LGBTQ Push Back

Many of you read about the pizza restaurant in Indiana that raised nearly $1 million because of bigotry. Well, LGBTQ authors are ‘pushing back’.
Get a free read from A. J. Rose and a chance to win one of over 200 books.
#LGBTQ Push Back #Charity #Giveaway! It’s not about pizza! It’s about human rights! ENTER NOW http://diversereader.blogspot.com/2015/04/lgbtq-push-back-charity-giveaway.html

 

Travelers blurb

Rory McGregor is being haunted by dreams of a house and the people who occupy it. At times, he feels he is the person in the dream. He wonders what is causing the dreams.
An invitation to a ninetieth birthday party for James McDonald, a distant relative, contains a strange message. James insists that he traveled from 1941 to 1892. While he was there, he met Rory who told him they would meet this year at his birthday party.
James provides Rory with a journal that tells an unbelievable story of time travel. He asks Rory to go back to before World War I and bring his son forward to the present so he won’t die in the war.
With his sister, Erin, Rory embarks on improbable journey into the past.

Image

Travelers

2nd draft

Travelers

Every story should answer six questions. Who? What? When? Where? How? And Why? Travelers answers some of those and others are up to the reader’s imagination.
Who – thirteen people.
What – travel back in time.
When – depends on which side of the gateway you’re looking at. On one side, from 1755-1914. On the other side, from 1777-2034.
Where – From several different places in the world to MacKinnon’s Farmstead on the east coast of Maine.
How – Does anyone really know how time portals work?
Why – ?????

There’s an old saying, “All roads lead to Rome.” Well in this case, all roads lead to Hamish MacKinnion’s farm in Maine.

Prologue

MacKinnon Farmstead – May 28, 1919
Fierce, gale-force winds whipped the trees behind the house. The building shook with thunder induced vibrations. Lightning bolts flashed non-stop across the sky and pounding waves struck the rocks halfway up the cliff below the house.
Sara Carter stood by the mantel and looked at the photograph of Charles in his uniform taken just before he left for France. He looks so much like James. She picked up a letter from under the frame and read:
“We are sorry to inform you PFC Charles Carter was killed at the Battle of Cantigny, May 28, 1918. He was buried there with honors.”
Tears blurred her vision. Why. Why do men have to go to war? There have been so many wars in the history of this place. Culloden. The Revolutionary War. The War of 1812. The Civil War. When will it end? She turned, wrapped her arms around herself and walked to the window. James said I’d be the last of the family to own the MacKinnon Farmstead. He was right. I am the last.
She walked around the room touching little mementos. She stroked the back of a rocking chair. Great-great-grandda Hamish made this for Grandmother, Elspeth. So many babies have been rocked in it. Will there ever be any more, or will Charles be the last? She touched a photo of her parents on the mantel. Mam, Da, forgive me. I just can’t go on.
Sara climbed the stairs to the third floor. The lantern in the window reflected out into the storm. She opened the door and stepped out onto the railed walkway that encircled the third story. The wind immediately attacked its new target. Her light-colored hair became a swirling nebulous around her head as it came loose from the pins holding it in place. A flash of lightening illuminated her frail figure as she climbed onto the railing. She spread her arms wide and jumped.

 

Storm

A post on Facebook this morning reminded me of something that happened several years ago. It was around 2001 or 2002, I think. I lived in a mobile home in Olathe and my oldest daughter lived under a mile from me. It was a June evening and we were under a tornado watch.
Now my youngest daughter has always been a worrier. “What if” was one of her favorite phrases.
I got home from work that evening and was fixing supper when the youngest called. “Mom, there’s a tornado on the ground in Topeka (60 miles away), you’d better take cover.” “M., Topeka is 60 miles from here. If they sound the sirens, I’ll go to your sister’s house.” So I hung up and called oldest daughter to be sure she was home and arranged to head there if the sirens sounded. Hung up. Youngest called again. “I’m fixing supper. If the sirens sound, I’ll go to your sister’s.” Sound of sirens. Phone rings. Oldest daughter. “Are you coming?” “I’m bringing my sandwich with me.”
I got to her house which had five levels. I found her and the two kids in the lowest level with their supper. Her husband was on his way home from Topeka and called. We didn’t know at the time, but he was even with Lake Perry where a tornado was on the ground at that minute. She asked him how to run the TV through the computer in the room we were in. (Remember, this was over ten years ago). We sat and watched the weather coverage for about ten minutes when daughter said, “I’m tired of watching this and turned the TV to HBO, grabbed her video camera and went out into the back yard leaving me and the kids in the sub-basement watching a movie. The movie? Twister.

Angel, Sassy and Daddy

Our ‘assignment’ for Friday’s writers’ group is to write a flash story about death. It wasn’t easy to come up with one, but here it is:

Angel Sassy and Daddy

ANGEL, SASSY AND DADDY

I don’t ever remember a time when we didn’t have pets. Dogs, cats, birds, hamsters, rabbits, horses and even once a couple of raccoons.
One of the dozer operators knocked down a tree and killed the mother raccoon. Daddy brought the kits home. We kept them until Daddy decided to write the conservation people to get a permit. They came and took them.
Anyway, I digress.
At the time he died, Daddy had two pets. There was Angel, a white, tea-cup poodle and Sassy a large, multi-colored, long-haired cat.
Now Angel was as tall as she was long and as wide as she was tall. This was because she didn’t know what dog food was. What Daddy ate, Angel ate. He’d go to the café for breakfast and bring home biscuits and gravy for Angel and Sassy.
Sassy was such a big cat I think he must have had some Maine Coon in his ancestry.
The last time I saw my father alive was a few months after Hurricane Wilma in 2005. He sat in his recliner with Angel on one knee and Sassy on the other and told me that’s the way they rode out the storm as it went through LaBelle. That’s one picture I’ll always remember.
Daddy always said he wanted to have his ashes scattered over Lake Okeechobee. When he died in 2007, the lake was so low because of draught you could hardly take a boat out. My younger half-sister came up with an idea. Since Angel and Sassy were both close to eighteen years old, they weren’t going to last much longer. She would hold on to Daddy’s ashes until they died, then have them cremated and scatter all of the ashes together.
Now everyone has their idea of what Heaven should be like. When I think of my daddy in Heaven, I see him sitting in a boat out on Lake Okeechobee trolling for large-mouth bass with Angel on one knee and Sassy on the other.

Travelers

I can’t believe it’s been almost a month since I posted. I MUST start doing this more often. Anyway, here’s a look at the beginning of Travelers:

There’s an old saying, “All roads lead to Rome.” Well in this case, all roads lead to Hamish MacKinnion’s farm in Maine.

Prologue

Coast of Maine – May 28, 1919
Fierce, gale-force winds whipped the trees behind the house. The building shook with the vibrations of thunder. Lightening flashed non-stop across the sky and pounding waves struck the rocks halfway up the cliff below the house. Sara Carter struggled as she opened the door to the walkway around the third story and stepped out. The wind immediately attacked its new target. Her once-golden hair became a halo around her head as it came loose from the pins holding it in place. A flash of lightening illuminated the frail figure on the railing of the walkway around the third-story tower. The woman spread her arms wide and jumped.