• Featured,  Writing

    The Friday Muse – Tinson’s Door (Part 2)

    Curiosity had always scratched at his insides, luring him into the fields of science, technology, and astronomy. The Black Door, however, was something completely different. It was something that fell between the shelves of Tinson’s chosen fields of research. The Black Door was something supernatural, something alien. Something bizarre.

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – Tinson’s Door (Part 1)

    Tinson felt a strange mix of loneliness and contemplative freedom being in the common study room this late after everyone else had already retired for the evening, even though on most nights, the scientists and scholars who came to this place usually stayed late into the night and early into the morning to drink in the knowledge and research available in the mid-sized study hall.

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – The Princess of Para

    The frosted glass allowed the morning’s luminescence to bleed into the castle, filling the hallway with bright white light that flowed gracefully across the white marble flooring, the brownish-gray walls, and the ivory doors of the servants’ quarters. The scent of bacon and potatoes filled the wide corridor, signaling breakfast, but the silence that permeated the thick tile and even thicker walls gave the illusion it was still night when everyone slumbered and hid from the darkness within the darkness. Irasta walked barefoot across the tiles, the undersides of her feet chilled by the lingering cold that seized the fortress each night. She momentarily missed the comfort of her own…

  • Writing

    Small Sacrifices

    The receptionist at the front desk wore a long white lab coat, but Brittany doubted she was a doctor. Or a nurse. Or in any way related to the medical field. She carried a bit of weight in her stomach and cheeks, and she smelled like wildflower-scented soap. Her scent was much like that of Brittany’s grandmother, and it made Brittany want to throw up. Just show me where to sign. The clipboard rose over the counter like a starship and landed in front of Brittany’s trembling hands. She noticed her black nail polish had chipped on several fingers. She couldn’t remember the last time she had painted them. She…

  • Writing

    The Bus To Providence

    The heat is what drove her to near madness. The desert was not kind to visitors mid-summer, nor did it care to have anyone spoiling its serene botany and verdant wildlife. If it were a person, if it dwelt among us in human form, the desert would be a harsh lover with a heart of stone, one who only made contact with others to fulfill its need for rainwater. Josephine took a seat on the dry and dusty bench, setting her purse down next to her. Surprisingly, the bench looked like it hadn’t been used in quite some time. But if the rumors were to be believed, this bench was…

  • Faith,  life,  Writing

    Christians, Fiction, And Domestic Violence

    Late last week, I posted a fictional story titled Jen Fled. It was a short piece for my ‘The Friday Muse’ segment on my blog where I write a short piece of fiction each Friday to discipline myself in writing on a regular basis and to give my followers/readers something new each week. Jen Fled is a piece about domestic abuse. Domestic abuse is not covered in Christian fiction circles very often – if at all. I can’t remember EVER reading a piece regarding domestic abuse, aside from a brief mention here and there of the victim. Definitely never any pieces that showed actual domestic abuse happening. Christian circles tend…

  • The Friday Muse,  Writing

    The Friday Muse – Jen Fled

    “Where are you going?” Jen stared out the window at the clouds below. “Anywhere but here.” “No really, where are you headed?” the older woman insisted. “I don’t know.” The old woman grumbled something under her breath and then resumed reading her beaten copy of Reader’s Digest. To Jen, the clouds looked like puffs of white cigarette smoke. In truth, she had no idea where she was headed. The plane ticket would take her to Paris, but beyond that, she had no itinerary. She just knew she had to get as far away from Victor as possible. “Drink?” Jen turned toward the stewardess. “Just water.” The old woman chuckled. “I’m…

  • The Friday Muse,  Writing

    The Friday Muse – Darkness Pierced (Part 2)

    Darkness Pierced (Part 1) Melissa Robinson nearly died of hypothermia that last day of winter. After falling through the icy surface of Turnkey’s Pond, the cold shock of the water beneath almost immediately paralyzed her, preventing her from making it from the center of the lake back to land. Everyone from the winter celebration had left and this left Melissa alone, skating on the lake, oblivious to the fact that 6pm had come around. Nobody ever stayed on Turnkey’s property much past 6pm during the winter. Everyone knew better. But Melissa had neglected to pay attention and nearly died for her mistake. When she opened her eyes, she found herself…

  • Writing

    The Christian Fiction Mess

    Creatives. We abound in the fantastic. We thrive in the extraordinary. We skirt convention, we thwart the mundane, we flesh out the status quo. As creatives, we create. And much of what we create can be…messy. Or rather, it should be. How can painters paint without getting paint all over the place? How can writers write without eventually surrounding themselves in a mountain of scrapped and balled-up paper? What about those who do clay? Woodworking? Metal? Of course, I’m not really here to talk about a physical mess. You won’t be able to avoid making a mess at some point if you work in the creative arts. I mean a…

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – Home On The Horizon

    San Francisco was never her favorite place. She might have called it home, but it wasn’t in her heart to name the City a place close to her heart. The weather was too cold, the prices were too high, and there was something in the air – something amiss – that always gnawed at her consciousness. She wasn’t sure if it was an omen or some kind of psychic ability she unknowingly possessed, but she always felt San Francisco was burdened by evil. Sure, crimes were constantly committed in the city. But that was no different than any other city. Cram 8 million people into such a small area of…