Friday Fiction: First Advent

I have a bucket load of unfinished fiction stories, and I had planned to share two of my recent (failed) attempts at a FaithWriters challenge entry. Instead, when I went to write this post, I found myself drawn (again) to a story I started long ago for the topic "Advent".   When I read it again today, I saw that maybe I had actually ended it last time I tweaked on it.

It's not half-bad, if I can say that about my own writing. The bad half is the part that needs overhauling, of course. :) Keeping that in mind, I present to you, out of season and not perfect, .....

FIRST ADVENT

John peeked around the doorjamb and spied his young wife, Marcy, still asleep. He padded across the rough plank floor to her bedside, the precious package held carefully behind his back.

His tender gaze caressed her face, and his eyes misted as love clenched his heart. A tiny noise escaped his throat.

Marcy’s eyes opened a slit. “What a fine sight I behold as I open my eyes to the world this morn. Good morrow, my love.” Marcy angled her sleepy face to receive a kiss.

“And a good morrow to you, my wife.” John bent down to oblige her, and Marcy’s arms struggled out of the bedclothes and quilts and wrapped around him.

“Well, now, what’s this?” Marcy sat up in bed, and tried to see what John was obviously hiding behind his back.

Friday Fiction: The Lost Seinfeld

Thanks for reading my offering for Fiction Friday today!! My husband was a big fan of this story I wrote for the FaithWriters challenge topic, "Charade", as were other fans of the TV show "Seinfeld". I hope you enjoy!




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THE LOST SEINFELD

George had control of the remote, and the scanned through programs faster than a 100-meter sprinter ran the stretch of the track. The revolving door of channels happened upon a black and white show of days gone by.

“Stop.” Jerry leaned forward on the couch. “It’s Superman.”

“Why do you like this show so much?”

“George, you don’t understand. It’s not the show I like; it’s Superman. Watch, and learn. Bask in the glory of his Super-ness”

“Excuse me, Lois, I’ll be right back.”Clark Kent went into the small bathroom and closed the door. Lois Lane, engrossed in the movie they were watching on TV, hardly noticed his exit, let alone his absence. A charge in the atmosphere drew her focus from the flickering images on the television; she jerked her head around.

“Superman, what are YOU doing here?”

Friday Fiction: Second Thoughts

Thanks for reading my offering for Fiction Friday today!  I only just remembered it was Friday - I'm blaming it on my snowcation messing up my routine. :)  So, her I am, with an hour and a half left of Friday, scrambling. Needless to say, this is a rerun, but unless you've been following me since I first posted this story, it's new to you! Yay! And even if you have, its been over two years, so I'm hoping it will be fresh again. :)

Enjoy!


SECOND THOUGHTS

I don’t know how to tell this, or even where to start really. I guess I should start with Tessa, seeing as how it this is mostly her fault.

She’s so much different. Most girls are all about their make up and their hair and dressing like a hottie, but Tessa – she is what she is and she’s happy with that. She’s the only girl I know who is happy looking like herself, that being the girl next door. And I mean girl. She could probly pass for 10 even though she’ll be 14 on her birthday come December. Besides her cute little nose that turns up at the end, she’s got gorgeous eyes – big and brown and shiny. Hair just as brown and shiny all the way down her back.

Anyway, back to the story. I wasn’t real happy about the plan but I didn’t want to be a wimp. It’s a guy thing, ya know? See, I never was one to back down from a dare, so I went along with it, and Tessa, she followed me like always. She must watch outta her window for me to walk past cuz she came out her front door right when I crossed her driveway.

Friday Fiction: The Corpse

Happy New Year!  Welcome to the first Fiction Friday of 2011.

Drum roll please.....

I'm introducing a new story for the new year!

I was prompted to write a 400 word "flash fiction" story for a contest at "Wake Up Your Muse", a very cool website owned by Jan Christiansen. Each week, you get a new "prompt" to jump start your imagination - the first sentence of your story.

This is the expanded version of my 400 word entry - still starting with the prompt sentence. The first title of this story was "The Corpse" - it was what popped into my head when I saved it. I hope to have a much more clever title by the time I'm finished with the book. Wait, what? Yes you heard me - this is the idea I've been waiting for - one that I can build something out of. My first novel.

Pray for me. :)

Love

Cat

ps: I'll explain what prompted the blog make over soon - It actually came before the story, that's a story for another day.

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THE CORPSE

She dropped the children off at daycare, picked up a cappuccino at the coffee shop and headed for the morgue.

Another day, another dead body.

If Callie’s phone rings at 4:37 a.m., she’s pretty sure it’s not Ed McMahon calling to award her a cool million. Nope, 99.7% of the time, it’s Alfie. Oh, sorry, that’s Officer Alfred Lundquist now. And when the town cop calls the county coroner at 4:37 am, there’d better be only one reason.

A dead body.

Callie’s childhood sweetheart was loyal about keeping her in the loop, dead-body and other-wise. And she appreciated that, really. But Alfie sometimes forgot she was also a frenzied single mom juggling the candle at both ends.

Since Chuck’s murder, Alfie’d been especially attentive to her and the kids. Sometimes too attentive. Times like two hours before the alarm on Monday morning in a nonemergency situation.

4:37 a.m. isn’t the most convenient time to loop her in.

Callie had to keep reminding herself Alfie lost a best friend, too. The same best friend.

Seems they were both guilty of forgetting things.

**

“Hey, Doc. I’m diggin’ that mocha cappuccino foam mustache today. One of your best.” Kevin grinned as he pointed at her and used his thumb to cock an imaginary pistol.

Callie savored her once weekly extravagance--cash, calorie, and caffeine wise--a triple-shot venti mocha-caramel cappuccino. Her inability to savor and navigate without growing a thick, sticky mustache was legendary at the morgue.

“So’s the cappuccino, Kev. Ah, heaven in a Styrofoam to-go cup.” Callie slurped the last syrupy dregs of delight through the sippy-lid and tossed the cup in the recycle tub.


**


“Ready?” Callie looked across the corpse at her intern.

“Ready.”

She picked up the edge of the cotton shroud. “Okay, let’s have a look you, shall we?” Her greeting died when she saw the man's face.

Closing her eyes burned the image behind her eyelids, and she snapped them open.

No. It’s not him. This guy’s nose is longer, and look at those big ears. How could I mistake him for Chuck?

“Doc? You okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little caffeine-sugar rush. You ready?”

“Yep.” He squinted at her before looking down. “Male, 34 years old,” Kevin read from the file. “Tobias Matthison, Lincoln, Nebraska.”

Tobias Matthison. Matthison like Chuck’s Nana Em.

“Tobias, what are you doing so far from home.” Callie peeled the sheet further down and uncovered his scarred, muscular chest. An apple-shaped birthmark rode his ribcage just under his left arm.

Tobias… Toby? No, it can’t be. Can it? ‘Matching birthmarks, the apples of their mama’s eye, Toby and Chuck.’

Callie stepped back and peeled off her gloves. Chuck had only talked about his twin once, but Callie remembered every word.

But Toby was…

“Doc?”

Callie grabbed a tissue. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think. Kevin I need to make a call. I think I know who this “

“Wait, what? We know who he is. We’ve got his driver’s license, a fist full of credit cards. A library card even. He’s Tobias Matthison.”

“No, before. Just…never mind. I need to make a call. Please, Kevin, just give me a minute. Go...I don’t know, go download some I-Pods or something.”

“Doc, you don’t download an IPod; you download to an IPod. Seriously, I’ve explained this before...”

“Kevin – stop. Not now.” Callie held up her hand, palm out, cutting off Kevin’s juvenile meanderings. “Just...give me a few minutes. Please.”

If anyone would know, it would be Alfie.

© 2011

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Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Home for Christmas

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Welcome to an unofficial, spur of the moment Friday Fiction, hosted by Mari LaVell on her awesome blog, A Mari Heart. This is old one from the "Christmas" quarter at FaithWriters. I don't know why the judges didn't like it; it's one of my favorites. Maybe I connect more with the snarky MC than they did. [smile]

Enjoy your holiday, and remember to thank God for the best gift ever given, and the reason we celebrate Christmas - JESUS!! (And if you forget, it's right there in the name of the holiday.)

***************


HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Irving was at it again. Frankly, I was over his whining. One more word about missing his precious Aunt Betty's sweet potato soufflé tomorrow and I was going to drop kick him to the curb. Besides, just the thought of sweet potato soufflé makes me want to gag.

I shot him a look that could melt diamonds and put my nose back into Grisham's "Skipping Christmas." Boy could I relate to Mr. Krank; I was ready to skip the rest of December and move straight into January.

Irving was acting like it was my fault I had to work on Christmas this year. Maybe I could tell the patients they'd need to care for themselves tomorrow because the nurses had to go home to mommy. Wait, I've got it - we could just shut down the hospital tomorrow. I should ask Irving if he'd call the director and suggest it.

I gave up reading and closed my book none too quietly. "Let's go. You're taking me shopping. Bring the credit cards."

Friday Fiction: Nothing to Wear

Our host for Friday Fiction today is....ME! Thank you Karlene, for giving me this honor! If you'd like to join the fun, scroll down and add your link to the linky tool at the bottom of this post. Then be sure to come back and follow the links to our other participants. And don't forget to leave an encouraging word to let the writers know you are reading! (We thrive on that, you know.)

I started this story over a year ago for the "Black" challenge at FaithWriters.com, and I finished it up today so I would have something new for Friday Fiction. It's based on a true story, but a lot of the facts have been changed for the sake of creative writing. 

Happy reading and MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!


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NOTHING TO WEAR

Stacy rifled through her clothes for the third time, toppling stacks of sweaters and yanking clothes off hangers, hoping something suitable would magically appear. She had a classy black sleeveless sheath that still fit, but it was December and she was going to the frozen tundra of Iowa. Her two black suits and countless black skirts, sweaters, and dresses were all too small. In a fit of rage, Stacy screamed at the ceiling, then crumpled to the floor. The dam holding back her tears exploded and she curled up in a ball and wept.

That’s where Kevin found her. The arm she had flung over her face to block the light didn’t hide her tear stained cheeks. Her lips whispered prayers that stopped when Kevin turned off the closet light. He knelt down beside her and combed the hair away from her face with his fingers, and Stacy breathed a sigh.

“Bad day, huh?”

Can you hear Him now?

I came of age in the dark ages of communication. The first personal computers made their appearance when I was in high school, pagers were a Godsend in my twenties, and shortly after I married Brad, the portable cellular phone was birthed.

Brad worked for a paging company back in the 90’s, and because he needed to be reachable 24/7, his employer issued him one of those newfangled portable phones. It measured about 10” x 3” x 2”, weighed more than my new puppy, and rode on the floorboard of our car.

When we got our first “modern”, 21st cell phones, their purpose was “for emergencies”. We stored them in our glove compartments and tried to remember to check the batteries’ charge every couple weeks.

Gradually, our definition of “emergency” morphed from “I have a flat tire," or “I’m broken down on the shoulder”, into “I’m running late,” and “We’re out of milk.”

Now, me forgetting my cellphone is cause to turn around and go back home. I feel lost without it. I haven't reached the extreme of the smart-phone junkie, but the thought of not being able to reach someone IMMEDIATELY brings on a panic attack.