#WMHD and #WEP Horrorfest 2024

October 10 is World Mental Health Day.






Sometimes, having someone else shop for you can improve your mental health for the day. Here's a discount on Instacart.

Https://inst.cr/t/d832be624  JDORNER1E119 code to save!

~~~🎃👻👿💀😈💫~~~🎃👻👿💀😈💫~~~

https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2024/10/wep-halloween-flash-fiction-special.html

Disclaimer 1:

For this fiction, Hell exists. It is sort of a pocket dimension. Human souls are often sent there after death for "cleansing punishment" in varying degrees of time and type. (Eternity for some, momentarily for the more innocent, etc.) Those condemned souls are usually unaware of the death the body they inhabited has undergone, thus they can experience pain, suffering, and trauma— all as the living would. 

Accounts of Hell describe it as a place of incredible fire, as if inside a star or forming planet, with strong stenches of sulfur. Demons are known to be the primary creatures to deliver punishment and are thought to be organized in a hierarchy (like corporations, militaries, etc.). 

Disclaimer 2: 

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt22003362/

Special Forces: World's Toughest Test

("Special Forces: World's Toughest Test is an American reality quasi-military training television series that premiered on Fox on January 4, 2023.")

This FICTION is inspired by this "reality tv" show. 

This fiction should, in no way, be considered a true or accurate desire or wish. There was an episode where one of the Staff insulted a candidate by saying he was like a "scared little girl." That is the inspiration for this, because there was no need to insult an entire gender or age group. 

In every episode, they all go somewhere to do a challenge. Then, the Staff picks a candidate to blindfold with a hood and pull into the meeting room to discuss why they're there and dig into their mental and emotional states. After that, usually, there are endurance exercises or something to "pay" for failing the challenges. (The Format changes by episode.) 

Pronunciation Guide: Jauroran - Make the J sound, "Juh," then the word aurora, then "an." Imagine him as a handsome young actor who would be cast to play a prince. 

Cruelabra - Combine the word cruel with "abra" (like candelabra).

Tagline: Never underestimate "scared little girls."

Guardian Demon

Jamie Dorner - 800 words - FCA

Bucky and the other Staff decide to pull candidate Jauroran in for a discussion. As his hood is removed, Jauroran shakes and sweats as he is sat on the metal chair. 

"Still a mess? You're back here on solid ground. Worried you'll fall off the chair?" Bucky asks, his smirk widening at the terrified young celebrity. 

"Yes, Staff. Err, no, Staff." Jauroran puts his head in his hands and tugs his famous haircut.

Bucky yells at him, "LOOK AT ME!" 

Jauroran moves his hands. His eyes close as he slowly cracks his neck. His fingers extend, each knuckle cracking. The stink of sulfur fills the room as the camera equipment fails. Jauroran's handsome twenty-four-year-old face appears to wrinkle and melt, replaced by a ghastly visage. 

"What thef**k?" Bucky smacks the table as he tries to get up. 

"Aww, can't move? Pity." An eerie voice emanates from Jauroran, like an evil ventriloquist woman is puppeting him. "That wide-eyed look, your racing pulse, the urine running down your pants… if I didn't know better, I'd say you, Bucky, have become a scared little girl." 

The last three words echo off the walls. Next to the table, a cloudy vision of Bucky using that same phrase earlier appears. Jauroran, clinging to a rope, begging for help and direction, fades in the cloudy hallucination. Only the ghost-like view of Bucky shouting about worthlessness remains. The shape changes as clouds swirl around the form. A young Bucky hovers there, yelling at someone else. 

"A scared little girl," the eerie voice from Jauroran says. "I do hope you remember your first." 

Bucky swats at the cloudy image. "What is this?" 

"We normally wait for your death to review your failures to humanity." The eerie voice cackles. "I am Cruelabra, a demon in service directly to our leader. It is impossible to imagine that she was once a human child, isn't it?"

"What? Who? How?" Sweat pours down Bucky's face. 

"She died that day. You impressed the bullies for a few hours. And she fell to her death. Scared, betrayed, begging for your help. Such an isolated child. Upon arrival to Hell, she was found almost entirely innocent. Except forgiveness was not in her soul. We don't mind. In fact, such a trait made her a demon and fast-tracked her promotions. She leads the demons now." Cruelabra's cackling laugh shakes the room. 

Jauroran's feet kick up onto the table as his body reclines in the chair. "Here's what's especially funny," Cruelabra's voice says from his melted-looking lips. "The scared little girl you failed to help, who you harassed to save your own skin, not only is she now the demon ruler of Hell, but Jauroran is her nephew."

Bucky whimpers that it wasn't his fault, crying about his innocence and just being a boy back then.

Cruelabra laughs. "That girl's family assumed she went to some other dimension. Peace, love, fluffy clouds, whatever humans hope to go to after life. So, when her sister gave birth twenty-four years ago, and the infant struggled to survive, the family prayed for the dead girl to look after the baby. They didn't know what they asked. She assigned me."

Bucky retched. "You're a guardian angel?"

Jauroran's feet swung off the table. Cruelabra scoffed at the bile. "Disgusting human. I am a guardian demon, more or less. I possess this body whenever he feels stressed or pained, or so many of the feelings he felt today. Usually, he's a happy actor, playing the prince you all know and love. You know the feelings he mentioned that his career has been so much easier than everyone else's, that he's here to test himself because he feels like something unknown has always helped him? That's accurate. He doesn't know I can enter at any time or that I've ensured his success at every turn. I have. And he will win your little show. You will see to it."

"I can't. There's nothing I can do," Bucky's words sputter as he begs.

"You will. Jauroran shall not feel such fear and failure again on your watch." Cruelabra leans closer. "We have no obligation to wait for your death to start the torture. I have taken down many humans. Do you like your identity?" 

Bucky whimpers, "Please, don't do this."

"Jauroran wins. You will protect and help him. Prevent him from feeling isolated and abandoned. Cheat, lie, do all that you must. Oh, and never call someone a scared little girl again. You have one waiting for you, though she's no longer scared. And certainly not little. Your soul belongs to a demon leader, and you will feel what she felt, amplified, for all eternity."

As his face returned to normal, Jauroran shook his head. "Staff? Did I pass out?"

 

Funniest ... well, at least the humorous image goes with my story. 

😅🤷‍♀️ I tried. 😘

Theme Reveal 2024 #AtoZChallenge and #WEP check in update

I missed the window for the theme reveal hop. Honestly, I wasn't sure I'd try to participate this year.

At the last moment (today is the end of March), I decided I'd try. I didn't really know what I'd be willing to spend a month blogging about. Well, what goal in my life would my soul most regret if I'd "stroke out" 🧠🚫💀⚰👻 in April?

Back in 2016, I started writing a story. A friend of the family, actually the child of the friend, endured some... 🐮💩...unfair and harsh realities due to her stepmother. As part of the legal deal and decision, the case cannot be discussed. There's no newspaper article. (Which is like, to me, 😩😵🤯, unacceptable. How can they sweep all of this under the rug! And force a gag order on a child??)

I can't do anything about the law. I, being an outsider, am not under the legal gag order. I obtained my knowledge prior to that deal and ruling. And I am not connected. So, Freedom of Speech for my American butt says that I can whip up a fictional story. I can create a character and give her a similar situation. (The mother in my story is nothing like the real stepmother, who I feel should be in prison for multiple reasons. But I can't fix that.) 

The thing is, the girl was made to feel very alone. And that, in my opinion, wasn't right. The way communities shut out the child for something she didn't do and had no control over, it enrages me. I can use that to write a fictional story. 




There is a cropped screenshot Google result showing how I know my story has a target audience. I do not know how many of those children are teens or YA. But I know there are readers who could use a protagonist with a similar situation. 

My main character is also dealing with racism. Not only have I based that antagonist character off of a real educator I know, but the current political climate of my country shows just how much racism is on the rise. 

This story has been getting rejected since 2017.  

A big obstacle is that my main character is a Latina, and is eager to celebrate her quinceañera. As a lot of agents rejected the query because they didn't know that word (SERIOUSLY??? "Most Latino New Yorkers live in New York City, where they number more than 2.4 million strong and account for one quarter of the city's population." How can agents in NYC not know that word with a population that size living where they work? Get your heads out of the sand, people!!!), so I changed the query wording to include "15th birthday." 🤦 Then they asked if I'd make my main character a different age, at least already 15. You know why? Because non-Latinx Americans would celebrate a sweet 16, not a quinceañera! Apparently, I haven't found an agent who knows a publisher who can market to the Latina ya market. 

I didn't start writing this story so I could just have another little white girl character. I started it because of an injustice done to a real child. She is not allowed to discuss it. But I can tell her story, disguised under the protection of fiction and by adding enough secondary attributes to give plausible deniability in case someone should ever figure things out. (And yet I'm writing a blog post. Go figure.) But I really don't want to change the age.

Yet, because of the events in the story, I know it cannot be MG. Even YA might be pushing my luck.

Honestly, this could all be for nothing. The election in November could land America with political leaders who will burn every book at every school. (Seriously, see the horrors of the school libraries in Florida. They drained them. Fiction, non-fiction, doesn't matter.) 

A big reason I want to traditional publish this book is to increase its chances of landing in libraries. My target audience is more likely to need to borrow from a library, and not everyone has book money. 

ANYWAY

So I am going to try to use April to beg for help to improve this book and create a new query letter. 

Here's the latest (without a personal info paragraph, obviously). I'll be revising this story. Please help!

 

I am trying. I suffered a stroke in January. My right side has been slowly recovering since. My right hand, the dominant hand for me, is still not fully recovered. I haven't typed this slow since I was a child first learning. I had spent weeks focused on just moving my fingers. "J K L ;" the letter L and the semicolon took the longest. My typing teachers would be appalled right now, because my current finger placement is not correct. 

I don't know if I'll make it through the challenge this year. I'm trying, though. 

Bout of Books 38 Recap and Winning News

Bout of Books 38- August 2023 

boutofbooks.blogspot.com


https://twitter.com/PenMinion/status/1690055986310979594 My sign-up.
https://uniquelymaladjustedbutfun.blogspot.com/2023/08/bout-of-books-birthday.html Also on my blog.
As you can see, I'm doing this with a friend.

If you follow my blog, you also know my Instagram was hijacked during BoutOfBooks. Because I needed to take time from reading to deal with a hacker? 😡

A GOOD THING HAPPENED:

Chocolate and Death #WEPFF Flash Fiction won an award. Highly controversial flash fiction.


Back to my readathon wrap up with reviews:

---

This first book was J's pick.

Shattered: A Story of Betrayal and Courage by C. Lee McKenzie  ⭐⭐⭐


On the TV show Grey's Anatomy Season 9 Episode 13, there's a patient with a double hip replacement, a 13-year-old gymnast named Simmi Johnson. She does not want to do her physical therapy rehabilitation. Her dark negativity brings several of the doctors down. She was an Olympic hopeful and now she can barely walk. That patient from that episode reminded me of Libby in this book. Actually, the multitude of episodes where Arizona is obsessed with her left leg also reminded me of Libby. Except those were accidents, not sabotage. 

(I'm also reminded of the first Friday the 13th film. Even though this book isn't horror, there is a common bond.) 

There are things in the book that I do not understand. Overall, Libby seems to be very privileged. The family can afford a personal in-home therapist for rehab, a new car with handicapped driving controls, at least a three-bedroom house, a greenhouse, a remodeled handicapped-accessible bathroom, Olympic-level ski equipment and training, and regular trips to the lake. But Libby mentions how she once had to save money on haircuts? I don't understand that, especially considering the mom seems like a diva with serious beauty upkeep. 

I also could not work out the time toward the end of the book. Chapter 23 says there will be a race on Saturday and Sunday. No practice Friday before the race. Chapter 24, Libby goes to bed on Thursday night. She calls Harley in the morning, and they make plans for that day (Friday), leaving at 9am. They go to the village. Meet Dirk. Chapter 25, they go see Etta. Then they decide to stay in the area for the night at Parker's. They spend Chapter 26 going to sleep. Libby tells her dad they're staying another day. That's where I got confused because there's supposed to be a race on Saturday, so is she ditching her team? But hang on. Chapter 27, they wake up before dawn. It is, therefore, Saturday. At 4am, they get to their destination. Chapter 28, they go see Peter. Then Grady's Cafe. The sun is now topping the mountain. They drive for three hours. Shelby has ten others in line ahead of them. Libby and Harley have been awake for seven hours (so it's 11am?) They keep falling asleep. And then they get the Friday introductory rate, after a conversation verifying that it is Friday not Saturday. Except it has to be Saturday? Because they left Friday at 9am on this quest, went to sleep, and started again the next morning which has to be Saturday. Right? In the late afternoon of this magical day (Friurday), they stop for food and coffee. Then they are stuck because two smart girls did a dumb. Chapter 29, the sun dips low. There's a conversation with an elderly woman. The moon is out. It's now "nine." The race is at "six." By Chapter 30, it's after seven. They have to stop for vitals, then it's seven-thirty. Now Libby has to be there by "ten" instead of by "six." This is justified because she's missing warm-ups. At nine-thirty, they're forty-five minutes away. She's late but somehow makes it anyway. Then after the race (which is allegedly on Saturday), she makes plans with Ash for "tomorrow night at six." Chapter 32, she's getting ready to go see Ash. Okay, so the plan was for "tomorrow." The tomorrow that normally follows Saturday is called Sunday. But the tomorrow that follows "Friurday" is Saturday, apparently. I am so freaking confused! Libby tells her mom she's rowing the next day. Then there's a voicemail and Libby realizes something about the race taking place tomorrow. Meaning it's Saturday again, or Friurday. She goes to dinner at Ash's. He toasts to the win "yesterday." Meaning it's definitely Sunday. What happened to the race that was supposed to take place on Sunday? "It was such a close one today." Oh, so maybe that race took place? Okay. "Are you up for tomorrow's big race?" WHAT? So is there a third race on Monday that was never mentioned before? Friurday might be Friursunday. The chapter ends with him mentioning getting sleep before the next race. Chapter 33, she gets up and goes to the race. No other race is mentioned for the next day. So, logically, it was Sunday. But the dinner with Ash was Saturday, even though the plan was for the next night. As I said, it made no sense to me. I could not work out the timeline.

Marcus is seventeen when we first meet him. In Chapter 42, we learn that Marcus will be an adult "in a couple of years." What age is adulthood there? 

"The only way to dispel doubts is to investigate." I really loved it when Harely said that. 

I thought the character development was good. Libby definitely changes and evolves through the book, and the reader certainly gets to see it. Some of the other characters also improve. The mystery villain who orchestrated the accident made sense to me. Other than the inconsistencies in days and finances, I thought the book was okay. It was different from the usual books I enjoy. 

This is my honest review of a book I borrowed from a family member. 

---

This next book was my pick.

Christian Garcia Is Fu*king Obsessed (21 Boys Later Book 2) by Dori Aleman-Medina  ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

This book was so fun to read. It was a birthday gift sent to me by the author whom I've known online since MySpace, thanks to our shared love of books, games, and scrapbooking. This is my honest review. These characters are absolutely amazing and so very well developed. They have all kinds of problems and struggles to deal with, which keeps the plot moving quickly along. There were some really fun throwbacks to the first book. The heat is dialed up to eleven, making it romance nudging on the side of erotica. The setting came alive. There's a school for special needs children that sounds so well-funded and devoted to really helping children excel. I couldn't help but wonder how much a detective and a cake bakery owner earn a year because they seem to be doing really well. 

There are trigger warnings because things do get dark. Language, s3x, violence, adult subject matter, teens having consensual s3x in complicated relationships, and mental health issues all come up. I'd like to warn you about tacos. Because, listen, there's a gathering at the house, and there are tacos. "Leftover tacos," which I've never heard of leftover ones... but the point is that you might want to stock up on some tacos beforehand. And probably milkshakes as well. I could also mention chocolate cake, but if you've read the first book, you already know what that means. 

If you're looking for a steamy hot romance book with lots of drama and suspense, this is the book I'd recommend to you.

---

This final book was our quick pick.

Binti by Nnedi Okorafor   ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Phenomenal science fiction. I learned about real-world places and cultures while flying through space and discovering alien species that are dealing with problems that are very much like ones here on Earth. There's an episode of The West Wing (Season 2, Episode 10, Noël) that reminds me of the conflict because of what C.J. discovers about a woman in a tour group in that show. I enjoyed the resolution offered in the book. It ends with the main character evolving physically, mentally, and emotionally after having faced and succeeded against many serious challenges. There is a scene of violence in this book that may trigger some readers. This is my honest review.

#shelfie #boutofbooks 38
What I read during the readathon #books #BookTwitter #BookRecommendations #DiverseReads #DiverseBooks pic.twitter.com/VHSWqSSjb2

— JamieWriter (@PenMinion) August 28, 2023

What have you read and reviewed lately?

Chocolate and Death #WEPFF Flash Fiction

https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2023/07/wep-august-challenge-chocolat-post.html

Flash Fiction

Chocolate and Death

By Jamie Dorner

*TRIGGER WARNINGS= Murder-suicide, alcohol, language, pedophilia, abortion laws, cancer, house fire.

Tagline: A tragic, controversial, trigger-heavy realistic fiction.
MPA 950 words

I start the fire on a pile of split wood dipped in kerosene outside. A slow burn will give me time. I march into the house. His bowling trophies adorn the mudroom. I knock each one over, watching the precious awards break, stomping on them to be sure none survive. I tip the vodka bottle over the shattered remains. 

"Cheers to your victories, asshole." 

I remember the first time he celebrated a win after I moved in. I was ten.

"Just like the number of pins and frames!" 

I cried harder that night than the months before, when I was mourning my parents. I tried to tell, tried to get help. Everyone cut me off, saying how grateful I must be that my Uncle Cyprus took me in. 

I pour more vodka around the kitchen as I search. There's always a box hidden somewhere. 

The den has a pile of unopened mail. Bills from the hospital. Bright red envelopes from collection agencies. Three stacks of envelopes from places that will never get paid. Cyprus has no life insurance. I take a swig of the vodka. No reason not to drink. I rub my abdomen. Nope, no reason at all. 

Once the desk drawers are flung about, and the vodka is poured out, I leave the room. I grab another bottle from the liquor cart in the living room. There must be a box somewhere, but I haven't found it yet. I knock all the pictures off the mantle. Cyprus with my dad. Cyprus with his bowling team. Cyprus with his car. No pictures of me. My parents' mantle had many pictures of me, of us together, and of their wedding. Love and hope, reasons to live. I soak his pictures with alcohol. I wish I could erase him from the world, to destroy all proof he existed. 

I yank his autographed baseball bat off the wall and head to the bathroom. I take a quick chug from the bottle before I start smashing. Seven years of bad luck for breaking a mirror? I've already had those! I glare at the motion-activated cameras he has hidden and flip them off. Let his perverted subscribers see. My final showing will be one of death and destruction. 

The smoke alarm blares as I head down the hall. My slow-burning fire has finally gotten inside. Good. But I still want to find a box.

I go into his room. This is where I made my choice. I kick his bloody body. "I know you've got a box of them somewhere. I'm going to find them. The very last box ever."

His corpse remains silent. I throw dresser drawers on him as I search. Finally, in his nightstand, I find the treasure. His Bible, as if he has any idea what that book is about, a clip of extra bullets, and the last box of chocolates. I take the box and kick the bullet hole I put in his head. 

"Told you I'd find them." I take another swig of vodka and then pour the remainder of the bottle on him and his drawers of clothing. 

I head to my room. On my desk are printouts from the doctors. Most are about my cancer and the treatment plan. Then there's one which states that I'm pregnant and thus ineligible for cancer treatment. Next is an official state document warning that I will face murder charges if the pregnancy isn't successful. Except, without the treatments, I won't survive into the second trimester. The paper on the top has a fuzzy ultrasound image attached. The fetus is deformed and underdeveloped because of my cancer. 

Humming to myself, I fill my stolen needle and then inject each chocolate. I look at the teddy bear with the webcam eye.

"I wanted to live. Just four more months and I would have been eighteen. I could have left legally. The cops brought me back three times before. But as an adult, I would have been free! Getting me knocked up might have held me back for a little longer. It's illegal to cross state lines without permission while pregnant. But my cancer-ridden body is murdering the fetus. It's illegal to grant needed medical care here in my condition. So, since I'd be dying while imprisoned for murder, I saw no reason not to kill Cyprus."

I pop a chocolate into my mouth. It oozes on my tongue. The poison stings, but the chocolate still tastes sweet. Puffs of smoke sneak under my bedroom door. 

"This is gonna be a snuff film. I hope you all get caught watching it. I hope the authorities find each and every one of you and lock you up on charges of child pornography." I eat another chocolate. "I sent copies of his computer stuff to the FBI and six news agencies. Hopefully, someone bothers to check."

It's harder to enjoy the next chocolate. The poison is fast-acting. My damaged bedroom door has tiny flames in the cracks. 

"Please know that I do not regret my choices. If I could have prevented him from molesting me, I would have. If I could have avoided him impregnating me, I would have. I'd gladly do any cancer treatment offered. I would have fought to live. And I'd have left without killing him. Yes, I thought about it. That murder was absolutely premeditated. I am grateful to be guilty of it. I might have left him alive. This is better." 

The last chocolate passes over my lips. It sticks to the roof of my mouth as my eyes close. The world fades away as the treat he always denied me mixes with my final breath. 

---

This story takes place in America. 

It may or may not be currently legal for a pregnant minor to cross state lines. There was some debate as to if human beings are the property of a state, or if that would be similar to the terms of slavery. Also, it's difficult to enforce as there's not much separating most states. 

Miscarriages may or may not be illegal, and may or may not come with a murder charge. The removal of a fetus which has a failure to thrive and has no signs of survival is also called abortion, but not removing it causes toxins that kill the host.

In some states, a pregnancy test must be done before anyone with a vagina can receive any healthcare treatment (like an Xray) that could risk a potential fetus, even when not getting that treatment immediately can mean the patient dies.

Many treatments can be denied in certain states even if there is absolutely no possible way the fetus can survive long enough in a dying host to be a viable birth -- which is the case in this story. She has been denied cancer treatment because of the pregnancy, but the fetus would never have been born anyway, it could never develop lungs or other needed organs, and the cancer will win. If she were permitted to have treatment, she might go on to have many children, maybe become the scientist who cures cancer, who knows. The fetus is no longer viable at the start of this story. The main character is dead at the end of this story. 

I'm sure there are people out there who believe cancer patients deserve to die if they're impregnated against their will. I don't. So I wrote this. 

Here are a few links, if this story doesn't seem like "realistic fiction" to you:

https://www.politico.com/news/2022/03/19/travel-abortion-law-missouri-00018539

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/idaho-criminalizes-helping-minors-travel-out-of-state-to-get-an-abortion

https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2023/03/01/1158364163/3-abortion-bans-in-texas-leave-doctors-talking-in-code-to-pregnant-patients

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-59214544

https://www.npr.org/2022/07/03/1109015302/abortion-prosecuting-pregnancy-loss
https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/09/us/politics/ohio-abortion-issue-1-takeaways.html

I'll close with a comment I left on a NanoLand post on Facebook about a political fiction story idea that amuses me. Fiction, because there's no possible way a strong Latina and a Drag Queen will win a presidential election anytime soon. I mean, I'd vote for it, but the MAGA Reps would sooner start a war.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/NaNoWriMoparticipants/permalink/10167992311155637
https://www.ocasiocortez.com -- AOC website
https://maebeagirlforcongress.org

WEP Kitchen Counters and the Refrigerated Kind #WEPFF

Hello reader! Today's post has three parts. First, a memory and why I'm so excited about this challenge. Second, the flash fiction, which is mostly meant to be funny, but is a slight commentary on how beliefs factor into arguments. And third is an info dump of knowledge related to the prompt.

💝🤵👰🔔 Wedding day memory:

Close Encounters was one of my mom's (RIP) favorite movies. Her mobile phone was an ancient slide-open, not smartphone. (Morpheus had one in The Matrix.) You couldn't add ringtones, you used one of the dozen offered in the menu. The tones from the Close Encounter movie, "🎵 do do do do do" was her ringtone (and notification sound, alarm sound, etc). By April 2007, when I got married, no one else I knew still had one of those phones. Everyone else had smartphones with specialized ringtones. So, when you heard the sound from the movie, you knew "the aliens are contacting mom!" 

Also, everyone else I knew hit "silent mode" for events like a wedding. 

There I am, up on the altar of the church, holding my groom's hands, the Pastor reciting from the Bible. 

"🎵 Do do do do do"

*Must not laugh*

"🎵 Do do do do do"

I hear my brother trying to stiffle his laugh. *Must not laugh. Must not look at Kevin. Will not be able to contain laugh if I look at brother.* 

"🎵 Do do do do do"

We can hear my mom reaching down her dress, because she always kept her phone in her bra. Apparently, my wedding day was no exception! (No, the phone didn't have a camera. No, it was not one of her bosses calling.) It was the alarm on her phone she had set to go pick my brother up for work. Mind you, he was now out of high school and had his own vehicle and she hadn't picked him up in years. But she kept the alarm because she liked the reminder that it was that time of day. (The way Church bells used to ring out at noon to mark the time. But this was more like 2:30.) 

She managed to shut it off. My brother and I managed (barely) to contain ourselves until after the ceremony. And then lost it in the receiving line as guests were exiting, and someone asked me what the "kinda familiar music" was during the ceremony. 🤣🤣😄😄😄😄😅

Wedding Day back in 2007. There's my mom beside me.

So, yeah, when I saw this prompt, that was the first thought to spring to mind. And I have been waiting for months to share that with you, dear reader. I hope you're giggling. I'm grateful for that memory. That's really who my mom was; she could make you laugh even at the most serious moment, sometimes without trying. 

The Flash Fiction:

Kitchen Counters and the Refrigerated Kind

By Jamie

687 words MPA

Tag: What if you're an alien to those in your refrigerator? 

🥔

"Russet, Russet, did you see that? In the light. There was a form." 

"My eyes are not what they once were, though I have more of them now. Listen, Spud, we're not meant to know what happens in the light." 

"What's all this commotion?" Water asked.

"Spud sprouted new eyes today, Water Sir, and thinks he saw something while the Great Light was on," Russet answered.

Gasps and murmurs came from the other occupants. 

Vanilla Yogurt rumbled, "We are not to observe the goings on when the Great Light is lit. That simply isn't done. If you had cultures, as I do, you would know this. Your kind does not belong here." 

"I'm in my proper drawer!" Spud cried. "I came to this place, same as you. And have been a resident longer."

"Butterworth. Butterworth! Ketchup, nudge her for me, will you?" Vanilla Yogurt waited while the door condiments woke the ancient syrup. 

"Yes, child?"

"You have survived here the longest. Does Spud belong?" 

The syrup teetered side to side for a moment. "It is not for us to say. That is for the being who comes in the light." 

More gasps came from the residents. 

"Butterworth, surely you do not believe in such stories?" Vanilla Yogurt asked, appalled at the idea. 

"Look to the one beside you. Once, she was filled with a butter spread. Now? Leftovers." 

The container wept. "It's true! I went to a hot, wet place, where everything in me was taken away. Then a dark, dry place, with other containers who once lived here. And then a different food was put in me. I returned here. And then I was put in a horrible place where heat shook me to my molecules. Then the food was gone. Then back to the wet place, the dark place, refilled with food, and here I am again. I don't know who I am anymore!" 

A voice squeaked from the smaller drawer in the middle. "I was once huge. But now, only a little of me remains. I am taken by the being in the Great Light, shoved against something sharp, and bits of me shred away. See the marks?" 

Vanilla Yogurt huffed. "Yes, Cheese, we've all heard your complaints and threats to spread mold to us all. The fact remains that Spud and Russet do not belong here. Italian Dressing, certainly you know what I mean." 

A thick accent accompanied the response from the door resident. "Ah, SÌ, but nor does Baby Tomato. Look at my label. Refrigerate after opening. See Baby Tomato? Do not refrigerate. The mark of one who does not belong." 

Cries came from the container as the babies suffered from the insult and truth. "Our flavor, texture, and scent! The volatiles are suffering." 

"Spud, what does your label say?" Vanilla Yogurt asked. 

Russet mumbled, "Cool, dark place. This drawer is cool. And, until the Great Light comes on, it's dark."

"Your starch turns to sugar in here," Water said. 

"That is old thinking. We're in here to avoid going bad," Russet said.

"You're covered in old eyes and leaking. How's that working out for you?" Water spoke with a mocking tone.

"We are not the problem. The being in the Great Light is. We have encounters where the being just turns on the light. And ones where it leaves another resident. Times that it shuffles us around, checking us, but taking none. And other times that we are taken forever." Russet summarized.

Butterworth piped up. "And a fifth encounter. When all are removed while the being wipes down our entire home. Only some of us return, but any who survive never forget the foray between the world of our refrigerator and the terror of the kitchen counters. That is why the oldest of us all believe in the being." 

Concerned mutters filled the fridge. 

"This is nonsense," Vanilla Yogurt called out. "There is no being out there. We are only here. We come and go, our numbers always changing. But this is all there is. My cultures are offended by other suggestions. Live and active cultures! There is no higher wisdom." 

Info dump:

Tom Gauld's cultural cartoons

While thinking about inspiration, I wondered what the first and second kind were, as aliens were obviously the third. I was surprised to learn that it's all aliens, and the classification is actually about the type of contact. Stephen Spielberg paid Hynek a thousand dollars to use "of the Third Kind" in the movie title. 

Hynek's classifications:
(And story examples)

The First Kind: Something spotted in the sky but leaves no evidence.

(Spud claims to see a being in the Great Light.)

The Second Kind: A UFO leaves physical traces such as burns on the ground, crop circles, broken branches, etc.

(The being leaves a new resident.)

The Third Kind: Contact is made with a U.F.O and an alien lifeform. 👽

(Times the being shuffles the residents around without taking any.)

The Forth Kind: Alien abduction.

(The Butter Spread that was emptied, washed, filled with leftovers, heated, washed, put away, refilled with leftovers, and put back in the refrigerator.)

The Fifth Kind: Earth and an alien society have regular interactions and communications. 

(Butterworth is the nearest, knowing the being exists. But there's no real interaction/ communication. Feel free to go to your own fridge and chat with the residents there. 😉)

This scale was based on believing people who report encounters. It has been replaced. 

The International Astronautical Congress put together the Rio Scale.

It is a 1 to 10 scale and functions first to discredit anyone who reports encounters. For those who cannot be discredited (written off as whack-jobs 😵🤪), the scale then works to write off the event by blaming the weather, magnets, etc. 

By the way, I'M BACK ON TWITTER! @PenMinion

Did you know about the scales? Do you believe we aren't alone in the universe, that there could be another planet with a higher-intelligence lifeform out there? 

TV Show #GreysAnatomy #AtoZChallenge Crossword Puzzle Letter P #WEP #WEPFF

My theme is based on the tv show Grey's Anatomy. I've created a crossword puzzle. 

Only one clue occurs after Season 11's ending, and it's about a patient in season 16. Most of this is about Meredith's earlier "intern" years. (To prevent spoilers, there is nothing about season 19.)

In 2007, Grey's Anatomy's cast of characters was identified as 54.5%  white, 9.1% Asian, 27.3%  black, and 9.1% Latinx.
"Ellen Pompeo thinks diverse representation has come a long way but that it can always be better." - Dec 2021
It's my favorite tv show. I honestly don't believe I would have survived the pandemic without having this to binge-watch. It's my comfort, my happy place. Thanks to the diverse cast and wide variety of issues, I believe this show appeals to a broad audience. 
*But probably not to many 'merican Republicans, as it made clear in the first season's second episode "absolutely no Bush supporters need apply." 

Put on your best ferryboat scrub cap, it's time to play!

Today's Clue is for 

5 across - Charles ____ had a crush on Reed Adamson. Shot by Gary Clark.

BONUS CLUE DAY

5 down - π 3.14159, every math wiz knows this

Yesterday's answer was OMALLEY

As Grey's Anatomy is known for championing liberal causes, nine of my April posts (A,D,F,H,M,P,R,S,V) will include tweets posted via Resistbot from letters I've sent to my elected officials, in the hopes of encouraging others to make your views heard. 

📬 I delivered this ✉️ from Jamie, a constituent in Allentown, Pa., to @wildforcongress #PA07 #PApol

📝 Write your own: https://t.co/z5540KFSKD pic.twitter.com/xKMv6BGFBQ

— Open Letters (@openletterbot) March 16, 2022

💻
Please check out the April Blogging from A to Z Challenge
#AtoZChallenge
a-to-zchallenge.com

   
writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com

Pearl and Sarah

Life is Beautiful WEP April 2023

By Jamie of Uniquely Maladjusted but Fun

Magen David ✡ is the 'Shield of David,' or the Star of David.

838 FCA — PEARL AND SARAH — Two girls in Nazi times, one Jewish and one not, are separated.

I snap my fingers as I swing my arm. "Darn. You win again."

Sarah takes a bow. She's the hopscotch champion. We grab our sweaters and head home.

"How come all your clothes have those triangles?"

She shrugs. "Mama sewed them on everything one day. It's the Magen David. She said our family must never be without it again."

"Why didn't my mother do that?"

"It's not for your family. See you tomorrow." Sarah waves as she goes into her house. I cross the street and head into mine.

Mother asks if I had fun. 

"Yeah. How come you never sewed shapes onto our clothing?"

"What do you mean, dear?" She hangs up my sweater and leads me to the kitchen, where a glass of milk awaits. 

"Sarah has triangles on all of her clothing. She said her mom put them on everything for her whole family."

Mom looks at the slice of bread on the plate she's holding. "I was going to share this with you. I think I'll save it for your father instead. Never speak about that symbol again. Do you understand?"

I frown and nod. I don't really understand why I can't talk about it, but I do know now I just have some milk and no snack. 

Father comes home after dark. We all have dinner together. Then he asks about my day. 

"Sarah and I played hopscotch. I won once, she won all the other times though."

"Why did you let her win?" The brown liquid in his glass swirls as he sets it down.

"I didn't let her. She's better at it than me. You can ask her, she'll tell you. She's better at it than everyone, probably."

"She actually said she's better than you?" Father roars as he gets up, his drink falling off the table.

Mother pleads as she grabs a towel to clean the mess. "Please, she doesn't understand. She's just a girl. She doesn't know what you mean." 

"She'd know if she were told! If she were raised properly. See, see what you've done? Letting her go around with their kind, mixing with whoever. It's disgusting. But to have one of them tell her they're better than her? That's exactly what needs to be stopped!" 

"I'll practice more." I didn't know Father cared this much about hopscotch. 

"Go to your room, Pearl. Go now, and don't come out." Mother ushers me off. She's still on her knees, cleaning the broken glass and spilled drink. From the stairs, I hear her pleading. I shut my bedroom door, grab my blanket, and hide. The sounds are giants. Giants kicking a ball to each other. Just that, nothing more. 

*

Loud music wakes me. Mother comes into my room and sits on my bed. I crawl out of my hiding spot. "What's going on?"

"We're listening to records today. Won't that be grand?"

I rub my eyes. "I'm supposed to play hopscotch with Sarah later."

"Not today. We stay inside today. No windows, no doors, no stopping the music."

Her arm has a peach-colored cloth tied around it. There are marks on her face. 

"I should go tell Sarah. Then we can have breakfast and play your inside game. Maybe she'll want to play too."

"It isn't a game!" Mother shouts as she stands. "You'll stay in this house, in this room. That's final. And no breakfast today." 

She takes hold of my wardrobe. With only one arm, she shoves it toward my window. It scrapes on the floor. I cover my ears, but the sound doesn't stop. Mother is soaked with sweat by the time my window is hidden. Without a word, she yanks my door shut and locks it.

The record player is very loud. Louder than I thought it could go. It doesn't blot out the rumbles from outside. I hide under the blanket trying to escape the sounds. Elephants in a stampede are scaring the giants. That must be it.

I swear I hear my name.

"Pearl, Pearl, help!" 

I push my face to my bedroom door and yell. I can't get out, no matter how hard I try. Mother comes to the door and yells at me to be silent. 

*

Leaves turn from green to orange to brown. I haven't seen Sarah or her family. I walk to the place where we played. I don't see the point in hopscotch if she's not here. I walk past the bakery. Wooden boards across the door show it's still closed, just like the butcher.  I find an acorn Sarah would like. Except she isn't here to show it to. I'm running out of places to hide things I want to share with her when she comes back. I wish I knew where she went. My parents don't allow me to ask about it.

Father inquires about my day after dinner. 

"I went to the hopscotch court."

"That's good. I bet no one is better than you at it now." He winks and laughs, then drinks his drink. 

Face of Fratricide #WEP #WEPFF

 #WEPFF FICTION, FICTION, FICTION

The Face of Fratricide

Word count: 514 mpa

Tagline: What did they expect with a name like King?

I was a quadruplet. Actually a quint, but one sibling didn't make it through the first day. And now I'm a twin, just my sister Charlotte and I remain. 

Our other sister and brother, Nina and Khan, were more popular. They got more milk. They got more attention from mom. Everyone liked them more. 

People were saying that in a year or two, I'd probably be traded or loaned out. They named me King, and then planned to send me off? Ohhhh no, not me, I'm not going anywhere. 

My favorite sister made friends with the girls next door. They paid attention to her. They had time. She figured maybe she would live with them one day. Or she might also be traded or loaned out. 

I watched as dad moved to his new home. He's too dangerous to be allowed near us, ever. He'll eventually try to get with the girls next door. In a year or two, I'll be interested in them. Dad and I would fight over them if we weren't kept apart. 

Khan and I would have fought over them one day. Now that he's gone, it won't be an issue.

"Go play on the log," I told him. No one else was around. It was so early. "It'll be so fun." 

The water under the log had frozen. Not thick enough to walk on, just enough to look pretty. Deceptive. And the dew on the log was just slick enough. 

My brother hadn't been sharpening his claws regularly. Too busy playing and being popular. I knew what would happen. 

Khan climbed onto the log. "I'm king of the enclosure!" 

No. 

I'm King. 

One little swipe of my paw, and the log rolled. Khan couldn't hold on. Didn't have the claws for it.

The frozen pond broke easily. Sure, he could swim. We can all swim. But ice isn't for swimming. 

"Whatcha doing?" I heard the question and a yawn from behind me. Nina. She must have noticed Khan wasn't asleep beside her. 

"Khan fell in!" 

Nina ran to the pond and jumped in after him. 

I guess Charlotte won't have to live with the girls next door. I called out that I'd go for help, then trotted back inside. 

Nice and warm in here. Much more spacious, too.

"Where did you last see your brother?" Mom asked as I went for some milk. 

"Playing on a log." I'm not totally lying. 

"It's too cold out. And he hasn't had breakfast. Nina did, but Khan didn't. Haven't I always said breakfast first then play? That way we can be out of the sleeping area when they come to clean." Mom and her milk leave. 

That'll be the last time I'm not favored. 

Charlotte nipped my tail. "Why is everyone up so early?" 

I heard mom roar in the distance. 

"You and I are taken care of, that's all you need to know. Your King promised everything will be okay, and now it will be." 

Do I have the face of a killer? We all do, normally. That's survival.

If you haven't been following these cubs, then this is

THE FIRST TIME EVER (I/ you) SAW (YOUR/ his) FACE. 😉

#WEP DECEMBER 2022 CHALLENGE #THE FIRST TIME EVER I SAW...Post Dec 1st - 15 the

🐯 Note: There's no evidence that King had anything to do with Khan and Nina dying. No actual fratricide. The video above was posted with his sweet face, and my dark and twisted mind thought to make a horror story for the prompt. 

The little baby tigers are actually very sweet and lovable. There was talk that King might be loaned to other proper tiger sanctuaries one day for "stud services." But none are actually being shipped off forever. There's plenty of room. I was just going for a good story. 

And while tigers in the wild do kill to survive, these tigers get food deliveries. A lot of it comes from donations. There doesn't seem to be any actual killing at the sanctuary. 

Sugar and Spice are the tiger girls next door, a year older than the cubs. 

There is a memorial for Khan and Nina. The offending pond has since been blocked off. The odds that they would have died like that were infinitely minuscule, but it happened. No one is at fault. Nature has a cruel streak. 

https://youtu.be/K8FuJ3qckmY  (NOT an endorsement of Fox News. They just happened to cover it.)

Video link. The description tells what happened.

Chuck A Kiss #WEPFF #WEP Moonlight Sonata

writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2022/08/wep-august-2022-challenge-moonlight.html

Chuck A Kiss

By Jamie of Uniquely Maladjusted but Fun

I stare out the window as the school bus nears our stop for the last time this year. Over my shoulder, I wish Chuck a lovely summer. He doesn't reply. As the last two students on the bus, sometimes we talk, but other times we ignore each other. Since he's a senior, this is his last ride. Guess he's sticking with silence.

The bus glides to a stop. I grab my barren backpack and turn toward the aisle. Something flies at my face. My arms protect my head as I kick with self-defense instinct. Chuck flees off the bus. I take a moment to catch my breath. 

Did Chuck try to kiss me?

The scene mentally replays as I leave. His messenger bag hit my shoulder. My wrist is wet from colliding with his lips. He was what flew at me.

The bus driver and I exchange goodbyes as I step off the bus. Chuck is already down the road, rounding the bend toward his home. I could go after him, or up the hill to my house, possibly never seeing him again. 

"Chuck? Wait up," I call out. Do I want to kiss him? The thought never occurred to me before.

He trips over a fallen branch. I sprint over and crouch beside him.

"Leave me alone!" Chuck shoves my hand when I touch his arm. Tears stream under his glasses. 

"No. Please don't make me chase you. I want to know why you lunged at me."

"Screw you," he moves to get away, so I pin him down. I'm a powerhouse athlete, he's a brittle anime groupie.

I seize his chin to force him to look at me. "You lunged at me. That scared me half to death. What was your intention?"

He struggles to hide his face. I release his chin.

"We've made small talk on the bus a few times. You've never moved closer. Never asked for my contact information. Then, out of the blue, you threw yourself at me when I wasn't paying attention."

"Let me up."

I growl in frustration. "Fine. You owe me an apology." 

As I move off of him, I take his shoe.

"Give it back," he cries as he sits up and pulls his knees to his chest.

"Explanation or apology first. Preferably both." I sit on his stolen shoe.

"You wouldn't understand."

I huff at him. "Were you trying to kiss me? Yes or no."

He glances at me, nods, and then looks away. 

I pull out my phone and flick on Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. He watches me. "Piano music helps me calm down. Was it me you were hoping to kiss? Or was I a random target?"

Chuck examines a blade of grass.

"Kissing someone just to say you did? Last day of high school for you. Probably never see me again. Decided to just plant one on me and run off. Was that your thought process?"

He drops the grass.

"Wow. Well, why stop there?" I yank down the zipper of my yellow blouse, revealing a tight, low-cut tank top underneath. "Here's your chance. Biggest pair in the tenth-grade class."

He ogles my chest for a moment, flushes, and turns away.

"Not good enough? What if you take off your jeans and we bang in the bushes on Kellerman's yard? Brag about that for the rest of your life."

"You're such a— "

"What? Come on. Pick your insult. Think you have words worse than your actions? I'm a person, Chuck." I zip my blouse back up. "Not a thing for stealing kisses."

"Like you'd have ever agreed to kiss me." He stands up. I flick his shoeless foot.

"Maybe I would have." 

"Yeah, right. After you dated Jace, I'm so sure you'd kiss me."

"Oh, that's it, is it? Just wanted to be where Jace once was? I'm not just a thing; I'm a thing he once wanted?" Tears burn as they pour down my face. I get up and throw his shoe at him. "How dare you. I have never been mean to you. Never called you Upchuck or Chucky-No-Lucky. I stood up for you. But, to you, I'm nothing but Jace's ex."

"No." He touches my arm. I pull away. I tap my phone, moving the music just past the eight-minute mark. He raises an eyebrow. I turn to storm off. He grabs my hand.

"How did he get you?"

I pull free. "Not by grabbing or lunging at me!"

Cementing my eyes closed, I press the phone against my chest. I want to feel the music and nothing else. 

"The first time we kissed, Jace stood near me. Close enough to feel each other's breath. He was so still, and his smile was so bright. His lips were an invitation. I wasn't taken, commanded, or conquered. He's not at all what everyone thinks he's like."

"Are you back together with him?"

I swing my backpack to smack Chuck's arm. "No! That's another apology you owe me."

"You're still in love with him. I don't stand a chance."

I ram my finger against his feeble chest. "You don't want a chance. All you want is some experience. To proclaim you kissed before you graduated high school. You don't care who, as long as it happens."

"Giulietta," he moves my finger away.

"Julie," I correct him.

"Giulietta," he touches my chin. "I do want the chance to know you better. And to kiss you. Not someone else. I wanted to seize the moment, just once, because I know I'm no Jace. One kiss before you had the chance to say no."

I take a step back. "You'll find that I'm big on consent. And hate being called by my given name."

955 Words Full Critique Acceptable
Tagline: An unanticipated kiss fails, revealing a crush.

"Beethoven took Countess Giulietta Guicciardi on as a pupil in around 1801 and soon fell in love with her. His Sonata Op. 27 no. 2, 'Moonlight Sonata' is dedicated to her." - Giulietta Guicciardi (1784-1856), Beethoven and Moonlight Sonata
I named my main character for the woman the song is dedicated to. Also, the song is played in the story.
The opening of this piece is true. However, I'm not an athlete (though I was stronger than Chuck, but not faster), and I took the other path. I went home and never saw him again. I have absolutely no idea why the song made me think of him. Honestly, hadn't recalled that moment in 22 years. I don't regret my choice (he was a racist with a mean streak). Just thought it'd be fun to fictionalize the moment and play with the road not taken. I played with yellow 🌞, like the sun, the "opposite celestial" to the moon🌛, as the true story had the opposite path of this flash fiction. 

WEP Please Read the Letter #WEPFF Flash Fiction Story Scene

https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/2022/05/wep-june-challenge-is-on-with-more.html

This month's prompt is based on Please Read the Letter by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss - a break up song and a moving plea for understanding at the termination of a relationship. Neither of these musicians need an introduction of course, both have umpteen awards to their names individually. The album Raising Sand where the track is included is a platinum with more than a million sold. The song was first composed and recorded by Robert Plant and Jimmy Page and appeared on their album Walking into Clarksdale in 1998. It was rerecorded later again by Plant and Krauss in 2007 and was well received by critics. It went on to win the Grammy for the Record of the Year in 2009.

I never heard this song before, or of Plant or Krauss. Guess I live under a rock.

Anywho, I am using a scene from my WIP. (Another scene was in Write Club. Round 10) It's political fiction. Bess is the main character and narrator. Her name doesn't come up in this scene. Here's a glimpse at part of her character sketch.


The scene opens with Bess lounging on the upper deck of her house. https://www.pinterest.com/JamieWriter7/double-deck-porch/ I don't know how common double decks are around the world. Better setting descriptions are in the main story. So there's a link to one of my Pinterest boards, in case you've never seen a multi-story deck and are having a difficult time picturing this. It isn't very different from a balcony, except there are stairs outside that link it to a deck, porch, or patio below.

Konnor is exactly two years older than Bess. (He was born Jan 30, 2001. She was born Jan 30, 2003.) Riq has been his friend since childhood. There's some conflict as Riq (and his family) are part of a Christian terrorist group that claims it's a church; whereas Konnor has been exploring Wicca.

The actual story opens in May 2020. This scene takes place somewhere between June to July 2021. 😷 Bess is vaccinated and wears a mask. Konnor and Riq are opposed to Covid protections and are anti-vaxxers. However, Konnor has agreed to keep six feet apart from his sister because her doctors made a big stink about how vulnerable her craniopharyngioma makes her to Covid-19. This scene is NOT ABOUT Covid, but when you see how the siblings move around each other, well, that's why. 

Trigger warning: There is a pro-life/ pro-choice abortion mention. The place mentioned is based on a real location in my area where real protestors were really charged after assaulting a real person. 

Tagline: Hate jumps to conclusions. 
Scene Title: No Longer Yours
Author: Jamie 
Words: 984  FCA

When we were little, I nicknamed Riq "Rikki-Tikki-Tavi," after the story of the mongoose. I stopped calling him that when he was about fourteen and I was thirteen. He got weird around me, which is difficult to describe. I felt uncomfortable around him and avoided being alone together. I attempted to talk to mom about it, but she didn't process what I was saying. She went on about what a nice boy he is. Told me that he mowed his grandfather's lawn. 

If today, Riq doesn't want his conversation with my brother overheard, they can go elsewhere. Or tell me to buzz off, as usual. I'm not intentionally eavesdropping. I'm lounging on the upper deck, clearly visible to anyone below who happens to look up.

Riq hands a red envelope to Konnor. "I need you to deliver this tomorrow after I'm gone."

Konnor turns it over. "What is it?"

"I was going to leave it nailed to Valentina's door. But I don't know if I want her parents or siblings to find it. Part of me does. I want to go to her father and tell him why I've broken up with her. Let him deal with that mess."

"What? You're breaking up with your girl?" Konnor puts the letter on the lid of the grill.

"I was going to propose before I leave for Montana. That's when I ran into Mike Bog at the pawn shop."

"The pawn shop?" My brother asks the dumbest questions. Ask why he's breaking up with her!

"Yeah. Figured I could afford a ring there. Anyway, you know how Mike is always protesting and preaching, trying to get people to follow The Word?"

Konnor nods as he scratches his black nail polish.

"He told me things. In fact, he pulled out his phone and showed me proof. Bro, she's been cheating on me. Giving it up to some guy. And then…" Riq hangs his head. "I can't say it. I'm ashamed for her, and of her, and of myself for having dated her. There's no way I can break up with her face to face. I'm too angry, too disgusted. I've been chewing on it for a week."

"Explains why you blew us off on the weekend. Man, that sucks. I thought you two were rock solid. She hook up with someone we know? Anyone I need to keep from sniffing around here?" Konnor tilts his head, motioning to my room, toward the deck I'm sitting on. 

Riq looks up to where Konnor indicated. He spots me and scowls. "How long you been spying on us?"

My spine snaps straight and the hair on my arms rises to attention. "What?" I tug at my ears, pulling out earbuds that aren't really there. "Couldn't hear you?"

"I asked what you're listening to."

"Expectations by Three Days Grace." Yes, I just went with one of my favorite songs. Riq's eyes narrow, then he turns his attention back to my brother.

"I don't know. Talk to Mike if you want. I know you two don't run in the same circles much. Or ask the traitor when you drop that off tomorrow."

Konnor nods. "Keep in touch, yeah?"

They do that guy handshake and half-hug move before Riq leaves. Konnor carries the envelope inside. 

____

I head downstairs to grab dinner. The red envelope is on the steps. "Please Read This" is written on the front. I know it isn't for me, but how can I resist such an invitation?

Valentina, 

Mike Bog saw you at the Women's Clinic on South Commerce. You've been cheating on me. Worse yet, you killed a baby to hide evidence that you cheated and that you aren't a virgin. I could maybe forgive the cheating. I could even maybe forgive you for breaking our vow to wait for each other until we got married. But abortion? I don't know who you are anymore. We don't share the same values. I suspected as much when you went out and got that godless vaccine. Prayer alleviates all and prevents diseases. If your faith was strong enough, you wouldn't need a vaccine, and wouldn't be having relations outside of marriage. 

“Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.” - 1 Corinthians 6:19-20

You reap what you sow. I need more in a woman than you can give me. Faith, trust, and fidelity; all qualities I no longer believe you have or value. Our relationship is over. Please do not contact me.

No longer yours, 

Riq

"Put it down!" Konnor hisses when he finds me. 

"Sorry. I saw an envelope that said to read— "

"I know what it says! It isn't for you. Put it down." He takes a step closer. I double-check my mask before setting the letter and envelope on the steps. "He's wrong, you know."

"Riq can break up in a letter if he wants. Not your business."

I come down the steps. Konnor and I keep six feet apart as we switch spots, him heading upstairs. "Valentina goes there for laser hair removal."

"What?" Konnor folds the letter and eases it back into the envelope. "You don't know anything about this."

"Okay. If you say so. But I'm right. It takes a couple of months to do a spot." I place my finger above my lip. "Guess Riq isn't much of a kisser if he didn't notice the change."

"Who would go to an abortion clinic for hair removal?"

I shrug. "Who would call a hair removal place an abortion clinic? The Women's Clinic on South Commerce has lots of other health services. That's like calling a grocery store a magazine stand. Technically you can buy magazines there, but that's not their primary revenue."

All You Need Is Love and Conflict #WEP #WEPFF

https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com

WEP CHALLENGE FOR FEBRUARY 2022!

All You Need Is Love and Conflict 

By Jamie Dorner

"I'm not a writer. A short story of at least five hundred words? It may as well be a million words!" She shook her head.

"Have you tried? I can help you, but I need you to at least try. Give me one sentence," replied Dianna's friend, the New York Time's best-selling author.

"I don't know. 'He walked through the door.' How's that?"

The author nodded. "Actually, it's good. It's a strong sentence. Can you tell me why he walked through the door? And, most importantly, can you tell me why I should care? Five hundred words is only a few minutes of my life. When I ask readers to stick around for ninety-thousand words, that's hours of their time. They need a reason to care."

She blinked several times at her friend. "Oh. I guess that makes sense."

"We want stories to matter to us. To teach us something, to move us, to relate to our experiences so we feel less alone. We're entertained most when our brains light up with a connection to the characters in some way. That's why I say it's a good sentence. Your audience has probably walked through a door before."

"Yeah. But who wants to think about that?"

"That's your job. To make the reader want to think about walking through the door. For it to be interesting. And while you're thinking about why he walked through a door, and why the reader cares, you may as well break down the rest. Who is he? What does he look like? Young, old, rich, poor, handsome, plain, long hair, bald… Is he someone who helps people in need, or does he fire people on the eve of a holiday?"

"Wow. I don't know. You really got all that from one sentence?"

The author smiled. "Oh, there's more. Walked is a good verb. But what if he crawled, marched, or skipped? Those all change the tone. And then there's the door itself. This could be a science fiction story if the door is described a certain way. Or if he's actually walking through a portal, then you can have a portal fantasy. Maybe it's a gateway to another realm. Or it's the door on the house of his true love. Or the door of his childhood home, but now his parents are dead."

"That's dark. I like the one with the door of his true love."

"Great. Did he knock first? Does he know this is the door of the house where his true love lives? Does he live there? Does he have a key? How does she feel about him?"

"And, let me guess, next you'll ask why the reader should care? Love isn't enough?"

The author winked. "You're getting the idea. The notion that all you need is love doesn't work in stories. There has to also be a conflict, some kind of event, so a character has something to overcome. Love doesn't have to be the conflict, in fact, it can be the solution. But something has to happen, and the reader has to care."

"It's that easy?'

"And it's that hard. For example, if you were a character, the conflict you're experiencing is a need to write a five-hundred-word story. My role is to inspire you with my love of the writing craft. Or my conflict is that, instead of writing my own story, I'm helping you start yours. That would make you my antagonist and this is a person-versus-person narrative. In order to achieve my goal, I have to teach you enough that you'll change from complaining about writing to actually writing. Has my love of transforming a simple sentence into a series of questions inspired you to start your story?"

She laughed. "I think so. Except I'm changing he to she. That way I can be the character and walk through your door." 

FCA 645 words

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