We'll finish up this little story in 3-sentence chunks -- 3 by 3, this time.

As the howling of dogs got closer, Jacqueline dug in her heels (difficult in the powdery snow, but not impossible ( Read more... )

Continuing:

The Hunter liked her job as one of the keepers of the season-gates, and she especially liked pursuing those unthinking children of the year who broke faith, who crossed boundaries, who walked in the wrong ways. In these days she had more prey than in earlier years (which her spreadsheets proved: those tallies of those caught before the ( Read more... )

To follow up from the previous post's 3-sentence story, another POV. :)

He pulled his beloved through the portal into his own country of Winter, breathed in home, breathed out worry.

"Mark, what is going on?" Jacqueline said in her lazy Southern voice, lush and dark, at which he shook his head ( Read more... )

Just a trifle -- the form is a story in 3 sentences. Today's word is "wintergreen."

Her boyfriend Mark always smelled of wintergreen, which was one of the 83 things Jacqueline loved best about him. On this summer evening when they were meant to be going out to dinner, however, the intense forest scent surrounding him made her pause as much as his ( Read more... )

So we were supposed to have the first storm of the rainy season yesterday. All the forecasts saw one coming, and throughout the burning afternoon I kept telling myself that at least it would rain ( Read more... )

So I was going to talk about fashion or film or Master Danger snapping at me yesterday, but instead, have this this image of a red door. (We know how I've been thinking of red doors!)

And have this 100 words to accompany the image:

The black knob is cool under her hand, and the door gives way easily. It’s as if it wants to open, as if it’s meant ( Read more... )

It is bitterly cold here in the subtropics, and, well... I've felt a bit guilty about doing a Richard III drabble as a response to heron_pose's More Joy request for a ficlet about escape ( Read more... )

A cold front is rattling at the windows. I imagine long ice-fingers tapping, tapping away at the concrete-block walls, slipping into crevices, slipping in like daggers....

Of course I also could be being a bit over-dramatic.

Two quick things:

1) On April 3rd of this year I posted about a book I was reading: the first of CS Harris's Sebastian St ( Read more... )

For lunch today I had (as I almost always have) an apple.

Somehow I turned the apple over in my palm, and what came was a short take on a well-known fairy tale. Call it a missing scene, if you will -- it didn't happen, but it should have. ;-)

( As Margret released the best and brightest of this year's apples from its branch, she heard the rustling behind her. )

This particular Sunday has been hot and sticky -- far, far too hot to indulge myself with baking, although I'm craving homemade cinnamon-raising bread. The Monday ahead will be devoted to work, alas, and no self-indulgence will have breathing room ( Read more... )