Category: Uncategorized

via Daily Prompt: Astonish

From The Grey House, Book Two, Inside the Grey House:

Charlie covered his face with his hands. Part of him really wanted to stay and watch and witness whatever it was Natalia was plotting. The other, larger part wanted to pull her out of this apartment, get to the car and drive like the devil was chasing them all the way back to Vincent’s. When he pulled his hands away from his face, he gasped in surprise. She was standing right in front of him, reaching out to him. Her hand felt warm and soft on his cheek. He was astonished to find out he had to look up to look into her eyes, and when he did, the very familiar look in her eyes made him shudder in need.

 

via Daily Prompt: Tantrum

No tantrums in The Grey House. Here’s a scene from an unfinished novel called Feed the Piggies:

“Why can’t we just talk?” Her voice grew petulant and a little hesitant. “I just…want someone to talk to.”

He dropped her and stepped back. “What’s there to talk about?”

“We’re the same.”

Willem laughed. “No, we are most assuredly not.”

“I kill people; you kill people. We’re the same.”

“I don’t kill anyone.” His voice sounded rather confident, as if he believed his own lie.

“I know you do. I saw what you did to that last person. You fed the remains to your pigs.”

“Get out.”

She crossed her arms like a child throwing a tantrum. “No! I want to talk!”

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Elaborate

From The Grey House, Book Three, Protector of the Grey House:

Natalia was once again lying with her back to Vincent’s chest, considering all that had transpired while her man was gone. She told him of her days without him, informing him of Franklin’s betrayal and death, to which he grew contemplative, finally stating that he should have known. She didn’t question why and he didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t his way and she didn’t need to pry. There was something she did want to know about, though.

“Vincent? Who was the ghul in the oubliette?”

via Daily Prompt: Bestow

‘Bestow’ is such a good word. My only regret is that I have not used it enough. This is from an unfinished short story:

One day soon, he hoped, he would meet Emily again and he would bestow the sword upon her. Then, he would head home to rest. As he stared into the fire, Trevor let go of his anxiety, let go of his worry and allowed peace to come into his heart. It had been a long year. Tonight, he would sleep. Tomorrow, he would travel on.

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Vague

From The Grey House, Book One:

The woman wore a silver chain with a large red stone. The stone was set in silver backing and had silver markings on it. To a casual observer, the markings probably looked like a random design. Natalia had seen a large picture of it in the Slayer journals and knew better. The one she found in the book had a fleur-de-lis that wrapped to the edge of the stone. This one did too, but the middle of the design was not the usual fleur-de-lis. The middle was a paw print. Natalia had a vague idea what the design meant, but knew exactly what the necklace itself meant.

 

via Daily Prompt: Parallel

Parallel always makes me think of parallel universe(s).

A friend once posted on social media a question on whether or not sarcasm was lying. People debated nicely, and she and I ended up having a further discussion about lying, its meaning and writing in person.

It could be argued that creative writing is lying. I decided that we didn’t really know, though. What if writers were actually tapping into parallel universes and writing about the things they saw there? What if we aren’t making it up? What if somehow our brains or souls or even our hands were connected to other universes and we wrote what we saw/experienced without even knowing we were doing it?

Maybe that’s why stories don’t always go the way we planned. Because the characters are alive and we don’t completely know what they are going to do, because nuances exist that we are not aware of.

That means that every piece of writing we have “created” is actually another world. There are billions and billions of worlds out there, waiting to be written about. I really dig that.

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Genie

The din tore down the beach like a great beast in heat. – from The Grey House, Book One

Doesn’t seem like the word genie is there, does it? It is.

When I write, the words usually flow out. I hardly ever craft a sentence to make sure the right feelings are conveyed. The sentence above started out as either “the noise tore down” or “the cry tore down”. It wasn’t, to me, enough.

This sentence represents Natalia’s turning point; This is the moment she decides to follow her desires and be with a vampire, even though she is hunting another vampire. It had to have impact, even if only to me.

I used the thesaurus to find other words that meant ‘cry’ and ‘noise’ and found the word ‘din’. I have heard the word before, probably used it too, but it’s not common. When I read it, I remembered, or thought I remembered that there was a word that meant ‘genie’ that was vaguely like the word ‘din’.  Due to the rest of the sentence, “great beast in heat”, I knew I had to find out if the word existed.

The word is djinn.

To me, the noise that Natalia makes when she yells her frustrations are akin to a genie being released from a bottle after millennia. It’s one of my favorite sentences in the entire trilogy.

 

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Fret

Fret makes me think about a guitar. Here’s a true story that I posted on August 31, 2017. It’s about getting a guitar (cigar box harp) from a pretty damned cool artist.

https://catstark.com/2017/08/31/the-futures-so-bright/

If you didn’t read it before, I hope you take the time to read it now.

via Daily Prompt: Crank

I used to have junk cars that broke down a lot. Friends used to fix up the cars for me and tell me what was wrong with them. This is why I know what a crankshaft is.

That’s all I have.

via Daily Prompt: Song

From The Grey House, Book One:

Not wanting to be beaten yet again, Natalia gritted her teeth. If only Bethany wasn’t in danger… but Vincent was taking care of that; she had to play along until the vampire could act. Natalia, her mother’s face swimming before her, reached around her neck to the clasp. Sighing, she undid the clasp but didn’t move her hands. The necklace had been around her neck since age ten. She still remembered the day her mom showed her how to make it and the songs she needed to sing to weave her will into the beads. She felt something unwinding in her head. Natalia suspected it might be the control she had over the people she hypnotized.