Category: Wednesday Works

Wednesday Writing Tip: Finish Your First Draft

If you’re a writer first starting out, writing tips can be overwhelming. So many writers overthink the writing tips all over the internet.

I was fortunate to write my first few novels without the overwhelming “help” of the internet. I was fortunate to be able to find my own way of writing and creating.

I’m not saying writing advice on the internet doesn’t have its place, I’m sure it does, but not in the first draft. The first draft is for the writer to tell themselves the story. That story, that voice becomes muddled in between the “you should do blah” and “you shouldn’t do blah.” It can be overwhelming while working on a first draft

The first writing tip I have for anyone, brand new or experienced is Finish Your First Draft without writing advice.

Finish your first draft however you want to finish it. Finish your first draft and let the story tell you how it goes. Finish your first draft and find the way without anyone telling you how or why you should do it. Finish your first draft and then let the internet in when it’s time for subsequent drafts.

Happy Writing!

 

Wednesday Works: The Mirror

She had lived in the old house for as long as she could remember. Her parents had lived in it even longer, and so had their parents and so on and so forth. If she did the math right it was her great x7 grandfather who had built the house for his wife. She had died before it was finished, but he still built it exactly as she had wanted it.

Over the years, family members had added on and changed, but the one thing that remained unchanged was the foyer. The front door had been repainted too many times to count, one over the other, and each morning more multicolored paint chips fell onto the porch. The carpet had been torn up, tacked form, replaced with wood, back to carpet. The rugs needed to be replaced.

The one thing that didn’t change in the foyer was the furniture. A small table by the front door where the lot of the family placed their things when they came home. She still had the scar from where she had smacked into the corner of the table when she was 2 and a 1/2. She still placed her keys there when she came home.

A fancy China cabinet stood across from the front door, taking up space and showing off their fancy China from the civil war era. The China had long been a topic of discussion, from when it was new, to the last 50 years or so when they toppled over and no one could figure out how to open the cabinet and fix them without shattering them. They had simply stayed that way for years.

By far, her favorite was the ornate mirror that hung on the wall near the stairs. It had been there since the very beginning. All her ancestors had used it to catch their last looks before leaving the house.

She used it then to catch her last look before heading out on a date. He would be there any minute.

“You gonna go out looking like a painted up whore?” The reflection of her great great great grandfather’s ghost appeared in the mirror behind her.

In the next instant, her great great great grandmother appeared next to him in the reflection. “Give her a break, Clem,” she said with a reassuring hand on his ghostly shoulder. “That’s the style these days.”

“Thank you, Grammy Charlotte,” She said as the doorbell rang. “You all be good tonight and don’t let Louis argue too much about the china. Nothing can be done yet.”

Grammy Charlotte rolled her eyes. “That man and his damn china.”

Wednesday Works: Nice Ring To It

The day had been perfect. Coffee in the morning while in bed. Packing for a trip with no little petty arguments, excitement for getting out of town for a few days. Everything had been perfect.

She had a feeling something was happening. Something in the air felt like change, charged with excitement. On their usual afternoon walk, they talked of the future, as they had before, but even then, their conversation was different.

Then, that night, it all began to make sense.

Waiting for their friends to arrive for dinner, preparing the potatoes and the steak, he came in and revealed the news they had been fighting again.

She sighed and kept stirring the potatoes. Then she asked if they were going to be like their friends, fighting all the time, never on the same page.

He promised they wouldn’t.

Once everyone was inside, shooting stars outside was brought up and he led her out onto the deck.

As soon as they were all out on the deck, the apprehension snuck in. Candles decorated the deck, arranged in perfect symmetry and protected from the night breeze. The stars shimmered up above, the bright spots of planets there too.

After a cute, but nervous speech, he got down on one knee. “Will you marry me?”

She, of course, said yes without a single doubt in her mind.

Once the ring was on, and they had toasted and sat down to dinner, the thought struck her.

“Fiancée has a nice ring to it.”

Wednesday Works: On Writing

I didn’t write yesterday. I could not find one iota of a pocket of time to put words down on the page. I did not shout into the void, nor build up a world where the reader can escape from our chaotic world.

I did not write yesterday. I did not throw words onto the page to see what sticks. I did not bend and twist the English language to tell a tale I can be proud of.

I did not write yesterday, so I did my best to make sure I wrote today.

Wednesday Works: The April Girls

The April girls are all there in Heaven,

Sitting in a cafe drinking tea.

Or maybe they’re all raising hell,

In some dingy bar.

Maybe they’re up there,

Chasing lives they wish they had lived,

Making up for the time they lost.

Maybe they’re watching over me and C,

Making bets,

Passing along the binoculars,

Always saying:

“I told you so”.

Wednesday Works: A Glimpse of the Current Week

This week, this month, writing has been difficult. April is always a harsh month with a lot of painful anniversaries, but the creativity never stops.

Here’s a little look at what I’m working on this week.

NaNoWriMo project from 2021

MAR has been dragging, but I finally have a direction and an outline.

Short Story of the Month from March

Granted, the last half of March was shitty, so I’m playing catch up. I have yet to even begin the short story for April, but there’s still enough month left.

Final Essay for Mythology class

Usually, I don’t have any issues with schoolwork, but with the craziness of March and the continued craziness in April, an essay on journeying to the underworld is especially difficult with the death anniversaries I have this month.

Several Open Projects that want to come back into play.

One of my goals when I was feeling low over the weekend was 100 words in all the open projects I have. The first time, 100 words was hard, but the last few times it has opened up the floodgates and I’m excited to work on projects again.

Wednesday Works: To all the Angels

Last Saturday, it was Hazel’s time to go. After 14 years, she succumbed to Feline Mediastinal Lymphoma.

Dear Angels who gained a cat in Heaven,

Her name is Hazel and she’s the best cat you’ll ever have. She responds to many nicknames (Beavis, Floofy, and Woofy), but I’m sure you’ll make some of your own. You’ll know if she likes you because she’ll sit on your lap the first night she’s there. If she’s comfortable enough, she’ll sleep there all night.

A few tips in caring for Hazel:

She really likes peanut butter, frozen eggo waffles, tuna and apples. Whenever you eat an apple, let her lick the core. She likes corn too, but please be careful to not let her get her head stuck in the can. Please watch your plate of food, whatever you’re eating, she will beg for it. She’s grown wise and knows how to off balance paper plates, especially with her chin. Don’t let her fool you, she’ll pretend she’s hungry all the time, but is well fed.

She’s a vocal cat, so please even if it makes you feel completely stupid, meow and chirp back at her. She really gets a kick out of it. If she’s stubborn to come sit with you at first, just ask her “Oh Hazel, Do you want that?” Most of the time she won’t want it, but she’ll come running and check it out anyway, no matter what you do or don’t have in your hands.

When she does sit with you, please rub her ears and her butt. She loves that, especially when you ask her “Do you want to do the ears?” She loves the kitty comb and stretching out, so please make sure you brush her. After she gives herself a bath, you have to tell her “Oh, Hazel! You look pretty today!”. It makes her feel good about herself.

Whatever you’re doing, she’ll be interested in. She’ll look over your shoulder as you do work, and make sure you take breaks to pet her and feed her. She’s a good companion like that, even if she thinks the desk chair, the desk, and anything you’re working on is in fact, hers.

At night, she can tend to be a little picky, so you have to ask her if she wants to get on top of the blankies or under the blankies. She’ll make up her mind, then probably change it again, but she’s a great sleeping companion. She’ll cuddle you all day if you let her.

She does have a naughty streak too. She’s an indoor cat, curious as they come, especially near the front door, so be careful when you leave. If she spends too much time near the front door, or gets into anything naughty give her a “Oh! Do I have to hold you like a little baby kitty?” Then, cradle her like a baby, even though it isn’t her favorite thing. Eventually, you might be able to get her to sit with you like that, but it will take some time.

She likes toys she can hunt and kick with her rabbit feet. Usually stuffed plushes work best, and if you throw a “toy-toy” (usually a granola bar wrapper, wrapped tight and tied in a knot) for her enough times, she’ll play fetch with you, just be mindful of the teeth and claws.

When you shower and get ready for the day, let her in the bathroom to “Get the water”, she loves to lick water straight from the spout. She’s good at cleaning herself, usually taking long baths in between long naps. She’s beautiful with a thick coat. She used to have a “13” in the lines of her fur on her side, but I’m afraid that got shaved off when she had the “overnight stay from hell”. I’m sorry it didn’t grow back before you got her. Please, regardless, tell her she looks and feels pretty every day.

She will follow you anywhere and everywhere. Even to the bathroom. Just make sure you sit up straight or she will be there to jump and perch on your shoulders and check out what’s going on.

Lastly, Whenever you go anywhere and leave her behind, please tell her good-bye and pet her head at least. She really responds well to “Bye Hazel, you be good.” Even though she has no intentions of being good, but seeing what she can get away with.

Please give her all the love we would and tell her that we miss her and we love her every day.

Please take care of my cat and treat her well,

Breanna

Hazel 4/1/2008-4/2/2022

Wednesday Works: What’s in a Name?

This is a game I’ve started playing with myself to get story ideas while I drive in the car. Using license plate letters, I come up with characters.

Urr is a caveman in the Neolithic times, one of the first to find fire.

Yeedle is a Jewish teen, growing up in the 1980’s during the AIDS pandemic and fearful for what love means in the future for him as a gay teen.

Mr. X is an internet hacker, like Robin Hood of old, hacking the banks in the 1990’s and covering his tracks with multiple other aliases.

Valez is a woman in 1830’s Texas fighting fiercely for her rights and her land despite the odds.

Ziya is a child model in the early 2000’s wishing to tell her parents she wants to quit modeling and be a normal child, but she knows her modeling is the only thing that pays the bills.

Wednesday Works: With This Kiss…

“With this kiss, I die!”

They were six, performing a dumbed down version of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet for a room full of their parents. She was Juliet, and he in all of his front toothless glory was Romeo. They had practiced and practiced, but had never actually kissed in any of the practices. Mrs. Monroe has glossed over the fact when they had asked.

But now it was unavoidable.

“Miss Monroe,” Wally Siegelman called out off stage, breaking his character of Romeo and looking for the teacher. “Am I really supposed to kiss Rosie or can it be all pretend like?”

The audience of our parents broke out into a rumble of laughter. She laughed with them, even though Juliet was supposed to be in a death like sleep. Wally was and always would be a one of a kind.

He didn’t kiss her that performance or any of the others that followed. He just made it really convincing as he leaned forward just enough and blew a raspberry in her ear.

Every single night the audience laughed, and Shakespeare rolled in his grave.

Wednesday Works: Dear Writer’s Block

Dear Writer’s Block,

It’s not you, it’s me.

I’ve been so busy with everything that’s been going on, with long hours at work, too much homework on the weekends and a full social life that I haven’t been able to sit down and shoo you away with the keyboard.

Sure, you let me get a few words here and there so I can say I “write every day” but it’s never enough to leave me fulfilled and with a sense of accomplishment. It’s never enough to make me feel like I mean it when I say “I am a writer!”

Well, today that has to stop. I’ve spent too many days, weeks, months now trying to make something of the ideas in my head and then you step in and tell me to do anything but write.

You tell me: scroll Facebook (or any social media), it will make you feel great about your self esteem. Then I get distracted and don’t get words down.

You tell me: Play a few flash games for some inspiration, I’ll let you think about writing once you finish the level. And then I finish the level and don’t get words down.

You tell me: Don’t bother writing on your breaks and lunches from work, you’ll feel better about it when you get home. Then, when I get home, I don’t feel like writing, let alone doing anything else because I am so exhausted.

Writer’s Block, you keep making me these promises and then when I finally do sit down to write, to get words on the page and make a difference, you appear with the gentle whisper of “It’s not the right time.”

Respectfully, I thank you for protecting me during the times I wasn’t ready. I thank you for the times when I truly needed a distraction and needed your guidance enough to step away from a project. I thank you for the opportunities that arose when I couldn’t write.

But respectfully, we are done.

It’s time for me to write again and you’re not needed here.

-Bre

Wednesday Works: Caught Up in Research

Antique Firearms

The antique pistol let out a sad, soggy click, but would not fire. The main character looked down at the gun with a sigh.

“Not again!” She shouted in frustration. She smacked the butt of the gun with her soaking hands, hoping to dislodge some of the water. “Man, is the author going to be pissed.”

The villain dropped his aim. “Gun problems again, MC?”

“Yes!” She heaved a sigh. “Shouldn’t it be common sense that gunpowder doesn’t fire when it gets wet?”

The villain took a few water logged steps forward. “I’m sure I can help you with your soaking clothes instead.” He waggled his eyebrows.

The main character curled her face in disgust. “I’m sure we’re definitely not following the plot now, but—“

Space Swords

All around them the beach and the waves disappeared.

“What?” The main character asked, looking around as the scene disappeared. “Oh no! The author is messing with us again!” She looked down, instead of her pirate clothes, a space suit appeared instead. “I liked the pirate arc!”

The villain twirled his glowing light sword. “I dunno,” he said. “I’ve always been partial to space myself. Less rules to get caught up in. Like—“ He paused. “What happens when you fire a laser off into space, where does it stop and how many alien species could there be?” He laughed his evil laugh. “Much less rules to get caught in up here.”

The main character groaned. “But what about the principle of a pirate romance?”

The villain waggled his eyebrows again. “There can definitely be piracy in space. I would love to plunder your—“

“ENOUGH!” The main character shouted. “You and I aren’t supposed to be romantic until the last third of the book. Keep it to yourself for now until after the duel and when we can frustrate the writer the most.”

The villain winked then. “Yes, my Goody Two Shoes. I’ll be on my best worst behavior.”

Wednesday Works: The Call to Adventure

The letter arrived without pomp or circumstance. It was tucked between the water bill and the gas bill, barely even noticeable as he threw the mail on the counter after a long day at work.

“I’ll pay it when I get paid,” He grumbled, wiping the exhaustion of work from his face as he contemplated which frozen meal to throw in the microwave for dinner. He grumbled as he looked into the empty freezer. “Guess I’m not eating tonight.”

He sighed and pulled out his phone. How could he have let himself get so behind? Everyone else seemed so happy and stable where they were. Why did he have to suffer so much and hate every aspect of his life?

Why can’t I be successful as all my friends? Why can’t I go on adventures and “find myself”?

Three days later, he returned to the pile of bills, and found the letter with the fanciest handwriting he had ever seen on the front. For a moment, he simply stared. Could it really be addressed to him, or was it simply a mistake?

For one more moment, he held it in his hands. He weighed it, both opening it and ignoring it flashed through his head.

It was probably something dumb like a collections bill hidden as a handwritten invitation.

Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him. He opened it expecting the worst.

Instead, something much more cryptic.

“Treasure Awaits.”

Even more cryptic than that, underneath were coordinates.

Wednesday Works: Two Years and One Day

When I think about where I was two years ago (and one day), I think about how different my life was.

I think about how I was on a completely different path, one where I put another’s needs before my own.

I think about where I would be now if I had stayed on that path, if I had suffered in silence longer.

Two years (and one day) ago, before we started our adventure together, I was pretending more than I was being, surviving more than I was thriving, hurting more than I was healing.

Now, I am better.

Now I am thriving.

Now I am healing.

Growing, Changing, Building.

All of it together, with you.

You have let me build myself up, even when it’s been painful.

You have let me grow in each and every way, creatively, compassionately, brilliantly.

You’ve let me try and fail.

You’ve let me transform into who I’ve truly meant to be all along.

And I hope I have done the same for you.

I love you and I hope for more years together.

Love,

Your Bücket

Wednesday Works: The Seeker Of Words

The Seeker of Words spends her days trying to find the right word for the right situation. There are millions of words at her disposal, but sometimes the words hide and make her chase. Sometimes the words play hard to get and don’t come at the right time.

Most days, the Seeker of words prays to the muses and brings forth words that are close enough. She hopes the muses will bless her with the right words and bring them forth. The Seeker knows when she does find the words they will be great and powerful.

She searches and seeks them day and night.

Sometimes she might even get them right.

Wednesday Works: The Magic Of Trees and Strangers

After hiking the usual area for weeks and weeks, he found himself surprised when a new tree, fully grown just showed up.

Right in the middle of the path, a full grown tree had appeared, as if overnight. The leaves were full and bright and beautiful, flowing blossoms along the branches, huge apples, glossy and appetizing along the low hanging branches. He reached out and grabbed one, then promptly dropped it.

“EXCUSE YOU!” A voice seemed to come from within the tree. “Those apples are mine!”

He wondered if he was suffering from heat stroke. Trees didn’t talk.

“Hello?” He said, looking around. Someone was obviously playing a joke on him. “Is someone there?”

“I don’t know why I should even bother talking to you, Apple Stealer!” The same voice came from the tree. “I’m not sure what you can do for me!”

The tree definitely was talking. He was definitely suffering from heat stroke or something more serious.

“How are you talking right now?” He asked next. “Why is a tree talking to me?” Maybe he was simply dreaming.

The tree groaned. “I am not a tree!” It screeched. “Don’t you know a lady when you see one?”

He tried not to laugh, he really did. But the laugh came out anyway. “A lady?” He asked. “You’re a tree!”

She scoffed. “I wasn’t always a tree!” She said. “I was a lady yesterday!”

He almost couldn’t believe it.

“So what happened?”

The tree sighed and her leaves shuddered as if blown by a hard breeze. “I am never ever going on a night hike under the full moon again!” Her branches seemed to move like she was pointing a finger at him. “Never. Ever. Make a deal. With a good looking hiker.” Her branch struck him hard. “He will turn you into a tree with no way of returning!” Her leaves and branches shuddered once more then froze.

It wasn’t every day he met a woman in the form of a tree on the path. “Well how did you piss him off?” He asked. “That sounds like a faerie, and they only interfere like this when you piss them off.”

The tree groaned once more. “He asked me for my name,” she said next. “And I called him a creep and told him to leave me the hell alone.” She huffed and puffed. “Next thing I know, I’m a tree.”

He couldn’t help but laugh then. “Well, then you were asking for it.”

That only made the tree more furious, her leave shaking, her apples falling and rolling down the path.

“You are impossible!” She groaned at him. “How was I supposed to know?!”

He couldn’t stop laughing, but then he felt bad. “I suppose you wouldn’t.” He couldn’t help but wonder what she had looked like as a human.

She would probably just ignore him, like every other girl he had hoped would be remotely interested in him.

“Did he give you a riddle of how to reverse it?” He asked next. It was the least he could do to help her reverse it.

“No,” She said. “And if he did, I wasn’t paying attention once I was a tree.”

“Well,” he said, “Maybe it’s a good thing you’re a tree.”

At first she was offended.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you have nice apples, but I’m sure your face is just atrocious, like a total dog.”

Still, she was offended.

“And don’t get me started on your love handles.” He had a hunch, but he needed to make her laugh. “If your lower branches are any indication. Curvy tree there. Probably at least 250 if not more.” She was silent and he figured that was a bad thing. “You don’t have any human responsibilities anymore, no bills, no trashy Stacy stealing your man.”

The tree scoffed. “That bitch doesn’t deserve my man and if I could, I would chuck my apples so hard at her.”

He couldn’t stop laughing at her. Eventually, her rage quelled and she started laughing too. The more she laughed, the more her leaves shook, the more her apples fell down to the path, the more her laughter started to sound more human with every chuckle.

When the last leaf fell, in front of him stood a very human girl, her smile lighting up her whole face.

“Well,” he said as she stood before him. “Would you look at that? Not a dog at all.”

She moved her very human hands down her torso and then looked at her own human hands. “I’m me again!”

In the rush of excitement, she tackled him with a hug. Then she realized what she had done.

“Does this me have a name?” He asked next.

“Oh no!” She answered after that, the smile still on her face. “I’m not falling for that one again.”

Wednesday Works: The Fate of the Telegraph Operator

When the telephone was invented, the telegraph operators found they were out of work. The whole process started slowly, a few telegraph operators at a time laid off over the first couple weeks. The majority of them all gone, the last few were the longest there.

And then, there was one.

His name was Gerald, and operating a telegraph was all he had ever known. His first instinct was to go to the boss, tell him there was some mistake. They couldn’t just let him go. He lived and breathed working the telegraph. It simply couldn’t be true that the telegraph was coming to an end.

His boss told him it was true.

“Go on, Gerald!” He said, in the middle of clearing out his office too. “You’re young, you’ll bounce back at the drop of a hat.” Gerald didn’t want to believe it. “Go on, take some time, see the world, experience the world that exists outside of the telegraph and find yourself.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start, sir,” Gerald answered. “This job is all I’ve ever known. I’m not sure I would want to learn how to use those fancy telephonics.”

His boss understood. “There’s so much more to this world than working. And there will be more changes besides the telephone coming our way soon enough. Just go, just live and you’ll find your way.”

Gerald, the last telegraph operator, bought a train ticket and never looked back. He rode the train all the way out west, and back east again. He saw all the sights he could, picked up work when and where he needed it. He learned all he could and met as many people as he could. He experienced life, and then when it was finally time to settle down, he sat in front of a computer to tell his story.

Wednesday Works: The Snow Wife

The first day of winter was always the best. The weather getting colder, the first snow falls, the garish sun hiding away so she could be seen again. The first day of winter was the first day of his life for so many years and the last day of winter was the day he went back to his boring human life.

As a young man, he had felt the pull of a winter magic. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, and they had had a wonderful winter together, and then as the spring appeared, she told him the truth.

The magic was beautiful, but the magic couldn’t keep her alive past winter. The magic kept her young and beautiful and he promised to visit her year after year. Year after year, she stayed the same, but year after year, he grew older.

He had a feeling one of the years coming up would be his last. The winters were no longer as kind as they used to be. But he would still go back to her, as long as he was living.

Once the drifts of snow got deeper, he pulled himself from his cozy chair and his mountain of blankets, got dressed in his warmest coat and made the trek up toward the hill where they had first met.

With each step, his legs grew heavier, his breath shorter, coming out in puffs of steam. When he reached the top of the hill, exhaustion threatened, not too far off, but he built a snowman anyway. One with a coal smile and a cute little carrot nose. A snowman with gentle arms of sticks, with a pink scarf and the wide brimmed hat she had left behind.

When he was done, he sat down in the snow in a huff to catch his breath. Over the years, the magic had taken longer and longer to work.

Just as he was about to give up and go back home, the thought he was too old for magic swimming in his old head, she appeared.

The snow woman was just as beautiful as he had always remembered. Her dark hair cascading down her shoulders, the wide brimmed hat framing her face as if it were artwork, her eyes warm and bright, even on the coldest day of the year.

“I fear I don’t have much time left,” He said, his words forced out through puffs of air, still trying to catch his breath. “This may be the last winter we have together, my love.”

She simply smiled and sat next to him. As she took his hand in hers, it felt real and solid. “I know,” She said gently. Her smile used to be enough to ease all the pain in the world, but it did little now. “Just lay yourself down and fall asleep in my lap like you used to.” She smoothed his hair gently. “Like that first time, and when you wake up, everything will be new again.”

“Just like the first time,” He said, easing his head onto her lap and looking up at the flurry of snowflakes dancing down upon the earth.

He wished he had brought her a warmer jacket all those years ago.

Wednesday Works: To Have Courage

I want you to be proud of me,

See the change I’ve made.

I hope your heart melts

When you see me riding in,

On those white horses,

Courage blazing.

But instead,

The drifts get deeper as I drown,

In utter embarrassment.

Wednesday Works: Returning The Past

Moving out of his current apartment and into a new house meant a lot of decluttering. The space he had lived in was small, but somehow over the years he had lived there, he had managed to collect a lot of junk. He found that particular item in his bookshelf, tucked between two massive textbooks he hadn’t used since his college days nearly a decade earlier.

On the outside, it was simply a book, the cover warn, but well loved, the sticker from the library blatantly obvious on the bottom of the spine. Yet another library book he had failed to return on time. He sighed and tossed it onto the couch, along with the other books he didn’t intend to keep.

As he did, a photograph fell out, withered with age, the subject in it a young woman in sepia, her dark lips in a large smile, her eyes bright. An artifact for sure, since the car she stood next to would be considered a classic in the current day and age.

For a moment, the photograph captivated him. What was it doing in the middle of a library book and how had he missed it before?

On the back, in faded pencil, written in a fancy script was just two words and a year.

My Love, 1942

From the words, written in a gentle hand, he knew someone was missing it. He made it his goal to find them, whoever it was.

17 years later

He straightened his tie as he looked up and the old aged building nearly crumbled by time on a side street of New York City.

After an exhaustive search, over nearly two decades, he had finally found her. The mystery was finally solved. He just had to knock on the door and meet her.

He took a deep breath and walked up the crumbling steps toward the door in need of a fresh coat of paint.

When he knocked on the door, a woman younger than he expected opened it. Much too young to be the girl in the photograph, but bearing a striking familiarity to her.

After years and years and an exhaustive search, he had finally figured out the woman’s name and tried to track her down through the years of history she had to have lived.

“I’m looking for Hilde,” He said, choosing to be brave and keep on the search for the answers he craved.

The younger woman’s face fell. “Oh,” She said. “So you don’t know.” She took a deep breath and her face tightened into a mask of no emotion. “She died last week.” She took another deep breath. “She and my grandfather both, which is kind of romantic, you know?”

“Oh,” He said, mirroring her tone. “Well, I found an old photograph of her, but perhaps you would like to have it instead.” He passed the old photograph her way.

The moment she saw it, her face lit up. “Gramma Hilde always did love her cars, it’s no wonder she would send it to Grandad when he enlisted.” She looked at the back. “His Loves, how fitting.”

For a moment, she seemed to forget he was there. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?” She asked when she finally did look at him. “I’m sure Gramma Hilde has a picture in front of every car she’s ever owned, but this one I haven’t seen.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Wednesday Works: If It Doesn’t Fit…

In her world, everything and everyone had a place. Each and every person, place or thing fit together like puzzle pieces.

As she built her world exactly the way she wanted it, placing the people carefully in the city and the forests, building dark creatures between the trees and damsels in distress in the high castle towers, there was one person that refused to fit in.

No matter how much she moved around the king and his consorts, or the priest and friar in the abbey, the dashing hero wouldn’t fit. The princess had loved him, sung his praises, but he simply would not fit.

For weeks and weeks, she fought the issue, searching for a place for her dashing hero. Then, in a fit of inspiration at 3AM from a dead sleep, the solution came.

“I have to kill him.”

Finally, her book had an ending she was happy with.