DEFENDING THE PEN It’s all about murder . . . romance – writing it! I post flash fiction, book announcements, interviews, and the things I love. Careful . . . you may end up the victim . . . of fun!
"Many
of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to
success when they gave up."– Thomas A. Edison
"If you
want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things."– Albert
Einstein
"Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game."–
Babe Ruth
The winds howled and tore all the warmth from the cave, as though their only purpose was to press the deep, frigid Arctic air into even the smallest crevice. I huddled under three blankets in a sleeping bag built for extreme temperatures. Yet I still felt the chill. But the sound, the whistling and whooshing, the cracking of countless branches, and the crashing of the large icicles, ice on ice, from the frozen waterfall, haunted my waking dreams.
Even
though I'd sought shelter in a cave surrounded by solid rock. I was convinced the
winds were hunting me. The beast from Alaskan legends, Kushtaka, had found a
way into my shelter. The shapeshifter had turned to deadly frigid air and was
seeking his prey.
Was it
Kushtaka's purpose to destroy the last shred of warmth in existence on this
mountain of pure ice? Was I the interloper? A passenger on a downed plane in the Alaskan Triangle. Was I the unwanted trespasser on alien
land? I tried to push such silly thoughts from my mind, but the way darkness
had fallen and the storm had arisen was unnatural.
Was
the disappearance of my fishing pole under the ice a playful otter? Or the
sudden howling whistle and the change in temperature, the supernatural work of
a mythological beast, or an imagination run wild with fear and grief?
Surreptitious
squalls twisted and coiled around my rock abode to extinguish the fire. My only genuine
warmth. I'd built it with the last of the wood Chet had cut for me before
returning to the crash site. Two days past his time of return didn't offer me
hope. Instead, I felt a profound sadness and the hollowness of loss. I knew with
certainty that I would never see Chet again.
The wind
gusts became more violent as though they recognized their victory. Kushtaka had
found me. A woman alone, vulnerable, and afraid. The perfect plaything for the
mythological creature intent on torture.
Weakened
by loss, fear, and hunger. I was the ideal victim. Had I already given up?
The
bright orange flame of the fire shrank with each gust. Is it possible
for a fire to surrender? I swear I saw it bow to a stronger foe without a crackle
or hiss of attempted bravado. The flames died or burrowed under the cold ashes
until their bright colors faded to black, gray, then solid white. Testament to
the hue of the Snow God.
Is
that how Kushtaka saw his role? As an Ice God defending his territory from any
hint of warmth?
I
watched the flames die, knowing with certainty that Chet had also left this
existence. My tears froze the instant they fell. Ice crystals stuck to my
exposed skin like newborn babies seeking sustenance. I tried to brush them
away, but more formed until I had no more tears to give. I held them in my
hands until they were again part of me. Absorbed into flesh.
Safe.
Ice
against ice.
Salvation
abandoned me. A piercing chill deeper than any I'd ever felt encircled me.
Moving from the outside in until I was completely absorbed. Shrouded in ice.
At
first, it was stinging, almost burning, then so bone-chilling I wondered if my
insides would shatter like the ice cycles. Profound shivers took control. I was
sure I put out enough energy to run a small generator. But even that lasted
only a short time.
Eventually,
my body relaxed into the Ice God's embrace. Into a faux warmth, but just the sustenance
I was seeking.
All
along, it had been right here.
Deep
inside, the glacial frostiness of this massive beast that held me so delicately
in his arms. He wasn't fierce or unkind. He offered himself, and I sensed his
concern. Felt the purest of love and surrendered wholly.
I
closed my eyes.
The
beast held me intimately. Naked. Free. No more restraints or fear. No more
feelings of abandonment or loss. Everything was gone, just like the howling wind.
I embraced
the Ice God. And let go of my last ember of warmth. My final exhalation danced, twisted,
and swirled in a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors before crystalizing into ice
crystals in a flash of brilliance.
Just as the Ice God enveloped
me in the warmth of pure love...
~*~
721 Words
Yolanda Renée Stout © 2023
~~**~~**~~**~~
TAGLINE: Surrender does not mean giving up.
This is an
excerpt from the 7th book of my Alaskan Series. Murder on Mount
Fairweather. Where survivors of a plane crash are fighting to survive the elements, hungry wolves, and the mythology of the Alaskan triangle.
Kushtaka or Kooshdakhaa. Are
from a Tlingit myth that claims the Kushtaka is a shapeshifting
otter-like creature that lures people into the wilderness, sometimes tricking
them to their deaths.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kushtaka
~*~
FLASH FICTION, POETRY, NON-FICTION, PHOTO ESSAYS...
POST 15 - 17 FEBRUARY 2023
| 1. | Denise Covey | 7. | dolorah@booklover | 13. | Damyanti Biswas | |
| 2. | Yolanda Renee | 8. | N. R. Williams | 14. | Beth Camp | |
| 3. | Nilanjana Bose | 9. | Jemi Fraser | 15. | Hilary Melton-Butcher | |
| 4. | Olga Godim | 10. | Roland Yeomans | 16. | Sally Stackhouse | |
| 5. | Sonia Dogra | 11. | Roland R Clarke | |||
| 6. | J Lenni Dorner | 12. | Pat Garcia |
so beautiful
the first of spring
it means everything
to all arising
the ruin of winter
a bright new dawn
the seeds of tomorrow
awaiting root
passion ignited
love blooms
seeds rooted
the cold booted
beauty and growth
in God's green Earth
birth
death
and all that's between
like the Daffodil
it all began
in the spring.
~*~
YRS © 2023
A Confession
See
that sky. Isn't it beautiful? Majestic? The dawn of a New Day. An epiphany upon waking.
Even
before I saw it this morning, I knew. Today would be different. Today would genuinely
be the first day of my life.
I
know trite. But it's true. Today I feel as those I were reborn. Today I
know who I am. I know what I want. And by damn, I'm going to have it!
Last
year I found myself in a blue funk. One of those where you wander around, being
and yet not fully existing. I was a ghost. Searching, and yet not knowing what
it was I was searching for. Dreaming dreams that were nightmares. And while
I was in this so-called blue funk. I did not know that I was. But something was
off. I was off.
I
didn't know whether to blame it on the pandemic, the stupidity of the political
climate, or the frighteningly dangerous failed-class clowns we elected to run
this magnificent country. Or the war where Nuclear disaster was tossed around
like babies playing a nerf ball game. Or was it that I gave myself 10 years to
succeed at writing?
Your
guess was as good as mine.
For periods, I would rally. Working on my posts for the WEP October Challenge
was the highlight. I love Halloween and enjoyed writing and posting two months
of poetry and short stories. That was when I felt like myself.
But
at the beginning of the year, I had set specific goals to finish, and by finish,
I mean publish at least 3 of the 4 projects I was working on.
It
wasn't happening.
I
was stalled!
Almost
full stop. Except for the WEP challenges. They were the only real writing I could accomplish. WEP was a lifesaver in a sea of doubt and uncertainty. I
didn't even participate in NANO. Something that always brought me success.
Where
the hell was I, and when would I find my way home? Again, I had no idea. I even
looked outside of my writing for fulfillment. Taxes, can you believe it? What
can I say? As a former accountant, taxes were always fun. I know, odd, but what
do you expect from a horror writer? 😊
Still,
while studying and preparing for the new tax season, I thought I'd found my
calling.
I
didn't!
Today,
Friday, January 13th, 2023, I know for sure, and most likely for the
first time in 12 years, that I am a WRITER!
It's
my craft.
My
happiness!
My
life's mission!
Hell,
writing is my everything!
Hello world, I'm back!
2023 GOALS
1.
Re-claim my real name—Renée Stout. Yes, folks,
I'm dropping Yolanda. It's my first name. Given to me by my mother. She loved
the combination—Yolanda Renée. So did my aunt. They were both pregnant at the
same time. I was born first, so I got the name. Which was good because my
cousin Steve would have hated growing up as Yolanda Renée. 😊
But I
was always called Renée. Mom made sure to tell all my teachers to use my middle
name. It's really who I am. Yolanda means violet. Violet? That's not me.
Renée is
of French origin, and the meaning of Renée is"reborn." Apropos, don't
you think?
So I'm
only going to be using Yolanda Renée on the last book of the Quaid series and Renée Stout on all other books.
2.
Re-Edit & Re-Publish: Love & Revenge: Tales of Murder &
Romance.
3.
Publish Murder by Proxy – NOW Murder on Mount Fairweather.
The last of the Alaskan Series. An ode to the love story between Detective Quaid
and Sarah.
4.
Publish my second book of poetry. My memoir.
5.
Publish the 1st book of Myrtle Beach
Mysteries: Her Mona Lisa Smile
6.
Finish A Stylish Murder, book 2nd of
the Myrtle Beach Mysteries
7.
Finish Moonlight Goddess, the 3rd of
the Myrtle Beach Mysteries.
8.
Support and cherish the WEP writing community.
They, above all else, kept me sane in an insane year!
Renée Stout - writer...author...publisher!
I know
it seems like a lot, but oh, how much time I wasted studying taxes? 😉
most inspiring we'll be starting off
in February with
"GONE WITH THE WIND"
Wishing you all a Happy Holiday
Season
and a bright and prosperous
New Year!
Are you ready for 2023
a whole New Year it's promised to be
with shocks, delights, and changes
no one can foresee
life has all kinds of stressors
love, money, and
a multitude of depressors.
I'm hoping and wishing
that we all see
less narcissism
politicians
and hate
prayers that it can be
replaced with love, trust
forgiveness and peace.
May you find 2023
has all you need
to make your
existence a rock-um
sock-um experience.
Yolanda Renee (C) 2022
The First Time Ever I Saw
Your Face
my heart began to race
time stood still
the world withdrew
I saw only you.
The First Time
I instantly understood
you'd slay the dragon
release all fears
you were the answer to all
my prayers.
The First Time
your kiss
shattered all doubt
ignited desires
passionate fires.
The First Time
your touch destroyed my defenses
heightened my senses
ignited a blaze
I want replayed.
The First Time Ever I Saw
Your Face
I immediately knew
you'd be my love most true
your devotion was mine
throughout all time.
***
Yolanda Renée © 2022
Nothing can surpass the lyrics of the song or Roberta Flack's version.
This poem was based on a blind date that turned to love at first sight.
Tagline: Love defined.
If you want more. Here's an excerpt from a WIP.
Her Mona Lisa Smile
Zane wandered through the Eden Gallery,
unaware of the magnificent art surrounding him. Instead, his mind was on his
career. He'd built a reputation in New York as a heart surgeon. Yet he was
ready to throw it away for a quieter, less stressful life.
"How can you even consider
leaving?" Emma said quietly.
Zane shrugged. "I'm thirty-five
going on seventy because my days are filled with constant life and death situations,
not art." Zane was about to chug his third glass of champagne when he spotted
her. He stopped cold and just stared.
It can't be. She's…No. It's not possible.
And
yet it couldn't be anyone else. The same reddish-golden hair. Deep green eyes
and a smile that would melt the coldest heart, light the darkest room, and cause
his heart to beat like a drum. His body had the same reaction gazing at a
painting of her as it had when they'd met in person.
He moved
closer. On the exhibit label was the name of the artist Troy Handleson, the
name of the painting, Sunrise in Paradise, and another title in
parentheses, Her Mona Lisa Smile. Zane chuckled. It was clear from the
emphasis on the girl in the painting that the sunrise was not the feature.
Zane's
mind traveled back ten years earlier to a homecoming party at Penn State. The
party was in full swing when he saw her enter the room. She had a vibrancy that
surpassed the celebration of the thousands of screaming fans when Penn State
won their game that day. The girl had an alluring smile, bright, sparkling eyes,
and long luxurious locks that fell in soft curls over an exquisite body. He
knew instantly that she was the one.
The girl
he would marry. There was only one problem, she'd walked into the party on the
arm of Harris, the star quarterback. Zane did his best to learn all he could,
and a friend told him her name was Brandy. He thought it an odd name for
a goddess, but names didn't matter.
God answered
his prayer when she accepted his request for a dance. She beguiled him. He was
speechless, caught in her spell, and lost in the emerald green and gold of her
eyes. The warmth of her touch threatened to betray a very physical response. He
wanted nothing more than to see her silken tresses cascading across the pillow as
he...
Blocking
the fantasy, he finally found his voice and learned her nickname was Randi, not
Brandy.
"Cassandra
is too formal. Randi is more down to earth," she told him.
Whatever
name she went by. She was perfection. He discovered she was a high school
senior visiting the campus but hadn't decided where she'd attend.
"Why
should I choose Penn State? She asked.
"Because
I'm here," he said.
She
smiled. "Aren't you a senior?"
"I'm
going for my master's. How'd you meet Harris?"
"We've
known each other for years. He's such a hero, isn't he?" She said
dreamily.
Zane
wanted to converse. Randi wanted to dance. And as easy as that, he had a second
chance. He pulled her close for the slow dance and did his best imitation of
Fred Astaire. She responded beautifully, the crowd parted, and they were a solo
hit. Of course, he didn't want the music to end. But when it did, she kissed
his cheek and squeezed his hand.
"Maybe
in a different time," she said and walked out of his life and into the
arms of Harris. But she'd already stolen his heart.
*****
A
slight breeze riffled the sheers covering the wall of windows that looked out
over the Atlantic Ocean. A brilliant blue with rolling waves and a bright cerulean
sky filled with feather-like clouds. The white caps dissolved into smaller and
smaller breakers as they raced across the sand. Randi was so lost
in thought that neither beauty, the sun's warmth, or the cries of seagulls
could break through. She read, then re-read the email.
Randi:
A mutual friend, Troy Handleson, gave me your email
address. Naturally, I wanted your phone number, but as a good friend should,
Troy was protective of your personal information.
Please accept my deepest condolences. I know this is a
bad time for you, but if you ever want to talk. I'm a good listener.
I'd like to know you better, and the funny thing is…we've met before. A story I promise to share on our first date.
In the email's signature, Zane Winters gave his New York address
and phone number. Randi, now simmering with anger, called Troy. "Who the hell is Zane
Winters?" She shouted as soon as he answered.
"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry. I intended to text, but I
had so much fun at my opening that I completely forgot. Zane bought that sweet
portrait of you. The one I titled Her Mona Lisa Smile," Troy explained.
"Portrait? You didn't…. I never gave my permission."
"But you did. I asked you what I should do with the portrait I'd done of you for HIM, whose name shall never be mentioned. And you said, whatever I wanted."
HE was Randi's ex, and all her friends knew
better than to mention his name.
"No. I said, destroy it. You claimed it was
valuable. And I said whatever!"
Troy laughed. "So, I took a little license with your
response. Can you blame me? My best work and the highlight of the show. I
couldn't destroy perfection. Damn, girl, I got thousands more than I was even
asking. And because of my artistry, the man fell in love with your Mona Lisa
Smile. Hell, his girlfriend even hired me…."
"Why would anyone pay that much? God, Troy. What he
bought was my email address. Holy Hell, what have you done? Sold me out to some
creep? After Damon! How could you?"
***
979 Words
Yolanda Renée © 2022
Tagline: Chance meetings.
FLASH FICTION, POETRY, NON-FICTION, SCRIPTS, ARTWORKS, PHOTOGRAPHY...
| 1. | Denise Covey | 8. | Jemi Fraser | 15. | Sally Stackhouse | |
| 2. | Nilanjana Bose | 9. | Roland Clarke | 16. | L.G. Keltner | |
| 3. | Yolanda Renee | 10. | Ornery Owl (the ornery one) | 17. | J Lenni Dorner | |
| 4. | Beth Camp | 11. | Pat Garcia | 18. | Jamie of uniquely maladjusted but fun | |
| 5. | Olga Godim | 12. | Bernadette Braganza | 19. | Carole Stolz | |
| 6. | N.R.Williams | 13. | Roland R Clarke (Act 3) | |||
| 7. | Hilary Melton-Butcher | 14. | Sonia dogra |
