Dirty Words


Soil? Soot? Mud?

No, not those dirt-y words.

I can’t even believe I’m writing this as I’m doing it. This post is rated M for Mature and N for Naughty.

I started to ponder this because I’m currently (finally) reading one of Karen Moning’s Highlander books. (I don’t know which number it is…but I know it’s not the first one. So it looks like I’m going to end up reading them out-of-order.) As much as I love Ms. Moning’s work, she uses the word “impaled” (for, you know) a lot in this book. And for me it’s just not a sexy word.

I’m not being prudish…there are other great words and phrases out there to describe sex, whether it your characters are making love or just plain ol’ fucking. Depending on what atmosphere you’re creating, a man can enter a woman, ease/slip/slide/slam into her, pump in and out of her, grind against her. (I’m sure you can think of other/better ones?) But impale just sounds painful.

And what should we call the tool with which he pleasures/takes/fills her/brings her to the brink? (She could also shatter/dissolve/unravel/come undone.) Although there are many rather obvious choices, sometimes the possibilities sound silly as you’re reading. On the other hand, for a smutty book penis sounds a bit medical. How about his cock/manhood/hardness/shaft? (I can’t believe I’m coming up with these without using the thesaurus on Microsoft Word. The smut is just pouring out of me tonight.)

Wet is of course often used to describe when the woman is ready for her man to impale her. But use its synonyms with caution because they can end up sounding icky rather than sexy: moist/damp/clammy (wait, no, don’t ever tell your man that you’re clammy for him.)

Romance writers: What do you think? What are the best words/phrases to use when writing about s-e-x?

Working Title: “Title”


Well, I wanted to keep to my Sunday, sometimes-Thursday, Friday posting schedule, but didn’t have time to write anything new, insightful or nerdy. So instead, I perused My Documents for a sample of my old writing. I decided to go with a document named “Something,” which contained the Prologue and first chapter I wrote to a planned book with the tentative title “Title.” I think it’s pretty cute…it’s another Greek myth-inspired story (which I apparently subconsciously gravitate to) and depicts a nostalgic Calypso talking to her friend, Dewdrop. (The most adorable name ever, if I do say so myself.)

***

She stood where the beach met the crisp blue water. Digging her feet into the yellow sand, she curled her toes and allowed it to seep between them, wet and rough. Beyond her, the waves rolled like sheets of blue silk billowing in the salty air. Her hair, the color of the golden beach, blew across her face and briefly obscured her forlorn expression. Then, she brushed the hair out of her face to reveal her sad, teardrop-shaped eyes once more.

“Calypso!” a high, clear voice behind her called. Calypso did not turn to acknowledge the voice and still did not turn when a girl appeared beside her. She was young and small, and her long, auburn hair was plaited into hundreds of small braids. She wore a white dress tied at the waist with a yellow cord. Noticing Calypso’s intent gaze, she followed it into the blue distance where it was hard to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began.

“Calypso, what’s wrong?” she persisted and hugged the woman’s petite waist. Calypso sighed and stroked the girl’s hair.

“Oh, Dewdrop,” she said as the girl retracted her arms. Calpyso sat down and patted the sand beside her so that Dewdrop would do the same. “No one ever comes to my island anymore. No one ever comes.”

What are you talking about?” Dewdrop wondered. “The others visit you all the time. Hera, Aphrodite, Aries…everybody loves it here. It’s a beautiful island.”

“I do not mean them,” she replied curtly and diverted her gaze to the ocean again. “They do not come to see me, Dewdrop. As you said –it is a beautiful island. The most beautiful. I’m talking about people. People used to come here.”

“People? From where?”

“From everywhere.” For the first time that afternoon, a small, wistful grin appeared on Calypso’s lovely face. “Explorers would come, travelers, sometimes men going to war –what strong, handsome men used to come here.” Dewdrop narrowed her eyes in confusion as Calypso continued nostalgically. “They would come, and we would entertain them here, give them food and shelter. And sometimes I would just…”

“Just what?” Dewdrop pressed.

“Just keep them here,” Calypso said, laughing musically. Dewdrop laughed too, although she wasn’t entirely sure what Calypso meant.

“Ah, yes, I miss those days,” Calypso confessed. “There was always excitement and anticipation, wondering who was going to come next. But then fewer and fewer came, and the ones that did come tried to hurt us and would not let us help them. And then one day, no one came. No one has come for ages.”

A tear trickled from one of Calypso’s aquamarine eyes. “It’s okay,” Dewdrop assured her. “I’m sure someday someone will come again.”

“Perhaps.” Calypso picked up the hem of her flimsy purple dress as she rose. Dewdrop scrambled to her feet as well. “Perhaps not. Come on –let’s go back.” They glided swiftly over the sand, away from where the sun broke the ocean into a thousand tiny blue diamonds. Above, the sky was clear and cloudless.

Daily Prompt


In the spirit of procrastinating even more from studying for my midterm, I thought I’d give the Daily Prompt a try today. Clicking on the link below takes you to their post:

Daily Prompt: Pick a random word and do Google image search on it. Check out the eleventh picture it brings up. Write about whatever that image brings to mind.

My word was whale.

Nova holds her brother’s hand tightly as they watch the magnificent, sleek killer whale rise again from the ocean. For a moment, it seems suspended in time, droplets of water flying from its glossy skin and freezing in midair. Finally, it dives back down and vanishes beneath the shimmering blue surface of the sea. When it doesn’t come up for a third time, Zeb tugs on the sleeve of Nova’s now dirty and tattered white tunic.

“Where’d he go?” Zeb wants to know. His shiny eyes, as blue as the sea before them, search the area the whale used to occupy. He’s pouting, his brow furrowed.

“I guess he’s gone to join his friends,” Nova tells him. They linger on deck for a few more minutes, but the whale is truly gone. Nova releases her brother’s tiny hand and heads for the stairs leading below deck. The salty air is rattling the sails and whipping her greasy hair in front of her face. “Come on, Zeb. Let’s try to wash up a little before dinner.”

Zeb takes one last look out at the empty ocean, and then dutifully follows his sister to their quarters.

 

 

The Devil Inside: Part II


II.

“I am sorry about Lord Gaston, m’lady,” Belle’s maid, Constance, says to her later as she is helping Belle out of her wedding dress.

“Thank you, Constance,” Belle replies politely. I am not, she wants to add, but holds her tongue. Belle gingerly steps out of the gown and shimmies into a mauve-colored dress, which is just as pretty and feminine but more comfortable.

“Is Lord Gaston still downstairs?” Belle wonders as Constance is fastening the dress in the back. She had seen him talking to her father before going upstairs to change.

“No, m’lady. He told your father that he is off to pay a visit to that wicked hermit, Rumpelstiltskin.”

Belle freezes. “What?” she whispers. She recovers herself quickly and pulls away from Constance. “I need out of this dress. Now,” she commands with uncharacteristic harshness. “I want to put on my riding clothes.”

Constance’s sky blue eyes look surprised, but she nods and goes to Belle’s closet. “As you wish, m’lady.”

In mere minutes, Belle has changed clothes for the third time. She pulls a blue cape around her shoulders and runs downstairs to the stables, rushing past her father even as he’s saying her name. “Not now, Papa!” she calls over her shoulder. At the stables, she readies Chestnut and launches herself into the leather saddle, adjusting the reins in her milk white hands.

“Where’re you going in such a hurry, Miss Belle?” the stable boy asks her in a panicked voice, still watching her, dumbfounded, from the corner of the stall.

“It is no concern of yours, Brandon,” she tells him. She hates being brusque with sweet, reliable Brandon, but she’s on a mission. She has to get to Rumpelstiltskin’s before…before something terrible happens. Belle isn’t sure who she’s more afraid for: Rumpel or Gaston. Her hands are sweaty on the reins and her heart pounds so loudly in her chest she wonders if Brandon can hear it. Taking a deep breath, she murmurs “Good girl, Chestnut,” before jerking the reins and sending Chestnut charging onto the path through the Dark Forest.

The chilly mid-morning air whips at her face, but Belle urges Chestnut on, determination surging through her body, through her hands and fingers, to the powerful legs of her beautiful brown horse. She abruptly skids Chestnut to a halt when they reach Rumpelstiltskin’s house. The house seems quiet and dark. After gracefully dismounting Chestnut, Belle tethers her to one of the wooden fence posts. She removes the hood of her cloak and approaches the front door with some trepidation. Even though she knows she must stop Gaston, the last time she was here Rumpel told her that he did not love her as she had assumed – he had called her a “warm body.” He does not want you here, whispers Doubt in the back of her mind. He does not love you. Why even bother? Go home and forget about him. But most of her doesn’t really believe that Rumpel was using her, and it is this that propels her forward.

Belle turns the knob and pushes on the front door. It opens with a loud creak, making her jump back. She waits a few moments, but doesn’t hear any answering noises, so she tiptoes inside and gently closes the door behind her. As always, the house is vast and magnificent, more like a museum than a place to call home. And quiet. So quiet.

“Hello?” Belle shouts, her voice sounding even louder than she had intended against the eerie silence. She removes her cloak and tosses it on one of the burgundy chairs. Quick exploration of the first floor confirms that there’s no one there, so she ascends the grand staircase, not caring anymore if her black riding boots cause the stairs to creak.

“Hello? Rumpel?” she calls, but there’s no answer. Am I too late? she wonders, her brow creasing with concern. Belle checks all of the rooms, but there’s no Rumpel, no Gaston. Maybe Constance was wrong. Maybe Gaston simply went home to sulk, and Rumpel was out being his mischievous self, making deals and doing magic…

That’s when she hears the strangled cry. Belle starts at the sound of it and rushes back to the room she’s just inspected, the master bedroom. It’s still empty, of course. The cry was unmistakably her Rumpel, but where had it come from? Then, she hears another, deeper voice shouting, and she realizes it’s drifting in from outside through the open window.

They’re on the roof.

Prying open the window the rest of the way, Belle crawls out onto the flat part of the roof. Now she can hear the scraping of boots against the shingles, and Gaston bellowing, “You stay away from her, you hear me? You worthless, undeserving little –”

“Rumpel!” It comes out as a terrified shriek when Belle sees them at the edge of the roof. Rumpel is scrambling to keep his footing, and Gaston has his sword poised underneath Rumpel’s chin. “Gaston, let him go! Please!”

“Stay out of this, Belle!” Gaston growls at her, his stance unwavering. “This coward is not the man for you! He is barely a man!”

“Gaston, please!” Belle knows how ridiculous she sounds, how pathetic and desperate, but, with no weapon or magic of her own, she doesn’t know what else to do except to beg Gaston to stop. “Please let him go. I love him,” she sobs, unable to hold back the tears that have started to pour down her face. Through the haze of her tears, she sees Rumpelstiltskin looking at her now instead of at his attacker, but she can’t read his expression. “I love him.”

Gaston glances back at her, seeming to hesitate. Finally, Belle relaxes as she watches Gaston withdraw his sword and return it to its sheath. “I hope to God you know what you are doing, Belle –”

Belle is looking at Gaston, listening to his fervent pleas, so only out of the corner of her eye does she see something skitter along the rooftop and into Rumpel’s eager, outstretched hand, which clutches the object and raises it behind Gaston –

“Rumpel, no!” Belle now implores her love, but it’s too late; Gaston staggers forward, Rumpelstiltskin’s dagger sticking out of his back. He collapses, his forehead smacking against the roof, blood gushing from the wound. Belle kneels down beside him and cradles his head in her arms, but his eyes are closed and he has stopped breathing. Whether it was only from the injury itself, the magic within the dagger or a combination of both, Belle isn’t sure, but Gaston is already dead.

For a moment, Belle cannot find words. Although impulsive and even sometimes aggressive, Gaston was a good man, a  man she would have gladly married if she hadn’t already found her one, true love.

To her surprise, her cheeks are dry now, and she can’t cry anymore. Belle shakes her head slowly. “What have you done, Rumpel?” Her voice is small but filled with despair and exasperation. She looks up at him. Although he would never rival Gaston in breadth and height in life, Rumpelstiltskin seems to tower over Gaston’s lifeless body. He cocks his head to one side, appearing more confused than repentant.

“He was trying to come between us, my love,” Rumpel tells her as though it should be the most obvious thing in the world to her. “He was trying to kill me. I was defending myself. Us,” he insists, taking a step toward her. Belle automatically shrinks away from his proffered hand.

“He was just threatening you!” she yells, throwing all of the anger and hurt building up inside of her into her words. “He had put his sword away, was about to leave us alone! He could not defend himself. And anyway, he would not have actually killed you, he was not a –” Belle clamps her mouth shut so that she doesn’t blurt the word she’s thinking of. Rumpel’s face falls and he drops his hand.

“A what, Belle?” he hisses. Belle flinches as he yanks the dagger from Gaston’s back. It drips blood onto Gaston’s midnight blue coat, forming little purple blotches. “Gaston was not a what?”

“A monster!” she finishes reluctantly, not meeting his gaze.

“What, like me?” Rumpel spits at her. Then, he emits one of his strangled, high-pitched cackles. Belle usually finds his laugh endearing, but right now it sends chills up her spine. “I am a monster, love. A beast, if you will. You never really understood that, did you, that you were in love with a beast?” He walks around Gaston and bends down so that they’re face-to-face. Belle is forced to look him in the eye, now, and she sees that the man she thought she had brought back to life through their lovemaking and heartfelt talks in the library is gone. His eyes shine only with hatred.

“I’m going now,” Belle whispers, standing up and walking deliberately back to the open window. Without looking back at him, she adds, “I did love you, you know. And I know you loved me, too.” She pauses for Rumpelstiltskin’s response, but when he doesn’t speak she ducks back through the window. As soon as Belle’s feet hit the floor, she breaks out into a run and doesn’t stop until she reaches Chestnut. She realizes she has forgotten her cloak, but untethers and mounts Chestnut anyway, goading the horse back into the Dark Forest, never looking back.

The Devil Inside: Part I


Trying my hand at fanfic – I hope you enjoy this short story even if you aren’t a fan of the show it’s based on, “Once Upon A Time.” I feel like this is really the end of a story (or maybe the middle?), but it’s what came to me; perhaps one day I’ll write the rest of it. (It also turned out kind of depressing, so I’m sorry for that too!)

In keeping with my new theme of naming stories after 80s pop songs, this one is called The Devil Inside. I’m splitting it up into two posts because it got kind of long…you can find the link to Part II at the end!

[I must state that I do not own the rights to these characters. This piece is based off of events that occurred in Episode 12, “Skin Deep,” in season one of ABC’s “Once Upon A Time.”]

 The Devil Inside

In the first season of the Once Upon a Time tv series version of Beauty and the Beast, the lovely Belle becomes the prisoner of the wicked Rumpelstiltskin. Rumpel and Belle grow closer throughout the episode until they finally kiss; however, Rumpel breaks the kiss and kicks Belle out when he suspects that she is trying to break the curse that gives him his powers. In my version, this never happens; in fact, Rumpel and Belle do way more than just kiss many, many times. While Rumpel turns Gaston into a rose in the OUAT episode, Gaston is still alive in my version, and he comes to Rumpel’s castle to rescue Belle. Rumpel lets Belle leave with Gaston, insisting that he never had true feelings for her and was only using her for sex. Belle reluctantly returns home with Gaston, and this short story picks up the morning of their wedding day.

I.

Belle studies herself carefully in the mirror. Her long, white silk gown fits her body snugly while still maintaining some semblance of modesty, and her maid has woven small white and pale pink flowers throughout her dark brown tresses. She watches a tear roll slowly down her reflection’s cheek. This is my wedding, she thinks to herself. Should I not be happier?

“You look breathtaking,” a deep, masculine voice rumbles behind her. Belle jumps, startled, then whirls around.

“Gaston! You should not be in here,” she gasps, making futile attempts to cover her wedding gown with her dainty, pale hands. “You know it is bad luck to see the bride in her wedding dress!”

“A silly superstition,” he insists, strolling further into her bedchamber. He stops short and peers at her glistening cheeks. “Have you been crying?” he asks her softly.

“What?” Belle hurriedly wipes her cheeks dry with the back of her hand. “A little,” she confesses. “Tears of happiness.” But her voice cracks when she says this last part.

Gaston looks at her doubtfully and sits on the foot of her bed, crossing his ankles. She can’t help but notice how handsome he looks –imposing, in his midnight blue uniform and black boots, but handsome.

“You do not love me, do you, Belle?” he asks her, his bluntness catching her off guard.

“I –why –that is just not true,” Belle stammers, but she can’t look him in his hazel eyes.

“I know it is,” Gaston counters. “I have realized it for some time, I think, but I did not want to admit it to myself.”

Belle is about to protest again, but then her shoulders sag and she shakes her head sadly. “I am so sorry, Gaston. You are such a wonderful, kind man, and you are most deserving of a woman who can return your love. Do you love me?” she wonders, her voice barely above a whisper.

He finally catches her gaze and holds it steadily. “With all my heart,” he says.

Belle comes around to sit beside him on the bed, brushing aside any feeling of guilt over this breach of propriety. “What are we going to do?”

“Well, it is going to disappoint a lot of people, but…we are going to go into the church, shoulders back and heads held high, and let our guests know that the wedding is off.” Belle can’t help but smile at his words; Gaston’s tone makes it sound like it will be the easiest thing in the world.

“Belle, there is something I simply must know, if you will not mind my prying,” Gaston continues, suddenly standing and facing her squarely. “Do you love another?”

Belle feels a blush creep onto her cheeks. “Yes.” The word is barely above a whisper.

“Is it…Rumpelstiltskin?” Gaston gulps before uttering the name, and then says it as if it pains him to do so.

“Yes,” Belle repeats, this time more loudly and with more conviction. Yes, she’s fallen in love with Rumpelstiltskin. How is it any of Gaston’s business?

“Belle, may I make a request?” Without waiting for her reply, Gaston proceeds, “I am willing to accept that you do not return my love, and I do not wish to marry someone that is not in love with me. I wish you only the best and hope that you do find your one, true love.

“But please, please do not let that one, true love be that horrid Rumpelstiltskin.” Now Gaston is kneeling before her, taking her hand as though to propose marriage again. Pleading with her. “No matter how much you wish it otherwise, he will always be monstrous, wicked, and less than a man. Give your heart to someone kind, loving and good. Someone that deserves it.”

Belle yanks her hand away from his and jumps to her feet. “I appreciate your concern, Gaston,” she says through gritted teeth, “but I will love whomever I damn well please.”

For a moment, they are both silent, staring at each other, daring the other to speak. Finally, Gaston rises and crosses the room to the door.

“Then do as you please,” he says coolly from the doorway, his back turned to her. “May I request that you join me at the church as soon as possible so we can inform our guests that there is to be no wedding.”

Belle’s tenacity caves as she watches Gaston leave, wishing that they had left things on better terms. She goes back to the mirror and angrily rips the delicate flowers from her hair. They fall and pepper the floor around her like a pinkish white snow.

The Devil Inside Part II >>

“Starry Eyed”


I haven’t been listening to the radio much this summer. When I do, I’m usually in my car, and it’s usually to one of my city’s two pop music stations. You can not listen to pop radio for two months and then hear the same songs when you tune into it again.

However, today I discovered Ellie Goulding while in my car, listening to the radio. I had heard the name, knew she was a singer, but hadn’t really given her music much thought. Then I heard “Lights,” and realized what a different (different good) voice and unique style she has. She almost reminds me of those Indie rock psychedelic bands like MGMT, only she’s a solo act (and a girl).

While exploring her songs on YouTube, I came across the video for Starry Eyed. (Watch it here.) Another great song by her, but what really struck me is how much it reminded me of one of the few books I’ve actually finished writing, Star Eyes. Especially with this video, it’s like the frickin’ theme song. So, I decided to post one of the chapters from Star Eyes before I return to focusing on The Wild Ones. Perhaps at some point I’ll even post Star Eyes in its entirety, although I wanted to play around with the POV and verb tenses first.

(BTW, if some of the characters sound familiar, they are the same characters mentioned in my first post -Ava, Tyler, and Celeste. So this is basically some back story to that excerpt, which would appear in a sequel.)

Also, please feel free to rate (above) and/or like (below) my posts. 🙂 I love getting feedback.

***

Monday night was crisp with the onset of autumn. Celeste kept the passenger side window of Ava’s car open to let the cool night air hit her face. A distinct feeling always overwhelmed her when fall arrived, a mixture of anticipation and tranquility as she watched the leaves on the trees change from green to gold.

“It looks like something’s going on at the park,” Ava said. Celeste snapped out of her reverie. She was surprised they had made it to Hickory Park already; Ava was navigating the side streets at about fifteen miles per hour, her hands gripping the steering wheel precisely at the ten and two o’clock positions. As the car turned the corner, the headlights swept over a small crowd gathered in the middle of the park.

Ava parked and popped the trunk, and they climbed out of the car. Celeste lifted her telescope out of the trunk and slammed it shut. They crept to the edge where the sidewalk met the grass.

“What are they doing?” Ava wondered.

“I think they’re doing the same thing we were planning to do,” Celeste realized. People had broken off into twos and threes and were setting up telescopes all around the park. Some had binoculars like the pair Celeste wore around her neck and were already scanning the black and blue sky.

Celeste sensed movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was walking toward them.

“I thought that was you,” Dave said as he got closer. “I didn’t know you were in the Astronomy Club.” He had his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket.

Celeste knew that Ava was looking from Dave to her in confusion, but Celeste couldn’t speak. Was it possible for your heart to leap up into your throat?

When Celeste still hadn’t said anything, Ava said, “We didn’t know there was an Astronomy Club, actually. We come here all the time. I’m Ava,” she said and stuck out her hand expectantly.  It was one of Ava’s many gestures that usually intimated people their age. Dave, however, shook it amiably.

“Dave. I guess you don’t remember me,” he said to Celeste. He laughed, but his smile was uncertain.

“I remember you,” Celeste finally said. “Dave has A.P. Chem with Mr. Brightman,” she explained to Ava. “I met him doing my make up lab last Friday.”

Ava gave an exaggerated nod to show Celeste that she remembered. “So, since when do we have an Astronomy Club?” Ava asked him.

“It’s something new Mr. Landau is starting this year,” Dave said. “He’s the physics teacher. That’s who’s mostly here right now, our physics class. But come on. You should join us.”

He started to walk away. Celeste and Ava looked at each other before following.

His telescope was already set up. Someone was bent over it, adjusting the field of view.

“This is Tyler,” Dave said. “Tyler, this is Celeste and Ava.”

Tyler looked up. Celeste heard Ava inhale sharply.

“I know you.” Ava pointed an accusatory finger at Tyler. “You’re that guy who bumped into me today in the hall after lunch!”

Tyler’s face remained impassive. He was still wearing his black trench coat, only this time Celeste noticed it was worn over a pair of baggy black jeans and a black shirt. Even his fingernails were painted black. “I guess I really didn’t care enough at the time to actually remember it now,” he said without feeling.

There was a moment of awkward silence. “So. Anything in particular you guys want to look at?” Celeste asked. She looked up at the sky, where pinprick white stars were popping out one by one.

“We’re supposed to focus on constellations tonight,” Dave told her. “Here.” He handed her a paperback book that had a picture of the Milky Way on its cover. She flipped through it, and then handed it to Ava, who was holding her hands out eagerly.

“I see one,” Celeste said. She pointed at a patch of sky fringed by the rust-colored leaves of two maple trees. The others followed her gaze. “Cygnus, the swan. It looks like a cross.”

“It says in here that we should be able to see –” Ava started to say, but Dave talked over her.

“If that’s Cygnus, then that must be Lyra next to it,” Dave said. He came to stand by Celeste. “One of the Greek myths says that, after Orpheus was murdered, he was turned into a swan and placed in the sky beside his lyre.”

Celeste felt herself smiling. “Wow. I didn’t think anyone was as interested in this stuff as I am,” she said.

“I love astronomy,” he exclaimed, but she detected a note of embarrassment in the way he said it. “Thinking about what’s out there –that we’re really just a tiny planet floating in one solar system of one galaxy out of countless more –it helps me put life in perspective.”

“Are any of you listening to what I’m saying?” Ava said as though she were talking to a couple of misbehaving children. She closed the book, marking the page with her finger, and crossed her arms.

 “Hey. What’s that?” Tyler said suddenly. He was pointing again at Cygnus. Celeste didn’t see anything right away. She glanced back at him, about to tell him so, but she stopped when she saw his dark eyes widen and fill with awe. Without looking down, he removed a small, silver digital camera from his coat pocket.

“What are you looking at?” Dave asked.

“See? See that light up there? This is amazing,” he gasped. “Do you know how many nights I search the skies, hoping to see one? It’s always when you least expect it.”

Finally, Celeste saw it.

At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. There was a distant, perfectly oval-shaped white light traveling smoothly and swiftly across the sky.

“What is it?” she wondered out loud.           

“A shooting star,” Ava said. “Come on –why don’t we do what we came here to do? I found the Cygnus page in this book –”

“That’s not a shooting star,” Tyler insisted. “It’s a U.F.O.”

“A what?”

“An Unidentified Flying Object.”

“I know what ‘U.F.O.’ stands for,” Ava shot back. “I was being skeptical.”

“Just because we say it’s a U.F.O. doesn’t mean it has little green men on it,” Dave said, although Tyler seemed to be convinced otherwise. “It just means that we don’t know what it is. It’s definitely not a shooting star, though.”

They watched it for several minutes. To Celeste, its movement was too purposeful to be a shooting star. She didn’t know why her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest.

“You know, we have one of the highest instances of U.F.O. sightings in the world. Not just the United States, the world,” Tyler emphasized.

“Why would you know something like that?” Ava said.

“Because I read up on and follow paranormal activity. You’re a feature editor for The Voice, aren’t you?” His tone was exasperated as he feverishly snapped picture after picture.

“I knew you were on the staff. You’re the Tyler that writes ‘Dark Corners,’” Celeste realized.

“Yes, I am.” His voice lost its impatience when he addressed Celeste. “And this is going to make a great article. Shit, where’d it go?”

They searched the sky, but the U.F.O. had disappeared. Celeste peered at the faces of the other students, but it didn’t seem like anyone else had seen the extraordinary light.

“All right, everybody,” Mr. Landau called out an hour later. “Time to pack up. Thanks for coming out everyone.”

“We should do this again sometime,” Dave said to Celeste as he disassembled his telescope. “With or without the Astronomy Club. What’s your number?” He fished his cell phone out of his pocket. She hesitated, but then recited it to him.

“Call me so that I have your number,” she told him. A minute later, the chorus of “Strangers in the Night” sounded in her purse. She took out her phone to save his number.

“Frank Sinatra,” Dave commented, cracking a half smile. “Nice.”

“Ready to go?” Ava asked her pointedly. Celeste nodded.

“It was nice seeing you again,” she said. “It was nice meeting you, Tyler.”

“Have a good one,” Dave said as she and Ava headed for the car.

“So, what did you think of our U.F.O.?” Celeste asked once she and Ava were in the car. She made sure to say the last word with as much skepticism as possible.

“I still think it was probably just a meteor or a reflection or something,” Ava said. “Why? What do you think it was?”

Celeste shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re probably right.” But she did wonder whether it was the kind of U.F.O. with little green men on it. For some reason, Tyler’s fun fact had lodged itself in her mind. Why would their small, unsuspecting town of all places have so many U.F.O. sightings?

“Here you go,” Ava said. Celeste jumped. She hadn’t realized that Ava had pulled up to the curb in front of her house. The lights were still on in the living room.

“Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said and opened her door.

“No problem. See you tomorrow.”

Copyright 2012 by S. L. Stacy

“Look At Us Now”


This may be another little piece of smut. (But S. L., last time you told us you write about things other than smut?! Lies.)

I think I wrote this scene after I saw X-Men: First Class last summer (epic move, LOVE Michael Fassbender). So the male character, Paris, is supposed to be some sort of superhuman. Also, I thought that their names, Serena and Paris, went really well together, and then I remembered that Sarina Paris sang one of my favorite dance songs back in the day. Oops.

When he opened the door, he heard a startled shriek.

“It’s just me,” he called out before opening the door the rest of the way.

“I know!” Serena replied, but her voice was still high. “Turn around! Don’t look!”

But Paris was already looking. Serena’s back was to him, her long copper hair wet, wearing nothing but one of the hotel’s white towels.

She glanced over her shoulder, and her cerulean eyes grew wide. “I said turn around!” she practically hissed. Paris just laughed and strode further into the room.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said, setting the cup holder containing two McDonald’s cappuccinos on one of the bedside tables.

“I thought you weren’t coming back for another hour,” she said. She held a pair of folded jeans and a pink t-shirt in front of her chest as she headed for the bathroom. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been dilly-dallying out here in a towel.”

“I don’t mind.” Paris was still grinning. He beat her to the bathroom door, blocking it with his body. “Really.”

“Paris, come on. Move.” She dropped her clothing shield so that she could try to push him aside, but of course he didn’t budge.

“Come on,” he echoed. He caught her wrist in his hand. “You can’t expect me to just let you go in there and put clothes on.” Still holding her wrist, he rotated her until her back was pressed into the wall.

“This isn’t funny,” she insisted, her lower lip trembling slightly. She had such full, inviting pink lips, whether she realized it or not. “You know we can’t do this. What about Adam?”

Paris released her but slammed his hands against the wall on either side of her. He saw her jump. He leaned in even closer. “Stop being so fucking good,” he said, aware that it sounded like a growl. But he couldn’t help it. His voice was heavy with desire. As soon as he had seen her peach skin barely concealed by that cheap white towel, he had wanted her.

But Serena was trying to bury her face in her shoulder and wouldn’t meet his burning gaze. “Paris, don’t,” she pleaded. “Please don’t.”

Paris hesitated, but then lowered his arms. “I was only playing, Serena. What’s wrong?”

She faced him again as she felt his mind prod hers gently. “Not now, Paris! Don’t look into my thoughts now, please. You know I can’t shut you out.”

But he ignored her, knowing that that was the only way he was going to understand her reaction. He didn’t have to search long for the memory; it was right there on the surface, plaguing her mind.

A crowd tumbling out of a concert. Serena holding hands with some guy, struggling to keep up with him as he towed her through the masses of people but away from the parking lot. Her copper hair was shorter then, shoulder-length, and she was wearing a yellow t-shirt with a giant cat’s head on it.

Where are we going, Jack? she kept asking him. Let’s just go back to the car.

But now they had escaped the crowd, and he had taken her to the alley between two of the buildings, where the dumpsters were and the streetlights didn’t reach. She struggled feebly when he shoved her against one of the brick walls, her mind still cloudy from the alcohol. She said stop, kept saying it over and over again, but he didn’t…

Paris retracted his mind then, not needing to see anymore to know what Jack had done to her.

“How old were you?” he asked her quietly.

“Fifteen,” she said. “I had told him I was eighteen. I thought he was so cool, you know? I thought we were both so in love with each other. I mean, now I know it was just an infatuation and not real love. But I did trust him.

“I know you weren’t trying to hurt me, Paris,” she continued, even gently touching his brow with her hand. He almost flinched at the intimate caress, but he forced himself to be still for her. “But sometimes it’s like he still has this power over me, this power to make me afraid.”

Paris nodded. “But you know it doesn’t have to be like that, right? Hasn’t being with Adam shown you that even a little bit?”

A rose colored blush crept up her cheeks. “Adam and I haven’t…we kiss, and it’s really nice. But I’ve never let him go farther than that.”

“Serena, I can’t pretend to understand how difficult it must be to get over something like that, but you can’t let the memory of it –of Jack –rule your life,” Paris said. He moved in closer again, but more slowly this time, while brushing her hair away from her neck. “Sex isn’t supposed to be scary. It’s supposed to feel good.”

He softly kissed her ear and then continued a trail of kisses down her now exposed white neck. Her breathing quickened, but she didn’t protest or try to push him away. Sliding both of his hands around her slim waist, he pulled her close to him.

“Serena,” he said huskily before kissing those plump lips.

At first, he had wanted nothing more than to rip off that white towel and throw her onto the bed. But now a desperate need to show her how sensuous and beautiful sex could be overwhelmed him, and he forgot that he was supposed to be cold and uncaring.

He took a chance and ran his hands over the curves underneath her towel. She didn’t pull away from him, only let out a tiny gasp while she was still kissing him. Paris gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

“Before we go any further,” Serena said as he laid her down, “I think you need to be more naked.”

He could feel himself smile in genuine anticipation, losing that sardonic edge he so carefully maintained. Rising from the bed, he unbuttoned his black dress shirt, even feeling slightly vulnerable as he watched her eager eyes drink him in.

Serena kneeled at the foot of the bed, running her hands along the muscles that rippled across his chest and torso. “You’re beautiful,” she breathed as she slid his shirt the rest of the way off. It fell to the floor.

“So are you.” He leaned over to kiss her again, and then pulled back so he could remove his black jeans. Serena retreated and stretched out on the bed without diverting her eyes.

“Do you have any idea how sexy everything you do is?” Paris groaned. He was completely naked now, and he saw her eyes drift to his hard member. “This is your fault,” he added playfully, glancing down and back up again. Serena giggled.

Copyright 2012 by S. L. Stacy

That’s So Deep


I’ve been looking through My Documents on my computer to fine old stuff I could post while I wait for inspiration to strike, and I found this gem: A short story I wrote in high school called “chatroom.” It’s about an Internet wedding, and I wrote it at a time when I was reading authors like Bradbury and Huxley and thought I was writing really profound science fiction.

One of my all time favorite classic science fiction books.

Re-reading it, I instantly realized that a question one of the characters asked doesn’t really make any sense for the setting. Also, I didn’t have very good foresight – I mean, do people go on chatrooms anymore? I feel like most people text – sometimes I use Facebook chat or gchat.

But I am ever grateful to the Barbaric Yawp for actually publishing it – the only time I’ve ever had my fiction published outside of school. So, without further ado, I present to you, in its original form:

chatroom 2341829366273189515635101011111111

02:50:26 05/04/66

bestmanforhire6328: is she coming

JacObcd15: she should b soon

bestmanforhire6328: the ceremonys supposed 2 start at 3. 10 min.

JacObcd15: dont worry shell b here

mrsM52000: 😦 if she doesnt get on itll b all ur fault, jacob. have u done nething 2 make her mad

mrM834962w: now, sweetheart, im sure jacobs just as nervous as we r, rn’t u, son

JacObcd15: its alright, sir, i understand her concerns, she has a right 2 her opinions

mrsM52000: thats right, i do. c, matthew? at least sum1 understands me

mrM834962w: dont worry dear it wont b long now

JacObcd15: what times it now

bestmanforhire6328: 2:53

JacObcd15: i wish shed get on already

mrsM52000: youve done sumthing, i know u did sumthing…o y did i let her marry such a fool, matthew? my beautiful diane is marrying a fool.

mrM834962w: itll b ok vanessa. remember what ur parents said when we got engaged

mrsM52000: yah n they were right

bridesmaidforhire01: 🙂 what a beautiful wedding this has turned out 2 b! both sets of parents, brothers sisters, all here! ive never been in 1 so big

daveyk400: yah, altho carrie, once again, failed 2 show

misterpanderson8: dont put ur sister down, dave, u know how busy she gets with the kids

daveyk400: n that barbarian she calls a husband

daveyk400: its a good thing she didnt come after that stunt she pulled. a church wedding –no1 does that nemore.

daveyk400: u cant just invite ppl 2 ur house thinking theyll come when theres a computer right in front of them. n meeting her husband be4 hand…

mrspanderson53: it was a very sneaky trick, very shameful, but chris turned out 2 b quite the cutie, didn’t he, pete

misterpanderson8: yeh, unfortunately. she glowed on her wedding day, tho, rita, actually glowed

mindymad2066: u mean she was happy? on her wedding day?

mindymad2066: ive heard of feeling panic or nevous but not happy

bestmanforhire6328: go figure. prolly cuz she met the guy 1st

mindymad2066: i guess seeing each other in person isnt the worst thing thats ever been done.

mindymad2066: i had a friend who married this guy who sent her a pic be4 they tied the knot

daveyk400: a pic? what a jerk

mindymad2066: hoping shed send him one no doubt

dianemanderson25 has entered.

bestmanforhire6328:  🙂

dianemanderson25:  im here, everybudy, ready 2 start

reverendonline0003: whenever u r

JacObcd15: were ready

reverendonline0003: ladies n gents we r gathered here 2day 2 witness the union of jacob anderson and diane madison in holy matrimony

reverendonline0003:  1st did u get ur rings in the mail

JacObcd15:  yup, got mine right here

dianemanderson25:  yeh

reverendonline0003:  k, u may put them on. now, jacob, do u take this woman, diane, 2 b ur lawful wedded wife, 4 richer or 4 poorer, in sickness n in health, as long as u both shall live

JacObcd15: i do

reverendonline0003:  n diane, do u take this man, jacob, 2 b ur lawful wedded husband, 4 richer or 4 poorer, in sickness n in health, as long as u both shall live

dianemanderson25:  i do

bridesmaidforhire01: 😦 its so beautiful

reverendonline0003: u may kiss the bride

JacObcd15:  *kiss kiss* 🙂

dianemanderson25:  kiss kiss* 🙂

 reverendonline0003 has left the room.

Copyright 2012 by S. L. Stacy

Well, here it goes…


It’s almost midnight after a pretty low-key Friday night. And instead of going to bed, I decided that I needed to start a blog where I could share my writings and ramblings about writing with the world (or at least those few that may be interested). Writing fiction is not my profession (although I hope it will be, some day), nor is it even what I’m currently studying. But no matter what else I’m doing in my life, I frequently get an idea for a story, a character, a conflict – and I get the overwhelming urge to write.

I have tried posting a young adult fiction book I wrote chapter by chapter on another blog, but I abandoned the task once I reached a chapter I felt needed heavy revision. I may try to post it again on here, but for now I may just post short stories or scenes here and there, raw without intense editing. (Because, let’s be honest, editing is NOT the fun part, although a necessary evil.)

My characters are usually teenagers or young adults, and my stories have sci-fi, fantasy and/or paranormal themes. If you enjoy these genres, I hope you will enjoy my blog! All comments and *constructive* criticism are welcome.

For now, here is a short piece that involves two characters from a series I’m envisioning. I’m also trying to experiment with different points of view and tenses (usually I stick to third person and past tense, which seems safe), so this one is first person, present tense. This week I’ve been listening to Adam Lambert’s new album, Trespassing, and the song “Chokehold” is definitely their theme song:

“I keep running away, running away, running away from you
But I can’t stand breaking the chains, breaking the chains, breaking the chains
It’s too good, cause I know the second you go
Want you to bring it on back, bring it on back, bring it on back to me
And you know I want your chokehold.”

I’m walking against the crowd pouring out of the high school because I forgot my trigonometry book when I hear someone call my name behind me.

“Ava!” he shouts again before I’m fully turned around, but of course I recognize his voice. He makes his way toward me, a lone punk shark in a sea of preppy minnows. He’s wearing a maroon tie and a black dress shirt that’s not tucked into his black jeans. “I need to talk to you,” he tells me once he catches up to me.

“I really wish you wouldn’t,” I reply curtly, turning on my heel and resuming my walk.

“What?” He sounds genuinely shocked. I don’t even hold the door open for him but he sneaks through behind me.

“Look, the dance was fun,” I say. He’s finally matched my determined stride. “But you didn’t really think this could turn into something, did you?”

For an instant I feel a guilty ache in my chest – my words are coming out colder than I had intended. But then I remind myself that Tyler doesn’t really like me; that he didn’t really want to take me to the Harvest Dance. Celeste used her freaky telepathy to compel him to take me. Because apparently that’s the only way I’m going to get a date to anything, ever.

We’ve reached my locker, and I busy myself with the combination lock, avoiding his piercing hazel eyes.

“I guess I did.” His answer startles me so much that I finally stop and look over at him. His black guyliner emphasizes the intensity and sincerity of his gaze. “I felt something between us. I thought you did, too.”

God, how far had Celeste’s influence gone? I wonder. Did she convince him that he was in love with me, too?

What I hate most is that, as I stand here plotting to hurt him, all I want to do is to brush that stupid lock of his black hair that’s fallen in front of his face. And I want to finish that kiss that got interrupted at the dance.

Instead, I take a deep breath and hold his gaze steadily. “I’m smart. I’m pretty, and I’m popular. How could I ever feel something for some emo kid in a loser punk band?”

My heart is beating so loudly in my chest I wonder if he can hear it. He’s glaring at me now, his jaw jutting out in anger, and if I didn’t know better I might think he was trying to hold back tears. It feels like an eternity before he finally speaks again.

“Fuck you,” he says and stomps away from me.

I turn back to my locker, blinking back tears myself. Why do I have to be such a bitch? But it was for his own good, I remind myself. He’ll realize you did him a favor when he comes out of the fog Celeste put him in.

Suddenly, I gasp when I feel someone grab me and spin me around, pinning me against the lockers.

Tyler’s face is inches away from mine.

“Just thought I’d show you what you were missing,” he whispers urgently before he kisses me.

When our lips meet, I have the fleeting thought that I hope the hall is still deserted, but then my mind goes blank, and my body goes limp and tingles as his hands move to my hips. He coaxes my lips apart and deepens the kiss. For a few moments, the tension deserts his body, too, and I think he’s losing himself in me.

I don’t know how long we’ve been kissing when Tyler pulls away. His pale face is stoic, the vulnerability I felt in his kiss gone.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he says to me and stalks away again.

Copyright 2012 by S. L. Stacy