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Enjoy this lively chat packed full of great writing tips and resources on writing short stories with fellow northern Nevada writer, writing coach, and public speaker, Linda K. Hardie.
Linda led an engaging and informative short story workshop at a writing retreat I recently attended in Virginia City, Nevada, that truly inspired me to dive into my next small tale with a new perspective. Check out the highlights and photos of the retreat on my blog. That very day, I invited Linda to my Spotlight for a chat so that you can benefit too.
Linda Kay Hardie is a freelance writer in Reno, Nevada. She writes short stories in many genres, including horror, dark fantasy, and crime. She also writes recipes and is the reigning Spam champion for Nevada (yes, the tasty treat canned mystery meat).
Her writing has won awards dating back to fifth grade, with first place for an essay on fire safety. In 2022, she was honored with the Sierra Arts Foundation Literary Arts Award for fiction. Linda makes a living as a writer, writing coach, teddy bear builder, and as staff working for purebred rescue cats.
Thank you so much for joining me on my Spotlight, Linda. How did you become a writer, and what or who was your biggest inspiration?
LKH: Books in general were my initial inspiration. I remember looking at books, seeing the little black squiggles that held the magic of the story, and being determined to figure out that mystery. I had to learn all the mysteries, and I was full of questions. When I was 4, I followed my mom around the house as she cared for my 2yo brother, asking her questions. She finally sent me to kindergarten (not very common in those days), where I bothered the teacher. We had coloring time, recess, nap time, and storytime. I couldn’t nap because I was too excited for storytime. Finally, the teacher taught me how to read and asked me to read quietly on my nap pad on the floor. I wrote my first story soon after that.
DLL: That is definitely the youngest budding writer story ever shared with me on my Spotlight. Fantastic!
How did you find your genre in Crime Fiction? What other genres do you like to write?
LKH: When I was a teenager back in the 1970s, I devoured science fiction. Those were the days of the US Apollo space missions, and science was huge. Science fiction took me to all sorts of amazing places. I’ve always read almost every genre, as long as the writing was good. I still read middle grade novels, and that’s one of my favorite genres. That’s the age when we’re beginning to realize we need to become our own person, to look beyond what we’ve grown up with, and to plan for the future.
I discovered short crime fiction when I stumbled across a submission call for crime stories involving or inspired by collective nouns for animals. You know, like a gaggle of geese, a clowder of cats. Or a Murder of Crows, as the anthology was called, edited by Sandra Murphy.
I had just done research on what a group of jellyfish was called (that’s a long story involving a strange photo a friend posted on social media), and a crime story that used that research unfolded in my mind.
I also write horror, science fiction/fantasy, historical fiction, and literary fiction. I don’t write romance. I tried once, and everyone died. Tragic.
DLL: Haha. Death, for sure, puts the kibosh on the required Happily Ever After in a romance. Writing short stories is a great way to explore multiple genres. I’ve been able to experiment by participating in writing contests, where you don’t know what you’ll be called upon to write until the prompts are revealed. Writing Battle is the place to go for a wide range of genres and a fun competition. My favorites were ‘cannibal comedy’ and ‘inanimate romance.’
LKH: Ooo, that sounds very cool. A great challenge!
[You can meet the delightful creators of Writing Battle on my Sunday Spotlight.]
I thoroughly enjoyed your story in ‘A Killing at the Copa,’ stories inspired by Barry Manilow’s songs. ‘Rain as Cold as Ice’ (inspired by Mandy) drew me directly into the fascinating mind of the main character from the first paragraph, and as a local, I loved the downtown Reno setting. Even if I weren’t familiar with it, your world-building was incredible, and any reader could picture themselves on the streets of the seedy yet fascinating side of the Biggest Little City. Is writing local scenes your go-to?
LKH: Yes, I love to bring location into my stories as a character of sorts. In “Rain,” I was struggling with the story because (as I realized later) it wasn’t grounded anywhere. I mean, I had it set in a bus station, but it took me a while to see that I was writing a pair of “head on a stick” characters. My mentor, writer and former university professor Susan Palwick, calls it that when the writing is flat with just indistinct paper dolls saying words. The reader isn’t engaged because the writer is just lecturing and not showing a well-rounded story.
So, I knew what was wrong, but I couldn’t get a handle on how to flesh it out until I was in a workshop taught by my friend Suzanne Morgan Williams, who writes wonderful middle grade and young adult novels. This class–a part of Mark Twain Days in Carson City–focused on journeys to tie in with that author’s exploration of Nevada and the West.
In an exercise in the class, I was playing around with Suzy’s prompts, doing stream of consciousness writing to tease out my ideas. I take classes from Suzy every chance I get, because she’s a super teacher, and I always learn something new from her. She always pushes for writers to use more senses than just sight.
Here she’d asked us to think of five sensory words. I ended up with a long paragraph that became the beginning of “Rain as Cold as Ice.” The smell of the rain, the sound of bus brakes, the touch of the wind, the cursing of a drunk man. These specifics anchored my characters into a place and gave them room to be themselves.
DLL: I love hearing how stories get their start, and this is fantastic, especially how it speaks to that compelling opening. It looks like Mark Twain Days are coming up in October! [That’s my signed copy in the photo! Available on Amazon.]
You told us in class that writing short stories is a great way to excise those annoying thorns in life, a true catharsis, which gave me a whole new perspective on developing story ideas. I sensed the axe being wielded in ‘Rain as Cold as Ice.’ Are we seeing parts of you come through? Can you share how real-life inspiration enhances your short story writing and how we can experience catharsis more directly in this format compared to our novel projects?
LKH: Writers are always told we should “write what you know.” As a journalist, I found many flaws in that cliche, mainly because my job was writing about stuff I DIDN’T know about and communicating these new ideas and situations to my readers and listeners. (I worked in newspaper and radio news for many years. My undergrad degree is in journalism from the University of Oregon.)
I came to realize that the admonition could better be written as “write what you emotionally know.” The answer to your question about whether you and other readers are seeing parts of me in my writing is “absolutely, yes.” Not necessarily the physical details, but definitely the emotional ones. For example, I haven’t been in a physically abusive relationship, but I’ve been in emotionally and verbally abusive ones, so I know the emotional blueprints.
None of my characters are ever me. First, I’m a born storyteller, and I go where the story needs to go. I get this quality from my dad, who loved telling great anecdotes about events and people. He always embellished the stories with exaggerated details and often stretched the truth because these flourishes made the story better. “Never let the facts get in the way of a good story,” Dad always said. That’s become my motto, too.
Of course, Dad never actually said that, but that just makes the anecdote more emotionally truthful. Besides, “Never let truth get in the way of a good story” is attributed to Mark Twain, who famously and wonderfully wrote that way.
So I mine bits of me and my emotions, digging for the precious gems that will make a character sparkle and come alive for the reader. Of course, the first reader is me, and I’m picky and hard to please when I’m reading.
DLL: I love this advice and your dad’s inspiration, and of course, Mr. Twain’s. “Write what you emotionally know” is getting tacked up on my pegboard. I hope I’m doing that, tapping into my emotions, as I get to know my characters. You can feel the magic when it happens.
I enjoy writing short stories that come out of those contests I mentioned, but I’ve had a hard time finding places to submit them once they’re released back to me. When I do, they often get rejected, which many of us cope with until we find the right fit. I eventually published them in a collection, and I offer many for free on my website. That’s two ways to get them out there. But the anthologies where your stories are accepted are so appealing in their design, clever themes, and content that they must attract a wonderful audience and just seem fun to write for. Tell us about the path you took to find the right publisher(s) and about writing stories that fit those engaging anthologies.
LKH: I think I fell into a couple of good opportunities by luck. I first got into writing for anthologies, as I mentioned above, with a crime story inspired by the name for a group of jellyfish. Since that anthology, I’ve worked closely with editor Sandra Murphy on two others. No, wait. More. There’s another one coming out soon, and I’m sure I’m forgetting another one. While I don’t recall for sure how I found the call for stories for the collective animal group names book, it was probably through Erica Verrillo or Authors Publish.
These are two of many resources for finding anthologies (plus magazines and other platforms) to submit to. Erica Verrillo lists many submission calls every month on her blog “Publishing… and Other Forms of Insanity.” Authors Publish has a similar list and also sends out a periodic newsletter with publishing information. Facebook has many pages and groups that list submission calls for various genres. There are also professional writers groups you can belong to that have resources to keep you updated. I belong to the Short Mystery Fiction Society, the Horror Writers Association, the Cat Writers Association, and the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. I haven’t joined the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association because I don’t have the creds yet. There are many, including the Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, to name two other notable groups.
I also keep an eye out for the small publishers that are popping up like mushrooms after a rain. And I use that analogy in a totally respectful way (being a lover of both fruiting bodies of certain fungi and delightful showers of precipitation). Writers and Publishers Network is a great resource for keeping up with this. I write columns, opinion pieces, and other articles for them occasionally. I was recruited by my favorite editor Sandy Murphy, who coordinates the newsletter and more of the writing on the site. Sandy is the editor of several anthologies that I’m in, and I continue to work closely with her.
One of my award-winning stories was initially rejected for the anthology whose call I’d written it for, but some time later I thought it fit a different anthology call with a similar post-apocalyptic theme. I was correct. The editors accepted it, and later I won an award for it.
DLL: Again, so much great stuff, Linda! I have been way too sheltered in my recluse writing world. My eyes have been opened! Thank you for all the resources. I found a fun interview with Sandy Murphy, our visitors might enjoy at cam-writes.com
Can you also talk about building those publisher relationships and the awards you’ve won?
LKH: Yes! I have stories in four of the five volumes of From the Yonder: A Collection of Horror From Around the World, published by War Monkey Publications, a small publisher based in Utah. (I missed the deadline for Volume 5 because I was too busy writing other stories.) I enjoyed working with publisher/editor Joshua Sorensen. I got to meet with him when he came through Reno on vacation with family members. At that meeting, he helped me zone in on the story I was creating for Volume 3.
I met Sandy Murphy when she edited the collective animal names anthology for one small publisher, and I followed her over to another small publisher with another project, an anthology of stories inspired by songs of the 1960s, then to Misti Media, a new small publishing company, home of White City Press, which published my most recent stories. I work a lot with publisher and editor Jay Hartman, and he has invited me to contribute to some of his anthologies. It’s an honor to be invited to submit because it means the editor likes your writing style and feels they can count on you to submit something publication-ready. And they know you’re someone they can work with. That’s always important, because word gets around about writers who criticize every single comma that’s edited in their “perfect” work and refuse to do any promotion of the finished book. Many anthologies are invitation-only.
Last year (2024), I won a certificate of excellence from the Cat Writers Association for my SF/mystery story “Grenade Blows Up,” which is in Tales of the Apocalypse from Three Ravens Publishing. (Cats feature significantly in the story.)
My writing awards date back to fifth grade, when I won first place for fifth graders for an essay about fire safety that I wrote on my first day in a new school. My military dad had been transferred, and I walked into the classroom late, just as the teacher was explaining the writing assignment. I received a trophy, and the fire chief treated me and the other first-place winners to lunch and all the penny candy we wanted. In 2022, I was honored with the Sierra Arts Foundation’s Literary Arts Award for fiction here in Reno. That came only with a check. No candy.
DLL: Darn, candy always makes a great prize. Way to go, Linda. Truly inspiring.
You have stories published in 19 anthologies. Who is your favorite character you’ve written so far, the one you still think about the most?
LKH: Ooo. That’s a hard one. I’m not sure it’s even fair. Do you ask parents which is their favorite child? I like the narrator of “Smack” because I love her determination and kind heart. Then there’s Grenade (nee Renee) in “Grenade Blows Up,” who’s doing her best to get by after the apocalypse. Also, the narrator in “Rain as Cold as Ice” touches me deeply because she’s trying to survive in a harsh world, the best way she can.
I think Sarah and Sally, my married main characters in the story in the upcoming anthology edited by Sandy Murphy, might be the answer to your question. I had trouble getting into that story, so I did a lot of stream-of-consciousness freewriting about who these two older women are, why they were in Reno, how they reacted and thought, and why they were the best ones to solve this particular crime. Then, when I was having trouble with a novella I’d been invited to write, I realized that Sarah and Sally were exactly the people to fix my problems there. (Sorry that I can’t yet reveal any details about these projects.)
DLL: You did great with my zinger question. I love hearing the glow when authors talk about their children, um, I mean their characters.
I noticed that some of the anthologies edited by J. Alan Hartman benefit charities. Can you talk about that?
LKH: Definitely! At a previous small publishing company, Jay created and edited a series of Thanksgiving-related humorous crime anthologies, and when he formed Misti Media, he couldn’t use those ideas, so he created The Perp Wore Pumpkin, which carries on the spirit.
Proceeds from the editor and authors go to Second Harvest Food Bank locations. I turned in my story for volume 2 of this series a couple of weeks ago, and it will be released well before Thanksgiving this year to raise more money and awareness of food insecurity in America.
I also have a story in Nature Triumphs: A Charity Anthology of Dark Speculative Literature from Dark Moon Rising Publications. This one, edited by Alison Armstrong and Pixie Bruner, benefits the Nature Conservancy.
Plus there’s my poem in Under Her Eye: a Women in Poetry Showcase, vol. II, from Black Spot Books. Edited by Lindy Ryan and Lee Murray, this anthology partnered with The Pixel Project, a global non-profit organization focused on ending violence against women worldwide.
DLL: Fantastic organizations to support, and a fun way to support them!
Can you share your tips and techniques on staying productive and keeping that creativity flowing? Where is your favorite place to write? What’s your writing schedule like? Do you journal ideas as they come to mind, or do you otherwise note them down?
LKH: I journal every day, and I write about anything and everything. I write ideas or the seeds of ideas, often freewriting until my subconscious informs me there’s some great potential there, and then I copy and paste that into its own story file. I write diary-type stuff where I take a deep dive into my emotions and figure out why something made me feel and/or react how it did. I’ll write anywhere and everywhere. I even journal while riding the bus, typing emails to myself with a stylus into my phone.
I strongly believe that you need to write as much and as often as is possible for yourself in order to keep your skills healthy and ready. For me, that’s daily and usually many times each day. It’s often 1,000 words in a day. This does NOT have to be polished writing – it doesn’t even have to make sense! I play around with words. I mean that literally. But also figuratively. I’m a kid squishing the clay to see what it can look like, or coloring outside the lines because why should the coloring book artist get to have ALL the fun? Dancing and singing with the words.
DLL: My smile is huge right now. I love this! Great advice.
What are your writing goals? Do you have any novels in the works?
LKH: Yes. I’m trying to write a mystery novel. I’ve got so much of the idea work done on it, but I need to make time for the writing work. Plus the novella I alluded to earlier. I do have two finished middle grade novels, one of which is making the rounds on submission.
DLL: Your volume of work is truly inspiring, Linda.
Any other best practices for writing in the crime fiction genre, and/or writing short stories?
LKH: Don’t try to follow a trend. I would rather write what I love and let others follow me.
DLL: Ooh, yes! Learning about market trends proved to be a hitch in my stride. I started writing without any prior experience (other than legal writing in my career), learning as I went, including the publishing process and all the business behind it. In the beginning, my writing was raw, but my voice came through, my characters engaging (according to my readers). I was uninhibited, you might say. But in all that learning, I got caught up in all the endless rules (some I liked, some I discarded) and the admonitions about writing to market trends, even if it’s not the story you want to tell. Yuck! I love my readers, and I don’t think they need catering to.
LKH: Exactly!
DLL: It stymied me for a time, but I’m back to focusing on reading and hearing my favorite and newly discovered authors’ voices, honing my writing skills, and listening to my own writer’s voice. That, in turn, helps me find my audience, a small but growing one of which I am very grateful to have now. Thank you, Linda, for the great advice!
What is your parting advice for aspiring writers?
LKH: Write all the time. Whatever that means to you. Don’t follow anyone else’s advice unless your heart says, “Hey, that’s a good idea.” And read in your genre. That’s absolutely essential. When I was part of an annual writers conference in Fresno, I used to have wannabe writers show me their children’s book manuscripts for advice. I would read it. Most of the time, it was awful, with no sense of who their audience was. “What’s your genre?” I would ask. “I don’t know. I think everyone will love it,” they invariably answered. “What genre do you read?” I would follow up with. “Oh, I’m too busy writing. I don’t read,” they would answer. That’s when I would paste a fake smile on my face (anyone who has ever worked in retail knows this one) and make vague but helpful-sounding noises about their project. Because I knew they were never going to get published. Of course, that was decades ago, and now those people run off and self-publish.
That’s not to say self-publishing is not a valid way to go these days. I know many people who publish their own books, market them, and along the way, they work with professional editors and artists to make the books the best they can be. These writers get their work out to readers. But if the only thing you want is to be published and you don’t want to learn or to pay for professional editors and artists to make your work great, that’s fine for you! I want to be read. I want to touch people’s lives. That means I want to work with talented people who can help me improve.
DLL: Beautiful! Thanks again, Linda, for dropping by and sharing your inspiration, as well as all the fabulous tips and resources!
Let’s conclude by sharing where we can find you and your works. What events can we attend to hear you speak in person, book signings, or other ways to get out and meet you and our fabulous local authors?
LKH: I attend most of the monthly meetings of the Sierra Arts Literary Community, also called SALC. [Find Linda here] It’s generally the first Sunday of each month at the Sierra Arts Foundation’s Riverside Gallery on Virginia Street in downtown Reno. Feel free to approach me and say hi if you come! I’m always glad to meet new writers, prepublished authors, and other writers. No membership needed (although there are resources available to people who are artist members of Sierra Arts).
When I speak in person or have book signings, I publicize them on the Northern Nevada Writers group on Facebook, as well as on my own social media feeds [Facebook], plus on White City Press’s website.
I’m working on possibly having some writing classes through Sierra Arts Foundation, which is a great supporter of all arts, including literary ones.
DLL: The Sierra Arts Literary Community sounds wonderful. I would love to see you there, catch one of your classes. Thank you!
Here are links where you can buy the anthologies featuring Linda’s stories directly from the publisher.
The Perp Wore Pumpkin (charity humorous crime anthology)
Sex & Violins (erotic crime anthology)
A Killing at the Copa (crime anthology inspired by Barry Manilow songs)
Gag Me With a Spoon (crime anthology inspired by 80s songs); preorder for July 8 release
Two brothers get swept into the Coral Sea by a wave to end all waves, but they have their surfboards and ride them out. Then, a giant, golden fruit bobs up on the horizon, carrying a motley crew of survivors and promising the strangest of rides.
~~~
Carter passed the binoculars to his brother as the two leaned against the railing at the top of the giant pineapple. The fiberglass fruit hadn’t originally been a houseboat, but it made a damn good one after being swept into the sea by the tsunami that devastated eastern Queensland. Before that, it served for decades as a popular photo-op entrance to a zoo.
“Still no sign of life in any direction.”
The dire report came with Flynn’s unflagging optimism, making Carter marvel and shake his head before responding.
“Miro thinks we’re mostly drifting in circles but says there’s a possibility we’re inching towards New Caledonia. What do you think?”
Flynn lowered the glasses. “If anyone has a clue, it’s Miro. He can read the sky. Going in circles isn’t good.”
“I know. Rations are thinning… like, to nothing, but us starving is not what worries me.”
Flynn chuckled, nudging his brother. “You still haven’t made friends with Bunji and Dainen?”
“It’s not a matter of making friends. What do you think the tigers will do when they get hungrier? Even to me, you look like a juicy steak.” Flynn laughed harder, lifting Carter’s spirits as always.
Nothing could shake his brother’s sense of adventure. It’s what kept them alive long enough to come across this absurd sanctuary.
The brothers were camping on Rainbow Beach when disaster struck across what turned out to be an unbelievable swath through Oceana. They survived the monster wave, the one everyone talked about but didn’t believe would come, only because they were excellent surfers.
They saw the huge swell on the horizon before it grew so massive, it blocked out the sun, and they grabbed their boards and prayed. Thanks to Flynn having snatched up his bugout bag with a flare gun and firing a shot, they managed to find each other again, though it took them half a day to reunite and lash their boards together. That had been a crazy, happy time.
After that miracle, they drifted for days as if they were the only two beings on the planet. On the night before their next miracle, the starry heavens had lulled Carter into philosophical dreams, and he’d given himself up to the big sleep when his brother’s hopeful voice penetrated his resignation.
“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”
With an effort, Carter lifted his head towards the horizon and spotted through hazy eyes something that gave him a needed jolt. “Is that a pineapple?”
“It’s a BLOOMIN pineapple! And there are people on it, waving like mad. We’re saved, Carter, by a giant symbol of hospitality.”
The next surge rolled them close enough to paddle alongside the marvelous fruit, where helpful hands pulled them onto the lacquered rind. There, they lay on their backs and smiled into friendly faces, blocking out the morning rays.
When two massive furry heads nudged their way into the greeting, the brothers kept smiling. Why wouldn’t there be tigers on a floating pineapple?
Miro popped out of the makeshift hatch, returning Carter to the present when he demonstrated his uncanny hearing.
“Oi! You knocking my babies, mates?”
Bridie popped up next to him, her freckled face splitting into a grin. “I thought you blokes knew better.”
Thunderous growls followed. The cats’ offering their own indignant comments.
Carter grinned at the zookeeper who’d raised the orphaned beasts and the teenage girl who was the first to hitch a ride with him on this giant fruit, bobbing its way to… anywhere.
###
Five days later, Carter was in a staring match with Bunji. Was the cat drooling? He’d been sure that by now, he and Flynn would have been heaps of bones scraped clean and bleaching under the sun.
They were all starving. Nothing in the way of food had made an appearance in days, no matter how hard they searched. Even Miro, with his uncanny abilities, had been unsuccessful.
Purrs erupted from the massive cat as it plopped onto its haunches and lifted a hefty paw to lick it. Dainen draped himself beside his brother, joining him in a thorough grooming. Narrowing his eyes at the languid felines, Carter couldn’t decide whether to be amused or wary.
The longer he watched them, the more somber he got. Their predatory instincts could trigger without warning in an instant. Would they eat them all at once or spread them out over time? He jolted when the cats rose together in a baffling show of alertness. Then, he felt it.
Carter peeked over the rind at Miro, who was dangling a gull wing over the water. “Um… Miro, why is this pineapple bobbing like a giant version of your lure?” He was already queasy with the jerky motion.
The pineapple dipped again, drastically enough for Miro to grip onto the tiled surface.
“Come, boys! Inside.” Miro waved at his cats and Carter, and one by one, they shimmied down the hatch.
Flynn and Bridie were sitting cross-legged on their sleeping pallets, playing poker with homemade cards, which were actually more feathers from the gull Miro had managed to snare and prepare raw for them. The memory of choking that down made Carter’s stomach roil even more.
Bridie laid down her hand, calling out smugly, “Full house.” She gasped when the pineapple lurched again.
The rocking became so violent that Carter was thrown to the floor and couldn’t stop himself from rolling into Bridie, who was crouched on all fours, trying to hang on. They tangled up together and crashed into the wall.
Flynn slammed into them before their home tilted in the opposite direction, sending them all rolling to the other side. The tigers leapt around them, finding purchase at each tumbling motion, like hamsters on a wheel. Miro, as nimble as the cats, managed to stay upright until he could grab onto the ladder under the hatch.
By the fifth tilt, Carter was sure he was going to be sick. But the motion slowed, then halted altogether. Their relief turned to excitement when they realized the floating pineapple was bumping into something solid. Bridie was the first to recover and scrambled up the hatch to the surface.
Flynn called after her, then followed. Carter came up behind them and stood next to his brother. All three gaped at their surroundings. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the vegetation seemed foreign. The air smelled unlike anything he’d ever smelled, and the sky was painted in odd shades of aqua, blending in with the sea.
Miro yelled for them to get inside because waves were rolling in behind them, ready to pound them into a cliff. But that wasn’t their worst problem. Swooping at them from a massive nest high above were a pair of humongous, winged creatures that did not fit this time. Wicked claws reached for them.
“No way!” Flynn cried excitedly.
Deafened by the screeches coming from the snapping, teeth-lined beaks, Carter dove back inside, right behind Bridie and Flynn. Miro dropped through the hatch and slammed it shut. They rode out the pummeling, maybe for an hour, until everything stopped. Had they been washed up on a beach?
“You three WILL stay inside,” Miro ordered, “and the boys and I will investigate.” Narrowed onyx eyes pinned them down until they relented.
After so many hours had passed listening to ominous noises, Bridie said, “That’s it. I’m going after him.”
The brothers didn’t say a word. Just geared up with their meager belongings and followed her out of the hatch. They climbed down and stood, gaping in disbelief at an unnatural paradise.
“It smells primal,” Flynn concluded after sniffing the air.
“I have no idea what primal smells like,” Bridie whispered as they crept up the beach on shaky legs, “but somehow I get you.”
Carter could hardly take in details fast enough because a lot of what he saw looked edible. His once roiling stomach growled—loud enough, Bridie shot him a sideways glance.
She jerked to a halt. “Do you hear that?”
Not only was the sound terrifying, but the ground vibrated. The tops of the trees rustled. Suddenly, the tigers pounced at them, and they cried out, throwing up their arms until they realized their feline heroes were after something much bigger behind them.
Carter could not believe his eyes. A two-story beast bore down on them with scales, gnashing teeth, and a terrible roar.
Stepping out of the trees, Miro beckoned them, and they ran for their lives. The tigers, having done their worst to a beast with a horrifically thick hide, bounded after them, while Carter entertained the useless thought that floating on the ocean in a pineapple, searching for food, wasn’t so bad.
~~~
Writing Battle… Winter Flash Fiction Contest… What can I say? Okay, I’ll just say it. It feels just like I went ten rounds in a boxing ring! (Since I’ve never done that, I make conjecture here for dramatic purposes.) Only it’s a month long and a knock down drag out struggle through five rounds.
First, there’s the excitement of drawing my prompts with the fabulous flipping tarot cards. Then deciding within the very narrow timeframe of creating my story whether I want to stick with my draw, or try for a redraw. (This time, I did avail myself of the one redraw allowed for the genre, so I went from Winter Survival to Lost World and it felt like a bonus gift! I stuck with my character – zookeeper, and object – pineapple, but I could have redrawn up to 7 more times)
Writing a story in a Lost world with a zookeeper and a pineapple? No problem!
Then comes the writing, rewriting, begging friends and family to read it, rewriting, rewriting, then hitting that submit button. Whew! Surviving stage one… done!
Stage two… the duels. I get to go from writer to judge. The best part? I’m treated to some very good stories (in the three other genres I’m not competing in), and it is so very hard to pick between the two stories (for five duels)! I’ve discovered that offering feedback is not only a great way to give back to my community of writers, but it’s a super good learning experience.
While we wait for stage three, we can open our story to the community and read other stories, then give and get more feedback, or just chat. There are four genres. I mentioned two, Winter Survival and Lost World. The other two were Occult and Meet Cute. One of my favorite stories I read in the post-dueling rest period was from a male author who got Meet Cute and decided to go for it. It wasn’t in his wheelhouse. It was my favorite story. He nailed it. The characters were amazing, it was funny, and the ending delivered the perfect punch and left me grinning.
But the nail biting continues folks. Once the dueling is over and we’ve chilled for about a week and enjoyed more stories, the scoring begins. It’s quite an elaborate system, but I’ll try to capture the gist. There are four rounds of elimination based on the initial seeding round and subsequent dueling results, then the fifth round goes to the professional judge. Each day, we come back for the results. Yikes! I will mention at this point, the platform is pure genius, if you aren’t picking up on that already. All the stages are well laid out with a timer, so you know exactly what will happen next and when.
My goal is to make it to round five one day. I think (if I’m figuring things out right) I made it to round three this time before getting knocked out. My story in the 2022 Autumn Short Story Contest, The Passengers (edited here based on feedback), made it to round two. But that’s okay. The competition is fierce, and no matter the results, you get feedback from your peers. Talk about learning. The story above got enough consistent feedback to tell me exactly what to work on.
I’m signed up for the 500-word Spring Micro Fiction Contest. Registration is open! Then comes the 250-word Summer Nanofiction, then Screenwriting… and back to the 2000-word short story. Did I mention yet, there are cash prizes? Very decent ones, too.
Feedback is welcome on A Pineapple Ride to Anywhere. I’d love to see how it jives with my peers at Writing Battle.
Enjoy a little computer generated imagery and thanks for visiting, and the read!
My Pineapple AI art, courtesy of Photoleap
The last photo is the real thing and inspiration for my story. A landmark in Queensland that captured my imagination before I even traveled there. How could I not use this awesomeness in a story with a pineapple prompt? 😉
You can meet Max and Teona, the team behind the Writing Battle platform, on my Sunday Creator Spotlight. See Post!
I am thrilled I was able to participate in the fifth annual Virginia City Writing Retreat. I have wanted to try it out for several years and meet some local writers. Registration is now open for next year. Our hardworking host, Kim Harnes, reports that the June 2026 retreat is already two-thirds full, so if you live in Northern Nevada, don’t miss checking it out.
Here are my top five reasons why this wonderful Victorian-era hospital turned art center in Virginia City, Nevada makes a great retreat:
Here I am with our excellent host, Kim Harnes. Check out the comfortable, historical surroundings. You’ll notice many features and artifacts from the original Victorian hospital. Imagine how the rooms were once used for surgical and other treatments, or part of the recovery wards, and then add art. What a great combination.
Besides meeting many amazing local writers and learning about their journeys with my friend Dee, the retreat offered several highlights. One of them was an insightful presentation on writing short stories by author Linda K. Hardie. Linda demonstrated how completing a short story can serve as an excellent catharsis for repressed emotions, such as killing off that annoying ex or the small press publisher who fails to honor contracts.
Linda writes humorous and delightful, yet eerily dark crime stories published in a variety of anthologies.
I loved her story set in downtown Reno in a glimpse of homeless life among the tourists and gambling enthusiasts in A killing at the Copa, crime fiction inspired by the songs of Barry Manilow.
To ensure you can benefit from her wisdom, I invited Linda to be my Spotlight Guest in July.
An unexpected highlight was the opportunity to play my first TTRPG! Author Jade Griffin writes companion novels to the Call of Cthulhu RPG series Amor Fati, which act as both a player handout and minor mythos tome. Dee and I got a beginner’s crash course as Mr. Wabash in 1896 Chicago. I’ve always wanted to play a tabletop role playing game, and it was way more fun than I even imagined, thanks in no small part to Jade’s excellent story. Jade will visit my Spotlight in September.
By the way, Dee will visit my Spotlight in August to discuss writing fan fiction, particularly stories that feature characters from the classic TV show, Bonanza. Virginia City was the stomping ground of the Cartwrights, and Dee wrote a story set in this very hospital. Stay tuned for more!
Then, there was “movie night” in the charming little theater on the haunted 4th floor, where we enjoyed popcorn and candy while watching “Old Henry,” a dark, twisty Western flick that was fitting for our stay in a historical Western town.
Meeting agent Hannah Andrade from Bradford Literary Agency was another excellent perk. I learned a great deal from her critique of the first ten pages of my novel-in-progress, as well as how to effectively pitch it to an agent.
Many attendees retreated into their rooms and cozy niches on every floor to write for much of the time, which was the main purpose of the retreat. As for me, I was too busy and anxious preparing my pitch. Next time, I’ll focus more on writing. Besides the overnight guests (since there are only a limited number of rooms available), quite a few came for the day on both Friday and Saturday.
I’ll conclude by bringing things full circle—the socializing. The Art Center has two kitchens on the first floor: one features a large dining table for gatherings, and the other contains a massive iron cooking stove that, unfortunately, can no longer be used due to safety issues, but it is a sight to behold. Kim ensured there was plenty of excellent food and beverages. We all contributed dishes for the Friday night potluck, which provided delicious leftovers for our lively mealtime conversations throughout the entire weekend.
My writer friend Lucky Noma made me a song. He’s an awesome friend and it’s an awesome song.
Captured By the Hunted is a vampire story set in Central Europe and one of three fantasy threesome romance novellas in Les Romances des Trois. Chapter 10 features a main character, vampire enforcer Gedeon Kadar, recalling his life as a Scythian chieftain before being turned. He gave his human life to save his stolen mate, Taclaema.
Lucky’s song was inspired by Azersarta’s tragedy. Les Romances has been republished on Amazon and is available on Kindle Unlimited and Audible.
You may have noticed that I’ve fallen behind on my blogging over the last several months, although I’ve managed to keep up with my Guest Spotlights, which I’m very happy about. I’ve lined up more amazing authors through October, so stay tuned.
First up, on Sunday, June 22, Rayne Hall will be chatting with us from Bulgaria. After that, all my guests will come from my very own jurisdiction in Northern Nevada. You might wonder why that is. Well, a writer’s journey can be quite random when it comes to building a community. Initially, because I started writing at the outset of the pandemic, I engaged in outreach through social media groups, which netted me a handful of amazing writing friends from around the globe. However, this year, I attended a local retreat and met many fantastic local writers. I will share more about that incredible event in a separate blog and in my newsletter.
As for the reason I’ve been less active on WordPress, I’d like to share a bit about my health journey since early March when I discovered a lump. To keep it brief, I underwent a partial mastectomy to remove an ER-positive invasive ductal carcinoma, grade 3, stage IIB. The cancer had spread to my two sentinel lymph nodes, which were also removed.
Surgery went very well, thanks to my excellent surgeon. However, because my genomic test (Oncotype) came back with a high recurrence score, my oncologist is having me undergo a dense dose of the big three, AC-T. The A is for the anthracycline drug Doxorubicin, also referred to for decades as Red Devil. It’s red, and it’s a demon on the old organs. The C is for Cyclophosphamide. These two drugs will be administered in four infusions over a period of eight weeks. The T is for Taxol and will be my second 8-week course. At the end of the year, I will undergo four weeks of radiation followed by five years of immunological drugs.
Chemotherapy is something I never thought I would face, but cancer is a nasty, sneaky beast. To illustrate my point, my little sister was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer two weeks ago. She starts chemo the day after I do. Tell me, what universe has two close sisters diagnosed with cancer within months of each other? She has an even tougher battle ahead, and we will be fighting together.
Some of you may, unfortunately, be familiar with the disease in its various forms and stages, as well as these treatments. I would greatly appreciate hearing your stories. Feel free to shout out your medical team and treatment centers; I have been very impressed with mine. So here’s three cheers for Renown Breast Cancer Treatment Center, Oncology, and Radiation! I would also like to thank my Oncology Wellness Doctor, Madeline Hardacre. Lifestyle medicine should be an integral part of every cancer center.
During my recent chemotherapy education at Renown Oncology, I was given this wonderful swag bag assembled by Pinocchio’s Moms on the Run. Check out all they do. I remembered today how I participated in a run years ago. I still wear my pink ribbon baseball cap on my walks.
My precarious alliance with the Red Devil starts next week. I plan to use the time to journal, knit, and read. I’ll be featuring some of those books from the chemo chair. You can follow my review posts on Instagram.
Live each day to the full and create something every day. Thank you for letting me share my journey. Darci
As a dedicated student of arts and crafts since I could hold a crayon, May is a special month. It’s Mermay! An entire month dedicated to mermaid art.
Since I write more than engage in any other creative activity these days, I’m offering a short story, Beneath the Prismed Light, in celebration. It features a selkie (another wonderful mythical sea creature) and a lighthouse keeper in a romantic dystopian fantasy. A brief history of the selkies is included in the end pages.
This story, with its surprise twist on the lore, is free to my newsletter subscribers. This month I’m sharing it here.
The center photo is one of my attempts at Mermay art, and I had fun trying some digital manipulation for different effects.
If you want to peruse some (much better) whimsical, fun art, hashtag Mermay or Mermay25 on Instagram or Facebook.
My friend, author J. K. Divia, is offering a Mermay, Selkie Takeover giveaway in collaboration with other authors. I participated last year, and will do so again in 2026. Check it out and good luck on winning some great books and swag.
I’ll leave you with a YouTube video from one of my favorite Mermay contributors, although I’m pretty sure mixed media artist James Burke creates mermaids all year long.
I have all of his Washi tape and use it liberally in my journals. Perhaps you’ll discover the wonder of watching this art come to life and be inspired to create some of your own.
You may know the story of Prometheus, the lover of mankind who gave us fire and endured a similar punishment exacted on him by Zeus, but here is the lesser known story of Tityus. Tortured for being a cad.
By D. L. Lewellyn
In the lull between new moons and the vulture’s next meal, only one thing eases this giant god’s torment—inflicting torment of his own.
###
Tityus gave only half a thought to punching the giant birds in their wrinkled bald faces because doing so was futile. He knew this because he’d done it a million times over thousands of years, and it hadn’t yet stopped the beastly vultures from chewing out his liver every twenty-eighth day, starting precisely at six p.m., Eastern European Time.
It was now seven.
The voracious creatures will finish digging into his side in exactly one hour, after which Tityus will endure more agonizing pain with the regrowth of his immortal organ, only to have the endless punishment repeated at the next new moon.
In the lulls between, the giant often wondered who suffered worse torment: the birds who were sent to Hell to eat the same meal every month for eternity or Tityus, who had to provide it.
He decided that punching the bobbing heads would make him feel better. Caving in half their ugly faces was immensely satisfying, as was their distressed flapping of wings and distorted screeching through shattered beaks.
Yes. It was well worth the pain of extra flesh tearing away from his body by the force of his blow. It got better when the vile birds flew off to find a ledge and repair themselves.
A sound between a moan and a sigh seeped from Tityus, echoing through his stone and moss-covered grotto deep below the base of Mount Parnassus. Zeus might be liberal in handing out sentences to his dozens of offspring when they went astray, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping track of every single one, always watching, always ready to condemn.
The giant dared to hope his father had witnessed his act of bored defiance.
Since he’d been given a bonus reprieve, he took the opportunity to recline more comfortably on his loamy pallet, which stretched beneath him across his nine-acre earthen home.
Tityus picked up the remote and flipped through the programs his sister had selected for him to view on an eighty-foot screen hanging on his southern limestone wall. Only recently had Persephone produced the ingenious device to give him a diversion between bouts of torture.
Thinking of his sister made the giant god smile. Sephie was the only one who believed he’d been goaded into his crime of passion by Hera and pleaded his case every chance she got. Even the goddess who bore him and the one who raised him hadn’t taken his side, though both had reasons to blame Hera for their problems. It seemed everyone stuck together when it came to condemning him, but not Persephone. His sister’s loyalty and affection never wavered.
She also understood how critical viewing a pair of humans suffering misguided love was in sustaining him between bouts of torture. The entertainment distracted him from the looming specter of gnashing vulture beaks and the indescribable agony when his tormenters slurped up strips of his flesh like so many earthworms wriggling beneath his home.
###
It took the better part of the first week growing back his liver to make his choice. Tityus was lost in the pleasure of planning his victim’s torment when a leafy vine began winding its way up his leg.
Since his limb was the length of a stadium, it took time for the greenery to get close to his face, but Tityus was patient as always while he waited for Persephone to make her appearance.
The vine stopped its horizontal travels at his hip, then shot straight up as it thickened into shapely limbs that stretched into a torso. A lovely neck and face appeared next, and soon the dulcet tones of the Queen of the Underworld chimed through his grotto.
“Hello, Brother. That gleam in your eye must mean you’ve made your selection.”
He dialed back his voice to keep from blasting his sister off his hip. “I have, though each couple was as tempting as the other. Thank you for that. Choosing was half the fun.”
She clasped her hands together and grinned. “That is what I hoped for. It has been too long since you’ve enjoyed a good vacation. I’ve been pleading your case again, brother. Father thanked me for the reminder that retribution against his children harms humans, too. But then, he got that look.”
“Ever my champion, dear sister. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Well, your horrid eternal torment does not fit the crime you were tricked into and didn’t even complete.” Tityus shined his affection on his sister with his moon-sized green eyes and nudged her into his palm with a forefinger.
She made herself comfortable before finishing her outburst. “It is agony each time your groans shake the Underworld.”
“You are too good to me, Sephie, a balm to my soul. Won’t you stay a while?”
“That is why I’m here.” She reached out and patted his thumb. “I will convince Father soon. Meanwhile, you deserve a reprieve from toying with your humans.” She sank into his palm, propping on her elbow and resting her head in her hand, her vines twining into a canopy and anchoring themselves around Tityus’s fingers. “Now, who did you pick?”
“If I only have time for one show, this pair has the potential to give us a top-rated performance.” Tityus clicked the remote, and the giant screen came to life.
The sibling gods peered down at the two people crouched in a square pit at the center of an archeological site near the west bank of the Nile.
###
Sarah had no clue what she did to Nathan’s insides when that earnest concentration scrunched up her pretty brow. Parts of him clenched enough to be uncomfortable when she pushed her glasses higher on her pert nose, smudged with red dust. Not only did his heart thump erratically, but he almost groaned out loud.
That embarrassing prospect broke the spell. He cursed under his breath. If she could read his foolish thoughts, she would for sure request his replacement. He took heart that his dig partner had given him a few hopeful signs.
Nathan returned his attention to the pottery shard they were carefully easing out of the three-and-a-half-thousand-year-old soil. This newest section had turned up an amazing cache of tools, human bones, two delicate cat skulls, and three nearly intact clay jars.
He peered closer at the shard, brushed away a few more flecks, and hiked a brow. He nudged Sarah.
“What does this say to you?”
“I saw it too, Nathan,” she said in her sweet, yet husky voice, which got him going again, “and I’m thinking what you’re thinking.”
Her excitement washed over him.
“We could be confirming our theory,” she said. “Do you agree?” He was struck by her glittering aqua eyes and gave himself a mental shake before answering.
“It’s harder to deny when we add this to the rest. But Sarah, we’ve been breathing the dirt in this six-foot square hole for eight hours. Let’s secure our finds and get out of here. It’s time to celebrate with a night out in Luxor.”
“You want to finish the day’s work without cataloging these beauties—without even deciphering these symbols first?” She cocked her head. “Have I worked you that hard?” He laughed.
“I just need to get clean, then go sweat at a club with dancing and liquor. Morning will be soon enough to inspect our treasure.”
“I suppose getting sweaty for a different reason would be a nice change of pace. You’re on.”
But those words passing through full pink lips and the vision of Sarah writhing on a dance floor forced him to stay crouched for a minute longer as he battled waves of yearning.
Maybe torturing himself with a carefree evening in her company wasn’t such a grand idea… On the other hand, it could be his long-awaited opportunity.
###
Tityus paused the video. Small boulders slid down the embankment behind them when he spoke. “You can see he’s got it bad and has no idea she’s been exploring her sexuality. I’ve got a few maneuvers planned to help her decide things.”
“Can I assume her choices won’t include Nathan?” Persephone’s amber eyes gleamed.
“That’s the plan… after we squeeze more entertainment from them first. You did well, Sister. I can smell his pathos.” Tityus closed his eyes and inhaled the moist, earthy air. It caused a cyclone to whirl a path around them and rattle Persephony’s flowering vines.
“Abundant suffering is in store for poor Nathan,” Tityus continued. “That, and the chaos of their confusion, will go a long way in helping me endure my next round of torment. I’ve already conjured hours of lush images for my dreams.” He cracked an eye open. “We might even enjoy collateral damage. We’ve got a third party involved.”
The silence that followed the giant’s cessation of speaking left a vacuum in the subterranean chamber. Crickets sounded in the recesses. Frogs croaked near the waterfall, and a shiny beetle whirred by on heavy wings.
The walls shook again when a thought made Tityus chuckle. “Is our uncle aware of your new penchant for misguiding love-struck humans?” The Queen of the Underworld let out an undignified snort.
“Hades does not care how I occupy my time, only that he can call me to him whenever he wants. Speaking of the demanding one, I feel his pull. I promise to be back for another installment. But don’t wait. You can catch me up.”
Tityus was used to Persephone’s spontaneous appearances and abrupt departures and didn’t mind when the forest of greenery disappeared with his sister in a wispy puff. He clicked his remote to open the next scene.
###
Nathan was sweaty just as planned, but he’d never had so much fun getting into this state of bodily dampness.
Sarah arranged for several friends from the university to meet them at the discotheque. For the past two hours, the girls made it their mission to keep him jerking and grinding on the strobe-lit dance floor. He’d finally pleaded for a break to cool down and freshen up.
Revived and happy with the results—he looked damned fine if he said so himself—Nathan pushed his way through the crush of dancers and back to the bar where he’d left his charming companions with another round of drinks. When he was close enough to spot them through the crowd, he came to a dead stop, his heart plummeting like a stone.
Sarah sat on a stool close to her friend, whose lips were pressed against Sarah’s ear. At first, it looked like Eman was just trying to be heard in the din. Then, he noticed their clasped hands. Eman’s tongue darted into Sarah’s ear, and Sarah laughed, pulling back, her eyes glittering with excitement—and something else.
How could I have had things so wrong?
The shock wore off in the next instant, but that only let a whole slew of other confusing emotions overwhelm him as he stood there gaping until the thought of what he must look like penetrated the fog.
Before Nathan could move, Sarah caught him acting like a statue, and her smile turned into a frown. Eman followed her gaze, held up the drink she had waiting for him, and grinned, clearly having no idea his world had just collapsed.
Nathan’s arm went up in a halfhearted answer, and he somehow got his legs moving again.
An hour later, hunched over his third whiskey, crushed between the chattering girls at the table Eman snagged for them, Nathan wondered how he was surviving his bitter disappointment and the suffocating nightclub. On the upside, he no longer doubted how deep his feelings went for Sarah.
The alcohol had at least numbed the sharpest jabs to his heart, but despair continued buzzing nauseatingly in his ears. Nathan would have no clue how to answer if anyone asked him what the girls had talked about for the last hour, and he didn’t think he was even nodding at the right places anymore.
He had to get out of here.
“Will you be good getting Sarah back to the site, Eman?” he said, breaking out of his stupor. They each turned to him in surprise. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to call it a night and head back.”
“Are you okay?” Sarah said as she laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe you should have a coffee first.”
That was sound advice, but the thought of watching Sarah and Eman whispering together another minute made him want to throw up.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow. Don’t be late.” Nathan attempted to smile at his lame humor, but judging by Sarah’s furrowed brow, his face must have looked as wan as he felt.
He slapped a few bills on the table, mostly to ensure Sarah had enough to get back if Eman couldn’t drive her.
“Enjoy the rest of the night. It was a pleasure meeting all of you.”
Sarah looked like she might say something, but nodded and turned to her friends without another glance his way.
Nathan barely managed to keep his shoulders from slumping in defeat as he headed to the exit.
###
This time, the flowering vines trailed down the side of the cavern before finding purchase on the giant arm sticking out of the earth. The writhing greenery tickled, waking Tityus from a satisfying dream about Nathan’s puny human heart being crushed to a pulp.
He cracked open a giant green orb and waited for Persephone to materialize on a dirt mound covering his shoulder.
The more Tityus buried himself in the earth, the better he dreamed. He didn’t dwell too much on the reasons for that, though Zeus would be the first to say he had a mother complex. Tityus wouldn’t deny it. He was born of Gaia, after all, his giant newborn self nearly breaking his mother in two on the way out.
Persephone, wearing her favorite skull crown, leaned on her beautifully turned mahogany staff to peer into his eyes. “Well? Was it as entertaining as you hoped?”
“Better.” The rumbling word rippled the damp soil covering him and tossed up handfuls of pebbles.
“What do you think Nathan will do now?” Persephone said as she steadied herself. “Can he endure working with Sarah? Keep his job? Wait! Do you think he’ll give up his precious career?”
“You made it in time for the next installment,” Tityus said. “When Nathan left the club around two in the morning, he was in a state of mind perfect for the rare Luxor mugger to take advantage of. The thief robbed him and beat him senseless. That event alone will get me through the next liver donation. Sarah is about to discover he never made it back.”
Persephone raised her cupped hand, and a bloodred mist swirled in her fingers. When it dissipated, she was holding several bunches of purple grapes, the size of which no human had ever seen. She plucked half the fruit off one and tossed it into Tityus’s mouth before asking him a question.
“Is he alive?” Tityus nodded as he chewed. “You realize having him harmed could make your plans go the wrong direction,” she pointed out. Another enthusiastic nod jolted her off her feet.
“Gambling on humans finding their way despite our interference is what makes this hobby so satisfying,” he said after swallowing his second bunch of grapes.
His sister picked herself up and smiled. “Then, let’s get comfortable and watch.”
Tityus clicked his remote, and the shadowy, moss-covered grotto walls brightened from the desert scene as if a portal had opened over ancient Thebes.
###
The morning sun lit up the endless waves of sand and gleamed off an enormous pyramid. The archaeological encampment was tiny in its shadow.
A lone figure crouched in the pit under an umbrella, working meticulously at an eye-level spot in the strata. Part of her attention was clearly reserved for listening because the anxious archaeologist kept bobbing up her ladder at the slightest sound to scan the dirt track meandering toward Luxor.
“Hey, Charles,” Sarah called out, her voice overly loud. “Have you heard from Nathan?”
A man crouching in the adjacent pit answered her. “Not since you asked me fifteen minutes ago. But I’m concerned, too. I sent Jack to hunt for him. I’m sure he must have holed up in a hotel room to sleep off the whiskey. You know what a lightweight he is. We should quit worrying.”
As soon as that last word drifted over the sand between them, the crunch of tires had them both springing up their ladders and peering over the edges of their pits.
Back in the grotto, Persephone, nestled in the dip of Tityus’s shoulder, voiced an observation. “That must be Jack with Nathan. If I’m wrong, I’ll find you eight victims for next month’s programming.”
Tityus stopped chuckling when he spotted a golden eagle much too large to be natural, swooping over the dig site. It wheeled between the tents and landed delicately on a clothesline strung with camp blankets.
“Uh… Sephie, dear. Do you think…”
“Yes,” she drawled. “It’s Father. Hell’s Gate! How does he always know?” She barked out a laugh. “Never mind. Stupid question. We’re better off working on plausible deniability.”
They looked over the scene again to find the car had arrived at the encampment and parked under a cover. A burly, bearded man stepped out of the driver’s side, opened the door to the backseat, and helped out a slighter man clearly in pain and struggling to move.
“Nathan!” Sarah shouted. Swift and surefooted, she scrambled up her ladder and ran to the car.
The eagle made another pass over the scene. Tityus and Persephone eyed each other when a screech that could only belong to the powerful Olympian who was their sire sounded all the way to the grotto. The humans carried on, oblivious to the mythical winged creature in their midst.
Sweat beading his brow, Nathan straightened and faced Sarah as she came to an abrupt halt and gasped. She slapped a hand over her mouth but dropped it in the next instant.
“Oh my god,” she bit out. “What happened?”
Embarrassment emphasized the damage on Nathan’s face, but his voice was dignified. “I had a run-in on the way to the taxi stand and woke up in an alley with my pockets inside out. Thankfully, Jack thought to check the police station.”
This time, the humans looked up when a screech rent the air. They each watched, eyes wide, as the majestic bird of prey disappeared over the horizon.
“You scared me to death, Nathan,” Sarah said with a hitch as she turned back to her colleague.
A pale Nathan was growing wobblier by the second.
She stepped closer and softened her words. “I know what I did to you last night. I’ve been confused about… things. I’m really sorry. Today… Somehow… Well, everything is clearer. Will you forgive me?”
Hope bloomed on Nathan’s face, though his distorted lips and a puffy black eye turned the expression ghastly. He cocked his head. “What are you saying, Sarah?”
“Eman is off to Cambridge. We said goodbye last night, for good. You’re the one I want to be with. Can I hope for the same?”
The burly Jack cleared his throat, effectively returning the couple to their surroundings. “While it’s clear this exchange is doing Nathan good, he’s about to drop where he stands. Are you ready to have a lie-down, kid?”
Sarah raised her shining face to Nathan, wrapped her arm around his waist, and guided him to the med tent.
The warmth in her eyes was the final death knell for the giant’s precious hiatus. Tityus punched the button on the remote violently enough to crush the entire thing, and the desert view went dark, throwing his grotto into shadow.
Persephone was already turning wispy with her disappearing vines. “I am sorry, Brother. But you understand that I must return to Hades. I promise to do what I can to cool our father’s wrath.”
Tityus wanted to cringe at the bitter irony and miserable resignation creeping into his rumbling laughter as it trailed after her.
“You will do better for me by staying clear of Zeus for now, and away from here, dear sister. But don’t wait long for another visit.”
In the lull left by the departing Queen of the Dead and her greenery, Tityus settled his ginormous body beneath the earth where he clung to his last comfort—his dreams of unrequited love suffered by miserable humans—as he waited for the next new moon and the vultures to circle… The End… Until the next new moon…
The End… Until the next new moon…
I wrote this for a contest. I absolutely adore this premise. My friend, Lucky Noma, was inspired to write his version of the tortured giant and how he might wreak havoc on mankind for the sole purpose of providing a diversion. Stay tuned, because Lucky and I are planning a Tityus anthology.
What story would you come up with for this bored giant’s entertainment? Let me know in the comments.
If you would like to support an independent author who loves to share her stories, this story along with an eclectic anthology of more fun tales is available for $1.99 at your favorite bookstore. Thank you!
The day had been exceedingly long, but soon, the family would appear one by one from wherever they went outside of the Oscarsons’ frame of reference, which encompassed a large portion of the living space from their well-appointed fifty-gallon aquarium in the foyer.
The last of the evening sun bathed the entire front of the house but left the back in shadows.
For the fifth time, Mr. Oscarson swam to the glass facing the front door and grumbled, “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving, dear,” said Mrs. Oscarson in a tone that suggested she often placated her insatiable husband.
“It’s worse today, and you know this because once again, Lily forgot our breakfast. You might think Hank would make sure his daughter followed through with her chores since he constantly talks to anyone who will listen about his prized Oscars.”
Mrs. Oscarson snorted. Bubbles burst from her lips. “You seem to believe we’re not mere decoration.”
Mr. Oscarson was about to expound on his favorite topic when his wife’s tail twitched. “Did you hear that?”
“What? My stomach growling.”
“Hush. It’s coming from the kitchen.”
He did hear something then, like glass falling to the floor, followed by a quiet thud.
From their spot, they could just see the kitchen entry. An object moved in the shadows, made its way through the dining room, and emerged near the foyer as a large, hooded figure.
“Hmmm. That can’t be good,” Mr. Oscarson said.
The man gripped a butcher knife in a gloved hand.
“Oh my,” said Mrs. Oscarson.
He passed their home on his way to the living room and headed up the stairs, his footsteps as quiet as a cat’s. Soon, they heard faint sounds like closets and drawers opening and closing.
When a key jiggled in the front door, Mr. Oscarson, being a fish, completely forgot about the stranger in the house as the pains in his stomach took over all thought. “Finally!” he trumpeted, sending sound waves to ricochet off the glass.
The aquarium was the first thing the family saw when they came through the front door, which was beneficial to the Oscarsons. The impressive fish were clever at drawing attention to their antics.
Sure enough, the head of the house set his briefcase down and stepped briskly to the glass. “Lily forgot to feed you this morning, didn’t she, my beauties? Let’s take care of that right now.”
Hank picked up the food shaker and was about to sprinkle the flakes over the Oscarsons’ waiting mouths when something flashed on the dining room floor that caught his eye. He frowned and set their food on the table.
“Dammit! So close!”
“Settle down, Mr. Oscarson. Hank has more important things to do. Like avoiding a very sharp weapon wielded by a very big stranger.”
“Couldn’t he have given us one shake first?”
The pair watched as Hank inspected the small pieces of glass left behind by the stranger’s boot, then followed a trail to the kitchen. They heard muttered curses. When he headed their way again, he had his phone to his ear, and a voice coming from the device said, “This is 911. What is your emergency?”
“I came home to find evidence of a break-in,” Hank said quietly as he stooped to pick up another piece of glass. “I think someone is in my house.”
The Oscarsons were shocked when he continued up the stairs. “Shouldn’t he at least arm himself? Who does he think he is? Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
Mr. Oscarson was a huge fan. The couple had a full view of the television from the south end of their watery home and enjoyed action-hero binge nights with Hank.
Next, they heard Hank hollering, followed by gasps, grunts, and thuds. Then, then utter quiet.
“I certainly hope not all those ominous sounds were Hank’s,” said a worried Mrs. Oscarson. But it was the stranger who came down the stairs, his knife dripping blood on the carpet.
The big man ducked into the living room when the front door opened to reveal Hank’s better half. Lisa smiled at the fish and stepped right up to the aquarium. She always gave them her smile, no matter how her day went.
Mr. Oscarsons’ empty stomach prompted him to draw her attention despite the danger, and very likely, a dead husband waiting for her upstairs. She answered the big colorful fish’s call, picking up the food shaker just as he hoped.
The Oscarsons once again poked their mouths through the surface in anticipation, but nothing came because the stranger sneaked up on Lisa and shoved the ten-inch blade into her abdomen.
“Oh dear. We should have found a way to warn her,” Mrs. Oscarson said, sounding beside herself as they watched Lisa slump into the stranger’s arms.
He hugged her to him like a lover and carried her up the stairs.
The fish darted around their home in agitation, and Mr. Oscarson finally displayed a sense of horror. “It’s much too quiet up there. What could he be doing?”
The front door opened again, and it was Lily who rushed to the aquarium.
“I am so sorry, you two! I can’t believe I forgot to feed you again.”
She paused when she noticed the overturned shaker but picked it up and was aiming it their way when she spotted the blood at her feet. She froze.
Terror spread over her young face.
The hand holding the shaker began to tremble, but no flakes escaped, much to Mr. Oscarsons’ frustration, which had returned in full force with another tantalizing view of food hovering so close.
Lily’s eyes followed the trail of blood up the stairs. “Oh my god,” she said with a trembling breath. The shaker dropped to the floor.
“Really? Why is this turning out to be the worst day ever?” said Mr. Oscarson as he sank gloomily away from the surface.
Sirens blared outside, and red lights flashed through the windows. The sound of breaking glass came from upstairs, followed by moans and faint calls for help. “My dear husband, it is going to get worse because I doubt any of these busy people will think to feed us,” said the wise Mrs. Oscarson as the first responders burst through the door and Lily cried out for her parents before fainting in a heap—right on top of their food.
Thank you for reading my story. I would love comments if you have a minute to let me know what you think.
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By D. L. Lewellyn 