Tag: Blog Hop

We are gearing up to do another Blog Hop!  I\’m very excited.  This time, we\’re doing a Summer Solstice hop and giving away another e-reader!  Wowsers.  Plus, individual authors will give away stuff too.  It\’s a lot of fun.

The focus of this blog hop is to either post an excerpt or short story, or to use a scene generator and write a flash story specifically for the hop.  I think I might try that.  o.O…  Stay tuned, the festivities start Wednesday and run through the weekend.

If you haven\’t participated before, the way it works is that the hop will go live on Wednesday, 06/21/2012.  Readers go through the hop, visiting each blog and leaving a comment.  Everyone who comments on each blog is entered in the grand prize drawing, and one lucky someone will win their very own e-reader.  Plus, you get to read some new material from favorite authors, and meet some new authors you haven\’t read before.  It\’s a lot of fun and a good way to find out what\’s available to you as a reader.

Stay tuned!

Welcome to the Valentine\’s Day Blog Hop!  In celebration of the day, I\’m sharing a short flash piece, below, originally written for a story challenge.  I hope you enjoy!  Click the image, above, to visit the other talented authors with blogs in the hop.  You\’ll be glad you did!

Zeta woke to the lovely strains of Chihuahua in full bark, accompanied by the symphony of shrill hungover White trash.  God damned trucker hotels.  The barking cut off with a yelp and sympathy for the stupid animal burned through Zeta’s chest.

Figured.

He rolled out of bed and took a piss, then set the coffee on to brew.  He moved the owner’s manual for the ancient Helium tank back onto the bed.  The tank itself sat there like a huge, half-rusted torpedo from the sixties.  Here’s hoping the thing worked as well as a torpedo, or Monroe was gonna kill him. 

Thank God that dump had water pressure.

Then again, heavy water pressure on bruises wasn’t the sort of thing a man wanted to wake up to…

He managed to grab the bottle of vodka from the counter next to the coffeemaker without dripping too much water everywhere.  Some half-drunk yuppie kid gave it to him last night at the bar, wobbly with martinis and Zeta’s blowjob.  Kid wasn’t half-bad at it himself, Zeta’s lower brain reminded him, but he swigged the vodka instead of focusing on his morning leftover reaction. 

Didn’t taste nearly as good as it had the night before.  The label read “Grey Goose Vodka” with a picture of a fjord and geese flying overhead against some mountains.

Mountains…

Hell, he tried everything else…

Then he heard it.  The door rattled and jiggled, then the unmistakable turn of a key.  He snatched his gun off the towels by the toilet and waited, heart pounding.

“Hey, gorgeous, I’m back!”

The aroma of eggs, bacon and coffee hit Zeta’s nose like a steam train and his stomach yowled like a starving cheetah.  Christ.  Why did his assailant have to bring food?  He’d be a helluva lot easier to shoot if he’d been some snaggle-toothed asshat with body odor.

Of course not.  It was the yuppie from the bar.

Christ.  How the hell much Vodka did Zeta drink?

And what the hell was the kid’s name?

“I know you said you’re in a hurry to get to Oxnard, so I got breakfast for us.  Oh, good.  You’re almost done.”  The yuppie set the food on the table by the window and grinned at Zeta.  His large brown eyes crinkled at the corners, and smile lines just starting by his mouth gave him a friendly appearance. 

Yup, he was as hot now as he was in the bar, vodka or no vodka.

And he was stripping…  A steady pile of discarded clothing littered the floor behind him as he approached Zeta.  “You just let ol’ Chico wash your back, hmm?”

Zeta stubbed his toe getting out of the shower.  “No, I really can’t.  Monroe will kill me if I’m late.”  He paused, a towel in his hands.  “You go by ‘Boy’ in Spanish?”

Chico shrugged, stepping into the water but not quite closing the curtain all the way.  Man, he had a nice ass!

“My nickname is Chico, so that’s what I put on my fake I.D.  You really go by the letter ‘Z’?”

Zeta flushed.  “My name’s Alex.”

“’Xander’ begins with an ‘X’.”  Chico winked.  “And my name is Pedro.”

“To my best friend in grammar school, Xander sounds like a ‘Z’.”

“What was her name?”  Chico finished in record time and joined Zeta on the mat to dry off.  He pulled the towel out of Zeta’s hands and finished his back with quick movements that reawakened all of Zeta’s senses, then slapped his ass.  “Go eat while I finish.  We have to get on the road.”

“How do you know it was a girl?”  Zeta dressed in jeans and his Elvis t-shirt, sandals and a belt.  He stuffed the rest of his clothes into his duffel and then went to investigate the food.

“Because no dude would name you Zeta.”  Chico bent and kissed his neck, then whispered in his ear.  “So hurry up and eat, will ya?  I want to see if you make as much noise driving when I go down on you as you did last night.”

Zeta’s heart started pounding.  This was seventeen kinds of stupid, but damned if he wasn’t gonna do it.  Monroe didn’t have to know about his new partner, and besides.

It would make the drive go a lot faster.

He grinned at Chico, chewing a bite of bacon and eggs, and the most gorgeous yuppie Latino on two legs grinned back.

Damn fine truck stop.

My offering for this Blog Hop is a sweet romance with a twist that I wrote for a Flash Fiction Carnival. The subject was the elements, and this is for Water. I figured it was fitting, since Spring is just around the corner. Enjoy!

To start the Blog Hop, go here.

Water
Fionula ran the water into the kettle, the filter making a soft high-pitched whine as it worked. It was an extra unit she’d had from her last apartment and she’d given it to Kirby for his new place.

“Hey,” Kirby greeted, wandering into the kitchen and sitting down on one of the only chairs that didn’t have boxes or packing material stacked on it.

“Hi there. How ‘ya feeling?” she asked brightly, noting he didn’t look very good. More like depressed and mopey. She never really liked Sara, and this was just another black mark against Kirby’s ex-girlfriend.

He sighed and looked out the window. “Okay, I guess.”

She set the kettle on the stove and lit the gas. She bent to rummage in the canvas sack she’d lugged over and pulled out the smaller bag of produce and set it in the sink. She set the pork roast, still chilly from the freezer, on the counter. Finally finding the tea buried under the net bag of potatoes, she fished it out and plumped the cardboard box back up.

“Well, cheer up, Kirby. I brought pork roast and vegies, and tea. And then you can have a bubble bath and ice cream.”

He actually laughed at that, she was pleased to note.

“A bubble bath?” he scoffed. “Come on, Fionula. I’m not a chick.”

She turned around and put her hands on her hips. “Armand said to come over and cheer you up, so I’m going to do that. Besides. I’m gay, so whatever you have,” she waved her hand negligently toward his lap, “doesn’t interest me. So your virtue is safe with me.”

He stared at her, nonplussed.

She pulled her other bag closer and pulled out the bubble bath, followed by two glass container candles, a plastic bag with a pint of Zanzibar Chocolate ice cream, and her copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. “I’ll even read to you.”

He pulled the bag of ice cream closer half-heartedly and peeked inside. “There’s a cow on your ice cream.”

“Yeah?” she retorted. “That just shows it’s made with real cow juice.” She yanked it away and stuffed it unceremoniously in the freezer. “Show respect, that’s Zanzibar Chocolate.”

“‘Cow juice?’” he echoed faintly. “Ew?”

She snorted. “Then don’t complain,” she said in a reasonable tone of voice.

He smiled but it faded too quickly. She surveyed her supplies. She pulled out the greens and set them in the sink and washed the apples. She looked over her shoulder at him. “You want to help me wash these greens?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, sure, why not.”

They spent the next thirty minutes preparing dinner. He seemed to forget some of his melancholia in the routine and helped her position the pork on top of the chopped apples. She doused it with hard apple cider and put it in the oven.

“Okay. Now I’ll go start the bath.”

“Fionula, come on. I don’t need –”

“Shush. Come on.”

He groaned but got up and followed her. She started the water and he adjusted the temperature. She let the tub fill with bubble bath, the sharp scent of lavender filling the small space.

“Hey! This doesn’t smell half bad!” he blurted.

“Gee thanks.”

“You know what I mean, Fionula. It’s not all girly and whatever.”

“Kirby, that’s not an improvement,” she said, laughing. “I could have brought bubble gum. Or baby-fresh scent.”

He grimaced. “Ew.”

“Okay. You get in the tub and I’ll come back in and read to you, k? Oh! I’ll get the ice cream.”

“Before dinner?” he asked, actually smiling.

“Of course! ‘Life’s short, eat desert first,’” she quoted. She closed the door on him before he could think of a response.

It didn’t take him long to get ready and he did seem a lot more relaxed once he was actually in the water. She handed him a bath pillow with a big silly pink bow on it. “It’s a housewarming present,” she told him.

He smiled. “Thanks!” He seemed to really mean it. She put the bow on the counter and he blew the pillow up, then sat back with a sigh.

“Okay.” She settled herself on the toilet, using a towel as a pillow. “Hänsel and Grethel.”

“I know this one!” He sounded pleased.

“Bet you don’t,” she countered, meeting his gaze. “Have you read the originals?”

He looked perplexed. “The original what?”

“Grimm’s Fairy Tales aren’t kids’ stories, really. They’re folk tales that were changed for children, made lighter. The originals are really dark and, well, grim.”

“Oh!”

She read him the story and by the end, he seemed really engrossed. She went to check on the pork and came back to find him looking through the book. “Hey!”

He smiled and handed it back. “This one,” he requested, pointing.

“Brother and Sister, huh? Okay.”

By the time the bath was over and dinner was ready, the dull melancholy look had left Kirby’s eyes. She even got him to laugh a couple times during dinner.

As she put her coat on to leave, she looked at him. “Here,” she handed over the book, “you can read some more if you want.”

“Thanks!” He looked down at the cover and then met her eyes. “Thanks, Fionula. Really. I had a good time tonight.”

“I told you,” she said firmly. “It’s the Zanzibar Chocolate.”

“Right.” He shook his head and hugged her. He waited by his front door until the elevator came and then waved at her as she got on.

She hitched her bags a little higher and smiled to herself. It worked every time. Zanzibar Chocolate and a bath could cure anything.

The original post appeared here.

Air is here.

Fire is here.

Thanks for visiting!

Today, I\’m going to share something a little sweeter for Valentine\’s Day.  This little story was inspired from a picture prompt and I thought my readers might enjoy it.  I wrote it way back on March 30th, 2008, and I figured it\’s time to blow the dust of it just in time for some Valentine\’s Day inspiration.

Thanks for visiting.  Be sure to visit the other fine authors in this year\’s Valentine\’s Day Blog Hop, and good luck!

Blue Highway

“Hedges. Hedges, Wilhelm. Why is it always hedges?” Lars grumbled. “And look!” He pointed with an agitated arm. “Now they are putting hedges next to the trees!”

“Calm yourself, Lars. It’s not seemly to get so excited. It’s a beautiful morning,” Elder Wilhelm Yoder soothed. “Look there. You see how the trees form a line like they are walking to market?”

“Yes,” he sighed, “I see them.” He clucked at Mila and Kesta to hurry up. The two black mares obligingly moved into a light trot, their unshod hooves making soft ‘clops’ on the pavement.

The road was only two lanes. He and Wilhelm drove in the right-hand one. The English in this land drove on the right, but in their home country drove on the left. It numbered among the many things Lars didn’t understand. To the right of the white line separating the road, the ugly hedgerows began. Nearly waist-high and wide to the depth of his forearm, trees had been planted just beyond them, spaced evenly like in an orchard. But this close to the exhaust fumes of automobiles, the trees would be useless for produce. Another hedgerow started just after the trees, like a fence, and then the woods began.
“Are those Mr. Madden’s woods too?” Lars demanded, the thought popping unbidden to his mind.

“Mmm,” Wilhelm responded. “I do not know. Why is it you ask?”

Lars blushed and looked away. “Curiosity only, Elder.”

“We Amish are a curious people,” Wilhelm said softly.

After a moment, Lars realized he was teasing. “Forgive me, Elder. I feel out of sorts this morning.”

“And why is that, young Lars?”

“It’s Rebecca!” he burst out. “Viktor Sauder gave her flowers at the Meeting. Flowers!”

“It is Easter, my son,” Wilhelm said quietly. Then, “Are you out of sorts because you neglected to bring any?”

Lars shot a look at the Elder and found himself regarded by calm, age-filmed blue eyes. “Yes,” he said miserably and looked back at the road. “What if she chooses Viktor?”

“If you neglect to bring her any gifts, perhaps she will,” Wilhelm said gently. When Lars whirled to retort, he held up a hand. “I said ‘if,’ my son. ‘If.’ We go to market after Mr. Madden’s delivery.”

Lars stopped. That thought had not occurred to him. “I brought candles to barter,” he noted thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you should barter with Mrs. Mills, young Lars. She makes such pretty hair ties.”

When Lars met Wilhelm’s gaze, he found the old man twinkling at him. “Do you approve of the match?” Lars asked, greatly bold.

“I do, my son.” He patted Lars’s knee. “But first, to business. We have much work to do, and we are missing the scenery.”

Lars grinned and turned back to the road. The sun, not up yet, provided enough light that the woods were cast into bluish shadows. “Aren’t the hedges rather attractive in this light?” he asked the Elder.

Elder Wilhelm just smiled and settled deeper into his seat.

(Original post here.)

Start of the Blog Hop is here.