A Word to our Sponsors

So this is Christmas. Or that’s what Lennon said. It snuck up on me again this year, because I swear it rolls around faster every time… are we absolutely certain they’re not shaving a few days off when we’re not looking?

I thought I’d take a moment to wish my readers all the best, no matter what you are or are not celebrating today. And also to extend my heartfelt thanks.

There are a few of you who take a moment to click on the ‘Tip Jar” button at the bottom of this page. I’ve almost removed it so many times, and I tend to just not scroll down, because it feels like I’m asking for something. I’m not big on asking for shit. Like to the point that, when I order food, I just get what’s on the menu. I don’t even say ‘hold the mustard’ even though I really wish they would. So having that button there, well, it’s asking.

But it’s not asking without giving something in return. That’s what I remind myself. I’m struggling, like everyone else, to make ends meet. And writing is what I do. I put it out there without any expectation of compensation, but when someone shows their appreciation and acknowledges the fact that I’m not salaried to write, that feels pretty good. It takes money to keep this site running. So when you ‘buy me a coffee’ it actually does help, and actually does mean that that week, I can afford to buy myself a coffee! And while I drink it, I’m probably turning the gears on a new idea to offer you.

So thank you, to all who offered their support, both financially and otherwise. It really means a lot to me. And I will continue doing my best to provide quality content that keeps you thinking and feeling.

A Merry Merry and a Happy Happy to everyone!

Flash Fiction – My Michaela

“You said your name was Mike.”

She smiled, her eyes large and soft and beautiful. She pulled out her license and showed it to me.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s Michaela.”

“What about everything else? How could you mislead me?” This is what heartbreak felt like. This tearing in the center of your body, like something enormous and very, very angry was trying to get out.

“Amy, I’m in love with you. Have been from the beginning. I’m sorry… everything I’ve ever said to you was truth. You’re the other half of my soul.”

 

December 15, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) explore the importance of a name within a story. It can be naming an experience, introducing an extraordinary name, or clarifying a name (who can forget Who’s on First). Go where the prompt leads.

Flash Fiction – Old Friend

We scrambled up the familiar trail, shale cascading from beneath him like marbles. We’d reach the summit to stand and gander. Such views from the rim. Cobalt skies and red rock and always a vulture making his lazy circles.

I dropped to the ground 100 yards from the top, his breath too labored. I waited while he recovered, my hand on his shoulder.

Once arrived, we stood. I turned to see him kneeling; before he went down I slid the Winchester from the leather scabbard. Thirty years of these rides. It was time. I owed him this much.

 

December 8, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write using the word gander as a verb. A gander is a male goose, yet the Old English etymology of the word suggests it was once gandra which described a waterbird with a long neck (like a crane). In 1912, it became the act of taking a long look. What is the long look your story or character is considering?

Unbearable

SoCS

 

“I can’t bear it.”

“Bare it?” his eyes sparkled. “Of course you can, it looks lovely bare.”

“No, don’t!” She tried to laugh, wanted to laugh at him, and knew he was just trying to make her feel better, to lessen the burden of the coming days. But it wasn’t laughter that came out.

“Oh baby girl,” he sighed and pulled her into a bear hug. “I know. I do. It’s hard for me too.”

“Really?” Her words muffled against his rough coat lapel. She breathed his scent, lightly mingled with the heavy odors of diesel and cold.

“Of course. Being away from you is almost impossible.”

“I’m not being a baby?” She sniffed.

“You’re my baby. But no. It is hard to bear, for sure. But you know what?”

“What?” She leaned back and looked into his face.

“It will be over before you know it. You’ll be right back here, where you belong. Because you’re MY girl.”

She smiled as she always did when he said that. Somehow those words made everything a little easier.
 

Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!

June 1944

SoCS

 

“Shush!”

“What do you mean, ‘shush?’ Don’t shush me.”

“Would you prefer I do this?” She clapped her hand over the other’s mouth, and promptly got bitten. “OW! Heavens, Marcy.”

“Well. Don’t shush me. Or touch me.”

“I can’t hear a word if you keep nattering on. You never did know when to shut up.”

“Shouldn’t be eavesdropping anyway. You were always a nosy bitch.”

“You need to watch your language!”

“Make me.”

“What pushed you out of the wrong side of bed this morning anyway? You’re a crank pot.” Then she held up her hand, the one with the reddening teeth marks, and leaned her ear against the door.

“What are they saying?”

“That they’re going to put you up for adoption if you don’t smarten up.” There was a dark twinkle in Janie’s brown eyes. But suddenly it left. Her young face fell into an expression the younger sister perceived like a cold hand around her heart.

“What? What is it, Janie? Tell me! Is he coming home?” she hissed.

Janie looked at her with welled eyes and shook her head.

Marcy touched her shoulder. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”

Janie kept shaking her head, the tears now spilling over her pale cheeks, and the cloud that descended on 1414 Chatham Street that day smothered them in a permanent hush.

 

Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!

Flash Fiction – Wild Fire

It was the kind of kiss that started wild fires. He took her hand and held it with his in her lap. He leaned across the console. “Every touch is a promise,” he said, and his voice was soft and deep and warmed her like aged whisky. His lips brushed her nose, and she closed her eyes and instinctively tilted her head. How did she know to do that? It was not only their first kiss…

“But you’re not allowed,” he said, and the tip of his tongue brushed the cupid’s bow of her lip. “To fall.”

 

December 2, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about something or someone not allowed. Maybe it’s about gender, race or other intolerance. Maybe it’s the cat who paws at the door, but not allowed inside. Maybe it’s a trail where dogs are not allowed. Go light, go dark, go where the prompt leads you.

Observer

collage-34
Mindlovemisery’s Writing prompt #187

Upon awakening each morning she wondered who she would be. For this day, a gust of wind past a yawning window. Or something small and beautiful and dying, going nowhere at all.

She bathed and dressed in solitude, taking great care with an appearance that would go unacknowledged. Small tasks completed gave a sense of satisfaction while awaiting the arrival of the soul she would be today. How that arrival might color her view of the world, the one she sat in the shadows and quietly observed. In the blazing Technicolor of a fantasy dream-coat? Or bleak grays, inky blacks and washed out whites? In the sepia tones of memory? Or the pastel gossamer and silk of youth and hope?

Upon awakening each morning she felt the temporary flutter of her heartbeat and wondered how many she had left. She awaited the arrival of the soul to tell her how to feel about this one. Whether it was dark and sad or bright and lustful, she embraced each as the feeling of being alive, an observer of the life outside.

Friendship

This blog has been quite the experience. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ve been with WordPress for almost a decade. I’ve run four different blogs and the longest one I kept running for about eight years. It was under my actual name, and was a way to keep widespread friends and family informed. It served as a farm journal, a picture journal, a horse training journal, a cookbook, a public sketch pad and a year long Christmas letter for whoever wished to drop by.

Then I launched Felicity. Felicity was a way to shed the expectations of a small community, and a smaller family. I found myself needing to express thoughts and ideas that wouldn’t be acceptable to those who knew me. I know that may sound harsh, and you may be thinking, well those people love you, and will love you no matter  what, for who you are.

The real world doesn’t work that way. They may still love you, but in my case, I would no longer be acceptable to them, and I would need to be fixed. Changed. Remolded into that neat little Christian package so I could sit on the front pew with the rest of the preacher’s family.

Felicity happened because I was no longer able to squeeze myself into that rigid expectation. I felt myself bursting, needing to stretch and pull things out into the light for my own sake and no one else’s. And I have made some amazing discoveries on account of it.

Not only that, I have made some amazing friends. And today is a special day for one of them, my girl Kat. We’ve known one another for two years now, and we’ve been through some rough shit together. Kat is one of the first people (my DH aside, but he’s under contract 😉 ) who met me on my own ground, and accepted me for who I am, not who I was supposed to be. She has supported me, championed me, propped me up, mowed me down, and sent me pictures of really fucking big spiders (thanks a lot for that, sis 😉 )

Today is her birthday. And I wanted to publicly wish her a happy one, filled with all the best things life can give her. I hope all you folks will stop by her corner of wordpress and do the same.

Thank you, Kat, for being here for me. Happy birthday!

 

Novel

SoCS

 

It was a novel idea, that love thing. Pretty, all wrapped up in ribbons and candy hearts with saccharine messages stamped on them and roses on Valentine’s… those things proved it, he said. Of course I love you. I gave you Belgian chocolates at Christmas. And took you to see that crooner you like on your birthday.

I believed it. Believed those things made up the romantic notion. That was before you, though. You never sent me flowers, or chocolates, or took me out to dinner. Instead, you made me feel wanted, craved. Gave me a reason to get up in the morning. The most intense feelings came when you taught me about things, things that interested you, things that helped me. You brought out my best.

Novelty wasn’t what I needed. I needed something abiding. I needed more than that love thing, and that is what you gave me.

 

 

Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!

Hunger

SoCS

 

Warning: Sexual Content

 

The light in his eyes the first time they touched her. A gaze could scrape, could scald, could caress. He thought he was hungry, but he had no frame of reference for what real hunger was. The eyes devoured one curve at a time, from full breasts and round hips to the gentle valleys of collar-bones and throat and contours of cheek and chin. Arch of brow, Cupid’s bow lips. And his gaze ignited.

This one was of average height, handsome in the way confident men are handsome, silver at his temples and clean-shaven. He had nice teeth. Blue eyes. The tail of a tie stuck out of the briefcase on the floor by his feet. Shined shoes and open collar.

The flush consumed her and the dance was over as quickly as it began. One kiss and he was hers, to take, to have, to finish. Body pressing her back to the cool wall in the alley behind the bar, his inhibitions gone, he pulled back from her and looked into her eyes. “Who are you?” he whispered.

He thought he knew hunger.

But no one knows hunger like a succubus.

 

 

Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!