Tag Archives: Fiction

Put Away the Bucket: A Guest Post by Kat Heckenbach

Everyone knows what it’s like to keep a bucket by the bed when they have the stomach flu. And every pet owner has experienced awakening in the middle of the night to the hwa-hwa-hwa of a cat or dog about to puke. When the latter happens, we spring out of bed, grab the hiccupping animal, and drag them to a room with tile floor.

Why do we do these things? Because we want to control the puke. We all know it’s way easier than cleaning up after the fact. It’s sticky, and gooey, and smelly. And no matter what you use to clean it, if it hits the carpet there will be a stain, however faint.

At this point you have either run off to grab a bucket yourself because you are one of those people who gets sick just hearing someone else get sick. (It can be rather contagious, kinda like yawning for some folks.) Or, you are staring at the screen, wondering why the bleep I’m blogging about barfing.

Well, it’s like writing.

Don’t look at me like that! It is.

I’ve read a lot of stories lately, manuscripts by fellow writers, that don’t have enough raw emotion, or enough evil, or enough something to carry the scene or situation. Oh, and don’t think I’m just pointing fingers—I’ve been called out for this very thing myself.

For example, in an early scene of one of my works in progress, my main character is trying to scare off the father of her child. It’s supposed to be a dark, emotional scene. She has powers, but she’s not using them to the full potential here. She’s, quite frankly, being too nice. I admit, because the book has a significant romance element, I was thinking about an audience who may not take well to scary.

I sent the scene off to a crit partner, and she told me there wasn’t enough “me” in it. She knew I was holding back. The same thing happened in a few scenes in an earlier draft of my recently published novel, Finding Angel, as well. A beta reader told me, in reference to those scenes, “I should have been crying, but I wasn’t.”

I realized the problem. I’d been holding back. In other words, I was trying to get messy, barfy emotions onto the page in a nice, neat bucket. Or keep it on the tile.

But real life doesn’t work that way. Emotions are overwhelming. They are messy and take ages to clean up. And if we want the reader to experience the emotion, we have to be messy when we put it on the page. We have to barf it out—no bucket.

Sometimes, it can be scary. Sometimes, the emotions are a little too close to home. We hold back because it’s not just going to make a mess on the page, but because it’s going to make a mess of us as well. Maybe they are emotions we’ve held down deep for a long time, and we can only bear to let them out a bit at a time.

That’s understandable, but the problem is those emotions don’t translate well to the reader. For the writer, just a hint at a familiar painful situation is enough to feel it full-force again—but the reader doesn’t get that. In order for them to feel what we are feeling, they need more. The only way to give that to them is to let if pour forth unchecked. Barf it out. Then go back to clean up later.

Unlike pet puke, we want our emotional barf to leave a stain. It’s supposed to sink into the reader and make them remember. They should walk by your book on their shelf and feel something. Weeks, months, or even years later.

True, it’s more work. It takes more time to edit away the chaos that can result, but it’s better than having our scenes fall flat emotionally.

So, from now on, put away the bucket when you write. Don’t worry about the mess. If you want your reader to feel the force of your emotion, barf it out.

 ##

Kat Heckenbach spent her childhood with pencil and sketchbook in hand, knowing she wanted to be an artist when she grew up—so naturally she graduated college with a degree in biology, went on to teach math, and now homeschools her two children while writing. Her fiction ranges from light-hearted fantasy to dark and disturbing, with multiple stories published online and in print. Her debut novel, MG fantasy Finding Angel, is available in print and ebook.

Angel doesn’t remember her magical heritage…but it remembers her. Enter her world at www.katheckenbach.com.

You can also support Kat and her writing here at Amazon  and Barnes & Noble!

Thank you, Kat…I think. :}

Of course, I jest. This is awesome. I really appreciate you guesting for Aspire No More and I look forward to more of your work!

Everyone, support your indie writers/authors!

WORD.


This Message Brought To You By Hope

This quick message brought to you by Hope, perseverance and the letter T.

If you have an idea for a story.

If you have a picture you want to draw.

If you have an idea for a movie, or t.v. show.

If you have a sermon to share.

If you have a song to sing.

If you think you can.

If you…

believe you can…

Aspire no more,

and walk through that open door.

Continue reading


Karly Kirkpatrick: No

Karly, one of the founding Authors of DarkSide Publishing writes a powerful post about a simple and yes teeny tiny word.

For being such a teeny tiny word, NO can be a very powerful one. This applies not only to writers, but also to many aspects of life. For a lot of people, NO is an end point. Once they’ve been told NO, dreams are shattered and paths can be ended. In the publishing world, most of us have been told NO numerous times, more than we can count sometimes. We’ve been told no by agents and editors for the most part, and hey, we can even count those critique partners, although their NOs are meant to help us.

What is important is that we look at NO not as an endpoint. Consider it a challenge. If you get a string of NO’s on a manuscript from agencies, analyze them. If they were straight up form letters, maybe your query needs some work, maybe your manuscript could use another edit or a fresh set of eyes. Continue reading


Digging Around Underneath The Juniper Tree

He looked up at the sky and shouted to the clouds, “You said this wouldn’t happen again!” Then looked down at all the bones.

Marjorie Merle, Underneath The Juniper Tree

That is seriously one of the best things I’ve ever read. Truly.  For me as the reader it conjures an image of a man crying out to God. I can see it. That’s what great writing does.

See over the weekend on The Twitter, the epic hosts of the online blog and magazine Underneath The Juniper Tree invited all to write their very best short, and I mean short (140 characters) story. The darker and more twisted-the better. I put my knit writing cap on and it refused to be taken off! It was really fun and Marjorie and Tex showed the love. I thanked them for the chance of course and…I read so many great short stories!

Ahhh, Writers. Am I write?

So here I would like to share today a few of mine and maybe one or two of the others.

Note: they are all “dark” in nature. 

As I walked into the valley of the shadow of Death I feared not his evil. My sword & my shield fought with me. I am he who killed Death!  <new story I will “commence”.   Continue reading


Red is not just a color…at least for me it’s not.

Favorite colors are not just for kids.

Back in 2002 there was a song called “The Red” by the band Chevelle. Loved it. Still do.

I joined a site called deviantart to try my hand at some poetry and lil art pieces and my nom de plume was TheRed.

I was biased towards the song for two reasons. One, my favorite color is? Blue. No, it’s red. All the way red. The second reason, perhaps THE reason I like the color is for what it symbolizes. Blood. The blood of Christ. Without the shedding of blood, I am not saved. Praise God…He did.

So, we fast forward to mid ’10 and I came to the conclusion that I wanted to write a full-length fiction book. An image popped in my head. The image? Not really an image but more of a scene, a moving one.

A little girl in red runs through a dense banyan filled forest,  breathing heavily. The scene moves to a pack of beasts chasing her, though they cannot be seen. The scenes change back and forth from the girl to the stampeding of the beasts and back…and forth until she stops to face them…and says three words from under breath: Do your worst.

The reason she was wearing red? Because it stood out in the night. So I loved it. The idea. It could only mean one thing: Little. Red. Riding. Hood. It made sense. She wanted to speak. And she chose me to write her story.

It quickly evolved into an entire story, an entire world where I carefully chose the characters that would appear in the first book and the great surprises I have for it’s prequels, Book Two:The Bridge and Book Three:Fulfillment.

In The Stories:Book One we see her not as The Little Red but as L’orrah. The name her Grandmother gave her. You’ve never seen her like this.

The red is a symbol in the entire series. You’ll see.

The red.

My Great-Great Grandfather, Miltiadis Lemos came from Psara, Greece. His name, Miltiadis means red earth.

He named his son, Milton derived from Miltiadis.

My surname, Longoria has no known accepted meaning, this is true. But upon recent  investigation I found that the Basque name Gorria means… RED.

I claim that. With all my heart that part of my name means red. The first part Lon is Basque for lion.

Genealogist’s studies prove our family name is from Spain but from the Austurian region. No matter. The Basque and Austurian regions are related.

One can see…my name that I am proud of, Longoria, most likely means Red Lion.

The point? “The red. It filters through.”

Before I found out about the meaning of Gorria I planned on getting a tattoo of a red lion rampant. I have a literal red lion statue in my home. and without giving too much away, “red lion” appears in my book.

Some things were meant to be.

Destiny. Fate. For me…all God.

I’m ready. Just looking at what I’ve written here, there is NO way I’ll let this pass me by.

I…writing this to share with any who read it…that some things were meant to be.

The gifts and calling of God are irrevocable.–Romans 11:29

Be blessed.

stock image courtesy mjranum-stock


The Stories:Book One “Genesis”-SYNoPSIS

The Stories. The Stories. The Stories. We have all heard about The Stories. Enough.

When can I read it?

This sounds so amazing, I can’t wait to read it?

Wow! Can’t wait! they say.

The blessing is that these are real comments…from real people! :}. Since I’m going traditional and querying-another fact I’m releasing-it will be a while longer before everyone can read it, but I guarantee you-aside from my confidence and all the tremendous, most humbling comments and remarks from the few that have read the intro and chapter-you will be surprised.

The stories you read as a child? Only rumors of what really happened

 

 “We are in the midst of a revolt.
A war.
But what are we fighting for?
Our existence.
Our lives.
Whatever is left of them, that is.
There is no vast army. No strongholds. No one is coming to help us.
There are no, ‘teams’.
Just us…and them.
Logos, I hate them…
We may seem familiar to you.
But you’ll notice things aren’t quite as you remember.
You grew up.
So did we.
You forgot about us.
Things have changed.
We have changed.

Who are we?

We are…The Stories.

 

In this epic fantasy…legends will be reborn.

 

As I sit here, listening to Demon Hunter’s “I Play Dead” I remember a very powerful scene I wrote in The Stories. My M/C is alone. She is small. Frail. She should not be able to contend with the beast-twice her size. Should she be vanquished…so be it. But right now…she will come face to face with the monster. She will choose to prove, if only to herself, that she can fight back. FULL EXCERPT of this scene soon.

For now we are the stories, huh? Who are the “stories”? What of them? Fairy tales? If only.

“Let the blood speak, child…”

Well…

L’orrah was just like any other child her age. She had no thoughts of the future or anything else beyond her beloved Grandmother Sarah and her close circle of friends she called family. She lived day to day, enjoying her quiet life with Sarah and always had the biggest smile on her face. Then..the unthinkable. Oh…the evil. She was barely ten years old when her life ceased when everything she knew and loved was taken from her. An evil wolf, the master,  fought against her Grandmother, ferociously. Her Grandmother knew him. She said his name-Labadon.  Sarah fought this beast valiantly but was no match. As her Grandmother lay, broken, bloodied and dead, L’orrah, having been left for dead herself, crawls through the mud and rain to be at her Grandmother’s side. L’orrah’s life fades quickly with each passing moment.

She awakens under a blue sky, drifting in and out of consciousness barely able to hear the two voices of the ones who came out of nowhere to help her stay alive. A month later, they, too,were gone and L’orrah, able to finally grasp the scope of all that has happened, slips into a black cloud of depression and stays near her Grandmothers grave site of smooth, gray stones. Unable even to open her eyes in the sunlight she chooses death once again, this time by her own hand. She can no longer function. She has no real reason to live. This child, this little girl of barely ten years of age, simply cannot cope.

That is until she unwittingly finds a great set of swords, hidden. They belonged to her Grandmother. They held no magic or special power. The power was in the steel. Greatly enamored by the smaller blade-the kopis-and deeply inspired, at least to find out why her Grandmother used these, why the white beast Labadon called her Lady Sarai and spoke of a great war-she sets out to simply-stay alive. When she first encounters a lone wolf from Labadon’s army, there is no prophecy to fulfill and all is left to choice.

Her life, wrought with pain. With loss and trauma.  But she survived. No one, ever again will simply just do what they wish to her. She makes her new home in a hole in the earth…and emerges only at night to fight against herself and her loss. She decides she will be a force to be reckoned with and carries in her heart a mantra, her strength…the last words she heard her Grandmother say: Do. Your. Worst.

Four years pass and L’orrah  is ready to walk into the greater reaches of the land in search of anyone. An old Friend, Sunder. A once mighty warrior. His two brothers. Maybe to find the bearers of the two voices that helped her so many years ago. To find the reason her Grandmother was murdered. Sure of her herself and her training, she begins her quest. Along the way, however, L’orrah finds that Labadon’s evil has devastated the entire known world…and a stirring within her, perhaps the voice of her beloved Sarah-calls her to arms against him. It calls from within her soul. A darkness. Her speed is unusual. Her abilities are nigh super-human…and the strange power inside her is growing…with every move she makes.

–“You always did love to stare up at the night sky, L’orrah,” Sarah said softly in her dreams.–

–“She knew she would be dead soon. So she closed her eyes and began to pray as Labadon continued his taunts. Her words were unintelligible, but she knew in her heart they would be received. Labadon continued to speak over her prayers, louder and more forcefully…mocking her shallow voice.”–

In The Stories, many legends of old are represented in an entire new light. My light. Carefully chosen.  So that it wouldn’t be a case of adding anyone for the sake of having them. Each must have a reason. Each must have genuine change that reflects the emotion, the feel, the voice of The Stories. It is called The Stories. They are the stories. They have voices. Wants. Desires. They bleed. They scream. They are real. They are alive. They have been transformed. You’ve never seen them like this before. L’orrah, the girl in the red hood, leads these beings in an epic fantasy like no other. In this land, bittersweet endings will come when and only when this evil has been destroyed. But…can one small child hope to defeat a power such as Labadon?

“I am Labadon! Belial! I am flux. This land and all who claim it are mine. I will be their end. No one will remember.”

This is only the beginning…this is only…the Genesis.

The Stories. Legends Will Be Reborn. Witness the rebirth.

Arte by Wyldraven


…and coming next: The Stories: “Histories”

Four races of beings once lived peacefully in the lands of Thiend and Folowil. Indeed it was a time of peace and harmony. Then jealousy and envy raged and grew in their hearts.

Man, the apple of the eye of Logos. The Brutaal, the beasts, the animals. The Obscuriot, the Nychtos-the night. The Deluz, The Ascendants…the day.

The River Amblem was where these races once joined in the great war.

They each had many names…but they are The Stories:Prequel “Histories


Unbridled Talent: Madds Cousins:The Five

#WriterLove

Book Jacket
Book: General Fiction, Romance, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Adventure

Common scars brought us together.

The blinding light swept through the rest of the subway train, silently swallowing everything in its path. Time slowed down. Even I felt it. Screams collided off the crumbling walls and I could see the light writhing closer. The numbness lifted off of my chest, off of every limb at that moment and the light vanished.

Then the subway crashed and darkness took over.

At that moment, I felt again.

After a fatal subway crash, Madison Ray and four girls are the only survivors. They are given the chance to be something and gifted with elements. Strange events begin to occur and people start appearing; some offering assistance, such as the handsome Caleb – others offering annihilation. The Five must choose where they stand.

Madison cannot tell the difference between the darkness and the light though, and as the girls’ dive deeper into chaos, she will have to decide who she will become. She will have to decide to fall again, or stand as Maddie.

A nothing or a something?

The Five or her locket?

“The more people you love, the more you lose.”

Read an excerpt from The Five!

Continue reading


I Am Writer

I am one who can create an entire world that never existed. I can imagine in my head epic battles…or the quiet flutter of a butterfly’s wings. In my world, in these dimensions, a lone warrior can travel into the very belly of the beast to claim his queen or he can walk the halls of a high school with no memory of the night before, save for a burn mark in his palm.

I Am…Writer.

For this first post in a new feature for Wednesdays, I posed a question: What does it mean to you be a Writer?

I am ever-blessed to know so, many great, talented, extremely supportive people. Here are some of their answers. Enjoy. Take something, anything away from this. Share it. Do the same. Make it yours.

Me. It means finding out who I’m “supposed” to be. Who God called me to be. He gave me this gift. I’m running with it. For me it means-I have found my destiny. All else is beauty. Continue reading


Shout-Outs From A Writer: Part One

The following is an original comment I posted on Rachel Harris’s blog, Ending Unplanned. My gratitude is unflinching so I decided to share it here.

Let me write you an illustration.

A year or so ago I was standing outside of a door. The door was twice my size and it was the darkest crimson I’d ever seen. On the other side of that door, was a man waiting for me. Let’s call it a job interview. I wasn’t dressed for one though, no. I had my favorite ball cap on, tilted slightly to the left. I had my go-to black button-up on, sleeves rolled up. My tattoos were exposed. But I was ready. I breathed slowly and said under my breath: “Tymothy, you sure ’bout this?”

Then I walked in. The guy sitting at the desk just looked at me. He was smiling. His eyes told me to have a seat. I did.

“Nice cap,” I told him.
“You too,” he said. “So…you know why you’re here, right dude?”
I nodded.
“You’re to hear to ask yourself if you can do this. Well, Tymothy. You sure about this?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and nodded again.
He looked at me, nodded in return and said, “Well. Get to it.”

Since then, since asking myself if I could BE a Writer, I have become one.

Chapter Two.

Facebook was the launch for my Twitter presence. On Facebook, I made some great connections. Among them was Megan Bostic, the Author of the upcoming book, Never Eighteen . She was the first example of “selfless” writer and I truly value her as a person and Author.
Diane Graham is another, great aspiring to be published writer. She is a great Friend and it is because of her that I am a Contributing Writer at The New Authors Fellowship. A blog made of Christian writers, yet unpublished. I Am Ocilla has something to say.
Then I met @ifollowthenight. I know only her Twitter handle. But I think it’s better that way.
She is the one who asked if I “was on Twitter”. A great place to meet and network with awesome writers.
Thing is I WAS on Twitter, technically, but my account was gathering dust and tumbleweeds. My first @ was PrevailUpon.

On ifollows advice I went back, changed my handle to my name and the rest is literally history. I owe this all, the follows, the networks, yes, I owe my very Twitter presence to her.

I’ve met so many great, talented, awesome epic people.
People like Paul Joseph, Dawn Kirby, Shelly “ShellShell” Picarella, Michelle Shaw. Tiffany Cole.
They deserve success if anyone does.

KDSarge. Support much? Make me feel epic much? 🙂 Same goes for AmyBeth.  So gracious in their humbling uplifting.

The BookSoulmates Isalys and Nessa. I like knowing them.That sound weird? Lol. They do RAK’s… They were the first glance at what love from Readers truly is.

@inluvwithbookz whose support is unwaivering.

My epic Friend and Writer Sister, Allie Burke, who calls ME an inspiration. *sheesh 🙂

The Indies: Megg Jensen, G.P. Ching. KarlyKirkpatrick. Mia Castile. Angeline Kace. These ladies DO what they love and MAKE IT HAPPEN, Cap’n. They are an inspiration.

My BestNerdFriendsForever, Christin Mowery, She’s awesome.   Nicholas Denmon, Thomas Amo. They are my Nerds.
Then came The YA Sisterhood. Amy Rose, Demetra, Leah, Tamara, Jamie. My Twisted Sisters. So much support. Really. Sheesh.

We get in this world what we give. Sisters, thank you all.

I am overwhelmed at all the love, mutual respect, help, tweets, retweets, retweets of retweets…lol.

It’s all good. I love it. Writers rock. My first hashtag was #ForThoseAboutToRock . It’s a statement of my belief and confidence in not only myself but all of my peers…my Friends.

Stay tuned.

This is the outer fringe of my peeps. Next time Part Two.

We all bleed black & white.–Anton Russell

Almost____by_kelc


Be blessed!


Unbridled Talent: Katie B. a.k.a. Pheonix Rising,

It’s Thursday! Time for another feature!

Retro-Specter

by Pheonix Rising

Mystery, Paranormal, Romance, Science Fiction/Fantasy

What do you get when you mix rainbow hair and snarky attitude? Deirdra’s not your typical teenager; she sees things.

Abandoned on the streets of London, Deirdra’s constantly been in and out of orphanages. At age fifteen, she finds herself in the last place she expects—an exclusive boarding school in Ireland. And if that wasn’t enough, the headmaster’s daughter shows her a possible lead to the answer about her abilities.

Things aren’t always as they seem, and the mystery regarding her powers goes deeper into history—and into the future—than she thought. Abilities that haven’t been seen on Earth for centuries emerge in the least likely people to obtain them.

Clues start to unearth themselves and all signs point to India, where strange happenings have been going on in the shadows of night. Could the incidents in India somehow be linked to Deirdra and her Wandering abilities?

The game’s afoot and she is destined to meet some rather unlikely allies as she uncovers the truth about her powers. But does she really want to know the truth, or will curiosity kill this cat?

On 64 Pick Lists

On 90 Watch Lists

To read Chapter One please continue:

Continue reading


Who Am I?: An Original Guest Post For Paula Wiseman

Thank you, again Paula.

One my favorite things about the Internet is that you connect with amazing people you might not ever have met otherwise. Today I want to introduce you to fellow writer, Tymothy Longoria. I love his passion for the things of God, and I think you will too. Be on the lookout for his upcoming epic fantasy The Stories:Book One. Like his  Facebook page to stay current on that project’s progress. Online Family, meet Tymothy. Tymothy, welcome to my place.–Paula

Who am I? I am Writer.

Hello all. First I’d like to thank Paula for having me. She is a true blessing and a wonderful writer.

I am compelled to write a short post about why I write or what drives me to write.

I guess I can say it “started” when I felt the need to write to bless God. What I mean of course, is sometimes we have no real intention of doing. So, I sat and wrote a poem. Yes, a poem. Well, one might say , “Everybody does that.” Not true. Not everybody can write a poem as I have come to learn. Not everyone can bring a line or two together and weave those two lines with two others and so on and so on. There are people whose strength lies in mathematics, in teaching, in speaking. More power to those who have found their gifts and realize the grace they have been given to use them. I am in the former category. I digress.

In this poem, I wanted to conjure a vision, not of brokenness or forgiveness-wait, I’m getting there-but of feeling lost . Of being lost. Why? Because I was lost until I was 15. I had heard of Christ and heard of what He “did” but never actually spoke to Him and years later, I wanted to thank Him by putting on paper what I think the soul feels apart from Him. The time came of course and I accepted Him and His forgiveness. The poem. The words appeared on to the page and as I read it, I was taken aback. For me it was groundbreaking. It was remarkable. I had created this. From there I wrote more. And more. Then? I put it aside. No, I put it in a box and stored it in a closet.

Until just a few years ago, more specifically, three years ago, I was working to jobs and while working at my night job, I literally had a revelation. Or epiphany, whichever sounds better. My wife and I were talking about when we were kids, I like robots-I’d draw them all the time-and she liked flowers, of course. It was then I got an idea. Something that many, many of us have said before. I could write a book ! So, I wrote one. It’s called The Sad Little Robut . Thing is I wrote it. Then…

I read this: The gifts and calling of God are irrevocable. Romans 11:29

And I said to myself, “This is who I am in You.” I heard this over and over. It played in my head. It rang out in my heart. “Nothing you do will prevent Me from doing what I set out to do.” Indeed. From Robut I got an idea for a saga, a trilogy that I am currently working on. It’s called The Stories and I am overwhelmed at all that is happening and the hope that He has given me.

What’s more, is I have so many ideas for books, it boggles my mind. BUT, I remember, God says When I do something, I go all the way! Question is: Will you follow suit and have the faith that I Am?

I have faith that He is in control and He has kept His Word. Here’s to writers’. We know what we are.

Do you know what you are in Him?

More than a conqueror.

May you all be blessed and continue in Him.

Note: This may echo other things I’ve written. But it’s my truth 🙂


Well Well, What Have We Have Here? A Contest and a new Trailer!

I have been working on this for months. I have taken time off-perhaps too much.

Nevertheless<–don’t you just love this word?-I have decided that while I’m putting the final coat of epic on my baby The Stories:Book One I want to share it with a blessed future readerslashsupporter. I love this. All of it. The writing. The blogs. Facebook. Twitter. The Friends I have never met face to face, but I know I will in the future.

Back to the task at hand…I ramble. A lot.

Continue reading


Perception Of Intent, The Sky Burns Red

We hold the fate of this whole world in our hands. We must fight!
Don’t let them break us down!
If we choose to free this world we must stand with pure hearts and clear minds!

And through the anguish will we find meaning beneath these ashes of our destiny?

In this world of false remorse they manipulate our trust to fight for a blackened
cause (all for hate)

The ones who have fought for us have all but failed!
Their words…their thoughts…their acts I embrace!

I lie lifeless on the floor, I awake from this dream once again.
The sky burns red as I stand before my fate I will rise!

I will rise!

Don’t let the fate of this world be controlled by hate
make a choice, because the sky burns red, rise against.

The sky burns red as I stand before my fate
Rise against…the sky burns red. “The Sky Burns Red”

Continue reading


#WriterWednesday Shameless Self Promo.

In a world where fantasy is passed down from generation to generation as history.
Where “myth” is truth and stories, are alive.

These legendary characters have stood the test of time itself. They join together in an epic fantasy like no other.

“The tales you heard as a child? Only rumors of what really happened.”

In The Stories-legends will be reborn. Witness the rebirth.

LIKE  today.



Unbridled Talent: Brianne Crowder

Brianne is a brilliantly talented young writer.

Silence is Deadly

by briannecrowder

ShortStory: General Fiction, Memoir/Autobiography

Silence is deadly.

She couldn’t find the words; she never could until it was much too late. Written a year ago, ‘Silence is Deadly’ explores the idea of the importance of speaking out when help is required; seeking assistance when things are beyond your control.

Silence is, in fact, deadly.

Read more…

Continue reading


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