Photo Flash Nonfiction: Destination

I’m halfway through my manuscript.

It feels good to have a solid word count but I’m going to admit it’s not easy and the amount of work I put in for April alone, was difficult. I kept my goal challenging but not too challenging that I would become discouraged and give up when I fell behind. Which ended up being a good plan because nothing panned out as I thought it would.

At night, when the kids went to sleep, I would pull out my laptop and get started. Around this time I would hear a loud thump over the baby monitor. That would be my son, practicing crawling when he should be sleeping, and smucking himself on the side of the crib when he lost his balance. He gets his grace from his mother. The whiny sound that emerges when he is mad at injuring himself, that’s me too. Before I knew it, the time I’ve set aside to write was replaced by rocking my baby to sleep for the second time followed by the clock reminding me to get myself to sleep if I want to be a sane woman in the morning.

Okay so nights didn’t always work out. How about mornings? Mornings seemed like a solid plan. I do arrive at my office early enough to beat the morning school buses and I have some time to myself. If only I had the self control to not check my work email. “Can you check this out for me?” “Can you change this?” “Quick question….” “I was wondering if you could help…” “When you get a chance…” I have this problem over rationalizing things and believing that if I take care of these few, easy, simple, only takes a moment emails I’ll have more free time later to take a break and write a few words.


After my morning of writing was shot down by good work intentions I would approach my lunch hour. From here we move to the always popular around 12:05 statement of, “Oh, I see you are on lunch. Don’t worry, this will only take a moment.”

I do have a door to my office. It has a motherfucking window.

But some days, my kids did sleep through the night and I did get my hour or so before it was my bedtime. A few mornings I walked in and there were no emails or any other work detritus sitting on my desk. Finally, the occasional lunch went uninterrupted.

One key thing I did to help was take notes when I wasn’t writing if an idea came to mind. I might be sitting and listening to a speaker or taking out the trash when I thought “My character could do this in this scene!” to which I would find my handy dandy badass notebook that Bronwyn made me and write down the idea. It made those quick thirty minute writing jam sessions go a lot smoother when there was an idea I could work with.

Brainstorming doesn’t have to happen at a desk in a quiet area. Which is nice. Since a desk combined with a quiet area is a luxury I already proved I don’t really have.

This is the “what’s next part.” Well, editing what I do have to help figure out what I don’t. I still need to finish this book and I have ideas, I just need to figure out how to get there. I’m going to keep reading and picking up tidbits of advice to help me spot my errors and make sure my plot has a direction. As I said to Bronwyn a few days ago, “I don’t want to pile more shit on shit. I have things to sort out.”

The next camp nano is in July and I’ll be there. Not only that, I’m going to up my challenge by 10,000 words.

I have a goal.
I have a destination.
And bumped heads and unread emails be damned, I’m going to get there.

image (1)
This was the picture for our photo prompt today.

Don’t forgot to visit the other ladies!

Bronwyn Green

Paige Prince



Flash Fiction: In Possession of Sand

Monday flash fiction time! This Monday’s edition of flash fiction is our song edition. Song is from Ellie Goulding and titled “How Long Will I love you.”

And based on google suggested searches the answer for Ellie Goulding is, “Not very long.”

Here are the participating writers and happy reading.

Bronwyn Green

Kris Norris


Usually there are scented candles burning and visits are in the evening after a lovely dinner, not early in the morning when the morning fog is still present around the garden. It had been about a week since my Dad’s funeral and there wasn’t a rush to attend to the house. It was already so well maintained with only a slight mess of mail on the counter. They answering machine around the corner was blinking five messages. I picked up the phone and checked the caller ID only to see the calls were unknown numbers and most likely telemarketers. Dad complained about them regularly and screened his calls to avoid them. I simply unplugged the machine and phone to avoid any disturbances. If anyone needed to get a hold of me, they would have my cell.

I continued through the house opening doors and closets, sizing up the items to be sorted, packed, given away, or sold. A collection of historical framed prints, a couch that sagged slightly in the middle, and the hospital bed would all be sold. Maddie was going to college soon and wanted the spare bed and bedroom furniture from the guest room to put in storage for when she was allowed to move out of the dorms and into an apartment. Aunt Liz was hoping for the car that has been sitting unused for years and my Dad’s friend Tom was always fond of the spy novel library which spanned from the 70’s until only a few years ago. Dad only stopped buying them when he was unable to see the words on the pages to read.

The sound of a car’s tires rolling over the loose gravel collected at the end of the driveway is clear through the silent house. I looked at the clock and it was almost 9:15. Early for the day but 45 minutes later than the agreed upon time. I suppose I should just be happy my brother showed up at all. A moment later Doug pulled himself through the front door with a gas station coffee in his hand and the strong smell of aftershave, what hair he has left was still damp.



Doug sipped his coffee and winced from the heat. “I brought the truck and Logan is coming later to help pack.”

“Your truck? How much do you plan on taking?”

Doug opened the coat closet and pulled out a leather bomber cut jacket. “Hey, he said we could take whatever we wanted and we get first pick so why not? Look at this, Dad use to wear this all the time.”

“I remember but, he stopped wearing that one years ago and he gave the newer one away before he died. What are you going to do with this? It won’t fit you. Why take it if it’s just going to sit in a box and rot somewhere?”

He put his coffee down and slipped on the jacket. The shoulders were wide for his frame and his torso too short. Doug zipped up the coat and flattened the puffiness of the extra fabric against him. The only part of the jacket that fit were the sleeves. The cotton cuffs settled perfectly at his wrists but otherwise he looked exactly as he was, a son in his dad’s jacket. Doug looked through the pockets and pulled out a piece of paper. “Car wash receipt from 1997.”

“Told you he hasn’t worn it in a long time. Just put that back.”

“No. I’m taking it. I’m taking all of these coats. I am taking the furniture too.”

I looked behind me to the couch with the sag in the middle. “Why? The grand kids were going to take this old stuff. The estate sale is suppose to take care of the rest and the money is going to be divided up. There isn’t much here and what isn’t really of any value. At least not to any one other than Dad.”

“I want to put it in my basement and set it up just the way he had it here, you know. Kind of like a way of hanging with Dad, drinking beer, watching the games on Sunday.”

“It’s just stuff.”

Doug stretched out his arms and the jacket hanged off him with the surplus of extra fabric. “It’s not ‘just stuff.’ It’s Dad’s stuff.”

“Dad’s gone. It’s just stuff now.”

Doug crosses his arms. “How can you say that. Do yo hear yourself? He cared about these things and you should care about them too.”

“Just because he did? I should care about that jacket because he liked it enough to buy it and wear it? There are hundreds, thousands of jackets just like that one. There is nothing unique about this other than he wore it. He isn’t here to wear it anymore. That’s the difference. I want to see that jacket on him and I won’t. So it doesn’t matter now who wears the jacket. I’m leaving the jacket because just owning it and remembering him in it, won’t bring him back.”

Doug picked up his coffee and walked to the living room. “More for me then. But, I’m just saying, it’s easier to remember him when you have things that remind you about him once in a while.”

I walked toward the open closet door when something caught my eye. “I’ll always love Dad for the rest of my life even if I had the opportunity to keep a hat of his that says, ‘Boobs and Brews – Beer Fest 1975’ on it.” I placed the hat on my head and it sank down pushing my glasses down my nose before I was all the way into the living room.

Doug looked at me and smiled. “Love Dad for the rest of your life with or without mementos, that hat is just foolish to give up.”


Random Wednesday: Blog Take Over

This weeks topic in new, interesting, and a little scary. What would happen if someone else took over my blog for the day? Well, not sure what my husband would do but my daughter would write something like this, “hhhhhhhhhhsssssssssseeeeeeeeenawwwwqqqqfuaew;offfiaoslleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” and my baby son would drool on the keyboard. But instead of assuming what it would be like of someone else took over my blog for the day I decided to allow someone to actually take over my blog for the day.

Meet Jim.

I’ve mentioned him before in on my blog and I particularly like Jim. He lives across the pond, buys me awesome books, is a wonderful beta reader, and generally a brilliant and kind person. He seemed a perfect fit for the task.

Plus, if I had asked Katie my blog would probably be loaded with dick pics. (Note: I’m well aware a few of you would be okay with this but get out of here! Ain’t nobody got time for that! Except, Gwendolyn. She usually has some half naked dude on her blog if you need a fix.)

Don’t forget to visit the other bloggers Bronwyn Green, Kellie St. James, Gwendolyn Cease, and Paige Prince and without further ado – take it away Jim:


I like giving gifts, not big fancy things, but little things that folk will appreciate. Most recently this has been food, I’ve been getting back into baking for the first time in a long time. As a result there’s been a lot of cakes brought into the office.


Behold the cheesecakey goodness. It was delicious, it didn’t last long in the office.

For my overseas friends, cakes would be a little harder to send, so I have to settle on something a little different to show my appreciation for them. Sometimes I send daft custom postcards,Touchnote is great for this, but what I really like sending is books I think they will enjoy.

Though it’s always a tricky proposition when picking a book for a bibliophile, you are essentially hijacking several hours to several days of their life, depending on their reading speed. A poor choice in this regards is a horrible thing to inflict upon a friend, for starters think of all the better books they could have been reading.

I seem to have done a good job of this so far… well with choosing for Jessica at least, I still feel guilty about the time I sent Katie a copy of Alan Wake, she did not enjoy that anywhere near as much as her love for X-Files and Twin Peaks made me think she would.


“I’d like to know if I could compare you to a summer’s day. Because — well, June 12th was quite nice, and…”

Jessica has a cracking sense of humour, with a command of sarcasm, cynicism and silliness that put me in mind of Pratchett’s writing. So one Christmas I sent her Wyrd Sisters, and as far as I am aware she was quite taken with the late Sir Terry’s writings.(Jessica Edit: I have this awesome map I saved of Pratchett’s books and the universe they are set in sent to me from Jim. Reading all of Pratchett’s books is an item on my bucket list..)


“It’s all so very ugly George”

But it’s not just holidays. Sometimes there’s no better way to put a smile on a friends face than an unexpected gift when they are least expecting it, this was one such gift. Jessica loved the Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy movie, and I don’t blame her. The slow burn of a spy thriller builds tension much like a horror movie does, gently but inexorably towards the crescendo at the end. I introduced her to the utterly delightful BBC Radio adaptation and as we chatted back and forth about it by email this dropped into my mailbox.

I wanted to read the books as soon as I found out the movie was a book adaptation.

When I saw the movie, i watched it a second time immediately the next day. I do that very rarely anymore.

But i’m so far behind on writing and other “to do” items that it’s just one of those things lingering on the back of my mind.

The wonderful moment when a gift idea blooms organically out of simple conversation. I made a joke about her finally getting to read it once the kids move out to college, and then sneaked off to a certain large book retailer to order a copy. Less than two weeks later, on what was proving to be a particularly rubbish day, a surprise package arrived in the mailbox. Rubbish day instantly improved, if the excessive number of OMGs in the email chain that day are to judge. (Jessica Edit: Seriously, there were a lot of OMGs.)


Thank you Jim! I hope you enjoyed writing for my blog today. You’re awesome!

Song Flash Fiction: Try

This was a requested post. I had confessed how I was unsure what to write for this song for multiple reasons.

Reason #1: I’m not a romance author and 90% of songs are about love in some shape or form. The song for today is Try by Backstreet Boys. It’s a song about trying to work things out. DUMP THE DOUCHE! I dare say. Go out to the club and, I don’t know, do the stanky leg. (Edit: That’s not a spelling error. Google is your friend.)

Reason #2: N’sync was better.

With these reasons in mind, I wasn’t sure what I was going to write when an idea struck, “When all else fails – throw in an Avenger.” The motion was quickly accepted and approved with a 3-0 vote.

Either the idea is brilliant or I need more friends.

I had done this once before as noted here with Thor. “There is an entire team of characters to choose from. Pick a person and write another story!”

:sticks hand in fish bowl:
:pulls out folded paper:

The tribute for the 2nd Annual Song Flash Fiction Avenger is….:unfolds paper:


Before I make some attempt for a flash fiction story staring Iron Man prompted by the song Try by Backstreet Boys (I had to type this out fully because I am struggling to allow this idea I agreed upon to sink in) feel free, and I strongly encourage you to, visit the other writers participating in today’s prompt:

Kris Norris

Bronwyn Green

Kelly St. James


Pepper stands at the entrance of the workshop when she decides to take a moment and close her eyes for a few deep, controlled breaths. Her feet are sore as her heels have started pinching her toes from all the walking she has done today. As well, her scalp aches from the her tight pony tail, hair screaming to be released and let down. But this is what they agreed upon. Valentine’s day was suppose to be a dinner at home, Tony was suppose to cook. He was far from great at it but Pepper really didn’t mind. But a few Stark Industry emergencies that included both putting out fires figuratively and literally kept their plans from coming to fruition. Now, the day after Valentine’s, Pepper stands at Tony’s work shop with paint swatches in her hand waiting for Tony to stop tinkering long enough to notice her.

She clears her throat and straightens her back. Tony continues to tinker.


Tony rolls his chair away from his work bench and looks up. “Hi, beautiful.”

“You need to pick out the paint color you want for the new offices. You were suppose to have this done already. They are coming tomorrow to start the repair and remodel.”



Tony frowns. “For what?”

“The hole in the wall.”

“Who did that?”

Pepper sucks in a breath. “You did.”



Tony picks up a wrench and wipes grease from it with a shop cloth, avoiding Pepper’s gaze. “Well, I’m sure whatever color paint you want will be just fine.”

“I did pick a color.”

“You did?”



“After you blasted a hole in the wall on accident you said, and I quote, ‘I never liked this color anyways.'”


“Yup.” Pepper walks over to Tony and hands him the paint swatches. “Now you pick the color and quickly please. Remember, we have plans tonight.”

Tony places the swatch book on his work station and stands up, placing a hand on Pepper’s arm. “Listen, why don’t we just call it for the day, put work aside and celebrate Valentine’s Day.”

Pepper doesn’t soften her stance. “Celebrate the Valentine’s Day we missed after work today?”


“That was already the plan.”

“Oh. Well, I have a new project I’m working on. I think you’ll like it.” Tony picks up a remote from his work station and presses a button. The lights dim and music starts playing.

I need a little love like I never needed love before (wanna make love to ya baby)

Tony dances and mouths the lyrics but Pepper is unmoved. Pulling her arm in an attempt to make her dance she only adjusts her stance but her eyes become focused on something in the distance as she falls into deep thought.

Because tonight, is the night, when two become one

“Is this…is this the Spice Girls?” Pepper asks. “Well, Valentine’s Day was yesterday so do they have a song with the lyrics, ‘yesterday was the night two become one’?

Tony gives a side smirk and presses another button.

I want to sex you up! All night…

“Color Me Bad and nope. Please tell me you’ve been doing more productive things with your time today. Then making a mixed tape.”

“It’s so much more than a mixed tape.”

I swear, by the moon and the stars in the sky. 

“All 4 One? Honestly.” Pepper takes the remote out of Tony’s hand, picks the swatch book up and presses it to his chest. She turns and begins for the workshop door.

Tony picks up the remote once more. The volume suddenly increases as a new song comes on.

Try baby try, give me a moment of your time.

Pepper calls back. “Talk to me after you pick a color and that one is Backstreet Boys!”

Tony sits in his chair and whispers to himself, “Damn, she’s good.”





Random Wednesday: Doctor Who and Miss Sprinkles – The Finale

A friend of mine informed me he mistyped the book Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and instead typed Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Spy in a discussion he was having. We laughed, we cried, we discussed Taylor Swift, the Cold War, and how she wouldn’t fair very well because she would have only been two years old when it had resolved.

It gave me both an idea and posed a question: Will there be more after Doctor Who and Titty Sprinkles concludes? If so, what’s next?

While the idea of writing another serial of quirkiness, even if it involved Taylor Swift and eastern Europe espionage, sounds appealing, I’m going to have to temporary throw in the towel until the next time I say something stupid on Twitter.

That shouldn’t take long.

But if there is something you want to see, feel free to contact me. This all was started by my Angel muse Jim whispering in my ear, “Write something with Doctor Who” and the Devil muse named Karl in the other, “Yeah, I like that idea….add a character named Titty Sprinkles.”

I couldn’t play favorites and it worked out best that way.

Today’s post is the EPIC CONCLUSION to Doctor Who, Titty Sprinkles, a guy named Tom, and Creeps. Our posts are always themed and today is scheduled as a Promptly Penned flash fiction post which must include (or some reference, variation to): “This is where you make up some stupid excuse to leave early and stop returning my calls.” He leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

To get up to speed on guy with a bowtie and sugar tits: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

If you want to make less questionable decisions in your life and read something with a little more class, click below:

Bronwyn Green

Jessica Jarman

Kris Norris

Kellie St. James

Paige Prince


Part 5: The Conclusion

The Doctor pulls out his sonic screw driver and quickly scans what was Tom. He reads the results from the scan and pockets his screw driver quietly but cautiously.


For the first time throughout the night, Miss Sprinkles hears the Doctors voice hold a hint of fear rather than the usual confidence. Even the air of adventure in his movements have been replaced and he stands more still than the trees surrounding them.

Tom’s body takes a step back on the pier and Miss Sprinkles looks at the The Doctor but his eyes are glued to the glowing lights under Tom’s hooded sweatshirt. Her skin feels damp and cold, a breeze was coming off the lake and cooling the sweat on her body. Even as she shivers the air carries the smell of fresh pine mixed with algae from the lake and she feels a sense of calm. If this was the end, at least it was here, with the fresh air and the rising morning sun.

Miss Sprinkles felt the cords, warm and smooth wrap around her. The electric current coursing through made her hair cling to her face with static. “Doctor.” She said calmly.

“Sprinkles!” The Doctor turns and faces her, his eyes wide. He takes a step toward her and pauses as he looks around her.

She already knew, she could sense them. Creeps had cornered them and escape was impossible. Miss Sprinkles closed her eyes and felt the warm embrace of the cords and wires. They were relaxing, soothing.  But the smell of warm plastic and the high pitched hum of electronics kept her from falling further. She opens her eyes and once more, catches Tom’s body taking another step away from The Doctor and down the pier.

“She is lost, Doctor.” The voice from Tom wasn’t far from the Tom she knew but different, without life but, raw and mechanical. After he spoke Creeps echo’d, “She is lost, Doctor.” And the voice coming over the radios and TV’s were clearly Tom.

Without explanation to why, hearing Tom’s voice gave her hope.

“Why do you need human bodies?”

Again Tom answered and the Creeps echoed. “We need hearts.”

“The current. Like a battery.” The Doctor mutters to himself and then addressed Tom’s Body. “It won’t work! The body still needs energy for the heart to create an electric pulse.  You still have to keep the human alive!”

Curious statement. Almost makes it sound like you are not human. Miss Sprinkles thought.

“Curious statement. Almost makes it sound like you are not human.” It was her voice, but not from her mouth, from the TV’s and radios on top of the Creeps shoulders. The Doctor turns around quickly, his coat whipping around him, while behind from the pier, Tom continues to take a step back.

Miss Sprinkles puts her hand up to see them. She is entangled in the creep, but parts of her skin are still visible along with the fingers on her hands. Touching her mouth she feels her face is still free but not without accidentally causing a painful static shock when she touches the skin of her lips.

“Ow! Goddammit.” Swears Miss Sprinkles but to both her and The Doctors surprise, it’s only her voice.

“You’re not fully integrated!”

No shit, she thinks to herself, the Creeps repeat, “No shit.” Then she says aloud too frustrated to care, “I could have told you that.”

The Doctor quickly pulls out his sonic screw driver and scans her.

“Why aren’t they going after you?”

The Doctor smiles broadly and pounds his chest. “Two hearts, wrong size battery.”

A warm sensation flows over Miss Sprinkles like a wave and she begins to feel dizzy. “What kind of Creep is attached to me?”

“A microwave as it would appear. Which is interesting. Not just for the fact that it’s…well…a microwave attached to you but because it’s on its own. I don’t see more. Why are there no more microwaves?” The Doctor scans behind her. “A house only needs one, well, a house could use more than one given the size. A flat definitely only needs one but an invasion of Creeps through a fissure of space, there should be more than one. Unless of course, and this could be it. Might be it. Not completely sure but a strong hypothesis, this isn’t a full invasion. This is a test.”

Again, Tom’s body takes another step back.

“I feel warm. Do you think Tom feels like I feel?” Miss Sprinkle feels the wires starting to close in around her face tighter. Like a warm blanket being laid over her body, she feels comfortable, relaxed, and is fighting to stay in focus and not fall asleep.

The Doctor reaches toward her and then pulls back before getting too close to the Creep holding her. His eyes met hers and they hold a sense of concern but also look kind. “I’ll find a way to get you out of this. They won’t kill you.”

Her eyes close and she feels at ease. Comfortable. Her heart stopped racing and the stitch in her side along with her scratched feet no longer ache. Tom’s alive. He keeps stepping back toward the end of the pier. The water. HE IS TRYING TO JUMP IN THE WATER! 

Miss Spinkles mind wakes and she begins to thrash, pulling weakly at the cords around her body. She tries to pull the cords from her face to see and to yell at The Doctor. She feels a breath of cold air, the Creep has loosened his hold slightly. TOM IS ALIVE! THE WATER! 

“TOM IS ALIVE! THE WATER!” The Creeps repeat through their radios and TV’s.

From the pier Tom’s eyes flash and emerging from his mouth are sounds not unlike the buttons of a microwave. Creeps come at The Doctor from every angle but swiftly he moves toward the pier. With one long reach he grabs Tom’s shirt and pulls him off the pier and into the water. The crash is deafening as radios and TV’s fall from the wire shoulders of Creeps in one single moment. Miss Sprinkles loosens herself from her bonds and see’s the mess of cords, broken glass, and bent metal. The microwave Creep is still alive and attempts to bind her again but Miss Sprinkles is quicker. She wraps her hands around the cords of the Creep’s body and pulls hard, running toward the pier to jump in the lake, dragging the Creep with her.

She surfaces and is met with a big splash from The Doctor, “Wonderful! This is wonderful! Water is a bit cold for my taste but splendid work you two!”

Tom treads water near The Doctor and clumsily removes his sweatshirt. Cords around his face have gone loose and he looks relieved and uninjured as he pulls the now loose wires away from his body.

“TOM!” Miss Sprinkles swims over and hugs him but he hesitates.

“Is there more? What do we do if there is more? Are they coming from us? We should run or hide? Maybe we should get a boat and stay out here where they can’t get to us. But what if I am still one? Does that mean water can’t stop all of them?” Tom’s voice shakes and Miss Sprinkles can tell it isn’t just from the lake.

“Smart man! Good point. We should check out that fissure. Perhaps that would be a good idea. We’re going to need mirrors.” The Doctor uses his sonic screw driver to scan Tom and Miss Sprinkles. “And you both are completely back to normal. The microwaves are the controllers, the rest are just drones. If you should come across a microwave, disable it quickly. I can say from first hand experience, water is a fantastic method. But quickly now, we must get to the fissure!”

Tom is a far better navigator than Miss Sprinkles or The Doctor and with his help, they find themselves at the club quickly. The fissure beyond seems much smaller than Miss Sprinkles remembered it before as the morning sun creates a glow that drowns the fissure’s illumination.

The Doctor runs into the club and grabs mirrors they had gathered earlier in the night from a pile laying on the stage. Outside, with mirrors in hand, The Doctor instructs them to reflect the light coming out of the fissure back into the fissure but to resist looking directly at it as the bright light could cause injury.

“Hold steady!” The Doctor advised while Miss Sprinkles looked at the ground to get an idea of where to align her mirror and then, she closed her eyes and waited.

It was quick. Far quicker than Miss Sprinkles expected and before she knew it, she was standing soaking wet and shoeless holding a hand mirror inscribed with Property of Big Twerking Ash on the back.

“Is it over?” She asks.

“Yes it is. There is a bit of a mess with Creep parts but the fissure is closed.” The Doctor flips the piece of broken vanity mirror he is holding round to look at himself. He runs his hand through his wet hair, giving it a little ruffle.

“Good. Because I’m so done with today.” With a toss of her mirror, Miss Sprinkles holds herself from the cold morning air and walks toward the club.

Tom sighs heavily, “This is where you leave early.”

“What?” Miss Sprinkles looks to Tom.

“This is what you do every night. Make some excuse to leave early and you disappear. Never returning any phone calls or texts. Tonight was crazy and you saved my life. How can you just leave?”

Miss Sprinkles thinks for a moment. “I….I don’t know. I don’t know what to make of what happened. I’m cold and still a bit afraid myself, too. I just want to get my mind off of all of this.”

“I know just the place! It’s both warm AND will get your mind off things. Follow me!” The Doctor walks with determination past Tom and Miss Sprinkles into the TARDIS still standing just outside of the club.

“Come on.” Miss Sprinkles grabs Tom by the arm.

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, not sure I entirely understand but I’m done with trying to figure things out so I’m following that guy. You?”

Tom follows Miss Sprinkles toward the TARDIS but stops short once she opens the door and he peaks inside. “It’s bigger on the…”

“YES IT IS!” The Doctor presses buttons on the console and pulls a lever. “Come on in Tom my boy! The fun is just beginning!”



Flash Fiction: Doctor Who and Miss Sprinkles plus Dude on Pier

Monday photo flash fiction – dude on pier, and I have to figure out how to incorporate this into my Doctor Who nonsense but I’ll come up with something. For now here is Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and below is Part 4. As always, if Tits isn’t doing it for you feel free to check out the other ladies.

Bronwyn Green

Kris Norris

Paige Prince

Gwendolyn Cease

Jessica Jarman


Part 4:

Titty Sprinkles runs on her bear toes to avoid the cold and sharp landscape of the forest floor. She can still feel the rabbit ear antenna on her head catching the branches above her. The mirror had broken when she threw it at the Creeps in a panic and kicking off her shoes at the moment she took a step on the soft earth and felt a heel stick. The Doctor had been behind her but with a second loud crash he had thrown his mirror too and ran not to her but, past her.

“Quickly darling!” Was all The Doctor said and then he was off through the trees.

Miss Sprinkles could feel her heart beat getting caught in her throat and didn’t think she could run much further, a stitch in her side came on suddenly and was beginning to cut deep. “Doctor.” The call was too quiet and breathless, she heaved with all the energy she could find. “Doctor!”

His voice was clear and seemed closer than she imagined it should be. “Here! Come on now. Time is of the essence as it would seem. Story of my life really. Where are your shoes?”

Miss Sprinkle stops, grabbing her side she holds herself against a tree. “You’re a dick.”

“A what?”

“A dick.”

“Oh, like a detective? Well, I’ve never thought of myself as a detective but I do quite fancy a nice deerstalker hat. I just never really understood what to do with the flaps. Up or down? Very confusing.” A cool hand brushes the top of her arm and above her she discovers The Doctor crouching on a tree limb. “Up, up, up! Tell me now, what is in this area and please, make it quick.”

The Doctor pulls Miss Sprinkles up and she scratches her arms and the bottom of her feet on the sharp tree bark.

“Stupid tree.”

Pulling out his sonic screwdriver the The Doctor analyzes a branch. “Sugar Maple, it would appear. Not the most intelligent but far from stupid.”

Rustling of branches and heavy steps crunching the forest detritus can be heard in the distance. The Doctor motions for Miss Sprinkles to stay quiet then reaches past her to an adjacent branch. He tries to climb but finds some difficulty, getting tangled in branches with every attempt and making far more of a ruckus than Miss Sprinkles could ever make if she were to speak aloud. Finally, Miss Sprinkles grabs The Doctor by his coat and pulls him toward her. She simple mouths the word antenna and The Doctor squints his eyes for a moment then leans back with a large smile. Removing the antenna from his head and handing it to her, he tries one more time to climb the branches and finally is successful.

Miss Sprinkles closes her eyes and wonders what will happen if they catch up. The Creeps. She never thought to ask The Doctor what they could do. Even he didn’t seem overly afraid but simply had an air of urgency. They have been running, hiding, and Miss Sprinkles was unsure if perhaps, they should be fighting.

“What is nearby?” The Doctor whispers down from a branch in which he is hanging precariously.

“The club is out here for a reason, it’s out of the way and discrete. I think the only thing nearby is a boat launch for the lake. I remember where it is, kind of. There were some guys that would come by the club and after wander down and break into the cars parked at the launch. They were caught, arrested, and the regulars took down the boat launch signs to avoid any further burglaries. You wouldn’t necessarily know it’s there unless you have been there before and know what to look for.”

“A lake? If we were to have a boat, which we don’t, and wanted to launch it, though that would be completely unnecessary without some type of floating device, what would we be looking for?”

“The launch is east of the club but I’m not entirely sure how far.”

Doctor?” Electrical voices, all speaking in unison can be heard nearby and the steps are sounding much closer.

Miss Sprinkles and The Doctor move quickly. He slides down the tree with ease and assists her down as she throws down the antenna she was holding, removes her own, and moves quickly once again, running on her toes which feel achy and cold. They run east until they come upon a clearing which was much closer than Miss Sprinkles realized.

“Wait! Is that the fissure?” Miss Sprinkles stops running and feels her body freeze.

The Doctor grabs her hand and pulls it with force. “No it’s the sun! It’s morning!” He laughs loudly but Miss Sprinkles still feels uneasy.

Doctor?” The voice sounds louder than it should and coming from a direction it shouldn’t be. The Doctors smile fades away as they approach the dock and see a man standing with his back toward them.

A shiver cuts through Miss Sprinkles spine. “Tom?”

Tom’s body turns around but his face is missing. Underneath the hood of his sweatshirt can only be seen glowing red eyes. “Doctor?” 


Looking at the calendar, Part 5 (and I did not see this story going into a Part 5) will be Wednesday 2/10 for a Promptly Penned post. Hope to see you there next week!

Flash Fiction: The Creeps

If you want a band that’s British in the Guy Ritchie film sort of way, look no further than Radiohead.

Creep by Radiohead is the song for this prompt (the soundtrack to many people’s 1993) and if you’ve been following my Doctor Who and Titty Sprinkles obligation here and here, you already knew this was coming.

I’m not exactly sure where it is going.

Scary thought.

Save yourself with one of these exit points for a more thorough literary endeavor than what is about to happen below:

Bronwyn Green

Paige Prince

Kris Norris

Jessica Jarman

Part Three:

The Doctor runs, disco balls in hands, for the back of the building. Tom follows quickly behind him where Miss Sprinkles struggles with the vanity mirror.

“Move,  Tits!” Tom yells back.

“This is heavy and shut up!” Once Miss Sprinkles catches up she notices Tom staring out the opened back door while The Doctor has disappeared into a blue telephone booth just beyond. Not feeling there is time for anymore questions, Miss Sprinkles forces Tom out of her way and runs after The Doctor, stepping in the booth behind him.

This clearly, was not a telephone booth but rather, something much more.

“What is this thing?” Miss Sprinkles hugs her mirror.

“A police box. And no! It’s not a police box. It’s a TARDIS, a ship, my ship, and it travels through time and space and speaking of time, I may have miscalculated how soon company would arrive through the fissure but it seems they are here and we might need to reevaluate our plans. Slightly. Just slightly. A little more than slightly. A far amount more than slightly – slightly. Don’t let go of that mirror! That still might be handy. Oh wait, you didn’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“What do you think of my TARDIS?” The Doctor smiles and puts his hands in his pockets.

Miss Sprinkles looks around and is overwhelmed by the pillar of moving parts in the center of the room and the extensive console full of odds and ends which seem to be an incapable combination of buttons, levers, and switches to be of purpose. But one thing was undeniable. “It’s bigger on the inside than the outside.”

The Doctor hops from foot to foot rubbing his hands together, “I love that part! Yes! Now we can get to work. Where is Tom?”

Running back toward the door, The Doctor pushes Miss Sprinkles out of the way. The growling has stopped. Miss Sprinkles tries to see around The Doctor but once he feels her presence behind him, he quickly closes the door and holds her by the shoulders for a moment. He says nothing, squeezing with a force that makes her shoulders form a shrug. The Doctor leaves her there to wonder, the question with an unspoken answer hanging in the air.

From the console, Miss Sprinkles doesn’t notice from where exactly, The Doctor pulls out two rabbit ear style antenna. One of which, he quickly runs over to her and straps to the top of her head before putting the other on himself.

“I just realized I’m so frightened I’ve been standing in the same spot this entire time.”

“Do you have your mirror?”


“Tom’s mirror is laying on the ground just outside the door. I want you to stand closely behind me. I am going to borrow your mirror to cover myself and once we get to Tom’s mirror I will hand this back to you. Use it like a shield. Hold it directly in front of your body so the Creep’s will see a reflection of themselves and not notice your, what kind of pants are those anyways?”


The Doctor pulls his sonic screw driver from his coat and quickly scans Miss Sprinkles legs. Reading the side of his sonic screw driver, he frowns. “Lycra. Never liked lycra.”

Miss Sprinkles twists her face, “Really? Right now? You are going to judge me for the fabric of my pants while wearing an antenna on your head and sporting a bow tie! Not to mention the I-don’t-even-know-what is out there and we’re in a spaceship that looks like a phone booth!”

“Police box.”


Reaching up, The Doctor adjusts the position of the antenna strapped to his head. Forcing one rabbit ear antenna straight up and the other, slightly angled to the side. “The antennas are for survival and bow ties are cool.”

With an large inhale of breath Miss Sprinkles holds herself tall but the yet to be spoken barrage of expletives is cut short by  The Doctor turning quickly on his heal and walking through the TARDIS door, back to the unknown. Miss Sprinkles moves quickly to shadow The Doctor with his long strides and abrupt movements. His height blocks her from seeing what is near and she finds her self struggling to look around him as he moves unpredictably. The brief break from the noise when they opened up the door looking for Tom was replaced by electrical static. A deafening, nerve awakening, static. The Doctor stops and motions for her to step in front of him and take the vanity mirror.

He pushes her ahead of him a few feet. “Remember, cover your body so if they look at you, they will see their reflection and think you are one of them.” The Doctor then crouches down and slides the mirror Tom was holding toward him. Tom however, is no where to be found.

Miss Sprinkles expected the worse and kept her eyes down, looking around the ground for footprints back tracking toward the club as if Tom had ran back inside and was safe but she found no path returning to the club door. At worst, she looks for his body. As her eyes move from the ground upward she sees them moving from the forest. They were as far as the eye could see. Creeps were surrounding her and The Doctor. Their bodies were cords, wires, exposed copper, forming appendages of legs and arms. Their heads were radios, TV’s, and she swore one of them was a microwave.

“Doctor.” Miss Sprinkles whispers and with an edge of panic after no response, “Doctor?”

The forms stop moving and all equipment faces her. The radios tune, the TV’s flash, and the microwave beeps as if buttons were being pressed. The microwave creep takes a step forward and dings as if time were up. At once the radios and TV’s call out in a voice that mimics her own. “Doctor?”


Visit back on 2/1 for Part Four!




Random Wednesday: Doctor Who, Miss Sprinkles, and the Prompt

We didn’t do this last year but that doesn’t necessarily mean this is a “new” thing. I’m not actually sure if it’s new but it’s new to me!

Prompts. Or as this has been named “Promptly Penned.” You’ll be seeing one of these each month from here on out for 2016. For this month the prompt is, “Some choices are easy, like fudge ripple or butter pecan, some choices aren’t. Can you guess which one this was?” (Note: Rules? With these prompts, there are no rules.)

Until my Doctor Who, Titty Sprinkles obligation is shored up we will be picking up where we left off. If you not sure where exactly that is, well, you can catch up on timey wimey nonsense with sugar tits here.

Or you can jump ahead and go straight to the good stuff by visiting these ladies.

Kris Norris

Jessica Jarman

Bronwyn Green

Paige Prince

Kayleigh Jones

Kellie St. James


Part Two:

Tom rustles through an oil stained cardboard box, digging through miscellaneous tools before pulling out long Phillips head screw driver.

“I’ve got one of those.” The Doctor pulls out his device and shows it to Tom, pressing a button for it to emit it’s signature sound. “Mine’s sonic!”

Tom holds up his screwdriver to compare, “Mine’s bigger.”

The Doctor’s smile fades, “Yes. Well. It seems you are right on that account.” With defeat, he slides his sonic screwdriver in his coat pocket.

Miss Sprinkles has changed out of her robe and now wears tight leggins and a cropped shirt. In the middle of the stage, she adds small hand mirrors to the pile of vanity mirrors, and full length mirrors she has already pulled from the dressing rooms. Taking a small break from her collection, she hops down off the stage and peeks outside.

The light in the forest has grown, and grown very quickly, since last she looked. Noises, terrible grumblings, deep and unfriendly, seem to get louder as the light illuminates the trees closer to the club. Miss Sprinkles closes the door quickly and grips the door handle. She knows holding the door will not stop what might appear on the other side and her only chance of saving them might actually be the funny man in the bow tie. It all seems so surreal and immensely odd. The hair on the back of her neck begins to rise when she feels someone behind her.

“Why should we trust you? How do we know you didn’t come from the light?” Miss Sprinkles asks The Doctor and loosens her grip on the door, suddenly feeling an urge to run from the strangeness and the unknown.

He answers calm and smooth, almost soothing. “Some choices are easy, like fudge ripple or butter pecan, some choices aren’t. Can you guess what is out there? Even I sometimes feel it would be best to leave. Let the mystery be. Let the ugly parts of the universe stay ugly. But I’m The Doctor and that’s not what I’m about to do. Trust me. Trust me for tonight…and maybe the future… and brief glimpses of the past.”


“Okay, that part is a little complicated. I have a relationship with time.”

“And the universe?”


“Are those dancers at another club?”


Miss Sprinkles leans her forehead on the door and feels the cool metal. “I was really hoping the answer was, ‘yes.'”

Tom yells out to them, holding a large mirror. “I got the last one from the private rooms. These should be all of them now.”

The Doctor jumps in the air with a smile and claps his hands so loudly, Miss Sprinkles startles and hits her head on the door. “Fantastic! Oh! Did that hurt?” He pulls her head toward his face. “I’m sure it did. It’s fine! Should be fine! Looks fine! I don’t know, I’m not that kind of doctor. Alright everyone! Onward! Grab what you can and…”

Moving Miss Sprinkles out of the way, he opens the door to a very loud growl and just as quickly as it is opened, it is closed. “…and to the backdoor! This one…” Pulling out his sonic screw driver he shines the light at the handle and over the door itself for good measure. “…is out of commission.”

“What is it?” Miss Sprinkles eyes are wide.

“Not good.” The Doctor takes her hand and runs quickly to the pile of mirrors. Picking up a large vanity mirror with magazine cut outs of made up models still tucked in the chipped paint wood molding and forcing it into her hands. “It’s Creeps.”

“What are Creeps?” Asks Tom, holding the largest mirror from the pile.

The Doctor holds up two disco balls, “Very creepy.”


Part 3 will be Monday 1/18 for our song flash fiction piece – Creep by Radiohead.



Flash Fiction: As Requested – Titty Sprinkles

First flash fiction of the year! And yes, this is how I’m going to start it out. If you are wondering this is the post that started it. From here, I have no more excuses.

Be prepared for a Doctor Who fan fiction and a companion with the stripper name of Titty Sprinkles.

“Give the fans what they want.”
-big sigh-

But before we get going, here are the other ladies:

Jessica Jarman

Bronwyn Green

Kris Norris

Paige Prince

Gwendolyn Cease

Kayleigh Jones

01-2016 LightinForest

He crashed through the doors frantically searching with a bouncer quickly on his heels. Tall, thin, and wiry the man seemed to avoid capture with every attempt made. The bouncer trying to grab at an arm or a leg but always came up just short.

“Mirrors. I just need mirrors. Wow look at all the shiny things in here. I could use all of it. Every mirror and those shiny ball things over there and this pole.” The man jumps on the stage and grabs a dancing pole but with a hard tug the pole remains. “Or not the pole then. Seems it doesn’t want to come along. At any rate, you there, help me with some mirrors.”

“Hey, man, we’re closed.” The bouncer, too lazy to get on the stage himself, swipes a muscled arm at the mans leg and misses.

“What are these called? I like these. These will do wonderfully.” The intruder jumps in the air and attempts to grab at the ceiling.

A dancer steps out from the stage curtains, her blond hair tied up and wearing a robe. “That would be a disco ball and honestly Tom, what good of a bouncer are you anyway?”

Tom shrugs, “He got pass me. It’s been a long night, alright.”

“Tom then? Hello Tom. I’m The Doctor.” The Doctor smiles broadly and tugs a the sides of is tweed jacket. “And who are you?”

“Titty Sprinkles” Tom smiles.

“I could have answered the question myself, thanks Tom.”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow, “I’m usually the one who has to explain my name.”

“I’m too tired for this. It’s Miss Sprinkles for you both for the rest of the night. Speaking of which, we are closed, we’re cleaning up, and I’m not in the mood for trouble so what do you want?”

The Doctor grabs a chair from the side of the stage and positions it below a disco ball. “I need mirrors. It’s very important. As many as you can get your hands on including anything reflective like this right here. Well, this is a very sturdy chair.” He climbs on the chair and holds himself for a brief moment before attempting unsuccessfully to unbalance the chair with a slight wiggle motion.

“It’s a prop chair.” Miss Sprinkles answers.

“That chair as seen things. What do you need mirrors for?” Tom now leans against the stage and with curiosity making the best of him, he loses interest in pursuing the unwanted guest.

The Doctor pulls out a thin device, not much larger than a pen. With the press of a button the device briefly lights up and emits a seemingly electronic sound, passing it over the chair he continues to stand on. “What has this chair seen? It seems rather ordinary? How can you be so sure it has seen things?”

Miss Sprinkles shifts her weight, “Mirrors. What do you want with mirrors?”

Removing the disco ball from the ceiling, The Doctor tosses it from hand to hand. “Yes, well, it just so happens that behind this building pass the tree line is an intergalactic fissure. Someone, I’m not yet sure who, is trying to cross over to your planet. I need mirrors to try and reflect the light source back through the fissure to buy time for me to conclude who is trying to cross over, why -though I’m already very certain it’s not a good answer since these situations don’t usually resolve themselves in a ‘I need to borrow a cup of sugar’ type way- and lastly how to close the tear before it becomes a passage.”

“Yup, I’m out. Have fun.”

“Tom! You’re the one that is suppose to prevent people from coming in who aren’t suppose to be here. You let this guy in and then bail on me? Tom. TOM!” Miss Sprinkles runs after Tom, catching him at the door.

With the door open wide Tom is frozen, staring. A light can been seen in the distance, pass the back parking lot and through the trees. Miss Sprinkles sees it too and grabs a fist full of Tom’s shirt as a low growl seems to come from the light. Tom turns back into the building to find The Doctor removing another disco ball near the DJ booth, “Let me help you with those mirrors.”

Ran out of time. This story is to be continued because I’ll catch hell if I don’t.






Random Wednesday: How do I name my peoples?

Character naming.

Nothing turns me off to a story quicker than a stupid character name. Is that fair? Probably not. But if your main character sounds like a stripper, no amount of glitter is going to convince me your story is going to accomplish much.

I’m also one of those special kind of people who, if I can’t pronounce the name, my mind just kind of makes something up and I skim over it.

Like Hermione.

It’s been confirmed by many of my personal friends, except Jim but he is British so for the sake of this post he doesn’t count, if it weren’t for the movie: no one had any idea how to pronounce Hermione. At this moment my spell check is giving me the angry red underline. Hermione isn’t a word. Heh, muggle spell check.

And this would be “the dragon chick.” As I was reading Game of Thrones (I’m a terrible reader who doesn’t bother remembering what the actual book titles are and refers to all of them as “Game of Thrones”) my husband was reading them at the same time and would ask me “What part are you at?” And I would respond with “Well, the dragon chick…” Eventually he sat me down and explained “It’s Dan-air-ease Tar-gary-en”

We settled on Dany.

And speaking of Game of Thrones…

Catelyn Stark. CATE IS NOT PRONOUNCED “CAT.” Gate is not pronounce “gat” and hate is not pronounce “hat.” But someone out there wants to watch the world burn and it pisses me off so hard. Her name is CATElyn Stark. This is my rant.

But when it comes to naming characters in my writing I am not one to make up names. There is a time (future) and a place (fantasy) where making up names seem to be acceptable. Otherwise I stick with the familiar. What time period is your piece? What location? Look at popular names during that time period and depending on location, look at the demographic. Dutch, Polish, German? Talsma, Szcezpanski, Fahrvergnugen? I often refer back to my school years and think of familiar names which is where I came up with the main characters of my manuscript, Whitney and Evan. Their last names, Vanderveen and Murphy were from the almighty Google.

I would only warn that it would not be wise to name characters after real people and model them in a similar fashion. Your old high school friend named Kelly with blond hair and a little heavy set who was caught banging her boyfriend during her lunch hour in his car might find it curious if she were to read a story you wrote about an old high school friend named Kelly with blond hair and a little heavy set getting caught banging her boyfriend in a minivan at a movie theater parking lot.

You get my point.

Unless you are writing a biography – and if that’s your thing, I’m not exactly sure why you’ve made it this far in this post – and unless you are pulling a Tom Marvolo Riddle/Lord Voldemort maneuver, don’t over think names. It’s easy to obsess over but really, it’s the story you should worry about telling well. Or just skip the name in general. “Who is your character?” “I don’t know. He is a doctor of sorts, just not that kind of doctor. I plan on just calling him ‘The Doctor.'”

Yeah, I get he isn’t the most recent Doctor but I haven’t binged watched the most recent season on Netflix yet.

As always, the ladies…

Bronwyn Green

Jessica Jarman

Kellie St. James