G is for...Gargantuan by Judy Beaston

Welcome to Unwritten's little corner of the the A-Z Blogging Challenge! If you want to see the whole lineup, click HERE!


I think you'll like today's post. Judy Beaston gets creative with dear letter G and brings us this whimsical look at a glimpse of her childhood. Read on and share your own memories!

G is for...Gargantuan

Gargantuan – don’t you just love the way that word tumbles around your mouth and mind? The word contains so much more than big, or even giant. When I was a kid, much of life was “gargantuan” and beyond comprehension, but I tried to investigate all of it anyway.

According to Merriam-Webster, Gargantuan is an adjective frequently capitalized. Now that’s power. And just take a gander at the definition: colossal, gigantic – more single words. The power is compacted, like a seed within an acorn; restrained power held in a small space, ready to birth one humongous, flowing, space-filling, towering oak tree.

As a kid, the world begged interaction. Like the oak tree, I started small, in my mother’s womb, progressed to larger, but still confining, containers called strollers, buggies, high chairs. After that, once those legs and feet found the power of ground contact, there was little stopping my curious mind. Most enticing, of course, was everything “off-limits.” That meant I loved the alleys behind our apartment in Chicago, the fields, creeks and developments far beyond my home street once my family moved to the suburbs.

And what did I encounter? Were there any greasy, grimy, gopher guts? Perhaps - like the day when two cars crashed on the corner near that Chicago apartment. I was maybe three at the time. My cousins, brother, neighbor kids and I swarmed the corner, peeked into the car and there, splayed like so many internal organs, the contents of a Chinese dinner nobody but the worms would be eating that night.

Later, I did meet a few gophers, but the garden snakes were more fun. They were numerous and I had no fear picking them up. I was bitten a few times, but soon learned how to catch and hold them in order to tease the squeamish without harm to either snake or me.

The story doesn’t end here, of course, and continues on even as I type. Gas-powered vehicles took me to foreign lands and on journeys around my home country. I met guarding gargoyles, ate honest-to-goodness Greek food, danced with geckos in Hawaii and hid from grizzlies in Canada. The oak tree of my life continues growing skyward, a gargantuan expanse of existence still waiting to be explored.

****

Judy Beaston lives in northwest Oregon where the weather and people suit her muse. She composes flash fiction, short stories, novels and poetry about following dreams, the ins and outs of living the human experience and just wacky, sometimes funny, tall tales. In the spaces between the written notes, she enjoys playing her tenor saxophone and keyboard, as well as playing with her two grandkids. Her flash and short stories have won acclaim at WritersType and WOW-Women on Writing.

Blog – www.judybnotes.blogspot.com

Website – judybeaston.weebly.com

F is for...The Finder by Tricia Kristufek

Welcome to Unwritten's little corner of the the A-Z Blogging Challenge! If you want to see the whole lineup, click HERE!

Day 6 brings us something author Tricia Kristufek calls a little "scene", one that has been playing out in her mind and may spark a longer story in the very near future. Read this detective mystery opener and let Tricia know what you think!

F is for...The Finder

 I knew who it was before the bells on the door finished chiming. 4:47. Every day this week at precisely this time, Joe had walked through the door. Without fail. Without looking up from what I was doing, I called, “No.”

“But I didn’t even get to ask you yet, Frankie!” Joe called back, sliding into the chair in front of me.

“The question has been the same every day this week. Answer’s still no.”

“I know you can figure it out, and the police aren’t even going to try, Frankie.” Joe ran his hand through his slick hair, slinking farther down into the chair. “You have to help her.”

I sighed and looked up. “Joe, the police have done all they can. What makes you think I can do more?”

“I know you can! It’s what you do – you help people find things!”

“Things. Not people.” I went back to the papers on my desk. I knew if I entertained Joe for a few minutes, he would eventually get up and go back to the bar next door. While not the best scenario, it was the best I was willing to give him. No use giving false hope.

Joe sat up quickly, knocking the business card holder off the desk. Distracted, he bent to pick one up. Turning it towards me, he pointed. “Finder of things once lost.” Leaning forward, he put the card in my face. “I know you can help, Frankie. Please. For me. If not for her, do it for your brother.”

“You know that’s not how it works, Joe.” I sighed again. “You know I hate it when you call me ‘Frankie.’ Look, I’ll ask around. But that’s it. I can’t believe I’m agreeing to do even that—oof!” All the air rushed out of my chest as Joe leapt across the desk, knocked me, him and the chair over, Joe landing on top of the pile. “Joe, I can’t breathe.”

Grinning like a jackal, Joe slid off him. “I knew it, Frankie! I knew you’d do the right thing and help me!”

Standing up, I wasn’t sure what I should tell him. Ignoring him for the week didn’t help, and I didn’t think that there was anything that I could do that the police haven’t already tried. But, he was family, and even if he didn’t know what he was getting into, I did.

Some people, once lost, shouldn’t be found.

Walking around the desk, I picked up the fallen cards, thinking. “Go home, Joe. No stopping at the bar tonight, ok? In fact, that’s my fee—your sobriety.” I looked up. “Is she worth that to you?”

“Sure. Sure, Frankie.” His face took a more sober look, as if to show me he could do it if he wanted to. “Straight home. And you’ll call if you find out anything, right? I mean—“

“If I find anything, I’ll call the police,” I said, cutting him off. “Now go home, before I change my mind. Seems I have some more work to do tonight.”

“Thanks, Frankie!” Joe, grinning again, thumped me on the back before shuffling off towards the door. “I owe you!”

Yeah, right, I thought.

Leaning back in my chair, I glanced at the only personal touch on my desk. The photo was old, but still captured the zest and life in her eyes. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, continuing down to her waist, I knew, even though the photo stopped well before that. A soft smile on her lips and a spark in her eyes. How I missed that smile.

Not for Joe, I thought, but for you. I’d do anything for you, Tina.

****

Tricia Kristufek has an avid reading complex. After starting her book review blog, she got involved in editing and now has several author's works under her belt. Her own writing is generally fantasy, but she has delved into the world of romance lately. When not writing or editing, she can be found with her nose in a book, passing on her love of books to her daughter or playing with stray animals.

Website - http://triciakristufek.com

Twitter - @TriciaKristufek

Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/pages/Tricia-Kristufek/282054781813362

Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5353675.Tricia_Kristufek

E is for...Einstein Syndrome by Yvonne Rupert

Welcome to Unwritten's little corner of the the A-Z Blogging Challenge! If you want to see the whole lineup, click HERE! 


I am so pleased to welcome Yvonne Rupert here for Day 5 of our challenge. This mother of SEVEN brings us a nonfiction, autobiographical piece which enlightened me to a condition I've never heard of before. Whether you've heard of it or not, read on to find out why the fabulous artwork below is so special, and as always, be generous with comments!

E is for...Einstein Syndrome

We nicknamed her “mouse” before she was born, such a peaceful presence in my womb.  When we held her for the first time we named her Molly, but her temperament remained the same--serene, quiet, gentle.  She socialized more than our other babies did, switching happily from one family member to the next. 

I’m not sure when we realized something was wrong. Maybe at a doctor's appointment or from a list of growth milestones in a book. All I know is that at twelve months old, Molly was still silent.

No babbles. No coos. No “mama” or “dada.”  No string of sounds.

Our pediatrician tested her ears, her mouth, her tongue, and her throat—all normal.  However, at Molly’s eighteen month well-baby visit, he gave us a stack of literature about autism. They landed in our hands like a fist.

Many of our friends nodded their heads in agreement with the diagnosis; they had known all along.   

But not my husband.  He simply repeated what he had always said, “There’s nothing wrong with my baby.   Someday, she’ll be our family spokesperson, you’ll see.” 

In her own way, Molly was that already, charming everyone with her smiles and her hugs and her cleverness.  She couldn’t talk, but she had the most expressive face. Over time, she created a combination of sign language and facial expressions to show exactly what she wanted. 

How could she be autistic?  She had crawled early, walked early, smiled early, solved jigsaw puzzles early. She was fiercely independent, stubborn, nurturing, and social. Something didn’t fit.

So we waited. 

At two, Molly discovered the art shelf in our library. She pulled a book from the shelf, a fat coffee table volume packed with famous art. She poured over the book for hours. Not only did she want to hear the names of the artists, she wanted to repeat them. Recognizable words filled the air—Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh. Around the same time, she added “mama” and “dada” to her vocabulary, but no other “relevant” words.

When Molly turned 3, the doctor was more adamant, hinting that he might contact social services if we didn’t take her to a specialist. So we took her. Diagnosis:  high functioning autism.   

Still, my husband stood firm; there was nothing wrong with his baby.

In desperation, I reached out to the homeschooling community. At my favorite yahoo group, I posted a description of Molly’s symptoms and begged my friends for advice.

See it HERE!

The very first response gave me chills.  “Sounds like Einstein Syndrome—bright children who simply talk late..  Check out this book: ....  ”

My hands were trembling when I googled the words. Within minutes, I found each one of Molly’s symptoms. Could this be it? Had my husband been right all along?

I contacted a specialist in Atlanta. We talked over the phone and through email and, eventually, in person. His diagnosis: our daughter had Einstein Syndrome. Basically, she was just a late talker.    

At four and a half Molly finally began talking. She skipped the warm-up, jumping directly into sentences, questions, and full-on conversations. 

Molly is ten now and talks constantly. She continues to chase art with a zealousness that astounds me. But more than anything else, Molly collects people, befriending everyone who comes her way. Our little mouse is quiet no more. She’s the spokesperson for our family, just like her father always said she would be.

****

Molly as a toddler

Yvonne Rupert lives in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. with her husband and 7 children.  She graduated from college with degrees in World History and American Literature. Her favorite authors include E. B. White, Chaim Potok, and Madeleine L’Engle.  In her spare time, she writes flash fiction and draws political cartoons.   Twice a year, she mentors writers at F2K, a free on-line writing course sponsored by Writer’s Village University.  She occasionally blogs at http://wheretheshadowsmeetthelight.blogspot.com/ 

D is for Dark Seeds by LMFields

Welcome to Unwritten's little corner of the the A-Z Blogging Challenge! If you want to see the whole lineup, click HERE!


Day 4 brings us a story I've had the pleasure of seeing unfold in a couple of F2K sessions (a six week writing course) and is soon to be published by the lovely and talented Floridian author LMFields. Read on to see how... 

D is for...Dark Seeds

The Dark Seeds series is set in our future, after the Great Shift, after the New World Order has destroyed freedom and has strengthened its foothold in every nation. But hell has  yet to unleash its fury as the Dark Seeds near their goal. Only a gifted few, from extraordinary genetic lines, carry the hope within them to save humanity from a storm unlike any the world has every known. Crows Hill is Adina's story, the first to unfold.

Crows Hill
Prologue

         Degeneration, destruction, death; these were the words I highlighted as a child. The evil I imagined I would destroy. I had always dreamed of becoming President, I just imagined my story being very different.

          First came the Agenda. It was put in action long before the american continents became one. The Great Shift of 2012 ushered in the chaos; the natural disasters added to the final economic collapse. The indoctrinated youth fueled the fires politicians started. The groomed presidents were all part of the game, instigator or hero, they have always been pawns.

          So who are they? I should have asked this question long ago. I learned there are many, too many, all serving the Agenda; a 400 page document for the implementation of a New World Order. Depopulating the earth to a mere five hundred million is only one of its many directives. I used to think it didn’t matter. I was honored to be the first President of Newmerica. My beautiful, and very pregnant, first lady was always by my side, the people loved us, and the world seemed wonderful, but even the Age of Camelot had to end.

          The veil lifted from eyes the day of the UN summit meeting. I woke to the nightmare I helped usher in. All the political elite, their associates, anyone part of the plan, we were far from danger when Washington was hit. Even as I write this, I can still see the devastation and hear the cries for help, but I never saw my dear wife again. I realized too late; everything mattered. I couldn’t save what I loved most because I refused to face my personal demons. That was my cross to bear, many painful years ago.

I’m well into what should be my third term in this Age of Reason; voting no longer exists, pregnancies must be approved, and worshiping a Christian God is treason, punishable by fire or beheading. There are whispers of soulless creatures engineered by a shadow group; failed experiments continue to feed their crows. My trusted scouts still send their reports though they are few and far between.

          I walk a fine line between this dark world and the light. There was always plenty of room to give up, even yesterday, I confess I questioned my own existence, but not today. Today I write in my journal with renewed hope. Donavinci sent word: MONOCLE… ACTIVATED… MECHAN… FOUND. Prayers are always answered, I must learn to be patient and wait. I’m on my way now, back to New York. To view the video that was captured. I believe again, like I did once as a child. I will see this through… even to my last breath, I will see freedoms light shine once more.


****
The little girl who sat on the bench during recess was the same girl who composed her first song in kindergarten, drew her first world, and wrote her first story, after Star Wars inspired her. I’m all grown up now and Crows Hill will be my first published short novel. My life-long struggle with Epilepsy changed my focus this year to write novellas so maybe I wouldn’t lose the story before a seizure wiped it all away. I hope my dreams might inspire you; for anything is possible as long as you believe. Live, learn, leave a beautiful mark. LMFields


Visit LMFields at: Spark Inspire Publishing House
Blog: http://lmfields.wordpress.com/
Contact: LMFields@sparkinspirepublishing.com

C is for...Cyprus by Chrystalla Thoma

Welcome to Unwritten's little corner of the the A-Z Blogging Challenge! If you want to see the whole lineup, click HERE!

Day 3 takes us to the Mediterranean and to a place I drool over every time author Chrystalla Thoma posts a picture of her homeland. Grab your virtual passports and a bag of peanuts. Enjoy your online flight as we explore how...

C is for...Cyprus and Country

My name is Chrystalla and I come from Cyprus (lots of “Cs” in here!) For those of you on the other side of the world, who may have not heard of Cyprus (or me!), let me tell you a few words about my country.

Cyprus is an island in the Eastern Mediterranean. Egypt lies in the south, Syria and Lebanon to the east, Turkey to the north and Greece to the west. Cyprus is a republic and has been independent since 1960. It’s a tiny country and it is torn apart by civil conflict between Greek and Turkish Cypriots. Since 1974, after a civil war, a coup and an invasion by Turkey, Cyprus has been divided into two parts, and so far I see no real hope of reunification.

Since 2003, the frontier has relaxed a little and either side can cross over to visit the other. Ever since, the situation has become quieter and milder. I have hopes for the next generations, hopes that maybe they can grow up without this hatred that has poisoned us for centuries and find a way to reunite us.

I am Greek Cypriot, was born and raised here on Cyprus, and I can see its influence in my writing. I write of places that tend to be arid and hot, where water is scarce and there aren’t many trees. My characters tend to have Greek names and they tend to live on islands. They often have dark eyes and hair, and live in countries torn by ethnic conflict.

But the interesting thing about this for me is that I didn’t start this way. My first stories were of forested countries with snow-capped mountains and men tall and blond with foreign-sounding names. But with the passing of the years, I found my worldbuilding reverting to the Mediterranean, my characters becoming the shorter, darker people I see walking around me, and the legends I draw from are from the area.

Now I am planning to take a step farther, a step that will bring me back to Cyprus: I’m planning a steampunk trilogy set - quite literally - here: the main action will take place on the western coast of Cyprus, at Paphos. Paphos is a town which lies next to ruined prehistoric, hellenic, Greek and French/Italian medieval cities. Its history is long and its cliffs have seen battles and storms. I love the place and I love the idea of placing my story there. I have started to research the time period (turn of the 20th century) when Cyprus was under British occupation and can’t wait to start writing.

I have finally come home.

Cyprus– an island of conflict and history

****

Chrystalla lives in Cyprus with her husband and her hordes of wild books. She writes fantasy and science fiction and is now starting a non-fiction book about the dragons of the world. She is interested in parasites, ecology, Indian recipes, love in all forms and medieval music, not necessarily in that order. She is currently writing Book 3 of the dystopian sci-fi YA series “Elei’s Chronicles” and a gay sci-fi novel with androids and lots of mayhem.
Mayhem, in fact, is her middle name. You’ve been warned.

Blog: http://chrystallathoma.wordpress.com/ Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Chrystalla-Thoma/e/B001JOWZCC



Buy it HERE!

                                 Rex Rising (Book One of Elei's Chronicles):
In a world where parasites create new human races, Elei leads a peaceful life -- until a mysterious attack on his boss sends him fleeing with a bullet in his side. Pursued for a secret he does not possess and with the fleet at his heels, he has but one thought: to stay alive. His pursuers aren't inclined to sit down and talk, although that's not the end of Elei's troubles. The two powerful parasites inhabiting his body, at a balance until now, choose this moment to bring him down, leaving Elei with no choice but to trust in people he hardly knows. It won't be long before he realizes he must find out this deadly secret - a secret that might change the fate of his world and everything he has ever known - or die trying.





B is for...Being by BC Sirrom

Welcome to Unwritten's little corner of the the A-Z Blogging Challenge! If you want to see the whole lineup, click HERE!

Day 2 brings us a rather existential post about names. Look at these two quotes:

1. What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.— William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

2. Words have meaning and names have power. — Author Unknown
Two contradictory thoughts? Read how BC Sirrom describes her method of finding character names and give us your thoughts on the matter of... 

B is for...a name is BEING

How do you choose a name? In depth research? Random Selection? or Pick What Sounds Right?

Naming a character is a very difficult thing. It is akin to naming a child, except a child will amend his name as he grows up. But your character is either blessed or cursed by your christening forever. I have noticed in many novels the hero has a common, even plain name while the secondary characters’ names have more flair. This method has some logic. Secondary characters need a device to be memorable and in contrast continually repeating a complicated or exotic name for the hero becomes tedious. I am aware of this method, yet don’t always follow it. However, I think a short, easy to say name is always a good choice for a main character.

I choose my character names almost completely by phonetics. In truth, I picked the letter ‘b’ for this blog because I like its resonance. I try to give my characters a name that sounds good. It is hard to describe but the name should ‘feel’ right. Saying the name outloud helps. I find I tend to shorten names (a family habit) often to only a syllable or two.

Beo was my first named character. I fruitlessly researched names online. I pillaged my thesaurus. I agonized over the selecting the perfect name for my brave heroine. ‘Beo’ was inspired by the tale of ‘Beowulf’. I was drawn to the strength of the word and its primal quality. Beo is an ancient immortal. She couldn’t be named something like ‘Tiffany’ or ‘Suzanne’. She is of a different time and place. ‘Beo’ resonated with me. It was as strong and layered as my character.

I do research names. Not in a baby name book or traditional name meaning websites. I think of characteristics I admire or are important to the core of a character (For example, ‘loyal’ ‘love’ ‘pain’). Then I research those words in various research books. I try to tie the characters’ name to the time and place of their origin. Going through the Latin roots of words is also insightful in picking or devising the right sounding name.

After Beo was given her name, she was even more real. I could picture her and what she would do in a given situation. My thought processed changed from ‘what would my character do next in the story’ to a much simpler ‘what would Beo do’.

“This is why I am called ‘Beo’. I am. I exist.”

- Beo, Solstice Night

****

Originally from rural West Virginia, Sirrom currently lives in Tennessee with her husband. She studied architecture and landscape architecture, earning degrees in both. She loves creativity in all its forms: art, music, literature, etc. B.C. has always enjoyed storytelling, but until recently never put one of her stories to paper. Writing began as a way to relax during graduate school. No one knew she was writing until her first novel, Solstice Night was under contract. She writes stories that she would enjoy reading, such as fantasy, sci-fi, mystery and paranormal romance. Now working full-time, B.C. still finds time to write every day…well, almost.

Buy it HERE!

AUTHOR WEBSITE: http://bcsirrom.wordpress.com/
Solstice Night:

Dis exists in silent rage. His human life was taken by a paranoid vampire and the centuries since have been spent in bloody darkness. He is a vampire, but he is a slave. He doesn't let himself think or want.He survived on instinct until Beo. She liberates his body, but ensnares his heart. She is both more alive and more powerful than any being he has ever known. But will she be commanding ally or another Master to enslave him?

A is for...Alzheimer's Disease by Georgianna Grant

Welcome to Unwritten's little corner of the the A-Z Blogging Challenge! If you want to see the whole lineup, click HERE!


Our first post is from Georgianna Grant, who wrote a very poignant flash fiction piece about Alzheimer's Disease. It's especially touching to me, since my grandmother lost her fight with AD back in 1991. Please be generous with comments and read on!

Alzheimer’s Disease

 I am alone, abandoned,  anonymous. What the hell am I doing sitting alone on this plane? Why can’t I remember? Am I crazy? Where is Abby? Where has she gone? Who is that lovely lady who brought me here and who the hell is sitting in Abby’s seat next to me. And why am I strapped in like a prisoner. I have to get out of here but I don’t know how to get rid of this damn leash that’s holding me down.

 

Holy Good God …. what is that roaring noise? And why are we moving so fast? We’re going much too fast. I struggled to get up but the dam leash has me locked in place. Someone, help me please.  

The lady sitting in Abby’s seat reached over to me and placed her hand over mine. “Shh, shh, shh, … “it’s okay,” she said. “It’s the plane taking off. We’re going to be fine. Just try and relax and we’ll be safely in the air in just a few minutes.” 

 She stroked my hand and arm and smiled at me as she whispered comforting words. I was happy to have her next to me but I had no idea who she was. She was very pretty, with shocking white hair that framed her kind, wrinkled face. She had a sweet smell of lilacs about her that reminded me vaguely of someone I knew a long time ago.  Her piercing blue eyes held such deep sadness that it unnerved me a bit more and it was difficult to hold her gaze. She continued to caress my hand and I could feel the anxiety slowly drifting away and I was able to relax. I put my head back against the head rest and fell into a welcomed sleep.

I awakened to the Captain’s strong voice telling us we were fifteen minutes from our destination, Denver, Colorado.  He told us the temperature on the ground was a mellow 70 degrees and it was a beautiful day.  He thanked us for flying Delta and wished us a good day.

I opened my eyes and stretched my cramped arms and legs.  

Abby turned tentatively to me and said, “Hello there … how are you feeling?”

“Just fine,” I answered. “It was a very smooth flight, wasn’t it?”  

She nodded her head and asked me if I remembered feeling confused before we took off. 

I replied, “Of course not. … why do you ask.?”  

She smiled quietly and gently reminded me that sometimes the Alzheimer’s Disease plays funny tricks on my mind.

She took my hand and said, "Let's go home."

_________________________________________________

Retired IBM human resource management.  Recent widow and will always be sad without my beloved John.  Eight and wonderful kids, fully grown into caring, sensitive adults with full lives of their own.  I've always loved words, reading, people and politics.  (Perhaps not today's politics quite so much!)   Writing and striving to improve takes a whole lot of time and is excellent "therapy" for me. I force myself to walk away from my computer after a few hours to avoid total addiction.  So many happy life memories and stories to be told.  Other's writing humble me and make me anxious to reach and spread higher.  I have no book cover to send and no wish to ever be published.  I write because I love it and for personal growth and satisfaction.Visit Georgianna's blog: gghope.blogspot.com