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What’s the difference?

Date: January 21, 2013
Author: Ane
Ane
Categories: Uncategorized
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I often wonder what the difference is between pressure and irritation?

Often enough we deal with pressure in our daily lives.  Pressure is said to be the most important factor in the formation of diamonds, but if you only irritate an oyster, you get pearls.

Pressure will also eventually cause an explosion.  People often cast their pearls before swine.  I ask you, what’s the difference?

Perhaps it’s strictly a matter of taste, or time. Do you have the time to invest in any project which will make it the equal of diamonds?  A few things leap to mind, such as building a relationship, or raising a child.

But then are those things in life that are simply irritations not worth the time and energy we put into them?  How about a career?  A life plan?  A retirement?

None of those seems irritating to me, but then maybe that’s just a matter of perspective.  I guess you could say it about everything in your life at any given time depending on where you are in your life right now.  Or maybe not.

Maybe we get too wound up in the examination of life to bother just enjoying it, or living it, or being in the moment.

I’m trying not to do that this year.  Yes, I know it’s a late start on a resolution, but I don’t want to make a lot of changes, just a minor tweak in attitude.  That’s doable, right?

After all, it’s a brand new year.

Using your gifts

Date: December 3, 2012
Author: Ane
Ane
Categories: Uncategorized
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“Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.”

― Albert Einstein

Just how much of our brain do you think we use every day? Some people would tell you they use it all, while others might say that it’s never enough. The real problem for most writers is the inability to turn off portions of our brains, even selectively.

For many, the ability to “turn on the auto pilot” is the appeal of a thing like National Novel Writing Month.

Can you accomplish more if you just put your head down, tuck your elbows to your sides, and keep typing?  I bet you can, and  Chris Baty believes that too.  In fact, the belief is one of the reasons NaNoWriMo survives today.

So tell me, did you win?

If yes, good for you!

If no, then don’t sweat it.  Lot’s of people drop out.  Every one who takes up the gauntlet discovers something about themselves, and sometimes the thing you discover is . . .are you ready for this?  You don’t really want to write a novel after all.

That’s Okay.  You don’t have to do it.  No one does.  Writing is a choice.  Many choose never to return to the keyboard in an attempt at fiction, but some of us learn different things.

Like, let’s say, you don’t have a plot.  There’s no problem during the first draft, that plot thingy is fixable.  Eventually you will need a plot, hopefully a trim, tight little plot that delivers a great story.

But at the beginning?  Nope, you don’t need it.  Just keep writing.

In fact, in case you missed it, that’s the secret to success at NaNoWriMo.

Just keep writing.

I’m sure you’ve heard this before and I will credit Nora Roberts with the saying, I’ve heard her say it often enough;  you cannot fix a blank page, but you can fix a bad one.

So really people, this is like getting the meaning of life, just keep writing.

Don’t make me resort to the story about the monkeys, the typewriters and the Bible.  Please, don’t.

And keep you minds and your eyes open, for this Holiday Season, my blogmates are threatening our readers with more short stories.  Sounds like fun, doesn’t it? Just member, I write horror stories, so what was Santa doing in the chimney, anyway?

Haunted Lover-Final Chapter

Date: October 29, 2012
Author: Ane
Ane
Categories: Uncategorized
Comments: 1 Reply

Cissie ran down the entry hall throwing the doors wide open.  As paramedics burst into the hall firing questions at her, she shrank back against the  staircase, shaking and crying.

“How soon did you start CPR?” the tall one pulled equipment from packs they’d carried into the house.

“Did he have a pulse?” The short one pulled the shirt open, exposing Scott’s chest.

“I started right away.  I couldn’t find a pulse, but it was my first time,’ she wrung her hands to still the trembling. “Please, help him.”

The paramedics knelt on either side of Scott’s chest.  The tall one placed pads and switched on the AED monitor.  Cissie watched as the machine went through its motion, assessing, evaluating, calculating.  Finally the tinny command came from the small black box,”Stand clear”.  “No Pulse detected. Stand Clear, delivering shock.”

It won’t do any good.  He’s gone.

“Will this help him?”  Cissie moved restlessly shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“Maam, we’re doing the best we can, just give us a chance.”  The machine whirred again, “Begin CPR”.

He’s gone.  He’ll never bother you again.  

“Cal, please.”  Cissie muttered half to herself.

“Is Cal your husband?” The short one was placing an airway while the tall on worked on Scott’s chest compressions.

He was weak.  He was greedy.  He was not worthy of you, or your concern.

“Cal, it’s just not right.  I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.  No one deserves to die like this, before their time.”

“Switch”, the two paramedics traded positions after the last life saving breath was pushed into Scott’s chest.  The machine  sat, lights blinking at the side of the scene.

Life was wasted on him. He did not appreciate what he had, or all he could have.  Sad. Stupid.

“Cal please, not now.”
The paramedics sent furtive glances in her direction.  They’d been working on Scott for a very long time.  The storm had begun to abate, and the clouds pushed off onto the horizon.   he lights flickered and then the electricity cam back on with a surge.  The lights were strong and they could see the burn marks along the electrical outlet in the wall.  Black streaks smeared Scott’s cheeks and his hair stood out at odd angles all over his head.  The two paramedics sat back on their heels.   “Time to call it. There’s nothing more we can do.”

The short one glanced down at his watch, “7:06 p.m., code ended.”

A fierce wind whipped through Cissie as the doors flew open at the front of the house.  Icy dread slipped down her spine, making her tremble anew.  She pulled herself closer to the wall, wrapping her arms around her waist.  The last gush of air raced past them out the front door and the doors slammed glass rattling while the key turned in the lock.  The two men and Cissie gaped at one another.

Scott’s chest heaved as he drew in a huge gulp of air. A croaking sound came from his mouth as he tried to sit upright.  The paramedics drew away at first, then snapped into action.  Re-attaching the pads to his chest they let the monitor make its assessment. The short one grabbed a flashlight to check Scott’s pupils.  No reaction, the eyes were dark, almost black .  “Normal sinus rhythm, no CPR required,”the machine announced .

“You need to lie still, sir.”  The tall one jumped to his feet, grabbing the equipment  as he he raced for the front door.  “I’ll get the gurney.”

“No, wait.”  Scott’s voice was hoarse.  It didn’t sound like him at all, at least not to Cissies’ ears.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital.”  He lifted a hand to his temple and shook his head. “I’m fine, really.”  He looked over at Cissie and winked.

“Maam?”, the tall paramedic waited for Cissie’s response. The short one slowly rose to his feet, head turning to watch the exchange bouncing around the other three in the hallway.  He stumbled back, away from Scott.  Cissie wanted to do the same.  Put as much distance between herself and the man slowly getting to his feet from the floor.

“I’ll be fine here. This house belongs to me.”  He reached out a hand and slid cold fingers down Cissies’s cheek, “Home at last.”

She looked into his eyes but all she could see was darkness.

Be careful what you ask for.  She could hear Scott’s voice in her head.

Haunted Lover IV

Date: October 22, 2012
Author: Ane
Ane
Categories: Uncategorized
Comments: 4 Replies

Cissie stood frozen in shock.  Her hands covered her mouth holding back a scream of terror.  Time stood still.  The next flash released Scott from the outlet, the letter opener flying loose with his break from the wall.

Cissie leaned forward to touch him, to see if he was still alive.  A fierce wind whipped around her stopping her movement.

No.  Don’t touch him.  Not yet.

“Cal, let me help him,”  she pleaded with tears streaming down her face..

Don’t risk yourself.  Wait until the next flash passes then you may touch him.

Her mind couldn’t release the sight of him, back bowed , facial muscles rigid, arms and legs askew while he jerked like a live wire coming from the wall outlet.

Sobbing, Cissie searched her pockets for her cell phone.  She didn’t even like Scott but no one deserved this.  His body had settled, lay still on the hard wood floor.  She grabbed a pillow from the settee in the foyer to place under his head.

When Cal finally let her touch the rigid handyman on the floor in front of her, it took a few moments to realize it might be a while before help arrived. She began CPR.  He had no pulse, but she’d heard during her CPR training the most important thing was to keep the blood circulating until help could arrive.  She pushed down in the center of this chest, rapid forceful movements sending the blood from his damaged heart to the limp limbs.  She stopped every two minutes or so to provide what she hoped would be life saving air into his lungs.  Basically she was revolted by the mouth to mouth.  Even though she knew it might be the difference between life and death, she simply didn’t want to go there.  Too much like kissing.  And she would never kiss Scott.  Not in this life or the next.

She continued her lifesaving efforts until she thought her arms would fall off in exhaustion.  Her back ached, she was breathless and the tingles from shoulder to wrist made her believe she’d done the CPR all wrong.

As the flashing lights of the rescue squad barreled up the drive, she finally burst into tears of exhaustion.   Cal enveloped her in a cloud of cool calm.  Don’t cry.  You did everything you could to help him.

She turned as if she would place her head on Cal’s shoulder when she realized he was close to full materialization for the first time in their relationship.

She drew back in shock as the paramedics burst through the front door, flashlight beams dancing over the entryway.

Haunted Lover III

Date: October 15, 2012
Author: Ane
Ane
Categories: Uncategorized
Comments: 2 Replies

Cal needed to intervene.  But the timing needed to be perfect.

***

Scott spent the afternoon working on the lighting in the grand entryway.  He knew there was a hidden panel which, once revealed, would present him the treasure he sought. He knew the gold was here, he simply needed to find it.

Before the job ended, which was way too close.

Cissie told him the job would end when the B&B opened–whether he was finished or not.

Normally he’d wouldn’t pay any attention to single women trying to get him to commit to something like that.  He just didn’t do it.  Nobody pushed Scott into commitment.  Nobody.  Except Cissie made him sign a contract.  So once the B&B opened, his was history.  She wouldn’t have any trouble getting someone else out here to work once the public started showing up.

The solitude would only last as long as they were alone.

Scott wanted the job to be done.  This old house was really getting under his skin.  He’d been creeped out several times the past week, constantly feeling as if someone was watching over his shoulder.  And the tools.  That was freaky.  He’d put down a hammer, or wire cutters and when he went to grab them again, just a second or two later, they’d be gone.  He was being toyed with or losing his mind.

Probably not.  Just the stress.

He was anxious to get back into town tonight.  He had more research to do, and he needed to go by the library before it closed.  Besides, the young librarian was fairly hot.  She’d come onto him the last time he’d stopped in there.  Maybe he’d get lucky.

Clouds drifted across the late afternoon sun, causing a shadow to creep across the stairs.  Cold chills fingered their way down his spine and he looked up to find Cissie watching him from the foot of the stairs.

“What are you doing?’ she asked.

“Um, checking out the outlet here.” He pointed to the top of the staircase.  He’d added an outlet so the maid wouldn’t have to plug-in a vacuum in a guest room.

He’d insisted on adding the outlet, easily explained and not on the original plan, so he could search for panels on the staircase.  He’d already exhausted his other options in the attic, basement, dining and kitchen areas.  The great rooms and the reception hall offered no place where hidden panels might conceal the Colonels stash.

“I want you to finish up.  It looks like it’s going to storm and I don’t want you stuck out here all night if the road turn into a mudslide.”

As she turned on her heel to return to the kitchen she dropped the letter opener.

Scott ran down the stairs and grabbing her by the waist, reached around her to retrieve it.

Cissie yelped in surprise and pulled away, knocking a vase of flowers off the entryway table.  The crystal shattered and the water ran in rivulets from the table to the hard wood floor at their feet.

Cissie pushed him away and he slipped in the water, hand clutching the letter opener.  His legs went out from under him and his arms windmilled with the letter opener connecting with the electrical outlet at the same time the storm began in earnest.

Lightning struck the rods on the roof of the old mansion and the charge traveled down from the roof through the house.

Every electrical outlet, old and new exploded in a flash.  Snap, crackle, pop. Light bulbs popped, current slid across any available surface, and appliances unfortunate enough to be plugged in, immediately blew out.

When Scott landed, with the letter opener in his grip connecting with the outlet at the foot of the stairs, he began to jerk and flop like a trout on the shoreline deprived of air.

Cissie could only watch in horror.