Electrical box

Copyright–Ted Strutz

Here we are for another week, gathered today in an electric company, in front of an outlet, to discuss power and our original stories for the Friday Fictioneer’s group. It’s surprising how many stories can be written using the weekly prompt of an electric plug. The prompt this week was supplied by group member, Ted Strutz. Thanks again, Ted. The challenge for this group is for each of us to write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the weekly picture prompt. Be sure to click on the little blue frog in the blue box to read the other stories.

The link for all other stories is as follows:

Genre: Non-fiction

Word Count: 100 Words


In India, where we live, electricity is almost like magic. We’re among the fortunate ones who live in a city where we get electric power most of the time.

Of course, it’s not like in the West where we took it for granted. Outages are sometimes unexpected. On Thursdays, we often have what is termed “load-shedding”. The power is turned off most of the daytime to save on it. We have a battery lantern.

In rural areas, they can have  eight hours or more without power during the day. Some remote places have never had it. It’s difficult for students.








This is my contribution this week to the challenge, Monday’s Finish the Story  hosted by Barbara Beacham. Every Monday, Barbara supplies a new picture prompt along with the first sentence to be used for the story. The original story to be written should have only 100 to 150 additional words. I’ve bolded the first sentence given with the picture prompt. Be sure to click on the little blue frog in the blue box to read the other stories.

The link for all other stories is as follows:

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 8+1+150=159


She was unaware that she was being watched.

She was a stunning gray and her mate was the dominant male. She carried his pups, among them, the future leader of their pack. Today, though, she was one of the hunters like all the rest.

They had gathered outside the cave at the start of the hunt, lifted their muzzles to the winter sky, and howled into the cold wind. Their breath came forth in clouds, chilled wind carrying it away.

“Look, Bill, said Walt Emery, isn’t she majestic. I’ve been studying this pack since last November and keeping a journal.

“That male in the lead is her mate. The others will follow and all go after the moose up ahead. They chose that moose because he’s old and slower than the rest.”

The pack now closed in. They had caught the strong, gamey scent of moose and tracked him. He knew they followed, but was tiring, slowing.

Symbol for Monday's Finish the Story




Bookstore that's no longer there


This  is my contribution to Sunday Photo Fiction for January 25, 2015. Every Sunday a new picture prompt is given by Alastair Forbes, the host. The weekly challenge is to write an original story with no more than 200 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. Be sure to click on the little blue frog in the blue box to read all the other stories.

The link for all other stories is as follows:

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words


John had worked in the old book shop for years.

He thought to himself, “I know it’s closed, but I feel I have a duty to still dust and shelve.”

Day after day he came–alone, all alone. He lovingly wiped the shelves and checked the order of the books. He swept the floor.

This was a second home to him. He’d never married and had children.

He never found the woman who could fill his life as completely as his work. His parents never got along. They fought constantly. Mr. Wilson, the shop owner, was always so kind to him. Life became a set pattern. Change became too difficult.

One day he heard a voice, “John, its time to move on.”

Unafraid, just startled, he felt real love for the first time in his solitary life. He was understood and no longer isolated.

A light appeared, and he felt drawn toward it.

A man and his friend were passing the shop one day. Looking at it boarded up, he said, “You know, I once heard that place was haunted.”

His friend said, “Oh, get real. You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

Sunday Photo Fiction Image




nurturing thursdays: i am taking care of you…as shared by pat


hugmamma's MIND, BODY and SOUL

For those of you not yet familiar with my current undertaking, I am penning the journey of a dear friend and relative, Pat, as she wends her way through a thorny maze on her way to living her best life. 

You might say that Pat is awaiting her Prince Charming. He who will kiss her lips thereby restoring her to the life she knew before Maleficent cast an evil spell upon the unsuspecting Princess.

In real life, Pat is suffering not one but two, rare diseases which are no match for a hunky Prince Charming, let alone a lightweight like Princess Pat. Hunkering down within her, for the long haul, are Multiple Myeloma and Amyloidosis. Both involve an overproduction of amyloid protein cells which are deposited into organs with potentially devastating consequences. 

Pat is undergoing chemotherapy for MM and is contemplating a stem cell transplant at The Mayo Clinic some time in the future…

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Make a Difference in the Writing Community

Really good advice.

All I Have to Say

Most authors at one time or another have dreamed of taking the writing world by storm with a breakout bestselling novel. I’m sure most of us still harbor hope this will happen. Regardless of sales or monetary success, we can still make a difference in the writing community. Whether you’re published or still writing your first novel, you can make a huge impact. Here’s how:

  1. Make connections. I recently read an excellent blog post by Susan Toy that discusses online connections and engagement. When it comes to Twitter and blog followers, some people mistake quantity for quality. Would you rather have 100 followers who regularly visit and comment on your blog, or 1000 followers you never hear from again? A huge number of Twitter followers or Facebook Page likes might look good on paper, but what does it really mean if you aren’t making connections with people? Visit blogs and leave…

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…POSITIONS VACANT… don’t all rush, now…

Seumas Gallacher’s book SAVAGE PAYBACK is to re-launch on Jan. 27th .

Seumas Gallacher

help wanted


…4 days hence, on January 27th, it hits the web-waves..

…and today, I’m holding virtual interviews for the lofty and vital positions of GALLACHER’S BANTERERS… …did I hear a mutter of ’WTF?‘ back there? …any self-respecting novel’s relaunch requires a posse of individuals prepared to put their names and reputations on the line as ASSOCIATES AT LARGE… here’s what’s involved— on the day of the launch, or even starting right now if yeez are really keen… Master Gallacher will be beating the drum all round the WURLD and many other places about his Jack Calder crime thriller masterpiece, SAVAGE PAYBACK

job interview

…having GALLACHER’S BANTERERS alongside keeps him from getting too lonely, frustrated, feeling melancholy, ignored, and all the other sundry, dreadful, imaginary evils that impact an Author’s head when a launch is in full flow… this is…

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Old rusted train engine.

Copyright–Adam Ickes

This is my January, 2015, story for Storybook Corner hosted by Adam Ickes. Each month on the 21st day, Adam supplies a new promt for an original story. Each story is supposed to be from 100 to 250 words in length, or longer if thought necessary, and be inspired by the photo prompt supplied that month.

To read the other stories from this group, click on the links given in the comments on Adam’s blog.

The link for the blog is as follows:

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 250 Words


The old, rusting engine had been a beauty in her day, glistening black with red trim. She ate up the miles from Washington, D.C., to New York City and back, carrying commuters to their work and home again. I was one of those passengers.

Even earlier, she had carried soldiers to board ships delivering them overseas to battle in World War II, or back from camps for leave trips. After the war, she carried them home to waiting parents, sweethearts, and wives to begin new lives.

Men shoveled coal into her metal belly, and it belched steam and jet black dust to coat the country through which it passed. In winter, the shining, pristine snow didn’t stay white long.

People near the tracks in those days would wave to the trainmen as the big beauty thundered by.

Home furnaces also burned coat in those days, and men on the trains had been known to toss off some of it into the back yards of pretty women in swim suits sunning themselves.

That was then. Now the once glorious engine sits out rusting in all types of weather on a deserted stretch of track, her glory days far in the past.

Cows graze around her and children play engineer in what’s left of her cab. The grand old lady has fallen on hard times, a disintegrating shell of what she once was.

I know a little how she feels. I’m not as bright and handsome as I once was either.





Copyright–Georgia Koch

Here we are gathered together again to discuss our original stories for the group, Friday Fictioneers. Today we’re gathered in the  virtual sunporch of a rural home near a small lake. Our hostess for this gathering is the gracious and talented author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for this group is to write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was supplied by Georgia Koch. Thanks Georgia.

To read the other stories from the members of this group, click on the small blue frog in the blue box. The link is as follows:

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words


I remember the day my ship, The Happy Times, was launched, it was a beautiful day. It had rained that morning. There was some water on the decks, but I, Captain John, and my first mate, Jerry, felt it would probably dry off by noon.

We cast off into the deeper water. It was calm so we decided at noon to prepare and eat our lunch.

When we happened to check below, we noticed a slight leak. Our plans abruptly changed, and we headed for port.

To others it was an old row boat. To us it was The Happy Times