Friday, June 25

Friday Fiction: Expunging Muck

After many weeks of failed attempts, I managed to finish a story and enter the FaithWriters weekly writing challenge again. And once again, the talent was fierce. (That's my excuse for losing, and I'm sticking with it!)
Actually, if I'm honest with myself, maybe the muddled thoughts of my Main Character weren't as clear to the readers as they were to me. ;)

Be blessed,



A pebble of ink quivers under my trembling pen.

Blaire screams at me, and Peter curses. My hand jerks, smearing ink across the pure white page.

I grab my hair and pull. My shout rattles the windows. "I can't!"

Blaire's screams morph into a banshee's wail, and Peter demands I set him free.

My growled command for silence does no good.

The morass burying me in this miry pit has entrapped with me the two lives I birthed.

I tear a page from the back of my notebook and slash the blankness with angry blue strokes. Maybe if I can expunge some muck from my mood, the would-be lovers can be set free to embrace their fate. And maybe I'll be set free with them.

words Words WORDS!
Words all around me
Words surround me


my search for words
to articulate the thoughts
swirling like a cyclone
touching down for a moment
to deposit a modifier
or dangle a participle
in the peripheral vision
of my mind's eye
comes up dry

"GARBAGE." Peter's commanding voice shook me from my vain scribblings.

Blaire was no longer wailing, but her words warble with sobs. "That's not it."

"I'm just warming up...getting a flow going." I take a deep breath. It's just for me. No one has to see.

A shuddering line slowly carves out cursive letters, spilling my guts onto the paper.

Where am I?
I can't find me.
All I see
is a smiling visage
as me.

The mirror says
that I am me
but mirrors lie;
they don't reveal
what lies beneath
the mortal seal.

Ebon sea and endless night
play hide and seek
with me and I
waste endless days
and sleepless nights
mulling over life
and why

and when

the sunshine went away

and where I might be hiding

and why.

A groan escapes my lungs and I'm torn between flinging my pen across the room and snapping it in two. Hideous excuse for poetry.

"Poetry schmoetry. You're avoiding the question."

My joy at hearing coherent words spoken by my female lead is increased exponentially by a hint of the melodious tinkle usually accompanying her voice. I search for Peter, but he's retreated to his room and shut me out. I know better than to pry when he disappears like that.

"Hello-o, anyone home? Forget the bad poetry. No one cares. You asked the right question, though; now answer it."

I was used to hearing Blaire talk to Peter this way, but rarely did she address me directly, let alone in such a forward manner.

"You mean, 'Why?'"

"Yeah. 'Why?' And speaking of Peter, he's too under-developed, you know."

I'm taken aback. "Under-developed? You mean scrawny? And who was speaking of Peter?"

"Speaking, thinking, same thing. We're all in here together. Except when you guys are in your rooms. I'm getting kind of tired of that, you know. I get lonely."

"You mean me and Peter?"

"Well, yah, duh. Who else is here? Wait--don't answer that. You don't know Peter at all, do you?"

"What do you mean?" I pick up my pen in a huff, tempted to conjure up an horrific natural disaster to befall her. "I created Peter."

"Yeah? Why is he in his room right now, ignoring us? Ignoring ME? Aren't I going to be the love of his life?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't know that yet."

"Which brings us back to 'why' and to Peter. Underdeveloped. Maybe it's time you got to know him. Knock on his door; demand he talk to you. And ask him why."

This might officially constitute the longest conversation I've ever had with one of my creations.

I'm not mad, of course. I know they live only in my head. I'm also sane enough to realize they speak only what is already known to me on some level, conscious or no.

"Exactly!" Blaire says. "So make Peter speak. He is you, you know. We all are."

"And you, Blaire? Why do I know you and not Peter?"

"I'm easy--I'm joy; I was created with light only touched by shadows.

"Peter was created from the dark that hides in you. That part of you is afraid of the light. He hides. If you can find him, get him to speak, you'll find the part of you you've hidden.

"Only then can you be set free.

"Come on, let's write more bad poetry. We've got some muck to expunge."

I pick up my pen.

© 2010

Our host for Fiction Friday this week is Laury's blog Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart Pop on over and add a link to your own fiction, or spend some time reading some wonderful writing.

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, June 11

Friday Fiction: The Storm

It's a stormy Friday afternoon here in mid-Georgia. Whenever it storms, I think of a certain stormy night from my childhood - one of my earliest memories. Today, I was motivated to "fictionalize" it.

I did my best to not embellish my memories, although I did add a little "flavor' to the opening. I wanted to write this as a children's story, but I don't think children would enjoy it much. Too scary. Maybe I'll use my "artistic license"  to make this a truly awesome piece of fiction someday. For now, though, I hope you enjoy "The Storm".


The Storm

KatieBelle was having a nightmare. A giant was coming to get her. He was screaming, and every time he took a step toward her, a loud BOOM shook her bed,

And the screams and BOOM's were getting closer together.

Usually, KatieBelle didn't like to be woken up. This time was different. When her mama shook her awake, she was glad. But the BOOMing and screaming didn't stop. And now there were bright flashes of light that lit up her whole room.

KatieBelle flung herself into her mama's chest. "It's a giant, Mama! A giant's coming!"

Friday, June 4

Friday Fiction: what good?

My Friday Fiction isn't fiction today. I occasionally dabble in a little poetry, and this free verse was my entry for the FaithWriters challenge "Actions Speak Louder Than Words."

Be blessed,


what good?

what good is Your Word
if the ink on Its pages
remains as still
as quiet
as dead
as the blackest night?

what good are Its lessons
if the Wisdom yearning to be unleashed
remains as constrained
as trapped
as caged
as a lion behind bars?

what good is Its Breath
if the Life It bestows
is neglected
before It grows wings?

what good is It on the tongue
if the reciter understandeth not
doeth not
loveth not
liveth not…

so is heard not?

what good is the world
if they don’t hear
won’t hear
aren’t told,
nay, shown
who you are?

what good am I
if I go into the world
without You
without carrying Your Word
Your Love
Your Life
to them?

what good are my
if they labor
to Your works?

what good are my
if they walk
to Your way?

what good are You
to the world
if they see You not
witness You not
experience You not
in the world?

but how?

How can I
ever fill
those Footprints
that You ask,
nay, command
that I walk in?

How can I,
my heart,
so small,
be so filled
with Your love?

surely I will leak
leak You
overflow with You
spill You
for nothing of me
could contain
all that flows

And that is good.

© 2008

We'd love you to join us for Friday Fiction! Our host today is Yvonne "Vonnie" Blake at My Back Door. Pop on over and add a link to your own fiction, or just read some fiction by the best writers I know.

Catrina Bradley

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

Thursday, June 3

Word Filled Wednesday: I Get Misty

Living life is all about THIS moment. This very nanosecond in time.

The moment that has just past is behind you--gone. You can't get it back. You can't change it.

The moment yet to come isn't within your control. You have no need to worry about it. You'll be wasting your time if you obsess about it.

Take a deep breath.

All the way In....

All the way Out....

That's all you are guaranteed of. That's THIS moment.

What are you going to do with it?

Random thoughts while pondering whether I should play "just a few" games of Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. Can you guess my decision? :-)

What is your life?
For you are a mist that appears
for a little time
and then vanishes.
~James 4:14~

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