The Gray Area

This is a bit longer than the stories I usually post. However, if you have the time, please tell me your thoughts. I would very much appreciate it. Many, many thanks, Sascha. (ps. I am happy to read your longer piece as well, just let me know…except if it’s novel length (sorry).

The Gray Area

I’ve been over twenty hours on this highway, watching the pavement slide under the tires, passing through rain that glosses the road over like ice and nighttime in which reality becomes the repetition of a white dotted line against black. My headlights show the tawny sleekness of deer at the edge of the highway, the fat waddle of groundhogs, and, for hours, a plentitude of nothing except images like a succession of stills from a movie many years old.

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Linc and Annie Confession

Blurgh. I have never done this. I have failed. 😦 (erm, to clarify, I have failed lots of times. I have just never abandoned a story. [yikes, yikes, yikes!])

I got lost on the Linc and Annie story to such a horrifying degree that I can’t continue. I could, but then I might be introducing zombies, because, well, zombies. Unlike a lot of serials by other bloggers, I don’t write mine in advance, except if I get really excited by a story arc and write ahead. And, obviously this has its downfalls because it means that I might go off somewhere where there is no return, which is what I feel has happened here. (And it’s all bloody live….erg!)

I could tell you that Ry got into a bad deal that involved out-of-towners who then thought maybe Annie had something she didn’t. I could tell you that Annie’s older sister had an affair with Ry and then tried to murder a bunch of women who she distrusted and then after hitting Annie over the head disappeared into the sunset…or sunrise.

However, I like Linc and Annie as characters (not to mention Great Aunt Shirl) and I like the beginning of the story, so it might take another form somewhere along the line.

Do I do mea culpas at this point?

Okay. To make up, I offer a short story I wrote a few years ago called The Gray Area. (It’s not humorous, sorry.) Look for my next post.

PS I am open to hear anything you want to say on the matter. If you want to send me a suggestion on how to dig myself out of the hole, I’m happy to hear it. If you truly want me to figure out a way to go on, I am willing to reconsider.  🙂

Future Lives #amwriting

They went to the hayloft because there was nowhere else. He was shipping out in the morning. She was off to college.

Her palms cupped the sides of his face to study his eyes and he grinned down at her. All of these years of wanting saved for these precious moments of frantic clumsiness.

She had waited for him, for always.

Sharp needles of straw pinched their skin as they made love, him trying to be gentle, her needing him as part of herself.

She felt they were on the precipice of future lives with time as tenuous as gossamer.



Sascha Darlington

Just Another Monday #amwriting


PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Friday Fictioneers for May 19. Click here for instructions on how to participate. Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting.

Just Another Monday

Most mornings I eat breakfast here, an egg white omelet with veggies and cheddar. Roberto now adds green chile sauce remembering I like it spicy. I sip coffee at the counter, my attention diverted from my phone to the conversation between Roberto’s dad, Felix, and three women.

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Review of Beartown



Fredrik Backman

April 25, 2017

Atria Books

Blurb from Goodreads: The #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Man Called Ove returns with a dazzling, profound novel about a small town with a big dream—and the price required to make it come true.

People say Beartown is finished. A tiny community nestled deep in the forest, it is slowly losing ground to the ever encroaching trees. But down by the lake stands an old ice rink, built generations ago by the working men who founded this town. And in that ice rink is the reason people in Beartown believe tomorrow will be better than today. Their junior ice hockey team is about to compete in the national semi-finals, and they actually have a shot at winning. All the hopes and dreams of this place now rest on the shoulders of a handful of teenage boys.
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Let’s Fly Away #amwriting


To join in Sunday Photo Fiction, click here.


Let’s Fly Away

The phone slipped from her numb fingers to the carpet where she stared at it as if it had become a scorpion. She considered stomping on it with the heel of her shoe.

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Time Bends Your Knees


photo by Paulette Wooten via Unsplash

Week 67 of Three Line Tales

Time Bends Your Knees

The adulating screams died as he collapsed on the stage, his hand covering his eyes, and began to sing “Tears in Heaven,” a lone acoustic guitar accompanying.

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