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Crash Landing

Crash Landing

Category Archives: My Writing

Projects in Development

27 Monday Sep 2021

Posted by crashdlanding in Audience participation, Black Pine, Books, coming soon, Fiction, I’m Crafty and You Can Too!, My Writing, News, Non-Fiction, On Writing, Premium, Self Publishing, silent secret

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crash landing, crashdlanding, do ction, facebook, in development, non-fiction, projects, silent secret, sisters, writing

Just so I can remind myself I have stuff I should be doing

1. “Silent Secret” (research)

Dropping “the”. Cover created using Canva (not sponsored, but you can holla at me, Canva! *wink*)

Plot: A young woman goes missing just before her high school graduation. Presumed dead, she is honored at her graduation by family and friends. Twenty* years later, after her friends and classmates go their separate ways, they receive postcards in the mail from their hometown, Black Pines. “Have you forgotten about Haley?” One young woman, the missing girl’s childhood friend, returns home to seek answers. (Something like that)

Silent Secret started as a “random generator” story. The premise was to use random generators for as many aspects of the story as possible. The title, characters, and at least some extent of the plot was created by generators. They mostly came from links available on the Seventh Sanctum website.

I’ve written a little on this story, but I want to do some research before anything solid. Eventually it’ll be available by the chapter, on a monthly basis, as premium content!

At some point it’ll be self published as well.

2. “Sisters Make the Best Accomplices” (development?)

Cover made with Canva (*wink*)

Plot: (so far) Two sisters, with very different personalities, who honestly don’t get along super well (sounds like a generic sister story) get into complicated shenanigans. They have to learn to accept their differences and work together to get out of the mess they’ve gotten themselves in.

Honestly got the idea from a random Facebook image someone shared. I think I woke up thinking about it. Had some downtime at work and wrote an opening scene. If I can get the time to work on it, it’s gonna be a good one!

Don’t tell my sister, it’s gonna be dedicated to her.

Eventually I’ll self-publish this one as well.

3. Facebook Poll Story.

Guess how I created this? Yup. Canva.

Premise: On my Facebook page I post each “chapter” of a story. The next chapter’s content is determined via poll posted on the Crash Landing Site group. ALWAYS check the page first, for the chapter. Then vote in the poll. Haven’t figured out yet how to post the chapter and poll as one post.

I haven’t revealed the general plot or theme, yet. I want to watch and see where the readers take the story! So far we’re one chapter in so check it out! This one is Facebook exclusive!

I’m also going to be giving three self-published copies of the finished story to the three people who participate the most in the polls.

4. “I’m Crafty, and You Can Too!” (Delayed)

I PAID FOR A SUBSCRIPTION FOR THIS ONE CANVA. I LOVE IT.

The weird sounding title was on purpose, FYI.

My goal was to make tutorial/informational videos on my YouTube for people who want to learn more about various crafts! I so often get people who tell me “I wish I were crafty.” I wanted to show them how!

I’ve gotta get my crap together and get going with this. I’d love to do it but honestly I’m afraid of being in front of a camera! That and the debilitating fear of rejection. 🤦‍♀️


Anyway, I’m sure there’s a million other things I want to be working in. Like my nephew’s letter keychain and sticker. Sorry my dude. I’ll get ya eventually.


Thanks for reading!

-c

Be sure to follow for updates! I try to post something about something at least once a week!

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Let’s Create a Character

29 Thursday Aug 2019

Posted by crashdlanding in Audience participation, Fiction, My Writing, News

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Audience participation, crash landing, crashdlanding, facebook, fiction, polls, short story, writing

Starting tomorrow at 11:10am on my Facebook page there will be a poll with two options to help choose aspects of a character! Each poll will run for three days. On day four, the winning option and a new poll will be posted! When the character is fleshed out I will write a short story about the character!

Help me and vote on this character! My favorite part of writing has always been character development! Share with me!

I’ll post an update when the polls go up and end!

Join me!

-c

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Death Defying

18 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by crashdlanding in Fiction, My Writing

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crash landing, crashdlanding, death defying, fiction, writing

Following is a short preview of something I’ve been working on for a short while.

Chapter One

Death Comes in Many Forms

One year, three months, two weeks, and two days since they left me. No. since they were taken from me. The bitterly cold, unforgiving hand of Death stole them from me, that rainy night down a dark highway. That was the night He took my life, but didn’t end it. And He still refuses to end it. He’s a spiteful son of a gun. But so am I.

When I’d told people I thought I’d seen Death, they laughed at me, thought I was joking. I had a habit of saying and doing things to make people laugh. Especially her.

But we were at the park, one evening. The sun was starting to set, and shadows were growing long as she played. Her name was Lucy.

My husband and her father, Dan, pushed her on the swing as I watched and smiled. I loved to see them play, it was one of my happiest places. I checked the time and stood up from the bench. It was getting late and I knew she was tired. Heck, I was tired.

I began to walk in their direction, when I saw movement from the corner of my eye. Darn peripheral vision, it’s not perfect and can play tricks on you. I remember a vague blackness with no concrete shape. I turned my head to see it better, a quick glance to my right. All I saw in the direction I looked was a figure slowly walking away. “Huh,” I said aloud.

“What is it?” Dan called out as gleeful Lucy smiled in the swing.

“I thought I saw something.” I told him. “Must be going blind.” I laughed. I felt a cold chill raise goosebumps on my upper arms, and turned again. The person had stopped, was looking over their shoulder, they had a hood up, and no face.

I must have turned ghostly white. “Honey are you okay?” Dan asked, he’d stopped the swing and Lucy was staring at us.

I swallowed hard, shoving down the sudden fear so I could speak. “Yeah,” I whispered. I cleared my throat. “Yes. I uh I’m just tired.”

We silently agreed to go, and he pulled Lucy out of her swing and held her. She didn’t throw her usual “but I wanna play forever” fit. She reached for me instead, opting to be carried instead of walk. Without protest we got her in the car and buckled in her car seat. I kissed her on the head and before I pulled away, she put her hands in my face. “You okay, mom?” She asked.

“Yeah, baby,” I smiled. “Mommy’s okay.” And she made me okay.

I climbed into my seat, front passenger, and buckled up. I tried not to look up. I looked at my phone, my feet, my hands. But I still felt it. A coldness that was not from the air conditioner. It was inside me.

And there it was. The figure in a yellow hoodie and jeans. Walking with its back to us. We drove toward it, then passed. I stared at it hoping as we passed it would not look it would not see me, see us.

The figure moved off to the side as we approached. We drove slowly past down the narrow road. It looked right in the car. And it had a face. A man’s face. I sighed in relief and Dan put his hand on mine. I looked at him and smiled.

Then I made a mistake.

I glanced in the side mirror. And there it stood. In the center of the road, yellow hoodie and jeans. Blackness surrounding it. And blackness for a face.

That evening went by as normal: dinner, television. I bathed Lucy, helped her brush her teeth, brushed her hair, told her a story as she got sleepier and sleepier. All the while the figure was there. In the back of my mind, black and cold.

I did not sleep. I’ve never rested well. A toddler’s kicks make it even more difficult to rest. But I didn’t sleep at all that night. Every time I closed my eyes, blackness in a yellow hoodie was there. The image was burned into my brain, and no matter how hard I tried it would not leave me. Neither would the chill.

Only one word came to mind when I tried to think of what it was, this terrible vision, this waking nightmare.

Death.

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VSF: “Rapid” – Renae Rife

08 Thursday Sep 2016

Posted by crashdlanding in Fiction, My Writing, Very Short Fiction

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crashdlanding fiction., dcrash landing, rapid, very short fiction

Very Short Fiction: Renae Rife “Rapid”

“Come on, it’ll be an adventure!” Her husband’s uncle had said. “Let’s go river rafting!” Renae was apprehensive at first, but convinced herself she needed to do something, besides work. Her job was stressful and frustrating and lately it’d started to seem like all she did was work. So she let her in-laws convince her to go rafting down a river. She’d never done it before, so maybe it would be an adventure.

Ryan wasn’t thrilled either, but he shrugged off his apprehension just as his wife did, and they all went along for the ride.

The morning of was bright and clear as they packed up and headed out early. It was already promising to be a hot day. “But, hey,” Renae thought, “We’re going to be on the river, so, not so bad, I guess.”

Trying not to think of the dangers on the way down, Renae distracted herself by texting friends and snap chatting selfies to her followers.

Finally arriving, they pulled into the parking lot next to Ryan’s uncle’s vehicle, and they began unloading. The park was beautiful with summer’s beauty and bright sunshine. The sweat was beginning to bead on Renae’s forehead from the heat and nerves, as she looked around at the setting.

Within the hour they were all packed and checked into their rooms in the motel and they were preparing for their trip down river. The unloading of the canoes and equipment took less time than Renae expected—she was in absolutely no rush—but she was hopeful for good things.

They all pulled on life vests and climbed into precarious seating. They pushed off the bank and soon began a slow cruise down river.

A gentle breeze was rustling the leaves of the trees and birds sang out to them as they paddled their way down the lazy river. Renae was beginning to enjoy the scenery, wishing she’d been able to bring her phone to take pictures, but she remembered she didn’t want a water logged smartphone.

After a half an hour, the heat and sun seemed to grow stronger, bearing down on them. “Why did I not bring sunscreen?” She said aloud.

“I don’t know,” Ryan responded as he continued to paddle.

“Yeah yeah, you’ll burn too.” She told him.

They had been barely a few yards behind her in-laws when she realized that she didn’t see them. Ryan noticed it too, and saw that she was worried as well.

“They’re probably just a little faster than us, is all. I’m sure everything’s fine.” He didn’t sound convinced to her.

Almost immediately the river began to get rougher, rockier. “Whoa!” Ryan shouted as he padded to avoid a boulder in their path. Renae saw and tried to help correct as she paddled, but their turn was short, and the rear of the canoe smacked against it, rocking the vessel.

They shifted their weight just enough to compensate, righting themselves before it capsized.

“This is definitely not fun anymore!” Renae shouted.

“It’s okay,” Ryan reassured her, “we’ll be out soon, I think.”

“You THINK?!”

“Just calm down. We will be okay.”

She paused, took a deep breath. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. “Okay.” She said finally.

The continued to navigate the ever rougher river, as they began to move quicker and quicker. Boulders, fallen logs, and other debris made the going harder as they attempted to find their way back to civilization and family. Renae’s grip on the paddle tightened as they worked together to swerve and dodge the obstacles in their path. Neither spoke as they focused on staying upright.

After what seemed like forever in rough waters and focused silence, the came around a bend in the river. Ryan spoke up.

“Oh man,” Renae barely heard him over the sound of the rushing water. “Is that what I think it is?”

“What?” Renae asked. When she saw what he was seeing, a heavy mist rising up from the water ahead, where the water seemed to end. “It’s a waterfall!” Renae called out. “What do we do?!”

“Maybe it’s not to high,” he theorized. “Paddle backward,” he instructed her. “We need to try to slow down!” They were shouting now, as the sound of the waterfall was getting louder as they neared.

They paddled backward, against the natural flow of the river, fighting against the flow to try to slow down. The closer they got, the harder they had to work their aching muscles to force their watercraft to slow down.

As they fought they watched the tip of the canoe proceed toward the edge of the drop off. Ryan saw first how far they’d fall, and he shouted, “HOLD YOUR BREATH!” And suddenly, against their will, the canoe tipped and gravity took over. They tumbled over the edge, Renae held her breath as instructed, lost her grip on the paddle, and closed her eyes.

Unable to watch her decent she was unsure how far she fell when she felt herself hit the surface of the water at the base of the fall. She sank like a rock into the river and felt a sharp pain as the whole right side of her body slammed into the river bed, causing her to release her breath. She gained her footing under water and pushed herself up to the surface.

When she felt air on her face, she took a deep breath, then began frantically searching the surface for signs of her husband. Having difficulty staying afloat in the quickly moving river, she looked for the nearest riverbank and swam across. Crawling out of the water and stumbling onto the bank, she stopped long enough to catch her breath, then began her search again.

Renae looked around the river, called his name, walked the bank along the rushing river, but saw no sign of Ryan. Afraid for his life, soaked to the bone, and alone, she began to shiver. There was no sign of her husband, no sign of where his family might of gone, she was alone, and she had no idea where along the river she was. She had no phone, so no way of contacting anyone, or finding her way out.

She fell to the soggy, rocky river bank, tears beginning to form in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her shivering body, and began, unconsciously, to rock. Then suddenly she stopped. “Wait.” She said, to no one in particular.

“I’ve dealt with every kind of angry customer there is.” She told herself. “I’ve counted thousands of dollars of someone else’s money and was strong enough to not want to take any.” She stated to the trees. “I’ve fought with management, disrespectful cashiers, I’ve managed the front end on Black Friday,” she paused. “I’ve put up with my husband for a while now!” She stood herself up and threw off the sopping life jacket. “I got this!”

Pep talk over, she stood silent to think. “All I have to do is follow the river.” She paused. “Maybe Ryan made it, went on and found a his way out. All I have to do is follow the river and I’ll find my way out.”

She turned to walk in the direction the river flowed, but turned to look back, searching the surface, the opposite bank, for signs of her Ryan or the canoe. She saw nothing, but was still afraid that she might leave him behind.

“Would he move on without me?” She asked herself. “Or would he get to safety so he could find help?”

“No! I refuse to believe something bad happened to him.” She paused, “besides going on this STUPID TRIP!” She turned and started walking.

After a half an hour in the heat of the summer day, her clothes were completely dry and she was no longer shivering but sweating instead. She fanned herself with her hand, wishing a breeze would blow in off the river to cool her. Stopping to catch her breath, she looked into the sky, and saw that the sun was beginning to set. Soon it would be dark, and she would likely not be able to see the river. “I’ll have to stop, and find a place to rest.” Trying not to get nervous about being stuck in the woods alone, overnight, she turned to venture into the woods, away from the river, searching for a safe place it rest.

Being sure to keep her back to the river—in order to find it easier come morning—she walked a few yards away from the river, soon finding a fallen tree with bushes growing around it. It appeared to be as good a place as any to rest, hoping the bushes would be good cover, with the log as a good place to lean. She sat facing the river, she could see the light of the setting sun glinting off its bubbling reflective surface.

It seemed to very quickly grow dark, once Renae had found her resting place. It became hard to see the river, with no light reflecting off its surface—the sun had set below the tree line. And with the growing darkness came the sounds of nighttime creatures waking up to venture out for food. She’d spent time outdoors before, had even gone camping. But she’d never been alone, and never in unfamiliar woods. What lay in the dark, waiting for her to let her guard down? What creatures of the night would walk, stalk, or slither into her path, into her hiding place? Renae pushed the thought aside and tried to focus on the morning and what would come.

Determined to stay awake and alert, she tried to think of something that would distract her. Something that wouldn’t stress her or upset her, but take her mind off the situation at hand. For the first time in her life, no songs were stuck in her head. She couldn’t remember the plot of the last episode of her favorite show she’d watched. The only thing that came to mind was, “I wonder how busy it is at work right now?” She’d agreed to the trip to get away from work. But here she was stuck in the woods after nearly drowning wondering what was happening there.

Though annoyed that all she could think of was work, doing so was a much more soothing idea than focusing on the ever encroaching darkness and the mysteries it would bring to her. After a moment she pulled her legs in close, wrapped her arms around her knees and bundled herself against the fallen log, stealing herself against what lay in the dark.

Despite herself, and the effort she’d made to stay awake, the stress of the day, the fear she’d felt, and the anxiety of the unknown began to wear in her. She felt herself nodding off, unable to keep her eyes open. Laying her head back against the log, she looked up, for the first time since before the sun had set, and there she saw the stars. Bright and shining in the night.

Renae wondered about them, pondering how far away they might be, how long it took their light to reach her eyes. Without realizing, she’d lulled herself into a doze, unburdened and unaware of her surroundings.

That was until a distant howling startled her awake. It cut off before she’d fully awoken, before she remembered where she was. She didn’t know whether it was near or far. She waited for a second howl, hoping it was further than her frightened mind was telling her.

The second howl came, piercing and desperate in the night, scarier in the darkness, even more so because it sounded so near.

“Please God, please.” She prayed in silence. “Please let me survive the night!” Tears threatened to slip free, but she blinked them back. “Now was not a time to cry”, she told herself. She tried to steady her breathing, stay perfectly still and silent, calm her racing heart and mind.

With no watch to tell the time, no flashlight to see, she had no way of knowing how long she had until daylight. No way of knowing if help was on the way, or which direction to move, she knew she had to stay where she was despite what might lurk in the night. She had better chances of finding her way out of help when the sun was up. But how much longer would she have to wait?

Renae began to feel beside her, quietly and calmly. Patting the ground where she sat, along the fallen long. She finally stopped, finding what she was looking for, or as close too it as she could manage, without walking away. A small rock, about the size of her palm. It had a point, not very sharp, but useful in need. She wrapped her fingers around it, with the point out, imagining herself slugging some wild vicious animal over the head. Or Ryan, if he’d lived and not come looking for her.

With some sense of security, she laid her head back once more, clinging tightly to the rock, and closed her eyes.

Her sleep was fitful and frustrating. It seemed every time she’d doze off, some noise—a hooting owl, rustling leaves, a broken branch—startled her awake. She raise and brandish the rock, as if it’s scare her would be attacker off. She’d look into the darkness, see nothing, then close her eyes once more.

Finally, after what seemed like a millennia, she woke once more, startled buy something, only to find the still dim light of a rising sun, resting on a doe, a few yards away from where Renae sat. She watched the deer nibble on some grass for some time before she realized it was finally daylight.

With a sigh of relief, she pulled herself up off the ground, legs and back and neck stiffer than she’d ever felt. She looked directly forward, and saw the shimmering water of the river. She was both relieved and dismayed, knowing she’d once again have to be at its side.

Walking walking, always walking. She moved along the river’s path following the trail it had cut for itself over centuries of flow. The sun beat down on her head just as it had the day before. After hours of travel she wondered if she’d ever find the river’s end and civilization.

Though growing weary and tired she continued on, enduring the heat and frustration as she made her way, step by step. She dodged trees and thorny bramble as she picked her way along the sandy banks, broken rocks, and crumbling dirt. More than a few times, she miss stepped, plunging ankle deep in the surprisingly cold waters.

She soon grew hungry, no longer able to distract herself from her growling stomach. Weary worn mind and body began to grow heavy and weak, eventually pulling her down into a slump, at the base of a long dead, though still standing tree.

“I’ll stop here,” Renae told herself. “I’ll read a while, then try to find some food.” She gazed at the river, angry at the beauty of its glistening flowing waters. She knew there were fish there, lurking beneath the surface. But she had nothing with which to catch them. She had nothing at all. When she realized she was glaring at a river she thought, “I must be going crazy.” She told herself, looking into the sky, away from the water. “It’s just a river, it can’t be blamed for my situation.”

“But who could?” She thought.

That’s when she heard it. At first she thought she really was going nuts. There was no way she could hear voices. Unless the devious river was babbling through its rapid rush. But she stopped thinking, and listened.

It want just voices she heard. Dogs were barking, the sound of an engine starting. And the oh-so-familiar sound of a Walkie, with a rattling voice speaking commands.

At first she shook her head, disbelief clouding her confused mind. “It couldn’t be.” When the glorious sounds of civilization didn’t retreat into the fog of her brain, she burst into tears of relief, so overcome with happiness she could only cry.

The tears continued to flow, though she was finally able to summon the strength to stand. She pulled herself up with the aid of a tree, swaying as her tired legs regained feeling. Once upright, she slowly made her way to salvation, safety, and, hopefully, food. Ignoring the river now, focusing only on the noise of rescue, she pushed herself forward. “You’ve made it Renae.” She told herself. “It’s almost over.”

When she finally made it out of the trees into what appeared to be a parking lot at a ranger’s station, she called out, as loud as her tired aching body could stand. The effort took her last ounce of strength and she fell to her knees.

People swarmed around her with questions, checking her vitals, offering her water. They helped her into a stretcher, and she was about to be loaded onto an ambulance.

“Where is my husband? Did he make it?” She asked in a strained whisper.

“I’m here!” She heard him call out. He pushed his way through the crowd to her side.

She turned her head slowly to look at him. Then, in a blink of an eye, with energy field by rage, she began to hit him over in over. Ryan help his arms up to shield himself from her blows as she shouted at him. “You’re here?! Of course you are! Why didn’t you look for me?! Where have you been?! Do you know what I’ve been through?!”

She stopped the spousal abuse, sighed tiredly, then fell back on the stretcher once more.

“Well okay. We won’t go canoeing on the river again, then.”

“You bet your skinny tail we won’t.” She said under her breath. “I’d rather be at Walmart.”

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Rewrite

01 Saturday Aug 2015

Posted by crashdlanding in Black Friday: A Zombie Story, My Writing, Non-Fiction, On Writing

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black friday, Black friday a zombie story, favorite fiction, rewrite

“Black Friday: A Zombie Story” is, of everything I’ve ever written, my favorite thing. It makes me laugh, it makes me sad. There’s suspense, there’s action. There are people from my life in it, and it reflects aspects of my life. It was also quite popular with my coworkers. 

I love it, to say the least. 

But just about the only thing I didn’t like about it was the way I chose to end it. Technically there were three endings. The original, the one I went with, and the alternate. 

The original is lost forever to the alternate domination known as “deletopia”. I don’t even remember it. The one that I put at the end as the final chapter was idiotic, and the alternate was me trying to feel better about it. 

The reality is that I didn’t want to end it. I enjoyed almost every single moment of writing it, I enjoyed even more the attention–however limited–it received. I have actually sold a few copies in Amazon, a few of which I cannot account for from friends. But I had to end it, and end it I did. 

I just ain’t happy. 

So, with the current republishing process I’m taking BF:AZS through, I planned on rewriting the ending to better reflect the story, the changes (though none to plot) and the possible future. 

But I’m having an insanely difficult time doing it. AGAIN. 

I have had so many ideas for the ending, but when I sit down to write it, I draw a blank. It also doesn’t help that I’m afraid my current fans–those who read the original ending–won’t like it. 

But, in order for me to get back at writing completion of this project is important. I have a schedule to keep (I thought it’d help me get done, but I’d forgotten about the ending). I’ve fallen behind twice. 

So, hopefully by or before actual “Black Friday 2015” I’ll have a new version of “Black Friday: A Zombie Story” available. 

And maybe there’ll be a part two 😉

-c

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Coming Soon to Wattpad!

21 Saturday Mar 2015

Posted by crashdlanding in My Writing

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coming soon, fiction, handy manny, rewrite

I’ve started planning (contempating) a story idea I’ve decided to share on Wattpad. 

As a new parent, I watch a lot more children’s programming than I used to. Even though my three month old is still too small to comprehend or demand to watch the shows, she happens to be much calmer when she sees all the pretty colors. The sudden abundance of cutesy ridiulousness in my living room has led the writer in me to want to tell my own version of these characters and their shows,

My current victim… *ahem* … endeavor? HANDY MANNY.

Yes, Handy Manny and the residents of Sheetrock Hills (I did some research) are about to have a whole different problem that needs fixin’! Is Handy Manny the right man for the job? 

We shall see…

-c

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Very Short Fictions

24 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by crashdlanding in Fiction, My Writing, Non-Fiction

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facebook, fiction, very short fictions, writing

A few nights ago, amidst waiting for tiny human to sleep soundly, I made a rash post on Facebook.

2015/01/img_0570.png

I fell asleep (finally) before i could watch the post for first like, so I instead assumed the first like was the person shown, which happened to be my sister. Anyway…

The task did its job, giving me a reason to write, and something to write about. However, it also backfired. What was meant to be a “Very Short Fiction” grew to be a fairly long, currently unfinished fiction. I do plan on completing it, eventually. I have gone back to work, and my time is now divided between tiny human and my place of employment.

I am off work tomorrow, and its also a Saturday, so I’ll try and finish it then! Until then, here’s some reading.

Very Short Fiction: Jennifer and The House

Curiosity. That was the soul reason why she agreed to housesit. She liked scary movies, she kept telling herself, so this should be no big deal. But then those were movies. This, on the other hand, was something else entirely.

The house had stood in the neighborhood for as long as Jennifer Wilson could remember. During her childhood its grounds had been the setting for many nightmares. When she passed by it, she was always afraid to look too long. Now an adult, it was just an interesting, if not foreboding, presence. She had often found herself wondering about it’s past.

For decades it had stood empty. Even the neighborhood strays tended to avoid the property. Children were scared of it, teenaged boys with nothing better to do than make mischief dared each other to enter, despite or in spite of the “NO TRESPASSING signs. But just a few months before, a mysterious stranger came to town bearing proof of ownership of the house and the land it stood on. Within weeks, a ad was placed in the local newspaper for a caretaker.

The ad simply requested that someone stay in the home to discourage trespassers and such. It required that the hired help stay overnight in the house, but come daylight, the individual was free too leave. The contract also stated, “No guests after dark.” Jennifer thought that somehow, there wouldn’t be a problem with that.

She didn’t tell anyone when she inquired about the position, she told only a few when she actually applied. She only told her immediate family that she’d gotten the job. Her mother didn’t like the idea, and made sure her daughter promised to keep her cell on her person and turned on at all times.

This was her first night in the place. Inside it seemed more well kept than she’d imagined, and aside from being a little drafty, it was fine. And, you know, the creepy part.

It wasn’t quite dark yet, the sun was still lingering above the horizon, and the red orange glow of late afternoon oozed in through the dust window panes. The owner’s representative, whom she’d met a few days prior to get the keys, had said she need do nothing to the house but sit inside it. But Jennifer was now wishing she had some glass cleaner and some paper towels. Or maybe some industrial strength cleaner and a scraper.

Giving herself a tour of the massive estate, Jennifer quickly realized that she should have left a trail of bread crumbs to find her way back to the front door. The house was indeed as huge as it appeared, and it seemed to have had additions upon additions when it was still being lived in.

She’d started by heading upstairs, finding massive suites. These bedrooms had sitting rooms in their sitting rooms. Jennifer counted at least four of the suites, and hadn’t reached the back of the house yet.

Turning a corner twenty minutes and what felt like two miles into her tour, she found a second staircase, leading back down and up. Deciding it was time to see what’s downstairs on this branch of the house, she turned toward the steps leading that way, when she heard a creak. She stopped in her tracks, telling herself it had likely been her. Looking behind her, she saw nothing, and went back to her chosen path. But instead of continuing on, she took a deep breath and turned to look up the stairs to the third floor.

As she turned her head, and just as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness that shrouded the top of the stairs she thought she saw something move.

Logic would tell some people to just turn around, go back downstairs where there was light and where your mind would not play tricks on you. Curiosity would tell other people to wonder. Straight up madness tells a few others to actually investigate. Decades of scary movies should have told Jennifer Wilson, “this is where the killer jumps out at you with a machete”.

But decades of scary movies have desensitized Jennifer. She pulled out her handy-dandy cell phone and turned on the flashlight function. Pointing it to the stairs, she shined the light up the staircase and swept it around the area.

“Well, couldn’t have seen anything,” she thought. “It’s just a closed door.” A this point, any other person would have turned around and gone back downstairs. Jennifer is not any other person. Jennifer is curious.

The steps leading up to the door creaked, the same creak she’d heard moments before. Pushing this thought aside, she stepped up to the landing, and reached for the knob of the door, and turned it. The door wouldn’t open. “Must be locked.” Looking at the knob, it seemed to have an old fashioned skeleton key lock. She thought of turning around and heading downstairs, she was beginning to get hungry, and she was sure her mysterious boss wouldn’t appreciate a snooping stranger.

But instead of heading down, she tried the knob once more. “It’s probably just the attic,” she tried to tell herself, tried to convince herself to turn right around and give up. “It’s locked for a reason.” After another try, getting frustrated, she said, “Fine!” aloud, and turned around.

The set of stairs she took led her to another door, this time not locked, that opened into a pantry, servants stairs, she assumed. The pantry led her into the kitchen, which she’d seen earlier. She had placed a bag of food her mother had sent her with in the retro refrigerator earlier that afternoon. This is what she grabbed when she entered the kitchen.

She spread out a cloth on the dusty table and put together her meal, which consisted of vegetables and dip, sandwiches and chips. No way to heat anything in the house yet. As she hate, she contemplated the door. She had a friend who collected skeleton keys for some reason. If she had the right one…

”Don’t be ridiculous,” she told herself. “It’s just a door.” A closed door, closed to her. I a big empty house that hasn’t been lived in for as long as she could remember, at least. She really wanted to know what was up there. She continued to eat, barely registering the food she put in her mouth, thinking about that door.

When she finished she quickly threw her leftovers back in the bag and tossed them in the fridge. Then she began to rifle through the drawers. Trying to ignore how silly it seemed to be that anyone would just throw a key to a locked door in a drawer in the kitchen, she looked though each drawer, coming across cooking utensils, candles and matches, a few rodent droppings and some dried out cockroach carcasses. Before she opened the final drawer, she told herself, “If I don’t find what I’m looking for in here, I’ll stop.” She sighed, as if to psych herself for defeat, and pulled on the drawer handle.

The face of the drawer came with the handle, just not the rest of the drawer, she reached in, slid the rest of the drawer out, and searched though the few objects that had been left in what appeared to have been a junk drawer that had seen better days.

Amidst the old bottle caps, empty glass vials, and what she hoped were lose seeds, there it was, a tiny, tarnished silver skeleton key. She held it up to the fading light from the kitchen window and resisted the urge to do a happy dance.

Moments later she was climbing the stairs once again. At the second floor landing, she turned on the cell phone flashlight, and shined it in the direction of her destination. This time, however, the light from the phone did not land on a door. It seemed to land on nothing. It reached as far as it could and gave up. She looked at the key in her hand and thought not how odd it was that the door had opened on its own, but instead how crazy she must have looked riffling through drawers.

She climbed the stairs once more, this time noticing how the didn’t creak as the had before. Still shining her light into the distance, she reached the landing where the door had once blocked her way.

To Be Continued

-c

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Coming Soon: Black Friday: A Ghost Story

09 Thursday Oct 2014

Posted by crashdlanding in My Writing, News

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Tags

black friday, Black Friday a Ghost Story, Black friday a zombie story, facebook, new story, news Battle to the Dress

Did you miss me? I missed you, yes I did!

Anywho.

While the idea of starting another story so very similar to my most popular piece, “Black Friday: A Zombie Story” seems a little redundant, the idea came to me at work, of course, and it hasn’t left my mind. Especially since I announced it to the world (my Facebook friends, i.e. the bulk of my fan-base). Everyone there seems to be very excited about it! And that makes me excited! Mostly because the reason I had fun writing the first one, was because of those who read it, and followed along on a weekly basis. They are the reason I had so much fun, and the reason why I want to write another.

So, hopefully beginning November 1st or thereabouts, I plan on posting a new page, weekly. They will be posted here, without fail (if I’ve gotten that week’s story page written). But I plan on making it difficult for those who chose to read it on Facebook.

With each new page, I will “require” “likes” in order to proceed on Facebook! I’m an evil genius I know. I use the term “genius” loosely, of course. The the required number of “likes” is reached, I will post the new page as a note on my author page “Crash Landing”. If the number isn’t reached, they’ll have to complete the complicated task of CLICKING A LINK TO MY BLOG. So difficult, I know. 😀

So, readers, be prepared! On or around Nov. 1st, the tale begins!

More info to come!

-c

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About “Sharpe”

09 Saturday Aug 2014

Posted by crashdlanding in Fiction, My Writing, Self Publishing, Unfinished Business

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Black friday a zombie story, Darkness, fiction, self-publishing, Sharpe, Unfinished Business

The Story of Sharpe: The Regret of a Lifetime

About two years ago (probably more), long before my rise to stardom (HA!) with the writing of “Black Friday: A Zombie Story“, I started working on a story I called “Sharpe”. Oddly the title came from me staring at my desk, and my eyes landing on my pencil cup, where sat a permanent marker of brand name. I swear. This was the title of the story, and the surname of the main character, “Erin Sharpe”.

Erin became a voice in my head for many months, as I carried around a tiny five star in which I wrote any ideas that came to mind. I still have every single notebook I used to write that story.

Erin Sharpe’s story is still unfinished.

Simply because I made the single biggest mistake (for me) that I now know I will never make again.

In my head I had a definitive, specific end to the story. I can still picture that end in my mind as I write this. (Ideas generally come to me in clips like movie trailers or television shows. I see what happens and simply put it into words. Simply. Ha!) The end that I pictured was so very Sharpe and so very perfect. The mistake, however, came when I decided to thoroughly and completely outline the remainder of the story.

For reference, I have written one legit-by-word-count-standards novel. It was a little NaNoWriMo masterpiece (HA!) called “Darkness“, weighing in at over 51,000 words, and it is currently available on Amazon. Black Friday (also available on Amazon)was just over 24,000 words. Sharpe, the single biggest disappointment of my writing “career” was over 23,000 words, and I had so much more story to tell.

Once I’d written out the remainder of the story in short form, I then preceded to take sections and detail them “so I could remember what I was going for”. It was almost 1300 words for JUST an outline of the final third of the story (well its a lot to me!), I was suddenly “burned out” on Sharpe and her tale. I remember telling myself, “I’ve gotten it all written down, I won’t forget. I’ll take a break, and then come back!”

Eventually I stopped carrying that notebook (the third or fourth notebook), then I started getting glimpses (or inklings as my “bestest” friend and fellow writer and I call them) of ideas for Black Friday. I then started on Black Friday. And then it became Facebook popular. And then I finished it. And then it was self-published. And then… and then… and then…

“Sharpe” is filled with “and thens”, at least the story of the story. I get sad when I think of it. Oh wait. I’ve not told you what it’s about yet. Sorry about that!

Wait. What’s it about?!

“Sharpe” is the tale of a woman called Erin Sharpe. On the road, running to, or from something unnamed, and weary of travel, she stops for rest and refreshment in a small town called (I have forgotten the name of the town. DANGIT. Hold on.) Samuel (once again, this name came from a cup, but a cup of Popsicle sticks I’d used while student teaching, to call on students, true story). In Samuel, while getting “refreshments” she meets a stranger, who quickly becomes an acquaintance by way of kindness, a friendly disposition, and a desire to talk. The complete opposite of Sharpe, he convinces her, against her better judgement, to spend the night in the tiny town of Samuel. 

Thus begins a new “chapter” of her life, one with emotions she’d never experienced, fears that seemed to drop away, a past she seems to slowly forget, and a future filled with possibilities that she’d never imagined before.

The story is punctuated by flashbacks and flash forwards of her life. Which is where it got confusing for readers and complicated for me to write. In the second “part” the story shifts to a whole new focus of her life, and personally I became quite confused in the process. And if the writer is confused, you can be darn sure the reader is going to be thinking, “Huh. Wait a minute.”

To finish or not to finish. This is the question.

Perhaps someday I will complete her tale. I have no bloody idea, honestly, if that will ever happen. I worked so hard on the story, and was so completely engrossed in it, that the idea of working on it, finishing it after so long away, seemed daunting and, quite frankly, scary.

If I did ever pick the pen back up (not only did I use a specific type of notebook, but a specific type of pen as well. I still have the last pen I used) and venture back into Samuel (and beyond) to finish Erin’s tale of WOAH, what i do have written already would possibly have to be rewritten. It would at least need a complete breakdown. Torn apart Part by Part. Maybe even whole lovingly written chapters tossed into the recycling bin on my desktop.

I do plan to evetually get SOME of the story up on Wattpad, where anyone who wants it can have access to the story, should they chose to read it. That way, she’ll do more than gather dust on my Important Jumpdrive.

The First Thousand (or so) Words of “Sharpe”

I have a page on my blog dedicated to the first 1,000 words of some of my favorite or most important stories I’ve writen, finished and unfinished. The first 1,000 of “Sharpe” (more like 1900) are available on the page. But here they are, in case you are like me and a little too lazy to go there.

[1] THE COWARD THING TO DO

I ran away. I know, it’s the coward thing to do. But I never said I was brave. They all thought I was. They were easily convinced.

            The road that took me out of town was dark, rough, and muddy from the torrential down pours as of late. “It’s going to be a wet summer in Samuel.” I thought out loud. Luckily I wouldn’t be there.

            I trudged along the dirt-turned-muddy road, umbrella in hand. The rainbow colored atrocity would have to be discarded, once I left monsoon country. What was I thinking when I bought it? Right. I wasn’t.

            Luckily Samuel was surrounded by nowhere. No one would see me swimming down this deserted road. It didn’t take me long to be grateful for the funds I’d procured, despite the manner in which I procured them. My shoes weren’t holding up well. My feet were frozen, the water, or mud, had soaked into my shoes. I could feel my toes squishing in muck.

            Of course, the act of thinking these strange, random thoughts were keeping me from thinking about why I was leaving Samuel. And what I was leaving behind.

            I’d never intended on staying. For God’s sake, I’d almost gotten married! What was I thinking? Oh, that’s right, once again, I wasn’t. They’d all made me forget who I really was, what I really was. He’d made me forget. And for a few blissful months, I’d enjoyed that kind of life.

            But now I was leaving it all behind on this muddy road, this side of Samuel.

[2]  ANDY NOT ANDREW

My keen observation skills allowed me to see that he’d noticed me from across the barroom. As hard as I tried to blend in—everywhere—it never worked. It was this blasted red hair. You can’t die the bloody mess anything but red; I’d tried, with disastrous results. It was like a giant red buoy in a great ocean storm: a beacon to wayward lonely sailors looking for something to hold on to.

            He didn’t know I could see him coming. Hell, it’d taken him fifteen minutes to get up the gumption to come over. I had hoped he wouldn’t. But he did.

            He braved the open sea of bodies packed in the barroom like sardines in a can. He was timid and polite for a tall blond of his, physic. It’s in my training to determine my ability to take down a potential opponent, if the need arose. This one, I could tell, would be difficult if it came right down to it.

            But once Andy—not Andrew—Hart reached me at the bar, I realized he wasn’t the type to hit a woman. Even if provoked. Timid for a tall man—6’4 at least, he cleared his throat three times before speaking. When he did finally say something, it was the least used pick-up line of all time.

            “Hello,” he said.

            Here we go, I thought. “Hello,” I replied. I took a gulp of my Jack. I’d been with other men of Jack’s “caliber”, but none of them had treated me the way Jack Daniels always had. My relationship with Jack was the only real relationship I had. And ours was a good one.

            Skipping the small talk as he gazed at me, he cut right to the chase. “I’m Andy.” He offered his hand.

            I looked at him, then the hand he’d extended toward me. “Hello, Andy.”

            “I’ve, uh, never seen you here before.”

            “Never been here before.”

            “Oh, that explains it then.”

            “Yep.”

            “What brings you to Samuel?”

            “Just passing through,” was all I offered.

            “Through Samuel?” He sounded surprised. “You must like the long road. Have to take back roads just to find us.”

            He hit the nail on the head. “This boy’s a carpenter.” I thought. Instead out loud I said, “It’s quiet, I like it that way.” What I neglected to mention was that it was necessary to take back roads.

            “This is true,” he said as he took the vacated stool beside me. “Nothing ever happens here.”

            “That will change if I stay long,” I didn’t tell him. “It’s nice that way,” I gave him.

            He chuckled. It was a pleasant sound, I rather liked it. I allowed myself a small smile. I never got to, never had a good reason. He was still smiling himself when he said, “Well, you don’t have to live here!” he smiled again, a smile that proved that he actually liked his small town, then he asked, “Where you from?”

            “Everywhere.” And nowhere, I thought but didn’t say. “Never stayed anywhere long enough to be from there.” Honest, more than I’d ever been before, at least, and especially, about my personal life, if that was what you could call it.

            “Oh. Army brat?” he asked me.

            “Sort of.” I began to realize that I was opening up. I need to close that Pandora’s box or something awful would happen.

            He sensed my evasiveness and dropped the subject. “How long are you going to be in Samuel?” he asked instead.

            “A few days.” What?! I planned on a few drinks, some food and then back to my car, and the road.

            “Oh,” he perked up, obviously pleasantly surprised. “That’s um, nice,” he said, his nervousness began to rear its ugly head again. “Maybe I could, well,” he paused, “show you around.”

            Against my better judgment and my typical behavior, I replied with a simple, “Sure.” This excited him, because he was smiling, grinning widely in fact, from ear to ear. It surprised me because I was giving this man hope that I would be here, and I didn’t plan on being here much longer. “Don’t be so happy,” I thought, “because this won’t be too good for you in the end.” I knew that though. He didn’t. Poor guy.

            “I didn’t catch your name,” he said.

            I smiled at his phrasing. “I didn’t throw it.” He smiled. “Erin. Erin Sharpe.” Of all the names I could have given—several—I gave him that one. This was going to be bad.

            “Andy Hart,” he offered his hand once more. This time I took it.

            After the customary shake, he held on for a while, looking at me intently. I tugged my hand, not enough to pull free of his gentle grasp, just enough to let him know he still had it. He cleared his throat, released my hand, and cleared his throat again. He glanced away, suddenly shy. I signaled the bartender for my third Jack. I hold my alcohol well.

 

            Over the next hour, I learned a lot about Andy Hart. One: he hated his first name. “Andrew. I only put it on official papers. And my tombstone.”

            “Why your tombstone? Why be not be buried as who you are—not some name you hate?” I asked seriously. I know how it feels to know you’ll be buried as someone you’re not.

            “I never thought of it that way.” He smiled again.

            Two: He doesn’t drink. He’d come with friends, and was their designated driver. They’d left moments before with another large group. I eyed my glass when he’d told me. I most definitely drink.

            “I just don’t see a reason for it,” he said solemnly.

            Three: He was truthful. “Lying to someone can’t get you far. It’s like diving without an oxygen tank. You won’t get very far, and you’ll have to come out of the water sooner or later.” I understood. The deep breath of a lie could only get you so far. Eventually you’ll have to either tell the truth or lie some more. Experienced firsthand by yours truly.  Every day of my life.

            Four: Andy Hart was open. ““Secrets don’t make friends.” My mom used to say. And why speak to someone if you don’t want them to know you? I have no secrets,” he informed me. I couldn’t say the same for myself.

           

            It was getting late, the bar was clearing out—the crowd I’d hope to get lost in, that failed, vacated the premises—and Andy offered to walk me, “wherever” he’d said.

            I let him walk me to the car. “Where are you staying while in Samuel?”

            “I hadn’t gotten a motel room yet.” I told him. “I was detained.” I said, half glaring half smiling at my escort.

            “Ha!” he barked. “Well,” he paused, running his hand through his hair, “you can stay with me.” He offered then looked away quickly.

            “I think I’ll manage.” I started to unlock my car door, thinking I’d be getting rid of him, and this town.

            “Now, I didn’t mean—” he stuttered. “I have a big house, it’s just me. Plenty of spare rooms, free of charge.

            Apparently the whiskey was stronger than I was used too. “Okay,” I agreed. “Where to?”

            “Oh, wow! I didn’t expect that. Okay,” he paused. “Luckily my buddies found another way home.” I hadn’t paid much attention at the time, so I hadn’t really noticed that. “Just follow me,” he said. “You are okay to drive?”

            “Yes.” I’d driven under worse conditions. Physical injuries had been involved. My fondness for whiskey could be blamed on that.

            “Okay,” he said. “Follow me.”

 

Thanks for Reading!

-c

 

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Image

I’m no artist…

12 Thursday Jun 2014

Tags

art, cover, Darkness, self-publishing

… But this is the closest I’ve come to representing the image I’d like for the “Darkness” cover. 20140612-001620-980541.jpg

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Posted by crashdlanding | Filed under Arts & Crafts, Fiction, My Writing

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