Happy Halloween! Yes today is Halloween! I am pondering the thought of participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNo). Then as a sat drinking my coffee I learned the novel and recent movie ‘Water For Elephants’ was written as a rough draft during NaNo. Wow! What a great way to inspire budding writers like myself. I have noticed that during deadlines for contests I have found my creativity to be higher.

Well today is a great day to take a break and just enjoy the holiday. I have the rest of the day to think about participating in NaNo.


It was the Sunday before Halloween.  The small Pentecostal church was welcoming guest as they flowed through the door.  Most of the members were retirees of the community.  They had known each other for years in the small military town.  Some had fought wars together.  The organ started playing to signal people to take a seat.  As everyone was getting settled in their pews, the choir members walked down the aisle in robes singing the opening Hymn.  Then it happened.  The door opened with a large gust of wind a woman in a red dress pulled the mahogany door close behind her.  Her name was Rose.   She sat in the back pew alone with the ushers to her right.  Just before service was about to end the mystery woman snuck back out the door.

Rose got into her small hybrid car and drove to a Rays Chicken. It was not difficult of miss with its six foot plastic chicken on the roof.   Inside the small mom and pop restaurant there was a swarm of customers.  Rose a shy person with an anxiety disorder wanted to leave, but she remained in line.  Her mother had requested chicken and biscuits from Rays.  Once she gave her order to high school girl behind the counter she was given a number. “We’ll call ya when your order’s ready.”

“Thank you.” Rose took the receipt with the number written on it. She sat in the back corner booth.  She felt overdressed in her red couture dress with black suede boots.  She knew she might be over dressed, but if she had not dressed up her mother would have given her a mouthful.  Rose noticed a large masculine man looking at her.  To keep her mind off it she began to search the internet on her phone.  The web pages were loading so slowly. She acted as though she was reading to look busy so that odd man would stop looking at her.  Rose did not always have anxiety.  When she moved to New York City she had developed a strong case of it.  Her therapist told her she had developed the anxiety as a way to protect herself from harm.  It was refreshing to Rose to know her anxiety was created as a defense and not a sign of oncoming dementia.

“Number 36!” Hollered the girl at the counter.

Rose got up.  She went to the counter to claim her order.  She got into her car to continue her drive to her mother’s house at the Christmas tree farm.  She turned off the small two lane highway onto the old country road.  The road wrapped around the Kentucky hills.  There were no more houses or businesses to pass by just hills and occasional farm animals. Her cell phone began to vibrate. She looked on the passenger side seat.  It was her mother.  She tried to reach for the phone but as soon as she did heard “BAM!”  The steering of the car was difficult.  She pulled over to the side of the road.  When she got out she saw the torn tire.  In the street was a large rock that had fallen from the hill.  She tried to use her cell phone but the limestone hills were blocking her signal.  She went to the trunk to get the jack to change the tire. 

She changed the tire.  As she was putting the damaged tire in the trunk the unkempt man from the restaurant was driving his old pickup truck up the street.  He stopped the truck about twenty feet from her car.

“Thanks for stopping.  I’m good.”  Rose said with a quiver.  Her left hand began to shake.  She could feel uncontrollable heat escaping from her chest.  She was lowering the jack as the man started to walk towards her.  She wanted to run, but her legs were shaking too bad.  “Thanks but I’m good.”

She noticed not only was the man not speaking, but he was still coming at her.  Her heart began to thump so hard she could hear it. She tossed the small jack towards the side of the road, slammed the trunk shut and ran to get into the car.  She locked the doors.  The man stopped where the jack was.  He bent over and picked up the crowbar.  Rose’s right hand was shaking so bad she was having difficulty to put the key in the ignition.   She dropped the key under her dress on the floor board.  The man with the crowbar began to hit her car with immense force.  Rose terrified started crying. “Leave me alone!”

The man was now at the driver side window with steel bar in his hands looked at her with hell’s eyes. “Get out of the car!”

Rose shook her head no. She was gasping for air between her cries.  Her hands were still under her dress on the floor board.  The man began to hit her window.  The widow broke like ice.  Rose lifted her hands up with a loaded Magnum 55.  She pulled the trigger.  Shooting the man in his face, his body fell back.  Instantly, there were sirens.  Rose stayed in the car.  The Sheriff and his men made certain the man was dead.


“Sheriff Taylor?”

“My granny thought she saw you in church this morning. What the hell happened here?  Are you ok?’

Rose still sitting in the car looked up at him with tear filled eyes.  “I don’t know.  He was at Ray’s starring at me.  Then I got a flat tire.  I was almost finished putting everything up when he pulled over.  I could tell he was not interested in helping me.”

“We’ve been following this worthless man after he robbed Rays.  I guess you just left there before it got hit.  You got him pretty good, thanks to all those hunting years.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Halloween rules

“Whatcha doing?”

“Making a sign”

“What kind of sign?”


“For what?”

“Halloween, duh… I’m making a sign for Halloween.  These are Trick or Treat rules.”

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.  Rules are good.”

“What’s the first rule?”

Take only one candy:  Why do they need to take the candy? I thought you’re handing out the candy.”

“Because sometimes just when I’m putting the candy into a bag of one kid, another kid will reach into the bowl and grab handfuls of candy.”

“Ok, go on. What’s rule two?”

Stay off the grass: What are going to do to them if they get on the grass?”

“Spray them.”

“Oh, with a water gun or silly spray?”

“Noooo, the water hose!”

“That’s bad.  Their candy and costume will get all wet and ruined.”

“Nope that’s good. If they don’t want to get wet they shouldn’t  step on the grass.”

“Fine, what’s rule number three?”

No public bathroom:”

“Do you really think they are going to use your bathroom?”

“Little people, little bladders, I’m not taking chances.”

“Fine. What’s rule number four?”

If you can’t read this sign, GO HOME!

“That’s really bad.”

“Nope, it’s good.  If they cannot read it means one of two things: 1. they are too young to trick-or-treat, or 2. they are too stupid.  Either way the kid deserves a trick not a treat.”

“That’s a bad rule. You can’t put an age or educational limits on fun.”

“Well, I did.”

“What’s the  next rule?”

No scary mask:  Really why this one?”

“They scare me.”

“Geez, that’s what Halloween’s about!  You’re supposed to get dressed up and scare the begebers out of people.  Spooky and scary masks kind of go with the theme of haunted houses, haunted trails, horror movies and stuff like that.”

“I don’t like it. Rule stays.”

“Whatever. What’s the next rule?”

No infants

“You’re heartless. What’s the last rule?”

Must have proof of age and be younger than twelve:

“Seriously, why must they be younger than twelve?”

“The zoo is doing the same.”

“Well you’re not a zoo.”

“True, but the newspaper says you must be younger than twelve.”

“Still, why do you have to ruin it for the infants, nonreaders and the older kids?”

“Because the parents eat the infant’s and nonreaders candy and the teenagers eat too much candy.”

“Like I said before; these rules are bad and you’re being heartless…  With all these rules no one is going to want to come here and trick-or-treat!  You’re mom has bought all this candy for nothing.”

“Nope, I can eat it.”

“But you’re on a diet!”

“Come ooonn!  I can break a few rules.  It’s Halloween!”


The middle-aged woman sits with her therapist in the small room with the mold stain on the ceiling.  It is a free counseling clinic.  The woman never signs in with her real name.  She is ashamed of herself and what her name is.  Is her name vulgar?  Is the woman named after someone famous?  Questions remain unanswered.  The therapist a graduate student sits uncomfortably on the torn tweed sofa.

“Have you had anymore dreams?”


“Did they take place in Italy?”

“No, I’m not sure where I was, but it certainly was not Italy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, this time I was on a bike. I was traveling against traffic.  Yet, the lines on the road were different.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was facing the oncoming cars, but the yellow line was on my side.  In the middle of the street there was a white line.”

“So the traffic was traveling opposite from us?”


“How did you feel?”

“I felt free. Not that the lines made me feel that way, but the landscape was open.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“Nope, I was by myself on the bike. There were a few country homes.  I saw sheep, cows, fields of harvest, a castle, rocks, hills and the ocean.”

“Do you think you know where you were?”

“Maybe, Ireland.”

“Did you ever stop riding the bike?”

“No, I remember clearly getting tired, but I kept going.  The scenery kept changing making it so interesting.  The hills were exhausting.  The ocean winds were challenging.  The gentle touch of the sun empowered me.  At times when I felt as though I could not pedal anymore it seemed as though the winds would stop and I would find myself coasting down a hill looking upon a vast landscape.”

“Do you feel that this dream had any significance in your life?”

“Yes, I do. I felt it was a summary of my life’s journey.”

“How so?”

“The beauties of nature, the harmony with the sun, the struggle against the hills, the rhythm of the pedals against the winds, the refreshing sparkle of the ocean breeze are all metaphors of events and people in my life.”

“How does that make you feel?”


Sheer top

“Whatcha doing?”


“Whatcha shopping for?”


“What’s that?”

“A shirt”

“Why is it clear?”

“Not clear, it’s sheer.”

“Clear or sheer, it’s like not having a top on at all.”

“But it is.”

“You should save your money and just not wear a shirt.”

“I can’t just walk around in my bra.  I could get arrested.”

“Yet you are willing to spend fifty dollars on this see-through top?”

“Leave me alone.”

“No, that top is bad.”

“No, that top is good. I’m getting the top.  It’s final.”

“Now what are you looking for? Clear pants?”


“Oh, yeah, I forgot sheer pants.  Are you looking for sheer pants to go with your sheer shirt?”

“That’s stupid.  I’m looking for a sweater.”


“Because it’s winter, I can’t go around town in a sheer top without a long sleeve turtleneck sweater.  That’s stupid.”

“So it’s not stupid to wear a clear, oops forgotten again, sheer top, but stupid to not wear a sheer top under a turtleneck sweater in the winter.”

“Yeah, duh…”

“Well, if you’re going to buy a turtleneck sweater then why are you going to waste fifty dollars on a sheer shirt that no one will even see?”

“Because it’s fashion!”

The Protagonist and Antagonist

I recently purchase Final Draft. It’s a different style of writing for sure. I have dipped my fingers into it and let’s just say it not as simple as writing here. The good thing about my purchase is that I received additional tools to assist me in writing the perfect screenplay. At first I was overwhelmed with the multiple books and videos, but when my computer crashed during the upload I was grateful. That small jostle in my writing plans gave me time to do research. That was when I began to read about the Protagonist and Antagonist. I enjoyed the refresher course. Writers have a very simple way of looking at situations in everyday life. A writer can clearly identify the flaws or his or her characters. The goal of Protagonist is determined before the story is written, thus plot. The antagonists are those creepy, greedy, nasty, horrible people identified by some clear intention to harm or detour the protagonist. If only life in the real world could be so simple; everyone on this planet grew up believing in the great good, religion and last him or herself. Then over time trusted loved ones, parents, family, friends, employers and more have acted as the antagonist to destroy the protagonist. Characters in movies, books and plays always overcome those challenges. That’s what leads to a happy story. I just wished sometimes life could be so easy.


Justifably coo-coo

“Vern, Vern I have evidence!”


“I have the evidence you’ve been needing all these years.”

“Daddy, what are you babbling about?”

“Your neighbor is justifiably, you know,  coo-coo.”

“What do you mean?”

“I walked to the Post Office today.  She didn’t notice me because I was wearing those baggy jeans left behind by the teenage caught with his girlfriend in the shed.  You remember?”

“Yes, yes now back to story.  That’s a different story.”

“Ok so I’m in the Post Office in my baggy hip-huger pimp pants with my hoodie I found in the trash behind the gas station.”

“Yes, yes the one with the stain on the front.”

“Yeah, it’s like a bullet wound with a blood stain, but no hole.  Very interesting shirt, It’s a classic conversational piece.”

“Daddy, I’m busy. I have to make dinner, back to the story about the neighbor.”

“Ok, ok, so I’m addressing the envelopes.  She is leaving the Post Office and yells, “You’re prices keep getting jacked-up! What’s wrong with this postal service?  Then she sees my face.  She pauses and then says, “Oh, hi how are you?”

“No she didn’t”

“Yes! Yes, she was like coo-coo.  I just ignored her like she always does to us.”

“Well, even though I don’t care for her, you should be nice.”

“Nope, that lady is coo-coo.”

“She was just having a bad day. You’re the one wearing pants left in our shed and a stained trashed hoodie found behind a gas station.  Who’s the real coo-coo?”

“Not nice! My wardrobe is like recycling. I’m making the world a better place.  While she’s going postal.  Now, she’s justifiably coo-coo.”

“Fine daddy, if you say so.”

Cookie dough

“Whatcha doing?”

“I’m making cookies.”

“No, whatcha eating?”

“Cookie dough”

“That’s not good.”

“Yes, it’s real good. I made it.”

“No, I mean eating raw eggs is not good.”

“So, who said I’m eating raw eggs?”

“Well, does your recipe call for eggs?”

“No, that’s stupid. My recipe doesn’t talk.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Stop talking and hand me the spoon over there.”


“Because I need it”

“But all the cookies are now in the oven now.”

“So, I want the spoon to eat the dough.”


“Yes, give me the darn spoon!”

“No, I’m not going to let you eat more raw eggs.”

“I told you. I’m not eating raw eggs. I’m eating cookie dough!”

Who’s Vern? Who’s Daddy? Whatcha doing? Nothing!

Who’s Vern?  Who’s Daddy? Whatcha doing? Nothing!

Well, in reality they are characters.  Vern is the adult daughter of Daddy.  She lives and takes care of him.  Daddy is a retired United States Army noncommissioned officer. They live in New Jersey, just outside Fort Dix.   Since the birth of my blog I have created these characters.  They are developing.  I do not write short stories about them, because there is a lack of change.  Instead, I write about incidents in their lives. I have begun the scraps of a short story that one day could be published as a novel (to any potential publishers or agents reading). 

Whatcha doing? Nothing! This dialogue is from two numb nuts (silly friends).  Yes, we have all seen these random types of people in the store, clubs, park, gym and everywhere else.  These are two friends that just like to give each other a hard time.

 My goal in creating all these characters was for simple enjoyment. I am a creative writer. I am not a chef, seamstress, editor or sports writer.  I have attempted all avenues of writing and well truth is I am just a creative writer. 

I have written a coming of age novel with a female audience in mind.  It is ready to be published but most publishers won’t take chances anymore.  I am sending out my manuscript one agent at a time. I have only sent it to three because the response time has increased with more people wanting to be published.  I am waiting for my call or email from an agent or publisher that will just give me one chance. I also have a second novel that is a romance, but I am going to rewrite it to fix and clichés. 

While I am blogging to create an audience I am also putting together new stories for contests. I have just entered in one for Writer’s Digest and another for Reader’s Digest.  I am also trying to figure out how to use Final Chapter the script writing software.  I just thought maybe, maybe if the publishing business is not willing to give me a chance then someone in the film industry will.