Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Insecure Writers Support Group; Housing

Greetings. In the last five years I've been through a lot. We lost our home but rescued it in a short sale so we didn't suffer a foreclosure. That procedure took 4 years alone. I published my books, see side bar. I lived in a roach and black mold infested apartment and nearly died. My doctor said break the lease or die. We did. The apartment evicted us and came after their money. We won the court case and they were told to remove the eviction from our credit report. Now we were turned down for an apartment because of the eviction and that we owe too much money since Bank of America hasn't removed their lien on us, illegal on their part. Fortunately we have all the legal documents. Unfortunately, our current landlord gave us two weeks to move. We aren't the only ones. The parking lot is full of rental trucks. The landlord is turning these units into section 8 housing. For non Americans, that means the apartments will be rented to poor people who need government assistance to live. The landlord will then charge the government $1,300.00 a month. He currently gets $850.00 a month. Do you smell a skunk yet?

We were turned down for an apartment due to the above mentioned foreclosure and lien. No apartments are available until May. Those fly by night motels want $70.00 per night or $350.00 per week. We don't have enough unless we don't pay our bills and give up eating.

Are you out of breath yet? I am.

A year ago I was admitted to the hospital and spent ten days in ICU (Intensive Care Unit.) I almost died. Then I was transferred to a rehabilitation center for 5 weeks. People loved me because I was so positive.

All this, the struggle to live, only to be homeless. It sucks!

I've finished chapter  25 of my sequel to The Treasures of Carmelidrium.

Not sure if I'll have the internet to visit anyone. I'm writing this on February 28.

There where two things in life that I valued above all others. To be loved and have security. For me, security is a home. I married a man who was so abused as a child that he doesn't know how to love. He knows how to criticize. And I have no home. Panic is an emotion I'm submerging in boiling water to release myself from it's hold.

Sorry this is a downer.

To visit others who will be ore positive, go here.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Insecure Writers Support Group, What's Up?

Greetings all, it's the first Wednesday in February and that means it's time for IWSG, created by the thoughtful Alex J. Cavanaugh who is practicing his ninja skills even as you read this. But instead of flashing swords, he brandishes a guitar. If you'd like to read more IWSG post go here.

My name is Nancy and I publish under my initials, N. R. Williams. I'm too old but, I won't tell you just how old I am. Sorry.

I'm about 3 quarters of the way done with the sequel to my epic fantasy, The Treasures of Carmelidrium. Which is available as an e-book on Amazon. See the side bar. I could use some more reviews.

I bet I can guess what you're going to say. "I don't read fantasy." No problem, my book is easy to read for anyone. There's mystery and suspense, music, a villain and romance. Oh yeah baby. It has it all.

The sequel is long over do but I have a good excuse. I almost died. My recovery has taken some time. But now I'm whipping through the chapters at about five a week. Of course, once it's done I have to edit, rewrite, edit and then send it off to my editor.

The title is, The Rise of Lord Sinon and I hope to release it this fall.

That's my news, same as last time. What's up with you?


Here's a tease.

Warning: Includes a spoiler to the ending of the first book.

Lord Sinon Awiergan stood in the center of the Library at Château de Talaith. Coal from hell burned his stomach. High King Healden sat at an intricately carved desk in the middle of the room and had yet to look up from the study of a stack of papers. A grandfather clock on Sinon’s right ticked away at his nerves.
The oval room had a spectacular view of the west gardens and the stable. The late summer sun shone through multiple windows and splashed against the rich deep blue carpet. A circular wrought iron staircase connected the main floor to the upper interior balcony which supported grand bookcases. The rosewood dome ceiling finished the magnificent room.

            It was rumored that the windows had been imported from L'Amérique, the queen’s home world. Another time Sinon might have enjoyed the vast display of the grounds and gardens of the château, but at this moment his nerves cut him like razors. 

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Freesia's Dance, a flash fiction story.

Freesia’s Dance
Freesia lived in the gardens of Olympia square along with her faerie den. Her lovely pink droplets caught the early morning dew and the evening moonshine. Many colors of the freesia plant, which she was named for, grew in the garden along with magnolia and poppies. Part of the terrace walkway traveled around a rose garden while cherry trees flanked the water fountain.   
            During the day Freesia fled from the human caretakers of the garden through the portal. At night, when a concert played in the open shell shaped building nearby the faeries hid from the humans who passed through the garden on their way to listen to the orchestra. Once the humans had settled in with their backs to the garden Freesia ventured out. She was so adept at the human music she could name the instruments.
            “Violin, flute, piano,” Freesia said, naming the familiar tones. Lifting her chiffon dress in shades of green and pink she twirled rapidly into the air. Her butterfly wings fluttered so quickly their shades blended into a rainbow behind her back.
            With toes pointed, Freesia danced just above the plants that bore her name. She skipped to the beat of drums and summersaulted in mid-air along with the sweet notes of a flute.
            Many faeries traveled from neighboring gardens to watch Freesia dance. Her delicate moves inspired faerie artist and even the local faerie council adjourned their meetings early to attend Freesia’s performance. But…Freesia’s smiled belied her lonely heart. If only she could find a faerie male who loved to dance as she did.
Far away in the river bend lived a male faerie who was named for the moss that covered the rocks near the water’s edge. His hair curled all around his head I shades of green. When rain fell, his hair grew unruly and a visit to the faerie barber was in order. Other faeries in his den tended the tall grasses of the plains or grew mushrooms from the decaying roots of trees. Wild flowers were abundant and all the female faeries were named after them. However, Moss wasn’t content with his faerie lot. He didn’t want to tend the green plant that spread from rock to tree trunk. He wanted to dance.
In the summer when the cricket’s chirped and the meadow lark sang his song, Moss would dance above the river. He skipped over the rocks and dove beneath the water to ride a rainbow trout as it leap into the air after a fly.
Many of his male counterparts laughed at Moss. But the faerie females would often clap and cheer for joy at his achievements.
Once a human pulled their car up alongside the river and it was then that Moss heard human music for the first time. He longed to travel to a city where he might hear more music.
On a full moon Mosses den had a visiting faerie who spoke of a beautiful faerie girl who loved to dance. When Moss learned of her he packed a change of clothes and caught a ride with a dragonfly. They traveled over plowed fields of corn and wheat. Cottonwood trees lined the riverbanks. Large boulders sprang up and a weeping willow swayed in the breeze dipping her skirts in a pond.
Moss arrived late one evening, drawn by the most beautiful music he’d ever heard. He settled beneath a magnolia and watched with rapture as Freesia danced, He couldn’t help himself, he had to join her.

His wings were gossamer white, his clothing as green as his curly hair. He skipped on a magnolia petal and twirled in mid-air joining Freesia as she threw her arms wide and pointed one foot.  
Freesia stopped dancing when the stranger flew to her side. She backed up holding herself airborne and covered her mouth with her hand.
            “I am Moss.” He bowed. “I love to dance and when I heard of you and this place filled with music I had to come.” Moss began to dance to the swell of the orchestra. His face lit with pleasure as he twirled. Freesia smiled. A moment later she joined him. Delight sprinkled their faerie dust on all the flowers beneath them.
            As the evening grew long and the music became silent, Moss took Freesia’s hand and they flew to a private place near the water fountain.
            “I was born for this,” Moss said.
            “You dance beautifully,” Freesia said.
            They spent the remaining hours before dawn sharing their life story. Every night they danced. Their laughter filled the garden. The rocks near the fountain grew moss on one side. Fireflies joined dragonflies to light the plants and walkways.
            When autumn came and the music grew silent Moss remained. Winter soon covered the plants with a white dress. Spring brought the renewal of life and the flowers stretched their green leaves. Summer brought warmth and music once more to the garden and Moss led Freesia in her dance.
            On mid-summers night eve, Moss married Freesia beneath the cherry trees. “Now our dance will never end,” he said and sealed his love with a kiss.

Word count: 857

For those of you who are new to flash fiction, it is traditionally 1,000 words or less. This amount of words forces the author to tighten the story and often doesn't allow a long plot or in depth character building. I do hope you enjoyed my faerie tale. I’ll be posting new stories on the 20th of each month.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Insecure Writer's Support Group, New Years Resolution 2015

Hi, I'm Nancy. I publish my stories under my initials, N. R. Williams. I thought about coming up with an alternate name, but in the end I am who I am. I'm a published author, mom and grandmother. I'm old and gray but I have a twenty something heart.

I want to thank Alex for coming up with this blog-hop.

The first Wednesday of the year and I've been naughty. I meant to post the last two months but time got away from me. So what is your New Year's Resolution ISWG's?

Truthfully, I rarely make resolutions since it seems a set up to fail. So I am calling this my New Years Goal. I'm going to finish the sequel to my epic fantasy, The Treasures of Carmelidrium, titled, The Rise of Lord Sinon. I've written 31,772 words to date.

I'm going to buy Scriveners and Dragon Speak to help me. I'm going to re-edit 'The Treasures of Carmelidrium,' since I found some mistakes when I re-read it. And...I'm going to learn how to promote.

I did think I might try to publish a bunch of flash fiction stories, but I think I'd rather spend my energy on writing the three remaining stories in my fantasy series. After all, having nearly died last spring, I'd like to get them done before I actually do.

What's your New Years Goal?


To purchase kindle version of The Treasures of Carmelidrium. click on link.

To read other excellent post go here.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Write...Edit...Publish. Mr. Wag a ghost Story

Time again for another flash fiction story for Write...Edit...Publish, created by my awesome, Aussie friend, Denise Covey. The inspiration this month is Halloween of course and ghost in particular. I hope you enjoy my story and when you have finished reading, please head over and read the other stories by talented writers. Here's the link.

Mr. Wag

I threw up.

“Again?” Mom said walking into the bathroom. “What’s going on Betsy? Is something wrong at school?”

“No,” I said. I’d already told my parents. They took me to Dr. Howard, a therapist. He didn’t believe me and neither did my parents. I knew it was hopeless to say anything again. I asked for a dog. A dog would sleep with me, walk with me, protect me. Dad said “no.” My parents bought me a goldfish instead. It swam around and looked stupid.

The temperature outside had dropped overnight. I was glad. I pulled on my new coat. Pink with white faux fur around the hood. I pulled it up over my blonde curls. Mom settled my backpack over my shoulders.

“Are you coming home for lunch?” Mom asked.

“No,” I said. Truth was, I’d love to come home for lunch, but that meant I’d have to walk by the cemetery two extra times. School was only three blocks away. But the cemetery was one block on the opposite side of the road and stretched all the way past the school. Recess was a nightmare.

“It’s not cold enough to have your hood up,” Mom said. “It’ll mess up your pretty hair.”

“That’s OK,” I said and hurried outside before Mom could ask me anymore questions.

I ran toward the corner and then stopped. I could see them. Pacing between graves. Some leaned on trees. Others stood before their grave stone weeping. I could hear them too. The trick was to not let them know I could see and hear them. I pulled up my hood even more and tucked my head down before I crossed the street. Each step forward brought more anxiety. I felt sick again and swallowed the vomit in my mouth. I knew how each one died. Some had swollen eyes, others were really old, a few wore military uniforms, the Civil War right through the current one. By the time I reached school half a dozen were following me including a really scary one with half his head blown away. I pretended I didn't see them.

In class I found my seat. They hovered by my desk, whispering. “My name is Frank,” the one with half a face said. “Tell my Mom I love her.” “I’m Walter,” an old man said. “I miss my wife.” “Alice, Alice, Alice,” a third one repeated over and over again.

Tears stung my eyes and I wiped them before anyone noticed. My teacher was reviewing our spelling words for the week. “Cemetery,” she said. I almost jumped out of my skin.

“What’s wrong Betsy?” she asked quietly coming over to my desk and standing right inside of Frank. She shivered and pulled her sweater closer.

“Nothing,” I lied. She wouldn't believe me if I told her. Then my parents would get a phone call and I’d go back to Dr. Howard.

When Miss Stewart, my teacher, left I addressed the ghost under my breath. “Go away, I have to study.” They went to the back of the class and stared at me. That’s when a little boy joined them. There were tire marks across his chest.

After lunch I went outside with my classmates. I didn’t have any friends. The other kids all thought I was weird. I hid as close to the school building as possible but it didn’t matter. More ghost joined the ones who were near.

Frustrated I blurted out. “I can’t help any of you. I don’t know your Mom, or your wife. Go away.” Todd Greenburg heard me and stopped to stare, the ball he’d been playing with firmly in his grasp. I gave him an embarrassed smile and felt my lips quivering.

The walk home was flanked by the ghost insistent whispers. “I don’t want to die.” “I love my Mom.” “War is hell.” “The doctor said I’d be fine.” “Can you call my Mom? Her name is Wanda.” “My wife is in Pleasantville Retirement.” Alice was weeping in a high pitched scream. I had a headache.

That’s when it happened. I saw the dog. A German Shepard. A shadow of its living self, it came running across the street right before an oncoming car. The car drove by and the dog ran right through it. His tail was wagging, his tongue lolled out. He had a collar on. I reached down and turned his name tag over.

“Mr. Wag,” I said and smiled. I petted his ghostly head. Mr. Wag growled at the human ghost. They stepped back.

I continued to walk home with Mr. Wag by my side. The human ghost didn't follow me. I had a bologna sandwich and gave a piece to Mr. Wag. He ate it, except, not really. I had to throw it away. No human ghost bothered me while I studied and later Mr. Wag sat at my feet while I watched T.V. 

When bedtime arrived, Mr. Wag jumped up on my bed beside me. That night when the ghost crowded into my room Mr. Wag growled at them, jumped off the bed and chased them out. Then he came back and lay down next to me again. Happy, I petted him and his tailed wagged.

In the morning Mr. Wag greeted me with ghostly kisses. He came to school with me, lifting his leg at random bushes and peeing. Nothing came out of course. He lay next to my desk at school. The human ghost hid from him. We went outside together. I walked Mr. Wag all around the school yard and wasn't troubled by any ghost.

Life changed after Mr. Wag came along. I finally found some good friends. It’s been nine years and I’m headed off to college soon. Mr. Wag will come with me. I love Mr. Wag.

Word Count: 970

I’m really glad that I don’t see dead people. I did have a dog that I loved very much. He’d always lie at my feet when I worked on my stories. After we put him down because he was old and sick, I heard his nails on the wood floor. I told him to go to the other side and never heard him again. I miss him terribly. 

In other news. I could use your help. I have two flash fiction e-book stories available on Amazon. They are Free. It says 99 cents but below that it says, read this title for free. I need some reviews, if you wouldn't mind downloading them, reading them and giving me a review I'd appreciate it. While your at it hit the 'like' by my name.Thanks.

Here are the links.

Once again, thank you so much. Nancy