Category: Fiction

Posted in Fiction, Life, Writing

List 3 Books That Have Had An Impact On You..Why?

Posted on by jennrae

To choose only three makes this a challenge. I would probably have to go with The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis for the first one. A teacher read it aloud to us in the fifth grade I believe and I think it was the first fantasy book I was exposed to unless you count television where I had seen cartoons of The Hobbit and The Last Unicorn. And a cartoon of The Swan Princess that made me fall in love with Tchaikovsky. I haven’t been able to find this cartoon, there is a newer version that isn’t it, but this one had a haunting melody of Swan Lake, which also reminds me of The Last Unicorn, it wouldn’t surprise me if my mind didn’t combine the two to create a cartoon that never existed, because my memories as a child were very fluid and were rarely accurate. I seemed to live in a fantasy most of the time so telling what was real and what wasn’t is hard for me.

The second book would have to be Dragonriders of Pern my Anne McCaffery. I got it in the library when I ran out of Margaret Henry horse books to read, I loved Misty of Chincoteague, so that would have been my first foray into science fiction. Following that I would go on to discover Andre Norton and Ursula K LeGuin, and eventually, Jack Vance and a whole bunch of amazing writers.

The third book I am going to go with Les Miserables by Victor Hugo, because it made me feel like I could read anything, it was the unabridged edition. It was a very thick volume, and ignited a love for classical literature and a fortitude to read to the end no matter the size of the book. It also taught me what not to do, because there are spots where it is difficult for a modern reader, and I know what doesn’t work and what does. Even great writers can make mistakes.

This was a tough call, because a lot of books have influenced me greatly. Jack Vance’s Lyonesse, George RR Martin’s A Game of Thrones, Ursula K LeGuin’s The Left Hand of Darkness, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which I read also in the fifth grade and did a book report on, Sir Thomas Mallory’s Le Morte D’Arthur, my love for Arthurian legends, and Roger Zelazny’s Chronicles of Amber. Cj Cherryh’s Cyteen. And many, many more. I could keep going.

I used to peruse thrift stores for old sci-fi fantasy books, anything with Del Rey, or Ballantine, or DAW, or Fawcett, or Tor. I had old editions of the Lord of the Rings from the 60s, a copy of 1984 from the 50s and Dune by Frank Herbert from the 70s. All of these are gone because I couldn’t go through my books when I moved and had to get rid of them in a hurry.

I still have my 60s copy of the Silmarillion because it was in my purse at the time. But that is it. I feel the loss everyday, wish I could have planned more and panicked less. But the past is the past, and I have the memories and can find the stories easily enough.

Daily writing prompt
List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?
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Posted in Fiction, Life, Writing

What Job Would I Do For Free?

Posted on by jennrae

Well, I think writing I do do for free, but do I consider it a job? It is more of a past time at the moment, if something becomes a job it tends not to be fun anymore. In my experience anyhow. I am also a wannabee film critic for free. It is also not a job but something I do for fun. Technically, it costs me money because I will buy a DVD just to have the ability to compare it to another.

I suppose I do both of these for free, or at a cost because I pay for the website. The hope is someday I will get my act together and publish something and I will have a promotion network set up for it, and it will pay for itself. I am not looking to get rich, I just want to do something I enjoy and am passionate about. Movies and books are just two of the more obvious things.

It is a beautiful day here today, and I am writing from a coffee shop just to get out of the house and out of my own head a bit. I need a break from myself.

I am going to see Metropolis later and am excited to do that in a room of other like minded people. I will record a video on that experience later. I am behind uploading them. I have a ton of videos that need to live somewhere.

I have been putting them on twitter just because I have a bigger audience on there and they seem to upload faster. But I am getting disenchanted with the site lately. It is hard to get into social media after the program limits your reach and flags you for being a bot.

Plus, Elon is a constant presence there, and you can’t ignore him either. So, that has made me seriously consider Youtube. But I am such an amateur compared to the people on there. Not sure I can compete there, and I hate starting over from scratch. That is the quandary folks. Start over, or dig in. Not sure what the best option is. I suppose I could do both.

Daily writing prompt
What job would you do for free?
View all responses

Posted in Fiction, Writing

Time to Write — The Big Bad Bird

Posted on by jennrae

The crunch of brittle bones underneath her feet reminded her of where she was. The cave entrance was clammy and dark. The beam from her flashlight only traveled so far, illuminating one part of the massive wall. She could hear little skittering noises of some unknown critter running away from her obvious human footsteps. Her assistant cowered behind her slightly. She could hear his breathing and hear his steps.

“Just a little further, Wally. I know we are getting close.”

“Why does it have to stink so bad?” She shook her head and chuckled. She knew he would rather be in cozy office building or even a lab building. Anyplace with heat and light and less scurrying noises.

“Don’t worry. The blonde girl in front of you will protect you from the big bad bird.”

“Oh, whatever.” She heard him say under his breath, annoyed. He was such a child.

“Are you getting any of this? We should try to record as much as possible. Who knows when we will be allowed back.”

“The lighting is less than ideal, but I am trying.”

They ventured further in and the space got tighter. Hopefully there would be some eggshells or feather samples. A loud squawk could be heard outside suddenly. She stopped and waited. “Did you hear that, Wally?”

“Yeah. I don’t like it.”

She went against the wall slowly, motioning him to follow. She placed her fingers to her mouth in a quiet gesture. Wally followed her against the wall. She turned the flashlight off. He gasped, and she could feel his eyes on her. They held still and heard loud scratching and squawking as the bird creature entered the cave.

It seemed large, from the talon scratching although they had no light to see it. She gripped Wally’s hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Luckily, most birds don’t have a keen sense of smell. Although, vultures can smell decay. This creature was unknown. It was hard to say what its skills were. She made a silent prayer to God, even though it had been a while. It was an instinct to reach out to something somewhere.

She heard it scrape by its talons and heard it scrape the ground with its beak like a large chicken. Wally’s foot slipped slightly and skidded a rock which made a not so subtle noise. She heard the bird stop, and come back around slowly.

She tried to regulate her breathing to be quiet, but it was getting more difficult by the minute. It approached their wall slowly, she could hear the click clack of its talons. Her legs began to go numb from being in the same position and suddenly she dropped the flashlight.

She heard Wally scream and heard him go down. In a panic she found herself running to the cave entrance, and then felt a searing pain in her ankle, and she crashed into the bones. Then it was upon her, and she could feel the pain from the gouges until her mind completely shut down and spared her the additional pain.

Posted in Fiction

The Crash

Posted on by jennrae

She listened to the waves crash along the beach, powerful water grabbing and releasing material into and out of the ocean in equal measure. The skies were dark, cloudy and the wind was brutal. She got up slowly, turning around to see the cliffs begin to crumble, boulders bounding down onto the beach from the imposing cliffside. The uneven rocks kept her feet on edge while the ground shook and broke apart underneath her. She hunkered down by a picnic table, looking for protection from the angry nature goddess throwing all the elements at her.

Her car had broken down on arrival, and she wasn’t mechanically inclined, and had no idea what was wrong with it. Her phone was nearly dead, and she had no bars in this remote place.

She knew she should have taken the car in; she should have brought a friend or maybe her brother, just anyone, so she wouldn’t have to be here all alone, which was the most frightening thing about all this. Being alone and unable to reach anyone or anything, trapped in loneliness, trapped in helplessness.

 Trapped by her own pride in not being able to ask for help. Why couldn’t she just reach out, once, at least. Look up the weather, look up how a car or even how a phone works. The rain started to come down freezing cold at an angle, chilling her to the bone. She could see a house on top of the cliff. A remote mansion, in that new modern style, suggesting solar panels, and smart features, the kind of house you might see in a movie.

Anything would be better than staying out here in this mess, she thought, trying to find how to get up there. Is there a pathway, or a road? She saw a path, a foot path, that may lead in that direction.

She walked steadily embracing her coat fiercely to keep warm toward the path.

Posted in Fiction, Life

Time To Write — Where Is Here?

Posted on by jennrae

What is love? What is a feeling? Does it matter? Do we matter?

I wanted to say resoundingly, “Yes! Of course.” But then tomorrow there would be bills to pay, work to do, and the minutiae of everyday life. The things that can get in the way of the more exciting and wild life that I crave. It is like a slow death walking through the grocery store picking up this and that, deciding yes, I want to try that cocoa cereal, or I need the circular ice cube tray because it is there, and why not?

And then I am home with my circular ice cubes thinking, why did I buy this? Who cares about the shape of ice cubes? Then my mind wanders thinking about people who may not have easy access to water. They would probably love to have ice cubes, no matter the shape. Everything is just so commercial here. Commoditized for consumption. You don’t like that sweater, throw it away and get another. Don’t feel like cooking tonight? Order in.

I feel chained to a job I do not love to pay bills for things I may not need so I can live a life I find dull. I want adventure. To be swept off my feet and taken to an exotic location. Someone that holds me and listens to me complain about nothing. I feel like a train passenger in my own life, only the conductor never stops and I can’t get off.

Please let me off here, I want to enjoy this moment a little longer please. No response. He keeps going and ten years pass, and then another five, and I am wondering, what happened? Where did the time go? Why am I here? Where is here? And, then when I figure it out, it will be too late.

Posted in Fiction, Life

Some of My Favorite Books

Posted on by jennrae

What books and or authors influenced you?

Posted in Fiction

Time to Write — Feline Curiosity

Posted on by jennrae

The cat was black and white with bright green eyes shining like jewels. It slunk down an alley avoiding garbage and random bottles on a mission to some unknown place. At the other end of the alley a slender dark haired woman with green eyes appeared walking in red heels, confidently striding into the street. Annabelle turned around uneasily. Was she being followed? She tried to lose her tail earlier by becoming the cat but sometimes hunters know that trick.

She walked into the nearest bar with its noise spilling out onto the cobblestone streets. She slid into an unassuming corner, looking around the room cautiously. There was a pair of drunks arguing over there. A sad older woman drinking alone at the counter. A group of young friends carousing into the early hours. Then she saw him. A man in dark clothes with a hat pulled low covering most of his face, nursing a cup of coffee sitting alone at a table.

She didn’t want to make any sudden movements or attract his attention. She carefully slid out of the red shoes, and tried to calmly walk to the door. She sensed something behind her but didn’t want to turn around. She kept going forward, and then she felt it. Something hit her in the back of the neck. She felt her body go numb and she began falling. I guess this was her ninth life after all.

Posted in Fiction, Writing

Time to Write — Belief

Posted on by jennrae

She slowly shut the car door, defeated from a long dull day at work. Her feet took heavy steps toward the small brick house with the tidy yard. Her eyes looked up and saw the door wide open. She ran up the steps and peered inside. It sounded quiet but also looked emptier than she remembered. The tv was gone, the couches, the computer, even the fan and the kitchen table.

She was left with an empty house. She fell down and cried in despair. Why me? Why now? This wasn’t fair. She didn’t have a lot that she cared about. She went about each room in the house mentally cataloging what was missing. There were clothes left strewn about the floor along with papers from the desk drawer. The antique box given to her by her deceased grandma, gone. She reached into her coat pocket to call the police to report the theft, speaking calmly, drained of emotion or energy.

“I need to report a robbery. I’ll make a list. No, I don’t think anyone else is here. ” The police were on the way. She sat down on the bedroom floor dumbfounded. How was she going to explain this to Eric when he got home from high school? How would she replace all this stuff? She remembers thinking renter’s insurance was a waste of money. She rocked herself anxiously on the floor, wrapping herself in her coat like a cocoon. It was going to be all right. It’s just stuff. It will be fine. They will find the stuff, catch the person. At least no one was hurt.

The police took her statement, and she made a list of missing items, thinking about her son who would be home soon. They left and she waited. She knew she should eat something, or do something, call somebody. But she was paralyzed. She sat there. The sky darkened and her son still wasn’t home. She reluctantly got up. Picked up her phone again to give him a call. The phone went straight to voice mail. It was off then. Where was he? She called her mom hoping she had heard from him, no such luck. “Can I come over? This place is empty and depressing, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Of course, honey.” Her mom said with concern. She walked out of the house locking the door behind her out of habit. Her phone rings suddenly startling her. She answers reluctantly. It is the police. She can’t have any more bad news today.

“We have your son and two of his friends here. They admitted to the burglary and breaking into the house. “

“I don’t believe you.”

But she knew it was true. It explained everything. She just didn’t want to believe it.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Timed Write — First Thing that Comes to Mind

Posted on by jennrae

She walked down the street quietly, hands embedded into the pockets of an overly large beige rain coat. A piece of garbage blew past dancing along the street to some silent tune while the occasional rain puddle stood showing the sky in its natural mirror.

She sighed. Perhaps she just wanted to hear more than the occasional dripping of droplets from rooftops trying to hurry to the ground in their own wet way.

Sometimes she liked to hear her own voice, it almost sounded like it was coming from some other person. Her voice wasn’t how she imagined it would sound like in her head. It was higher, tinnier, distant. Like an echo of what she assumed was her voice.

She was young, wearing a maroon scarf and a small black hat askew. She had her own fashion sense, it was a bit nonsensical. Part retro part comfort, part a little bit detective movie, and a little bit couch potato. She wasn’t sure who she was yet, or who she would become and the impression she gave was of a whimsical and confused teen who wasn’t sure she liked herself all that much.

She knew she liked the rain. It was soothing when it hit her hat and her coat, it made a satisfying plop sound. It made its own music, a rhythmic percussion of sounds that set a tempo for action or just a lengthy walk.

She loved to walk. But, for some unknown reason, when the rain stopped something about the world seemed dark and gloomy. The music slowed down, and everything just sat wet and bland. Everything was just there, remaining around concrete and water.

The clouds were still overhead promising a return of rain in the near future. But in the meantime she was left walking down a largely deserted street wondering if the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse would resemble this.

Everything and everyone needs water, and rain is the form it often comes from. Rain was life, just like sunlight was. A plant would die without water just like it would without light. The air smelled different after a good rain.

The humidity messed with her hair more than her hat did, and she would stop to readjust a strand that somehow got into her face. It was a constant battle between her hat and her hair and her glasses. There was never a real victor, much like the rain or the sun, hair always came back.

Occasionally she would yank a particular strand out and examine the root of it, before tossing it. It would grow back. She guessed that was okay, after all, she didn’t want to be bald. Then again, since she liked to wear hats, perhaps that didn’t matter very much to her. Hair was kind of a symbol of vitality or health though.

People looked at a girl funny without hair. Everyone would probably make insane assumptions like cancer, or some terminal illness if she lost all her hair. Perhaps it is better to have it, so she can blend into the surroundings better. She didn’t want to attract too much attention. she didn’t want any more stares than she occasionally got for the hats she would wear.

A little attention was nice, a lot of attention was scary. She didn’t want stares, a glance was okay, but a stare would be altogether different. She wanted to be different, but not necessarily a freak.

It was a delicate balance that she might not ever perfect. But she was learning how to be herself and sometimes mistakes would be made.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

The Problem —A Character Study

Posted on by jennrae

The nightmare was about over when she laid the test face down at the front of the room, shuffling out the door shouldering a book bag that was lighter than it should have been. She knew she was failing geometry. Math was not her specialty. She cared less about school every year, as she felt her soul slipping away slowly, painfully, drifting away from its purpose.

Nothing seemed real, or important. She would watch the news at night talking about possible nuclear war, and people starving in some country across the world with the deep cynicism of one far removed from it all. She imagined the bomb going off and not having to explain to her parents her failure in geometry. It almost would be a relief, if only it was painless, and quick.

A post nuclear world seemed strangely interesting and a world that she would want to explore in a video game, or a comic book, or even a movie. In reality, perhaps not. I’m sure a resident of Nagasaki during World War II would probably love to switch with her and have a failing grade instead of all the radiation and cancer and sudden death.

What was it a friend of hers always said? First World Problems. Yeah, it makes everyone who complains about slow internet, or waiting in line to buy new shoes feel like a jerk. Some big eyed waif in some third world country someplace was doing hard labor without shoes, and here she was in ‘Ross Dress For Less’ cursing at a long wait while she buys a pair of zebra striped patent leather heels.

First world problems, indeed. Meanwhile, she would go to school, go to bed, and wake up to go to school while both her parents worked during the day and were tired in the evening. She had a younger brother that had some special issues that seemed to take their time, and she felt like an afterthought. Someone that was background noise. Until she screwed up, but that wasn’t the kind of attention she wanted. She would rather be background noise.

She had saved up for those zebra striped heels from babysitting a cousin who was in that age bracket where they are too old to be a baby but too young for real school.

It was hard work because the little guy had a ton of energy and could completely destroy a room in a matter of minutes.  Plus, he put everything in his mouth, so she had to watch him carefully. Balancing that with school work and studying was hard.

School used to be easy for her, but this year she felt suddenly stupid. She couldn’t concentrate and found herself slipping from the room while the teacher’s voice became a constant drone like a hive of bees. She felt so incredibly tired.

Finally, her teacher cornered her the next day as she was attempting to sneak out. “Natalie, wait a moment will you? I want to speak to you.” She gulped and sat at the nearest desk watching the others file out the door, some looking at her blankly, most not even looking at her. She had become invisible to most.

“Okay, come here my dear, just sit down.” Mrs. Grimble got up and shut the door after the last student had left, leaving the room to just Natalie and herself. “Okay,  you need to tell me what is going on with you. I see you struggling. Coming in late, not turning in homework. I can see it in your face. Is everything all right at home?”

“This is about the test, isn’t it?” She said tiredly.

Mrs. Grimble looked her in the eye, and pulled out her test from a drawer, handing it out to her.

“I think it is more than that. I looked at your records from last year, and I can see a drastic difference in your work. I hope you know I want what is best for you, and I hope you feel you can trust me. I just want to help you.”

Natalie looked down at the desk, and then eyed the wall clock ticking away. “I think I will be late for my next class, Mrs. Grimble.”

“I talked to your other teachers. We do compare notes on occasion. And, it is the same story. There is something going on. We can see it. You just aren’t really present in class. Would you like to speak with the counselor? Would that be helpful?”

“I do not know what’s wrong. I guess I feel like I have to be perfect all the time. And, no one likes me. I feel stupid this year. I just can’t think. I am just so tired. I just want to sleep and not wake up.”

Mrs. Grimble looked horrified, and concerned all at once. Natalie wanted to shove her desk over and scatter all the pens and pencils onto the floor. She suddenly felt anger toward her for all the fake sympathy, the pity.

She didn’t want sympathy, or pity. She was all alone, and everyone seemed false and fake. She didn’t trust Mrs. Grimble. She didn’t trust anyone. She did have a secret, but she wouldn’t share it here, not with anyone at the school.

“I think dear, that we should schedule you with an appointment, to see Mrs. Fenton. It can’t hurt, right?”

“You want me to reassure you, Mrs. Grimble? Or is this your way of asking my permission?” Mrs. Grimble was jotting something down on a pink slip and she slid it across the desk toward Natalie.

“Are you going to tell my parents? I don’t want them to be bothered with this.”

“Don’t you think they should know that something is bothering you?”

Natalie looked at the slip in front of her, not reaching out to take it.

“It would just make them worry about me. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want them to fret or worry about me. They have their hands full dealing with Brian.”

“How is your brother doing, Natalie?”

“As good as can be expected for someone who is slowly dying. He takes all their time when they aren’t working, and they worry over him, and sometimes they get hopeful. Then other times things are bleak. I am tired of the roller coaster at this point. I just wish a miracle would happen, or it would be over. Sometimes I hate him. Isn’t that terrible? I am a horrible person aren’t I?”

“No, dear. You have a lot on your shoulders right now. Maybe you should just take a leave from school. It would be hard to catch up, but I can talk to the principle and the counselor, and we can explain the situation…”

“No, I don’t want to take a leave. I just want things to be easy again. I don’t want to be stuck in the house watching my brother all the time. Watching him slowly get worse. Just watching. I’d rather be bored out of my mind here.”

“Natalie, you want to graduate with your class, right?”

She said nothing. Mrs. Grimble pushed the paper a little closer to Natalie. “Take it. Go to Mrs. Fenton. It can’t hurt.”

Natalie reluctantly took it, and lifted her bag and didn’t say another word. Mrs. Grimble watched her leave and began composing an email on her computer.