Thank you and Goodbye @IndieInk

As most of you know, I’m an aspiring fiction writer and this blog has been a record of sorts of my journey. It started with #Nanowrimo, and somehow I ended up at Indie Ink.

Each week, I would receive a prompt from another writer and then using that prompt, write a story. I was a beginner and admitted as much. I did my best though, and never felt belittled, inexperienced, or out-of-place.

The writers, and the folks that ran Indie Ink, were the most inspiring, friendly, and awesome people I have ever met. They provided an avenue for good constructive criticism and of course, compliments. Both used to help us grow. Continue reading

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Watery embrace

The creature stared at the shore, trying to remember. What was the pull to the shore?

Somehow, it knew at one time the land was more important than the water, but in the vagueness of its brain, in the vestiges of humanness that remained, it strained to pull that memory forward. All the creature knew now was that the shore and the land was dangerous.

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Yellowed paper

“Shit.”

That was all she could say as she looked at the old lock on the jewelry box. She didn’t have the key and the lock was older than dirt. She had to get into the box. It had to be there. It was the last place she could look, she had literally torn her apartment apart.

The box had been handed down to her from her grandmother. It contained bits and pieces of her past – important things, “well, they were important at the time,” she said to herself.

The box and its contents were the only things from the past that she had left. Continue reading

But you don’t look sick…

think stencil art & graffiti cat

Image by urbanartcore.eu via Flickr

She pulled her journal out of the drawer of the desk and flipped through the ink-filled pages while walking to her favorite chair. Her journal was always written in ink, never in pencil. The journals were records of her thoughts, her true, no-holds barred thoughts. No editing allowed here, ever. That’s the way she wanted it when she started writing so many years ago, and the crossed-out sentences and pages, were a testament to that. No editing, always the truth.

As she settled in the chair, she pulled the pen out of the journal that had marked the new page and started to write what she couldn’t say out loud, not yet anyway. The words and the tears started to flow.

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The joy after recovery

The couple sat stunned as they listened to what the rehab doctor was telling them. It didn’t make any sense, didn’t seem possible. They didn’t know how to react… the trauma of what she had been through over the past eight weeks, starting with the accident and then her very rough recovery and rehab, did not lead to immediate excitement. The couple sat there trying to take in the news, each in their own reverie. The husband took hold of his wife’s hand and brought it to his lips. She closed her eyes and remembered. Continue reading

The “cutest” thing

She was so tired. She just put the boy down for a nap after his feeding. As she shuffled her way over to the easy chair, her mind kept going back to the boy. He was a month old, but looked like a toddler. He looked that way when he was born. She half expected him to talk when they first placed him next to her after he was delivered. Easing her tired body into the chair, she reflected on her pregnancy with the boy and how different it was in comparison to the girl. Being pregnant with the girl was a breeze. You would never know they came from the same parents by looking at them. He still looked the way he did after she delivered him. Continue reading

The Dream

Time, that’s all she wanted, more time. She wasn’t ready to give in or quit. She still had plenty of fight left in her. She had promised her family she wouldn’t give in. She was going to keep that promise.

She collected herself as she stood outside the door to the doctor’s office. It had been a harrowing year for her. No promises were made, no hope was given. They had discovered her illness at its latest stage.

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The Walk

There is a difference in seeking quiet and solitude. She craves solitude and lots of it. There is rarely quiet here, too many machines, everything is brightly lit and it’s hard to hear yourself think. Solitude is non-existent, except when you step outside. Everyone craves solitude, but it was a far deeper yearning for her. The hunger for solitude had driven her for the past week. Whenever she looked out of the window, she saw her salvation.

It was her turn to go outside. She was ready, but it wasn’t quite time yet. There was the preparation left to do before she could step outside. Continue reading

The Visit

This week’s Indie Ink Challenge came from Chaos Mandy, who gave me this prompt: Ghosts and Ghouls. I challenged Liz Culver with the prompt: Your worst nightmare just turned into the best thing ever.

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She felt like she was being watched, again. That was impossible though, as she was laying in bed beside her sleeping new husband. The feeling grew so intense that she opened her eyes. Her eyes would not focus in the darkness of the room. There was no light coming into the room through the open curtains – there was no moon. Still the feeling grew stronger. This had been going on for a week – the week before her wedding. Continue reading

Two “R’s, Two “E’s”

**This post is part of Indie Ink’s Weekly Writing Challenge.  Mare was my Challenger this week. Her topic to me was “Write the story of your or your character’s name.”  I in turn challenged Disease .**

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My name is Sherree. The name is french, I’m not. Please note that there are two “R’s” and two “E’s” in my name. There are no “I’s” or “Y’s”. It is not pronounced “Sherry.” Thinking phonetically, it would be “Suree.” Considering the inspiration, it should have been “Cherie.”

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