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Excerpt: Project Burning Bush

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(A work in progress)

Right in the middle of another funny face, Harper grabbed his head and dropped to his knees with a high-pitched scream.

Nita fumbled her phone back into her pocket and scowled. “Knock it off, Chico, that’s not funny. People gon’ start callin’ 911!” She cursed briefly in Tex-Mex when he thrashed on the ground, making more high-pitched noises.

Luthor and Minji ran back to them. Luthor tried to pick Harper up but couldn’t hold onto him. He finally pinned the smaller boy to the ground with his own body. “Call Mrs. Williams!” he shouted. “Harper’s having a seizure!”  He managed to get a hand to Harper’s mouth to check if Harper had bitten his tongue. Harper’s teeth were grinding together, but there was no sign of blood.

Minji shook her phone. “I’m only getting static! What about yours, Nita?”

Nita yanked hers back out of her pocket. “You serious? He’s not putting it on?” She tapped her phone and shook her head. “Same here. Nothing but static! What’s going on?”

Luthor did his best to brace Harper’s head where the boy was whipping it side to side on the gravel. “Never mind the phones! One of you run as fast as you can to find the teachers! If he doesn’t stop seizing soon, he might get some serious damage! Go, already!”

“I’ll go!” Nita jammed her phone back in her pocket and hitched her backpack up. But as she spun on one foot back toward the start of the trail, she found herself falling sideways across Luthor and Harper. “What the!” she started, then lost her breath as Minji piled on top of her. “Hey, get off!” She tried to push the other girl away but discovered neither of them could get their balance.

Excerpt from Project Burning Bush

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(A work in progress) for #LineByLineTime on Twitter.com for “The Switch”

Both boys glanced at the girls, startled. Observing Nita’s tense posture, Luthor followed the direction she was looking and stepped in front of Harper. 

“What do you think?” Nita mused. “Perv alert? Maybe you’re about to earn your pay, big boy. He’s been giving Harper the eye since we’ve been standing here.”

“How do you know he’s been looking at Harper?” Minji demanded. “Maybe he’s been watching all of us.”

Nita shook her head. “Nah, you can tell by where his eyes go, especially when Harper was standing away from the rest of us.”

“Maybe I should go convince him to move along,” Luthor growled.

Harper grabbed his belt. “Ignore him. If he’s who I think he is, he could take you without breaking a sweat. He’s just doing his job.”

The other three stared at him. “Doing his job?  What do you mean?” Minji snapped.

“You really think parents who didn’t let me out of the house practically my whole life would suddenly think it was okay to send me off to the middle of nowhere? My dad knows lots of guys who owe him favors for computer stuff.”

He stepped clear of Luthor and waved and whistled at the man, who reared back, eyes wide. Harper yelled, “Tell my dad I’m having a great time! But don’t stare! People think you’re a pervert!”

His voice rang clearly along the trail. Other hikers turned around, some with camera phones ready. The stranger glared and vanished into the brush surrounding the trail.  “Yeah, that looks like one of my dad’s friends – if you can call them that. They all kind of scowl like that.” Harper blew out his breath. “Now I’ll probably hear it from my dad when I get home.”

He shook his finger and scowled at an invisible smaller figure as if a parent scolded a child. “‘You know better than to expose someone working undercover.’” Then he took a step forward, turned and faced where he had been standing. He clasped his hands under his raised chin and looked innocently up, eyes wide and batting his eyelashes. “But daddy, I don’t know anything about undercover operations,” he said in a baby voice.  “I’m just a wittle boy!”

Tension: Excerpt from Project Burning Bush (a work in progress)

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Excerpt 1:

“Who might you be?” he called to them. 

They ignored his question.  “Get down here, right now!”

“Why? Who are you people?”

“Get down here now! We’re not going to wait forever!”

“Why? Are you the law? Where’s your ID?  I’m on public property, I know, because this is a rest area, so I’m not trespassing.  Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

The door on the Jeep opened and a man in a suit climbed slowly out. He looked around, his expression blank.  Finally, he raised his head and stared silently up at Tom.  Tom stared back.  He had been a Marine for a long time, and recognized danger when he saw it.

Excerpt 2:

Minji started to snap back at her but Harper stepped between the girls holding up a hand. His voice was high and strained.  “Never mind adventures in Oz.  Maybe we wound up in a Tolkien story.  Those guys definitely look like orcs to me!” His raised hand pointed to the side of the clearing.  

Everybody swung around as one old woman cried out.  People screamed and everybody ran, except the pregnant girl still sitting by the fire, and the old man, who gripped his staff in shaking hands and stepped in front of the girl. 

Four horsemen stared back at them.  One pointed toward the deer carcass as he chattered excitedly in Spanish to his companions. They nodded, their mouths open and their eyes wide as they looked at the four teenagers.

Nita didn’t take her eyes off them as her hands slid to her knives still hidden in her jeans. “Apparently they’re upset we caught a deer.  Sounds like we did a big no-no.  They also think we look way too much like their bosses.  I’d assume that means they’re the bad guys.”

“Not to mention the way the locals ran off screaming.  Wonder if these are some of the guys who were here before?”  Harper scratched his chin. “Maybe we should go hide somewhere, too?”

Minji stood straight, then marched, shoulders back to stand beside the old man.  “I will not leave Dark Moon Rising and Singing Water to them. They are brave, but helpless.”

“Maybe I can scare them,” Luthor growled, and flexed his arms, waving the bloody knife in his hand.

Harper shuffled backward.  “I’ll just stand behind the tree, okay? I wouldn’t want any of you to trip over me…” He trailed off as he reached the tree and darted around to crouch behind it.

“All of you shut up and let me talk to them and stay out of my way.  I just killed a deer and four rabbits.  These guys are no challenge.” Nita’s hands were in her pockets now.

Minji sniffed. “There is a large difference between hunting animals for food and killing a human,” she began, but suddenly all four horsemen drew sabers and charged, screaming and waving their weapons.

Foreshadowing: An excerpt from Project Burning Bush (a work in progress)

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TWO WEEKS POST-EVENT

“Now for anybody who’s been sealed up in a cave or a locked room in a government lab for the past week, let me bring you up to date. First, I’m situated just outside of Enchanted Rock State Park in sunny South Texas, west of Austin and north of San Antonio. There was a big – 6.0 on the scale – earthquake here last week. Folks said Enchanted Rock, which is a big old hunk of pink – yes, I said pink – granite sticking up out of the ground, vibrated like a tuning fork.”

“So, first off, what caught everybody’s attention was the fact that even though two big ol’ cities were right nearby, they didn’t catch any of it. Totally unnatural!  Scientists headed here, and so did first responders as soon as all the 9-1-1 calls started about people getting injured because they got shook off the mountain when the quake hit. Then word about missing folk started coming in. Some busload of school kids on a field trip couldn’t find everybody that got off there.”

He peered at the screen. “Hey, is that somebody rooting around in the brush wearing a hazmat suit? Let’s see if I can give you a closer look!”  He directed the drone higher and closer to the activity. He decided to continue the monologue. “Other folk disappeared for a little bit, then showed up all changed. Changed as in clothes – some looked like they just walked out of the wild West frontier, and changed as in insisting they were somebody else and acting real confused about what was going on. As if they were time travelers!”

He zoomed the camera on the drone to get a close-up of the people on the ground.  “Looky here, those are hazmat suits. What are they waving around down there? There’s a metal detector for sure, there, and I do believe that’s a bomb-sniffing dog.  Poor thing, I hope they’re giving it plenty of water and rest. South Texas in the spring is a hot summer elsewhere!” 

His eyes gleamed. “See these guys here? They belong to one of those agencies that don’t go by the alphabet. FBI, CIA, DHS, them and all those other agencies – and the military – they’re insisting they don’t have anything to do with these guys. These shady fellows showed up soon as the stories started hitting the Internet from the witnesses. Kicked out the locals, then the Texas Rangers when those lawmen showed up to find out why the locals were pushed out, and then the FBI when the Rangers complained. Somebody pulled some serious strings, folks. They got rid of the press, the law, then set up a perimeter – which I’m outside of, thank you. Then the witnesses started disappearing. Especially the folks who came back different. Those school kids? They got to go home, but the teachers didn’t. My sources tell me the parents of those kids they can’t find have disappeared, too.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Looks like they noticed my drone, folks. Just look how excited they are! I do believe they’re trying to hide some equipment there – what do you figure that is, for sampling air and water, maybe? Dirt, too, of course. Definitely something shady going on! Oops, looks like one of them got some orders to shoot me down!” He worked the controls, but the man with the rifle had good aim, and the video from the drone went blank after it sank to the earth.

Excerpt from Project Burning Bush (a work in progress)

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Harper shoved his hands in his pockets and wrinkled his nose as he looked around. “So-o-o-o, nobody is going to get excited about the weirdness of suddenly finding ourselves in the distant past, or future, or someplace that is NOT WHERE WE WERE?” He yelled in a whisper, but it was definitely a yell.

Luthor shrugged. “It’s weird, but no big deal to me. I’ve been in situations like this with my uncle. Sometimes in worse conditions, and with less supplies. I’ll lose my cool when we’re not concerned about basic survival.”

Harper looked at their most prim and proper member. “What about you, Minji? Doesn’t this bother you? Or is not showing panic some Asian thing?”

Minji rolled her eyes and curled her lip. “Stoicism is not ‘some Asian thing’. You do not even know if I AM Asian. Just because I have almond-shaped eyes and a vaguely different name does not make me Asian. Besides, there is nothing to panic about. We have food and a fire and a dry place to sleep that we can defend. It is far better than floating on a leaking boat in the middle of the ocean with no food or water, all alone.”

Nita laughed. “You’re boat people, but deny being Asian? Come on, Dragonlady. We’re not stupid.”

Minji started to snarl a reply, but Harper interrupted. “What about you, Nita? Isn’t this way out of your comfort range?”

Nita whooped and laughed for a few minutes. When she finally ran down, she wiped tears from her eyes. “Comfort range, huh? Listen, chico, comfort is no dog-sized rats trying to steal your food or worse, thinking you’re supper. Comfort is being able to sleep without wondering if your mom’s latest customer or boyfriend or pimp is going to check you out while she sleeps. I like this place. There’s a lot less people to bother me here. So far, at least,” she muttered, looking around.

Harper rubbed his face. “Okay then! I guess I’ll just keep my screaming to myself, but I make no promises about what I do in my sleep.”

“If you wake up gagged and bound, it’s because we didn’t want you drawing predators,” Nita told him with a shark-like smile as she rubbed his head with her knuckles. “Nothing personal.”

Excerpt from “The Warlord’s Heart” (WIP)

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Edward looked around the room. His expression smoothed into blankness as he looked back at all the suddenly silent young men present. “Did I interrupt your discussion of me?”

“We weren’t talking about you. We were talking about your lady.” The confession was, of course, blurted out by the compulsive talker of the group.

Richard sighed and rubbed his head. “Would somebody PLEASE put their hand over Franklin’s mouth before Edward kills us all?”

Franklin’s protest was silenced by Darwood’s fist in front of his face.

Richard held up a hand in a placating gesture. “Don’t be angry, Edward. We weren’t gossiping about Betsy. We were discussing who she really is and why the Warlord, well, indulges her. You have to admit it, Edward. Nobody else gets away with what she does.”

“He does indulge her, yes. But it still sounds like you’re gossiping about the woman I love.”

“No, listen. We’re not being malicious. We’ve been trying to piece together what we’ve observed. You know, like you have said we will have to from reading battle reports.”

Edward leaned against the wall and crossed his arms and legs, clearly reluctant. “Very well. Tell me of your conclusions.”

Richard looked around the room. All the others looked more than ready for him to offer himself as sacrificial speaker. He looked back at Edward’s stony face and swallowed. “See, first, we know somebody is constantly trying to kill the princess, correct? So she has to be guarded all the time. Even in her bedroom and in the wardrobe, so the guard needs to be a female. Do you agree?”

Edward nodded slowly, his hard expression easing. “So you think that will be Betsy’s future?”

“We think that perhaps she already IS, and has been for quite a while, actually.”

“Why do you think that?”

Richard held up a single finger. “She’s the same age as the princess. She’s obviously already been trained in battle art far more than any of us. The Royal Guardsmen and palace staff show her an amazing amount of respect, far more than a simple maid should receive. Correct? She respects and obeys the Warlord, but she certainly doesn’t treat him the way anybody else does. We’ve all seen it. She treats him more like, like, well,” he took a deep breath and blurted, “Like her father.”

Edward slowly uncoiled. “Are you suggesting…”

Richard cringed. “We don’t mean anything ill! We know the Warlord is unmarried and childless. But if she is his illegitimate daughter, it answers everything!”

“You just called the woman I love a bastard. I have every reason to challenge you to a duel right now, not only you but every man in this room. Nobody is allowed to blacken her honor in that manner.”

“We’re not! Just listen! Please! She would have grown up with the princess as her cousin! They would be bound by blood! Who better to protect her wherever she went? Who could be more loyal?”

One of the others snorted. “Idealistic, there!”

Richard threw his hands up. “Whatever! But if she was raised as companion to the princess, it is more likely for her to be bound by love as well as blood!”

Edward lowered himself into a chair. “I can understand that, barely. But why would she work in the palace as a maid, scrubbing and doing all the servants’ jobs? I’ve seen her at work. Why would the Warlord allow a child of his to do that?”

A grin flashed across Richard’s face. “You might not realize it, but we of the nobility have long understood one fact. The servants know everything that goes on. Everything. They talk about what they know, too. If Betsy worked among them, she would know every secret in the palace. She would also have personal knowledge of every room in the palace, servants’ hallways, and probably every hiding place there might be.”

“Necessary information for a personal bodyguard, indeed. To always know what was going on, who was in the palace, what the schedules are, and where the princess might hide in case of danger.” Edward rubbed his chin. “But why put her through officer’s schooling?”

Richard leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “To receive the authority to command the guardsmen in moments of danger. Otherwise, some might question her orders at a vital moment.”

Excerpt from The Warlord’s Heart: “Love and Secrecy”

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Edward cupped his hands around Betsy’s cheeks. He savored the velvet of her skin, the silk of her curls, her sweet smile, her soft blue eyes. She was perfect. Every inch of her petite form pleased him, from her curves to the strength he knew hid beneath her uniform.

He took a deep breath, praying he would recite the words he had practiced, had even written down trying to perfect them. If only they would come out without error. He wanted both Betsy and himself to remember this night for the rest of their lives, to tell their children and grandchildren with sighs and smiles, like his parents did.

“Betsy, I know we cannot make plans for our future until after graduation, when we receive our duty assignments. But I want to make my intentions clear so that you will know. I love you, Betsy. I love you and I want to marry you, as soon as possible. I love you enough to even dare ask the Warlord for permission to court you and ask for your hand.”

Betsy blinked rapidly. Her smile widened. She touched his cheek with trembling fingers. “Oh, my beloved Edward,” she whispered. “I do so love you, too.” Mischief crept into her smile. “But don’t say anything to the Warlord yet. He takes his role of my guardian so seriously, he is likely to make a great fuss and threaten to throw you in the dungeon lest you be carried away by your feelings before we take vows. Please, wait until after graduation. I turn 21 that day, and he will be totally different.”

Edward’s eyebrows pinched together. “What is he likely to say then?”

She giggled. “Most likely he will throw his arms around you, weep joyful tears, and thank God I am your problem now!”

He laughed with her, then blinked as the laughter drained out of her like water. “Betsy?”

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on his chest. “I love you, Edward. I loved you from the moment I first saw you. But I have secrets, my love. They are a terrible burden, and I cannot reveal them to you until after graduation. Once I do, your heart may change.”

“Secrets?” He tipped her chin up. “Darling, there can be no secret so dire it can change my love for you.”

Her poor attempt at a smile faded quickly. “I hope not. I pray not. I believe with all my heart you are a better man than all others. But like others in the palace, I have borne secrets for the princess my entire life. Sometimes they have caused me to weep into my pillow at night, or scream in frustration at the poor Warlord who could change nothing for me. Many men would either rage at me for only keeping the secrets, and others could not share the burden of my duties once I take them up.”

“I swear, nothing will change my love! We will marry no matter what your duties are!”

“I believe you mean that, now. But please, for my sake, speak no more of our future until you discover what I must keep silent about. The poor Warlord does not deserve to listen to my frustrated screams again.” She made a better attempt at a smile this time.

“Hmph. If I must keep silent for your sake, he may find himself forced to listen to mine!”

Deja Vu (What, Again?)

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We survived another August.  Barely.  The aftershocks are lingering, keeping us from our rest, but at least the outside temperature has dropped 10 degrees.  Sure, it’s only dropped from 102 to 92 degrees, but you have to appreciate the small stuff or scream, right?  Right?  Excuse me, I have to press a pillow over my face for a moment…

I wrote a previous blog, The Ides of August, about the trials that strike my family during the infamous month.  This year is up for top awards in the “I’m really tired of this…” category.  My sister came down with her second round of ovarian cancer.  It’s been very painful for her, expensive, frustrating, and exhausting for her and me both.  She had surgery in May to remove the cancer they could find, then began chemotherapy.  It didn’t go well.  She has had strong reactions to the drugs.

But because August has to show up the rest of the calendar, the first of the month found her back in the hospital having major abdominal surgery AGAIN.  The rest of the month has had her in wound care and physical therapy, and me playing nurse, chauffeur, cook, housemaid, and donkey since she was ordered not to carry anything.  She still has all the usual ‘fun’ of cancer like uncooperative taste buds, neuropathy, weakness, exhaustion, and exorbitant medical bills.

Experience has caused our family to adopt a policy of never leaving members in the hospital alone.  I was staying with her but had to run home for a day to pay bills and wash clothes.  As anybody who has been there knows, you don’t get much sleep in a hospital. The hospital they put her in was almost four hours away, so I was even more exhausted by the time I got home.  I was going to spend one night at home, so I was rushing to get laundry done and paying as many bills online as possible.

Of course, I made a mistake.  It just had to be on the biggest payment – our mortgage.  I completely forgot I had just the month before set it up for automatic payments.  Yep, I paid it twice.  And I didn’t notice, until a week later when the overdraft fees and chiding alerts began arriving on my account.  I live on a fixed income and a very tight budget.  My sister’s bout with cancer left her unable to work and with no money to add to the family budget.  I immediately contacted the mortgage company and they said, hey, no problem, send us a bank statement showing both the payments and we’ll send one of the payments back.

You guessed it.  It is now September, and I just spent a very frustrating call with the company.   Frustrating first because the static on the line was so bad, I asked him to send me an email because I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.  Second, because, duh, I still don’t have my money so I am going to be short this month but they said my account shows the money was supposed to be sent to me August 25.  Then where is it???  Third, they took my September payment, but NOT ALL OF IT.  Why? They are researching. Gah.

My sister had her chemo drugs changed, and it helped, and her surgery is healing well.  But she still can’t work, she’s still in pain, and she still is pretty shaky on her feet.  Then our oven stopped working.  Then the hot water heater blew a gasket (actually, literally…).  Luckily (?) I noticed before it flooded the kitchen.  (Forty gallons of hot water? Eesh.  Welcome to the jungle…)  So no hot showers, no dishwasher use, and no baking until we get these appliances replaced.  Repair is no use, we were told.  Of course not.

We deal.  Life goes on, and we have endured worse.  I have a teakettle to heat water.  The air conditioner is working, the cold water still runs, and my sister lives.  We have a home.  We have a car.  We have food to eat.  We have family and we have friends.  My sister gets cheered by Skype calls from the newest member of the family born in May, and his grandmother, our sister.  Later this month an even newer member will arrive from our sister’s other daughter, who has triumphed with a second child after five miscarriages.

People shake their heads and ask how I can laugh about our travails.  Oh, I keep the screaming for my bedroom.  I hate watching people grab their ears.  But, mostly, it’s because God gave me a sense of humor to endure such frustration and constant tripping over life’s rocks.  What’s the point of being given a useful gift if you never get to use it?  Heh.  Careful what you ask for, trust me.  If He gives you something, you’ll usually get lots of opportunities to use it.

I noticed my year has been so chaotic I haven’t blogged for a while.  Sorry.  I need to write up a bunch during the odd moments I’m not dashing around doing and can actually sit and think so I can schedule them for publication.  I have been on Twitter meeting other writers and some admittedly odd characters, but it’s been fun.  If you’re actually interested, my Twitter handle is @ghostwriter4God.

I have finished my third book and named it Angels With Attitude.  Of course, it’s available on Amazon in print or Ebook, like Once Upon a Christmastime and Standing Next to a Miracle.

I have also contributed a story titled Sweet Talking Man to a sweet romance anthology called Cool Weather, Warm Hearts.  It will be released in Ebook form October 30 but is available for pre-order now.  The proceeds will go to two charities, The Magical Moon Foundation which helps sick children and their families and The Wounded Warrior Project which helps our Vets!  For those of you as ignorant as I had been about terminology, ‘sweet’ romances mean no sex.  I would assume it also means no vulgarities of speech or actions.  I don’t write that sort of thing, so I didn’t have to censor myself.

I hope your year is going better.

 

All Warm and Cozy

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It’s 5:30 in the morning and I’ve just finished my first cup of coffee.  I’d love to go back to sleep, but I have a plumber coming in today so I need to stay awake and get some work done before he gets here.  He was here yesterday working on several plumbing issues, and one of them waited until he was gone to suddenly spout another leak.  Now he has to come back and check his work or fix yet another problem.  He told us yesterday to get an electrician to check the wiring in our house.  When my sister got home she moaned, “This place is becoming a money pit!” A little dramatic, but accurate.

It’s Christmastime, and we still have gifts to purchase and wrap.  Several of my friends are staring at empty chairs after losing loved ones this year.  The news is full of sad stories, bad weather, foolish politics, and stupid scandals.  My arthritis is flaring, and my sleep patterns are erratic.

But you know what? I DON’T CARE.  Life is good.  I’m working part-time as a substitute teacher at a local small school, and I find it fascinating.  Frustrating, annoying, and exasperating, yes, but that happens anytime you deal with kids.  I enjoy getting to know the kids and helping them further their education.  It’s not just babysitting while the teacher is away.  My favorite moment was watching all the young ones from 3-year-olds in the Head Start Program through the 5th graders practice their Christmas program.  I know it was maddening for the teachers to try to corral them and get them to practice, but I adored watching the children just enjoy their day, running around, climbing all over the bleachers in the gym, and just being children.  Too many adults have lost the ability to live in the moment.

I had a good time last week when the local book club reviewed my first book, “Once Upon A Christmastime”.  Here is a link to the article posted about it in the local newspaper: Once Upon a Christmastime Review.  I was quite chuffed to hear them complain it was too short and they wanted a longer collection for next Christmas.  I’ve already got some story ideas lined up.  One of the club members posted a review of it on Goodreads: Kacy A Jey’s Review.  More than one of the members ran local bed and breakfasts and inns and said they were placing the book out for guests to read.

It’s always nice to hear they like the way you write, but it warmed my heart to hear it helped them get into the Christmas spirit, especially when, as one member said, she definitely wasn’t.  I smiled when they said at least two of the stories would make good Hallmark stories because my stories always seem like movies to me.  I would love to see them made into movies because I like to help lift the spirits of people.  Having people in a good mood around me makes all of life so much easier.

Especially when I still don’t have a working toilet and I have to clean house.  Merry Christmas!

How I Roll

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One of the Facebook pages I follow, Novel Encounters, is about several historical romance novelists.  (I only read historical romances.  I’m still working on writing one that popped into my head, which of course doesn’t fit any historical period I know of.  Maybe if I call it a historical fantasy romance adventure…) This week they were asked to describe their writing process, and since all of them are different, it has been fascinating to see how they think and create and do the practical details of bringing their stories out of their brains and onto a published manuscript.  It got me to wondering just how I would describe how I create.

This  is how it usually begins:

I do mental movies of novels. I write a few chapters. Then I go do something else, usually another mental movie of a different story. I come back, read what I’ve written, vaguely feel there’s something not quite right, put it back and run through the movie in my head and discover much has been left on the cutting room floor and many scenes added.

I start thinking in scenes, detailing them in my mind. I think, maybe I should make a note, then it might not change. Now I have a general – well, not outline, really, but mostly a time line of actions and conversations – and as I look closer at each scene, I begin wondering about details like landscape, environment, odors, temperature, what side characters are doing while the main characters are busy at the front of the stage, clothing, food, shelter, etc.

I then begin to look at early scenes and wonder if they should become backstory instead. For example, mentally, I have had several stories begin at the birth or in one case, the rape conception of the main character. Then as the story developed, I began to think it might be better as backstory to be mentioned casually in a conversation between characters. Suddenly what was becoming a very long timeline of scenes shortens and I begin to feel the story is workable.  Crazed sessions of unstoppable typing ensue.

That is how my novels begin.  My short stories come from somewhere I’ve never been able to track down.  For all I know, God just puts them there.  Many times I finish typing and have to read them over to figure out what I wrote.  My two collections in print and ebook right now, Once Upon a Christmastime and Standing Next to a Miracle, are like that. I have a third collection to be titled Angels With Attitude, just about ready to go.  Of course, I’ve been saying that since 2014, I just discovered.  Sheesh!

I am going to try the Scrivener program since it seems to use many of the methods I do for setting out a story idea.  I have heard some published authors can’t stand it, others just love it.  I’ll let you know how it goes.  In the meantime, I’ll go work on that collection of short stories and try to get them out.