tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post2763818250947243689..comments2023-11-02T06:57:11.400-04:00Comments on BookEnds Literary Agency: Our Valentine to YouBookEnds, A Literary Agencyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06287278822065839469noreply@blogger.comBlogger181125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-48202019663901693492008-04-10T20:32:00.000-04:002008-04-10T20:32:00.000-04:00Dark NightThe men moved quickly, efficiently. They...<B>Dark Night</B><BR/><BR/>The men moved quickly, efficiently. They knew what they did. They had done it before. <BR/><BR/>The lone figure in the dark trench coat had been surprised. Carolyn has seen the man jerk into reality when they had first struck him. They had struck from behind. A coward’s attack. Taken him down. Dragged him into the dark. Four on one. Cowards. Cowards. Cowards.<BR/><BR/><I>Had the man been day dreaming? In this part of town? Caught off guard? Vulnerable? </I> She had been given no chance to scream a warning, to scream for help. <I>What if she had?</I> Her cell phone was dead.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-84748470554976044262008-03-03T21:35:00.000-05:002008-03-03T21:35:00.000-05:00One More Night "Celeste, he's here, now! ...One More Night <BR/><BR/> "Celeste, he's here, now! Come quickly! I don't want you to miss him." The phone line fairly crackled from the excitement in the old lady's voice.<BR/> "Aunt Clara, I'm in the middle of an appointment. Can it wait?" Celeste smiled an apologetic nod across her desk at the man frowning back at her. New clients were always uneasy and disruptive phone calls had a way of magnifying the tension.<BR/> "No! Suppose he gets away? This might be our only chance to talk to him. I read the cards, they say now's the time."zeldajackhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08953828799176606148noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-61113192196855500032008-03-03T21:31:00.000-05:002008-03-03T21:31:00.000-05:00Sorry, forgot the title on that last comment:His B...Sorry, forgot the title on that last comment:<BR/><BR/>His Brother's Babyzeldajackhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08953828799176606148noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-20787998971098151562008-03-03T21:29:00.000-05:002008-03-03T21:29:00.000-05:00"Don't go out there!" Startled by her coworker..."Don't go out there!"<BR/> Startled by her coworker's outburst, Gabriella slid to a halt, her hand poised on the swinging door leading to the smoking lounge.<BR/> "Why not? I have to start my shift."<BR/> Ruthy hurried forward, her hand at her throat as though holding back the words. "There's an investigator asking a lot of questions. He's already grilled the rest of us but he doesn't know you're here. If you lay low he should be done and out of here soon."<BR/> "Questions? About what?"<BR/> "Illegal cigars," she whispered. "He said someone filed a complaint."zeldajackhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08953828799176606148noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-19730281137589981192008-02-19T14:52:00.000-05:002008-02-19T14:52:00.000-05:00He’s Her1967 The tall, slim, well-endowed broa...He’s Her<BR/>1967<BR/><BR/> The tall, slim, well-endowed broad walked directly towards him. Damn! He didn’t want to share this bench with anyone else, even a classy chick like her. The last few hectic days had taken their toll. He needed to catch his breath and unwind. Alone! <BR/> She smiled and continued to head toward the back of his bench where a luxurious bush full of wild roses spread its splendour. Rhett watched her extricate tiny, garden clippers from her shoulder bag. He supposed she was pilfering roses and he wished she’d get on with it and leave him to his peaceful sanctuary.Mimi Barbourhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00542349311785494020noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-69684252157339385152008-02-16T18:02:00.000-05:002008-02-16T18:02:00.000-05:00The hair on the back Ethan's neck is standing up, ...The hair on the back Ethan's neck is standing up, again. He never questions why but obeys the command of the omen. His gun is cocked and ready as he lies on floor waiting for the danger to present itself. Keeping still is an effort now that Lacey, his cat is climbing on his head. Through the semi-darkness he sees blood on his shirt and looks for a scratch on his cheek from the cat. There is no scratch, just blood on his cheek, and Lacey’s paws and tail. His hand rises to move her, when she falls over, dead.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-440768038044731002008-02-16T14:30:00.000-05:002008-02-16T14:30:00.000-05:00Oh dear, I've messed up and entered the wrong cate...Oh dear, I've messed up and entered the wrong category. Stupid, stupid, stupid...sandra-hhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06532095855106672956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-48546433994407071462008-02-16T11:46:00.000-05:002008-02-16T11:46:00.000-05:00This is fun! I'd like to enter the historical sect...This is fun! I'd like to enter the historical section.<BR/><BR/>Title: SERMONS IN STONE<BR/><BR/>The bramble thicket offered sparse shelter from the gale that howled <BR/>remorselessly across the exposed German heath. Lying under thick <BR/>blue-dyed cloaks that served to keep out only some of the cold, Madog and his beloved wife Elen sheltered in a deep leaf-filled hollow under the thorns, trying to forget for a while that they were British Celts, servants of the High Lord Artwyr, in the heart of enemy Saxon territory. They had come hundreds of miles, beset on all sides by mortal danger that emanated not only from human foes, but those of another world too.sandra-hhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06532095855106672956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-38455645467304565342008-02-16T08:19:00.000-05:002008-02-16T08:19:00.000-05:00Better very late than never perhaps... (just for t...Better very late than never perhaps... (just for the fun of it)<BR/><BR/>Fathom Five<BR/><BR/>The wind made her eyes feel like they were bleeding. It licked the sea into constant spray, cracking and howling. Incredible, she thought, this violence. And then: we won’t make it. They were both soaked, but the cold of his body in her arms was something else. He lolled in her grasp, a mannequin with skin the colour of lead. Even the blood that slicked the back of his head and neck was grey. He probably loved me, she thought. But I’ll never know. It’s comic, really, to see him like this. And then she let go.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-74151961540685488962008-02-16T05:55:00.000-05:002008-02-16T05:55:00.000-05:00I'll go first I guess. My list is made up of those...I'll go first I guess. My list is made up of those I would read more of just based on the first 100 words. I look at the title, writing and voice. See you at the bottom. <BR/><BR/>Writeless-"Amsterdamsel"-Nice descriptive writing. Inetesting Beg. Great title. <BR/><BR/>Therapist Writer-"Murder Anan."-Interesting Beg., Nice writing, title could change. <BR/><BR/>Keri Ford-"Case One"- Great voice, Interesting beg., very descripive. Title, could change. <BR/><BR/>BE Sanders-"Cut and Dried"-Title is pretty good. Cool voice, Interesting beg. and nice desciption.<BR/><BR/>Kim Haynes-"Death Upon a Wicked Stage"-Nice flow and description. I'd lose the title.<BR/><BR/>Margay-"Scent of Humanity"-Great title, nice imagery and nice voice.<BR/><BR/>Honey-"Laketown"-Very nice. Loved the last 6 words. Almost seemed like a hook. <BR/><BR/>Kelly-"Bombegroup"-Title did nothing for me, but I loved the whole reunion Idea. Nice voice.<BR/><BR/>Midge-"The Nightmare"-I liked this, it definately piqued my interest. Great writing. Title-Okay. <BR/><BR/>Marianne Harden-"Sweetest Sacrifice"-Nice beg., great writing, loved the rose bushes. <BR/><BR/>Anon.-"Death or Glory"-Interesting Beg. great voice, Okay title.<BR/><BR/>HmHolzer-"Frayed Silk"-Excellent title, Nice voice, Interesting beg.<BR/><BR/>Micqui-Miller-"A Game to Die For"-I lose the title, it doesn't do the beginning justice. Loved the rest of it. Last line was best part. <BR/><BR/>Skipper-Mis Dosia's Pits-Very cool, nice imagery. Great title. <BR/><BR/>Cheryl S.-"Tight Skirts and Alligator Boots"-Great title, great imagery, especially the spider fingers. Very cool. <BR/><BR/>Anon-"Closing Time"-Nice Voice, title Okay, loved the VFW. <BR/><BR/>doreen-"Broken Promises"-Title is great, story line great, love the last line. <BR/><BR/>Debra Lee-"His Perfect Hiding Place"-I'd lose the title, the rest is very nice. Great image. Nice last line. Very Intriqueing. <BR/><BR/>Well there you have it. All were good, but these stood out for me. Don't know exactly why, just captured my interest and held it. Thanks for letting me read all of yours. I enjoyed it immnensely. Also thanks to Bookends for allowing us the privilege.whimper1823https://www.blogger.com/profile/12552411896993387736noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-78849046991401240132008-02-16T03:20:00.000-05:002008-02-16T03:20:00.000-05:00By entering this contest, I learned something of v...By entering this contest, I learned something of vast importance to my dreams: <BR/><BR/>As my brain shot off the starting block, I was instantly energized. The idea of being read by the masses spurred me into action in ways I never thought possible. I prepared every one of my stories and then took a step back to see if I could admire my own editing efforts. Initially, I did. I had “edited” I told myself. I had “tightened.” <BR/><BR/>In truth, what I accomplished was to scythe away at my paragraphs like a madman through a corn maze. Suddenly, scattered at my feet were bludgeoned, forsaken words, phrases, and ideas…never to be read.<BR/><BR/>And I realized—I was sad. <BR/><BR/>Stumbling into this reality, I discovered what it is about writing I love so much. I love impact writing of course; there are times when the most brilliant thing a writer can do is sucker punch the audience with a one-word paragraph.<BR/><BR/>BUT—<BR/>there is the other part, that quiet whirring of the zoom lens in my head that wants nothing more than to lure, to creep with intricate imagery towards the readers, until they are unaware of the world around them. I want them to see and feel, want them to hope for the best and fear the worst. There are times when I am so thoroughly inside my head watching the story unfold as I write that I startle myself. When readers laugh aloud while sitting alone in a crowded restaurant…when they hear a noise that isn’t there yet it causes them to peer over the top of the book into the darkness beyond to see if anything is lurking…that is the true success of the writer.<BR/><BR/>What I learned in this 100-word exercise is that sometimes, just sometimes, “cut to the chase” should be left up to the moviemakers. I forfeited my voice, and be damned if I didn’t miss it. In retrospect, I honestly don’t know I assumed I had to cut description and deliver answers. After all, I wasn’t being asked to write a synopsis or a pitch. No one was hovering over me slapping pointer to palm. I was simply being asked to write well. <BR/><BR/>For my next entry, I’m going to close my eyes and take a deep breath as the images appear. And then—ever so slowly—I’m going to exhale them onto the page.<BR/><BR/>Anyway, I was just sitting here wondering if anyone else ran through the corn maze with me, with the evidence of good writing as dead as the victim written about?Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-8672663971922782092008-02-15T23:34:00.000-05:002008-02-15T23:34:00.000-05:00I'm sorry for posting late.A friend had emailed me...I'm sorry for posting late.<BR/><BR/>A friend had emailed me saying the contest ended at 9 pm. I read through the rules but overlooked the am since I had pm stuck in my head.<BR/><BR/>I did enjoy reading all the entries in the contest.<BR/><BR/>Again my apologies.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-64357080245821449222008-02-15T23:08:00.000-05:002008-02-15T23:08:00.000-05:00“I’m on my way to the coroner’s office.” Henry’s v...“I’m on my way to the coroner’s office.” Henry’s voice was quiet on the phone. “I’ll see you at your place later, okay?”<BR/> “Yeah…Yeah, of course,” I answered, cell phone gripped tight.<BR/> “Listen- no matter who calls, don’t leave.” He paused. “Bye.” <BR/> The phone signal died, but I held it to my ear for a few seconds more. When I moved my hand down it was trembling.<BR/> His voice had sounded so tired and weak. What could possibly have happened?<BR/> Ann called to me from the front desk. “Cham, Doctor Marcus called a minute ago. He wants to see you.”Amahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16872066657540441587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-18762539277672070212008-02-15T21:41:00.000-05:002008-02-15T21:41:00.000-05:00Oops. *facepalm* I, too, read that as nine PM. ...Oops. *facepalm* I, too, read that as nine PM. Didn't see the notice that the contest had closed because I just used CTRL-END to get to the comment box at the bottom of the page. *headdesk*<BR/><BR/>I suppose that means we must say, "Never mind." *revolvertemple* Of course, now we'll be said to be among those who don't follow rules, when we're really only lysdexic on AM/PM. *nooseneck*<BR/><BR/>Forgive us?Shalannahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-48519085771118563252008-02-15T20:40:00.000-05:002008-02-15T20:40:00.000-05:00since, of course, this is a valentine and you love...since, of course, this is a valentine and you love us, truly, you love us????Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-28225698102949908622008-02-15T20:39:00.000-05:002008-02-15T20:39:00.000-05:00oh, I hope I hope Ihope you meant 9PMor you will s...oh, I hope I hope Ihope you meant 9PM<BR/>or you will still let us in under the wireAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-27587359703895482912008-02-15T20:09:00.000-05:002008-02-15T20:09:00.000-05:00Title: What God and Cats KnowI smelt the blood bef...Title: What God and Cats Know<BR/><BR/>I smelt the blood before I had a chance to look for it; the tangy dense scent landing on the back of my tongue. Opening the office door I looked at the man sitting in the chair opposite my desk. <BR/><BR/>"Ms Desjardin." Harry Cloches nodded as I sat down in the old oaken chair. "Sorry for being early." There was a small box sitting on the left side of the desk; a new addition. The brown paper wrapper encased the palm-sized box fully but I could already see the moisture beginning to fight through the paper.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-18651963876471517392008-02-15T19:41:00.000-05:002008-02-15T19:41:00.000-05:00TITLE: NICE WORK (IF YOU CAN GET IT)--GENRE: COZY/...TITLE: NICE WORK (IF YOU CAN GET IT)--GENRE: COZY/TRADITIONAL MYSTERY<BR/><BR/>Jacquidon Carroll could've killed her boss.<BR/><BR/>Yancey Neisskopf stared down at the papers on the conference table. “Due to a mandatory reduction in the size of my staff, you are being terminated from CSD Enterprises. Effective today.” When Jacquidon didn’t answer right away, he looked up. “Jacquidon? Are you listening?”<BR/><BR/>She slid her glasses off. “Yancey, this isn’t funny. I'm snowed under with work. Let's skip it, and you can still tell everyone how successful this prank was.”<BR/><BR/>Yancey loved practical jokes. Last time it'd been a fake crack across her computer monitor's screen.<BR/><BR/>This time he looked profoundly serious.Shalannahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05503978745207805622noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-44954071256555908252008-02-15T19:23:00.000-05:002008-02-15T19:23:00.000-05:00Title: Crop You“You need to get rid of him, Haith....Title: Crop You<BR/><BR/>“You need to get rid of him, Haith.” Sierra Brodart punctuated her sentence with a snap of her wrist. Two yards of brown and pink grosgrain ribbon furled out. A click of the lethal-tip scissors and the perfect length of ribbon existed to complete the layout. <BR/><BR/>The employee crop at Making Legacies was in full swing and I hadn’t completed one page. I squinted at the picture of Luke, my significant other, otherwise known as the ‘him’ in question. The page composition would work better with only me in the photo. But, it didn’t seem polite to hack him off.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-22136841767556806752008-02-15T19:10:00.000-05:002008-02-15T19:10:00.000-05:00The Death Part They took the same wedding vows as ...The Death Part<BR/><BR/> They took the same wedding vows as everyone else. For richer or poorer, in sickness and health. That was nine days ago. Inspector Fuertes was now caught up in the ‘till death do us part’ bit. Had their honeymoon in Mexico ended in murder? The bride appeared distraught enough and these kinds of accidents do happen. But Fuertes couldn’t stop thinking her story was a little too pat. Besides, he was curious why the groomsman had hung around so long. What prompted Bren to stay on at the Mayan resort? Was he an archeologist who dug dirt both literally and metaphorically?Rosemaryhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06364551591228696399noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-12331440961756038852008-02-15T18:01:00.000-05:002008-02-15T18:01:00.000-05:00FAN MAILAspen skidded in the driveway, hot dust po...FAN MAIL<BR/>Aspen skidded in the driveway, hot dust pouring in through the windows of her Jeep, the aroma of Ponderosa pines unable to stifle the stench of her clothes. She stared at the Mercedes parked near the cabin and the scar on her jawline prickled with tension. She didn’t know anyone who owned a Mercedes, and people didn’t just drop by in Lake Tahoe. Had the guy whose garbage she’d just rooted through figured out where she lived? Choosing not to be a punching bag for anyone, Aspen shifted the car into reverse. Then she heard her dog keening inside the cabin.Daryl a.k.a. Averyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14382135011740742170noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-11225180796999171972008-02-15T14:56:00.000-05:002008-02-15T14:56:00.000-05:00Letters From ParisLisa Patterson shifted through h...Letters From Paris<BR/><BR/>Lisa Patterson shifted through her keys. She pulled out one she hadn’t used in awhile and inserted it into the lock. No, not that one. She shifted through the keys again. Second try, strike two. But three is a charm, she thought. The third key turned.<BR/>She let herself into the farmhouse. Alice really should be doing this herself. Lisa just lived across the street. <BR/>The farmhouse smelled musty. It had been sitting vacant for over fourteen months now. <BR/>The woman who had last occupied the house had up and left for Paris, just as mysteriously as she had arrived.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-25547672269297605322008-02-15T12:27:00.000-05:002008-02-15T12:27:00.000-05:00Did I read about "purloined lips" in an entry? I'...Did I read about "purloined lips" in an entry? I've heard of purloined kisses, but if somebody would be so kind as to explain what stolen lips are, I'd appreciate it.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-49281742613217383632008-02-15T11:06:00.000-05:002008-02-15T11:06:00.000-05:00Will you be making a new blog for each genre? I'm...Will you be making a new blog for each genre? I'm waiting for the paranormal AND the historical. (rubbing hands together) Can't wait!<BR/><BR/>~Phyllis~Phyllis Campbellhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14769290385657892832noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051453.post-12944307702428914762008-02-15T10:43:00.000-05:002008-02-15T10:43:00.000-05:00BAD HAIR DAYS ARE MURDERChapter OneThe name’s Luce...BAD HAIR DAYS ARE MURDER<BR/>Chapter One<BR/><BR/>The name’s Luce. <BR/>Tiffany Luce. <BR/>On the surface, I’m not much like James Bond. But take away his suave sophistication, sex-god status and futuristic cars, replace them with baby spit-up covered sweats, too-tired-tonight excuses and a dented minivan that doubles as a diaper bag, and we’re a lot alike. Okay, even then we don’t have much in common. Except for dogged persistence and (occasional) flashes of investigative genius. <BR/>And maybe a little too much of the same dependence on adrenaline. Which explains why I didn’t flee when the SUV dealership exploded one hundred feet behind me.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com