Ever Flowing Thoughts...and Other Randomness

Highly Unrecommended

2011-08-02T09:35:00.000-04:00

While I was recently perusing the internet stacks for a good ebook to sink my teeth into, I skimmed the customer reviews of each book I considered. The more reviews I read, the more I realized how people can literally rip a writer’s work apart.

Ok, I’m not naïve. I know everybody has their own opinions about everything and everyone and not everyone is going to like you in this world. But as an unpublished author, am I ready for all that negativity? Do I want to spend my blood and tears working on a project only to have someone blow it all up on a review that they may or may not have written in a moment of rage after a fight with their husband?

Don’t worry, I’m not writing this post because I’m wavering and thinking of cutting my losses. Oh no. I think I’m more worried of how I will handle it. I mean, will I really read every review–the good, the bad and the ugly? Will I secretly cyberstalk those who give me unfavorable feedback and make their lives a living hell? Oops, that just slipped out.

I guess if you put your work out there for the world to see, you have to pull the big girl panties up or big boy boxer briefs on take what’s coming. Or as my friend Jamal over at Scribereglyph said so eloquently in his post Never Forget: You Suck and You Always Will, “we can’t please everybody”.

P.S. Are no reviews better than horrible ones? Hmmm…

Til The End...Like Always ~~ Part II

2011-04-14T22:13:00.001-04:00

Ooops...missed Part I? I'll take you there.

“Hello, Amber.”

Kit’s heart was beating so fast that she thought it would explode through her chest. Her whole body tensed up and her breathing felt restricted. She couldn’t move. Damn it, she couldn’t move!

“I thought it was you, but I had to get a closer look to be sure. How have you been?”

She couldn’t even get her tongue to work. It had become thick and useless. Her mouth was dry and pasty. She could have used that apple martini right about now. Not just to quench her thirst, but to give her the courage to run.

“Amber, what’s wrong? Not happy to see me?”

He was right. Kit wasn’t happy to see him. She had thought she would never lay eyes on him again. He was an unwanted visitor from the past.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of me?” he quipped, as he took several menacing steps closer to her. “You had to know that I would find you.”

Kit backed away from him only to push up against the building. She felt like a trapped animal. There was nowhere to go.

He tapped on his chest several times with the palm of his hand. “Why are you acting like you don’t know me? Come on, Amber, it’s me!”

She shook her head frantically trying to diffuse his anger. She definitely didn’t want to make the situation worse, but before she knew what was happening, he had grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Are you listening to me, Amber?! Are you?!”

Somehow Kit managed to scramble her senses together and push him away. His eyes bulged with anger and his teeth gnashed together exposing their imperfections. He moved in closer to her.

Kit looked desperately about hoping she would see someone…anyone…that could help her. Again, she found not a soul walking the streets in the downpour. Her chest tightened and the pit of her stomach knotted with dread. He was making her life very difficult right about now.

“Look at me! Look at me!” he barked within six inches from her face. She felt every word as spit flew from his quivering lips. Kit winced in disgust.

The rain intensified leaving no hope of anyone showing up to save the day. Kit decided to do the only thing that she could think of. She grabbed at his face with her acrylic tips and dug in for dear life. He tried to subdue her hands by attempting to secure her arms by her sides, but he couldn’t quite get a grip.

Kit dug her nails deeper into his face until she could feel the flesh of his face touch her fingertips. He screamed in gut-wrenching agony as his blood trickled down his cheeks. She took her chance, pushed past him and ran.

“Amberrrrr!!” he screeched. “Come baccckkk herrrrrrre!!”

The hood of her rain slicker blew back off of her head, exposing her to the cold pellets of rain. She couldn’t see a damn thing because the water was coming down so hard. She panted as her eyes feverishly searched for someone to help her. She couldn’t believe that there were no people around.

Then, out of nowhere, a man turned the corner of the building up ahead. Kit ran frantically towards him. “Please help me!”

“What’s seems to be the problem?” the man asked calmly.

“He’s going to get me! He’s trying to hurt me!”

“Who?”

Kit turned back to look in the direction from which she had just fled. She gasped as she realized he was no longer there. Or maybe he was and she just couldn’t see through what seemed to be a waterfall of water. “Him,” she managed to say flatly.

“Miss, there is no one there.” The man now sounded exasperated as if Kit were disturbing him from something.

“I—I—” she stammered. Where had he gone? He couldn’t have disappeared that quickly.

The man began laughing hysterically and pointing at Kit. She started slowly shaking her head. What was wrong with him?

“Poor, poor, Amber.”

“Oh, my god! You’re with him!” Kit’s limbs went numb as she tried to grasp what was happening.

Just then, a white van pulled up beside them and two figures clad in rain ponchos jumped out surrounding Kit. She felt completely helpless. There was nowhere to run.

Her first attacker got out of the back of the truck and stood before her. His face was bleeding from the clawing Kit had unleashed on him only moments before.

“Amber, do you know how long we have searched for you? You should have known from your previous attempt to escape, that we would eventually find you.”

“Leave me alone!! Get away from me!!” she screamed to no avail.

“You know that we can’t do that. You need help, my dear. Vic. Lou. Help Amber into the ambulance.”

“What?! Noooo! Noooo!”

Vic and Lou did as they were told and hoisted Kit into the back of the vehicle, where a gurney awaited her. They strapped her arms and legs down. The second man that Kit had come up on the street pulled out a syringe that he immediately stuck into her arm.

“What are you doing to me?!” she demanded.

The bleeding face one chuckled. “You have to be sedated for your own good. You know that. You’re dangerous.”

“Dr. Garrett, will you be riding in the back with the patient?” Vic asked.

“Yes, Dan and I will ride in the back to assure there are no problems.”

“She seems harmless,” Vic stated.

Dr. Garrett smirked. “Don’t let her fool you. She claims to have more than one personality although we have never been able to diagnose her conclusively with dissociative identity disorder. The police think she made it up to cover for murdering her parents and two sisters.”

“She killed her parents and siblings?”

“Yes, she killed them and continued to live in the same house with their decaying corpses for six weeks before anyone knew anything about it.”

Vic shook his head in disgust. “She really is loony tunes then.”

“Now, Vic, we don’t use those terms at our facility. We only use clinical terminology.”

“Sorry, Doctor.”

As the ambulance pulled away, tears streamed down Kit’s face as she realized she would be returning to a cage. She couldn’t live locked up for the rest of her life. She just couldn’t. Not for something that she didn’t do. Couldn’t they see that she wasn’t responsible?

“Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll get us out of this. I always do,” Amber said to Kit. “It’s you and me ‘til the end. Like always.”

“Oh, god, noooo!!” Kit screamed frantically. “Don’t let her take me! She does things! Horrible things!”

Kit’s eyes began to flutter uncontrollably as the sedative took her on the other side of her two-way mirror.

“That’s it. Sleeeep. Sleeeep. Let me handle ev-er-y-thing while you sleeeep.”

Til The End...Like Always Part I

2011-04-13T21:34:00.002-04:00

I started this short story awhile ago and finally finished it. This is Part I...

Kit tried to shield herself from the nippy wind and the light drizzle by pulling her rain slicker closer to her body. It wasn’t working. She could feel the cold penetrate the rubber slicker like little needles piercing through her skin till it scraped into her bones. She clenched her teeth to fight off the pain.

She couldn’t believe she had ventured out into this mess, but she had no one to blame except herself. The urging for an apple martini and the lack of the ingredients had driven her out from the sanctuary of her apartment. Now she was wondering what she had been thinking just ten minutes earlier while she was still in the comforts of her warm, dry living room.

Suddenly, the drizzle became an enraged storm with sheets of rain slamming down from the sky. Kit cursed as she quickened her pace toward a storefront that donned an awning. The store was closed for the night and so were most of the businesses on the block, as Kit began to notice. She also realized that there weren’t that many people on the street, leaving it to appear deserted compared to the hustle and bustle during daylight hours.

The harder the rain fell and the less people she saw, made Kit feel an uneasiness. The liquor store was only another block and half away, but she was definitely stranded until the weather let up. She pulled her slicker closer once again, but this time it was to give her a false sense of security.

Then out of nowhere an indistinguishable figure approached her refuge under the awning. As they came closer, Kit squinted, trying to get a better view of the person. She tried to reign in her anxiety, but it took a hold of her and led her mind on a journey of panic. Why was this person choosing to cross the street to invade her personal space? There were plenty of other awnings and doorways to take cover from the rain. Why hers?

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as it became clear she recognized the hooded silhouette.

.....to be continued Click here for Part II

"The Melodious Seduction"

2010-09-22T02:41:00.002-04:00

by Melissa Kinnel

I cautiously anticipate the methodical rhythm of your persuasion,

Underestimating the lure of the seduction.

Finally the tempo teasingly begins…

Dictating my inner essence,

Corralling my hips into their own rapture,

Swaying my whole being into your pleasure.

The inferno within my walls cannot be extinguished,

…does not…will not be smothered.

My lashes flutter effortlessly,

As if in flight on their maiden voyage,

…free from their cocoon.

My lips allow a feverish, yet hushed, release,

Unwilling to utter any expression that requires spoken words.

Then, suddenly, the momentum becomes measured,

…with the promise of its pending departure.

My walls no longer ablaze with desire.

My hips no longer constrained in ecstasy.

The methodical rhythm of your persuasion no longer holds my anticipation

And bids farewell until I am seduced once again by its tempo.

Stop And Feel The Words

2010-04-29T23:02:00.002-04:00

I came across a song yesterday that I hadn’t heard in years. It’s called I Can’t Make You Love Me by Bonnie Raitt and is a melancholy love ballad. Now, I’m a sucker for love stories, love poems and love songs no matter the circumstances or the outcome. They could end in tragedy where I ball my eyes out or they could finish in a cheesy cornball finale leaving me with a wide-tooth stupid grin on my face.

So hearing this song and listening to the lyrics made me take pause. If you have ever heard it, you know it’s about a lover who realizes that the one they love no longer feels the same way and that their love affair has reached its conclusion. Pretty sad, huh? Nevertheless, the story is fantastically written. The words are right on and you have no doubt the pain the person feels in their realization.

Of course, Bonnie Raitt’s voice adds color to the story, but if you look at the lyrics without the music, it seems to read like a poem. I wonder if songwriters write poems? I’m sure they do, as it seems to go hand in hand with songwriting.

Don’t you love a good song? One that is simple, to the point and you don’t need a video to figure out what the hell they are trying to say. Since I deem myself a music head *chuckles*, I know that there are loads of good songs out there that can stand alone as poems. Their eloquent narratives let you absorb the emotion and passion, pulling you into their anguish and heartache as well as their joy and paradise. Some even leave you a little hot and bothered.

Other favorites of mine are The Rose by Bette Midler, This Woman’s Work by Maxwell (or Kate Bush who wrote and originally recorded it) and Always On My Mind by Willie Nelson. Stop me because I could go on and on! Do you have a special love song that does it for you?

Errors and Salutations

2010-04-22T07:39:00.001-04:00

Usually when I write, I worry myself silly about spelling errors, punctuation, sentence structure and verb tense. I don’t admit to actually knowing anything about any of this stuff, but I try my best. I was not an English major, but I got pretty good grades in the subject in high school and college. That doesn’t mean I remember any of the things that I learned.

I even try to go over my blog posts with a fine-tooth comb, double checking for mistakes. I also do it with emails, tweets, FB status updates and wall postings. All the while, I think I’m completely crazy. Why should I care that my tweet has proper tense or punctuation?

One of my friends, who is a fellow writer, says that he writes like he thinks, not how he actually talks. He has published two memoirs and they both were a joy to read because of how his story flowed. I felt like he was narrating to me in person as I read it.

Many of my favorite authors use this same style, incorporating incomplete and run-on sentences. Sometimes it just makes sense when you’re writing…and when you’re reading. I have also found that they make grammatical and other miscellaneous errors. Sometimes words have been missing. In one instance, the author called the main character by the name of a character in one of her other books. I had to do a double-take on that one. This was a NY Times bestseller, I might add.

So I’m trying to call myself down off the ledge, so to speak. I’m going to enjoy writing without feeling those restraints. Ok, I know that I will always have to do some editing and having correct spelling is a must, but I have to learn to let go with the other stuff, have fun, and let writing.

P.S. If this post contains any errors or poor sentence structure...and I'm sure there are...please take two pills of forgiveness and move on!

Truth: Take the Next Exit

2010-03-31T22:34:00.003-04:00

Well, I have the answers to all my burning questions! Hope you guessed right. Here goes:

1. I have run three national marathons, coming in thirty-second, twenty-forth, and sixteenth consecutively. Unfortunately, this is totally false. I don’t even “run” on the treadmill. LOL!

2. My husband is a male model who has strutted the catwalks in Paris and Milan. This is totally false also. Sadly, it is only a fantasy!

3. One of my favorite movies of all time is Forrest Gump. This is actually true. My poor husband wishes that it weren’t. He can’t stand this movie, but if I’m flipping channels and it’s on, I’m compelled to watch it!

4. I am the mother of three sets of twins. This is not true! Thank goodness! I am a mother of a seven-year-old and a four-year-old. They are definitely a handful and I couldn’t imagine any more than that! Whew!

5. For fun, I have been known to fly over to the Greek Isles at a moment's notice. Gosh, I wish this one was true. This is one of my dream trips. Alas, if only I weren’t afraid to fly over the ocean.

6. I only eat green M&M's. False. I will eat any color M&M.

7. While I drive, I play my CD's really loud and sing like nobody's business, not caring who's staring. Ok, this is so true. I’m one of those people you see in their car giving a full concert to anyone who wants to watch. Hint: I turn up the music so that I will not hear my own screeching…I mean singing!

8. To bring good karma, I burn Native American healing stones. This is definitely not something I would do. I don’t even know what healing stones are. I just saw it on television.

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire!

2010-03-29T22:59:00.001-04:00

OMG! I have received the Creative Liar Award from Nicole @ One Significant Moment at a Time. I love it! I feel so honored! Thanks so much, Nicole, for the kind gesture.She and I recently "hooked up" on our blogs. Like me, she enjoys writing short stories and is working on her first novel. Check her blog out!

Here are the ever so easy rules to follow. I have to make up six fantastic lies about myself and, unfortunately, I have to supply two real things about myself. You guys try to guess which things are true! Good luck!

1. I have ran three national marathons, coming in thirty-second, twenty-forth, and sixtenth consecutively.

2. My husband is a male model who has strutted the catwalks in Paris and Milan.

3. One of my favorite movies of all time is Forrest Gump.

4. I am the mother of three sets of twins.

5. For fun, I have been known to fly over to the Greek Isles at a moment's notice.

6. I only eat green M&M's.

7. While I drive, I play my CD's really loud and sing like nobody's business, not caring who's staring.

8. To bring good karma, I burn Native American healing stones.

I'm going to pass this award on to some of my old timers I've been following for awhile as well as a few that I just started my journey with. They are some great bloggers and hopefully you will think so too.

Karen @ Musings of a Novelista

MaryBeth @ Keystrokes & Word Counts

Derek @ Derek's Vandalism of Words

Lindsey @ Dangerous With a Pen

Jackee @ Winded Words

Enjoy mashing through truth and fiction. I will let you know which is which tomorrow. Don't forget to check out some of my fellow bloggers! Have a good one!

Unknowing Part I

2010-03-25T03:10:00.000-04:00

This is the beginning of a short story idea I have had rolling around in my head for awhile now. I finally got it started on paper and I'm not sure of where it will go, but I thought that I would share it anyway.

Kit tried to shield herself from the nippy wind and the light drizzle by pulling her rain slicker closer to her body. It wasn’t working. She could feel the cold penetrate the rubber slicker like little needles piercing through her skin till it scraped into her bones. She clenched her teeth to fight off the pain.

She couldn’t believe she had ventured out into this mess, but she had no one to blame except herself. The urging for an apple martini and the lack of the ingredients had driven her out from the sanctuary of her condo. Now she was wondering what she had been thinking just ten minutes earlier while she was still in the comforts of her warm, dry living room.

The harder the rain fell and the less people she saw made Kit feel an uneasiness. The liquor store was only another block and half away, but she was definitely stranded until the weather let up. She pulled her slicker closer once again, but this time it was to give her a false sense of security.

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as it became clear she recognized the hooded silhouette.

Either She Goes or I Go...

2010-03-23T21:29:00.000-04:00

For the last few weeks I haven’t touched my WIP. I was using lack of time as an excuse. I work a full-time day job and have a seven- and a four-year-old. To top it off, my husband works the late shift, which means I’m the only parent to help with homework, do dinner, and baths. So, as you can tell, writing definitely takes a backseat in the evenings, but it’s not totally impossible.

I just came to the realization that I was using “no time” as my justification not to write on my novel when it was really something else. I love my story idea. I think about it every day…everywhere that I am. I could be at my desk at work or taking a shower, but my mind is on my characters and what they’re doing.

So, you’re probably wondering why I am procrastinating. Well, I am conflicted about my main female character. In creating my outline, before I even started writing, I thought she would be more of a down-to-earth woman who was straight-laced, but as I started to write, she turned on me. Somehow, her personality didn’t quite fit with me or the other characters.

I switched gears, regrouped, and decided that she needed to be a little standoffish, more confident, daring and edgy. Almost on the verge of arrogant, but not so much so that she wasn't likable. I’ve even changed her name numerous times to fit her personality, which I talked about in a previous blog posting.

I’m happy with the change, but some of the decisions that she will eventually make in the book will certainly portray her as a little naïve. As a career driven, confident woman, I’m not sure how that will fly.

I guess I will take a deep breath and do some writing tonight on my WIP because as we all know, it’s not about you the writer. It’s about your characters and how they play things out. Wish me luck. I can’t use the “no time” excuse any more.

How I Love Thee, Sunshine...

2010-03-15T23:52:00.000-04:00

Gosh! Where in the H did the sun go?! For days we have been over wrought with rain, rain and more rain. Let’s not even mention the cloud cover that’s hiding that beautiful sun. Ugh! It can be downright depressing…if you let it.

Key point here: don’t let it or anything in general get you down! Don’t let the haze sway your thoughts and ideas. That sometimes can be easier said than done, but it is doable. You just have to bring the positivity into view…AND stick with it!

It’s amazing that I am even giving this advice because I often find myself letting the cloud cover sneak right on in and influence my writing notions. Sort of like a sneak attack. Bam!! Then I become annoyed with myself because I let it happen.

But…yeah, yeah, here it comes…at least I recognize that I have allowed the predicament to seep in and I’m willing to turn it around. Then I stop asking myself “how come” and “why me” and start preaching “what if this, then maybe that” or “let’s get ‘er done.” Boo-ya! Then the clouds start dissipating, the gloom lifts, and the writing gods somehow bless me with some wonderful ideas. That sunshine starts peaking through and words flow again! Money shot!

So, to offset the blah, what do you do to chase away the doldrums? What is your money shot?

Why Did You Leave Me? Where Have You Gone?

2010-03-14T15:49:00.000-04:00

I recently finished reading a good book and, as usual, I was down about it. I hate finishing. I mean I feel so close to the characters and the storyline, that it seems weird when it ends—like I’ve lost a good friend.

When there are loose ends, it’s even a worse feeling. It leaves you wondering what will happen next. Where do the characters’ lives go from here? Does the author plan on a second book that will pick up where this one left off? Maybe that’s what makes it a great story in the first place. The fact it can grab you like that and nag your thoughts.

I wonder if anyone else goes through this same kind of withdrawal. Whether it’s a short story or a novel, do other readers find it difficult to leave the characters behind?

"Welcome Home"

2010-03-08T21:36:00.001-05:00

Woody sat on the carpeted floor across the room from the table. Her eyes were fixed on it and could not be torn away. The harder she tried, the worse it became. It was like a magnet drawing her in closer.

“You have to stop looking at that damned table,” she mumbled, chastising herself.

She licked her parched lips and swallowed hard. Her futile attempt to add moisture only left her lips sticky and her mouth gummy. Woody shut her tired red eyes with the hopes of it not being there when she opened them again. But her spirits died when she peered slightly from her swollen lids. It was still there, appearing to stare back at her.

“Leave me alone!” Woody screamed.

“Forget it,” it answered back.

Woody raised an eyebrow. Now it was talking to her. She let out an uneasy laugh. What was she going to do now?

The ringing of the phone startled Woody, and she attempted to move to answer it. She needed help and whoever was calling could free her. But her legs stayed frozen in place.

“Move!” she screeched down at her stiff limbs.

After seventeen consecutive rings, the phone ceased, and Woody gasped in exasperation. Her hopes of a rescue dissipated.

Her eyes glued to the table once again. “What do you want from me? My mind? My body? My attention?”

It snickered. “All those things and more—your love, your devotion, and your spirit.”

“What? There’s no way that I—“

“You will.”

“No, no I won’t!”

“You will because you’re weak.”

Woody wiped the tears from her cheeks. “No!”

“Yes!” it laughed wickedly. “You’re so stupid and weak!”

An explosion erupted in Woody’s chest like a red hot volcano. Her limbs began to quiver uncontrollably and her head swam. “Oh, my God, I’m dying!”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t die.”

Woody coughed up blood. “You bastard! You’re doing this to me! It’s all your fault!”

“You brought it all upon yourself. I only heal people’s problems.”

“Liar!”

“I don’t lie.”

She covered her ears. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Shut up!”

“Woody.”

“Stop it! Stop!”

“Never. I’m relentless. You will succumb to my wishes.”

“No!”

It laughed tauntingly as Woody tried to control the quivering and the shaking.

“Yes,” she murmured in a defeated whisper, as tears streamed down her face.

“Come to me.”

Like a zombie, she lifted herself up onto her trembling legs. She stumbled over to the table and hesitated for a mere second…only a second.

Finally, Woody grabbed the small glass tube and pulled a miniscule piece of the hard soap like rock from a tiny plastic baggie. She carefully placed it inside the tip of the tube and pulled her shriveled lips to the other free end. Then she used the green lighter from the table to fire up the rock.

She sucked hard on the pipe, letting the drug permeate her body. Letting it take over her soul. It felt good. It felt right.

“Welcome home,” it said.

Copyright © 2010 - M. Kinnel

"Pardon me, what was your name again?"

2010-03-03T00:48:00.000-05:00

What’s in a name, you say? A lot! A name says plenty about a person—in real life, as well as fiction. When I read a book, the name of the characters have to match their personality, along with the time period for which the story is taking place. I mean, how many Marthas do you find in a sci-fi story or Jimmy Bobs in a medieval tale? Names are a very important part of the narrative that a writer is trying to convey. They help give the reader an image.

Maybe the character’s name reminds you of someone you know or once knew? Maybe you have read other pieces of work that have used the name before? Maybe the name belongs to a famous person? For whatever reason, the name biases you into believing what the character looks like and what kind of traits they may possess.

Unfortunately, for me, I believe in this madness. I am currently working on a novel and I have changed my female main character’s name four times…and I AM working on the fifth. I have never done this before in all of my writing days. Usually, my main characters’ names are picked well in advance of writing, and I followed that same ritual this time also. But somehow, during the writing process, my gut starts twisting and I can’t bring myself to commit to the current name. My character is a diva that is complicated, edgy and in search of her sexual being. Her name needs to be different, but not over the top. Hopefully, the fifth time will be a charm.

So, do you have a favorite character, male or female, whose name “describes” their personality to a tee? Or maybe you have read a recent book that you absolutely hated the main character’s name? Leave me a comment and share your thoughts. Loved to hear from you.

The "E" Word!

2010-02-25T21:51:00.000-05:00

Hmmm…how I love a good story! Any kind, really. I deem myself an eclectic reader. Sci-fi, murder mystery, suspense, horror, love story, memoir, biography, urban fiction…you name it, I will read it as long as it’s interesting. But my all-time favorite genre is erotica. Yes, I know what you’re thinking...she said the “E” word!

Several years ago, I discovered the “E” word through a friend, who led me on to Zane, a very popular erotic fiction author. I had heard of Zane’s books, but I was leery of reading what I had stereotyped as porn in a paperback. Granted, I had read plenty of good books that had racy love scenes, but none that would be considered erotica. So, at my friend’s nudging…and believe me, she nudged so hard, I thought she was going to pull the book out and starting reading it to me herself…I began "discovering" my very first book by Zane, Nervous. Well, once I got started, I couldn’t put the thing down. The story itself was so compelling with its twists and turns, and, yes, the…you know…the sensual parts were downright mesmerizing and breathtaking. It was incredible and I loved it! I couldn't believe that I actually loved the "E" word! And my hubby, unbeknownst to him, greatly benefited from many of those parts! Oh-la-la!!

Needless to say, I have thanked my friend many times over for showing me “the way” and dispelling my views of erotic fiction. How could I have not discovered this genre before then I will never know. It actually has made me open myself up more in my writing—to become freer and less inhibited, so to speak. And, as for Zane, she is one of my favorite authors…and, now, I’m the one nudging people to read her books!

Some titles by Zane that you may enjoy:

Just Because...

2010-02-24T22:06:00.000-05:00

As I sit here, I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t even know if what I write is any good, but I’m compelled to do it. Except for a one-time stint in my college newspaper and an entry in a short-fiction writing contest many years ago, I had never publicly shared my work except with a few family and friends until this blog.

So somewhere in the last year or so, I decided that I would like to eventually test the publication waters, but I’m finding that those waters are pretty deep and I would represent only a tiny drop of what’s out there. There are all sorts of things that I’m learning about. Like how hard it is to even get anyone to look at your work and that you should be prepared for rejection after rejection. Or, how many writers have turned to self-publishing because of the latter statement, but that is even difficult. I have even learned that some of my favorite authors who have been on the NY Times Bestsellers List several times over started out as self-published writers, selling their first books literally out of the trunks of their cars. Sure, they’re successful now, but look how long it took.

So, from the looks of things, I have been living under a rock about this whole “getting published” thing. I guess I should have did my homework before getting my hopes up and thinking my “stories” were any different than anybody else’s. I should have realized that there are thousands of others out there that have the same dream and the same ambition as I do.

Will all of this discourage me from writing? Probably not. I’ve been doing it since I was six. Just for fun. Not to get published. Not for anybody’s approval. Not for money. Just because. So I will certainly continue to put the things I see in my head down on paper and let them transform into a story. And maybe that’s the key. Maybe I shouldn’t stress myself over whether I will or will not get published. Maybe I should still write like I was six. Just for fun…just because.

2-Piece Tidbit of "Thank You"

2010-02-17T04:03:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to share a little something, something from one of my short stories that I wrote a while back. It's titled "Thank You".

“Is anybody sittin’ here?” a tall, lanky man asked, interrupting my blank gaze out of the bus window.

Did he see anyone sitting here? For God’s sake, it was a bus, not a huge train where there were different cars with hundreds of people aboard roaming around. I wanted to tell him that, but I fought back the sarcasm and politely shook my head.

He arranged his carryon bag up into the overhead rack and eased into the seat carefully as if not to break himself. He was an older man with deep lines running through his coffee colored face like tributaries in a river. His hair was black with specks of gray throughout, and his eyes were a faded brown. He appeared to have had a rough life, and suddenly I felt bad for thinking my usual cynical thoughts.

“My name’s Ezekial,” the old man said, extending his hand out to me. “Yours?”

“Celeste,” I responded without excepting his hand.

You goin’ all the way to the end of the line?’ Ezekial asked.

“Yep,” I answered dryly.

“You from that part of Virginia? Beautiful country. Beautiful. Ain’t that horse country?”

Now Ezekial was getting on my nerves. I had hoped for a quiet bus ride, and I certainly didn’t feel like having an extended conversation with anyone.

“Yeah, that sure is beautiful country,” he repeated as if waiting for my cue to respond.

I nodded and turned back to the view out of the window. Maybe he would get the hint and leave me alone. I was going to my grandfather’s funeral at the end of this line and Ezekial’s company was not what I needed right now.

Copyright © 2010 - M. Kinnel

"The Encirclement of Love"

2010-02-16T21:14:00.000-05:00

You grasp it—and hold it.

Caress it—and fondle it.

Then, you wonder why go

through it.

It hurts you—and saddens you.

Tires you—and runs you.

Then, you ponder how to go

through it.

It has power—and dignity.

Fortitude—and magnitude.

Then, you wish to go

through it.

They grasp you

—hold you

—caress you

—fondle you.

And you hurt them

—sadden them

—tire them

—run them.

Then, you know you've been

"Lovemaking..."

2010-02-16T21:11:00.000-05:00

Those delicious love songs

lingering hard.

The tingling vibrations

making me want him.

Those brown eyes

dancing with my own.

The whites of the teeth

flashing promiscuously.

Lips meet...

and withdraw.

Those warm, enormous hands

groping with urgency.

The lips

waiting for another...

Those songs now

drifting into the wind.

The vibrations now

filtering alone in silence.

Bodies lay...

Release...and Breathe...and Release!

2010-02-15T20:14:00.001-05:00

I tried hard not to be bored today. Lord knows, I tried!! But I just couldn’t shake the feeling. That’s how it is sometimes. You just wake up and catch the “feeling” and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. Then you find yourself doing boring things that just add up to more boredom.

I was off today and didn’t do too much of anything. I’m not even sure if I have the mindset to work on my novel. I did post a few of my poems that I hope you guys will enjoy. Just don’t know if I’m feeling my novel today. Sometimes I get that way. I will take a little break from my WIP and brainstorm on something else. Kind of like a release. Then I’ll go back to my main project and fall in love with it all over again. I guess that’s what I’m doing right now with this blog post…releasing!!

So, hopefully, I can pull myself out of this…this…THING and do some seriousness on my WIP!

In The Beginning...dum...dum...dum...dahhhh!!!!

2010-02-12T00:10:00.000-05:00

Ok, today is my first day of fumbling through this blog thing! I have no idea what I'm doing!I don't like the template that I've picked, which was one of the few this site had to choose from. I even searched sites for one that I would absolutely fall in love with. Well, I ended up only finding one that I kinda loved. I tried to download it or whatever I was supposed to do and it didn't work. So I'm basically stuck with this plain jane thing that you see before you.

Then I painstakingly sifted through images that I wanted to add that would reflect a little of me. Hahaha!!One way to find out that you are unsure of yourself and what you stand for is to start a damn blog because it literally took me several hours to decide on three images.GEEZ!!! Honestly,I might change them again after I post this entry!! Hell, the whole layout may get changed!!

After all of this, do I really need a blog? I'm not convinced yet. It seems there are thousands out there and I don't know what the heck will make mine any different from anyone else's. So, here I am, diving into this mass of confusion that will ultimately make my life more of a living hell or help me hone my skills as a writer!! Let's hope for the latter, shall we?