Thursday, December 8, 2016

Writerly Wednesday Picture Prompt - The More We Know, The Less We Know

The More We Know,
The Less We Know.

            My twelve-year-old daughter and I stood staring at the graffiti on the wall.
            “What does that mean, Mom?”
            “Well, I think it’s referring to this novel series called The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. A science fiction parody with this supercomputer that mathematically decides the answer is 42.”
            “What’s the question?”
            “What’s the answer for life and the universe.”
            My daughter snorted. “And the answer’s 42. That makes no sense.”
            I laughed. “Apparently, the computer malfunctions because of events that happen in the story. There’s no definitive answer.”
            She studied the wall and turned towards me. “Mom...that is the answer.”
            “What is?”
            “That there’s no definitive least for us. Why would we want to have the answer? We wouldn’t need to dream, or think, or learn. We’d lose the magic to life.”

            Sometimes we need to listen to our kids.

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Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Writerly Wednesday Flash Fiction Picture Prompt

Mrs. Chicken

After two nasty roosters, attacking anyone in site, ended up in a stew, badgers killed the chicks, no matter what we tried to protect them. A neighbour’s dog killed the hens save one.

One day, I looked out back and saw Mrs. Chicken racing around the side of the house, dog right behind. I grabbed my husband’s air pistol that resembled a forty-five revolver and ran to the front of the house, yanked the door open, jumped into the stance with gun aimed, my eyes scanning the right of the front yard. Nothing. I swung my body to the left, still in shooting stance, gun aimed and ready.

There stood a customer for our home-based business, flattened against his car in fear.

After explaining the situation minus one hen or dog to prove it out, he shook his head and laughed.

“You sure have an aggressive sales technique.” 


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It's Over...but is it?

My final word on the US Election for what it's worth. This isn't about whether Republicans won or Democrats won. This isn't about whether Hillary won or Donald won. And it isn't about that the people have spoken either. Because Hillary won the popular vote, and the archaic Electoral College vote is what put Donald in as President. What this is really about is that a country is divided in half. Families have been pitted against each other, friends have lost friends and those relationships will not heal themselves today and go back to normal because the election is over. This is about a campaign that ran on fear and fear won out. There are good people on both sides of this division, but fear brings out the worst in people. This derisive division between our US neighbours has fanned the flames of this fear with bigotry, violence and a lack of respect for their democratic right for their individual beliefs. This fear isn't going to end because the election is over, nor is the split. I wish the people of the US unity and healing however idealistic that may sound.

What this is really about is Humanity. And Humanity took a bad hit. And this saddens me and my belief in people.

I'm glad right now that I live on an Island surrounded by oceans, mountains and trees where mother nature can nuture me. I plan on hibernating for awhile to rejuvenate.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016


I stared at the old typewriter in the second hand store reliving memories of high school typing class.

Once we learned the keyboard basics, we spent our forty minute class typing to music. The idea was to achieve a basic rhythm. Our first song was:

How    much    is    that    dog---gy    in    the    win-dow,    the  
     tap       tap     tap   tap     tap    tap  tap   tap    tap   tap     tap

one with the wagg---le---y     tail.
                            tap  tap  tap  tap     tap  tap   tap

By the end of semester, we were speed demons, grooving to the king, ‘Elvis’.  Anyone walking past the typing lab would hear the rhythmic tap tap tap to:

You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog
Cryin’ all the time


Let's rock everybody, let's rock
Everybody in the whole cell block
Was dancin' to the jail house rock.

WE were the cool kids. Typing class ROCKED!


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Wednesday, October 5, 2016


Another Wednesday story - enjoy!

Animal Crackers

Moving day, I drove to Mom’s. She stood surrounded by hobby farm animals. The farmer who was moving the animals didn’t show.

I made some calls; soon realizing we were on our own. The new owners arrived, annoyed we were still there. An hour later, we headed out in my hatchback, the backseat tied to the roof.

Almost at the new farm, a police car pulled me over. The officer leaned through the open window speechless..

Barclay barked. The parrot shouted: “Hello.” The ducks quacked and Dickens, the goat bleated before leaning forward to grab the officers shiny shirt buttons.

“I’m sorry I missed the stop sign, Officer. The kitten ran under the brake pedal and I didn’t want to hurt him. We’re just a ways down this road.”

He pulled back, shaking his head and laughing. “I’m not even going to ask. Carry on and drive safe.”

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Wednesday, September 28, 2016


By The Sea

Kelly closed her computer, packed files into the box on her desk, and leaned back in her chair. She swivelled towards the left of her desk and stared at the full wall mural featured behind a sea green coloured couch. Fern trees flanked the sofa, centered on an oval rug with a cherry wood coffee table.

Her home office was her favourite place to sit and muse the seven months she lived and worked in the city.

The mural reminded her of New England—the sea, fish, waves, sea grasses, and snails.

Tomorrow, she was driving to Old Orchard Beach, Maine to her summer home. Five months of writing, visiting friends, sea food and walking miles along the sandy beach.

Kelly rose and stood in front of the mural. She smiled.

Thanks for keeping me sane until I return to my happy place by the sea.


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Wednesday, September 21, 2016



The manager led me around the office floor I’d work on should they hire me.

“We love open floor plans with glass walls. Less claustophic for our employees, and the glass reflects natural light. Small areas look  bigger.”

As she prattled on about advantages of glass offices, I sorted my thoughts.

The glass separating the desks reminded me of a prison where visitors and inmates talk through glass. The managers’ glass offices afforded them a clear view to study their monkeys every move. Or a hospital ICU where rooms with glass walls are built around  nurses’ stations so they can observe patients. No plants, no pictures, cold and all business. No privacy; everyone can watch you leave to go to the bathroom.

“Thank you so much for considering me for the position but I don’t think this company and I are a good fit.

Walking away, I shuddered.

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Wednesday, August 24, 2016



I dug in the dirt, prepping the soil with fertilizer. As I worked, my thoughts wandered. Everything I knew about gardening was through  my grandfather’s teachings. Working by his side as a child had always been such fun. That is until as a teenager, I’d rather hang at the mall with friends than be sent to my grandparents house while my mother worked.

On one such occasion, we were planting flowers in front of the newly painted farmhouse. Grampa rambled on. I’d barely listened.

“If you paint an old house white it looks clean and fresh. And if you plant bright red flowers against the white walls, the house pops and looks new.”

I’d rolled my eyes and promptly forgot his words...until now.

Standing in front of my freshly painted white home, with the newly planted trailing red blooms and red roses, I smiled.

“I miss you, Grampa.”


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Wednesday, August 17, 2016


I've been scarce the past few weeks with my flash fiction post. Blame it on summer, family, and visitors. Now I'm back. Enjoy!


First came the sorrow, then the pain of loss, followed by the anger.

In the end, it was the depression that engulfed me.

Know that I’m surrounded by caring and loving people. But there are no words or actions to take away the emptiness within. They worried about me but they didn’t understand. He was the love of my life, father to my children, best friend, lover and soul mate.

Then one day, I saw one; soon they appeared everywhere. I picked up the soft, fluffy white feather. It would join the others in my little jewelled box. You see, he sent them, all of them—to let me know he was still around.

I looked out to sea, took in the sunlight dancing across the waves, the blueness of the sky, and heard the cry of the sea gulls.

For the first time in months, I smiled.


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Wednesday, July 27, 2016


Good morning everyone. Wednesday again. The summer is just flying by. Soon it will be September 1st and my third book of The Georgia Series will be released. More on that next post. Meanwhile, hope you enjoy my story for today. It is really a true story not fiction, based on my memories of raising my son.


I arrived to pick up my twelve-year-old from his first job; babysitting a boy after school until his mother arrived from work.

A difficult kid but my son handled him well. Whenever his mother showed, his charge acted out.

Cleaning up the playroom, my son stooped to pick up darts on the floor. In a tantrum, the boy threw a dart as he stood. It  wedged in my son’s back beside the spine. My son hit the floor, turning white. “Mom, I can’t feel anything in my back.”

The kid’s mother smiled at her son, telling him he shouldn’t do that. Furious, I took mine to emergency. The dart penetrated a muscle, causing a spasm that left him numb. Otherwise, all good.

Driving home, my son said: “I’m sorry, Mom but I’m quitting my job.”

I smiled. “Good call.”

I wonder whatever happened to that Social Worker’s kid?


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Thursday, July 21, 2016



I stared at the pictures, the younger twins, my brother and me (the older twins), and our mother. The pictures told our story in a way none of us wanted to.

It was all in the eyes. Look close and you’ll see ... the haunting, blank stares that hid our secrets and our pain.

But today was special. Today, our lives would start again.

“You ready?”

I turned towards my brother. He stood with his hands on the shoulders of the younger ones who were now ten years old.

Eight years is what our mother served for killing our abusive, alcoholic father. She’d paid the ultimate price to protect us from his rage. They released her for good behavior. My brother and I had raised our younger siblings, struggling through school and working two jobs, living for this day.

I smiled at him. “Let’s go bring Mom home.”

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Wednesday, July 13, 2016

The Raven

The raven flew above the humans, entertaining them with somersaults, diving downward, only to fly up to the sky and sour in the wind. She stealthily watched the human below open a bag and scatter morsels; recognizing the man as a regular. Ravens never forget a face, regardless of the fact that humans can't tell one raven from another.

Oh come on, moron! Don't you know we aren't vegetarians? We eat worms, nice, insects, We love crickets. Frogs and lizard are good. And how about a little fruit once in a while, huh?

The man's offerings sucked, but beggars can't be choosers. The raven landed and picked up a hard chunk. She flew to a puddle and dropped it in the water. The humans shook their heads and laughed like she was a dummy.

What? Just softening it up here. Stale bread and crackers? Tasteless ... yuk!


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Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Writerly Wdnesday Picture Prompt - Writer's Dream

Writer's Dream

I stood in the dirt track staring at what was to be my home for the summer. My heart sunk. It was nothing like the advertisement.

“Something is wrong?”

I glared at the agent who’d brought me from the airport and pointed at the structure.

“Look at it. The door and windows are boarded up and painted, the wall is crumbling, the grass hasn’t been cut. This isn’t what I paid for.”

“Please, follow.” He disappeared around a corner.

I stomped after him, stepping surprisingly into a new world of groomed floral gardens, repainted pink stucco and brightly painted trim. Standing on the veranda, I looked down into a beautiful valley of vineyards, surrounded with green rolling hills.

“Back of house still in renos. This and inside complete. Is okay?”

I smiled. “Is okay.”

My dream to spend the summer writing at an Italian villa was a reality.

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Friday, June 24, 2016


Hi everyone. Today I'm proud and excited to reveal the new cover for Missing Thread, Book 3 in The Georgia Series.

Also, I'm announcing that the E-BOOK is availabe for PREORDER at a SPECIAL PRICE until the Fountain Blue Publishing release date of September 1st. The e-book is available on Amazon and at other fine retailers.

You can order your e-book HERE.

I'm working currently on a page on my website where you can preorder an autographed copy of the paperback. When the page is ready, I'll let you all know.

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Wednesday, June 22, 2016



Have you ever wondered where that lone shoe comes from you see lying in the road? Or the pair of runners tied together and flung over the power line?

I wonder how many upset moms have to buy their kids a new pair when these abandoned shoes mysteriously appear.

I live in a boring little place where nothing much happens and crime is almost non-existent. But still, the Staff-Sergeant in Charge writes a weekly crime report for our only newspaper.

This is his exciting report from the latest printing:

Police were sent out on a disturbance call Friday night at 3 a.m. to Lower Road and Ashbury in Stoney Creek, only to discover a burning running shoe in the middle of the road. Fire fighters soon distinguished the flames. Police have no witnesses to the crime and to date, no one has laid claim to the shoe. 


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Wednesday, June 15, 2016



Watching them, my soul’s warmed. He’s a great father. I couldn’t find a better guardian for our son.

My husband is smart, witty, and a great provider. I think of the first time we met in the grocery store. I knew he was following me.

Him: “Excuse me ... can you tell me where the bread is?”
Me: He’s kidding right? “Uh ... if you avert your eyes to the left. Ta da!”
He turns red and smiles: “I’m so blinded by your beauty, I can’t see.”
Me, groaning: “That’s a terrible pick-up line. Does it ever work?”
Him, laughing: “This is the first time I’ve used it. You tell me.”

I stare at him now, a protective arm around our son. I smile. It did.

I feel a pull.

Time to go. You don’t yet know that I’m dead. A car accident two blocks away.

Goodbye my loves.


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Wednesday, June 8, 2016



Callee grew up admiring her larger-than-life neighbour to the south. She loves sophisticated New York City, the easy lifestyle of San Francisco, Waikiki, the Eagles, Bob Dillon, and Joan Baez.  A prideful people who believed in the land of the free.

But now? She was glad she lived north of their border and not south, where one candidate refers to Mexicans as drug smugglers, rapists, bad people, but some, presumably, are good. Callee watched her grandchildren playing, feeling grateful she didn’t have to explain his words to them.

Her heart went out to her US neighbours who face a tough decision come November; vote to support their party or vote strategically to keep an egotist from power he will assuredly abuse.

The election is the best reality television game show on air. The American people are hostage to a national bridge tournament. 

I hope they won’t be Trumped.


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Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Writerly Wednesday Flash Fiction Picture Prompt - Born to Sing

Happy Wednesday to you all. I missed last week, but here I am again sharing my piece. For those of you who would like an ebook of the first ten stories I wrote, I have a book on Amazon, Nook, and Kobo for FREE. I put these stories together as an offering to readers who don't follow my blog to introduce my writing style, and perhaps want to purchase my novels. So if you have friends or family that you think would enjoy my short ditties, by all means download the book. It is free on if you are in the US. Other sites will follow suit soon. And it's free on Nook and Kobo. Here's the link for Amazon.

Hope you enjoy today's story.

Born to Sing

The stage grip handed her the microphone. She stood in the wings listening to the host, paralyzed with fear, her hands sweaty. Hope I don’t drop the mic.

The M.C. was talking about her but she didn’t hear the words. Why am I doing this?

She heard her name and forced her legs to move. Her eyes scanned the audience. Omigod ... so many people.

The piano man played the intro. Panic engulfed her. This isn’t my song. She turned and he mouthed ‘sorry’. The horn player blew a ditty, turning it over to the piano man who began again.
She stared into the spotlight above the audience, waiting for her cue. She lost herself into the melody and the passion of the jazz piece.

When it was over, she bowed to a standing ovation.

Of course I want to do this. I was born to sing.

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Wednesday, May 18, 2016


The weeks fly by and another story is hatched. I find it amusing how my shorts are influenced by childhood memories or events in my life. The process of creating these vignettes on a weekly basis are so stimulating and show me that writing is what I should be doing. Enjoy!

Bucket List

 We left Santa Rosa, New Mexico, heading west on Route 66. I hit the  CD track to play our ritual song; marking the start of another day on  the road. We sang along belting out the final line, ‘Get your kicks on  Route 66’.

 Retired and carefree, this trip was on our Bucket List. We started in  Chicago, making many stops along the way and were getting closer  to Los Angeles, California.

 I stared at the semi-arid landscape lost in thought. My Route 66  obsession began at age twelve when the television show aired. It was  more a teenage obsession with George Maharis during his time spent  on the show.

 I looked sideways at my partner. Always attracted to dark-haired  brooding men, my husband was no exception. He wasn’t Hollywood  handsome but he was my George Maharis.

 He glanced at me. “What?”

 I giggled. “Love ya, honey.”


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Wednesday, May 11, 2016


Here we are again! Writerly Wednesday! Hope you enjoy!


She stared at the man opposite her, knowing that no matter how carefully she chose her next words, it wouldn’t matter. She was hurting him. It would take him awhile to get over it. They couldn’t remain friends; his expectations would overshadow that possibility. Maybe someday; maybe never.
He was a good man and she had the utmost respect for him but she couldn’t live a lie.
The look in his eyes and the slump of his body told her he knew. After three years, he could read her well. After college, he’d gone into business with his father. She worked at the hospital as a nurse.
He loved his life. She wanted more. She was heading to Africa to work on the Mercy Charity Hospital Ship. Her blood raced with excitement thinking about it.
She held his hand, took a nervous breath and began to talk.
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Wednesday, May 4, 2016


This week I'm going out on a limb with a controversial subject that may not be to the liking of some. It's a challenge to address something like this in 150 words. However, it is more about the unconditional love and support of a mother and the angst a mother can experience even with an adult child. Hope you like it.

A Mother's Love

I stared at the photo. She loved that park. I remember buying pretty dresses in the early years. She refused to wear them. Definitely a tomboy. I came to accept she wasn’t a girlie girl. But who knew?

The teen years aroused my suspicions. Was she a lesbian? She was popular with both boys and girls but never dated, studied hard, won a scholarship to university. I was proud. But this?

She told me a week ago and I’ve been crying for days. Initially, for me. But this is about her ... him. Transgendered. Hormones. Surgery.

I carried my child for nine months, nurtured her, raised her ... him as a single mom. Now the tears are for him and what he’ll face.

I heard the door open. I stood. “Mom?” He entered the room and into my outstretched arms.

“You’re still mine,” I said.

Together, we cried.  


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