Good Morning. I know I'm not around much anymore, but I had an idea for the A-Z Challenge that mostly everyone is participating in this year. I didn't sign up on the official roster, but I am doing it on my
http://annegallagherwriter.blogspot.com/ blog, so if you want to take a look-see that would be swell.
My theme is to meet my characters. I actually think it all came out pretty well, if I do say so myself.
I do hope you'll stop by if you have a chance.
Showing posts with label blogfest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogfest. Show all posts
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Friday, October 14, 2011
Pay It Forward Blogfest
Today is not my usual venue, but this is something I've been thinking about for a long time and couldn't pass up the opportunity.
Alex and Matthew have come up with this great idea and I just had to participate.
Keeping it short and sweet, here are the three blogs I think everyone should read.
I Think; Therefore I Yam by Susan Swiderski. Every time I go there I learn something new. I am never disappointed with the font of information this woman has, from states, to shoes, to billboards. Her laws from the states, and weirdest news stories of the week are just a few highlights I enjoy. Go on over, you won't be disappointed.
Laws of Making by Deren Hansen. From the Hero's Journey, to the Virgin's Promise, Deren shows us how to break it all down, and write from the bottom up. A little philosophy thrown in for good measure, I love the way he makes me think about what I write.
R. Mac Wheeler. The best crit partner anyone could ever ask for. He knows more rules to writing and how to break them than anyone else I've ever met. Crits back from Mac make the St. Valentine's Day massacre look like a parade. So much redline, you might go blind. But well worth the horror. If you can get through one of Mac's crits without giving up writing all together, any New York editor will seem like the Easter Bunny in comparison.
So those are my picks to Pay It Forward.
Have a great weekend everyone, and don't forget about my big cocktail party on Monday.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Christine's Write the Next Line Blogfest
The wonderful Christine Danek, who holds "Write the Next Line" posts on her blog, usually once a month, decided to take that idea and turn it into a blogfest. The first part of this is hers, mine follows after the *****. And please excuse the length. This was so much fun to write I got carried away.
3:00 am. Those numbers glowed green, staring at me, letting me know I wasn't sleeping. I couldn't. If I did, who knows what injury I would wake up with. Every night a dream would consume me, and when I woke, something on my body was cut, bruised, or almost broken.
I stared at the ceiling. The fan squeaked and wobbled, trying to produce air flow. It wasn't succeeding. I turned over, hugging my pillow. What's happening? Maybe I should see someone, but who? A doctor? Padded room for sure. Is there such a thing as a dream specialist?
A branch scratched the window. I turned over again. 5:00 am. Where did the last two hours go? Adrenaline pumped through my veins, accelerating my heart. My T-shirt was damp and clinging to my back. What happened? Did I dream, again?
Bang. Bang. Bang. I jumped up. Someone was at my door.
******
"Police, open up," said an angry masculine voice.
Police? Holy crap. What did the police want from me at five in the morning? I threw on my robe and padded down the hall to the front door. I opened it a crack to make sure it really was the police.
"Ma'am, we need to ask you some questions." I noticed the other officer shining his flashlight in my car.
"What is this about?" My sleep deprived mind and the adreneline rush from my dream made me snappish.
"Are you the owner of a light blue 1991 Honda Civic?" He asked, shining a flashlight in my face.
"As you can very well see. It's sitting in the driveway. What is this all about?"
"Ma'am, where were you between the hours of one and four this morning?" He took out a notepad and pen from his pocket, moving the flashlight to his upper arm. It didn't look like the easiest way to write and the breeze from the open doorway made my toes cold. The other officer clomped up the porch stairs.
"Look, officer," I looked at his name tag, "MacMillan, you just woke me from a sound sleep. I need some coffee. Why don't you come in and I'll try and answer your questions." I closed the door, swung the safety latch and opened it wide to allow them admittance.
Both officers followed me into the kitchen. I grabbed the coffee canister and measured, filled the pot with water and dumped it into the water reserve. I delayed as long as possible just to get my nerves to calm down. Finished, I turned to the cops standing in my kitchen.
"Now, what is this all about?" I folded my arms across my chest.
"Where were you between the hours of one and four this morning?" He repeated.
"Sleeping. In my bed." Where else would I be?
"And can anyone verify this?" MacMillan glanced at his partner.
"No. I live alone."
"And that's your car sitting in the driveway?" The other cop asked.
"Yes. Why? What is going on?"
"Does anyone else have access to your vehicle?"
"No, of course not. It's my car. I live alone. Look, what the hell is going on?"
The coffee maker gurgled its doneness and I automatically reached for a mug inside the cabinet.
"Ma'am, your car was seen leaving a location this morning and we believe it was used as the get-away vehicle for several unexplained deaths in our area."
I dropped the cup. "What?"
Officer MacMillan picked up the mug and handed it to me. "Why don't you make your coffee, sit down, and we'll see if we can't get this straightened out."
His politeness unnerved me. Unexplained deaths? What the hell did that mean? I poured my coffee, got milk out of the fridge, poured a splash, returned the milk, and sank slowly into my chair. I saw they both remained standing.
"Look, please sit down. I can't think straight with you looming over me."
MacMillan sat, but the other, Rodriquez, leaned against the counter near the dishwasher.
I took a sip of my coffee. Comforted, I asked, "Now, what's going on?"
"We believe your car was used as the get-away vehicle in several murders."
"Wait, you just said they were unexplained deaths, now they're murders? I don't understand."
Rodrigues flipped open his notepad. "Do you know Peter Kane, Jason Markowitz, Stephen Landing, or William Knowles?"
My heart stuck in my throat. Of course I knew them. I had dated them. I couldn't decide if I wanted to answer or ask for a lawyer.
"Ma'am, do you know any of these men?" Rodriguez asked again.
"Yes." I decided I would play along until it got sticky.
"When was the last time you saw any of them?"
Oh God, how do I know? The last one I saw was Billy, the night I found him with Nancy making out at the bar.
"Billy, William Knowles, was the last one I saw. Last Friday night at The Eagle Eye."
"You didn't see him tonight?" MacMillan asked.
"No, I didn't go out tonight. As a matter of fact, I didn't feel well so I went to bed early." The migraine that hit me around seven didn't even leave an out for watching tv.
"And what was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Knowles?" Rodriguez asked.
"I dated him until he dumped me last weekend for some blond bimbo named Nancy. I haven't seen him since."
"And when was the last time you saw any of the other men?"
"I don't know. They were all asshole's to me, excuse my language, so I just put them out of my mind. I don't generally see men again who treat me like shit."
MacMillan wrote something down in his pad. He looked up and asked, "Do you know any of the martial arts?"
"What?" What?
"Do you know karate, or ju jitsu, anything like that? Do you box?"
"No, don't be silly. I'm a dental hygenist for God's sake. Why? What does karate have to do with anything?"
"Have you been in the service?"
"No. I graduated from Surry Community College in '93 and have been working for Dr. Henton ever since."
"Have you ever taken cooking classes?"
"Okay, what the heck do you want to know any of these things for? What does that have to do with my car?" A tingling sensation hit the back of my head. A memory, or was it a dream, entered my mind. Stephen laying on the ground with his throat slit. And then Jason on the floor of his apartment, his neck twisted at an odd angle. Me looking in the mirror at an ugly black eye. Oh God! Did I do those things? I looked up to see MacMillan staring at me.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
"How was Stephen killed?" I had to ask. I had to know.
"I'm sorry ma'am, I can't divulge that information."
"Please, tell me." I thought fast. "I loved him."
"His throat was slit."
"And the others?"
Rodriguez flipped his pad again. "Kane had his head bashed in with a baseball bat. Landing was electrocuted in the shower, and Knowles was beaten to death."
Another flash of a memory-dream flashed in my mind. Billy begging for mercy. Oh God! What had I done?
Anne Gallagher (c) 2011
3:00 am. Those numbers glowed green, staring at me, letting me know I wasn't sleeping. I couldn't. If I did, who knows what injury I would wake up with. Every night a dream would consume me, and when I woke, something on my body was cut, bruised, or almost broken.
I stared at the ceiling. The fan squeaked and wobbled, trying to produce air flow. It wasn't succeeding. I turned over, hugging my pillow. What's happening? Maybe I should see someone, but who? A doctor? Padded room for sure. Is there such a thing as a dream specialist?
A branch scratched the window. I turned over again. 5:00 am. Where did the last two hours go? Adrenaline pumped through my veins, accelerating my heart. My T-shirt was damp and clinging to my back. What happened? Did I dream, again?
Bang. Bang. Bang. I jumped up. Someone was at my door.
******
"Police, open up," said an angry masculine voice.
Police? Holy crap. What did the police want from me at five in the morning? I threw on my robe and padded down the hall to the front door. I opened it a crack to make sure it really was the police.
"Ma'am, we need to ask you some questions." I noticed the other officer shining his flashlight in my car.
"What is this about?" My sleep deprived mind and the adreneline rush from my dream made me snappish.
"Are you the owner of a light blue 1991 Honda Civic?" He asked, shining a flashlight in my face.
"As you can very well see. It's sitting in the driveway. What is this all about?"
"Ma'am, where were you between the hours of one and four this morning?" He took out a notepad and pen from his pocket, moving the flashlight to his upper arm. It didn't look like the easiest way to write and the breeze from the open doorway made my toes cold. The other officer clomped up the porch stairs.
"Look, officer," I looked at his name tag, "MacMillan, you just woke me from a sound sleep. I need some coffee. Why don't you come in and I'll try and answer your questions." I closed the door, swung the safety latch and opened it wide to allow them admittance.
Both officers followed me into the kitchen. I grabbed the coffee canister and measured, filled the pot with water and dumped it into the water reserve. I delayed as long as possible just to get my nerves to calm down. Finished, I turned to the cops standing in my kitchen.
"Now, what is this all about?" I folded my arms across my chest.
"Where were you between the hours of one and four this morning?" He repeated.
"Sleeping. In my bed." Where else would I be?
"And can anyone verify this?" MacMillan glanced at his partner.
"No. I live alone."
"And that's your car sitting in the driveway?" The other cop asked.
"Yes. Why? What is going on?"
"Does anyone else have access to your vehicle?"
"No, of course not. It's my car. I live alone. Look, what the hell is going on?"
The coffee maker gurgled its doneness and I automatically reached for a mug inside the cabinet.
"Ma'am, your car was seen leaving a location this morning and we believe it was used as the get-away vehicle for several unexplained deaths in our area."
I dropped the cup. "What?"
Officer MacMillan picked up the mug and handed it to me. "Why don't you make your coffee, sit down, and we'll see if we can't get this straightened out."
His politeness unnerved me. Unexplained deaths? What the hell did that mean? I poured my coffee, got milk out of the fridge, poured a splash, returned the milk, and sank slowly into my chair. I saw they both remained standing.
"Look, please sit down. I can't think straight with you looming over me."
MacMillan sat, but the other, Rodriquez, leaned against the counter near the dishwasher.
I took a sip of my coffee. Comforted, I asked, "Now, what's going on?"
"We believe your car was used as the get-away vehicle in several murders."
"Wait, you just said they were unexplained deaths, now they're murders? I don't understand."
Rodrigues flipped open his notepad. "Do you know Peter Kane, Jason Markowitz, Stephen Landing, or William Knowles?"
My heart stuck in my throat. Of course I knew them. I had dated them. I couldn't decide if I wanted to answer or ask for a lawyer.
"Ma'am, do you know any of these men?" Rodriguez asked again.
"Yes." I decided I would play along until it got sticky.
"When was the last time you saw any of them?"
Oh God, how do I know? The last one I saw was Billy, the night I found him with Nancy making out at the bar.
"Billy, William Knowles, was the last one I saw. Last Friday night at The Eagle Eye."
"You didn't see him tonight?" MacMillan asked.
"No, I didn't go out tonight. As a matter of fact, I didn't feel well so I went to bed early." The migraine that hit me around seven didn't even leave an out for watching tv.
"And what was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Knowles?" Rodriguez asked.
"I dated him until he dumped me last weekend for some blond bimbo named Nancy. I haven't seen him since."
"And when was the last time you saw any of the other men?"
"I don't know. They were all asshole's to me, excuse my language, so I just put them out of my mind. I don't generally see men again who treat me like shit."
MacMillan wrote something down in his pad. He looked up and asked, "Do you know any of the martial arts?"
"What?" What?
"Do you know karate, or ju jitsu, anything like that? Do you box?"
"No, don't be silly. I'm a dental hygenist for God's sake. Why? What does karate have to do with anything?"
"Have you been in the service?"
"No. I graduated from Surry Community College in '93 and have been working for Dr. Henton ever since."
"Have you ever taken cooking classes?"
"Okay, what the heck do you want to know any of these things for? What does that have to do with my car?" A tingling sensation hit the back of my head. A memory, or was it a dream, entered my mind. Stephen laying on the ground with his throat slit. And then Jason on the floor of his apartment, his neck twisted at an odd angle. Me looking in the mirror at an ugly black eye. Oh God! Did I do those things? I looked up to see MacMillan staring at me.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
"How was Stephen killed?" I had to ask. I had to know.
"I'm sorry ma'am, I can't divulge that information."
"Please, tell me." I thought fast. "I loved him."
"His throat was slit."
"And the others?"
Rodriguez flipped his pad again. "Kane had his head bashed in with a baseball bat. Landing was electrocuted in the shower, and Knowles was beaten to death."
Another flash of a memory-dream flashed in my mind. Billy begging for mercy. Oh God! What had I done?
Anne Gallagher (c) 2011
Monday, December 13, 2010
Christine's Holiday Blogfest
I know I'm not much for blogfests but since I saw Christine's invitation, I knew I had to participate. It's also a little longer than the requisite 250 words but...
In my latest WIP, a Regency romance, the main characters do share a Christmas together. Unexpectedly. Here goes. Hope you like it.
********
Sorry the author has removed this excerpt.
In my latest WIP, a Regency romance, the main characters do share a Christmas together. Unexpectedly. Here goes. Hope you like it.
********
Sorry the author has removed this excerpt.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Let's Talk Blogfest
I'd forgotten I'd signed up for Roni's (Fiction Groupie) blogfest (otherwise, I'm still unplugged).
This is from my current work in progress REMEMBERING YOU, a contemporary women's fiction-y romance. (having a little trouble with the genre)
Here's my entry, and for those of you who follow the story of Genna & Tony, this is a dirty little secret held onto by Genna's cousin Angie for more than a decade.
********* Rating R- strong language
**** This post has been removed by the author.
This is from my current work in progress REMEMBERING YOU, a contemporary women's fiction-y romance. (having a little trouble with the genre)
Here's my entry, and for those of you who follow the story of Genna & Tony, this is a dirty little secret held onto by Genna's cousin Angie for more than a decade.
********* Rating R- strong language
**** This post has been removed by the author.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Simon's Love Scene/Blogfest
Today's regularly scheduled post is being pre-empted for something unusual. I am participating in Simon Larter's Love Scene/Blogfest. I believe there was a throw down of sorts on a Tweet one night and Simon came up short. Now, the rules are simple, a love scene that's PG but also MG. Which I'm going to pretend I'm stupid and don't know what MG means. After reading a few blogs this morning I'm also stupid and don't know what a love scene is either. Do kids in Middle Grade really have sex, or think about sex, or want sex? I must be REALLY old now. Okay here goes...
******
Due to the paranoia of the author, this excerpt has been removed. Sorry.
******
Due to the paranoia of the author, this excerpt has been removed. Sorry.
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