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Wednesday’s Word with Ann M. Lynn

Welcome, Ann M. Lynn. Enjoy her guest post on Wednesday’s Word of the Day!

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About my process:

Christi honored me with her invitation to participate in Wednesday’s Word of the Day. I decided to write a non-genre story, because that’s what I see on Writing Under Pressure. This confused my poor husband. As he test-read, he kept looking for the speculative element. It’s not there.

My word was “creep.” Two concepts come to mind at the same time when I think of this word: (1) a person who intentionally causes stress to another person and (2) to move slowly, as if in escape of a predator. This story incorporates both meanings.

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An End to the Creepy Game

This is kinda mean, Cali thought as she waited, scrunched in the dark closet with her head against a box of Fruit Loops. I’ve won the last three–oh, ha!–the last four times. Even if he hasn’t stopped playing, he’s not going to like me using food against him.

Her thoughts disintegrated at the sound of her cousin’s soft, halting footsteps. He was braced for her attack but unable to guess at its direction.

She held her breath, as much as to keep herself from giggling than to prevent him from hearing her. He stopped in front of her door, horizontal stripes of blonde hair, a black shirt and blue jeans visible through the slats. She’d left the kitchen light on to help cover her form in the closet’s shadow. His head turned: hair, ear, cheek. She half-closed her eyelids to cover the whites of her eyes.

The door opened.

She lurched forward. “Boo!” she said, inches from her cousin’s face.

“Holy–” Hayden fell back, twisting to hit his side on the island counter and sliding to the tile floor.

Cali threw herself beside him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you this time?”

“My breakfast!” he answered.

“I know, I shouldn’t have, but I realized I could fit and you couldn’t, and I’m sorry. Are you alright? I’ll get an ice pack.” One bare foot sank into  soft object halfway across the kitchen. She lifted her foot to see the mutilated remains of a cheesecake slice.

“Great, Cali. Making me drop it wasn’t enough?” Hayden grunted with the effort of standing.

“My girlfriend made that for me, you know.”

“You were eating cheesecake for breakfast?” Cali hopped the remaining distance to the freezer on the foot not coated in ick. “What’s wrong with you? You’d hit a sugar low by your second class.” She pulled the freezer door open and grabbed their ice pack.

He pulled the pack out of her hands. “Now I’ll get something on campus. Like ibuprofen and caffeine. You can clean up the mess.”

She yelled another apology to his back as he headed for the front door.

I don’t think he’s playing anymore.

* * *

When Hayden returned after dark, Cali tried to talk with him.

She closed her textbook and set it beside her on the sofa. “I sent you messages.”

“I saw.” His book bag hit the floor with a thunk. He picked it up with a grunt after his shoes were off.

“How’s your back?”

“Fine.” His expression showed as much comfort as a thunderstorm.

“Hey-day, I won’t sneak around the house, anymore.”

He sighed and stopped to lean against the sofa. “I don’t see the point, anymore.” Some of the dark energy in his face and voice lightened. “You can obviously wake up in time to get to classes. So can I. Wasn’t that the point of creeping each other out?”

“Yep.” Months ago, he’d snuck into her bedroom to shake her out of sleep. The anticipation that one of them would scare the other each morning had encouraged them to wake earlier and earlier until they were no longer arriving on campus late or ungroomed.

“But I owe you one, Cali-girl.”

“I know.”

* * *

Mornings passed with as much anticipation as before, at least for Cali. Whenever she entered her bedroom or the bathroom, she locked the door. She padded through the house on the alert for sounds of movement or the smell of aftershave. She couldn’t help but jump every time Hayden turned a corner. He smiled and acted like nothing bothered him.

And why shouldn’t he? He didn’t have to worry about her popping out of strange places.

The biggest concern for her was the old rules didn’t apply. Hayden’s attack could come at any time from anywhere.

Pleading to set rules didn’t help. He refused to say when or how he’d end her debt.

On the third week, she gave in. Doors stayed unlocked, and she turned her back to them as she studied. Other times, she wandered through the house with the hope of entering a trap.

Hayden struck on the fourth week.

* * *

Coming home from a particularly long day on campus, she hauled the front door opened.

“Surprise!” In the living room, about a dozen friends and classmates threw their hands in the air.

Hayden strode forward to give her a hug. “Happy birthday, Cali-girl.”

Cali glanced over her shoulder at every smiling face. “That’s on Sunday.”

At the sight of her cousin’s warm smile, tears welled in her eyes. A month of waiting and he’d scared her with kindness. “Hey-day, I’m sorry. I never imagined you’d do this for me. Are we even?”

His smile widened. “Just get some cake.”

She grinned and turned to wait for her piece. The cake made her mouth water. Layers of gooey chocolate dripped onto one plate then another. Her chemistry partner handed her the last piece. “You’re supposed to get the first piece, but you were busy.”

“Thanks.” Fudge filling jiggled on her plate. “May I have a spoon?”

“BOO!”

Something tapped Cali’s shoulder. She spun to face her attacker. Too late, she remembered the slippery condition of her cake. Chocolately goodness lay on the floor as ick.

“Now we’re even,” Hayden said. “You can clean up the mess.”

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Ann M. Lynn is a writer of speculative fiction. One of her favorite hobbies is reminding people that hope and kindness can exist in the darkest of places. She resides in a place of light and shadows, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her husband, cat, and dog.

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Playing Wordsmith for a Day

Every Wednesday, I face off with Wordsmith.org and write on whatever term Mr. Anu Garg, Logophile Extraordinaire, tosses out. He’s hit me with some oddities, like buskin and artiodactyl, and some familiar but not-so-writerly words like quantum and cagey. I love the challenge to write on whatever word surfaces on Wednesdays, and I also love to share that challenge.

Last month, I embarked on a tradition of inviting a fellow writer to take on Wednesday’s Word of the Day. The only difference, so far anyway, is that I get to play Ms. Wordsmith Master. I don’t haul out my College Dictionary – which currently holds down the fort on a shelf in my living room – but, I do have my own versatile word bag at home (courtesy of Ariel Gore).

E. Victoria Flynn, fellow mother writer and first victim, wrote a great piece on Wednesday’s Word, which you can read HERE.

Today, I’m excited to give you a preview of this week’s Word of the Day Challenger: Ann M. Lynn, from Shadows in Mind.

When I think about Ann, I am reminded of a response I received from a seasoned writer, when I said I loved to write but didn’t know what to write about.

“Why don’t you start by writing about what you know,” he said.

If each of us writes about what we know, then I imagine Ann has a host of stories bubbling inside of her. Ann is a writer, an artist, a photographer, a singer, a dancer, a student of martial arts. Rumor has it, she even knows how to fence. She belongs to Liberty Hall Writers, a community online that poses a weekly Flash challenge: take a prompt, go on a 90 minute writing spree, then submit your story. Online. For the rest of your collegial writers to read.

Ann is very brave.

She jumped at the chance to participate in Wednesday’s Word of the Day. And, I cannot wait to see how she incorporates…well, you’ll have to come back on Wednesday to find out her word.

While you eagerly await the next 24 to 36 hours, click on over to Ann’s blog. Her recent post continues a discussion – and offers great insight – on the psychology of naming your characters. On her sidebar, she lists some excellent links to writing prompts of different styles. And, for a taste of her flash writing, check out this post based on an image as prompt.

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Ann M. Lynn is a writer of speculative fiction. One of her favorite hobbies is reminding people that hope and kindness can exist in the darkest of places. She resides in a place of light and shadows, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her husband, cat, and dog.

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‘Til Wednesday!…

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The Aunt Evelyn Report

Today’s word of the day, from Wordsmith.org, bears the simplest definition.

Fleet Street. noun. The British Press.

You might think a few words of meaning would make for an easy quick write on Wednesday’s word. Not for me. It’s the little things that trip me up in life.  The etymology of Fleet Street, however, sheds a little more light on a tough challenge :

After Fleet Street in London, once the center of British journalism.

I, like my son, do not like to lose at anything, so sometimes I make up the rules as I go along — it’s called being flexible. And, I say, since etymology directly affects a definition, it counts as usable material when concocting a story around Wednesday’s word.

[Check back next week for a Guest Post on Wednesday’s Word by Ann M. Lynn at Shadows in Mind]

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The Aunt Evelyn Report

Aunt Evelyn was like Fleet Street, personified, a real hub-bub of information.

That’s what her British boyfriend said, anyway. Aunt Evelyn met Richard on a Retirement Cruise last winter. It wasn’t a cruise for those en route to retirement, but if you were retired, you could cruise.

And, Aunt Evelyn did.

She came home with a sunburn, a bag of stories illustrated with souvenirs, and a new boyfriend. Richard lived in D.C., but he flew out to Ohio every few weeks to visit Aunt Evelyn.

“I fly out here to love on Evelyn and to get the facts straight on the latest news. Your Aunt has more credentials than the Washington Post!”

The amazing part was that Aunt Evelyn often knew what was happening even before the person to whom it happened.

Once, I stood in the cold on the side of the freeway and stared at my car. The last two minutes of driving had felt like I’d been four-wheeling in the bed of a dried up creek, and I couldn’t figure out why. Before I made the circle around my car, I looked up and saw Aunt Evelyn’s black Lincoln pull over behind me. She stepped out of the car and held up her index finger up, signaling me to hold up a minute. She was talking on her cell phone.

“Yes. That’s Right. Thank you so much, Mr. Frederickson.”

“Aunt Evelyn? What-”

“I just happened to pull onto the freeway about two miles back, and I saw you pull over. Looks like your passenger side front tire failed you. I’ve got AAA on the way.”

“You just happened to pull onto the freeway?”

She told me to get into her car and warm up while we waited. “Sometimes life works that way, honey.”

But, life always seemed to work that way for Aunt Evelyn.

When my fiancé broke up with me, Aunt Evelyn appeared at my door before I had a chance to let it sink in that he was gone. My fiancé had been facebooking with his high school sweetheart and decided she knew him better than me, even though they only dated for a year – fifteen years ago – and we’d been together for the last five. Ten minutes after he took the engagement ring off my finger and drove off in his new Mazda rx-8 (black with gold pin stripes), Aunt Evelyn rang the doorbell. She held out a bouquet of flowers.

“I was just on my way to the mall, and I bought these flowers off an old man at the corner, just a few blocks from your house. I thought you might like a little pick-me-up on a cloudy Saturday afternoon.”

I broke down, and she ushered me into the kitchen. She poured me a glass of tea and told me, men come and go.

“Love is blind, and you never know when the end is near.” She spoke from experience. Husband number one left her for the neighbor’s daughter. Husband number two took off for a “business venture” in Hawaii, with his best friend.

“What every girl needs is a nice Brit from out east who only visits for long weekends.” She patted my shoulder and said she’d be back after her errands to take me out to dinner that night, and for as many Saturday nights as I needed.

Sometimes I wondered if Aunt Evelyn didn’t have psychic powers, especially after my mother’s stroke. Aunt Evelyn and I arrived at the hospital at the same time, and we entered into my mother’s room hand in hand. But, when the doctor walked in with my mother’s chart, Aunt Evelyn’s expression revealed the seriousness of my mother’s condition before the doctor spoke a word.

Two days later, Aunt Evelyn called me at midnight and told me to meet her at the hospital. We snuck into my mother’s room and each took one of her hands, while she took her last few breaths.

When Aunt Evelyn told me she had Alzheimer’s several years later, she said her life was like reading the newspaper with holes in it. Details got lost first, then whole sentences disappeared. She was afraid that soon enough, the only thing left from her story would be an image. Richard stopped visiting because “it was too hard to see her that way.” So, I spent most evenings with her those last few months. After a while, she couldn’t remember my name, but she still smiled and patted my hand every time I sat down next to her.

When she died, her lawyer sent me a thick envelope. Inside was Aunt Evelyn’s passport, a large amount of cash, and a piece of stationary from Carnival Cruises upon which she wrote one sentence.

Gather the facts, trust your gut, and take a cruise.

I used the money for a ticket on a Norwegian Cruise. I didn’t meet a Brit from out east, but I read about every stop before we docked, in honor of Aunt Evelyn. And, once, I took a wrong turn on the third floor of the cruise ship and ran into a man whose wife was choking on a peppermint. I performed the Heimlich maneuver and saved her life.

My name and picture showed up on the front page of the cruise ship’s Daily Reporter.


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