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Okay, I just have to share this. A whole story could be written surrounding this interesting mode of transportation.

Who drives it? Where do they live? Which item did they attach first? What if they drove this to attend a PETA convention? What would be the repercussions?

I await your imaginative responses.

Duck Duck Gray Duck

About right…

walmart parking lot

via

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“What the hell kind of noise is that?” Jim mumbled to himself as he made his way through the thick underbrush. Over forty years hunting in these woods and he’d never heard nothing of the sort…..

Here’s your challenge. What will Jim find? I have no idea. Do you? Finish this short story and post it in the comments or on your site with a link in the comments below. I look forward to reading all your responses!

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Life is full of change. It’s unavoidable, inevitable—like death and taxes—something we all must face. However it’s not ‘change’ that’s of interest, it’s how each of us deal with said change that truly matters. Do we fight it kicking and screaming, edge into it slowly while gripping the past tightly? Or do we embrace it, move on and grow?

What does this have to do with my website? As you can see, there’s a long gap between this post and the last. Why? Well changes of course. So, you may be asking yourself, which way did I respond? Never one to do anything halfway, I decided to go for all the above. Not all at once, but in stages. This led to a long gap of non productivity while I tried to cope, not an approach I would recommend to anyone else.

So finally here I am, back to my website and my writing. Embracing the change in my life and funneling it into creativity. Sorry it took me so long

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming….

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I’ve been a little philosophical lately. Not sure why. Maybe it’s all the change taking place in my life, affording me a different perspective. Or the new and interesting people who have come in and out of my life lately. Regardless, I’m seeing things differently and perhaps just a bit more clearly.

I used to visualize myself as on an island, safe and secure, allowing only those I wished onto my shore. The control was mine, who to let on, who to kick off, whether to swim to someone else’s island for a day or not etc.

It was a good outlook, if a bit lonely.

Recently I met someone with the same type of life philosophy, only their island had huge rock bluffs, impenetrable jungles, and a lava spewing volcano directly in the middle. A very exciting place but impossible to ever relax on. None of the beaches had sand, only rocks, the jungle had no trails and the water source was across the freshly spewed lava fields, which changed location every day.

Needless to say, after trying to navigate all that chaos I finally gave up and just swam back to my own little safe and sane island. Probably the latest in a long line of adventurers to do exactly the very same thing. Sad actually, because his island was of his own creation, his loneliness his own doing. A prison of his own making.

Wait. Prison.

I looked around at my island. Different but the same. A prison. My prison.

Okay, that was my epiphany. So now what you ask?

I’m out in the ocean swimming from island to island, yelling to everyone, “The water’s warm! Come join me.”

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It’s been awhile. I know.

This morning I woke up thinking of freedom. Shocker right? Seeing as it’s July and all, but the type of freedom I’m referring to is personal freedom. Where does it come from? And who’s to say what it means to you, or to the neighbors across the street, or to that couple sitting on the park bench?

Look more closely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The woman gazed at the clothing laid out on the bed, designer fitted dress or leather and chain? What would she wear? Who would she be tonight? Her heart pounded, palms sweated.

Her fingers caressed the edge of the dress, black and elegant. It sang of upscale restaurants, limos, men with suits.

Her hand moved to the leather, subtle and soft but speaking of dominance and obedience. The riding crop laid out next to it spoke of… other things.

She placed her hands in the middle, just as he came into the room, the man who gave her the freedom to be both.

She picked up the riding crop…

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Lucky Seven!

A friend and fellow writer, Danita Cahill has tagged me in the Lucky Seven.

The challenge: Post seven lines from an unpublished work of fiction.

The Golden Rules:

Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript
Go to line 7
Post on your blog or Facebook page the next 7 lines, or sentences, as they are – no cheating
Tag 7 other authors to do the same.

Here’s the lines from my Urban Fantasy WIP

Tonight her mom drove into the darkness, down to the local tavern. “Stay here Jess.” She said, getting out, going inside. A few moments later, the van’s back doors opened. Her father hung limp, carried between two men. They heaved him up onto the mattress, before slamming the doors closed again. Her mom got in the front and started the engine to drive back home.

Here are my nominee’s:

M. Pax

Marie Harte

Rich at BrainSnorts

Karen Duvall

Madison Woods

Melania

Craig Towsley

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Photo credit belongs to Douglas McIlroy

Here’s the photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Madison Woods. Thanks Madison, for starting and continuing this wonderful writing prompt. Please visit her site and check out all the other Friday Fictioneers. This one gave me fits, but here’s what I finally came up with:

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Out of breath, he reached the summit. The trek had taken him over desolate rock fields with no visible life.

“Snow, at least I’ll have fresh water.”

Turning in a circle, he spied his surroundings, an island. Unfortunately, the other side showed more of the same.

No vegetation. No food. Perhaps the tide pools would contain some edible life forms? Although, without access to fire, he’d be doing sushi.

Curse his luck. First his ship malfunctions, next his life pod crashes in the ocean, now land with no food. Could it get any worse?

The ground shakes, the smell of sulfur stings his nose. “Well hell.”

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