Category Archives: Trifecta

Christmas Eve – Trifecta

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~*~
Lights!
I swear the year just started.
Barely
Had the chance to breathe.
How
To finish all the shopping?
Now,
Get out the door, let’s leave!
(Listen! Carols!)
Resulting drama
Christmas Eve?
Irreplaceable.

~*~
This short prose/poem written in response to Trifecta, asking us to reflect in 33 words or less on the holiday season.

Christmas always comes as a surprise to my family somehow, and there is always a lot of stress and yelling, and yet I consider my family to be one of the most festive and in the spirit. We have decor up right after Thanksgiving on good years. This is not one, but the drama is lovely somehow.

Speaking of:

Happy holidays to one and all. I will post this weekend about my family’s Polish American Christmas traditions and I hope you will share yours as well!

But first, a post on the flu.

Soliloquy – Trifecta Anticipation

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“Pass the salt,” you say

Head buried in a screen.

I obey, but feel somehow

Your work is but a door between.

Your dinner nearly done,

The dawning thought: I deemed

I’d seen this somewhere else before.

And then-

An Anticipation!

Of what our future might become.

The endless hours dragging on.

The night begun it seemed

Till fears had won.

And that is what’s in store.

Dour and sulking, I

Did ponder this soliloquy:

Do futures make themselves or are

they birthed on rocks of self-defeat?

“Enough,” I say, “I will not see

this history repeat.

So shut the screen and eat with me.

Let work be done now, dear and come!

Put away the Mac,

that horrid fiend,

that splits in two

all that we do

and turns my mood to darkest black.”

With that, my thoughts wipe clean.

You obey, but feel somehow

You’re not sure what you’ve seen

But wonder who’s at fault today.
~*~

I just went crazy with this. It’s sort of prose poetry in answer to Trifecta’s weekly challenge: the third definition of the word “anticipation.”

I am not sure what happened here, but I liked it. Done almost entirely as stream of consciousness with minor edits.

A soliloquy is a monologue in a show, spoken regardless of what else is going on around them. Or, a character speaking their thoughts. Which is pretty much what this is allllll about.

~jms

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Goddess Crush – trifecta weekly

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The city was hers.

Felicia wrapped her toga tighter around her thin frame and sneered down at her subjects.

She towered above them.

“You have turned from the old ways,” she boomed, her voice like thunder as it echoed. “Now, you shall pay!”

They screamed and ran. But they could not escape.

She pounded a car to scrap metal underfoot. She kicked over a building like it was nothing. If there were still people inside, all the better. She ground her heels on the frame.

To crush a tall building into powder… That was power.

The heathens would all suffer. They had forgotten their goddess. Today they could share in her pain.

A man tripped nearby. She smiled as she stomped towards him.

It was Tony. That no good, lying son-of-a-bitch.

He pleaded in a tinny voice. She couldn’t even hear him.

“Oh,” she mocked him, “you should’ve asked for forgiveness a long time ago.”

She bent over until she could make eye contact. “But it’s too late now!”

He ran. She straightened up. She raised her foot high–

“Cut! That’s a wrap, people!”

Felicia stepped away from the tiny plastic figurines and sighed.

“Coffee?” She asked an assistant. He ran to get it for her.

His smile was sweet when he handed it over.

Huh. He seems nice, she thought.

The director ran towards her.

“Felicia, honey, that was so inspired! Where do you get that passion from? I really believed you were a vicious killer out for revenge!”

He folded his arms, knocking the plastic nametag that read: Tony.

She gave him her sexiest smile over the rim of her plastic cup. “Oh, you know. Around.”

~*~

Trifecta’s prompt for this week was “crush”. As in grind into powder.

I had a blast with this one. I think we have all wished at some point we could get revenge on someone…

Felicia’s is, well, it’s certainly special.

Hope you enjoyed!

~jms

Dana and David- Trifecta Week Forty-Two

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A child’s purest love. That’s what she always had for him, and he for her.

Sometimes she felt like it was written on her. A note graffitied on a swing set by a school crush that everyone could see.

David and Dana went everywhere together. Did everything. Some would say they were so close they were connected at the shadows.

“I’m seven,” David told her at his twenty-fifth birthday party. He smiled over her homemade cake. “Admit it, I’m just a kid trapped in a grown-up’s body.”

He was. They blew out the candles together. She threw icing in his face. He bolted, upending the cake, and she chased him. They sprinted through the forest leaves.

It wasn’t long before she tripped over a tree root. He picked her up, laughing.

Their faces were close enough to kiss, and she leaned in.

“Dana!”

It was her.

David tried to run away and Dana held onto his arm.

“Please, stay! She won’t find us this time,” she told him.

That smile, so mischievous and loving. “Sorry, gotta go!” He vanished through the trees.

“Dana!” Her mother came into the clearing. She had one hand on her hip, and shook the pill bottle in the other. “Honey, you have got to remember to take these. You know what happens when you forget.”

Dana stared at the last place David had stood. At the splattered cake on the ground.

“Dana, was there someone out here with you?”

She bit her trembling lip.

“Answer me!”

“No,” Dana whispered.

She loved him with a child’s purest love.

She cried a child’s tears as she wished so very badly he was still with her.

“No one.”

~*~

Is he a ghost? Is she crazy? Is he just in her head? Or is he something else, something real and unseen by her mother?

That, dear reader, is for you to decide!

I wrote this in answer to Trifecta’s weekly challenge. The prompt was three pictures. I hope you like it. :)

-JMS

The Pirate of Walmart – Trifecta Week 49 Challenge

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Ahoy, matey – enemies starboard!

It was a disaster in the bread aisle at Walmart, and the Frankenstorm hadn’t even made landfall yet.

The clerk was two paces away from walking off the proverbial plank as he backed up, hands in the air.  “I’m sorry,” he said, trembling in his blue apron, “but you’re going to have to buy the bagel thins.  They’re all we have left.”

“Are you out of your mind?” the angry customer said, scoffing and folding his arms with a crunch.  He was wearing a blue poncho that enveloped him like a huge waterproof tarp.

It wasn’t raining yet.

“It’s a freakin’ hurricane!  How is my family supposed to survive for a week off of everything-flavored bagel thins.”

“We’re not paying $4 for these,” said the old woman, ”you’ll have to lower the price.”

“I-I’ll ask my manager…” the clerk began, shuffling his feet.

“$4? For bread? You whore!” a man in a yellow sweater said.  “This is Walmart, for crissakes!”

“Please,” a 30-something mother said, covering the ears of her 2 year old.  The kid wasn’t paying attention.

“That’s it, I’m going to 7-11,” poncho man said with slumping shoulders, weary and defeated.  “I hear they’ve still got Sunbeam bread for a buck-fifty”

“Seriously?” Intrigued, the mother lead her toddler away, “come on Timmy.”

“This is America!” yellow sweater shouted.  “How can you be out? Didn’t you people prepare?”

“Give me the darn things,” said the old lady, snatching the bag.

The clerk was already sneaking away.

“I’m not done talking to you!” yellow sweater yelled, sounding like an overly large five year old.

“Danny! Riot in the battery aisle!” called another clerk, wide-eyed as he paused in the mouth of the aisle.  “You gotta see this!”

I left the crazies of the bread aisle to their complaining and stole off with the bounty in hand: the last bag of bagel thins.  I, the pirate of the bread aisle, prepared for my final battle: the checkout line.

~*~

Image

Whore:

3: a venal or unscrupulous person.

This is the answer to Trifecta’s weekly challenge with the word “whore” in its third definition.

Real life DID inspire this, in that I did spend some time shopping at Walmart prior to the hurricane and did notice some clerks getting hassled about missing water and bread… though not to this extent.

I am watching Sandy take my area “by storm”.  I hope I didn’t go “overboard” with the pirate analogy.  I seriously wrote this by candle and flashlight during the power outage.  THAT is dedication.

ENJOY!  ~JMS

Trifextra Challenge: A Good Tree

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~*~

A good tree is shelter from storms with your lover, a table where your future children do arithmetic, and after you’ve lived your life and gone to grey, a coffin for your grave.

~*~
For the Trifextra challenge this week, yes I am back! In 33 words, take an object and let it tell a story used three different ways.
Trifextra Week 28 Challenge

Friday Check-In with Trifecta

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Friday Check In With Julia

What is your name? (real or otherwise): Julia Mae Guenevere Staley. Also known as J.M. Staley, and JMS. If you use some of the memes out there, I SHOULD be called Mae Tosca. (Middle name, street you grew up on.)

Describe your writing style in three words: Dark, descriptive……Dialoguesque?

How long have you been writing online?: Since I was 13, but I’ll never tell where my bad fanfiction resides!!!

Which, if any, other writing challenges do you participate in?: Indie Ink, Word Count Podcast, I plan to start submitting to Story Dam soon, Write on Edge, and others in the future.

Describe one way in which you could improve your writing: I have to pick one? Fine: writing nonsensical fragments. Because the other sort of fragments are all right, but the nonsensical ones make everyone confused as to who is talking: me or the character.

What is the best writing advice you’ve ever been given?: Murder your darlings. Or, five things, which I talk about at length in one of my blog posts here.

Who is your favorite author?: Sorry, no can pick! Patrick Rothfuss is my number one right now, but Neil Gaiman, Anne Rice, Steven King, Garth Nix and Phillip Pullman all make my top ten.

How do you make time to write?: I do it at work. (Whoops! Although believe it or not I am still the fastest temp they have ever hired here.) I set aside about a half hour every day and force myself to write over 1500 words within that time, to be edited later. What you see on the blog is only a little of what I actually write, but I can’t post things that give away major story plots in my novels!

Give us one word we should consider using as a prompt: “Careen” or “fool”.

Direct us to one blog post we shouldn’t miss reading: If by read, you mean listen…
I am about 33 minutes into this podcast and it’s about 8 minutes long. It’s the prologue from Ebony Book 1: Ragnor’s Bane. There’s harp and singing involved! I think you should hear it. Then give the other writers on the podcast a listen as well. Warning, the stories are dark, creepy, and most of them are not appropriate for young children’s ears. Or coworkers, unless you don’t mind being considered the weird cubicle mate. (As I will forever be branded….)

Old Hurts

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Ebony hovered somewhere in the void between sleep and waking.
It was wintertime, cold and smelling of ice and dead trees. She knew this memory taking form, and in her half-sleep she tried to tell herself to wake up and forget this place.
But the pull of the dream was stronger.
She saw herself as she tagged along behind the village boys from somewhere just behind and above–an invisible observer.
“I can play!” her seven year old self had insisted, stomping her feet on the forest floor.
Ian, the butcher’s boy, turned around, and she could feel her heart thump as her childhood crush turned to look at her. “You want to play the game?” he said, and she saw herself nod eagerly.
“Okay. You hide up in a tree so the Fae don’t get you. That’s them.” He pointed at half of the children. “Me and Sam are the Guild. We’ll come rescue you.”
“He won’t,” Ebony tried to tell her younger self, but it was like speaking from behind glass. She couldn’t hear herself.
“Okay!” shouted little Ebony before running off into the deepening woods, finding the best tree and climbing to the very top. Adult Ebony floated along of her own volition like she could fly.
She had always felt that the tops of trees were a safe place. The pixies liked it–why not her, too?
“He’s nothing but a liar. Go home,” big Ebony whispered, and with the weird inconsistency of dreams, little Ebony shrugged and responded.
“I know. But I liked him.”
“Idiot.” Big Ebony shook her head incredulously, but waited on branches’ edge.
Hours passed. Young Ebony fell asleep in the crook of two branches until the search party came and scolded her. She wasn’t frostbitten at all.
“But Ian said–” and Ebony watched her little heart break for the first time as she realized the truth.
Grown Ebony lay wide-eyed in the dawn-light, staring at the ceiling, breathing deep.
Some hurts never faded.
~*~

This entry is based on original characters and storylines from my original YA fantasy novel, Ebony BOOK 1: Ragnor’s Bane, currently in submission to agents.

This fulfills the requirements of Trifectafor the week:

safe adj \ˈsāf\

1 free from harm or risk : unhurt

2 a: secure from threat of danger, harm, or loss
b: successful at getting to a base in baseball without being put out

3 affording safety or security from danger, risk, or difficulty

4 obsolete of mental or moral faculties : healthy, sound

This week’s word is safe.

As well as storydam’s prompt:

Dam Burst: You are given a unique opportunity to go back and talk to a much younger you. What would you tell them about an old flame? And better yet—why? (We’re not trying to screw up your holiday. Please feel free to be completely fictional with this story.)

The King’s Road (Trifecta and Indie Ink Submission)

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The King’s Road

The constant, pounding ache threatened to rip his skull apart as he woke. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot, groaning with the splitting pain of every movement. It took a moment to remember he was at an inn.
He recalled having to stop for the night, because that was when the thieves came out to play on the King’s Road. He had been carrying something…
Standing, he shuffled slowly over to the cracked looking glass on the wall. Staring at his bloodshot eyes and the stubborn brown hair falling in lank waves onto his shoulders, he rubbed his face. His beard needed a good shaving. He was starting to resemble his father. He looked down for just a moment before the voice came into his mind.
You remind me of a man I once loved.
It was seductively female, and when he jumped with surprise, he knocked into the washbasin. It made a deep, metallic boom that resounded eerily as he swung around searching, but she wasn’t there.
That voice! It was the woman that had bought him a drink last night.
“You are the image of him,” the woman had said tearfully. “Please sit with me.”
He recalled deep blue eyes like sapphires and strawberry-blonde hair tied in a plait. He remembered their first drink, but the second was mostly a blur.
He had been carrying a bounty…
He tasted the familiar sweetness of the drug on his tongue as realization hit him. He flew to his rucksack and dumped its contents onto the bed.
There were some stale bread crusts and enough coppers to get him home.
The rest was gone.
He sat on the edge of the bed in numb disbelief. He had been robbed.

Halfway to Dover, Sapphire the thief smiled and tucked the precious gem back inside her cloak. Men became such fools when they thought themselves needed. They should be more careful on the King’s Road.

~*~

This excerpt meets two submission guidelines.

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Karla V challenged me with “You looked down for just a moment…” and I challenged Kurt with “Your character or someone close to them is always getting sick. Write a situation under 500 words in which there is a conversation about this.”

Trifecta Week 12: image noun \ˈi-mij\ 1: a reproduction or imitation of the form of a person or thing;especially : an imitation in solid form : statue 2 a : the optical counterpart of an object produced by an optical device (as a lens or mirror) or an electronic deviceb : a visual representation of something: as (1) : a likeness of an object produced on a photographic material (2) : a picture produced on an electronic display (as a television or computer screen) 3 a : exact likeness : semblance b : a person strikingly like another person 4 a : a tangible or visible representation : incarnation b archaic : an illusory form : apparition

These characters and the setting are based on ideas from my original YA fantasy series, “Ebony”.

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Old Friends: Trifextra Love Story

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Trifecta’s new weekend challenge is right up my alley, as I am sick and missed the weekly shebang. I present to you a love story in exactly 33 words about two old friends:

~*~

I balked with disbelief then as his storm-cloud eyes sought mine, hooded with desire. His persistence won out, although our love was quick as a summer rain. Now, we are grey-haired and wistful.

~*~