Paranormal Fans, I have a new Guest Post!
I just finished her book Lost Angels so I can be ready for her next installment. It’s a change from my favorite nighttime creatures, vampires, witches and werewolves.
Our guest writer is into Angeles and Demons. Who doesn’t need a little or maybe a lot both in your life?
Enjoy!
Writers are thought of as strange, solitary creatures. Many of us spend more time with the characters in our heads instead of real people, including me. 47 more words
via HUGE NEWS: Writing Contest and Upcoming Writers’ Mastermind Group! — Christa Wojciechowski
Are you interested in being a guest blogger on This Writer’s Life? You can blog on anything that’s writing related for example- How you plan your writing time How you fixed a writing problem How you create characters or plot your stories Doing research Staying motivated How you got published Each post can include […]
via Guest Bloggers for September and October — This Writer’s Life
Then your dreams are not big enough. Dream bigger!
I’ve been without sleep for over a month. My dreams are scaring the S*&! out of me.
I’m ready for some Paranormal Short Stories to read. Send me some names so I can research them and find a good read while my dreams are keeping me up.
innocence ghosting we skipped the crown humming flew away it was later that her face turned pale she said, there is no truth let her be sixteen eyes open might just as well’ve be closed her face ghostly pale and so it was ~kat A Black Out Poem for Manic Monday Three-Way Prompt inspired by […]
via innocence ghosting – Manic Mondays — like mercury colliding…
Are you struggling to find your voice? Normally, your creative ideas flow like the Nile River, but since tensions rising in the news and the workplace has become the new proving grounds for work-alcoholics has left you exhausted. Your creative waters are still and there are no ideas on the horizon.
Well, that’s me too, as well. (No pun intended to the movement).
My paranormal romance voice starts with….. On an exhausting night after working 14 hours which completes my workweek with 62 hours. I noticed a stranger glancing my way. I was wrong, he was reaching past me to grab the last gallon of orange juice with calcium and no pulp. My son is going to be pissed. How romantic was that?
I was drinking my coffee this morning and I remembered back when days were simpler. I was at a bar with friends for a quick cocktail before dinner reservations. After I ordered my drink I saw this bottle on the shelf, Writer’s Tears.
I didn’t try it then, but I wondered what kind of day would you have to have to order a drink called Writer’s Tears.
I’m not selling it, nor am I encouraging you to drink, I just remembered how interesting it was.
Stay Inspired My Writers
By: Aurumsella
Dark and beautiful, she dances through my dreams. I’ve seen her every night since I was twelve.
Each and every night I dream of her perfection. I dream of her curves and of her hair so long. I dream of her limbs, and of her movement. Of her lips. Her eyes.
I love her.
I love her with a passion cannot be overcome. I love her with desperation. I love her with all my heart so strong it leaves no room for anyone, for anything else. I have eyes for only her.
I was the prince of my land, and my father was the king. Now I am king, and have been for some time. My father died when I was twenty two.
I have ruled this land for almost twenty years now. Hope to rule perhaps for twenty more. I should like to think that I have ruled it well.
When I die, this kingdom is gone. My cousin Louis will inherit the throne after me. This land will be annexed to his much larger kingdom, for I have no other heir. I have no children.
I have never wed. Have never even bedded a woman. For no one else could ever do for me but she, and her I cannot have. No man ever could. This love is cursed.
My father hired her to dance for his son the prince upon my twelfth birthday. He had heard her beauty extolled. He had heard her dance be praised from here to heaven. He wanted to see her with his own eyes. He wanted to experience her dancing. So he hired her.
He hired her to dance for his son the prince. He summoned her to court to dance for me upon my birthday.
Little did he know he was condemning me to forever dream of her, to live my life alone. Little did he understand in hiring her he cursed his kingdom to be lost.
My father did not know she was Belleform demon when he hired her. Once he understood just what she was, what he had done, it was too late. She had already danced for me, and I was cursed. Cursed for all eternity.
This is what a Belleform does: she curses the one for whom she dances to forever dream of her and only her. I was my father’s excuse to see her dance, and thus the curse did fall upon me, and me alone. A boy of only twelve who had never known a woman, never would.
All others who watched her dance were safe. Mesmerized by her beauty, yes. Mesmerized by her dance, yet unaffected by her curse. They were all of them able to forget her over time. Everyone but me could overcome her.
Once he understood what he had done, what had been done to me, my father spent the rest of his days in futile pursuit of the demon. She collected her pay before the performance, disappeared soon after dancing.
He looked for her all over. She could not be found. He sought her to undo what had been done. She only laughed inside my dream.
I have loved her since I saw her just the once. Have loved her ever since she danced for me. Have dreamt of her each night.
I’d like to think that I have done my duty. Have ruled this country well. It’s hard to tell, though, whether or not I have.
There is no real love inside me for my land. No love for my people who live here all their lives. There is only a sense of duty. For my love is reserved for her.
She alone is my reason for living. The dreams I have of her each night my only comfort.
I love her. I love her with every fibre of my being. I love her with all my soul.
When I die, my kingdom will cease to be. I myself shall go on yearning. My soul shall long for her though all eternity.
I only hope that I have been in spite of all a good and honest king.
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“I love you,” she said.
“What?”
It was so sudden. They’d only met the other day, but now the cold shock of her feelings was thrown upon him and he dripped in it, prickling.
Eve shrugged. “It’s O.K. if you don’t love me back, but I had to let you know. I only have a week.”
“A week in town? Are you going somewhere?” Colin blinked, thinking about her – what he knew about her – all the scant details. She liked insects; they’d admired a praying mantis together once. Her endearing smile.
“No. Do you want to get a coffee and discuss this?”
Colin wasn’t sure, but his heart was racing.
Colin had never fallen in love before. He’d gotten close to it a couple times, but his feelings had never grown very intense, and when someone had wanted to move on, he’d never stopped them. Colin was still friends with a lot of his past partners.
But Eve – he thought maybe he could fall in love with Eve.
Eve’s resin ring was designed to resemble a ladybug. She wore a massive peach flower barrette, with a glittering black spider at its center. Her fingers fidgeted nervously at the edges of her coffee cup.
He smiled. “It’s O.K. – we have plenty of time. I like you, I do, you just took me by surprise.”
But she shook her head, “No, we only have seven days. It’s a family curse.”
And she explained about the curse; her grandfather’s carelessness with the heart of a beautiful witch. The long-dead patriarch had left her not long after promising eternity, so the witch gave him something truly eternal – a curse upon his whole bloodline. Each family member was condemned to love for no longer than a week. At the end of the seventh day, the love was undone, and only memories remained.
Colin listened, thinking that she was trouble – already outfitted with an escape plan. He asked: “How do you break the curse?”
Eve blinked, then laughed. “If I knew that, I’d have broken it a long time ago. So, are you interested?”
Afraid of the end already in sight, he still said yes.
Monday was full of conversation and questions, the gentle, giggling poke and prod of introduction. Colin was an intern at the gallery showing Eve’s latest work, a series of paintings that juxtaposed insectile elements with odd, flat abstraction. His favorite of hers was a painting of a solitary fly wing in the center of a red-rimmed square, surrounded by a kind of lacy red pattern against pale grey.
Their day ended with the lightest of touches, willingly given but spare.
Tuesday, Colin didn’t see Eve until that evening, but the hours were filled with their prattling texts. They discussed nothing and anything immediately before them. There was even some flirting, and an exchange of naughty pictures, which Colin promptly deleted after burning into his memory. He was relieved that she didn’t mention the curse anymore.
Wednesday the texts grew more insistent, more carnal, until both moments with words and without words were heavy with longing. That evening pure lust threw them into each other’s arms. Physical contact seemed only to temporarily abate their mutual hunger, and yet simultaneously fuel the desire for further physical contact.
On Thursday Colin called in sick for work, and kept pleasantly distracting Eve from her email and easels.
On Friday they got in a fight.
It wasn’t even over anything important – the smallest thing – but then Colin said: “You’re just trying to sabotage this! You’re trying to make the curse happen!”
And it was like he’d broken something precious, unfixable no matter how late he stayed up, sobbing, holding onto the jagged pieces.
On Saturday Eve was distant. She texted on her phone a lot.
“Eve?”
She looked at him.
“I love you. Even if you don’t love me after tomorrow.”
Sunday ended with the lightest of touches, willingly given but spare. Her eyes asked a question Colin answered without hesitation.
“I’d still say yes.”
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By: Edward Palumbo
Regina arrived. It had been a week since she had sat at Rick’s kitchen table, where he had explained all the reasons he was wrong for her. The young woman had nodded in response to each argument, but she was not convinced. “I am not here for a reconciliation,” Regina promised as she entered the one-bedroom apartment.
“Really?” asked Rick, clad only in his pajamas bottoms.
“Yes. I am here to tell you an amazing story. A budding fiction writer, like yourself, should hear this story.”
“Then I’ll hear it.”
“Do you know the Davis Street Church, the one they closed?”
“Yes,” Rick replied.
“Did you ever notice that there’s no bell in the bell tower?”
Rick shook his head. “I’m sure they pulled it out when the boarded up the church.”
“Yes,” said Regina, “but it still rings. I heard it ring last night, at midnight.”
Rick rolled his eyes. “What were you doing at an abandoned church at midnight?”
“Seeking redemption,” said Regina, “or out for a walk – one of those.”
“If there is no bell, there is no ring, read your bible.”
Regina sat on the couch. Rick opted for his desk chair. “There was a ring, a ghost-bell ring,” Regina insisted. “I heard the ringing and it didn’t scare me – actually, I liked it. It soothed me, like a glass of merlot or that medicated baby powder.”
“Nobody drinks merlot anymore, nor baby powder, anyway, you heard nothing, no bell, you just wanted to come over to see me.”
“Bull!” Regina punched a few buttons on her cell phone. She rose from the couch and held the device to Rick’s ear.
“That’s a ringing bell,” he said, “but it could be from anywhere.”
“Yeah,” said Regina, “anywhere, like the depths of hell.”
“Why are people like you so consumed with the depths of hell, like the upper levels of hell are more livable?”
“The ghost-bell rings,” Regina half-whispered, “that is a reality you have to face.”
*
Dusk prevailed. Rick finished his run and he passed behind the bleachers. Regina watched him from the stands. She caught up to her love in half an instant.
“Nice run?” she asked.
“Slower than usual,” said Rick.
“Surprised to see me?”
“Never.” Rick replied.
Regina smiled. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our wedding.”
“Who is our?” he asked.
“I figured,” she replied, “that since we fight so much, our wedding colors should be black and blue.”
“Funny,” said Rick. He stopped walking for just a moment and he turned to her. “No wedding, not ever.” Rick trod onward.
“Do ever think about me?” asked Regina.
“I saw you yesterday.”
“What do you remember most about me?” she asked.
“The way you look from behind, when you’re leaving.”
“You can’t make me cry,” she said through a sniffle.
Rick increased his pace. His car came into view and that gave him solace, but Regina persisted. “Do you know what I remember about you?” she asked.
“What?” he asked.
“The way you used to cut me, with that razor you call a heart. But still, I love you,” she said.
Rick became flushed. “It’s not about love, with you, Regina. It’s about the chase. You want anyone, who doesn’t want you. Once, you really have me, you’ll lose all interest.”
They reached Rick’s car and stood beneath a street light.
Regina held out her hand, displaying an engagement ring and wedding band. “Look what I have, you won’t even have to buy me rings.”
Rick recognized the jewelry. “Those were my mother’s,” he said.
“Yes, she wanted me to have them. She thinks we’ll be great together.”
“She was buried with them, three years ago.”
“Your mother wanted me to have them,” Regina promised. “She said so.” Regina fell into Rick’s arms. “We’ll be so happy together.”
“You win,” said Rick.
“Of course, I won. I knew I would.”
Rick kissed Regina gently and he took the opportunity to nuzzle her neck. He lingered for a moment, before sinking his fangs into her soft flesh.
And he had never felt more at one with anyone.
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By: Tabitha Thompson
She stood in front of my door, staring and smiling at me with a horrifying grin. I was no longer looking at my wife Kasie, but at a stranger. Her once radiant and glowing body had turned gruesome and rotted. This was not what I signed up for when I started this love spell, somehow the spell backfired. “This can not be. Something must’ve went completely wrong.” “Nothing went wrong sweetie,” Kasie replied “See for yourself.”
Once I reached the bathroom, I couldn’t believe the man that was staring back. I was completely unrecognizable. Although I felt physically fine, my looks told a completely different story. My flesh was gruesome and rotted, with a slight poke it was falling off the bone; my eyes were sinking inside my skull, expressing a gaunt look. As I continued to explore my frightening appearance, ominous whispers echoed throughout my bathroom walls.
“You did this. You lied to everyone. You thought you could get away with it.” The last line made my remaining flesh grow with goosebumps. “Don’t forget, forever and ever love.” That was the quote my former wife and I used, before she was bludgeoned and thrown into the sea with a cinder block, allowing the cruel nature of the sea have its way with her. It was all coming back to me, the curse would never end.
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Book I of the ETERNAL TRACES SERIES
Book II of the ETERNAL TRACES SERIES
Shonda Brock Paranormal Romance Author 