Tag Archives: author

DR. PAUL’S FAMILY TALK: Bobby Nash

“Dr. Paul’s Family Talk” Impact Radio USA

While Impact Radio USA’s “Dr. Paul’s Family Talk” program is on vacation, let’s listen to some of our member’s interviews from past shows.

Join host and WU! admin, Paul W. Reeves as he talks with author Bobby Nash from a show broadcasts on April 6, 2018.

Click to listen to the podcast of the radio show interview:   https://pod.co/impact-radio-usa/author-bobby-nash-4-6-18

Award-Winning Author, Bobby Nash, from the area of Atlanta, Georgia, called in to discuss his terrific books, his works in progress, his writing schedule, and his website.

Bobby Nash writes novels, comic books, short stories, novellas, graphic novels, and the occasional screenplay for a variety of publishers. Bobby is a member of the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers and International Thriller Writers.

He was named Best Author in the 2013 Pulp Ark Awards. Rick Ruby, a character co-created by Bobby and author Sean Taylor also snagged a Pulp Ark Award for Best New Pulp Character of 2013. Bobby has also been nominated for the 2014 New Pulp Awards and Pulp Factory Awards for his work. Bobby’s novel, Alexandra Holzer’s Ghost Gal: The Wild Hunt won a Paranormal Literary Award in the 2015 Paranormal Awards. The Bobby Nash penned episode of Starship Farragut “Conspiracy of Innocence” won the Silver Award in the 2015 DC Film Festival. Bobby’s story in The Ruby Files Vol. 2 “Takedown” was named Best Short Story in the 2018 Pulp Factory Awards, one of five nominations for The Ruby Files Vol. 2 (created by Bobby Nash and Sean Taylor). Bobby’s digest novel, Snow Drive was nominated for Best Novel in the 2018 Pulp Factory Awards.

Between writing deadlines, Bobby is an occasional actor and extra in movies and television, including appearances in Deviant Pictures’ Camp Massacre (formerly known as Fat Chance), FOX’s The Following, USA’s Satisfaction, AMC’s Halt and Catch Fire, IFC’s Brockmire, DC’s Doom Patrol, and more.

You can learn more about Bobby Nash, contact him, and order his books through his website at:

http://bobbynash.com

Award-Winning Author, Bobby Nash, from the area of Atlanta, Georgia, called in to discuss his terrific books, his works in progress, his writing schedule, and his website.

An award-winning author, Bobby Nash writes novels, comic books, short stories, novellas, graphic novels, and the occasional screenplay for a variety of publishers. Bobby is a member of the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers and International Thriller Writers.

He was named Best Author in the 2013 Pulp Ark Awards. Rick Ruby, a character co-created by Bobby and author Sean Taylor also snagged a Pulp Ark Award for Best New Pulp Character of 2013. Bobby has also been nominated for the 2014 New Pulp Awards and Pulp Factory Awards for his work. Bobby’s novel, Alexandra Holzer’s Ghost Gal: The Wild Hunt won a Paranormal Literary Award in the 2015 Paranormal Awards. The Bobby Nash penned episode of Starship Farragut “Conspiracy of Innocence” won the Silver Award in the 2015 DC Film Festival. Bobby’s story in The Ruby Files Vol. 2 “Takedown” was named Best Short Story in the 2018 Pulp Factory Awards, one of five nominations for The Ruby Files Vol. 2 (created by Bobby Nash and Sean Taylor). Bobby’s digest novel, Snow Drive was nominated for Best Novel in the 2018 Pulp Factory Awards.

Between writing deadlines, Bobby is an occasional actor and extra in movies and television, including appearances in Deviant Pictures’ Camp Massacre (formerly known as Fat Chance), FOX’s The Following, USA’s Satisfaction, AMC’s Halt and Catch Fire, IFC’s Brockmire, DC’s Doom Patrol, and more.

You can learn more about Bobby Nash, contact him, and order his books through his website at: http://bobbynash.com

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Host Paul Reeves

A product of the Detroit area, Wayne State University, and Eastern Michigan University, Paul Reeves, Ed.D, has spent over 30 years as a professional educator and musician, as well as his work as a radio talk show host and author.

IMPACT RADIO USA provides the best in news, talk, sports, and music 24 hours a day, 52 weeks per year. Launched in the spring of 2017, their goal is to keep you as the most informed Internet Radio audience. Click on the link below for the station’s complete show lineup!

http://www.impactradiousa.com (click on the LISTEN NOW button)

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Stephanie Angelea: Three Pigs and a Gypsy

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

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( Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require attribution.) 

Three Pigs and a Gypsy 

By Stephanie Angelea 

Sometimes, the richest people in the country are the poorest. They are the ones who leave their families for the fellow man devoting their lives to people they’ve never met or shaken hands with at the corner cafe. They are the ones who are courageous and brave protecting a great nation in its many battles overseas and at home. For many, it’s a career choice. For others, there was the draft. Fighting in the deepest jungles of Vietnam, for example, four men climbed the ranks from the lowly grunt man to hold important positions, and the government listened to what they had to say without question. Three squares a day with medical and an education for a trade job was a dazzling opportunity no one could pass on, drafted or not. Uncle Sam wanted them and welcomed them with open arms, promising a bright future. A reward for their strength and loyalty. A loyalty that would soon come at a price of blood and death and neglect as the enemy advanced closer, testing the wits of entire units full of soldiers armed with machine guns and knives. The men kissed their loved ones on tattered photos and wore scarves around their necks to remember their wives or girlfriends. Death was everywhere and betrayal didn’t stray far from the barracks. No one bothered to unpack because the enemy was always near to run them out. 

“Dig deep down into that black heart of yours and find that kindness button, Hanky! You need to turn it on and show some serious love for these men so we can get the Hell outta here! By god, when we reach another safe zone, I’ll beat the shit outta you myself, you cranky bastard!” yelled John Pearltree. “Barrett and Vano both are on the verge of killin’ you and I’ve thought about it. I know you to act better!” 

“I can’t help it, I got so caught up in my investigation to find the TRUTH that I forgot to be nice and coddle everyone! The VC was on our ASS, damnit! Lt. Dandry gave them our positions with his back-alley drug deals that got him killed anyhow. It took me a while to find out who was doing what to whom!” scowled Hanky Thompson. “AND, I was trying not to DIE!” 

Captain Pearltree rolled his beady eyes and punched Inspector Thompson. He fell hard to the ground, banging his head on the concrete slab in front of his office. Blood gushed from his temple. The soldiers stopped what they were doing to rush over and watch the commotion, immediately applauding their captain. “Get up you old fool! You know we admire your ass but you get that CORNCOB OUT OR ELSE!” he laughed, angrily shaking the hand of his old friend. 

“Oorah!” the soldiers hooted, stomping their feet. 

“You made me bleed!” Hanky sneered, holding a handkerchief over the wound. 

“You’ll be all right. Ain’t nothin’ harder than your head!” John replied, patting his back. 

Their voices faded and you could hear a pin drop for the briefest moment as tears rolled down their wrinkled faces. John Pearltree, Hanky Thompson, Barrett Lee, and Vano Young warmed their cold hands over the fire barrel. Barrett’s laughter broke the silence of the alleyway between Marlee’s Juicer House and the old abandoned theatre on the corner that stood every bit of ten stories tall. 

“Shhhh, you’ll wake the others, Barrett,” John fussed. 

“Sorry. That story is still funny after all these years,” Barrett softly spoke. “Those were the good ol’ days.” 

“Yeah, at my expense,” cranked Hanky, turning to Vano. “Vano, Esther didn’t come home last night. She’s not in her box and all her stuff is still there. If she were going to move on down the block, looks like she would have taken her stuff, especially with it being so cold,” he continued. 

Vano Young was not only a brave soldier but was at one time an accomplished guitarist playing in numerous bands before he was drafted for the war. As a lone Gypsy, he took a likeness to the others right off and they to him. “I’ll ask Mark to go look for her. We’ll find her, Hanky,” he assured him. 

There they stood in all their glory wearing old jackets full of medals pinned sideways and huddling around the burn barrels watching tourists drift by the narrow eye of their dark home. It was lined with large packing boxes big enough for a body to seek shelter in and tents draped over shopping carts tied to the rusted railings of the fire escapes between the buildings. 

It was early morning and the busy streets of New York were already bustling with taxis and commuters speeding to work. Snooty couples took selfies to commemorate Memorial Day, posting videos “In honor of our soldiers who have fought and are fighting for our freedom! Thank you so much from the bottom of our hearts! Let’s honor them! Share this video. Hi!” They’d wave, yelling into their rectangular device. 

“If you want to honor some veterans, there’s at least sixteen of them down this alleyway here! I’ll take you to meet them and you can honor them like in your video,” snapped a tired-looking woman holding folders and a briefcase. 

“Ughhh, bitch!” the tourists scoffed, walking away. 

“You better lose that attitude! I know people!” she screamed at them. 

“Doris, why are you causing trouble so early in the morning?” a police officer asked her, leaning against his patrol car. 

“They called me a bitch, Stan! Really! Me!” she howled. 

“Well, I have known you to be a bit grouchy without your coffee,” he replied. 

“What brings you out this way. My vets in trouble?” asked Doris, breathing into her hands. 

“We received some more complaints about them from tourists and passersby.” He hesitated to proceed. “Mr. Jacobs, the owner of these buildings, is supposed to meet me here.” 

“Sorry to interrupt but I heard my name. I’m Mr. Jacobs. I own these two buildings,” he introduced himself, handing papers to Officer Stan. “I find it odd that so many people have an interest in defending my buildings against homeless people who risked their lives so their mommies and daddies could stay home with them. I mean, it wouldn’t matter if they were veterans or not. I own the buildings and I’m not complaining about them. I haven’t heard any complaints from Marlee either.” 

“I knew my ears were burning, Ted. I saw your lanky self stroll by my window pane,” Marlee sassed. 

“Morning, Marlee. How are you?” asked Ted, kissing her hand. 

“Oh fabulous!” she replied. “Doris, I made everyone their morning fruit and veggie soup plus coffee. The soup is loaded with nutrients and should keep them hydrated and full of energy. It’s so cold out but they can warm themselves by the fires and drink coffee. I packed plenty of styrofoam cups. I also brought more burn barrels for them too and had Freddie put them out. Most of them are so old.” 

“Who are you calling old, missy!” yelled Hanky. 

Horns honked around them, and pedestrians crossing the street yelled at the drivers for not yielding to them and flicked them a bird finger. The daylight was full and the sun shined bright with warmth. Barrett, Vano, and John followed Hanky to the sidewalk, curious to know why a cop and a suit were talking to Marlee and Doris. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean ‘old,’” Marlee laughed. 

“She made y’all some soup and coffee. It’s different fruit and veggie soup,” Doris said, organizing her papers. 

“Here you go, Hanky. It should be enough for everyone. I hate it’s cold soup again but it’s all I had. Fruits and veggies are becoming so scarce and expensive,” sighed Marlee. “I also made you all some morning coffee. It’s organic coffee but should help warm your core.” 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. We are all grateful to eat and drink something hot. Only a few of us are awake but I want to thank you from the bottom of the heart for all of us,” said John. 

He graciously hugged Marlee and handed the soup baskets and thermos canisters of coffee to Barrett, who distributed them out to each living station, waking the occupants. 

“Miss Marlee, we will surely return all these empties tomorrow,” Vano assured her. 

“I know, sweetie. I know.” She petted him, Vano being her favorite, both being Gypsies and all. Vano would catch her watching him in the alleyway when he played his guitar, and he didn’t mind because he fancied her too. 

Doris pulled Vano aside showing him some of her papers. “I need to get more data on some in your group to put into my system so I can find shelters and apartments for everyone to go to. This data is so vital in keeping up with everyone. Is Esther and Amanda still asleep or have they already made out?” Doris asked. 

“Amanda is up but Esther didn’t come home last night. I sent Mark to look for her,” replied Vano. 

“Did I hear you mention Esther?” asked Officer Stan. “She’s actually why I’m here. I came to let you know she was killed by a car late last night. I don’t know if she was headed here or what, but she missed the curb and fell into the street. A speeding car wasn’t able to stop in time. I came to see if one of you would accompany me to the morgue for identification and so that I can give you her belongings.” 

Everyone gasped and tears began to run down Doris and Marlee’s cheeks. 

“Oh no! Poor woman,” Mr. Jacobs exclaimed. 

“The ME said it was quick so hopefully she didn’t feel anything too much,” stated Officer Stan.

“I’ll go with you,” exclaimed Vano. 

“I’ve got to get back. Denise will have my hide if I leave her alone with the customers too long. She tends to fuss at them,” Marlee snickered. 

Marlee Campbell was a spirit-filled Gypsy woman who owned her Juicer business for eleven years now, renting from Mr. Ted Jacobs. Her health declined back in 2016, so she decided to get healthy and go raw vegan with a few secret cooked meals of healthy choices. Every day, with the help of Denise, Marlee made fruit and veggie soup for the homeless veterans and coffee. Many begged to live between the two buildings but there was no more room, but Marlee and Denise would still help those who could make it to them for food and coffee. One time a day was all they could do and everyone was always grateful. At nights, the soup kitchen down the block served hot soup and cornbread, staying open for a couple of hours after Marlee’s Juicer House closed, but they were not as nice as Marlee and Denise who were always kind. 

“Marlee, may I join you?” Doris asked. “Do you have the Zinger made yet? I love that breakfast Juicer. It’s my favorite.” 

“Yes ma’am, I sure do! Come on in,” Marlee excitedly invited her. 

“Suck up!” Officer Stan hollered at Doris as he escorted Vano to the front seat of his patrol car. 

Doris laughed at him and stuck her tongue out. 

“Officer Stan, if it’s ok, I’d like to stay and talk with the veterans for a while,” Ted pleaded. 

“Sure, come by the station when you’re done,” Officer Stan replied. 

Officer Stan hustled his car into the busy streets and a couple of truck drivers urged him on ahead. No one wanted to upset a policeman. 

“Hi, my name is Mr. Jacobs. What’re your names?” he asked. 

Hanky was the first to respond. “I’m Hanky Thompson. This is Barrett Lee. This is John Pearltree. Vano Young is the veteran who went with Officer Stan. I don’t know his last name. I’ve just always heard him called Officer Stan,” Hanky continued, while everyone shook hands with Mr. Jacobs. 

“How did y’all end up here?” asked Mr. Jacobs. 


“It’s a long story, but my wife took everything I had worked for and left me for my brother. John’s family moved away and left him stranded—he’s not heard from them since. Barrett’s bunch was killed by a car bomb in front of the patio where they dined—he never recovered from it when we returned home from the war, and Vano is a lone Gypsy who kind-of took a shine to us in the war, and we’ve not been able to shake that guitar playing fool yet,” Hanky laughed. “We were all MPs but when we retired and returned home, there wasn’t much left for us here. We weren’t exactly welcomed back with open arms with a job lined up or families to come home to. Since we were police veterans, a lot of the pedestrian hoodlums called us pigs and yelled hateful stuff. They still do sometimes but we’ve been homeless for so many years now, it doesn’t bother us,” he continued. 

“My father was Derrick Jacobs. He was homeless before he married my mother and she helped him learn a trade. It was the best time in his life when he saw her beautiful smile for the first time,” Ted reminisced. 

“He was lucky to have come across her. Is he still alive?” asked John. 

“No sir. He died many years ago but he bought these buildings when he retired from stock trading. I inherited them from him,” Ted went on. “I do know that I want to help all of you, if you will allow me to.” 

“What are you going to do with this building, Mr. Ted?” asked Hanky. 

“Well, seeing that many of you on these blocks need a place to stay and Marlee’s building floors sit vacant—I know she needs help—why don’t we turn it into a shelter for all of you to manage under the supervision of one of y’all, and everyone can work together and help Marlee and Denise,” Ted excitedly offered. 

“Are you sure? It’ll be a great upfront expense,” stated Barrett. 

“I know exactly how we can generate an income so everyone can pay for themselves and maintain the upkeep of the two buildings,” John responded. 

“How in the Sam Hill are we gonna manage that!” Hanky barked. 

“He has no faith in anything. He’s a grumpy old fool! Ignore his ass!” joked John. 

“Here is my card. You get with Officer Stan and y’all let me know what all you need and we will go from there. Here is the extra set of keys I’m entrusting y’all with, and also let Marlee know what’s going on and help tend to what she needs, if that’s all right with y’all,” Ted said, giving John the keys. 

“You trust us with the keys to your building? asked Barrett. 

“It’s not like you’re going to steal it and there are at least three people who have basically vouched for you—a cop, a Juicer owner, and a government caseworker. I don’t think I need any better references than that,” Ted Jacobs laughed. “I’ve gotta run. I’m late for a meeting. I also have three more empty buildings over the next few blocks, if you would like to set those up for people and get them off the streets.” 

“Bless you Mr. Ted. How will we ever repay you?” Hanky asked, tearing up. 

“Make sure everyone is taken care of, follow your friend’s plan and trust in him, and everything will repay itself,” Ted replied, shaking their hands and disappearing into the street filled with cars, utility vehicles, and angry New Yorkers. 

Six months later: 

Spring arrived and the warmth of the evening breeze carried the scents of Jasmine and Lilies throughout the city streets. Everywhere you looked, the mood of the temperamental travelers changed as they stopped to smell the flowers blooming in the window planters outside Marlee’s Juicer House, which had closed early for the evening to celebrate the after-wedding reception next door. The patio furniture was painted white, with turquoise centerpieces on the table and an archway of red roses decorated the doorway. Barrett strung some patio lights of twinkle stars earlier in the day. 

The beauty inside the old dilapidated building from its transformation was remarkable with the first floor sporting a vegan store of microgreens, fruits and veggies, plus herbs to homemade soaps and body bars like you would buy in the country at their Spring Festivals. The rest of the floors were renovated and painted a more homey color with everyone pitching in with specific duties, making it a wonderful sleeping/communal living area. The rooftop connected to Marlee’s Juice House and both were turned into luscious gardens for the stores below. Never again would there be a shortage of fruits and veggies for their soups, nor would the coffee pot have time to empty before a fresh pot was made. 

Out of the ruins, came the gardens. Out of animosity, came love and friendship. A piece of the country that four friends brought together from stubbornness and an agricultural knowledge that only three pigs and a Gypsy could have. 

“Stan, you got yourself a handful with Miss Doris but she’s a keeper!” Ted remarked jumping up on the corner curb. 

“Yes siree, I know that for sure,” Officer Stan replied, as he danced and kissed his beautiful new bride under the starry lights. 

“By golly, I am truly amazed at what you’ve done with the place. Both of them. They definitely needed a facelift. I’m just envious too at the profit you’re turning out of it with the nature store! Kudos!” said Ted, shaking the hands of John, Barrett, and Hanky. “In a million years, I never would have guessed something like this would do so well. Awesome job guys,” he continued. 

“Thank you, Mr. Ted. Everyone pitched in and we are all employed here making the products from scratch, and we’ve shown everyone how we learned to grow food in Vietnam. The other buildings you have up the block are of the same setup. They are doing well too. Those who live in Marlee’s building help her and Denise, so that’s a huge load off Miss Marlee and she is in better health,” said John proudly. “She and Vano will wed next month.” 

“Awww, yes. The sly bugger is serenading her on the far patio with my mom’s favorite song from Gypsy Kings—Djobi Djoba. A beautiful love song,” Ted said, humming its words and grabbing the arms of a pretty blonde and spinning her around the crosswalk. 

Laughter filled the corner blocks of New York’s busy streets where the restaurant chefs raced each morning to buy the fresh produce and herbs for their daily menus. The city life finally took a shine to them, including the tourists who came from all over to see the old veterans and the others who were homeless, featuring them in their videos like part of the family and gave them hugs every day. They were homeless veterans who were stripped of their families long ago, but the faith of a few brought them new ones.

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Please visit Stephanie on Facebook! 
https://www.facebook.com/tjdsam

Dr. Paul’s Family Talk: Caroline Giammanco

“Dr. Paul’s Family Talk” Impact Radio USA

While Impact Radio USA’s “Dr. Paul’s Family Talk” program is on vacation, let’s listen to some of our member’s interviews from past shows.

Join host and WU! admin, Paul W. Reeves as he talks with author Caroline Gimmanco from a show broadcasts on June 13, 2018.

Click to listen to the podcast of the radio show interview:  https://pod.co/impact-radio-usa/author-caroline-giammanco-6-13-18

Author CAROLINE GIAMMANCO, called in from Missouri to discuss her previous releases, Bank Notes: The True Story of the Boonie Hat Bandit and Guilty Hearts, as well as her upcoming release, “Inside the Fences”.

From her Amazon page: Caroline Giammanco grew up on a farm in the Ozark Mountains of southern Missouri. After high school, she attended the University of Arizona in Tucson, earning a Bachelor of Arts in political science. She later completed the post-baccalaureate education program at the University of Arizona. She has taught English in public schools for over twenty years in Arizona, New Mexico and now Missouri. She is the English Department Chairperson at her current high school. She is the mother of two sons, Rick and Kevin, and is active in the lives of Keith’s children, Marissa and Elise. Caroline and Keith plan on living on a small farm in rural Missouri upon his release.

Since this interview, Caroline has published a third book, Inside the Death Fences: Memoir of a Whistleblower. The story of her years as a teacher in a state correctional facility, the book reveals the corruption within the fences from both inmate and staff.

​To learn more about Caroline Giammanco and to order her books, please visit the following website: https://www.amazon.com/Caroline-Giammanco/e/B017KQZRU4/ref=dp_byline_cont_book_1

Caroline invites you to visit her page on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BoonieHatBandit/

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Host Paul Reeves

A product of the Detroit area, Wayne State University, and Eastern Michigan University, Paul Reeves, Ed.D, has spent over 30 years as a professional educator and musician, as well as his work as a radio talk show host and author.

IMPACT RADIO USA provides the best in news, talk, sports, and music 24 hours a day, 52 weeks per year. Launched in the spring of 2017, their goal is to keep you as the most informed Internet Radio audience. Click on the link below for the station’s complete show lineup!

http://www.impactradiousa.com
(click on the LISTEN NOW button)

Caroline Giammanco: 1472 North Sycamore Lane

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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(Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require attribution.)

1472 North Sycamore Lane

By Caroline Giammanco

The winter of 1945 warmed with a jubilance no bitter frost could touch. We had won the war, and our boys returned from the battlefront eager to regain a normal life. War brides returned with some soldiers while childhood sweethearts wed in simple ceremonies back home. No one felt the need for folderol. After all, the dark days of the Great Depression were still fresh in the minds of everyone, and instead of postponing nuptials for elaborately planned displays, many couples preferred to embrace the simplicity and excitement of a new era. Such was the case for Ellie and Emmett Fields, the newlyweds who moved into 1472 North Sycamore Lane on a brisk December morning. Their short honeymoon to the coastal Carolinas was over, and now Mr. and Mrs. Fields were content to settle into their new life.

Their life together was new, but their surroundings were not. I had known Ellie since she was a newborn. Her parents moved into the family home, built by the Caster side of the clan just after the Civil War. Always a bright and cheerful child, she could be found picking daisies in the backyard or playing hide-and-seek with her friends in the expansive rooms of her beloved home.

“I’m never leaving this house,” she told her mother at breakfast one morning when she was a mere five years old.

“Oh, really, young miss? What happens when Prince Charming arrives on his white horse to take you to his castle?” her mother, Sarah Caster, asked with a smile.

“I won’t go.”

“You won’t go if Prince Charming wants to marry you?”

“No, he will have to live with me here on Sycamore Lane.”

Sarah gave her daughter a peck on the cheek and tousled her hair. “You know this house stays in the family, and heaven knows your brother has no interest in living here after he finishes school, so you are welcome to this castle.”

Ellie grinned, and her missing front tooth revealed a pink tongue. She was delighted at the idea of making this her castle, and she never let go of that dream.

Ellie spent her childhood days imagining she was a character inside the elaborate, imaginative tales she spun as she played or sat watching the fire in the living room. She read books by the hour and wiled away sunny afternoons in the woods found just past the boundary of the backyard. Don’t get me wrong. She was social, too. Friends were numerous, and Ellie was invited to her fair share of parties. That’s how she met Emmett.

He was a fine looking young man, two years older than she was. He attended school in the neighboring town of Alton which was why they hadn’t met sooner. In those days, young people didn’t travel any great distance from home. Jake Olsen’s 18th birthday party brought them together one April evening. It was love at first sight, as the saying goes, and those two were inseparable until the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and Emmett answered the call to defend our country. Emmett Fields was a good man.

After the war ended, Ellie’s parents moved to Chicago to be closer to her brother, Dale, and his wife, Laura, and their two young children. The war had separated Dale and Laura too, and now that Dale attended the university under the G.I. Bill, and they planned on having a third child as quickly as possible, Ellie’s parents, Sarah and Henry, decided it was time to be closer to the grandchildren. Sarah and Henry had tired of the same routine and believed a change of scenery would be good for them. Dale, who was always Henry’s favorite, appreciated their help around his place. Ellie didn’t take offense to her parents’ departure. It meant, after all, that her castle awaited her and her prince.

Years passed as Ellie and Emmett settled into a life of their own. Children came. First, little Raymond arrived, followed closely by blonde-haired Lucy. Emmett opened a lumber and hardware business to accommodate the booming housing market, while Ellie maintained the home and raised the children. She volunteered generously at the veterans’ hospital, always thankful that Emmett had returned from the war unscathed. Ellie also chartered the town’s first Garden Club.

The yard smelled divine throughout most of the year. Jasmine, clematis, honeysuckle, as well as several varieties of flowering trees and shrubs, decorated 1472 North Sycamore Lane. Ellie was known for her exquisite rose bushes, and she grew a vegetable garden that could have fed a dozen families. The extra produce she shared with the wives who lost their providers during the war. Unfortunately, that number was high in our little town. Platoons were made up of young men from the same community, so when a platoon took a hard hit, say at Iwo Jima or the Battle of the Bulge, a generation of young men was wiped out all at once in a small town. The names of all the boys we lost will forever dwell with me. War is hell.

Ellie and Emmett had the normal ups and downs. Some years were happy ones; others were sad. They celebrated birthdays, Christmases, and other happy occasions. There was sadness too, as they lamented the passing of both of Ellie’s parents. The children grew, and while they brought much joy, they also brought stress and anxiety to Emmett and Ellie. When Raymond left to go to Vietnam, I thought Ellie’s heart was going to break. She stopped eating, and Emmett even took her to see Doc Harris. Those were some tense days as we waited for Raymond to return, but return he did. Life moved forward with the passing of time.

Grandchildren arrived. Lucy gave Ellie and Emmett a brood of youngsters to dote over. Her husband, Hal, an electrical engineer, provided an ample living for her and their six children. They lived a few blocks away on Hyacinth Street, and most days were filled with the children’s laughter and play. Raymond added three more to the mix. He lived nearby as well.

Oh, how Ellie enjoyed the sound of little feet running through her expansive three-story home. Her favorite place to spend time with them was in the living room with its fireplace. She spent hours reading to the grandchildren. Ellie was a good storyteller herself. She spun yarns of far-away places with castles and dragons. The fire crackled and the children’s eyes widened as Ellie concocted one tale after another.

Sometimes, she couldn’t believe her good fortune.

“Who would have thought?” she said one night as she nestled into bed next to Emmett.

“Who’d have thought what?”

“All those years ago when we met at Jake’s party… Who’d have thought that today we’d be where we are.”

“I don’t know, El. It seems to me you always knew you were going to be here.” Emmett winked.

Ellie gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder. “You know what I mean. Of course, I always wanted to live in this house. I mean who would have thought we’d have built such a fine life with a house full of beautiful grandchildren always running in and out? Our children are happy and successful, and sometimes our good fortune just brings tears to my eyes.”

“I knew what you meant, dear. Yes, the Lord has truly blessed us. Now let’s get some rest. We have that big day of shopping and checkups at the doc’s tomorrow.”

A quick hug and kiss, and the lovebirds were sound asleep.

Many good memories were made on Sycamore Lane, but not all were happy. Sometimes heartache hits even the happiest of homes. I loved Emmett as much as I loved Ellie, even though I’d known her since the day she was born. The news Emmett received that next day at the doctor was worse than any of us could have imagined. He passed before the next Christmas came. Ellie was devastated.

Raymond and Lucy both asked her to come stay with them.

“Mom, it’s not good for you to stay in that drafty old house alone. What if something happens to you?”

“I’m not leaving my home. I miss your father terribly, but that house has been my heart since I was a child. I’m not leaving it. I never feel alone as long as I’m there.”

Persistent requests for her to move were ignored.

“What if you fall, or what if the weather turns bad and the power goes out, leaving you with no heat?”

“I’ll be fine. There’s wood on the back porch, and I have my fireplace. I won’t go cold. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Ellie proved them right. She had frequent company and was never alone. Members of the Garden Club visited, and her kindnesses to the war widows were never forgotten. Someone was always checking on her, making sure she wanted for nothing. The grandchildren continued to visit, and young Elisa was as fond of the old house as Ellie had been as a child.

“Grandma, I want to live here someday.”

“I’ll tell you what, little one—”

“Grams,” she interrupted. “I’m fifteen. I’m not that little.”

“Well, you’ll always be my little Punkin’.” Ellie and Elisa exchanged a hug. “Since none of the other children have any interest in living here, I’ll make sure you get it when it’s my time to go.”

“Let’s hope that’s not for a long time, Grandma.”

“I’ll go when the good Lord wants to call me to his home, Elisa. Until then, you focus on your studies and become that nurse you’ve always said you wanted to be.”

Elisa and the other grandchildren beat a steady path to 1472 North Sycamore Lane. Even as they grew up, moved away, and began their own lives, they never stayed away from their grandmother for long. Ellie’s home was where everyone went to feel safe and relaxed.

Time passed, and slowly Ellie’s health declined.

“Mom, it’s time you move in with us or go to a nursing home,” Lucy told her.

Stubborn as always, she refused to abandon the place she loved. “I’m not going to leave my home. Just stop that nonsense.”

During Elisa’s last year of nursing school, Ellie passed peacefully in the night.

Now, here I am, alone. Elisa isn’t moving in until May, and I sit empty for the first time in decades. Some of you may have heard that expression, “If this old house could talk, what would it say?”

Now you know.

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Please visit Caroline’s Facebook Page and give her a like! https://www.facebook.com/BoonieHatBandit/

Write the Story: February 2019 Collection


Lynn Miclea: Memories of Murder

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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(Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require attribution.)

Memories of Murder

by Lynn Miclea

Keegan stood there, staring at the chair. He had loved using that chair and he cherished what it represented. The memories flooded back. He remembered tying his victims to that chair. The red-brown bloodstains on the floorboards were still visible.

The memories made him smile. He could see the terror in the eyes of his victims when he brought out the knife. He could still hear the screams. He hadn’t killed again in all these years since then. But that chair brought back the cherished memories, and he chuckled.

Keegan remembered how the police were closing in on him and how he quickly left. He had been careless, and they had gotten too close — they had almost caught him. He had barely managed to stay one step ahead of the cops, but it was not easy. They were good.

He fondly ran his hand along the back of the chair as warmth filled him. He was too old now to kill again — he was no longer interested in that. But the memories were wonderful.

They did not bring back the family members he had lost, but they had brought him some relief, even if it was only temporary.

He silently said goodbye to the chair and the memories. It was dangerous to even be here.

Tomorrow he would retire from the police force. This case would remain unsolved, and his record would be spotless. He thought about retiring on Maui, with endless sun and sand — a fitting end to a brilliant career.

A broad smile erupted on his face. He had done it. He was free.

As he turned to leave, he heard tires screeching out in the street in front. A neighbor in a hurry? Then he heard more tires. What was going on?

A loud voice thundered through a bullhorn. “Police! You are surrounded. Come out with your hands up!”

Images of Maui beaches dissolved into images of a jail cell. Where did he mess up? What had he done wrong? How did they know?

He glanced out the front window. Four cop cars were out in front. His own squad — he knew them all. A huge sigh escaped him. He knew they were already at the back as well. All exits were covered.

He would not go to jail. There was only one way out now.

He opened the front door and saw the shocked looks on the faces of the officers who he had worked next to all these years.

He raised his handgun, aimed it at the cop who he knew was the best sharpshooter … and felt his body jerk backward as rounds of ammunition hit him.

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Copyright © 2019 Lynn Miclea. All Rights Reserved.

Please also visit Lynn’s blog, like the story there, and follow her at – https://wp.me/p4htbd-o9

Write the Story: February 2019 Collection

Calliope Njo – Snow Angel

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms. Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support!

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Please note: the images we will use as prompts are free-use images and do not require attribution.)

Snow Angel


By Calliope Njo


I noticed her from a distance. I knew it would take a few seconds to reach her. I swooshed down the hill, came to a stop and looked around where she paused. A snow angel would be the sole remnants under that towering tree.


My old instructor would tell me to get my head out of the clouds and onto the slopes where it belonged. Funny thing though, my mind has always been on the slopes because that’s where she showed herself ever since that first day.


I climbed up all the way to the cabin I had been staying at. Cozy and rustic little place but it suited me. What I needed. Maybe if I asked that old man he could tell me more.


I couldn’t sleep and spent the night staring up at the ceiling. Her blonde hair swirled in the wind. Her icy blue eyes crinkled at the edges. Ah hell, nothing got accomplished lying down.


I grabbed a lantern by the door and held it up when I stepped outside. I didn’t expect to see anything, but a strange blue light floated in my direction. I waited there and somewhat hoped that light would disappear.


The blue light transformed into the mysterious woman. She stayed at a distance and smiled in my direction. Not sure what that slight tilt of her head meant but I waved her in. She backed up and with a gust of wind, disappeared.


I ran out to try to find any hint but no luck. I walked back to the cabin and closed the door behind me. I leaned against it and feared I lost my mind.

I settled down on my cot and didn’t expect to fall asleep but I must have. The next thing I knew the sun shone through the window.


Phoenix Constatine, the gay skier. Phoenix Constatine, a new patient in the mental ward. I laughed. It didn’t stop. I needed to talk to that old man.

A note on his door read that he had to go to the village to get more supplies and would return in two days. So much for that plan, because I won’t be here.


I spent the day skiing the mountain and no luck. She blew away someplace that couldn’t be found. Maybe I dreamed up the whole thing because of stress and exhaustion.


I had to return home to Colorado. As much as I wanted to stay I couldn’t. Maybe next time I would be able to find that magical spirit. I packed my stuff and put it by the door.


That night something whispered my name. I opened the door and she stood right in front of me. She reached out her hand. Curiosity got the best of me and I took it. So frosty, not warm like I expected.


She took me to a high mountain, a place above the clouds. Too beautiful to not look or wonder what lies below. I hated the thought, but I had to leave to get back home.

She shook her head. “You are home. Where you belong.”

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Please visit Calliopie’s blogspot and follow her! https://januaryedition.blogspot.com/2019/01/extra-extra-read-all-about-it.html

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Write the Story: January 2019 Collection

Words of Hunter S. Thompson

 

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Hunter S. Thompson was born in Louisville, Kentucky, in 1937. He showed a knack for writing at a young age, and after high school began his career in journalism while serving in the United States Air Force. Following his military service, Thompson traveled the country to cover a wide array of topics for numerous magazines and developed an immersive, highly personal style of reporting that would become known as “Gonzo journalism.” He would employ the style in the 1972 book for which he is best known, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which was an instant and lasting success. For the remainder of his life, Thompson’s hard-driving lifestyle—which included the steady use of illicit drugs and an ongoing love affair with firearms—and his relentlessly antiauthoritarian work made him a perpetual counterculture icon. However, his fondness for substances also contributed to several bouts of poor health, and in 2005 Thompson committed suicide at the age of 67.

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https://www.biography.com/people/hunter-s-thompson-9506260

A Look Back….

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Today marks the two-year anniversary of the Writers Unite! blog, and we want to share a bit about how the blog came to be and why.

Writers Unite! was created as a haven for all writers to share their writing for critique without fear of ridicule and where novice and experienced writers could learn from each other. We were fortunate to enjoy very steady growth and to gain exposure by appearing on Paul Reeves’s radio program, Dr. Paul’s Family Talk. As our outreach broadened, we began to grow at a staggering rate.

In the late summer of 2016, the admins decided that we needed to take the Facebook group, Writers Unite! to the internet to increase the exposure of the group and expand the content we could provide. On October 12, 2016, Writers Unite!’s blog on WordPress launched.

Building a blog is a slow process, but we have labored to bring a quality blog to our members. Included in the content available are series about writing your first novel, self-editing, marketing, as well as guest articles and podcasts of interviews from Dr. Paul’s Family Talk of authors (many who are members of WU!) and the group administrators. You will also find writing tips and writing advice from famous authors.

We are a global community and this is your blog. The admins want it to reflect the information you want to see. Please let us know what content you would like to see posted.

Thank you for the support all of our members have shown for the Facebook site and the blog. We couldn’t do this without you!  Happy Anniversary to YOUR blog!

The Admins of Writers Unite.

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Follow the WU! blog or enroll using your email address.

Writers Unite! Tips on Writing: How to Open Your Novel

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Writers Unite! Tips on Writing: Story Foundation