Friday, January 28

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, .....


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, January 21

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!



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, January 14

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. :)



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, January 7

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. :)


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



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.


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…


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


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