Today is day 86 in the hospital for me, still awaiting approval. 🙏Prayers needed–that I will be approved and get the Rehab I seriously need.
I have been editing a friends manuscript, and doing IWSG Instagram, Newsletter, and Facebook admin things while in hospital. I have also been the Sat Fellowship feedback zoom call for my Ream subscription fiction. Writing, not so much.
However, I need to and plan to attempt to write a flash fiction story for an advent calendar ASAP. I have participated in the advent for the last several years. I also need to write my October Storytime flash fiction, my Grumpy short story for Stormdance, and get back to revising and editing my series book 1 for Midlife Ghostwalker: Katje Storm.
So I have a lot of writing I need to do that I have been neglecting with this big Life Happened incident. I am better, and hope to get physically stronger with Rehab..
I’ll see ya next month, if not sooner. 🙏Prayers appreciated.
Our Twitter handle Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG. Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience, or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say. Sign Up HERE.
September 4 question – Since it’s back to school time, let’s talk English class. What’s a writing rule you learned in school that messed you up as a writer?
I made good grades in English, but what messed me up was the “changing times”, aging, and instead of two spaces after a period it is now one. Still can’t do it has to always be fixed. Why change or fix something that was not broken?
#newletter Hey Insecure Writers,
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Sneak peek: My series cover for Midlife Ghostwalker
Life doesn’t have to be a series of blunders, and even if it is, there is no reason you cannot turn the blunders to your advantage.
~Katje Storm
Never trust a man who says he wants to work out an agreement for your divorce over dinner, especially when he is the one doing the cooking.
I’m Katje Storm and I’m temporarily dead. Or so, my cheating soon-to-be ex-husband told me, before he murdered me.
I’m not sure how long I strolled through this dead garden of withered flowers, chipped oscillating grayish stones, and eerie morphing cherub faces, reading each headstone, searching for some arcane key CLUE, Shamus said he needed.
He brought me to this place while I was dying explaining the whole time why he did it and what he wanted. He’d shown me two unrecognizable symbols that I was to look for during my search.
I found Nada. HE told me he was doing this to activate my Ghostwalker powers, whatever those are, and that I would THANK him later.
HE said. I wouldn’t stay dead. That I had some kind of magical destiny. I had the power to resurrect myself. Was he insane or was I?
He better be right about the temporary!
If he’s wrong–HE’s screwed. Because I’m gonna be his worst nightmare. That’s not all. HE said he was a necromancer, and IF, worse comes to worst, he could bring me back from the dead.
WHAT?
That is not exactly how that works. I read urban fantasy. I watch television, it’s sad to say, a lot of television… ah, “The Walking Dead.” Who wants to be a rotting zombie eating human brains to stay alive?
Maybe necromancy explains his control issues in our marriage; you know, neat freak, bossy, obsessing over my clothes. He always has to have the last word. I can’t be dead at forty. I still have years and years ahead of me.
I’ve thought about death a lot in my lifetime, not that I was given much choice. I have seen ghosts for as long as I can remember. I used to think everyone saw them.
Unfortunately, I found out the hard way normal people don’t see ghosts. I was a cute little kid which worked to my advantage being an orphan. I lived in several foster homes over the years. Some kids never got picked.
I learned not to mention the seeing ghost part. Because, that got you sent back to the orphanage quick, or worse, temporally institutionalized.
Yeah. That happened once.
Mostly, I tried not to think about ghosts. I’d tuned them out or ignored them. Sometimes ignoring was easier said than done. Funny thing. I had not seen one ghost since I landed in the nether purgatory or whatever form of ghost nightmare this was.
That’s weird, don’t you think?
Some of the headstones in the cemetery dated back before the civil war. There were a few really large, very creepy mausoleums. Rotted vines twined around them, locking them in a cage of dead weeds, with half-mast black roses hanging their little heads here and there.
The crypts had many symbols carved into the stone that I knew due to my career and intellectual pursuits, and some I didn’t.
I recognized the protection runes and manifesting sigils, which was strange, even weird in a cemetery. I mean… What do the dead manifest?
Sudden sensation tingled over me, as if someone had just poured ice water over my head. Talk about the creepy-crawly feels. Up to this point I had no sensations at all.
“Oh look boys, it’s a brand new specter.” That gravelly male voice sounded as if his vocal cords had been shredded.
I forced myself to turn around. My jaw dropped.
Death is as strange as life.
Three deformed skeletal bodies stood before me, two with hair, one without, slinging Mardi Gras beads, wearing colorful-raggedy pirate garb, skeleton one a pirates hat, skeleton two a cowboy hat. The third… A leprechaun hat?
I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. The SANE part of my brain said scream, but the absurd won out. It’s better to laugh than cry, right?
It’s a stress reaction. “Who are you? Larry, Curly, and Mo?”
I think the slap-stick humor just pissed them off. The short, bald, roundish nightmare… I’ll call him Curly? …lunged, mouth gaping wider and wider, like a black hole, widening past human limitations.
I’m not stupid. I ran. And, then I tripped. Tall funky-hair and bouffant closed in. I think that one was Larry. A bony hand clamped onto me. I kicked. Little good that did me.
I looked up to see three yawning, toothless black masses descending on me.
Fear is a powerful motivator to tap into your dormant po-tent-iality. Especially when your innate flight factor failed to work.
I screamed.
The silence was deafening within the black void that consumed me, and then I realized, ghosts don’t sweat their fear; or I didn’t, I vibrated it; between fear and horror, I felt the power surge through me. I found it.
Absurd power.
The undulating overwhelmed me, I fought it, followed by a soul-deep thrum-rhythm, and steady whooshing sound lulling my senses, filling every atom and molecule that death had not drained.
I literally felt my hair and toenails start to grow. Micro-shoots of sensations. Fire and ice burned through my system waking every cell and igniting each atom.
I was consumed by the internal firestorm, yet I knew the intense burn was part of my soul, not my flesh, even if I did not fully understand it.
***
Cool air brushed my skin sending a chill across my body. I felt every hair, even the really faint ones on my chin. You know the ones you can’t really see without a microscope but they grow really long. I call them my cat whiskers.
I swear someone must have gorilla glued my eyelids shut.
Sounds morphed and stretched like a distant foghorn. The underwater sensation persisted, until my ears uncorked with a pop, and then everything painfully amplified.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.” The last voice I really wanted to hear, Shamus Doyle.
That’s right. My cheating soon-to-be ex-husband. I groaned, rolling into a sitting position. My body ached in ways that had nothing to do with being forty years old.
The ass-wipe had put a paralytic in my food, and then methodically explained what he needed me to do. And when he finished, he overdosed me with morphine. HE said he didn’t want my first death to be painful.
Wasn’t that so kind of him?
He cheated on me. Caught him in our bed, in our house, but still…
Perhaps I just wanted to believe there was still something between us. I thought he loved me, or at least cared deeply. For goodness sake, we still did date night, until I walked out the door.
But murder? That was a whole nother-level of betrayal. The depth of his deceptions shattered me. I swallowed to force down the knot that had risen into my throat.
My dry mouth tasted salty.
The smell of fresh cut grass, roses, and dying carnations made my stomach wobble. A hint of honeysuckle laced the air. The monochrome landscape of death, now glaring with color and life, left me feeling kind of disconnected.
The graveyard was not dead, but alive.
The decaying vines that crawled all over the mausoleums were vibrant ivy greens mixed with white, yellow, and red climbing roses. There were spots of blue bonnet, Indian paint brushes, and dandelions, typical of Texas, covering the ground.
The best part? Life was beginning not ending. The menacing cherub looking faces of stone had regained their full angelic expressions.
I couldn’t have been dead that long. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling of disconnect, like I wasn’t quite all the way back, or something was—not wrong, just off.
I scanned the area. All appeared totally normal for a graveyard.
Shamus stood over me with his blond-haired movie star looks and dancing brown eyes, that belied the manipulator and cheater inhabiting his black heart. No signs of regret on that handsome lying face. I wanted to slap the smug smile right off his face but gravity was still wrestling with my sluggish body.
“See.” He practically sang. “You’re back. You should trust me. No harm, no foul, just like I said.”
If you enjoyed this sneak peek at my up coming Midlife series–Join my Subscription Fiction (Early Access) and keep reading while I revise, expand, and finish book one. You can check it out here. https://reamstories.com/junetakey
Do you like learning and talking about the writing craft? Are you interested in short story and flash fiction? Writing short can be hard. I love short story and flash and include some tips and resources you may find helpful. I also talk about the bigger picture of the novel. Do you struggle with beginnings, middles, ends of a story? Do you struggle with plotting, scenes, or nailing the endings? I will address such topics off and on in my new writer’s tips and resource bulletin called Writers Talk.
Get my cheat sheets, along with links to their corelated Medium Articles. Such as my Villain Profile, Negative Character Arc Sheet, Finding Your Character’s Flaw Sheet, and the brainstorm sheet. Challenge The Archetype — Create Female Villains That Rock The Protagonist World! But that is not all. I have more goodies planned, plus I have a thank you bonus for joining me set to arrive the next day.
” In working with Juneta I realized things about my story that I hadn’t recognized, issues with pacing and tension, plot points that didn’t make sense..” ~Mark Ingram Vella Author of Steve Saves The World
“I kept abandoning each one and coming up with new ideas. Juneta Key held my feet to the fire, made me choose one world to work on, and helped me plot three books in that world and possibly a fourth! “ ~Megan Stewart Fantasy Author of Where Are My Pants?
I sent this out to my newsletter and thought I would post this edition on my website as well.
TESTIMONIALS
“Juneta is the BOMB! Every time I talk to her about my work-in-progress she whips it into shape. Not by doing the work for me, but by asking the exact right question so that I can see the path for my work. ” ~Shaunta Grimes
“In working with Juneta I realized things about my story that I hadn’t recognized, issues with pacing and tension, plot points that didn’t make sense.” ~Mark Ingram
“Wow!!! I was shocked at how much depth she was able to help me add to the story. She has this almost magical knack for helping you discover what you want to do.: ~Vanessa Wells
Hello Reader and Writer Friends,
A lot of changes going on in my life this month. The one thing that never changes is my love and passion for stories–reading and writing them.
To me, a good story is like an old friend. I was an only child. Books and the characters in them were my playmates. I visited Prince Edward Island in Canada and hung out with Anne Shirley. I played on the farm with Wilbur, from Charlotte’s Web.
I visited Middle Earth. I flew x-wings and wielded a lightsaber. I’ve sailed a thousand ships and experienced multiple lifetimes of love without ever leaving home.
I was never lonely with marvelous stories like these. I am so grateful to all the authors who shared their worlds and characters. They broadened my horizons, touched my heart, and revealed things I could never have learned or experienced in my ordinary world.
Our world is full of stories. Both real life and fictional. I am a series addict because once I find I story I love; I want to return to those characters and worlds over and over.
Powerful stories are loaded with characters that are human, 3-dimensional, and flawed, allowing the reader to connect and understand the motivation and drive behind the character and the story.
If you are struggling to write engaging stories, this is where I can help. I have spent my life learning the writing craft–it’s a passion. I help you develop the story as you write, with one-on-one coaching via zoom.
I help you recognize the elements, monitor your subplots, and deepen your character development—with the goal of moving your story forward to the end with consistency and flow.
If you are a writer or aspiring writer, I have four coaching spots available.
Do you need help with plot points? Is your book middle sagging? Are you having trouble figuring out the ending or getting your story stakes high enough? Maybe you just want to learn where to start. I can help.
I am still revising and expanding Midlife Ghostwalker: Katje Storm series. Editing is a slower process that than I hoped for, but I am moving forward even if slowly.
Other Projects I am working on but on the back burner to Katje are:
My Magic Born or Magic Cursed? series, first draft of prequel is done and in editing stage.
I am outlining a Paranormal Cozy Mystery series set in the same world as my Midlife Ghostwalker series.
Also still working on my space opera periodically.
We will soon release Volume 6 in the Grumpy Old God’s anthology series this year.
Welcome to Storytime Quarterly Blog Hop (January, April, July, October).
This short flash fiction is part of Apocalypse, Signed, Sealed, & Delivered series world. I write a lot of crossover in my Grumpy Old Gods short stories with these characters and world. You may remember Elliot from my story in our Stormdance Publications anthology, Grumpy Olds Gods Vol. 1, my story, ‘Playing Hookie’.
This is an ongoing series world. You may encounter Elliot again in my upcoming story for Grumpy Old Gods Vol. 6 releasing March 2023. Hope you enjoy this fun little moment in time in the ASSD World and Grumpy World. Be sure and check out the other fun stories by authors around the globe in the list at the end of the story, and leave us comments. We love hearing from our readers. Read with joy as Holly Lisle says.
Cover by Vanessa Wells
THE PRANCING ROAD HOG MOTORCYCLE CLUB HELP WANTED. APPLY INSIDE.
Rhea gaze lingered on the one rearview mirror, on the motorcycle farthest from the door lined up with ten more out in from of The Prancing Road Hog. She checked her hair one last time, opened her purse, pulled out her lipstick, and then decided against it dropping the tube back in.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten all dolled up in my best dress and red heels to apply for a bartender job. Why didn’t I bring a jacket?
Admittedly, she was thinking about the bar’s owner with the red hair and sexy southern creole accent when she got dressed earlier.
A jacket would have toned down the whole look, making it more professional-instead of trying to impress a potential non-date.
Dang it. She needed this job.
Her severance pay from the last job was about gone. Next month’s rent might be late if she didn’t do something soon. Bartending was a temporary solution. She had worked bars in college, and the tips were good. She could do it again. Except… her bad choice in attire might jinx her chances.
Didn’t matter. She grabbed an application by the door as she entered, and hopped up on a bar stool, and noted the current bartender was at the far end serving other customers. When he looked her way, she waved the blank application at him.
He raised his voice so she would hear him. “I’ll let Elliot know you are here.”
She nodded.
***
She had the application finished by the time the owner of the bar came out to greet her. Her face felt hot. She willed her heartbeat to slow down taking deep breaths.
“Bonjou, Rhea.”
“Hi Elliot.”
He leaned over with his face on his hand and nodded at the paper. “Why ya filling dat out, cher? I thought you had an office job closer to downtown Miami?”
“I do, did. I was a toy designer for Tattooed Toys, Inc.” Rhea sighed. “Disney did a takeover bringing in their own team. They gave us all severance packages and let us go.”
“Sorry for dat.”
Rhea shrugged. “It’s been six months. There is not a lot of demand for toy designers in this area. I’d have had better luck relocating to the north pole where there is higher demand and no Disney.”
“It’s a lot warmer in the Sunshine State.”
“Which is why I’m here and not there. I don’t do cold well.”
The idea of going back to her family with her tail between her legs sucked. The thought of all the ‘told you so’ made her cringe. She did not want to spend her life collecting naughty children. “I can’t afford to move to the north pole even if I wanted to, and I don’t.”
“And you’d rather bartend after working an office job?”
“It’s better than going home or working retail.” She batted her eyes and leaned into the bar. “I may not have dressed for it, but I have done the bartend thing before. Besides. You need help.”
“You’re more likely to start a riot in that dress, than help.” Elliot gave her a faux leer.
Rhea’s shoulders slumped. “I wanted to make a good impression. I need this job.”
“Oh, you made an impression, cher,” Elliot said, his grin growing wider. “A lot of eyes are turned this way.”
Before she could respond, three teens, dressed like gangbangers, swaggered into the bar. Her naughty kid sense swung into high gear. This close it was hard to ignore. She swiveled in her seat focusing on them, flicking her tail like a cat ready to pounce.
“Rhea?” Elliott said drawing her attention back to him. He leaned over the bar eyes pointedly on her flicking tail. “I may be, mostly human, but I come from a long line of wizards and seers. You do know that I can see through your glamor, right?”
“What?”
“You’re a Krampus, so settle down. I’ll handle the kids.”
“I wasn’t going to do anything. It’s just instinct.” Those boys were up to no good. She sensed it. Her nature wouldn’t ignore it, but she did have a choice on what action she took. “It’s been years since I’ve allowed those urges to rule me.” Rhea faced the bar again. “Guess that means I don’t have the job, huh? Can I get a drink?”
“No, you have the job. Just don’t go carrying off my underage clientèle to the Underworld. This is a club. We serve sodas too.” Elliot chuckled, grabbing a glass making her a Peppermint White Russian. “Your favorite.”
“You remembered.”
“I did.” Elliot was watching the boys as they found an isolated table under a special edition poster of Mount Doom signed by the cast of Lord of the Rings.
Rhea watched Elliot. He knew the boys were trouble too. “They are not all human you know?”
“I do know. Can you start work tomorrow at noon?”
“Yes.”
“We have a dress code. Jeans and a handmade ‘Middle-Earth” t-shirt. You can pick your size and color from the selection we have in the back room before you leave.”
“Got it boss.”
STORYTIME QUARTERLY BLOG HOP JANUARY, APRIL, JULY, OCTOBER
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