Summer - Finally!

Summer has finally arrived.

Yesterday we went on our first kayak trip of the year. The wind was up, so the water was a bit choppy, but no white caps meant we were on our way. It was just a short trip,'round the island and into the cove, but it was enough to get the feel of the salt spray that I missed so much. I forgot how much I enjoyed the smell of seaweed.

Once back, we threw some steaks on the BBQ and opened a bottle of red wine. It was the perfect way to finish off the evening and start the summer.

And speaking of summer, Michael Solender over at the NOT is having a summer fiction contest. 101 words, two of them must be summer and heat. Swing by and check out all the details.

I've already started thinking about my 101 word story, but the big work will have to wait until I've finished my contract with Alan Davidson over at Conversations from Land's Edge and judged those entries. Remember, it's not too late to send those bribes.

Predictable

He always insisted on bringing her here, even though he knew she was terrified of heights. She leaned against the low stone wall and looked down onto the rocks below. Her stomach lurched.

“So you think I’m predictable?” she asked, turning her back to him and the cliff. He jumped onto the wall and balanced there, just as he always did - a demonstration of his superiority.

“Predictable?” he scoffed. “You’re downright boring.”

“I knew you’d say that,” she said, and pushed him off.

Looking Like Dad

I have my dad’s eyes.

I noticed it a few years ago in the rear view mirror of my car. Taken away from the rest of my face, those eyes are clearly my father’s.

Now I see it every time I look in the bedroom mirror, in the moments before I disguise them with liner and mascara. The awareness makes me smile, and my eyes crinkle at the corners, just like my father’s. My smile widens, tiny lines that are beginning to make a permanent mark. I don't care.

It means I also have his sense of humour.

Thanks, Dad. Happy Father's Day.

Idle Life

"So, what do you do?"

Until this moment I fit, at least superficially, into the opulent blend of suits and cocktail dresses and personality. I knew the answer would paint me as an imposter:

"I’m a stay at home mom."

Others join us, more titles wrapped in silk and gold, each nodding politely at those words, “She doesn’t work. She’s a stay at home mom.”

I leave these women to their talk of charity fundraisers, suddenly tired.

At home I walk down the hallway, past my name on framed parchments that mean nothing, to kiss the three sleeping faces that mean everything. I shed my glittery outer skin, sigh, and start another load of laundry.

Cold

Prologue

September, 1668

They had run out of sailcloth for the bodies.

Weights were tied to the feet and a small piece of canvas was placed over the face as prayers were repeated once again. The voices, still solemn, were tinged with fear. Barely half the crew remained with weeks left of the journey.

One by one the men succumbed to the strange illness, a sort of madness that gripped them and quickly devoured their minds and bodies. They were left, white and wasted, to be wrapped in cloth and released into the icy depths of the Atlantic.

Dysentery some whispered, but they knew it was not. The Captain did his best to quell the fears of his crew, but secretly he himself was afraid. This was a new death, something horrible and strange. It was as if they had been cursed from below.

The weather had become unpredictable. The ship was battered by wind and waves but the Captain pushed on, desperate to reach the colonies with as many of his men as he could save.

The crew ate and drank with caution and went wearily about their tasks. They eyed each other with suspicion and dread. All wondered who would be next to die.

Only one of them would choose.


Thanks to Ellen for her valuable input.

Home Again

It's tough coming down from a vacation high. After days of pure pleasure, of walking along beaches and eating at fine restaurants, it's hard to face laundry and cooking again. That has been my reality this week.

A couple of years ago I saw a list of the world's most beautiful cities, and since the hubby and I enjoy travelling it seemed that this was a good jump off point for picking destinations. So far I've seen five of the twelve, but I've also added a few along the way.

This time around the destination was the San Francisco area (and by area I mean wine country). We aren't lie-on-the-beach types, so we try to pick our vacations based on things we like to do - lots of biking, hiking, boating and exploring. San Francisco did not disappoint.

And now I'm home again. I've been trying to catch up on all the reading I missed while I was away, and the writing that was scaled back has been going full force once again. So has the washing machine.

Still, as much as I enjoy travelling and seeing new and interesting places, there just isn't anything like landing at St. John's airport and smelling the sweet, damp Newfoundland air.

There truly is no place like home.

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A quick reminder to everyone about the Land's Edge Flash Fiction Contest. Get your stories in people. 750 words or less, new or used are accepted. Anything goes as long as it has something to do with any kind of holiday. You can check out the full details on Alan's blog.

The Principle of the Thing

The streetlights had been on for a good hour and that meant trouble for me. I sloshed along the road in boots a size too big and hockey gloves handed down from my cousin, dragging my stick behind me as I slowly made my way home from the pond. I was deep in thought, imagining the tongue lashing I would get for coming home late, when I heard him laughing.

I ignored him at first, kept my head down and my pace steady – slosh, slosh, slosh – while he hurled insults in that annoying sing-song voice of his, using all his old material.

Screw it, I’d had enough.

I threw my stick on the ground, and the gloves were off. Before he even had a chance to turn away I shoved a handful of snow in his big mouth, scruffed another one into his hair, and spit on the snow next to him.

That’ll teach him not to call me a tom-boy.

Public Service Announcement

It's been a while since I just dropped some random brain bits here. This is really more of a PSA than an actual post. I've been MIA (might as well keep up the acronyms) for a bit because I've been working steadily at this writing thing and I now have five short stories very near completion. I don't know why I can't just work on one at a time. I guess I'm just not wired that way.

My first order of business is to encourage one and all to check out Alan Davidson's Holiday Contest over at Conversations from Land's Edge. You can read all about the rules and prizes there. Yours truly will be one of the judges of this fine competition. Alan has already stipulated that there be no spitting on the judges, but I will accept bribes in the form of coffee or chocolate.

While you're out there, swing on by Cathy Olliffe's place on the lovely Muskoka River and have a gander at some of the Americans strutting their stuff this week. Michael Solender is over there today showing off a little bit. Don't miss it.

Last but not least, I saw this bit in the news this morning and I just had to share. A woman is suing Google Maps because the walking directions she was given lead her onto a highway where she was hit by a car. It reminded me of a trip I took to London, England a few years ago. I put my destination into google maps and inadvertently selected pedestrian. The initial directions were good, up until it told me to jump into the Atlantic and swim 3744 km. I opted to go by plane instead.

I guess the day has finally come - computer technology has replaced common sense.

Enjoy your day, read, write, and never trust your GPS.