

“They train you to put IVs in, right Doc?” She held the arm with the IV line out to him.

“Yes, but…”

“So either you take this out, or I will. I appreciate you guys checking me over, but since I’m okay, we need to get going.” She grinned, hoping it would take him off balance. “Come on. You know you want to. Cut through the red tape for once. We won’t tell.”

Dillon chuckled from a few feet away. “You may as well give in, Doc. I don’t know her that well, but she seems pretty stubborn. Do you really want to risk her pulling it out herself?”

Shaking his head, Doctor Grant put his clipboard down and grabbed a pair of gloves.

“So what’s so important, if you don’t mind my asking?” He got a piece of gauze and some bandage tape from a cupboard and pulled out the IV, putting gauze and pressure on the hole and tying it off with tape.

“My friend got herself lost on a mountain at his — “ Shelley gestured to Dillon “- camp.

“And my friend went to find her, and didn’t come back. Now we need to go find both of them.”

Doctor Grant lifted his eyebrows. “Wow. That sounds pretty serious. Are you sure you shouldn’t just call in the authorities?”

Dillon nodded. “Yep — just had my foreman do that. But the more people looking for them, the better. It’s pretty wild country — just hills and meadows and forest all over. Beautiful, but it can be dangerous at times.”

“Well then, you’d better get going. But do me a favor and drop Shelley off at home on your way out of town. She — “ he looked straight at Shelley — “ need to rest. You’re in no shape to be climbing around in forests or on mountains, much less trying to help bring other people out.”

Shelley sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Doc, I only have one question for you before you can leave and not worry about us one minute more.”

He nodded. “What’s that?”

“Where are my clothes?”


Thanks for reading! Check back next week for Chapter 11!

Like this post? Support your author (Amazon links):

Tempest | The Biker’s Wench (Fantasy Ranch Book 1) | MacKenzie Saves the World: A Comic Shop Romance

Challenges & Choices

I wasn’t actually sure I was going to survive last week. Everything that could go wrong pretty much did, and not just one or two days, but every day. On top of that, doing the poem-a-day workshop took up a lot of time I didn’t have, which means I didn’t get to bed on time any night last week (including this weekend). That means I didn’t get any reading time, or enough rest. Which put me behind today (Sunday, as I write this), because I slept late, and just a little bit ago I finally sat down to look at last year’s bookkeeping for the publishing business to see where I left off.

As far as I can tell, I started updating my financial program last year, decided I didn’t have enough time or energy or whatever, gave up, and just added up my sales reports for the total income & used my bank statements to calculate my expenditures. Which is absolutely fine/accurate for taxes, but now I’m two years and 2.5 months behind on bookkeeping for the business, and because I didn’t look at this earlier, I’m going to have to do the same thing this year. Which is way more work than actually clicking the button in the finance program to generate a sales/loss report for the year to plug into my tax program.

It’s also a lot more work than just keeping my finance books up to date once a month. Seriously.

Yet another thing in my life that I really need to just get control of and keep control of. It’s not hard, it’s not mysterious, it’s not something I need to “learn” how to do…I just need to do it. Because it will make my life exponentially easier, at least once a year.

I have no idea why I have such a mental block about taking care of finances, but there’s got to be a way to get past it and be more responsible in that area.

In other news, the poetry challenge has been both negative and positive. As I mentioned earlier, I really didn’t have time to do that, and I still don’t, and my sleep and reading/relaxing schedule was completely shot (not to mention any knitting/crochet time i the evenings). I really need to figure out some other way to keep up this week, because I can’t do a whole month like this…I’ll go insane.

On the other hand, I’ve discovered that poetry is a great warm-up for writing prose, and I’m actually enjoying writing poems far more than I thought I would. It has also increased my prose output just due to having that extra deadline hanging over my head, and I’m finally getting back to a reasonable per-night word count again. I think after the month is over, I’ll keep writing poetry…though at a much more moderate pace (say, one poem a week or so).

I’ve also discovered that I really like writing by hand on my cell and/or tablet. I have Samsung Note devices (cell & tablet) with the SNote program, which makes it easy, and I’ve found that handwriting first drafts and notes, and then typing the manuscript back in is a great editing tool.

Another boon is that it’s making me think more about word choice and sound in my prose, which is exactly what I was hoping it would do. So definitely worth it, if I can just regain some balance this week. Thankfully taxes aren’t due until the 18th this year, which gives me next Saturday to actually fill out the forms (yay TurboTax!), but I’ll have to calculate my profit/loss numbers working in the evenings this week. My eyes are already squinting at the thought of all that extra screen time.

This week is going to be all about collecting/calculating the business info I need for taxes, and also figuring out how to fit my poem-a-day in with my regular writing and still get to bed on time so I can read and recharge the brain before sleep (and getting enough sleep).

Next week, after my taxes are done and filed, it will be time to figure out how I’m going to get the bookkeeping all caught up, and keep it up to date from now on. *sigh*

And someday, maybe I’ll be rich enough to pay someone to do my accounting for me, right? (Don’t worry, I’m not holding my breath either.)

Poem-A-Day Challenge: Week 1 Poems

If you’ve read Monday’s post, you know that it’s National Poetry Month, and Carol and I decided on a whim (okay, she dared me) to do a Poem-a-Day challenge for the month of April. I signed up for a workshop here in town (I’m doing it online though, because time & people), and while I work to daily prompts (mostly), she’s decided to explore different poetry forms daily. If you click on her name, you’ll get to her blog, and she will be posting her weekly poems on Saturdays as well.

So, these Saturday posts will be a bit longer than normal, because they’ll contain an entire week’s worth of poetry – good, bad or ugly. Much like my serial stories, these are posted in draft form, though since I’m handwriting a lot of them and typing them back in, they’re getting at least minimal editing (hooray!).

Without further ado, I give you this week’s poems. Want to share some of yours? Feel free to paste or link to them in the comments!


Saturday 4/1: The Well

The well was dry, or so they thought
a bucket dropped in and brought back for naught.
Toss a coin down, wish on a prayer,
perhaps our dark secrets will disappear there.

Years after, the well still stands in a field
holding cursed coins and treasure appeal.
But for all who would visit, a sacrifice made,
another dark secret in the well must be laid.

Sunday 4/2: Mornings

It starts with a buzz
then another
vibration
harbinger of imminent doom.

The ship bell tolls loud
banishes sleep
irritation
summoned for immediate gloom.

Stumble into the kitchen
doggy duties
infusion
tea before leaving this room.

Down to the basement
sun salutation
meditation
illumination begins to bloom.

The shower runs warm
brainfog clearing
realization
today no early tomb.

Monday 4/3: Ode to Bindweed (also posted on the Snake Bites blog for this week’s poetry prompt)

Solemn and quiet the brown earth lays,
newly exposed after winter abed,
waiting patiently for nutrients and UV rays,
to warm the dark soil and summon the dead.

Deep underneath, where no light penetrates,
the tiniest microbes wiggle and churn,
tough twisted roots begin to replicate
preparing for their evil master’s return.

The rake turns the soil, pulls back the top
tiny seeds scattered wide, a last ditch hope.
The rake cuts the roots, but they don’t ever stop
indeed they grow into stronger, deeper rope.

Those arrow-shaped leaves, the bell-shaped flowers
would surely be pretty at some other abode.
In this place the sight is one quite sour
akin to licking the back of a toad.

Tuesday, 4/4: Affairs of the Heart

Maybe we shouldn’t
do this.
It’s going to hurt.
It always does.

We could, I suppose
but then
if bliss fades away
we’ll be alone.

The thing about love
is that
it keeps coming back.
There’s no escape.

But sometimes it comes
for one
and not the other.
Longing is pain.

The heart is fickle
and so
often I don’t know
how to proceed.

Maybe we shouldn’t
but then
again maybe we
should.

Wednesday, 4/5: Voices

It was there in the wasteland
of mid-afternoon that I heard
the voices.

They called to me with whispered
insistent ferver that I could
not ignore.

You want it, we know you do.
You know it’s true, so why don’t you?
They said.

Alas, no coin or paper
graces pocket, wallet or purse
this day.

Apologies, dear voices.
No sweet, or salt, or extra fizz
for us.

Thursday, 4/6: The Secret

Come sit closer
and I’ll tell you a tale
of something lost
something hidden
a curse on a gale.

I wouldn’t divulge
but my last breath is nigh
and someone must
know the secret
of how to survive.

Out back past the tree
where we had our first talk
a wooden box
buried shallow
with gold straps and lock.

Listen — do you hear?
The wind begins to blow.
The restless curse
comes closer now
but you need to know.

The box holds a key
that will open a door
in the basement
behind bookshelves
where rests our folklore.

As soon as I say
this next bit you must run.
Retrieve the key,
unseal the room.
My work here is done.

Hush now, don’t fear, child.
I’ve accepted my fate.
Find the gold tome,
chant the third verse.
Do not hesitate.

The curse, how she howls
like a wolf at the moon.
She comes for me,
go quickly now.
Save yourself from doom.

Friday, 4/7: How Handsome

How handsome you would look
in a puzzle-piece suit.
Jigsaw lines making pinstripes chaotic
and a tie sporting straight-edge simplicity.

When we’d walk down the street,
people would smile and laugh
and say that you’re very well put together.

How handsome you would look
in a crocheted woolen sweater.
Colorful twists of thick fiber knotted into
stylish cables, ribbing, and affectionate warmth.

When we’d walk down the street,
people would snuggle deeper into
their own coats and wish they could feel your softness.

How handsome you would look
in a paperback shirt.
Creamy white paper with black letters dancing
across your chest, and a kilt of colorful covers to match.

When we’d walk down the street,
people would attempt to read your
pages and peek between your covers.


Whew! A good, but challenging week, methinks. Next week, seven more poems. Anyone want to join in? It’s not too late…just start writing!

Serial Story: Rattlesnake Falls, Book 1, Ch. 9

This serial story is posted one chapter per week on Fridays, in unedited (draft) form. It may contain adult situations that might not be suitable for children. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! 

No, I still haven’t decided on the title. One should come to me eventually. Just gotta keep writing….


Rattlesnake Falls Book 1

Chapter 9

“Shelley? Can you hear me? Shelley — wake up!”

She groaned and tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t.

“Don’t wanna. Want to sleep,” she whispered, trying to roll over onto her side but her muscles wouldn’t cooperate.

Why couldn’t she move? And why was it freezing? And why did her entire body hurt like she’d been thrown off a cliff or hit by a truck or something?

With considerable effort, she forced her eyes open and quickly closed them against a bright light. Someone else pulled one eyelid up, and she tried to turn her head away as the blinding light flashed back over her eye. As quickly as that eyelid was released, the other was pulled back with a flash of light.

“Her pupils are responding.” The strange voice was close — too close, and Shelley tried to move away. Her muscles would just not work though. What the hell?

“That’s good, right? A good sign? Is she going to be okay?”

A voice Shelley recognized, finally. Thank God.

“Dillon? What happened? Why can’t I move?” She tentatively opened her eyes again, thankful that the bright light was gone. Dillon was staring down at her, along with another man she didn’t know, and a strange woman. Above them was an ivory ceiling of some sort, and the same ivory color continued down the walls where a bunch of metal cabinets were hung.

“You’re strapped to a backboard, ma’am,” the other man answered. “You were in a car accident, and took a nasty hit to the head. We need to take you to the hospital and have you checked out.”

She shifted her eyes to look at Dillon. “My car?”

He nodded. “You blew a tire. I got your bag, and I’ll see what I can do about the rest once we get you settled into the hospital. These guys are gonna knock you out for awhile — it’ll be a long ride to the hospital. I’ll be right behind you.”

She tried to nod, and then remembered she had to answer. But she remembered something else, too, and her eyes got wide.

“Tabitha! We were going to find her — she’s lost! You have to find her…”

She could feel him touch her arm, the warmth of his skin a welcome contrast to the cold of the backboard.

“Mike’s looking for her, and he’s one of the best trackers there is. He’ll find her, trust me. Might have found her already.”

Again, Shelley tried to nod, and her eyes welled up in frustration.

“Are you sure? I can’t…I can’t just leave her up there alone.” She blinked back tears, knowing he was probably right about Mike. Tabby wasn’t the kind to run too far — she’d hide first.

Still…

“Shelley, we need your consent to give you something to help you sleep during the trip. Trust me, you’ll want to sleep.”

She tried to shake her head no, and then tried to raise a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. Unable to do either, she blinked fast to clear her eyes so she could at least look at the paramedic who was only trying to help.

“I don’t like drugs. Not even legal ones. I get weird side effects. Can I just have a couple ibuprofen? That will be plenty.”

The paramedic shook his head. “Sorry — we can’t give you pills orally while you’re immobilized. But as long as you’re not allergic to morphine, I can start a very light drip to keep you comfortable. It shouldn’t—“

“Cause any pain? Or course not. Give me weird side effects? Probably. But go ahead. Shoot me up. I’m already going nuts — might as well sleep through the rest.”

She looked at Dillon. “You really don’t have to follow me. I’ll be fine, and once they check me out and tell me that, I’ll be back up here in no time.” She felt the prick of the IV needle go in, and saw a bag with clear liquid hung up from the ceiling.

He chuckled. “Well, I’ll follow you anyway — if for nothing else than to give you a ride back to your car. Or what’s left of it, anyway.”

Shelley felt the fluid start flowing into her veins, an itchy feeling that wasn’t pleasant. Closing her eyes, she wondered how long the diagnostics were going to take. She had to get back as soon as she could.

For Tabitha.


Thanks for reading! Check back next week for Chapter 10!

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Poetry & Taxes

April is National Poetry Month, which I normally kind of ignore. It’s not that I don’t like poetry – I like some of it quite well, in fact. Shakespeare’s sonnets were instrumental in shaping romance in my 12 year old heart (that actually sounds sort of scary now, but it’s true), and while I didn’t do well in my poetry classes in college because I had no time to do the assignments with work and other classes (well, and I had issues with some of the analytical methods, but I’ve always been rebellious like that), I still loved reading the poems and have kept those textbooks all these years.

All that said, I’m really not much of a poet. I’ve always been more of a prose kind of girl, and found poetry difficult to write. But considering I like to read poetry, and I think poetry could help me write better prose (whether I can write decent poetry or not), I decided to attend a free Poem-A-Day Challenge kickoff at a local bookstore this past Saturday afternoon. We talked about poetry, heard some poetry, and even wrote some first lines and a poem to start.

By the end, I’d talked myself into paying for the daily writing prompts and online workshop. Which is complete madness, because I have *no time* to work on a poem every day and still work on my prose writing. No time!

Alas, I signed up, so now I have to figure out how to make it so. Which is why I’m missing out on my reading time tonight to write this blog post – I spent my post-writing time finishing the poem I needed to write for Sunday. But I really can’t do that every day this month – that reading time is very important to both my writing and my sleep patterns. So I have to figure out some other time to work on poetry, and not spend too much time dilly-dallying with it.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?

In any case, my best buddy Carol who has agreed to write a poem per day with me this month, insists that we can’t just be trusted to write poetry daily – we have to prove it. So we are sending each other our poems every day, and then we’ll both post all the poems from the week on our respective blogs once weekly for the month.

I’ll be posting my weekly collection on Saturdays, so if you want to read what I’m working on this month, by all means, feel free to stop by. It will be…well, interesting, I hope.

In other news, I still have to do my taxes. I always do them at the last minute, because we always break even, so there’s really no point in doing them early. This past weekend, I downloaded all my various sales reports, and Friday night I’ll need to get those entered into my accounting software so I can aggregate the information I need, and then next Sunday will be tax day around here. *sigh* TurboTax makes it easy-ish, but still. Does anyone actually like doing taxes? I think not.

Is there anything remotely poetic about taxes? We just might see…