Almost, Well It Is Getting Close

 

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ALMOST HALLOWEEN

It's nearly time

For those tricks

or  treats

a chocolate

or blood feast

it's yours to choose

on my blog

you'll never lose

when you celebrate

the evil within

remember, it's all in fun

a hilarious pun

a poem to scare

the effort is there

but truly, dear heart

my goal is to amuse

make you think

inspire your muse

Halloween is about fun

a great celebration

to ease the stress

as life itself

is sometimes

a pure horror fest!

***

Yolanda Renee © 2023

JOIN US ON OCTOBER 18 – 20

FOR ALL YOUR

HALLOWEEN FUN

SEE YOU THERE!

IT'S NEVER TOO EARLY

 

for another 

WEP Challenge?

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preparing,

writing,

& submitting?

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PLEASE JOIN US IN OCTOBER

FOR

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

Photo by Gwen King on Unsplash

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

The phantom is not a proper specter

but also not Hannibal Lector

a small deformity

he refuses conformity

and wears a mask

determined in his task

haunting like a ghost

the opera hosts

with horrific taunts

but love is his desire

a beautiful singer

he wants to acquire

but a debonair man

who isn't a fan

has other plans

and the phantom

is headed for a fall

his chosen paramour

is frightened but brave

eventually, she wins the day

the phantom though

he has to go!

***

MUAHAHAHAHA!

Yolanda Renée © 2023

***

IT'S AS EASY AS THAT!

JOIN US ON OCTOBER 18 – 20

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WEP CHALLENGE

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STAY TUNED RIGHT HERE

FOR NOTHING BUT

HALLOWEEN FUN!

And that's a promise!

WEP - Chocolat

Copyright

 

CHOCOLATE

         Sarah sighed heavily and drew an X across the small box showing March 31^st in her calendar. Twenty-four days since the plane crash. Twenty-four days of cold and bitter winds. Even with clean water and the fish caught in the lake, her appetite was lacking, and Chet's insistence that he had to return to the plane left her fearful and sleepless. Add erratic hormones, fear, dwindling supplies, and a woman searching for but failing to find hope, and you have an emotional catastrophe waiting to happen.

Recognizing the signs of a self-indulgent pity party, she closed the calendar. She said a prayer of thanksgiving for the miracle of survival and closed with her favorite chant. "Oh God, My God, thy Name is my healing." Trying to be grateful but anxious and scared, she did her best to meditate but couldn't find the peace she desired.

The sketchbook beside her caught her attention, and she gazed at the drawing she'd completed upon waking. The picture was of a hungry wolf pack. Angry, howling, salivating mouths dripping with the blood of their latest kill. Sarah shut the book and shivered. The nightmare had awakened her, and she'd drawn it, but now it was an hour till dawn, and Chet would rise soon. He slept peacefully a few feet away from her. Her dreams had been about him and his alarming plans. She cuddled in her sleeping bag and waited for him to awaken.

An hour later, he did.

Sarah pretended to be asleep as Chet rolled up his sleeping bag and moved about the cave getting things ready for his trip. Realizing she was being foolish, she greeted him. "Want breakfast?"

"Good morning Sarah, no. I'll wait for lunchtime," he said as he dressed for his trip. "Rescue will be any day now, you'll see," he said, doubling his socks and putting his boots on. "I just want to clear the snow off the main cabin so they can see the plane from the sky. Then I'll light a signal fire using the plane's tires. Black smoke is sure to get someone's attention. I'll use the metal and other debris to create an arrow to show them we're well and waiting. I promise the rescuers will be here before you even have time to miss me," he said without a break.

She watched him closely. Was he trying to convince her or himself?

Sarah tried to smile but was unsuccessful. "Just please, please be careful. I'm worried."

"I know, and I will. I promise. I have to do this. The weather is clearing, and they're looking for the plane. We've been socked in down here but heard them above us, so the top of the mountain must be clear. I have to go to make finding us an easier task." Chet assured her.

"I understand," Sarah said as she stood. "I just wish I were going with you." She wrapped her woolen scarf around his neck.

"Thanks." Chet buried his nose in it and breathed deeply. "It has your perfume on it. It'll be my inspiration," Chet said with a smile. "And I have a special surprise for you." He pulled a package from his pack. "I've been saving it for just this occasion." He handed a small parcel to her.

"Really," she said as she tore the brown paper bag wrapping. Inside was a dark chocolate Hershey bar. Sarah smiled in delight. "Chocolate! My word, how wonderful. Thank you," she said as she hugged him and kissed his cheek.

"I held it back just for that reaction," Chet said. His smile was just as bright as Sarah's. "Fish is getting monotonous, but this should add a bit of delight to your day."

"Oh, it will. Thank you. I'll save some for your return meal. We'll celebrate together."

Chet laughed. "Enjoy all of it. Besides, I'll have the rescuers with me. There won't be time for a meal. Enjoy it while you wait. Once off this blasted mountain, we'll celebrate with champagne and chocolate eclairs. How's that sound?"

"Wonderful," she said and hugged him again. Except she felt like crying instead of laughing. But for him, she held her tears in check. Despite all his assurances, she was beyond worried.

Unsure she was being ridiculous or an overly emotional pregnant lady, she kept her fear to herself. He'd heard the wolf's cry, just as she had, but since he had the shotgun, his mind was made up. Rescue depended on letting the rescuers know where they were, he said repeatedly, and she knew he was right. But fear is the thief of hope, and she had a bad case. Still, she shook it off. She didn't want him to leave with worry for her on his mind.

Chet grabbed his backpack and snowshoes. He surveyed the cavern. "I hate to take the tent," he said, hesitating as if rethinking his decision. The tent had been her private room. A space for her to be alone and feel safe.

"Don't. I'm fine in here without it. You'll need it more than I will. Did you take enough dried fish?" She asked, even though she'd packed it the night before.

Chet smiled. "I did. You just be careful outside, okay?"

Sarah nodded. "You too."

All words spoken. Chet turned to the cave entrance.

Sarah grabbed her crutch, which Chet had carved for her on their first night in the cave. She followed him to the mouth of the cavern and watched as he walked to the rope hanging from the rocks above. He hesitated, turned for one last look at the frozen waterfall, then he waved, and she returned the gesture. Chet deftly climbed the cliff to the path that led to the plane. In a flash, he was gone, and she was alone.

Shivering uncontrollably, she looked at the bar of dark chocolate in her hand and sobbed like a child.

~ ***~

988 words

Yolanda Renée © 2023

Tagline: Solace is found in the simplest gesture.

This is another excerpt from the 7^th book of my Alaskan Series, Murder on Mount Fairweather, coming out December 2023. 

I must credit the WEP prompts for inspiring my writing this year. I've failed most of my writing goals for 2023, but because of the WEP, I keep plugging away.

PLEASE JOIN US 

ADD YOUR CHOCOLAT STORY BELOW!

XXX

Sturgeon Moon

Yolanda Renée Stout © 2023

MY LOVE

You're just like the moon

one night full of desire

giving everything

asking nothing

fully open.

But quickly disappearing

dark, foreboding

no word

no light

no love.

Appearing in phases

giving just a little

just enough

making desire stronger

my weakness full.

Then once again you appear

in full glory

and I surrender

completely lost

in your light.

***

July 24, 2023

a new day

a new opportunity

time for dreams to come true

believe in you!

ARE YOU READY?

 

for the next 

WEP Challenge?

Wondering how to go about

preparing,

writing,

& submitting?

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PLEASE JOIN US IN AUGUST

FOR

CHOCOLAT

Photo by Sara Cervera on Unsplash

CHOCOLAT

 a symbol of love

sent from above

the darker the better

a true love letter

love's calling card

a symphonic bard

sweet desire

the world

set a fire

the number one gift

on any holiday list

satisfaction so pure

love for sure

an addiction so sweet

it raises the heat

even war

couldn't defeat

man's desire

for this little treat.

***

YRS © 2023

***

IT'S AS EASY AS THAT!

XXX XXX

Friday Fictioneers - Deadlines

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

DEADLINES

Sipping tea, Angela stared out at the dark blue sky. The lights of the city flickered in the distance. Not stars. There were never any stars. Oh, how she longed for the country and the true night sky with the Milky Way trailing a path through the cosmos. Inspiring romance and adventure.

Or did she desire the cloudy night that created a blackness so thick it penetrated the soul? Encouraging evil. Inviting terror. Warping the mind and inciting hellish nightmares.

She smiled, shook off the melancholy, and finished her tea. Dawn was an hour away, and her deadline was noon.

***

100 words

Yolanda Renee © 2023

Because I needed the practice.

You can join in on the fun too.

VIA

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

GROWING OLDER IS INEVITABLE. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL.

Friday Fictioneers 23 June 2023

 Add your talent and link HERE:

WEP - CLOSE ENCOUNTER

Photo by Alexander Jawfox on Unsplash

STRANGE BLUE LIGHTS

Sarah listened to the wind, but the howl she heard was more animal than weather related. She wanted to ask Chet but didn't want to wake him. Shivering despite the warmth of her down-filled parka and the extra blankets, Sarah felt the breeze on her face. She covered all but her eyes and finally succumbed to the call of dreamland.

Chet also listened to the winds whipping around the mountaintop and their tiny shelter. His worries grew with each gale as he recognized the distinct cry of the wolf. But exhaustion took hold despite his concern, and he also yielded to the sandman.

Sarah was awake three hours later. Her broken leg was causing severe discomfort. She wanted to shift position, but any movement of her body worsened the pain. Then she felt a deep vibration like a deep-ground earthquake. It lasted less than a minute, but an odd, eerie blue light immediately appeared outside the plane's ice-covered windows. It grew brighter as it moved closer. So bright she had to squint. She wanted badly to sit up, but that was when she noticed a tall man standing over her. She tried to scream but couldn't.

How could she warn Chet? She was mute and frozen in place. The alien's eyes locked on hers. Large and diamond-shaped with a cobalt blue pupil, the iris was that same brilliant azure color of the light surrounding him. Even the sclera was a pale blue, or was it just a reflection? While he held her gaze, she noted his height as seven feet or eight. It was hard to tell as she was so low to the floor. And his skin, a dark gray, almost black. Was he wearing a body suit? If so, it was skintight and showed well-defined muscles and washboard abs. But like a Ken doll, he had no genitalia, and his legs were just as muscular as his upper torso. No hair, no nose or mouth. Long fingers, ten digits, but not human, clearly not human, she thought.

But his eyes held her, large, probing, hypnotic. Is this a dream? I'm awake? Is he a rescuer? Why can't I move? Panic rose as Sarah watched the tall, perfectly formed creature walk away. No! Please don't leave!

Once the creature was gone, Chet stirred and immediately jumped to his feet, grabbed the shotgun, and shouted, "Wait," as he disappeared into the blue light.

Sarah could finally move, but immobile, she felt helpless and frightened beyond words. She placed her hand on her womb, "It's all right, little one. It's going to be all right. I promise."

Outside, Chet stood uncomprehending what was happening. He saw no one, not even tracks, in the fresh snowfall. But he did hear a loud whoosh as the air and snow around him flew straight up from the ground, covering the area in a white fog. Then it grew quiet. No sound, not even wind. Chet looked to the sky, and a flash of lights ascended into the clouds. Was it real?

He rushed back inside. Seeing the fear in Sarah's eyes told him it was, but it also calmed his nerves. He switched on the LED lamps and stirred the fire. "It's a good thing Steve had all the furniture crafted of burnable material and ordered fire logs as part of your safety equipment. Still, in these storms, we'll go through it fast. It's critical that we get below the tree line where we'll have ample firewood for these cold nights. "Sorry, I don't mean to ramble. What do you say, since we're both awake? A cup of cocoa?" he asked in a surprisingly cheerful voice.

"Yes, please," Sarah whispered. Watching him closely, she wondered why he didn't mention the strange man and the blue lights.

After melting snow in a pot over the fire, she watched him prepare the concoction, adding the powdery cocoa mixture and marshmallows to each cup.

"It's hard to believe we're stranded on a mountaintop, but we have marshmallows for hot chocolate," he said as he handed her a mug.

"Amazing that we have cocoa," she said, still shocked by his response to what had just happened. She watched the white mellows melt, blew on the concoction, and took a small sip. "Perfect. Thank you," she said, her eyes full of questions.

He sat down on the floor beside her. "I'm sorry I woke you. I just wanted to check the storm."

"You saw him, right?" She barely whispered as she clutched her hot chocolate in both hands—"the blue lights. I thought we were rescued, but I couldn't move. Not until he quit looking at me?"

Chet forced a smile. "A dream. A shame too. Rescue would be wonderful. But now I'm doubly sorry you woke up that way." He lied because he knew better. He saw the man, the blue lights, and those haunting eyes, and he, too, couldn't move until the gaze was broken. But denying it as a nightmare was the only way for the unexplainable to remain unspoken. He preferred it to be a shared nightmare rather than reality because they already had too many worries.

"You're shivering. I might be able to find another parka," Chet said.

"No, I'm fine. The chocolate will warm me up from the inside," Sarah said and tried to give him her best smile, but on the inside, she was screaming. Who was that? It wasn't human. Oh, God, it wasn't human.

They drank their cocoa in silence and despite the necessity of conserving battery life. Chet left the LED lanterns on all night.

~~*~~

936 Words

Yolanda Renée © 2023

Tagline: Even witnessed phenomenon is not proof.

This is an excerpt from the 7^th book of my Alaskan Series, Murder on Mount Fairweather, coming out December 2023. The first night after their plane crashes, this encounter occurs. At this point, I've not decided whether it makes the book, but it was fun to write.

XXX

Close Encounters - A WEP Challenge

 

Are you ready for the next 

WEP Challenge?

Wondering how to go about

preparing

writing

submitting?

Photo by Dare Artworks on Unsplash

Then Go HERE!

For all the details!

https://writeeditpublishnow.blogspot.com/p/challenges-2023.html 

Photo by Matej Pribanic on Unsplash

Close Encounters

Our next challenge prompt

are you ready to share

give us a scare

a connection made

don't be afraid

whether love or hate

you have an open slate

friendship or enemy

emotion or entity

with or without a sci-fi slant

don't dare say you can't

it's all up to you

as imagination's your brew

so until the 21^st

I bid you adieu

now get to work

prizes are the perk!

***

YRS © 2023

XXX XXX

Judging - Is it Subjective, Thoughtful, Arbitrary or Fair?

When submitting your work to a contest, it's always interesting to see and understand the reason for rejection. But, judging, how fair is it? 

I thought you'd enjoy an example of the procedure and outcome. I leave it to you to decide.

This is my latest submission to a WOW flash fiction contest. 750 words maximum. $10 entry fee and an extra $10 fee for critique.

This is the critique, I recieved.

Photo by Yash Prajapati on Unsplash 

Full Moon Confessions

Detective Cypress watched his prey with interest. The man sat quietly, staring straight at him. "Creepy," he said to the Sergeant in charge. "It's as though he's looking through plain glass. Why hasn't he been stripped of those clothes?"

Sergeant Jones answered, "Forensics will be here any minute. They have his overcoat, plenty of blood on it."

"Good. What else?"

"Bastard claims his name is J. T. Ripper, as in Jack the Ripper." Jones handed Cypress a file and an evidence bag with a cell phone in it. "Happy Halloween, Cy." He chuckled before giving a summary of his findings. "Fingerprints, DNA, name, not in the system, but they do match all the evidence we've collected from the crime scenes. Claims he's one-hundred-forty years old."

"Why not? It's about the age the real Jack the Ripper would be," Cypress said thoughtfully as he turned on the phone. [DR1

Jones gave him an odd look but ignored the remark. "Well, it beats anything I've ever seen. He denies everything, which doesn't make sense because we caught him red-handed. Literally. The man was holding his last victim's heart in his hands when we arrived on the scene."

"Unbelievable."  [DR2]

"It's a full moon and Halloween. They don't come crazier."

"Time to get his story." Cypress made the sign of the cross. [DR3] Then he entered the interrogation room. 

Before sitting, Cypress opened the file and deliberately laid out the picture of each victim while staring into the black abyss that was the man's eyes. Eyes that didn't blink until the man smiled.

Cypress sat, leaned back, and folded his arms.

“The Master Interrogator. You've done your homework," the man in black said.

"Dotted all the I's and crossed all the T's. So, J. T. Ripper. What's your story?"

"Jack. Please, call me Jack. How should I address you?"

"I kind of liked Master Interrogator, but Detective Cypress will work too."

"A detective with a sense of humor. Don't find that very often." Jack held out his left hand because his right hand was cuffed to the table.

Cypress shook the man's hand. Surprised at the strength it held. "Serves me well. So, Jack, what motivates you?"

"Gets straight to the point. I like that too." Jack said and sat up straight. "Well, Detective, it's all about the fog."

"The fog?" Cypress said, his curiosity piqued. "Please, explain."

"Simple, it's my inspiration. Has been since I was young. I've seen all the 'fog' movies and watched gleefully as the victims paid for their audacity. Slashers, horrendous creatures, and hideous bugs have all hidden their evil in the obscurity of a foggy night. But that's moviemaking. The scarier, the better. A walk into the thick mist is super energizing."

"How so?"

"It allows me to disappear, lurk, stalk, and, yes, kill with delicious precision. I bet you thought I was going to talk about how I enjoy being swallowed by nature. How I become part of the mist and relish the invisibility. Well, that's all true, but for me, it's all about the victim."

"So, you admit all these women were your victims?"

"Of course, why would I deny it? I mean with today's science. It'd just be a waste of your time.

"I appreciate that, but why these women?"

"They made the mistake of walking into the fog. I don't choose them. They choose me."

"Just by walking into the fog?" Cypress asked.

"Exactly."

"Or is it because you lured them there? After they rejected you?" [DR4]

"How'd you...know?"

"Because I know exactly who you are." He laid the cell phone on the table. "Your Tinder account told me everything."

"But it was encrypted!"

Cypress laughed. "My expertise. Jack's last kill date? Really?"

The suspect caught in his own web said, "I see." His bluster dampened.

"Sorry, but your masquerade is at an end." Cypress snapped his finger, and Jones came into the room carrying a yellow-lined tablet and a pen.

"Walk Mr. Terry O'Reilly through the process. Make sure he gives explicit details. You got this, Jones?" Cypress asked as he brushed his hair back and checked his appearance using the mirror.

"Sure do. But be warned, Cy. They found another body. This one was torn up by an animal. Witnesses claim a wolf…a werewolf. [DR5]  Here's the address." Jones handed him a note.

Cypress read the message. Under the address were the words. "Just kidding about the werewolf. Couldn't resist in front of this piker."

Wearing a grin, Cypress turned and saluted Jones.

 

***

Word Count–747  

© Yolanda Renée 2022

 

CRITIQUE

Scores: 1-5 (5 being strongest):

Subject:4

Content:4

Technical: 4

OPEN PROMPT (Any genre in fiction)

Word Count: 750 max

Professional Evaluation of  Full Moon Confessions

SUMMARY

Subject (Is it fiction? Appropriate for readers? Brief summary):

Answer: Yes, this is a work of fiction and appropriate for WOW! readers. In the light of a full moon, a murder suspect claims he’s Jack the Ripper, but he’s met his match with a seasoned detective.

Content (Is the story well developed? Is there a plot/point to the story? Is it compelling? Are the characters well-drawn?

Answer: This is a good story that flows nicely and has quirky dialogue. My only suggestion would be to add in a bit more character development to distinguish the two detectives. The story is tight regarding the word count but a few small tweaks will help break up the dialogue and give the two characters a little more distinction.

Technical (Did they follow the rules--is there a title and proper word count? Check for proper spelling, punctuation and grammar, correct tense, active not passive sentences, overuse of adverbs, use of "wrylies"):

Answer: This is a polished piece, with no grammatical or spelling errors.

Overview (This is where you give your general impression about the writing style, how the story affected you, etc.):

Answer: The story is well-developed, and as a nod to classic stories about paranormal/murder mysteries, it’s a fun read. My only critique is that the author should consider adding in a little more character behavior/description in between dialogue to break up the conversation between the detective and “Jack the Ripper.” I made suggestions in the story above. Great job! My suggestions are below:

---

 [DR1]  Is the phone password protected? How would he break through this? Facial recognition? Something to think about given when this story is set.

 [DR2]  Is the detective shaking his head here? Shuddering? Add a brief description to break up dialogue.

 [DR3]  Great line!

 [DR4]  I'd suggest breaking up the dialogue here by giving a small hint on the killer's face. Does a muscle twitch in his jaw? Does an eyebrow raise? He knows the detective is onto him so you should show his face betraying his calm exterior in some way.

 [DR5]  How does O'Reilly react to this statement? A roll of the eyes? A smirk? Or does he simply ignore it?

*****

Do I agree with this critique? Of course not. 😄 I thought it was perfect. But as the writer I always do. Even so, I do agree with the suggestions that were made. Even with the tight word count, I could have added those reactions without taking away from the story or adding to the word count. 

Although, Giving a score of 4 for each area also seemed a bit arbitrary, but as a judge with numerous stories to filter through, well, how well do you think you would do? 

~*~

Full Moon Confessions is a recent Kindle Library Vella creation. Of which Detective Cypress is the star. I've started a selection of "Full Moon Confessions" highlighting the oddest of his cases. This story is one of them.

How well do you recieve a critique?

GHOSTED

 

"Ghosting, or suddenly disappearing from someone's life without so much as a call, email, or text, has become a common phenomenon in the modern dating world and other social and professional settings."

Ghosting: What Is It and How to Move Past Being Ghosted? - Healthline

Photo by Mulyadi on Unsplash

Have you ever been ghosted?

          I have. Several times. One too many times. It's infuriating, frustrating, and unexplainable.

          I recently put together a developmental edit for two writers. One well-known and popular author asked me to edit a new release. I was thrilled to do so, but after, I heard nothing. I still don't know why.

         It's happened before. I exchanged books with an author, each promising to do a review. But I never heard from the author again. I never got the review either, despite my emails—no response.

So yes, today I am ranting. But I don't understand why a person can't simply say, I disagree. I didn't like it, or it's not what I wanted. Something, anything, but to just go silent. It's wrong.

Pure and simple, ghosting is rude.

Unless it's a Nigerian prince pretending to be a doctor, a highly decorated military officer, or a CEO on a foreign job placement. You know the handsome guy on Facebook who calls you beautiful in his first or second sentence, then goes on to misspell half of the words in his next paragraph. In that case, you have every right to ghost and BLOCK!

LOL, rant over.

Thanks for reading.