Thorns in Your Side (IWSG)

Do you ever feel like the awful parts of life are a blessing? 

This month, most Americans reflect on their blessings. I penned out the "gratitude" introduction for LightningQuickReads theme this month (a free flash fiction blog). The opportunity to post monthly on that blog has been both a blessing and a thorn in my side. It means having at least one piece of fiction available every month.

EVERY month. 

(Now take into account that I had a baby this year, and the fact that I'm an UBER perfectionist...)

Initially I was WAY ahead on the deadlines, but this last month I finished with only 4 days to spare. Talk about stress. One or two of those pieces made me want to slam my head against the wall. Repeatedly. For weeks.

At the same time, every month I've had to produce a piece of flash fiction. EVERY MONTH. Can you imagine how fabulous my flash fiction skills have become? And more than that. I used to struggle with short stories BIG time, but they're just longer pieces of flash fiction. I can literally write to any theme, any length, and do it in a reasonable amount of time. 

But it hurt to get here. To this point. This magical place. 

I think often we get stuck in the pain and forget that every ounce of suffering can become a blessing. When we're called, invited, required to pass through hard things, they have the potential to make us better. Every experience can be a blessing. We just have to step back, take a breath, and see the big picture.

 

Last week Cortney Pearson shared with us PHOBIC, along with two truths and a lie. Those who guessed the lie correctly were entered into a random drawing for the chance to win a signed paperback book.

Cortney's Game:

1. I met my husband while cleaning toilets as a student custodian.
2. I nearly drowned in the ocean when I got trapped beneath a boogie board. 
3. I sang in a band in high school.

The lie: #3. Cortney's friends were in a band in high school, however, one time she played the bass part on a keyboard because their bass player was unavailable. She totally rocked the bass line for Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" on the keyboard.

Way to guess everyone! And the winner is:

...DRUM ROLL...

Jess!!! (AKA DMS)

Congrats, Jess!

And now for this week's feature... 

Kevin Pierce is a teleporter, a ladies’ man, and a loyal friend . . . or so he thought.

As a genetically altered Luminary, he helps the government bring down some of the most dangerous criminals. Not very challenging if you have his special abilities. But when a group of rebel Luminaries attacks his Organization the fight for survival begins.

One shattering event after another tests the depth of his relationships, his sanity, and his powers. Emotionally torn, Kevin must choose carefully where his loyalty lies. In the middle of all the unexpected chaos he gets the biggest shock of his life when he’s faced by a betrayal he never saw coming. Angry, injured, and ready to even the score, Kevin goes Static . . .

Get your copy HERE.

Ready to meet the author?

S. K. Anthony is a writer, a reader and a make-stuff-up-er who lives in New York with her husband and toddler twins. She is a wine connoisseur, which just really means she knows she loves it, and a caffeine addict. When she isn’t busy with her family, she finds herself being transported into the world of imagination. Well, either that or running away from spiders . . . she is convinced they are out to get her!

She adores mozzarella, but also gets lots of odd looks from waiters/waitresses at Italian restaurants because when eating pasta, she always begs for MORE fresh Parmesan cheese. The cheesier, the better!

S.K. gave me two truths and one lie to test your "lie detector" skills. Those who figure out the lie will go into my magic hat for the chance to win an eBook of STATIC.

You have until Tuesday, November 10 at 1 p.m. EDT to guess. Be sure to come back for the answers on November 11.

TRUTH OR LIE

1. My nickname is Macaroni. And to live up to my name, I’ve spent a lot of time in the kitchen trying out different Mac and Cheese recipes. I must make only the very best ones . . . oh, the sacrifice I put my cheese-loving family through! 

2. I got arrested in Italy. My passport was once stolen while visiting and I had to travel around by myself without the tour group I’d gone with. I communicated the whole way in Spanish, between that and their Italian I got from Venice to Florence in trains then back to Rome, but then one thing led to another, miscommunication happened, and I ended up arrested. 

3. A few years back I wanted to invest in a MacBook Pro, but hubby said the price was too outrageous. We were on vacation at the time, and were on our way to the casino. I said, okay, if I win the money I’m getting it. I won $800 in one slot machine and $980 in another. Both were penny machines, and I didn’t play over $10 . . . so I got my beloved MacBook for free.

So sleuths, which is the lie? Have you been working through any thorns lately? How you do feel about genetic engineering?  

The Anywhere's 4: The Book

http://mosshead.deviantart.com/art/Elmhurst-27875755?q=boost:popular+suburban+street+night&qo=160

Kaitlyn stood on the darkening curb, framed by a box of light from a window, clinging to her ancient treasure, mammoth backpack threatening to tip her onto her backside.

Biology study group. She hated Biology. Especially the study group. How many times a week could she stand to be laughed at for mistaking chloroplast for chloroform, or mitosis with osmosis?  No matter how she dedicated herself, the ideas wouldn’t stick and her private school chums were ruthless.

“Stupid biology.”

Her focus at piano lessons earlier had been abysmal. Karate was no different, and she had the bruises to prove it—not that she didn’t always take a pounding in Karate. She’d earned “Kamikaze Kaitlyn”, or Kamikaze for short, or Kami (which really bothered her because of the political connotations, comi for communist). ‘Steer clear of the Kami!’ they’d whisper when she entered the room.

“Stupid Karate.”

The window shades dropped, leaving her in shadow. That chipper little house promised a full night’s humiliation. Unless…

She slid the invitation out of her new-old book. Decorative parchment made her fingers tingle. A special symposium, rare artistic opportunity at her favorite place on the planet…

Her phone read 8:25 pm. If she hopped back on the bus she could be there with five minutes to spare—

But then, what about Mr. Strange?

The backpack finally won, pulling her onto her rump.

“Stupid gravity.” She set the invitation aside, sliding her backpack off sore shoulders.

Instant light smacked her in the face. She raised an arm to shield herself, peering around it at the circle of radiance, a headlight. The car sat parked on the curb not ten feet away, but no one started it. It just sat there, blinding her.

Paranoia clenched her throat. A hundred stories about stalkers and kidnapping raced, unwelcomed, through her mind. Strange cars, watchers in the darkness, and an abandoned street…

Snatching up her invitation, she leapt to her feet, racing blindly for the stairs of her dreaded biology inquisition.

Smack. She landed again on her rear.

Black leather boots stood over her, leading up to denim jeans, a black T, fitted leather jacket, crossed arms, and black hair with vibrant red streaks.

The woman, probably only five or six years older than herself, smirked. “Hello Kaitlyn.”

She frowned. “How does everyone know my name? Who are you?”

“You’re wanted at a convention tonight.”

She blinked out her astonishment. “Did Mr. Strange send you?”

“I’m here to escort you.”

“You mean kidnap me?”

The woman laughed. “You have the book. That’s a good thing, but don’t think it’s going to protect you. You have absolutely no idea what’s at stake tonight.”

Kaitlyn swallowed. “Who sent you?”

“Come on, get up. We have to get moving.”

She shook her head. “I-I have to go to biology-”

“There are very few things you have to do Kaitlyn Strom.” The woman offered a hand. “Coming with me is one of them.”

Climbing to her feet, Kaitlyn clasped the book closer.

“You have the key too?” her kidnapper inquired.

She nodded.

“I’m Rose.” Throwing the chevy door open, she pointed at the seat. “And this is your chariot, oh child of paper.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“I’m not the bad guy,” Rose promised.

“There’s a bad guy?”

“Get in.”

Kaitlyn hesitated.

“Or I can force you.” The mischievous smile was enough to convince her to obey. She landed on a black padded seat, clinging still to her book, door snapping shut.

Rose pulled away from the curb, examining the rear view mirrors carefully. “I work with an association of agents, talented ones like you.”

“I’m not talented.”

“Then you don’t know yet? It will happen, and soon. I’m betting tonight.” Rose turned onto a main street. “At any rate, I’m not like you, but I know what you can do. Pretty crazy stuff.”

Reaching into her pocket, Kaitlyn realized her cell phone waited back on the curb somewhere. So much for calling 911. She was at the mercy of psycho lady.

“Have you even cracked that book yet?” Rose asked.

Only to read the inscription on the inner cover. Loosening her hold, she stared at the worn cover.

Dad disappeared after reading it. This was the only clue she had to his sudden departure, and although she was dying to search for leads, half of her feared she would find one. Half of her feared she wouldn’t. Truth is, the superstitious side of her warned that danger waited in these aged pages—which was ridiculous, of course.

Her fingers brushed over the old leather, shivers running up her arms. She brushed at the goosebumps. Whispers tickled across her mind.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“Hear what?” Rose watched the road intently.

No. She must have imagined it.

“What are you afraid of Kaitlyn Strom? It’s just a book.”

What was she afraid of? She flipped the tome open, landing on a page with a wood-engraving print. A man stood on the prow of a fishing boat, spear raised, helmet gleaming against a stormy sea. Behind him sat another man, balancing the vessel, face half enshadowed by a hat.

She squinted closer. His eyes turned to her.

“Dad!” she gasped.