She'd figured out the ritual ages ago. Or, at least, she was fairly certain she had. The only way to find out was by actually trying it and she didn't dare do that while she didn't have the house to herself. Unfortunately, her parents almost never went out anywhere and when they did, they tried to only do it when they wouldn't be leaving their only daughter alone. Typical, over-protective parental units. Finally, though, she'd convinced them that, at sixteen, she was more than old enough to s...

"I am not an extremist," he declared for the world to hear. His companion, an almost too-young girl trying to make herself look too-old with her piercings and hair dye and leather and ink tittered into her hands. Well, she likely would have murdered anyone -- imagined murdering them, at least -- who claimed she had tittered because of course she'd done something more dignified. Like snorting. Made an amused sound. Something like that. She followed up the not-tittering with rolling her eyes an...

"I am not an extremist," he declared for the world to hear. His companion, an almost too-young girl trying to make herself look too-old with her piercings and hair dye and leather and ink tittered into her hands. Well, she likely would have murdered anyone -- imagined murdering them, at least -- who claimed she had tittered because of course she'd done something more dignified. Like snorting. Made an amused sound. Something like that. She followed up the not-tittering with rolling her eyes an...

CHAPTER ONE: In which our story begins and we meet our lovely heroine The festival was a riot of sensation. Around them swirled sounds from a dozen directions: the tinkling notes of a musician playing the harpsichord, laughter from a gaggle of teenaged girls, the shrieks of small children running about, cheers from the joust field, the cries of food purveyors vending their wares, the periodic clang of the bell on the strong man game, and hundreds of little dramas being played out in a thousan...

CHAPTER ONE: In which our story begins and we meet our lovely heroine The festival was a riot of sensation. Around them swirled sounds from a dozen directions: the tinkling notes of a musician playing the harpsichord, laughter from a gaggle of teenaged girls, the shrieks of small children running about, cheers from the joust field, the cries of food purveyors vending their wares, the periodic clang of the bell on the strong man game, and hundreds of little dramas being played out in a thousan...

The lie fell so easily from her lips, "I'm sorry, I don't have any cash on me." Maybe it would have been worse if she'd said I'm sorry, I don't have any money, that would have been obviously a lie when she was walking out from a grocery store, cart full of bags of groceries, about to put them in her not-so-old car. Maybe the girl asking her quietly out there in the chilly parking lot, "Miss, could you spare a few dollars for some food?" couldn't tell that there was at least a ten dollar bill ...

Picture a little dock on a calm, quiet lake surrounded by trees and birdsong. On the dock are two people sitting in lawn chairs. One of them is an older man, his hair thinned to gray whisps and his face and body marked by time and age and life. Beside him, in the other lawn chair, sits a little girl, probably about ten or eleven. She's got long blonde hair and sky blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses through which she watches the world around her. They're both holding fishing poles, thei...

As a child, I moved around very often due to my father being in the military. I think my mom once said we moved 13 times in 11 years...or 11 times in 13 years, I forget exactly, but either way, it was quite often. Because of this, I became pretty self-contained. I read books often, devouring them, spent a lot of time by myself, and didn't really learn some of the more intelligent ways to relate to people. At least as far as people my own age were concerned. I was much better able to relate to...

The world has tilted and down come the                                        fat                             white     icy snow flakes fluttering ...

When I was a child, we lived for a time in the city of Mota, Sicily. My dad was in the Navy and stationed at Sigonella and until we moved far enough up on the list to get base housing, we rented a flat -- I suppose you might call it that -- from these old Italian people who lived next door. I suppose base housing was "better" for a kid to live in, what with having a real backyard to play in and lots of other kids around and a playground nearby but I remember loving that place in Mota even if ...