A Fictional Musing: Dead of Winter

I wrote Dead of Winter for a 24-Hour Short Story contest.  At noon, a prompt and a word count went live. All contestants then had 24 hours to write, rewrite, edit, and submit. My focus for this story was a surprise twist at the end. The story earned an honorable mention. 

Happy Reading. 📚

📷 Credit: MaggooArts

Dead of Winter

Moving to the mountains to escape humanity was the best decision I’d ever made. I was so much more at peace with my own existence, and that felt good after years of misery. 

It had been almost five years since I’d lost my partner. It was one of those wrong place, wrong time sorts of things. A terrible accident. But man, I missed Carmel. His smile could light up the world like the sun was doing just now.

I paused at the top of Eagle Point and took in the glorious view of nature. The snow was melting, but there would be more by nightfall. Winters could be brutal on the mountainside. 

My hard-fast rule is: I don’t dare go out in the dark or in a snowstorm—there are far too many dangers, like freezing to death. My closest help was a windy 45-minute drive up a mountain. And that was on a good day. 

I heard the rushing water of the stream before I saw it. The sound of running water always soothed my soul, and I almost smiled. 

Until I saw them. Bare footprints in the snow by the frosty edge of the stream... 

What on earth? How could that be possible? There weren’t other people up here. And bare feet would be a killer in winter. 

“Hello?” I cupped my hands around my mouth, “Is anyone out there?”

The snow blanketed everything, and silence responded. The sun drifted behind storm clouds, and fresh flakes began to fall. 

“Damnit!” 

I raced back to my cabin to grab leftovers from the fridge. While that heated, I rummaged through the closet for camping gear. Just in case someone was trapped out there, I had to help.

The snow was light, and there was enough daylight for my mission.  I made it to the stream's edge and back with my supply package.  If someone were stranded out there, they would at least have a bowl of warm food, a fork, some water, and a blanket.

The next day I awoke early, anxious to get outside and check on my stranded Stranger. As soon as it stopped snowing and the sun rose above the tree line, I raced to the edge of the stream.

My eyes widened in surprise. The plate and fork were spotless, right where I’d left them. The blanket was gone. 

I continued my mission for the next several days, leaving food and water for the stranded Stranger, no longer barefoot. I smiled at the tracks of the boots I’d left on the second day. 

The smell of snow filled the air as I retrieved the dishes.  A storm was coming. A bad one. And soon.

Back at the cabin, I prepped an extra large supply package for the next day and crossed my fingers I could get it to my Stranger on time. 

Shortly after dinner, something revolted in my stomach. I sat hugging the toilet as the fever ravaged my body, burning me from the inside out. I could do two things: lie in a heap or crawl to the bathroom for sink water. Sickness struck hard and fast.

In one of my more lucid moments, I crawled to the phone, but there was no dial tone or Wi-Fi. Nothing. And a blizzard raged outside. 

I glanced at the supply package that never made it to my Stranger and my near-empty bottle of Tylenol, and I cried. The storm will kill the Stranger outside and me inside.

Tormented, I collapsed on the couch. Even with all the blankets wrapped around me, I shivered and sobbed myself to sleep.

A door slammed in the distance. 

Startled, I sat up, blinked several times, and froze. People. Here. Who? And Why?

Even though I heard the voices and the heavy footsteps on the front stoop, I jumped at the knock on the door. 

“Hello, we’re here to help.” A deep voice called. “Miss Jones, Louise? Ma’am?”

Another knock. “Louise, it’s Dr. Phillips. I’m here with the Sherriff. Your sister called in a wellness check when she hadn’t heard from you. Are you okay?”

I was alive, but my Stranger probably wasn’t. At least there was help right outside the door. 

I gathered myself, still wrapped in blankets, and shuffled to greet my visitors. 

“There you are, Louise,” Dr. Phillips said when I opened the door, “And now, I’ll count backward from ten, bringing your awareness out of hypnosis and back to the present. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Welcome home, Louise.”

I fluttered my eyes open and sighed, “That was a great session, doctor. I feel like I’m making breakthroughs.”

“You are, Louise,” Dr. Phillips smiled, “I’m proud of your determination for regular sessions. Now, go back to your room and journal about the Stranger. Who was it today? And why did you create the storm instead of saving the Stranger today?”

With a nod, I grabbed my journal and strolled back to my room at the Eagle Point Mental Institution. I would get out of here one day as soon as I could figure out why I killed Carmel in the dead of winter. 

The End

A Writer Musing: Writer Workshop Day

A Writer Musing: Writer Workshop Day

I love to learn. I love to write. When I have the opportunity to learn more about writing, I’m giddy. 

Recently, I attended a Writers' Workshop in St. Louis, MO. Despite a sleepless night before, a dreary day, cold temps (in and out of the building), and a clogged ear making it hard(er) to hear, it was a fantastically awesome day.

The Four Classes 

Class #1: Common Pitfalls in Publishing

Hybrid author, Katie Otey, shared her writer-life experiences and advice. Invaluable information, plus she's a super cool lady. 

Class #2: Everything You Need to Know About Agents and Query Letters 

Kourtney Price laid all the nitty gritty for those pesky query letters and finding the right agent. 

Class #3: 10 Surefire Ways to Strengthen your Writing 

Kerrie Flanagan, author and facilitator of the event, not only gave us a list but also read real-world examples AND offered the audience opportunities to create smooth, fluid writing. 

Class #4: Pros and Cons of Traditional and Indie Publishing

Laura Benedict held nothing back as she delivered all the bottom-line details of traditional publication and self-publication. An eye-opening experience. 

Other Noteworthy Events

Agent Pitch: I pitched to esteemed literary agent Bonnie Swanson. It was a quick and dirty 10-minute segment. It was the highlight of the day!

Writer’s Got Talent: A First Page Critque-Fest

Every writer in attendance had the opportunity to anonymously enter the first page of their manuscript. Several were randomly selected to be read aloud not only to the group but also to a panel of industry professionals (authors, agents, and editors). 

As the narrator read the pages to the room, the panelist would hold up a hand whenever they would stop reading. At the end of each page, the panelists provided feedback. 

The first page was a paranormal genre and MINE! Holy hells. My heart ricocheted around in my chest, and at one point, I could barely hear the feedback (my clogged ear didn't help). Feverishly, I scribbled notes to reflect on when I got home. An absolutely priceless experience. 

My Takeaway:

The opportunity to learn from experts in the writing world changed my perspective and provided new insight. This workshop was the push I needed to propel my writing forward. 

A Writing Musing: Respect the Process

 A glimpse behind my creative curtain...

Respect the Process

The fiction writing has been going well, but it really is a process.

Brainstorming: The creation part, which is ALWAYS fun, is the beginning. This stage is messy and chaotic as I’m jotting loads of ideas and notes anywhere and everywhere (post-its, notebooks, napkins, receipts). I have multiple documents open on my computer (all very random). And I am actively talking to myself, playing out the actions and motives of the characters. 

Drafting: I make it all up as I tell myself the story. I have to understand what’s happening. What’s the first problem? What’s the goal of the character(s)? How will I complicate it for them? And what can I do to surprise the reader? This part is my favorite part. Of course, I usually come up with my best-complicated surprises in the shower or while I’m driving, and when I get to some sort of way to record my thoughts, they have all flittered away. Sometimes I chase them. Sometimes I wait for them to return…the good ones always do. 

This stage can be quick or long and drawn out (like now). It usually also involves various forms of rewriting and junk piling. At this point, I know the overview of the story, but scenes are still coming in scattered pieces, like a puzzle. I’m turning the pieces over, finding the edges, and putting similar ideas (pieces) together.  I can picture the final result, but seeing it complete before me is a long way away. 

Revising/Rewriting: The puzzle comes together. Once I finish the first draft, I’ll reread (over and over) to fine-tune it and polish it into a creatively stimulating story using nothing more than words (the ultimate goal). This part can be enjoyable (like when I come up with something good) or torture (like when I hit a wall or write myself into a corner). 

Editing: This is my least favorite part (perfecting the puzzle, pressing the pieces together, adding a gloss or glue), but it’s essential.  It always entails reading aloud, Grammarly, laughter, and tears. Sometimes, I seek out an extra set of eyes. However, if my work is bound for publication, I will hire a professional editor to critique and correct my writing. Nothing more embarrassing than a typo on the title page.   

Publishing: The final stage: sharing the best version with the public.

Where am I now? In the drafting stage, with two feisty and hard-to-control heroines: Em De Mone and Elle Kingsmith. These ladies and their crew of characters have been chattering and rattling around in my head most recently. These ladies are particularly interesting because their stories span many millennia and interconnect on multiple levels. But they are also very much the stars of their own stories. The experiences of their 20s (current WIPs) are not only happening in my head now, but their actions will vastly impact destiny. So technically, I’m creating the surprises and twists of future stories. 

To sharpen my storytelling skills, I’ve also been dabbling in nonfiction, writing short stories about teaching, or dogs, or life, or writing. 

I’m enjoying learning to respect the process as I create my writing journey. 

What’s next? A mixture of fiction and nonfiction musings. And hopefully, some exciting book news soon.