Think about it…

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Flash fiction: Tree magic

Loved it, beautiful and a little sad.

An expanded version of the 100 word story for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt.

tree

She loved him from when she first set eyes on him. Easy enough, tall as he was, and his red gold hair falling in a wave of sunlight onto his shoulders. His smile across the hall caught her fast, and his eyes blue as lake water on a summer’s afternoon drew her in. He came to bear arms for her father and was welcomed for his strength and his sure eye, but he came without wealth and was not likely to earn much. The black looks of her father’s men guaranteed that.

She was to marry a king, that she had always known, but had not yet given her word. When she saw him, she knew that she never would. They met in secret and loved in secret. In the darkest hours of the night, in the…

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Book Spotlight – The Rocking Chair & Bashful Betsy

The Rocking Chair has an interesting cover and the excerpt say “read me” so will take a look at it.

Marissa had faced the loss of her grandmother, mother, and grandfather. She thought she was coping well by throwing herself into her work, but when Marissa started hearing voices and seeing things move, she had to stop and wonder. Was she going insane or was there really an afterlife?

Behind the Scenes with D.B. Mauldin

The Rocking Chair is loosely based on a personal experience I had after the death of my own grandmother. My experience left me with a firm belief in an afterlife; a belief that I enjoy researching and writing about.

Excerpt from THE ROCKING CHAIR

After eating an apple and a handful of nuts for lunch, Marissa decided to walk down to the graveyard. It was a beautiful spring day, and she wanted to be outside; soaking up some sunshine, while listening to the song birds and looking at all the flowers and the trees. When…

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Microfiction: Lost temple IV

Shivers and turn on more lights.

Jane Dougherty Writes

Ruine_Oybin_bei_Mondschein

Clouds moved across the moon’s bloody face, but even the wind was silent. No trees murmured; no leaves rustled. The acolyte, his fingers gripping the amulet, moved cautiously after the old man, his eyes fixed on the shadowy apse. There was something odd and unnerving about the darkness that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His feet dragged as if he were walking through thick mud. The amulet in his right hand grew hot. Hot enough to burn, but he dared not let go.

The ravens shuffled and rattled their ragged wing feathers. The acolyte cringed and his shuffling steps came to a halt. He raised the amulet fearfully and pressed it to his brow. Pain seared, but he gritted his teeth, letting the images of blood and death wash, like a filthy tide, into his thoughts. Suppressing a cry, he thrust the amulet back into the pocket of…

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Microfiction: Lost temple II

Jane Dougherty Writes

Ruine_Oybin_bei_Mondschein

“At last,” the older monk murmured. “To have found it after so many years. And on this night of all nights.”

The acolyte gazed through the tall lancet windows, still full of light, though they seemed to let none fall into the building. Through a window of a side chapel, glassless now and empty, the moon appeared, red and bloody. The acolyte licked dry lips and tried to convince himself that this was a good omen, but his eyes were drawn irresistibly to the deep shadows that gathered where the twilight had receded. He wished that they had arrived in daylight.

The two monks stood side-by-side beneath a red sky slowly inking over with darkness, where once had arched the great vault of the nave. The older man raised his eyes and let his gaze roam among the delicate tracery of the windows, the columns and the buttresses. The acolyte…

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