Wednesday, February 24, 2016


Welcome to the randomness that is Wednesday. Ah yes, so let's get to why most of you are here. *drum roll* Wednesday Male Hotness

Our topic this week is why we write. I'm sure most of us will say some of the same things, but here's why I write. As long as I can remember, my imagination has been filled with people. Tons and tons of people. As a kid, I could spend hours daydreaming the day away. I usually did since I was bored in school and it gave me something to do. Usually, the people were a mixture of characters in books and people that just popped into my head.

The people would have full on adventures and conversations and go places and do things. After a while, I wondered if other people had friends in their heads too. Yeah come to find out, not many people did. You get strange looks when you mention the people in your head that talk to you.

Anyway, I started to write stories when I was about ten or so. Off and on, nothing serious. Then in high school, I started to actually create character lists about some of the people in my head, but they weren't fully formed yet. So nothing came of the stories.

Then I wrote a book that I've never published, but will once I do major revisions. The characters came totally from a dream and I crafted an entire book around them. Finally, the people in my head had an outlet. I could let them out to play and see if other people liked them too. 

Guess what? People did. So, I write because my head gets way too crowded and the tenants need a permanent home on  a page. This gives the huge condo in my brain room for new people to move in. Also, the more people I can get out onto the pages the quieter my brain will be. Does that make sense? Or does it sound slightly crazy? Yeah, I'm probably saying stuff that most writers experience but most don't want do talk about. You know, because voices in head = padded cell. 

I write because it makes me happy and sad and frustrated all at once. I write because sometimes I can't do anything else. I write because if I don't then I feel as if I'm wasting something . . . time, talent, I don't know. 

And, that's why I write. Check out what the other bloggers have to say and I'll catch you all next week. -- Gwen

Jessica D

Wednesday, February 3, 2016


Yeah, so I'll have to admit I've been procrastinating. The whole idea of an "ideal" date stumped me. I have no clue what to write since I don't have any idea about the ideal. Oh wait, forgot, for your edification here's Wednesday Male Hotness 

Okay, so back to the dilemma. Right now, I got no game so I've been putting this off in hopes that some kind of thought would pop into my head. Other than, "shit I still have to write that." Then I realized I'm a writer . . . I have an imagination. Go figure. So here it is my perfect date/day.

Okay so the incredible man (unknown) but is abso perfect for me says he is going to take me something fabulous. Someplace I will love. With a flick of his fingers (he's magical don't you know) he instantly whisks me away to . . . Walt Disney World!!

We get to go into Magic Kingdom early and immediately head to my favorite ride Haunted Mansion

 We hit Pirates of the Caribbean

Head to Epcot for World Showcase

And generally spend the day doing all the amazing things we can. That evening, he snaps his fingers again and whisks me away to a fabulous home on a gorgeous beach. 

He fixes me an amazing meal and we snuggle together as we listen to the waves lap on the sand. Finally, we head to bed where we can still hear the ocean and feel the breeze.

And there it is, my ideal date. And I'm sure you weren't expecting any of that since it would or could never happen. But hey I figured if I was going to imagine, I might as well go all the way. Right??

Now run over and check out what the other ladies consider an ideal date and I will see you next week! -- Gwen

Jessica D

Monday, February 1, 2016


She imagined the picture was supposed to be evocative of…something. The dreamy image showed a man, in a blue hoodie and jeans, walking down a wooden dock, surrounded by blue water, toward a bright light. Death? The unknown? His promising future? All that the artwork brought to her mind was the song “Dock of the Bay,” and she was fairly certain that’s not what the artist was aiming for.
“What do you think?” a low, rough voice asked
She glanced over at the man who’d stepped up beside her and had to look up. He was tall, had to be nearly six-four, with close cropped black hair, a beard, and enough tats and piercings to cause most people to back up. Emily wasn’t most people though. She prided herself on giving everyone a chance and, if they turned out to be an asshole, she’d just use her pepper spray.
“I don’t like it. I think it’s hokey. It reminds me of that one painter. You know, the one they called the painter of light. He did all those landscape paintings that never looked real.”
She also prided herself on honesty. If people didn’t want her opinion they shouldn’t ask.
He nodded. “Something your grandma might hang on her living room wall.”
“Exactly,” she said with a nod. “Right next to a horrible clown print.”
After a moment, she glanced over at him. “Please tell me you’re not the artist.”
He laughed. “No, hell no. Somebody I know invited me. I didn’t have anything else going so here I am. Would your opinion have changed if I was?”
“No, but I would have tried to be kinder in my choice of words.”
“So you would have still told me my pictures were shit, but prettied it up?”
“Yes.” She turned and held out her hand. “I’m Emily.”
“Tanner,” he said, gently taking her hand for a shake. “How did you end up here?”
“Same as you, a friend invited me. This is her gallery and she wanted me to see the work of this totally awesome artist. Her words, obviously.”
He had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen. They were an unusual blue-green hue surrounded by thick black lashes. Lashes she only dreamed of having. Lashes the mascara companies promised you’d get, if you bought their products, but never delivered on. And how long had she been standing and staring up into his eyes?
“Do you want to go across the street for coffee?” he asked her.
“What about your date?”
“I don’t have a date. My sister didn’t want to come by herself.”
“I’d like that,” she said, smiling. No he wasn’t anything like the men she usually dated, but sticking with pattern wasn’t working for her. This man, with his beautiful eyes and gruff voice, made her stomach clench and that wasn’t a sensation she’d felt in a very long time.  
He held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Emily put her hand in his as they moved through the crowd. No, she hadn’t liked the show at all, but had found something so much more to her liking.

Now run over and check out what the other bloggers wrote.