Writing Wednesday

I have been writing quite a bit lately. My house has been much neglected because of it, but it seems my mind just won’t shut off. Scenes replay over and over through my mind until I get them on paper. Thankfully, most of my characters understand when it’s dinner time or time to feed the creatures or milk my cow (twice per day). Sometimes, they don’t and they carry on conversations in my mind.

“Gee, I wish she’d hurry.”

“Come on! I’m waiting here!”

“This idea is GOLD! Just forget the cow and get on with the book.”

“You should put this into that scene you just wrote.”

Helpful, aren’t they? My imaginary friends are ever-so-entertaining most days. My imaginary friends are quiet today. I’m thinking they’re exhausted from keeping me up at night. At any rate, I’ll be cleaning my woefully neglected house until ‘something happens’ - whether it be the imaginary friends start talking, my house gets clean, someone pops into the writing chat room, or my kids decide they’re on strike again. Until then, I’ll leave you with this little snippet to enjoy…


Kiara’s teeth chattered as she staggered through the snow. It seemed to be getting deeper the further she went.

“Am I even on the road?”

Tears slid down her cheeks and almost instantly froze in place. Dark clouds obscured the moon as the sleet beat down on her. She pulled her jacket closer around herself, trying to keep the cold at bay.

Her teeth chattered and her body shook as she trudged a meandering path. She glanced up and blinked, almost wondering if the smoke rising from the trees was a mirage. As if drawn toward the oasis like a thirsty desert traveler, she switched directions and headed toward the trickle of smoke. Soon, the scent of it teased her nostrils and tempted her forward with it’s promised warmth.

Walking, or rather, stumbling became easier beneath the pines. Her eyes widened as a tiny cabin came into view. Lights beckoned through the windows. “Come inside,” they seemed to beg.

She fell to her knees when her legs refused to climb the stairs. She clawed her way onto the porch and reached for the doorknob, praying she could open it. Hope fled as she crumpled into a heap, unable to move, unable to open the door, unable to go any further. She curled into a ball, wishing a tiny bit of warmth would seep out from the crack near the floor.

“Please help me,” she uttered.