The limits of the human body

Information for creating character’s in thrillers, etc.

This is important to know if you’re having a character who might be sick, or in tough spot, tied up on a railroad track.

~Kaw

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FIRST CLASS ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS

I’m writing this story for the blog, “Teagan’s Books”. This week the subject for the series on the senses in the final sense of “touch”. The website for this entertaining blog is as follows:

https://teagansbooks.wordpress.com/2016/02/27/5158/

FIRST CLASS ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS by P.S. Joshi

Mable Whittenton hugged her wool coat with its warm fur collar close to her as the cooler winter air swirled around her, chilling her sensitive skin. She looked for her first-class car on the long Orient Express that sat in the Paris station.

Her husband, Eric, was waiting in Istanbul. He was now stationed there as a member of the British Embassy.

Her personal steward, Wilson, recognized her and introduced himself as she stepped on board. He personally directed her to her compartment. She felt relief at receiving such excellent service. His warm smile made her feel at home.

What met her eyes in the compartment was the  smooth Cuban mahogany on the walls and gleaming polished brass lamp and wash basin fixtures. She turned on the hot water faucet and warm water flowed over her fingers. The towels hanging beside the immaculate basin felt soft and fluffy.

Mable sat down on the couch and sank into the soft padded comfort. It would be her bed at night.

Eric and she had only been married a year so she felt a mixture of love and excitement at joining him in Istanbul. As she ran her finger over the engraving on the gold ring, memories of their wedding filled her mind.

Soon Wilson came to direct her to the dining car. There she sat in a comfortable chair at a small table covered with a soft linen cloth. Her tableware was shining French silver, beautiful china plates and bowls, and heavy crystal glassware. The food was exquisite. A feeling of fullness made her sleepy.

Back in her compartment, the couch was now made into a bed with the soft white bed linen and a buoyant but warm blanket. She fell asleep dreaming of meeting with Eric at the end of the line.

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…The View from the Bench…

A moving poem written by Seumas.

Seumas Gallacher

There’s nothing great about war, my son,
Despite what the generals say
To be out in the void at the end of a gun
Just hoping you’ll live through each day
There’s bile in your throat with each breath that you take,
And nothing to assuage your fear,
For bullets and bombs won’t give you a break
When the claws of the devil come near
It’s not about courage, or strength, or of guts,
And nothing to do with your honour,
With killings and bombings, no ifs and no buts
When you die as some government’s fodder
And what of your family, your kids and your wife?
Will they be grateful you died as a hero?
When you die as a pawn, the next wasted life
–Their future slashed down to zero?
I sit on this bench, and cast my thoughts back,
To the…

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FAITHFUL OLD CLOPPER

 

Antique motor cars--Al Forbes

Photo Copyright: Al Forbes

Here we all are at a virtual antique auto show. Our hostess is the gracious and talented author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re the Friday Fictioneers group. Our challenge this week and every week is to write an original 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 Al Forbes. Thank, Al.

To read the other stories by the group, just click on the link given below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link for this week’s stories is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/02/24/26-february-2016/

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

FAITHFUL OLD CLOPPER by P.S. Joshi

 Old Clopper, or Clop for short, had been owned by the Rigleys for years. He’d grown up with the children.

His main job was pulling the family buggy, but he also helped old Blinker the plow horse.

Sometimes the children rode him bareback for fun. He had a good life.

“Yes sir,” Pa often said, “I don’t trust these newfangled automobiles. I bought a tractor but I needed that when Blinker died.”

Mr. Johnson at the next farm bought a Model T Ford, then Mr. Pitt. The next year so did Pa and old Clop was retired to the pasture.

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The Journey of a Writer…

Good advice from Lorinda, an experienced writer.

Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog

I have been observing writers lately at all stages of development, mostly through the Facebook posts of my fellow indies, and I’ve been relating some of their comments to where I was back in 1969 (wow — 47 years ago!) Shortly after I began to publish in 2011, somebody made a comment that I seemed so confident. I guess that’s because I already had over 40 year’ experience thinking of myself as a writer and I really didn’t feel insecure about the craft.

I did go through some of the same stages, however, that neophytes experience. I’ll present them here, along with some advice for beginners…

To find out more, click on the link or image below:

Journey of a Writer

Writing

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The Corner Gas Station

I’m writing this story for the blog, “Teagan’s Books”. Today the subject for the series on the senses is “taste”. The website for this entertaining blog is as follows:

https://teagansbooks.wordpress.com/2016/02/20/mini-series-the-senses-taste/

THE CORNER GAS STATION By P.S. Joshi

If you ask anyone in Phillipstown where the gas station is you’ll get the same answer for a couple of reasons. Al Pritchard, the owner, was born and raised in this little town and many men, and a couple women worked there while in high school.

“Go to the corner of Main and Cherry,” you’ll hear.

Now the senses of smell and taste work together. If you have a cold, your food tastes like straw. So you might say you not only smell the station’s benzine you taste it.

 If you enter the air-conditioned station building, you also smell food. The place is sealed so tight you can’t smell a hint of gasoline.

Go ahead and take the time to buy and savour the rich taste of a darn good cup of coffee. Maybe your car needs a check or you just drop in to visit with Al in the attached garage.

A few years ago, Al installed a freezer to hold delicious flavors of ice cream treats and a top brand of frozen pizza. The pizza can cook in a  small microwave if you want to eat right away. Sit at a small table against the wall. The taste of the spicy pepperoni, rich tomato sauce, and sweet bell pepper beats the brand sold at the local parlor.

Al also buys homemade baked goods from the widow, Mrs. James. Her donuts and cookies have the rich flavor of home, spicy and not too sweet.

You’ll be glad you stopped by.

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Truth #41

This is a powerful piece.

S C Richmond

Take a minute to read this please.

I wanted to just share this because in most of our lives we are told we are not good enough, the people we trust let us down, we need to act a different way or look a different way. People are so good at making other people feel bad and I read this and thought Yes, yes someone else ‘gets it’ too.


Trust yourself, treat yourself & be true to yourself. Sometimes it’s difficult but always worth the effort.

The Community – Click here

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THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK

 

Hourglass clock--Sandra Crook

Photo Copyright: Sandra Crook

Here we all are another week. Today we’re sitting in a virtual park where there’s an unusual clock. It has a central hourglass controlling it. Our hostess for this gathering is the gracious and talented author and artist, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We’re the Friday Fictioneers group. Our challenge this week and every week is to write an original 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 Sandra Crook. Thanks Sandra.

To read the other stories by the group, just click on the link given below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link for this week’s stories is as follows:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/02/17/19-february-2016/

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words

THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK By P.S. Joshi

When first their mother, then their father died the Stevens family’s huge home had to be sold.

Each grown child chose a favorite furniture piece they wanted to keep. Beatrice chose the grandfather clock.

Their father had been a man of strict schedules and the clock, with its loud bongs, assisted him.

When Beatrice had married, she and her husband bought a tick-tocking mantle clock with a musical chime.

The afternoon the ancient clock entered their home, it dominated the small hallway.

With the first vibrating bongs, Beatrice thought, “I’ll have to find a larger home for my beloved clock.”

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