Anyone who would like to participate, feel free to use the “One-Liner Wednesday” title in your post, and if you do,
you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a ping back, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post, and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday you’re pinging back to is this week’s! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
NOTE: Pingbacks only work from WordPress sites. If you’re self-hosted or are participating from another host, like Blogger, please leave a link to your post in the comments below.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”
The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
1. Make it one sentence.
2. Try to make it either funny or inspirational.
3. Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.
4. Add our very cool badge to your post for extra exposure!
I was playing around with my phone camera last week and realized there were some cool settings on it. I hadn’t noticed before that I can take a negative picture, or a monochrome or sepia, or solarized…
I had no idea what I was doing at the time; I couldn’t see the screen for the sunshine, so I just started snapping photos. The first two are solarized shots of the sun setting over the water. I did nothing to alter these after they were taken.
All-focus
All-focus
Here’s a panoramic shot I took, without filters, of the same scene.
And here’s one I took a couple of weeks ago from the same spot.
As you may remember, some time ago I mentioned that one of my short stories (unpublished) was to be included in an anthology. Here it is!
Along with this cover reveal is a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card, as well as a Kickstarter campaign where you can get all kinds of stuff, including coffee mugs, posters, short stories, hard cover editions of the anthology, and even a personal editing session with the Transmundane Press editors. Make sure you check out all the links.
And don’t forget to read the teasers: you’ll find mine under the “humor” section.
SYNOPSIS:
The happily ever after is never the end. The curtain doesn’t fall once love is recognized or evil is vanquished. Credits don’t roll once the giant is slain or the big bad wolf is boiled alive. Wicked stepsisters, malevolent rulers, and hideous creatures still have lives after their sinister roles play out; heroes, lovers, and dreamers often find their victories lead to more troubles.
Within these pages are more than seventy continuations, retellings, and eldritch stories that explore the dark forests, magical castles, and hideous creatures After the Happily Ever After.
EDITORS’ BIOS:
Alisha Costanzo is from a Syracuse suburb. She earned her MFA in creative writing from the University of Central Oklahoma, where she currently teaches English. She’s the author of BLOOD PHOENIX: REBIRTH, BLOOD PHOENIX: CLAIMED, and LOVING RED, and is co-editor of DISTORTED and UNDERWATER. IMPRINTED, her new novel, is undergoing serious edits for its 2017 release. In the meantime, she will continue to corrupt young minds, rant about the government, and daydream about her all around nasty creatures.
Having relocated from Northwest Florida’s lonesome roads and haunted swamps, Anthony S. Buoni now prowls the gas lamp lit streets of New Orleans, playing moonlight hide and seek in the Crescent City’s above ground cemeteries. Anthony is the author of Conversation Party, Bad Apple Bolero, as well as the editor to the Between There anthologies. His stories and articles have been featured in North Florida Noir and Waterfront Living. When not prowling, Anthony keeps it scary, writing dark fiction, editing, and watching horror movies. In his spare time, he DJs, plays music, and conjures other worldly creatures with tarot cards and dreams.
“The Spider’s Kiss” by David Turnball:
Her complexion had assumed the tainted gray of the corpse, the white of her eyes inebriated red with the wine of ruptured veins, the flesh on her fingers as black as spider legs.
“How perfectly contrary I’ve become.”
For entertainment, she plucked wings from flies and hung their panicking bodies from the gossamer mesh of a spider web draping the dusty corner of her mother’s garret, watching lustfully as the long-legged spider came slowly dancing around his prey. When the mood took, she’d pop the panicky little insect torsos into her mouth. Their sour juices oozing down her throat afforded her an invigorating but fleeting sensation.
“Jack and Jill” by Tom Williams:
Mrs Dob. He tapped an inch of ash off the joint. That ridiculous paper turban the child had worn. Evan remembered Jack’s pinched little face looking up at him, so serious, so sombre it made him smile. Dear Jack, have you lost your Jill, too, you poor thing. He took a deep, lungful of smoke.
Imagine, Jack and I both losing our Jills.
There was a difference though, an important one. Evan knew where his Jill was. Oh, yes, he knew exactly where she was. Hadn’t he carried her corpse, twice as heavy in death, across a ploughed field, staggering under her weight as he tottered over the furrows.
Fantasy
“Trader” by Robert Dawson
The ocean holds many kinds of islands. There are the ordinary sort of islands that stay in the same place all the time, solid reliable islands where men and women raise their children and cabbages. Beyond them lie the barren rocks, swallowed and released as the moon draws the tides, where only the selchie folk live, and the shifting sandbars where the cold mermaidens wait to marry drowned sailors.
Then there are hidden islands that appear on no charts. The boats of Land’s Men cannot find them except now and again by mischance, and to land there is perilous. The largest islands have been sighted often enough by Land’s Men that they have names: Thule, Hy Brasil, and golden Atlantis. But most are nameless to the people of the Land, and on these, the Sea Folk dwell.
“The Dragon” by R. Judas Brown
Lavender knew no one would come for her. Bad things happened to the daughters of poor, dairy farmers every day. The best she hoped for in life was a good marriage arrangement to a solid provider. Her dad only just found that arrangement with the town miller, a man her dad’s age. His apprentice looked like more fun, but the miller was well off.
Then she had been taken.
Fire from the sky.
A slam from behind, knocking her flat before the ground fell away impossibly fast.
Trees and rivers rushed by as she hung from yellow, bony talons until the darkness crept mercifully into her vision to steal her terror away.
She awoke on a bed of sharp sticks in a cave reeking of sulfur. Confused, she stood slowly, trying to find some semblance of sanity in the dark. A glowing sliver of daylight burned around the covered mouth of the cave.
Her feet froze before she had taken a full step as what she thought was a boulder in the dark shifted.
A long tail whipped as a pointed snout swung to regard her. It filled the cave entrance, a giant, scaly mass—a creature renowned for merciless violence and calculated malevolence. Lavender jerked back, tripping on the hem of her skirt in panic. Hands and arms scraped along jagged edges as she fell into the pile of sticks. When she came face to face with a skull, the truth shuddered through her.
Humor
“Alice on the Analyst’s Couch” by Linda G. Hill
Alice’s psychiatrist, the esteemed Dr. Dinah Fell, promised her the nightmares would stop. And to the doctor’s credit, she seemed to know what she was talking about; six months after the incident when seven-year-old Alice fell asleep under the tree, they had. That was, however, fourteen years ago.
Fresh out of college, Alice found a job quickly—to the dismay of many of her peers who had exceeded her in marks, but not in popularity —in the accounting industry for which she had studied. She hadn’t wanted to admit, even to her sister with whom she shared an apartment, that the leering man in human resources hired her based on the length of her legs and the cut of her blouse rather than her qualifications. He reminded her of someone with far too many teeth for the size of his mouth.
But regardless, she left her car at home and took the bus to work, knowing that parking spaces downtown were prime real estate. She walked the two blocks from the bus stop—about all she could stand in stilettos—and approached the receptionist at the paneled desk that fronted the office of Queen and Jack Inc . The middle-aged woman with a red bouffant hairstyle studied Alice from top to bottom. Her tight-lipped moue indicated her disapproval of the young woman’s tight sweater and short skirt, but she conceded that there was, indeed, a Mr. Topper waiting to see her in his office. The secretary stood and told Alice to follow.
“I’m Rose . You’ll come to see me only when you leave for the day, so I’ll know to take messages. You will not come to me for copies, faxes, telephone books, coffee, or favors of any sort.” She stopped at a door at the end of the long hall and placed her hand on the knob.
“Good luck.” She opened the door, and walked back in the direction from whence they had come.
“The Secret Life of Blanca Snowe” by Saryn Chorney:
The tragic events of Blanca’s childhood were at least partially to blame for her present condition. Blanca’s mother died in childbirth, and her wealthy father, the lord of Fairest Landing, raised his beloved only-daughter by himself. Although he lavished Blanca with love and affection, he missed having a wife. When Blanca turned thirteen, he remarried. Unfortunately, his new wife, Hilde, was a manipulative and vain woman with a suspicious agenda. Mostly, she busied herself spending her new husband’s fortune on beauty products. Hilde ignored Blanca; she passed the majority of her time in the toilette, mixing ointments and talking to herself in the mirror. Perhaps that wasn’t so odd, though, as Blanca spent the majority of her day talking to the birds, bunnies, squirrels, and stray cats in the courtyard of their estate.
Although the Fairest Landing police officially declared it an accident, Lord Snowe died suddenly from an allergic reaction to one of his wife’s homemade tonics, which he mistook for mouthwash. Hilde made a big show of appearing devastated, but after a month of official mourning, she debuted a new youthful look and entertained suitors. To her disdain, most of them took a shine to Blanca, who was sixteen by then. In juxtaposition to her innocent beauty, the girl also had an alluring countenance that intrigued men. This infuriated Hilde, who gave a handsome sum to a handsome hitman named Hunter to make Blanca disappear. Mid-kidnap-and-chop-up plan, Hunter found himself pitying his pretty prey. Instead of offing her, he dropped her off at a so-called safe house where seven merry men lived.
Romance
“Beauty and the Beast: The Beast Within” by Lorraine Nelson:
“And that’s what you miss?” he snapped. “That childish, immature, ranting, raving, beast-like creature?”
Belle bit back a smile. “You need to let me finish. All will be explained.” She hoped. Adam grunted, the sound so much like what her beloved Beast made whenever he was displeased that her heart twisted. For one brief second, he was back with her. Then he glanced at her, questions evident in his beautiful, human eyes. And the moment was gone.
“Need to be Apart” by Jody Sollazzo
“Once upon a time in a land far, far away, Westchester, New York…” Cam pauses.
He kisses her all over. His lips are moist, biting, and wanting. He gets to her stomach and kisses a line across it. He rolls her to her side and bites her ample hip, and she squeals.
“…there was a beautiful princess. Everyone saw how beautiful she was except for the bloody beast.”
His voice is as thick as the Dublin heat outside of this crisp air-conditioned Hilton. Em almost forgets about the all the hidden trafficking below. How all these people look the same to her. Em almost forgets who she is.
“That’s not how it was at all,” she says with giggles.
“Experience is the screen through which we see the world.” ~ Linda G. Hill
I just came up with that. Someone else probably has as well, but just in case I’m not subconsciously plagiarizing it, I’ll leave it up there all by itself.
It’s always been true, I think. The whole nature vs. nurture thing may be something we’ll never all agree on – I believe there’s a balance there somewhere. There’s no doubt our experiences shape us, whether to turn us into what we’ve seen or give us the determination to be the opposite. Either way, our experiences colour how we perceive things, how we judge things to be true or false, comforting or scary, acceptable or not.
If the above statement has always been true, isn’t it more literally true now? When almost all we see of the world is through a physical screen, compounded by opinions that read as facts, and facts that are difficult to believe, it’s no wonder we’re often confused. Or maybe I just speak for myself.
With the world on the brink of change (if my screen is to be believed), we are witnessing history, close up and from afar at the same time. Will we always have this medium to express our thoughts and connect with one another? Loss of this is what I fear the most.
Serious illness is something we all fear. And I think we all hope that should we face it, we’ll be able to do so with grace and a positive outlook.
I hope you’ll read this new blog, and follow along as Incy66 does her best to do just that. With positivity and humour.
Note: Comments here are disabled. Please visit the original post.
A self realization has dawned; that there are things that scare me and the reality that we all die.
I am not the sort who plays the victim or who likes to play on others’ emotions, so this post is not meant to envoke any sympathy from any of you out there.
I was reading FB earlier today and noticed a post by a friend who was in hospital having what I think is her breast removed. Yes, she has cancer.
And yes, so do I.
At first, I thought about contacting her and asking questions and telling her that it will all be ok. But to be honest it all feels a bit awkward.
One doesn’t want to pry.
So what does one do in a situation like this? I suddenly realized that she is probably not too…
It’s Friday once again, and time for your Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt. The fall weather is starting to settle in, the trees are changing colour, and there’s a fresh feeling in the air. I’m not sure if my optimism is real, or if it’s a mixture of denial that winter is coming and nervousness about never completing all the things I need to do in time, but whichever, I’ll take it. In other news, here’s your prompt:
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “screen.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
After you’ve written your Saturday post tomorrow, please link it here at this week’s prompt page and check to make sure it’s here in the comments so others can find it and see your awesome Stream of Consciousness post. Anyone can join in!
To make your post more visible, use our new SoCS badge! Just paste it in your Saturday post so people browsing the reader will immediately know your post is stream of consciousness and/or pin it as a widget to your site to show you’re a participant. Wear it with pride!!
Here are the rules:
1. Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing, (typos can be fixed) and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.
2. Your post can be as long or as short as you want it to be. One sentence – one thousand words. Fact, fiction, poetry – it doesn’t matter. Just let the words carry you along until you’re ready to stop.
3. There will be a prompt every week. I will post the prompt here on my blog on Friday, along with a reminder for you to join in. The prompt will be one random thing, but it will not be a subject. For instance, I will not say “Write about dogs”; the prompt will be more like, “Make your first sentence a question,” “Begin with the word ‘The’,” or simply a single word to get your started.
4. Ping back! It’s important, so that I and other people can come and read your post! For example, in your post you can write “This post is part of SoCS:” and then copy and paste the URL found in your address bar at the top of this post into yours. Your link will show up in my comments for everyone to see. The most recent pingbacks will be found at the top. NOTE: Pingbacks only work from WordPress sites. If you’re self-hosted or are participating from another host, such as Blogger, please leave a link to your post in the comments below.
5. Read at least one other person’s blog who has linked back their post. Even better, read everyone’s! If you’re the first person to link back, you can check back later, or go to the previous week, by following my category, “Stream of Consciousness Saturday,” which you’ll find right below the “Like” button on my post.
6. Copy and paste the rules (if you’d like to) in your post. The more people who join in, the more new bloggers you’ll meet and the bigger your community will get!
7. As a suggestion, tag your post “SoCS” and/or “#SoCS” for more exposure and more views.
I’ve always been a little fascinated with this little house around the corner from where I live. As I walked past it a few weeks back, I decided to take a picture.
It’s not just the narrow doors that intrigue me, it’s the iron bars on the upper windows and the lace curtains in the lower ones that really bring the whole thing together, which sparks my imagination.
Here’s a closeup of the lovely doors.
I live in a decidedly old part of town. Many Loyalists settled here in the 1850s, and quite a few of the houses from that era still stand. Here’s one that’s a bit different.
I’ll have to go back after the leaves fall to get a picture of it all the way to the top.
Anyone who would like to participate, feel free to use the “One-Liner Wednesday” title in your post, and if you do,
you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a ping back, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post, and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday you’re pinging back to is this week’s! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
NOTE: Pingbacks only work from WordPress sites. If you’re self-hosted or are participating from another host, like Blogger, please leave a link to your post in the comments below.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”
The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
1. Make it one sentence.
2. Try to make it either funny or inspirational.
3. Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.
4. Add our very cool badge to your post for extra exposure!
It’s strange, the edge upon which we exist here on earth. Half-way between life and death, birth and life. Full of ups and downs, we tip this way and that. Joy and sorrow, anxiousness and contentment. If we’re lucky enough to find a balance, we can make it through without much fuss.
I’ve been teetering today. Thrown off balance by the news of a friend’s passing. We, many of us, knew him well. He saw the joy in life through most of what he went through. He was always there with his own brand of encouragement and support. His friend contacted me through my comments on Facebook, to say that he talked about this world here in blogland often. That blogging had become his life.
Our friend’s name is Paul Curran. I like to think of him looking down on us, knowing we’re thinking of him, as he knows we have before. And that, to coin his favourite interjection, he’s pointing down and saying “Ha! I actually made an impression.”
Well, I’ve spent the majority of my time online today looking for confirmation, but I’ve come up with nothing either way. Why have I gone to such lengths? Because I don’t want to believe it.
I’m happy to have had the chance to shake Paul’s hand. A more warm and welcoming man I have never met.
Rest in peace, my friend. It was good to know you.
Those of us who’ve grown to love the lively words that bounced from the head and fingers of Paul Curran will never be the same.
The writer from Canada has died, according to his neighbor Steve Watson.
I received this email on the contact tab from my blog:
With great sadness I have to tell you that Paul Curran has passed away. Paul passed last week.
Our guest blogger, Paul Curran.
Your Barrista — Paul Curran
Now Your Barrista – Paul
Curran
A series of the column head shots Paul sent me since 2013 to just a month ago.
I found the email this morning. I arrived yesterday. Steve Watson was listed as the photographer in the If We Were Having Coffee Sunday column Paul had me post here on Sept. 11 after his emergency operation.
I could not find an obituary through search engines.
lindaghill.com 