WEP - Moonlight Sonata - The Special Place

The Special Place

Tagline: Sometimes you need to get away for a bit to find some peace

Carol Anne crept through the reeds, her shoes squelching in the mud and shallow water. A twig snapped behind her, and she froze. Her feet sunk into the marshy ground, water seeping through her shoes. At least sinking was quiet. 

It was dark out here in the marsh, the moon not yet high enough to lend her much light. After a moment where no other sound occurred she continued on her way. She exhaled her held breath as she yanked first one foot out then the other. Mud sucked greedily at her sullied shoes, but relinquished each foot after a hesitation.

From a nearby tree, cicadas set up their raucous chatter. They'd let her know if someone was following her.

Soon, she was far enough to the east to step on solid ground and skirt the marsh. It felt strange to feel a steady surface beneath her. The squishy ground had eased the pain in her ankle a little, but now it throbbed from the workout and the hard impacts.

He hadn't meant to hurt her. It just happened.

She reached across her chest to gently press the bruise on her upper arm. Even though it wasn't visible in the darkness, its precise shape was burned into her mind. All five of his fingers were visible in the deep purple and black circling her upper arm. 

Another accident.

He always told her he was sorry. Not right away, but later. He made it up to her. Cruelty wasn't in his nature, but he was tired, stressed. He wasn't himself sometimes.

A small part of her knew this as the nonsense it was. After all, hadn't she seen cruelty in his eyes, the set of his mouth? She could tell the exact moment where his actions went from unconscious to purposeful. The moment he realized he was hurting her and squeezed a little harder.

This time, he'd kicked at her foot to trip her up, but he'd hit her ankle instead. The pain had blossomed, sharp at first, then subsiding to a dull ache, spreading up her leg and down her foot. He'd caught her before she could fall, grasping the meat of her upper arm.

That was when she'd seen it.

His eyes had narrowed, a hint of a smile twisting lips that could be so soft during the good times, making them look hard and, yes, mean. He'd thought about it before he squeezed. He'd held her eyes with his so he could watch every aspect of her reaction as his fingers tightened. 

She'd fought back, wrenching at his fingers and finally kicking him in the shin. She'd meant to kick him in the knee, but it was hard to aim when you were wrestling someone a good one-hundred pounds bigger than you. And whereas her weight was soft, his was all muscle, solid to the touch.

He was so angry he punched her in the face. That was something he never did. Marking her face was a mistake.

Carol Anne raised tentative fingers to her eye socket, felt the solid puff of the swelling there. It felt like something was broken, shifting around under the skin. It had sounded that way, too. She'd never heard a crunch quite like it.

The ground shifted once more. Lush grass softened her steps, a cushion between her pain and the soil. She was nearly there.

This time was different. She'd had enough. 

After he punched her in the face and knocked her to the ground, he stormed away, kicking a chair away from the kitchen table on his way past it. He went out the door to the backyard. The door had swung around and slammed closed behind him. It spoke of finality. A finality that woke her up.

While she waited for him to return, she cooked dinner. She was limping heavily and could barely see through the damaged eye, but she prepared his favorite grilled cheese sandwich, setting a handful of potato chips on the plate with it. There was a can of tomato soup, so she made that, too, throwing in a couple stale croutons and a pinch of shredded cheese. It all went to his place at the table, along with a glass of milk so cold bubbles frothed on the surface. She set his chair back upright.

With everything in its place, she left through the front door. He'd be in his shed, but she didn't want to chance him seeing her.

A slight hill stood before her. At the top was her special place. It took her longer to climb than usual, the pain in her ankle hindering her some, but she made it. Just as she reached the crown of the hill, the moon rose enough to push glowing fingers between the willow's fronds, illuminating the stump on which she liked to sit. Using her good arm, she pushed the branches aside and disappeared into the safety of her special place.

Settling on the stump, she breathed a sigh of relief at taking the weight off her ankle.

She closed her eyes and listened to the frogs singing their moonlight sonata in the marsh, joining with the chorus of the cicadas and other night insects. 

She wondered if he'd drunk the milk yet, and whether he would be a problem anymore.

887 words, NCCO

May Submission Roundup

I was briefly locked out of my blog for some reason, which freaked me out, but I changed the password and got back in. I would have thought I'd been hacked, but it was Blogger weirdness. Either way, all is well now.

Hey, I don't think I announced I won runner up in the April WEP Challenge!

Since I skipped sharing submission links last week, I'm doing it this week. Bear in mind I'm not endorsing these, merely passing them along. Always do your own due diligence before submitting, and don't submit if you're not comfortable with the publisher.

Accepting Submissions

Utter Speculation Publications is seeking speculative fiction about the dancing plague and what was behind it. (Funnily enough, I just covered this on the podcast!). Up to 10,000 words. Pays $10. Deadline May 24. 

Space Fantasy Magazine is seeking "stories that challenge our relationship with space." The theme is "Is There Anybody Out There?" Up to 1250 words. Pays $.08/word. Deadline May 31.

Off Topic Publishing is seeking poetry and flash fiction with the theme of "Exhaustion: Limited Reserves." Up to 1000 words. Pays $15 CAD. Deadline May 31. 

Worldsmyths is seeking F/SF stories with the theme of "Seasons" for Seasons Unceasing. 2000 to 8000 words. Pays $.005/word. Deadline May 31.

Alienhead Press is seeking ghost stories having to do with Halloween for Literally Dead. 2000 to 4000 words. Pays $.06/word. Deadline May 31.

Night Terror is seeking horror stories for "There Used to Be a House Here." 2500 to 8000 words. Pays 25 pounds, plus 100% of proceeds are donated to the charity Shelter, Shelter. Deadline May 31.

Death Knell Press is seeking astronomical horror for Nightmare Sky. 1000 to 5000 words. Pays $.01/word. Deadline May 31.

Red Cape Publishing is seeking horror stories for O is for Outbreak. 4000 to 8000 words. Pays 10 pounds. Deadline May 31. (Note: I've been published with them and it was a pleasant experience.)

Apparition Literary Magazine is seeking horror short stories and poetry with the theme "Omen." 1000 to 5000 words. Pays $.05/word. Deadline May 31.

Eternal Haunted Summer is seeking short stories for Other Than Human Realms. No word limits. Pays $5. Deadline May 31.

The Massachusetts Review is seeking poetry, nonfiction, or fiction from those who identify as disable, chronically ill, neurodiverse, etc. Up to 7000 words. Pay is not listed on this particular call, but I'm assuming it's the usual $100. Deadline June 1.

Dracula Beyond Stoker Magazine is seeking stories about Dracula for their first issue. 1500 to 5000 words. Pays $.05/word. Deadline June 15.

Eye to the Telescope is seeking SF/F poetry about Veterans of Alien Wars. Preference will go to actual veterans. Pays $.03/word. Deadline June 15.

Mythulu is seeking unique, poetic fairy tales. No retellings. 500 to 2800 words. Pays $.04/word. Deadline June 17.

The Bureau Dispatch is seeking epistolary stories for Dear X. 500 to 1500 words. Pays $50. Deadline June 17.

Dragon Soul Press is seeking horror short stories for Beautiful Darkness. 3000 to 15,000 words. Pays royalties. Deadline June 30.

Periculum Press is seeking queer pagan stories for Rites of Passage. 2500 to 7500 words. Pays $25 to $75. Deadline 30.

The Dragon's Roost is seeking Eldritch humor for LOLcraft. Up to 4500 words. Pays $.04/word. Deadline June 30. 

Quarter Press is seeking myths, fables, and folklore for The Quarter(ly) Journal. Up to 10,000 words. Pays $5. Deadline June 30.

Air and Nothingness Press is seeking stories about a Librarian's adventures through the multi-verse. 1000 to 3000 words. Pays $.08/word. Deadline June 30.

Anything of interest? Anything to share? Are you submitting?

May you find your Muse.

WEP - A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall

My WEP entry is below!

I have a story in Particular Passages 2, and it is now available for pre-order. There's no theme, just good short stories!

This Books2Read link will take you to anywhere it's up for pre-order. Note that Amazon does not yet have it up, and likely won't do pre-order.

Plus, Unsettling Reads put out a TOC for Summer Bludgeon, in which I have a "Grease" themed mystery short story.

My WEP entry's different than you probably expect from me at this point. Check out the other entries at the WEP (Write...Edit...Publish) blog.

As the Time Approaches

Tagline: Courage is what we make it.

Lacy stood, looking out the window at the ominous clouds in the distance. Her breath fogged the glass, belly touching the window sill, where the sharp edge pressed a crease. Cold penetrated the thin veil between inside and outside, causing goosebumps to burst across her skin like an encroaching army.

She crossed the room and sat down at the table once more, the blank page staring back at her. Yet again, she picked up the pen, pressed the tip to the yellow of the legal pad on top of the first line. The words would not come, but the tears did, a hot flood down her cheeks, soaking the paper.

Angrily, she threw the pen across the room, where it landed with a clatter. That single dot stared back at her like a judging eye. 

Outside, the first light drops hit the window like tiny needles.

Her stomach moved, a ripple that rubbed the table's edge. The baby was awake. 

She placed her hand against the creature moving inside her and rubbed, soothing through layers of tissue. Sometimes she felt like the baby cried, even though there was no way for her to know for sure, out here, so far removed from the life growing within her. She wished she knew what the baby was thinking, what it was actually doing. She felt oddly isolated from it. As if her own body was a shield between them.

Hunger filled her, and she thought perhaps it was a message directly from the baby. Feed me, mama.

Mama.

There were so many reasons this letter shouldn't be written, and only one saying it should. But that one, oh, it was a big one.

She wasn't showing yet, not enough that she couldn't still hide it. If anyone had noticed her clothes getting bigger, looser, less form-fitting, they hadn't said anything about it. There wasn't much more time, though. Soon, she wouldn't look a bit chubby around the middle, but like a full-fledged mom-to-be, rounded belly a dead giveaway that she was soon to be a pariah.

From schoolbooks to baby shoes, innocence to motherhood.

Part of her knew he needed to know, but she knew exactly how he'd react. He'd never give up everything for her and the baby. He had promise. He was going to be something.

That's how it had been for her, too. Before.

The raindrops plumped up, pelting the glass faster now. Distant thunder rumbled.

She got up, went to the pen, picked it up. The cheap casing had cracked, but the tip was intact and no ink leaked from it. She set it down next to the pad and pattered to the pantry, bare feet cold on the rough, aged wood. Inside the pantry were pastry tarts, brown sugar and cinnamon, her favorite. She pulled out one of the crinkly, metallic pouches and brought it with her back to the table.

This time she started writing, the words flowing, spreading across the damp paper. It helped that she told herself she could always rewrite it or tear it up. She needed to get the words on paper, tell the truth, reveal it all.

Besides, her parents would be home soon. If she didn't finish it now, she might never work up the courage to try again.

A vibrant white light exposed the room, blinding her momentarily. In that same moment, thunder burst into the room, vibrated within her.

The baby kicked, rolled, then settled.

Lacy put a hand to her belly once more, this time needing the soothing as much as her baby.

"A hard rain's gonna' fall, sweet one, but I'll make sure you're okay. We're both going to be okay."

615 words. NCCO.

Have you read the other entries? What does the image inspire for you? What about the song?

May you find your Muse.

WEP, RMFW Podcast, & Jemima Pett's 10 Things You Didn't Know About Zanzibar's Rings

I was interviewed on the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers' podcast, and it can be listened to (click on the title) or watched! The interviewer is Mark Stevens, a mystery writer himself.

My WEP post is below. But first, Jemima Pett visits to tell us 10 Things You Didn't Know About Zanzibar's Rings:

10 Things you Didn’t Know about Zanzibar’s Rings

Image for Saturn taken by Cassini-Huyghens and used for the cover of Zanzibar’s Rings: https://photojournal.jpl.nasa.gov/catalog/PIA08388

 

1.     Zanzibar’s Rings is the third book of the Viridian System series. Dolores and Maggie now have their own businesses; Pete is occupied with his family, now settled in the southern part of their world, Sunset Strip, and Lars is, well, Lars is wondering what role he has now.

2.     Pete and Lars got rich by mining asteroids for a rare element called orichalcum. So rich they don’t plan on doing it, ever again.

3.     The Viridian System is the richest source of orichalcum in the galaxy. The asteroid belt is considered to be the property of the two planets in the third orbital ring, Pleasant Valley and Sunset Strip.

4.     Orichalcum is essential for instantaneous communication systems. Other faster-than-light communications systems allowed for inter-stellar navigation before the discovery of orichalcum, but this metal with its strange properties was a game changer.

5.     Asteroid miners still use archaic radio (speed of light) to communicate with other spacers within the same planetary system.

6.     The Viridian System is so named because its sun, Viridium, emits a green-tinged light. It has long been held by Earth scientists that stars cannot emit green light, because of the way we see colour. In my science, it is green because of the presence of orichalcum, which produces the green effect throughout the system. In real science, astronomers have recently found something that is pretty much green, a star called Zubeneschamali.

7.     Zanzibar is a planet in the Viridian System, in the orbit beyond the asteroid belt. It is a gas giant with distinctive rings.

8.     Zanzibar is modelled on the planet Saturn, of course. Much of what we know about Saturn was produced by the Cassini-Huyghens mission. Cassini orbited Saturn for 13 years, and took a total of 453,048 images. You can browse them on the Cassini mission pages.

9.     Saturn is light enough to float on water, if you could find an ocean big enough.

10.  I asserted somewhere that ringed planets are now thought to be common. I didn’t find the exact reference, but they are more common than water worlds like Earth (and Sunset Strip). Astronomers currently think that exoplanets classed as ‘puffy’ may in fact be ringed planets, much like Saturn—and with similar densities.

 

 

Galactic communications crisis strands several well-loved travelers with deadly enemies and no safe way to get home…

By Jemima Pett

Zanzibar's Rings, Science Fiction, Princelings Publications, 389 pp.

A Galactic crisis: the entire comms system destroyed. No waypoints, no navigation aids, no database access… and how will spaceships in flight get home—or to any destination?

Dolores is stuck in warp with a very dangerous passenger, Pete gets his shuttle back home on manual. But how come anything in close contact with pure orichalcum fixes itself? Just flying through Zanzibar’s Rings solves the problem—as the Federation’s fighters find, as they descend on the Viridian System to take possession of the planets.

Zanzibar’s Rings brings the Viridian System series to a conclusion with a bang—and a lot of whimpering. And possibly a view of things to come.

Book Information

Release Date: February 22, 2022

Publisher: Princelings Publications

Kindle: ISIN: B093QFX6DV; 380 pages; E-Book, $2.99

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3mSjrvZ

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B093QFX6DV

Jemima Pett has been writing stories since she was eight, but went down the science path at school, and into a business career before retraining into environmental policy research. She wrote many manuals, papers and research documents before returning to fiction, publishing the Princelings of the East in 2011. That led to ten books in the series of the same name, written for older children. She started the Viridian System series in 2014.

Jemima reckons she read all of the science fiction in her local library, and most enjoys alternative universes, time travel, consequences of social change and unusual ideas surrounding alien species.  Her favourite authors included Anne McCaffrey, Fritz Lieber, Poul Anderson, John Brunner, Robert Heinlein and Arthur C Clarke. These days she likes Becky Chambers, Matt Haig, Lindsay Buroker, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Clare O’Beara, M T McGuire, Jennifer Ellis…  She also loves series – once involved with characters she loves to read their continuing adventures.

She has degrees or diplomas in maths, earth sciences and environmental technology and studied with the Unthank School of Writing while she lived in Norfolk. She now lives in Hampshire, where she enjoys rewilding her garden, raising organically grown vegetables, and birdwatching.

She would most like everyone to use their natural resources sustainably, since we only have the one planet to support us.

Her latest book is Zanzibar’s Rings: Viridian System Series (Book 3).

Visit Jemima’s website at www.jemimapett.com or connect with her at Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, Instagram and Pinterest.

Sponsored By:

Twice in a row? Gasp! Check out the WEP blog for other entries.

All the Time in the World

Tagline: Sometimes love requires creative measures.

Beseeching, she drops to her knees, hands clasped so that her knuckles whiten. 

He scoffs then steps around her and, without looking back, exits through the front door. A slam would have showed he had some emotion about the situation, but he closes it softly. 

She expects it to feel different, but somehow that quiet click has left her feeling unsatisfied. She waits for the tears to come. Waits for the big emotions to wash over her. Waits for the grief.

Instead, that click flips a switch. A gentle sort of anger seeps through her veins, flushing up through her cheeks. Her eyes even feel hot. Then it becomes a throbbing rush. Blood roars in her ears, and she tastes blood.

No one walks out on Samantha.

She throws herself into changing things around the apartment. All that energy and rage needs to be funneled and directed. Walls come down. Walls get framed and built. Remote controlled metal shades go in. Samantha shops for brand new furnishings, including a comfy bed and two easy chairs. Bamboo sheets that are soft and cool get fitted onto the mattress. A second bathroom goes in. Security cameras go up. After all, she's a woman living alone now. Safety matters.

He doesn't call. Within a week, his mail stops arriving. Bill carriers contact her to confirm the removal of his name. The effect on her emotions is a blade to the gut every time. 

Samantha meditates. She does her breathing exercises and ponders gratitude for what she has. She stretches and does yoga and goes for runs and hits the exercise bike and desperately seeks some new way to work it all out of her system. 

The next step is to move his remaining belongings into the renovated guest room and let him know. She discovers that, despite her best efforts, his smell wafting up from the clothing tightens her belly. She strokes his silk ties and gently folds his sweaters. Images of him in her favorite light blue cable knit flit through her mind. 

With an irritated grunt, she pushes it all back down into the emptiness inside her, sealing it up as best she can.

Finally, she texts him: All your stuff is in the guest room. I'll be gone between 2 and 4 tomorrow so you can come get it.

He replies: Got it.

With a small smile, she eats her lukewarm microwave meal and drinks a glass of wine. It will all be over soon.

#

The next day, she puts on a silk kimono that looks stunning with her eyes and brushes her hair until it shines. She takes painstaking care to apply her makeup. When she hears his key in the lock, she hides in the master bedroom and pulls out her phone to watch him on the security cameras.

He comes in carrying some boxes. These he sets against the entryway table long enough to dump his keys into the bowl and take off his coat. He looks like he's just coming home from work, following his usual routines. It makes her heart ache, but she steels it again, locking it back in its cage.

He's wearing a button-down shirt that hangs from his broad shoulders just right. His jeans hug him in all the right places. Just as he usually does, he slips off his loafers and nudges them under the table to keep the walkway clear. Then he grabs the boxes again and heads into what used to be the "guest room," which was actually an office with a futon previously, in case someone came to visit. No one ever did. They'd been enough for each other.

He pauses in the entryway, taking in the changes she's made. She's known him long enough to read the puzzlement in the stiff set of his frame.

He recovers quickly and steps inside, setting the boxes against the bed. 

Samantha tiptoes from her room and crosses the living room. In the doorway, she arranges herself in that special way that drapes the soft fabric across her breasts and clings to her curves. He always complimented her on how she looked in it.

He turns around at the rustling behind him and his shoulders droop. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Plans change," she says. "You taught me that." With a wicked smile, she steps backward, out of the doorway, and pushes "3*" on her phone screen. The door slams shut, as do the metal shades.

He pounds uselessly on the door.

Samantha sends him a text and watches the camera until he gives up his pounding and checks his phone. 

Anger thunders across his face and he flips off the camera over the door.

She sends another text: All you need is love.

He'll come around. They've got all the time in the world.

The End.

806 words. NCCO.

What do you think of the cover for Zanzibar's Rings? Have you purchased your copy? Are you participating in the WEP challenge? 

May you find your Muse.

WEP - Beautiful Husk & Open Markets

 I haven't participated in WEP in forever, and felt like I needed a writing exercise since I've been working on nonfiction. Check out the WEP blog to read other entries or submit your own.

Beautiful Husk

Tagline: Some must bear witness, an echo only of the horrors they see.

He bends over the water as he has for what seems like forever, staring into his own eyes. From my outsider's view, he is quite beautiful. His hair falls in gentle waves to his shoulders, reflecting the sun with a golden sheen that almost burns the eyes. His jawline is sculpted and strong, standing out severely the more weight he loses. He has not eaten, nor bent to take a sip of the water which so entrances him. 

The closer I get, the more I see that he's not so beautiful after all. His skin is dry and flaking from his face and forearms, the only exposed areas visible to me. It drifts like snow to land upon the water, causing only the slightest ripple before dissolving and disappearing.

His lips, once so soft and full, have withered to a thin line of dull, wrinkled flesh. Once I would have kissed him. Now I wouldn't dare for fear his lips might crumble.

At first, he spoke, if only to his reflection, mumbling "You're beautiful."

I whispered back, "You're beautiful."

But now he stays silent, engrossed, immoveable. Cursed as I am to only repeat the words of others, I'm doomed to an equal silence, a watchful statue who cannot intervene.

This morning, I willed the morning dew to slide just right along his jaw to those wizened lips. It traced his cheekbone to the hungering hollow of his cheek...

     ...ran to the corner of his mouth...

                  ...traced the line between lip and chin...

                              ...slipped through the cleft...

                                        ...and splashed from the point of his chin to the water.

He has grown weak, his forearms shrinking from muscled to gaunt, his back bowing, spine pressing against the dirty white of his shirt. Still he stares, wasting away. His stomach stopped rumbling days ago.

As his head grows heavier, his neck slack, the reflection he loves so dearly gets closer and closer, drawing him in, an inch away from a kiss. Now a centimeter. Now...

In desperation, I step lightly onto the water and skate toward him. The fish and water bugs watch my approach, bubbles rising from gills and mouths. They have gathered beneath the surface, looking up at this strange, but handsome, man. They do not understand.

I do not understand.

I draw nearer and see that his crystal blue eyes are bloodshot, red pulsating through the white. The corners are crusted, as are the edges of his lips. Up close, the sun setting, his golden hair now looks drab and filthy. It hangs limply, frizzy strands punctuating his face. Blood encrusts his nose. 

Diving, I drift beneath his reflection. Looking up at him through the water, I see what he must see. The liquid hides the crust and flaking skin, the damaged hair, the bloodshot eyes. From here, he's as beautiful as when I first saw him...when he first saw himself. It smooths him, blurs the hard edges.

I fear shattering his reflection. If there's a spell, I may be drawn in. Still, I must do something. 

Kicking my feet, I rise.

He gets closer. The water grows warmer.

I break the surface in time to hear his final,

                                                             rattling 

                                                                  breath.

I can only echo the sound, tears running down my face to mingle with the water.

Lost within himself, Narcissus is no more.

554 words, NCCO (I'm treating this like a spontaneous prompt, so it's unedited)

Now for markets accepting submissions in the next month. Bear in mind I'm not endorsing these, merely passing them along. Always do your own due diligence when submitting.

Starry Eyed Press is seeking science fiction for their anthology One-Way Ticket to Epsilon Eridani. 2000 to 10,000 words. Pays in royalties. Deadline Spring 2022 (including this here since it will close once full).

Knight Writing Press is seeking your trunk stories that you think didn't get a fair shake for the anthology Particular Passages 2. Up to 7000 words. Pays in a royalty split. Deadline is January 1. (Side note: I know the owner of this press and he's an honest guy.)

Off Topic Publishing is seeking stories and poems for the anthology Wayward & Upward. Stories must be inspired by a track from the electrosymphonic album by the same name as the anthology, by Spinoza Gambit. 1500 to 3000 words. Payment is $100 CAD for stories, $50 CAD for poems. Deadline January 30.

Dragon Soul Press is seeking romances involving time travel for their anthology Everlast. 5000 to 20,000 words. Pays in royalties. Deadline January 31, 2022. (Note that they're still open for sexy fairy tales for Rogue Tales until December 31). 

Cloaked Press is seeking science fiction stories for Spring Into SciFi. 3500 to 9000 words. Pays $15. Deadline February 5.

Word Balloon Books is seeking short stories in the following themes/genres: Rockets & Robots/Science Fiction Adventure, Beware the Bugs/Fantasy or Science Fiction, Paradoxical Pets/Fantasy or Science Fiction. Under 3000 words preferred. Pays $.01/word advanced against royalties. Deadline February 11.

Qwerty is seeking fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, and more. Current theme is Folklore & Fairy Tales. Up to 5000 words. Pays $10 CAD. Deadline February 15.

Have you visited the other WEPers? Have you tried participating? Any of these publications of interest? Anything to add?

May you find your Muse.

WEP Challenge - Urban Nightmare

The Widow

998 words

Stamped concrete and steel grew from the ground as man-made mountains. Far above the sidewalks, the urban fortresses stared down blankly, anonymous witnesses to the drunken fumblings and crimes below. Four in the morning was a quiet time downtown. Businesses were closed, lights off.

Kasey drew her coat tighter to combat the icy wind. She approached an unmarked metal door and knocked. A scrawny man in jeans, t-shirt, and a vest looked out at her with bloodshot eyes and sweat-greased hair. "What do you want?"

"I'm here to see Milo."

"Milo's not taking visitors."

"Tell him the widow's here."

The door shut in her face. Kasey waited patiently until the door opened again. The same man as before gestured her inside.

"Arms out," he said. Once finished with a quick pat down, he led her down a dark, narrow hallway to a large office full of framed comics. It smelled of old alcohol and cigarettes. An over-sized desk stood in the center of the room, a squat, bald man seated behind it.

"Kasey," he said.

"Hello, Milo."

"Leave, Carter." The other man left quickly, and Milo leaned back in his chair. "So you've finally come to confront me. What's your plan?"

"No plan. Can I sit down?"

Milo waved toward a chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

She settled into the chair and leaned forward. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"Revenge, of course."

"For what?"

Milo raised an eyebrow.

"I know what I'm angry about, but do you? Do you even feel you did anything wrong?"

Milo chuckled and pulled out a bottle of cognac. He held up two glasses and looked a question at Kasey, who shook her head in the negative. He poured himself three fingers-worth and put the bottle away.

"Well?" she asked.

He watched her as he took a drink. "I know what you think I did."

Rage boiled through her entire body, and it took everything in her not to shoot out of her chair. Instead, she kept her face blank. "You don't seem afraid of any reprisals."

"I may be old, but I can still defend myself against the likes of you."

Kasey nodded. "It's easier to believe that, I'm sure." She reached under her shirt and pulled the gun from her bra holster.

His face blanched at the sight of the weapon. He slid a hand beneath his desk.

With a laugh, Kasey put the gun on the desk. "It's not loaded. Why would I go against someone like you with a gun? You really need to train your people better, though." She looked pointedly at his arm. "You can let go of your weapon now."

He did so.

"You know, I'd go away and never bother you again if you'd just admit what you did. I'm not recording it. There's no way it could come back to bite you in the ass. I'll even prove I'm not wearing a recording device."

He looked at her appraisingly. "While I wouldn't mind making you prove it, I don't believe you would record this. You're here for something different."

"It seems you've got me down pat. What do you say? Are you ready to tell me what you did?"

He took another drink, this one longer.

Kasey felt the burn of it in her own throat, thinking how much she'd love to be having a drink at home right now. While she was doing a good job of acting cool on the outside, her insides writhed with fear and anger. The permanent, seething rage that had lived within her these past months was the only thing holding the fear at bay, but it wasn't doing a great job of it. Sweat ran down her back and pooled under her breasts and underarms. Her heart beat like a drum solo, and she couldn't swallow through the dryness in her throat.

"Sweetheart, I didn't do anything wrong. It was your husband who screwed up, and he knew exactly what he was doing. Knew what the cost would be if got caught. It's him you should be mad at." Another drink, and this time he licked his lips as he set the glass down. "I know it's hard to be mad at a dead man, though."

"You're trying to get a rise out of me," she said. "It's not going to happen."

Milo coughed and pulled at his neckline. Spots of red crept up his face. His hands started to shake. He tried to laugh, but it quickly turned into a choking cough. He wheezed and took a drink.

Kasey smiled. "Do you want to hear my intentions now?"

His breathing came in labored pants. He slammed his hands on the desktop and struggled to stand. "What did you do?"

"Don't you know anything about how women kill, Milo? We don't shoot or stab." She reached a gloved hand across the desk and held the glass up. Only a trace remained in the bottom. "We plan. And we poison."

Milo gagged and fell to the floor. The sounds of his retching followed her through the door and down the hallway, where she nodded to Carter, took her coat, and left the building. The door slammed behind her. She didn't have long before Milo's goons figured it out and came after her.

She slipped down one of the alleys, heart in her throat. Movement occurred all around her. Kasey ran full out, winding through the labyrinth of alleys and behind buildings. It took a couple minutes to reach the right alley. When she did, she dissolved into the shadows just like her fellow street people. Her sleeping bag was where she'd left it, a warm pair of socks tucked in the bottom. She climbed in and snuggled up, seeking an escape from the cold wind.

Milo's people could look for her all they wanted, they'd never find her. They had no idea that she'd been living her own urban nightmare since they'd murdered her husband.

No critique, please! It just felt good to get something written.

IWSG - New Year, New Doubts

Not only is it the first Wednesday of the month, it's the first Wednesday of the year! Time for the first Insecure Writer's Support Group posting in 2019.

Created by Alex J. Cavanaugh, the IWSG is a blogging community that comes together to support each other in our ups and downs. We post on the first Wednesday of each month. You can, too! Click on Alex's name above and sign up. Be sure to visit some new to you blogs and say thanks to the co-hosts: Patricia Lynne, Lisa Buie-Collard, Kim Lajevardi, and Fundy Blue!

I'm starting the year in a down place, frustrated with some aspects of the publishing business and feeling like a failure in several ways.

I suspect part of it is the fact that the holiday season depresses me, but at the same time, I've had a string of bad experiences with some publishers lately, including two breaches of contract I've been dealing with. Maybe I've simply been lucky up to now. I can say that, overwhelmingly, short story editors and publishers are fabulous people who put their passion into their magazines and anthologies, and do their absolute best, even though most of them aren't making any money off these publications (and many are funding them from their day jobs). I've enjoyed working with those I've worked with in the past (and the vast majority of the ones I'm currently working with). It's disappointing that the end of my year (and thus the beginning of the next) had to be tainted by these experiences, and I keep telling myself it's rare, and to push forward. (To be clear, I'm not talking about normal things, like delays in publication, etc. I'm talking about breaches of contract; not getting paid; books not coming out at all, with a strange email from an editor that the publisher is refusing to respond to his queries about why the finished book has not been released, and said publisher ignoring my queries; and similar issues.)

In addition, I've been struggling with finishing anything. I'm at this weird crossroads where I'm doubting my writing and feeling like if I put out something  bad it will ruin any minor amount of accomplishment I've reached. So it holds me back. I realize it's this fear that's keeping me from writing, but recognizing the issue doesn't seem to make it any easier to write most of the time. I'm also struggling with resubmitting rejected pieces, but I'll be buckling down tonight and getting that done.

To end on a more positive note, I managed to not only get some writing done this week, but to finish a short story I'd been working on for a while. That, despite starting a new day job on top of the one I already have, and some real life stress/drama that's piled on in the last month. I'm feeling pretty good about that, and I hope it indicates those self-doubts are starting to fade some. Here's looking forward to a positive update in February.

I almost forgot the optional question for the month: What are your favorite and least favorite questions people ask you about your writing?

I like questions about what inspired my stories. Sometimes they're completely random, but often there's a story behind the story. There's at least one question I hate to be asked, yet I'm drawing a blank. I'll have to update if I remember it.

Before I get to submission stats for December, how about some IWSG news? We've got the contributors for the next IWSG anthology!

Oddly Suited by LG Keltner
Sea of Sorrows by AV Brown
Behind the Catcher’s Mask by Jennifer Lane
A Diver’s Ball by Angela Brown
Fearless Heart by Deborah Solice
The Dark Charade by CD Gallant-King
The Cog Prince by Elizabeth Mueller
Flower of Ronda by Myles Christensen
Remedy by Chelsea Ballard
Charleston Masquerade by Carrie-Anne Brownian

The top story has the honors of being included in the title. LG Keltner’s story came out on top! The official title of our next anthology – Masquerade: Oddly Suited. Congratulations, LG. (She was also in the top spot for our first anthology, Parallels: Felix Was Here.)

The IWSG Admins spent many hours reading the entries and fourteen were sent to our special judges. We certainly wish to thank them for taking time away from their own work to read the entries:

Elizabeth S. Craig, author
Kelly Van Sant, agent at Red Sofa Literary Agency
Elana Johnson, author
DL Hammons, Write Club founder
S.A. Larsen, author
Kristin Smith, author
Gwen Gardner, author and previous IWSG anthology winner

Look for Masquerade: Oddly Suited late spring!

Congratulations to everyone! There were so many great entries!

Don't forget #IWSGPit is coming up January 15! Do you have a manuscript ready to pitch? Come out to Twitter and pitch to editors and agents.

The Insecure Writer’s Support Group

Twitter Pitch Party!

#IWSGPit

January 15, 2019

8:00 am to 8:00 pm Eastern Time

All writers and authors are invited to participate.

Create a Twitter-length pitch for your completed and polished manuscript and leave room for genre, age, and the hashtag. On January 15, Tweet your pitch. If your pitch receives a favorite/heart from a publisher/agent check their submission guidelines and send your requested query.

Many writers have seen their books published from a Twitter pitch - it’s a quick and easy way to put your manuscript in front of publishers and agents.

Rules: 

Writers may send out 1 Twitter pitch every 1 hour per manuscript.

Publishers/Agents will favorite/heart pitches they are interested in. Publishers can either Tweet basic submission guidelines or direct writers to their submission guidelines. (Writers, please do not favorite/heart pitches.)

No images allowed in pitches.

Pitches must include GENRE/AGE and the hashtag #IWSGPit.

Ages: 
#C - children’s
#MG - middle grade
#YA - young adult
#NA - new adult
#A - adult
Genres: 
#AD - adventure
#CF - Christian fiction
#CO - contemporary
#F - fantasy
#H - horror
#HI - historical
#LF - literary fiction
#MCT - mystery/crime/thriller
#ME - memoir
#NF - non-fiction
#PB - picture book
#PN - paranormal
#R - romance
#SF - sci-fi
#WF - women's fiction
#UF - urban fantasy
#S - suspense

*Authors, please check out the publishers and agents before submitting.*

Also, start getting ready for the next WEP challenge. Here are the 2019 challenges, so you can plan ahead if you'd like.

The February challenge will be 28 Days.

Okay, time for my December stats. I post them each IWSG Day to keep myself accountable.

5 submissions
6 rejections
0 acceptances
1 story returned after contract timed out with no published book, so I'll be submitting that tomorrow, too
2 stories pulled from unresponsive markets who appear to have gone under
8 stories currently on submission

Are you submitting? Getting any writing done? What questions do you like or dislike people asking about your writing? What are your insecurities? Will you be taking part in #IWSGPit or WEP?

May you find your Muse.

IWSG & Two Exciting Announcements!

It's the first Wednesday of August, which means it's time for the Insecure Writer's Support Group, created by Alex J. Cavanaugh.

The IWSG exists to provide support for writers online. Get support, give support, meet fellow writer/bloggers. Just click on Alex's name above to sign up then post on the first Wednesday of each month. Be sure to visit others to lend your support, too!

Speaking of which, this month's co-hosts are  Erika Beebe,Sandra Hoover, Lee Lowery, and Susan Gourley! Be sure to pay them a visit.

This month's optional question: What pitfalls would you warn other writers to avoid on their publication journey?

Honestly, everything that's happened has been a learning experience that's gotten me to where I am now. The only thing I can think of right now is to not let anything you learn or experience deter you from your writing journey. It's fine to take a break and digest things, but always come back to your art.

Before I jump into the announcements, it's time for my monthly submissions. Each month for IWSG, I post my submissions stats to keep myself accountable. In July:

6 submissions
2 acceptances
4 rejections
11 currently on submission

We at the IWSG have a surprise for you this month. We're announcing the anthology theme a month early!

The 2018 Annual IWSG Anthology Contest

Word count: 3500-6000

Genre: Young Adult Romance

Theme:

Masquerade

A Masquerade can be a false show or pretense, someone pretending to be someone they aren't. It can be a ball, a fancy dress party, it can be a mask. Open to interpretation.

Submissions accepted: September 5 - November 4, 2018

How to enter: Send your polished, formatted (Double spaced, no page numbers), previously unpublished story to admin @ insecurewriterssupportgroup.com before the deadline passes. Please include your contact details, your social links, and if you are part of the Blogging, Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter IWSG group.

Judging: The IWSG admins will create a shortlist of the best stories. The shortlist will then be sent to our official judges who will be announced September 5.

Prizes: The winning stories will be edited and published by Freedom Fox Press next year in the IWSG anthology. Authors will receive royalties on books sold, both print and eBook. The top story will have the honor of giving the anthology its title.

There's more! The IWSG is partnering with WEP (Write...Edit...Publish). You can participate on your blog or Facebook. Let's have some fun!

WEP posts are the third Wednesday of every second month, so the next posting is this month.

This month's theme is Change of Heart. Some suggestions for the theme are as follows:

• a commitment made when a prospect looked attractive, 
• a decision on a course of action, and then regrets and reluctance to follow through,  
• an engagement, a date, a diet plan, a chore someone said they’d do and didn’t follow through,  
• a strip poker-game. Or maybe a gamble with super-high, panic inducing stakes, 
• a break for independence that once made, gives pause for second thoughts,
• a bolt for the grass-always-greener pasture and then wanting to vault-n-turn right back,
• a broken relationship where one/both parties regret the loss
• something offered, then withdrawn.  

And now for the links. Bear in mind I'm not endorsing these, merely passing them along. Always do your own due diligence before submitting.

Accepting Submissions:

Splickety Publishing Group is seeking flash for Spark with the theme of Lab Coats and Love Letters. 300 to 1000 words. Pays $.02/word. Deadline August 24. 

Qommunicate Publishing is seeking short fiction with the theme Geek Out. Queer meets geek. Up to 5000 words. Pays $5 per printed page. Deadline August 31.

Rogue Blades Entertainment is seeking fantastical crime noir for Crazy Town. 3000 to 7000 words. Pays $25. Deadline September 1.

Goblin Fruit is seeking fantastical poetry. Pays $15. Deadline September 1.

Blood Bound Books is seeking horror short fiction about furries (either Furries or anthropomorphic critters) for Burnt Fur. 1500 to 7000 words. Pays $.03/word. Deadline September 1.

Barnhouse is seeking poetry, fiction, nonfiction, essays, and flash fiction. Up to 2000 words. Pays $20. Deadline September 1.

Will you be submitting to the anthology? What's your advice to new writers? Do you take part in WEP? Have you submitted anything this month? Any of these links of interest?

May you find your Muse.

*Flourish One, Horizontal Clip Art by OCAL, clker.com