I'm a mother, wife, author and gardener. I grew up in Western Washington, 5th generation on the land my parents own. My passion is writing, which I have been doing since I was 14 years old. That did not mean the stories were not there before. I just never thought to write them down until then.
I love gardening and reading. I am also addicted to puzzle games. They may be my downfall. lol While I will from time to time post a project that we are doing in the garden, I am hesitant to write a review on another book. I will say which ones I like and recommend that someone should read a particular book or series, but too many times I read reviews that nit-pick or slam a writer. We put out hearts, our minds, our souls into what we write. Who am I to say it is wrong, or something could have been done better due to my preferences. I am neither judge nor jury, and I don't want to be.
I also won't talk politics or religion on here. For me, this is not the place. Besides, it will kill the creativity if all I do is rant and rave about what I think is going on or wrong in either subject. Soooo not worth it.
Okay then. Enough about me. Please, look around. Tell me what you think, but I ask that if you don't like something, please be nice about it. :)
Have a wonderful day!
I once had a dispute with my English professor. She said, no matter what you’re writing, you should always write an outline. I said bullshit…just say no to outlines. Maybe if you are being forced to write about something you aren’t really feeling (such as an essay for English class on the differences between Finnish and American governments) then, yes, an outline may be of some help because it’s not like it affected your spirit so deeply that you are bursting with something to say in reply. (Well, it didn’t me anyway.) But when it comes to poetry and prose…these are things written (or should be written) in the moment, as you feel it, when your spirit is deeply stricken with an emotion that you can’t do anything else but spill your feelings onto the page.
When I write, and this includes everything on my blog, I do not edit…
To trust once trust is broken
To love again once love has died
Difficult at best
Impossible for most
But possible none the less
When necessity is born
And choices are taken away
To overcome impossibilities
So life may survive another day
I was at Red Robin waiting for my hubby to show up when and idea hit me. Why not take something in everyday life and make it sexy. I have seen this done before, but I being around all that food gave me my subject. I also wanted to see the response I would get on Twitter since no one would see the picture until after they read the poem. he he he. It was a lot of fun. 🙂
Pete watched Kirsten from the kitchen where he was cooking dinner. She sat at the table typing away on her laptop as she did every night since Jeremy’s death. It hurt his heart to see her so despondent. He missed the vibrant Emma, always quick with a laugh or sarcastic statement. Never before had he felt so comfortable with a woman, so at ease. The way she acted around him, as if he had always been there, led him to believe she felt the same way towards him. If only….
He shook those thoughts out of his head. They would only hurt both of them in the end, and Kirsten had enough loss for one lifetime. Still, he needed to do something to brighten her eyes.
An old song from the 70’s came on the radio. One of those songs everyone knew and would always sing and dance to. Suddenly he had an idea. Turning the stove down on low, he went to the stereo and turned the volume up. When Kirsten looked at him with a puzzled frown, he grinned at her, holding his hand up.
“Dance with me,” he said.
The small smile she awarded him was worth the effort, but it wasn’t enough.
“Come on, dance with me,” he said again dancing his way to where she sat. His grin broadened when she started laughing nervously.
“I can’t dance to this?” she exclaimed her face turning red.
“Of course you can!” Pete exclaimed grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. “You’re with me so of course I will make you look good.”
This got a big laugh from her as he whirled her around the small living room. Soon they were both singing and laughing as Pete expertly twirled her around, moving as if they were one. As if they were made to dance together.
Too soon for Pete the song was over. He finished it with a flourish, bending her over in a dip that would impress Fred Astaire. Pulling her up so he held her against him, both of them breathing hard, he suddenly had the urge to kiss her. Then the music changed. Something slow and sensuous began to play. Wanted by Hunter Hayes. Before they realized what they were doing, they were once more moving to the music, only this time something was different. The intensity between them had changed. As the room grew unbearably warm while they locked eyes,
Pete slowed their dancing until they were stopped.
“I should get back to work,” Kirsten whispered her voice breathless.
“And I should get back to dinner,” Pete whispered his eyes going to her lips.
Neither one moved.
“Pete?” Kirsten said. Whether it was in warning or wanting Pete did not know, nor did he care.
“I know,” he answered.
Still, they did not move from each other’s arms.
Unable to stand it a moment longer, Pete slowly lowered his lips to hers. When their lips finally touched it was everything he thought it would be and more. When she did not pull away he began to deepen the kiss, his arms tightening around her as she melted into him. Heaven could not be as sweet as the taste or feel of the woman in his arms.
Something in the background invaded his nirvana. As he slowly backed Kirsten to the couch the sound kept nagging at him, pulling him away from what he knew was right on so many levels.
“Pete?” Kirsten’s voice called gently. “Pete? Wake up.”
Pete woke with a start, gasping for air as he jerked up onto his elbow trying to get his bearings. He wasn’t in the living room and Kirsten was not in his arms. Instead she was standing at the end of his bed frowning at him.
“Are you all right?” she asked walking over to the side, sitting down next to him, her frown deepening.
Pete could only stare at her. A dream. It had only been a dream, yet it had felt so real.
Kirsten reached up, putting her hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked again.
“Fine,” Pete said hoarsely, taking her hand in his and pulling it away from his face. Swallowing hard he tried for a smile. “I’m fine,” he assured when he saw Kirsten did not believe him.
“I was going to go into the office and do some work.”
“It’s Saturday,” he said looking at the clock. Seven in the morning. What the hell? “Why are you up?” he asked sitting up, this time his face held the frown of concern. Absently he realized her hand was still in his, but he was reluctant to let go, and she did not seem to mind.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Kirsten said looking down at her other hand that lay in her lap. “I can’t stay here. It’s too quiet. I need to do something,” she added suddenly standing.
Pete watched as she paced his bedroom, wringing her hands. The last month had not been easy. Panic attacks followed by hours of despondency. Pete was starting to worry she would never pull out of her grief. Throwing herself into her work seemed to be the only thing that worked. Still, it was not where she needed to be on a Saturday.
“Let me get dressed and we will go do something,” he suggested.
“No,” Kirsten said a bit too quickly, her eyes going to his then just as quickly looking away. “Justin said he would take me. I just didn’t want you to wake up and find me gone. I didn’t want…”
Pete had climbed out of bed and went to her, stopping her babbling by taking her hands in his. “It’s no trouble Kirsten,” he said touching her cheek with his fingertips, drawing her eyes to his.
The kiss in his dreams flooded his memory, as real as if it had actually happened. Swallowing he dropped his hands.
“Just give me a minute,” he said again.
“All right,” Kirsten whispered her eyes still locked with his. “I would rather it was you. I feel safer with you.”
Those words said with such honesty and vulnerability set Pete’s heart rate speeding. Smiling, he touched her face one more time then walked past her and out the door. Once he was in the bathroom with the door firmly closed, he leaned his hands on the sink and let his head fall, his body shuddering. What the hell was he thinking, touching her like that. If Alex ever found out, if Alex had seen the way Kirsten looked at him and how he returned that look, he would be dead.
Turning the shower on to cold, he quickly washed off the last vestiges of sleep and the dream. Quickly getting dressed he joined Kirsten in the living room talking to Justin.
“I’ve got her,” Pete said smiling at Justin.
“You sure man. You don’t look so good,” Justin observed.
“Nothing a few gallons of coffee won’t cure,” Pete sighed. Grabbing his keys he opened the door for Kirsten. “We have to hit Starbucks before we do anything.”
“Sounds good to me,” Kirsten smiled as she walked past him.
Justin went back to his apartment as Pete and Kirsten headed for his car. It was going to be a long day sitting in Alex’s office as Kirsten worked, but as long as he was with her, he knew it would be a good day. When Pete turned on the radio, the song Wanted by Hunter Hayes started playing.
I heard a song on the radio and this scene came to me. It is during the second book of my series Obsession, called Seduction. I can’t remember what the song was that started this, which is bugging the hell out of me, but I did end with another song because this piece started out very differently than it ended.
This is it, the moment I have been waiting for. Hours of practice, of honing my edge, of polishing until I gleamed. All of it leads up to this one day. It is the first time on a mission for me and my owner. We are both nervous, but I think he more than I. I was made to cut through flesh and bone. To protect those who are important to me, to him. I hear from the others the first time is always the hardest for our owners. That taking of life, but for me it is just something I can do. Like my smaller cousins who cut the meat for dinner, or the vegetables to be cooked, I am just an instrument. Something to be wielded by my owner’s hand to do his or her bidding. I am more specialized though. My job is to cut through the bone and flesh of living creatures. Creatures that look a lot like my owner. It is strange to think that I must kill them. They are so much alike in so many ways. They all sleep, eat, breathe the same. From what I have been told they all bleed the same color. Red. So why do they kill each other?
I was told the others started this particular war. Threatened those my owner is sworn to protect, and if they are not stopped they will kill or enslave them all. My owner calls them the enemy. I wonder, those of my kind that the enemy carries. Are they as bloodthirsty as their owners? Or are they like me. Silent and cold. Lying in wait to be used by the human hand for whatever purpose they deem necessary. I have seen older ones like me, mounted on the wall like some trophy. They have fought great battles and have been retired, whatever that means. Maybe someday I will be up there with them, on that wall of honor. My owners boasting of the great battles they fought with me. Or maybe today I will find myself lying in the mud, my owners body nearby, silent and cold as the steel I am made of.
Until then I will stay in my warm leather sleeve, waiting, wondering, what the day will bring when I am finally brought out to fight the battle for those who wield me and my brothers and sisters, so their families can remain free.
Copyright: Heidi Barnes
Friend of mine Tweeted me the picture and my mind started working, so I just went with it. Not exactly a murder scene, but a prelude to it. I had started out thinking murder scene, but as often happens my muse went a slightly different direction.
Before I get too many comments, I want to let you know that this poem has nothing to do with me. I have a very loving, caring, if not at times exasperating, husband who I love very much. What inspired this poem is the name of one of my followers. I also started thinking of a couple of books and movies I have seen that talks about spousal abuse. This is what came of that musing.
I hope you all have a safe weekend, and to those trapped in this situation, please, find help and escape. No one should be treated this way.
To See What I See 