My Quirks And My Compass (Birth of a Book)

Interview with local ABC affiliate Norma Holland

2010-07-14T14:26:00.001-04:00

And then they were ...Sisters

2009-09-07T13:07:00.004-04:00

It's time, isn't it.
Autumn. Gathering. Nesting.

There is much more for me to do here, at My Quirks and My Compass...
It's still new to me!

But it's also time for the sister book to begin taking shape.
So now the two shall extend, touch fingertips,
and learn one another...

Half Moons and Maiden Names

Happy "Going Into Labor" Day Weekend!

2009-09-05T21:52:00.013-04:00

A funny holiday, oui? Rest for the workers.

I did some fiddling today.
By some, I mean delicious hours.
By fiddling, I mean connecting imagination with fingertips.

I know it's too soon!
My Quirks is still an infant! Boxes of books and black stones and new Sharpies! And I know it's a resting holiday.

But I miss the movies in my mind. And so...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When he returned, he had a plate of cold turkey, two buttermilk biscuits, and a tiny glass bowl of honey. He nodded, and the two men started eating off the same plate, without utensils, silently filling the emptiness. They dipped into the same honey, overlooking the sticky crumbs left by the other, the burden of words behind them, now.

Barnes & Noblest

2009-08-29T20:29:00.010-04:00

Thanks to Norma Holland for arranging this!
And to Rebecca & Anja for hosting!

And the Winner is...

2009-08-27T07:06:00.005-04:00

Marguerite, from Cajun Delights!
C o n g r a t u l a t i o n s !
Hope you enjoy the myQ & myC shirt!

Thanks - everyone - for playing!
More games of skill and chance coming in September!

And remember - as August subtly backs out of the room,
it's a perfect time to curl up & dream
with a great book!

peace~ Chuck

Show your true (Quirk-y) colors!

2009-08-12T20:15:00.009-04:00

Because one can never be too Quirky...
The semi-annual, once-in-a-lifetime myQ & myC t-Contest!

the Prize: a 100% cotton My Quirks & My Compass t-shirt!

the Rules: anyone who comments, here, by 8/26/09 is auto-entered! i'll draw a name from a salty, sailor hat (as featured in the book) on 8/27.

the Fine Print: the shirt goes soo well with a softcover or audio book... Ooo, la-la! (but owning is not a stipulation for the purposes of this contest.) offer void where prohibited. tax, title, dealer prep... bla bla bla.

Good luck!
Chuck

myQ & myC: now on your Kindle!

2009-08-04T20:50:00.008-04:00

Rejoice! Rejoice!
'Cause now you have a choice!
Purchase, steal, or swindle
Audio, Softcover, and now Kindle!

And it all starts here.
(Or search "my quirks" on Amazon.)

Thank you...
for the lovely Amazon Reviews!
It's deeply gratifying to hear your thoughts.

Drop a note - anytime!
peace~
Chuck

Look Inside! feature is now on Amazon!

2009-07-29T21:14:00.004-04:00

You know how to get there, right?

When you arrive Inside, sample the "Surprise Me" feature!
Wow... that renders some awesome peeks!
(Use with caution! Don't spoil your appetite!)

And remember: Do something crazy for the last moments of July!
peace~

This space is for doodling

2009-07-29T08:30:00.006-04:00

By now, audio and softcover books are making their way into homes and hands. I am grateful - always - for your feedback!

The Amazon page allows book reviews, and I started a discussion at the bottom of that page for audio book reviews. If you like, you can copy/paste your comments to/from this blog. (That would be fabulous!)

Thank you, again.
It's a great honor to hear what you feel,
and to feel what you hear and read!

peace~ Chuck

Softcover book now Amazon-available!

2009-07-25T07:16:00.015-04:00

Funny... this is the picture from my first post! What a ride!

Thank you!
Once again, to thee I extend my deepest gratitude. You have been my best, most supportive friends since February. And I would love to meet you on the road, in your local cafe, library, everywhere!

Please let me know what you think of the book!
You can also voice your feedback on Amazon!
More to come...

Available from Amazon!

Audio Books Now Available!

2009-07-21T21:01:00.005-04:00

Walk this way... Talk this way...

You can place your Audio Book feedback here!
Would love to know your thoughts!
peace~ Chuck

Sample from the myQ & myC Audio Book

2009-07-20T20:37:00.005-04:00

Here's a taste of what will be available by week's end!
Sample chapter.

Note: Best with headphones (and a really big glass of wine)!
It's the 2nd best 5:24 you could possibly blow tonight!

Enjoy!

closeted a bit too long...

2009-07-17T22:17:00.016-04:00

Status: audio recording

2009-07-15T19:54:00.004-04:00

i'm gonna go out on a revealing limb, here

ya know, as i recorded the first chapters
i was making some damn-funny bloopers!
swearin' & laughin' - all alone in this little studio!
(read: closet.)

but as the story unfolded,
i was getting into the heavier parts...
some lovely. and some very sad.

and i found myself - God! - wracked with tears
at the same passages as when i penned them!

i guess that's good, eh?
i guess that shows that at least i(!)
think it's emotionally worthy.

we shall see!
14 chapters down, 14 & an epilogue to go!

thank you
thank you for being out there, in here.
thank you for your beautiful energy. Chuck~

Minute hands & microphones

2009-07-15T00:01:00.000-04:00

I bought a new microphone today.
I didn't buy it because it's
the Larry King desktop style, but that didn't hurt, either.
(Cue the suspenders & six wives.)

Will start recording the audio book on Wednesday.

*** Pop Quiz! ***
Circle True or False:
I was once the voice of the Kodak voice response unit.

"Welcome to InfoExpress... a Kodak system
that delivers information on Kodak products and services.
If this is your first visit, and you'd like an index, press 1.
If you know the document you desire, press 2."

If you circled True, 5 points!

I promise to save/include the outtakes!
"Julian pursed his... dang! HER..."
"Julian pressed up against the Washington monu... shoot!"
"Julian pressed up against the washing machine. The spin cycle always summoned..."

...and so it goes.

practicing my semaphore.jpg or swatting bees.tif

the printer says...

2009-07-14T08:30:00.006-04:00

"Thank you for ordering a proof copy of "My Quirks and My Compass," Book #3391803. This is to notify you your order has been shipped and you will soon receive it."

If Copy #1 is 100%, then I get to throw the Big Giant Switch and make the thing appear on Amazon.

I'm hoping they can also help me find my...

Xo!

Snapshots & silhouettes

2009-07-13T19:36:00.010-04:00

"Congratulations, the files for My Quirks and My Compass have been reviewed and meet the submission specifications. The next step in the publishing process is to order your book's proof copy."

Cover and content approved! Proof (an actual book) ordered!
I'm still teetering on the High Strung side of the equation (it's been a rugged few days), but if the book is 100%, then Amazon availability will follow.

I once promised to share the original version of the cover photo...
I never dreamed that this shot would have a 2nd chance at life,
but I'm hoping that the silhouette of this girl becomes world-famous!
(Something whispered to my shutter button finger: snap it!)

peace & best vibes to you all!
Chuck

Pensive Pony Media: new logo!

2009-07-09T22:05:00.007-04:00

I threw open the barn door & found this:

One step closer to... p u b l i c a t i o n !
Thanks for keeping your eye on the clock.

peace & hoofbeats~
Chuck

Pensive Pony Media sets sail!

2009-07-01T19:05:00.012-04:00

When i go to print later this month,
it will be under a brand-new publishing label...

Yesterday i took the first steps
toward the creation of
Pensive Pony Media.

1 employee: me
1 book title: myQ and myC
1 goal: to bring new writers and artists into the light (can i get a "Giddyap!")

The logistics are keeping me awake at night, but it's also a thrill! Keep your eye on the countdown clock at myquirksandmycompass.com

And thank YOU for providing the backdrop for this incredible dream!
With peace & affection~ Chuck

ps 100% of this post was written on an iPod... in Maine!

Dot Calm

2009-06-26T21:45:00.004-04:00

It's curious...

I started writing last Thanksgiving.
And myQ & myC will be available in July. Not quite the full 9-moon gestation, but I'm ready! (This kid's gettin' heavy!)

So, while s/he assumes the birthing position, I took the opportunity to decorate the nursery. Let me know what you think!

www.myquirksandmycompass.com

My best to thee~
Chuck

Cover Art

2009-06-23T00:01:00.001-04:00

I'm pretty sure the cover will look something like this.
There are still a thousand steps remaining, but
I feel closer, now! Palms are moist!

One day, I need to share
what the original photo looked like!
It was a lucky shot (appropriately, in Bar Harbor), and Apple iPhoto let me give it the feel I was looking for.

peace & happy summer, All!
(and happy winter, Dragonesque!)
xo~ Chuck

A New Compass Reading

2009-06-16T06:25:00.006-04:00

38 query letters sent
- 8 rejections
+ 1 request for Chapter 1
x the radius of (16 tangential days)
---------------------------------------------
= wickedly spinning compass needle!

but ya know what?
the destination is the same.
i simply have to find a new, unplanned route.

a quiet declaration...
with or without an Agent
i am publishing in July.
and will be listed on Amazon.

a door closes
a crack of light is revealed

to my friends...
again, my sails are
eternally grateful, fortunate
for your sweet and generous wind.

i love traveling with you - thank you!
and thank you for staying in touch so beautifully!

peace & blessings~
Chuck

Sunday: Beautiful Followers

2009-05-31T00:01:00.005-04:00

100 posts in 100 days
everyone has been so very generous!
i never dreamed i would find such a
c o n n e c t i o n ...with such incredible people!

i am indebted to each of you
and now it's time to move to a new phase. i will soon:
. be posting once/twice a week
. find the Agent/Publisher that can help bring this dream to fruition
. begin conjuring a new tale

you are now part of this story
i am eager for you to discover everything woven within these excerpts...
. paragraphs born in tears
. pages nourished by the bottle (of ink!)
. threads that mature and finally connect

Julian Monroe is inside each of us.
her pain and joy and discoveries are things
we all experience - but sometimes reading that
reassures us, makes us see our own lives as sane, sacred, hopeful.

my dream is to meet each of you
at a simple table in your local book store,
to hand you a copy of myQ and myC, and to thank you with my heart.

this is but the beginning.
peace~ Chuck

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-05-30T00:01:00.000-04:00

Both felt as though the world was seeing the two of them as the two of them. And now, as they munched their salads and sipped their wine, they got to see how much of it was true.

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-05-29T00:01:00.008-04:00

Their time together was poetic, crafted in a completely new language, written in fire but read with exquisite softness.

Yet there were times when he simply had to read her lips with his fingertips. Speak slowly... but never stop.

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-05-28T00:01:00.004-04:00

After years of searching, wandering, they simply happened upon one another. Past loves and losses became components, sacred parts that made them whole. Every meandering story had a purpose after all, and led them here.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-05-27T00:01:00.000-04:00

Shudders pent up for ages were set free, too the wetness at the edges of her eyes.

One arm went around his neck and held him. The other reached far down his back, raking from there to his shoulder, and he dealt with his own released shudders.

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-05-26T00:01:00.000-04:00

He traced her face as if mapping it, as if tomorrow would take his sight and this was his last chance to memorize her.

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-05-25T00:01:00.002-04:00

They were separated by two pair of cotton, miles of thread, eternities of waiting.

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-05-24T00:01:00.002-04:00

It was apparent that these two navigated by the same stars, steered with the same rudder, shared the same wind.

Some things could be explained and some were beyond explanation. For every plank of decking and foot of mast that the world could perceive, there was just as much ship unseen—below the waterline, beyond comprehension.

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-05-23T00:01:00.001-04:00

And her thoughts flew. It would be wrong to fall in love with him for this alone, but for this alone I could love him all of the days.

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-05-22T00:01:00.001-04:00

And his mouth was on hers, though neither was able to finish any kiss they started—such was the intensity.

When he retreated, she felt a whimper in her throat; and each time he returned, it felt like it had been ages.

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-05-21T00:01:00.000-04:00

Don’t ask how this interlude lasted precisely as long as the candle—fate, coincidence, metaphysics. It just did. It just was.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-05-20T00:01:00.000-04:00

And she let him continue. She let him reconnect her—her body with her spirit, her inner woman with her inner child.

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-05-19T00:01:00.001-04:00

Her lids fluttered open. The bedside light was still on, and Lee’s chin rested on his fist. His lips moved, almost imperceptibly, as he read. She studied his lashes, his profile. She wondered if he was sailing off the coast of Greece or drinking wine one floor above a cabaret in the south of France.

Interesting, how he was in another world, yet resting his feet against hers.

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-05-18T00:01:00.001-04:00

There was something else she didn’t realize—he, too, was up before his alarm.

In fact, he had stayed up all night. He occupied booth 9 at the Coffee-O, scribbling on a steno pad before a single candle, sorting emotional invoices, balancing ledgers of love. How does one decide what is a debit or a credit when the currency is affection? How does one forever close a time-honored account and devote all assets to a single, nascent nest egg?

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-05-17T00:01:00.002-04:00

He leaned, kissed her left cheek, and moved away very slowly. “Me, too.”

The wind found where his lips touched—it was cooler, there. And she vowed to remember that exact spot.

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-05-16T00:01:00.001-04:00

She woke in the night, so late that even the night was slouching, lids drooping. And for a few blessed seconds, she was free of her mourning. But images sauntered in, uninvited, forcing her to recall events of this terrible chapter.

Pain knew just where to sock her—that spot beneath her rib cage. Grief tag-teamed her, strangling too tightly for air or sound to escape. Sorrow’s saltwater flooded every membrane, and her heart could promise but one beat at a time, no more.

Angels stood with eyes cast downward, hands in rest position—too soon for soothing, too late for light. One came forward, but only to finger her black stone, curious at its purpose, enthralled by its earthly cool and smoothness.

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-05-15T00:01:00.000-04:00

She took the food to the Signal Bridge, where she ate alone.

High above the pier, above the power and water supplies, above the steam, cables, and mooring lines, she marveled and she mourned. All of this incredible military hardware, all of this technology, and such fragile hearts and souls that control it, steer it, ride on it.

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-05-14T00:01:00.001-04:00

She started down the stairs, but stopped on the landing. She peered out the little window that overlooked the East Arm of Grand Traverse Bay and, beyond that, the Peninsula. Seagulls circled, white angels above the gray world, and she wondered what kept them going.

Her throat hurt. Her right eye had developed a twitch in the last twenty-four hours. And though her breathing was shallow, she fogged the window. Guess I’m alive, after all.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-05-13T00:01:00.000-04:00

She blinked repeatedly, a flicker of unfocused black and white, until her mind randomly settled—a rainy Saturday. The garage. Mending a sail with him.

She held the halves of canvass and he joined them. Tighter, Jules. Atta girl! Conversations once intimate and vital were now whispered by ghosts, an eerie song sung phonetically. Ti-ter jew ells, at a gurl! And on the workbench, a dusty ship’s log—courses and compass readings long forgotten. Adventures and journeys now but ledgers, but pages.

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-05-12T00:01:00.002-04:00

Without awaiting orders, Julian also responded—she dove into the Helmsman chair, wiped the smatter of Tommy’s blood from the LED readout, and yelled above the panic, “ALL AHEAD FULL!” She checked the compass reading. “HEADING ZERO-FIVE-ZERO!”

“Zero-Five-Zero, aye,” came the semi-automatic reply from the Officer of the Deck.

Julian found Tommy’s broken glasses on the console and fumbled with them. Toss them? Someone might slip on them. Exasperated, she put them up on her head, then felt stupid for it.

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-05-11T00:01:00.013-04:00

They ate simple sandwiches while the urn sat on the kitchen counter. Three bites in, Blair Jon broke down, face in his hands.

“I can’t do this! I can’t.” He bent in half as if stabbed in the gut.

Mom comforted him. Micah said “Bro!” Gramma Savannah was wide-eyed, but continued chewing her sandwich. Julian thought that no more tears could come. But these, hers, were for Blair Jon.

After a few moments, she stood, fetched the urn, and returned to her seat. She put her cheek against the cool stainless steel and heard the words come, as if they were not her own.

“He says he’s happy. No more pain, Blair Jon. No more pain.”
She finished in a whisper. “He… he wants you to be happy.”

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-05-10T00:01:00.002-04:00

When she got upstairs, Aidan had made a sign for her, left it on the kitchen table. He colored in the words “World’s Best,” but left “Mom” uncolored but for the outline of the letters.

He probably ran out of time before bed. She touched her throat, a sweet ache for his expression of young love. Part of the pain, though, was that tonight she herself felt especially hollow, uncolored, unfinished. It was uncanny how her youngest could see right through her.

She heated the teapot and fixed herself some chamomile.

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-05-09T00:01:00.002-04:00

“Oh, Julian, would you like a doughnut?” Kyle presented the box of three.
She laughed, “Did you guys destroy the other nine all on one watch?”

Nathan called to her from the background, without looking up from his work. “We work as a team, Monroe. Always a team. You should try to remember that.”

She grabbed one of the chocolate covered treats.

“Oh, those are good. Chocolate inside, too.” Kyle said it as if it were the last puppy of the litter and he was sad to see it go. “Napkin?”

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-05-08T00:01:00.001-04:00

They simply liked who they were together! They sang in secret voices and shared heart chambers previously unknown. A single candle lit their walls until the time was right, until she heard his lips purse and puff, his wanting smile etched in that split-second before delicious darkness.

In a single day, Micaela discovered her emptiness and the means to fill it.

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-05-07T00:01:00.001-04:00

As stories are revealed, they unfold like boxes until flat, until all sides become apparent, contents exposed. The reader has the benefit of seeing from a higher perspective, unfolded, logical. But those living inside of a story are spinning with desire, are living the joy and hell, are feeling the human wow and flutter.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-05-06T00:01:00.003-04:00

One Saturday morning, they kissed good-bye, and she asked if this, this love, was enough for him.

In the pea gravel driveway, in the pre-dawn dampness, he dropped to both knees. He held her by the waist, kissed her solar plexus, and put his ear to her heart. She weaved fingers through his hair, and after a moment he stood.

“Once you light a fire, you don’t have to relight it. It’s burning, Baby.”

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-05-05T00:01:00.002-04:00

And when they approached their little picnic spot, the sea cut off their escape, surrounding them on three sides. They would venture no further. So they killed the engine, coasted silently, and surrendered.

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-05-04T00:01:00.000-04:00

Micaela administered tests all day, but one more awaited her when she got home that evening. This one was self-paced, self-evaluated, and could not be corrected.

She peed on the stick and said a prayer. Three whole minutes, huh?

She stood, saw herself in the mirror, and felt compelled to move closer—close enough to study her irises, her pupils. She wondered if one could detect pregnancy in one’s eyes. She pulled back to observe her entire face. This will all work out. I love my family, and this is what I want. I want to stay.

Already, she was protecting the child within her.

Excerpts: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-05-03T00:01:00.003-04:00

“I love days like this.”
“Days like what? Without dessert?” Kali queried.

“Oh, you and your dessert! I brought some cookies, just so ya know. But first we’re gonna enjoy this moment!”

“Or drift off to sleep!” Kali joked. “I liked it better when we were gonna swim over to, umm… Porcupine Island!” Of course, at that moment, it was payback time. Kali tickled Julian, right at her solar plexus. She felt her ribs, her woman ribs, and was surprised at how large they felt.

And when they calmed down, trusting that neither would execute a tickle sneak attack, Kali felt her own ribs, comparing.

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-05-02T00:01:00.000-04:00

Julian uncapped the scooter’s gas tank—full, and no evidence of rust. She screwed the cap back on and looked over her shoulder to see Natalie and Tommy talking, animated.

She sat back down on the bike, facing forward now, but wearing a smile for her friend. She adjusted a side mirror in time to see Natalie walking away from him, the body language of a schoolgirl, her purse swinging in wide, happy arcs.

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-05-01T00:01:00.005-04:00

And then he was gone.

Julian took a sip—actually, it was a slug—of coffee. It went down the correct pipe, but a pocket of air went down with it. The bubble was large enough to cause instant pain in her chest, radiating to her back. Geez—I just met the most beautiful boy. Now I'm dying!

In a minute, the bubble found its way north, but not before Natalie said, “Well! I would say that it’s quite clear that you and the young lad may grow to be”—she paused, exaggerating a sip of coffee with pinky extended—“rather fond of one another.”

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-04-30T00:01:00.002-04:00

As they passed, Dad profiled her—her BMI, skin tone, bare shoulders; her long, piano fingers and Midwestern dialect; even her scent. He jotted these, left-handed, into his mental notebook, knowing that the data may die there, dusty, with a career’s worth of policework—faces, postures, demeanors; clues and cars and cold cases.

But about her he had a sense. Unquestionable as DNA or flimsy as a hunch—there was something to her.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-04-29T00:01:00.001-04:00

Dad set down his coffee. “I really wanted to sail from home, ya know. All the way around the point.”

Julian fixed her gaze on the breakfast table as if it were a map. She saw the point to which he referred—Leelanau State Park, where Grand Traverse Bay became one with the great Lake Michigan.

“Yeah,” she said. She was seated in a breakfast booth but stood on decks of teak, tethered to the rail, taking readings in foul weather gear. Kitchen smells to her became spray from the bow. And her head actually rose and fell—almost imperceptibly— in time with her imagery craft.

She returned to the table only when assured of her correct lat and long.

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-04-28T00:01:00.003-04:00

Julian busted her chops. She pointed at the piece of wet pie that Kali had spit out. “Do you mind if I, uh, have that little piece?” Kali didn’t realize that she was teasing, and looked at Julian in mild horror. She smiled when she saw Julian’s grin.

Julian wrapped her hands around her cup. She really had no love for coffee, but she loved its warming properties. The soothing was worth the bitter taste.

She didn’t see when the young man entered the room, where he came from. He was just there. Right there, at the table!

“And how was everything today?”

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-04-27T00:01:00.005-04:00

She considered the events that brought her here, to this unsuspecting, anonymous coast. Maine, the state that tallied everything that she carried—secrets, scars, pain—and then relieved her of them all.

It asked for nothing—just held her and let the tears come. It fostered her as an innocent child, whispering, Shhh. None of that matters here, Darling.

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-04-26T00:01:00.000-04:00

They chatted, relaxed, for several minutes. Dad was easy on the phone. He didn’t mind the pauses—he never found them awkward. Besides, he and Julian had spent eons of time together on the water. Lakes worth of sharing. Nautical miles of silence. Depths of unspoken regard.

She’d spent many a night wrestling with her decision to stay so far from home. She missed her mother, grandmother, brothers. But it was her intrinsic connection to her dad that made her throat ache. She couldn’t explain it. She simply felt closest to him—him, of all people on earth.

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-04-25T00:01:00.002-04:00

Everyone descended on the church’s basement for punch and cookies. Halfway down the stairs, Julian felt a sick, little wave of deja vous—a sea of patent leather shoes; floral dresses and forced conversations; the slick hair of men who last night bet on horses and staggered home.

But when she reached for a mug to fill, Natalie gave her a little elbow. “Dip down to the bottom,” adding in a whisper, “That’s where the rum swims.”

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-04-24T00:01:00.003-04:00

The plan was for each to eat half of their lunch, then swap plates. But after just two bites, they were tasting from one another’s forks. Mystery and newness and deliciousness just a tined utensil away.

“Now I see why they call them ‘specials,’” Julian said, near monotone. Her voice was level not from boredom, but from contentment.

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-04-23T00:01:00.003-04:00

The rib cage still rose and still fell, audible accents on the exhales, like a man recovering from a six-miler. And from its nostrils the huffing formed perfect, measured clouds against the sunset, like the sweet fog in the fortunate fields, kissed by the same heaven.

The beast struggled not. So calm was the moment that Carter was tempted to touch this beautiful face, to ease its transition to The Next World. But it was not his to comfort and he sighed, his unworthiness. He looked back at the car, blocked Julian’s view from the sheer majesty of this half creature, then pulled the trigger.

Neither spoke the whole way home, but he rode with his pistol hand on Julian’s back, telling her without words that she would always be loved. Of the two of them, it’s likely that it was Carter who was closer to tears.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-04-22T01:00:00.006-04:00

And there was Midge or Madge or Mildred at the pipe organ—her back to the congregation—her upper body swaying ever-so-slightly to music composed four hundred years prior.

Julian noted how she lifted and dropped her shoulders, how she tilted her head back whenever the melody was allowed to run free, as if Midge or Madge or Mildred herself were the runner, the little girl in yonder meadow.

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-04-21T01:00:00.003-04:00

The faintest bells welcomed them onto the church property, then were immediately overdubbed by their tires, the crunching of pea gravel. They parked, and the bells patiently returned to the forefront.

Julian imagined that their source was a church organ player named Midge or Madge or Mildred, a native of Maine who never married but was a source of light to all who knew her, who spoke with hands folded, prim.

She smiled at her detailed, tangential daydream. At least I’m smiling!

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-04-20T01:00:00.003-04:00

She stared and stroked him, a perfect meditation, a calming love. In response, Taj dug his nails into her thigh.

“Hey!”

Julian held his face in her hands and pulled back his fur, causing a funny, involuntary cat smile. She smiled back, as if the original were of his choosing.

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-04-19T01:00:00.000-04:00

After the last of the passengers had departed the ship, Julian stepped off the Dauntless and onto the pier. Home again. Her walking pace bested the car traffic leaving the harbor, red taillights of tired travelers, apparitions of exhaust.

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-04-18T01:00:00.009-04:00

She felt dizzy. She unbuckled her belt, pants, and she sat. Her head hurt as if she had been crying for hours. She peed, and somehow knew that when she stood, the color would be dark, a cue to get and stay hydrated. The ship turned hard, reminding her that she was on duty, still underway, chasing submarines. The seat creaked beneath her.

She remembered reentering the Bridge, her ballcap pulled down low. And Petrea telling her to go lie down, that he would finish her watch until her relief came on duty. Everything beyond ten feet was just fog.

“Do you have the midnight watch?”
“Uh, yes,” Julian deduced.

“You gonna be okay for that?”
“Yes, thank you.”

“If you need some time, you just let me know, Shipmate.”

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-04-17T01:00:00.000-04:00

By the time the food came, the three were laughing about a marching band incident that took place on Kali’s school bus.

The bus was running late to a competition. Players had to change into their marching uniforms on the bus. By some miscalculation, twenty-four girls had complete outfits and three were missing pants. So three lads from the pit crew—the marimba, electric bass, and tubular bell players—sacrificed theirs.

But during the event—despite well-cinched belts and improvised hemming—one girl’s borrowed trousers freed themselves. During a precision maneuver, she and her flute went down on one soggy knee. Somehow, the flag team portion of the squad improvised on the spot, shading the fall as best they could with a flourish of twirls, ruffles, and other silk and canvas decoys.

When Kali finished telling the tale, the adults were laughing so hysterically that they didn’t—couldn’t!—appropriately thank their server.

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-04-16T01:00:00.001-04:00

Cat walked over, wiping her hands on her apron, even though they were already quite clean and dry. She looked tired, but in a good way. No matter the song, she was one who slow-danced—barefoot at that—at peace with the rhythms of maturity.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-04-15T01:00:00.005-04:00

Cat whispered and unlocked the beveled glass door for her. The little welcome bell was indifferent to their stealth and it sang out in the darkness. Julian descended the steps, cap low over her face, but the sharp morning air was on her like paparazzi.

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-04-14T01:00:00.011-04:00

Julian realized that she had left her own moisture, so she kissed again to dry the spot. When she did, she took in a sweetness—like cinnamon, like coffee cake, or bread. Cat carries her work with her! Trade secrets, reserved for but a few.

“You smell lovely!”

“Oh,” Cat smiled. “I probably smell like kitchen sweat.”

“No, you smell like cinnamon! Like a sweet, little cinnamon girl.”

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-04-13T01:00:00.000-04:00

The next days flew by like dealt cards, face down, a blur of sameness.

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-04-12T01:00:00.003-04:00

“Julian!” Alex’s voice boomed, startling her. “Are you having any fun?”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Alex!” she boomed in a low, mocking voice. “I am! Are you, eh?”

The three Canadians roared—they found it hilarious that an American finished her interrogative using their native idiom. She found it hilarious that they even noticed! The whole situation was fun, and silly, and perfectly easy.

Alex tuned the guitar and played songs that Julian didn’t know, couldn’t sing. Nor, though, could she squelch this smile. And at that moment, she realized how one could instantly fall in love with a minstrel, a player—even before knowing his name. She watched his fingers while an unseen, seventh guitar string snaked and found her. It touched and surrounded an ancient bone, resonating, whispering a language she could no longer speak but could forever recognize.

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-04-11T01:00:00.004-04:00

A breeze came down the road and gently elbowed the sleepy wind chimes, rusty from the salt air but still able to wake and produce a clear, meaningful song.

Kali scratched her nose through the blanket, sighed, and put her head against Julian’s shoulder. Julian didn’t speak, but felt a warm smile come across her face. She enjoyed Kali’s perspective, enjoyed the opportunity to help make sense of her young world.

“Well, I better go.”
“Okay, Honey.”

Julian got up, then steadied the swing. Kali slid off, landing as if she had springs in her feet. Somehow, Julian felt like this conversation did the girl some good. Hence the lightness!

She held her arms open and Kali fell into them, the side of her head surprisingly warm. Kali cantered down the steps and across the little strip of grass that separated the two homes. Julian watched until she had confirmation of her safe passage.

Kali shook hands with the screen door, and it welcomed her in its stretchy spring voice. Kaa-liii. She let go, knowing it would apply horizontal gravity to complete its task, its slam her seal of assurance.

Julian rubbed her arms to warm them, then carried the blanket and Popsicle sticks inside, her shoes echoing.

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-04-10T01:00:00.000-04:00

She floated, dazed, through her workday, as if something so heavy could float. She felt like she was getting her period, though she just finished a week ago.

He was right—at least we didn’t have to make the fateful decision.
There would be no more torture.

Strange, though—we have not made love, not even close.
And yet …this pain. Loving and losing.

How sadly ironic—the love without really loving, the loss of something never possessed. She felt like a dull knife. A jackknife constantly opened and stowed. Opened, stowed, just to feel and hear the clicking—opened, stowed, quite absentmindedly. The blade unused, yet dull. Just dull and eventually returned to its pants pocket, finally silenced. Done with it. What’s the use of having a knife if it’s never used?

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-04-09T01:00:00.002-04:00

She and Dad met on the shore of Lake Michigan. He was hoisting the canvas on small craft, readying for a sail. She had her toes in the sand and she had questions!

“Isn’t it too rough for sailing today?”

“Why do you have a feather at the top of the mast?”

“Is it safe to sail alone?”

It was Dad’s silence that enticed her, caused her to inquire with more persistence. He sensed when her queries had ceased, and replied simply, “You should join me." He wiped his forehead. "It’s actually the perfect day for a sail.”

She was mildly flustered. She asked only for answers, but got an invitation.

Still, somehow, she sensed that this man was trustworthy. She liked his muscles. She liked his hair and the way that he brought her into an unexpected adventure—her first sail.

They stumbled—a little uncoordinated—through their first nautical miles together, their first two hours of conversation. But both knew immediately that they had met someone fascinating.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-04-08T01:00:00.000-04:00

Less than a year later, at Christmas dinner, she announced plans to enlist in the Navy. Her brothers were stunned. They got up from the table and slapped her back, grabbed her, squeezed. Drinks were spilled and it didn’t matter. Mom cried. Gramma Savannah cried. Dad expected the news, but he cried, too.

Julian cried, though she didn’t know why.

They had perch for supper that night. Julian remembered this because she and her brothers celebrated her new military status in the secrecy of her bedroom, drinking Peppermint Schnapps from a metal flask. Julian threw up, lied that it was merely from the excitement, but—as if it were the fault of the fish—vowed never to eat perch again as long as she lived.

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-04-07T01:00:00.003-04:00

“Save room for dessert!” Cat announced.

“You can't be serious!” everyone protested.

“We’re having something fun!”

“Will there be whipped cream?” Henry asked, half under his breath. Julian laughed out loud. She coughed, thankful she had a cloth napkin to mask the thing.

“Oh, Dear Jesus!" Alex cut in with mock distaste. "Are you still into that?”

Henry made the whipped cream from an aerosol can sound effect, and there was more laughter. Not only was the sound accurate, but he made a boyish face to go with it, which Julian found adorable. Now her abs and cheeks hurt—but in a good way—in addition to the funny flutter in her heart region.

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-04-06T01:00:00.003-04:00

She sat and peeled her orange, and he crouched at his dish, his mouth making moist sound effects. He looked back over his shoulder, as if ensuring she was doing what she was scheduled to do. Their regimen had him starting first and finishing first. Then and only then would he tiptoe into her space, step between her soft, shaven legs, and allow her the glory of petting him, of loving him.

And every weekday morning, she would place an orange section in her mouth, only to make that little, "Tpff" spitting sound with lips and tongue—the invisible, stray cat hair clinging to the citrus.

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-04-05T01:00:00.002-04:00

They climbed a set of stairs— Sonarman Wilkins called it a “ladder”—and got a quick view of the Radio Shack, the helicopter hangar, and the Combat Information Center.

Wilkins said, “Now, we’d love to show you how cool this place is when all the radar are up and running, but we can’t do that while in port. So, we’ve lit up a couple simulated radar scopes to give you an idea of what things look like when we’re underway.” She described how some radar was for detecting surface ships, others for air traffic.

One of the visitors asked if the frigate was able to land and carry a jet airplane. Julian rolled her eyes and coughed, stifling a laugh. Dad caught a glimpse of her, scrunched the left side of his mouth, and scratched his left buttock so that only she could see. Sonarman Wilkins fielded the absurd question as diplomatically as possible.

From there, they visited the Bridge.

That’s when Julian first laid eyes on Lieutenant Donna Pichon, the ship’s Navigation Officer. She wore her dress white uniform, and the girl noticed how sharp the creases were, how “together” her face and posture and demeanor. The creases and such weren’t lost on her dad, either.

Sonarman Wilkins turned it over to the Lieutenant, who then described some of the functions of the navigation team known as the Quartermasters. Pichon was good—she immediately sought participation. She asked if anyone knew which way was north. A couple people mumbled among themselves. But Julian simply pointed at a 45-degree angle.

“Yes—very good. Gold star, there!”

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-04-04T01:00:00.001-04:00

They did a fist bump and saddled up.

On the ride back home—north through the valleys—they felt the sun on their backs. Once, going down a fairly steep hill, Julian took her right hand off the throttle and let the bike coast. She reached back and grabbed Kali’s thigh, giving it just enough of a squeeze to signal, “I love you.” Then she patted her leg as if to say, “I’m going back to the throttle, now.”

When they pulled in the driveway, their faces and fingers were chilly, but they felt exhilarated. Natalie heard them arrive, and walked out her front door. She had a dish towel over one shoulder and leaned on the porch rail.

“How was it?”

“Oh, it was great, Mom!”

Julian beamed, “You’ve got quite the daughter, there, Natalie!”

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-04-03T01:00:00.002-04:00

That’s when Madge stood and faced the congregation.

“You may have noticed in your program that the piece you just heard was composed for viola. However, Kali Bond took the initiative and transposed her part—all in her spare time—so that she could play it for you on her violin.” She paused. “And I just think she did a marvelous job with that and with today’s performance.” Madge led the audience in applause, though they needed little coaxing. The place just went nuts.

Madge continued at an opportune time, “Kali would now like to perform a piece that she wrote this past summer, called…” she referred to piece of paper she’d hidden in her palm “'On The Water.'” That she had to refer to her note was no fault of her own—Kali had not settled on a name until minutes ago.

This time, Madge played a short intro, again on the harpsichord. After a couple of measures, Kali came in, holding, holding an F sharp, adding some vibrato, and then attacking a series of scales, all slurred seamlessly. And she ended the brief passage with a sweet, soft pianissimo. Then, together, the two entered another challenging section. They harmonized an impressive array of arpeggio—chords broken into single notes—and the visuals brought awe to the congregation. Kali’s bow and fingerings were relentless for a full minute, and Madge maintained eye contact with Kali as much as possible, checking to ensure that her own fingerings were oriented and precise.

Then once more, the music found a place of peace, of calm. Somehow, all of the prior chaos—essential, and needing to be expressed—melted away, receded, letting in only tranquility.

When the piece—all performed without sheet music—came to a close, the place erupted. It sounded more like a gymnasium than a place of worship. Julian wasn’t sure if this was the norm at this church, but by Natalie’s surprise, she gauged that this was something unusual, special.

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-04-02T01:00:00.003-04:00

Kali walked over to the house next door, knocked a couple of times. She knew that Julian wasn’t home—she was taking a couple days off, and wouldn’t be home until tonight. But she knocked, anyway. Then she turned the key and walked in.

Chilly in here! Taj greeted her at the door. “Taj! Hey, baby! Are you staying warm?”

She checked the cat’s food, rinsed and refilled the water dish, and cleaned the litter box. Then she sat on the loveseat and stroked him for a while, played with the toy mouse, then simply enjoyed being alone in an adult’s house.

She innocently snooped in the desk area, noticed a bill from the electric company, read a couple of Julian’s Post-it reminders. She pretended for a few minutes that this was her place, that she was a working woman, that she could stay up as late as she liked, could have parties and wine and boyfriends.

She opened the fridge and bent at the waist like they do on TV, even though her height made that unnecessary. Soymilk, cranberry juice, bananas, wheat bread, English muffins, raspberry jam. When I grow up, I’m gonna drink soymilk. I’m gonna put my bananas in the fridge.

Later, she reported to her mom that everything was in order, that the kitty was fine. Then she went to her room and arranged things on her desk as Julian did, substituting tests—which she folded horizontally in thirds—for bills. She grabbed her drinking glass from the bathroom and filled it with a couple pens, a stubby pencil, and a marker. She wrote herself a little reminder to buy Post-it notes.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-04-01T01:00:00.001-04:00

She checked her watch, and when the time came for Customs to open their gate, she wandered aft to peruse the oncoming passengers. Pretty long line for a day that will bring rain. Hearty souls! Some were already aboard. She scanned the heads and faces from thirty feet up—not easy from this angle. If she missed him, she’d instructed him to execute Plan B: call her from the ship’s café, extension 222. She sharpened her focus, visually sorting the couples, the elderly, the physiques that didn’t match Lee Lannon’s.

When she failed to locate him, a physical twinge of doubt ran from her throat to her solar plexus, and for the first time she considered Plan C—failure. The line thinned until it became a trickle, single stragglers with fanny packs jogging to make the cutoff.

She looked skyward and lifted her shoulders, stretching her neck, then exhaled in minor disbelief. Technically, he still had four minutes left to come aboard. But I’ve got shit to do. She took off her hat, pulled back her hair, then pulled the thing a little lower over her eyes. She walked back to her workspace. Frick, I didn’t even bring my running gear. She felt her tummy growl.

She stepped onto the Bridge. The Officer of the Deck, Gary, was on the walkie-talkie. The pier crew would release the mooring lines in five minutes. Julian approached the chart table, her lips like a trumpeters, flexed, tight. She decided to have a coffee. I don’t care what I taste like.

“Okay—that’s it for vehicles. Last one is a what?”

The walkie-talkie crackled, “White Subaru. Maine plate, Mike-Charlie-Delta-Romeo.”

“Roger pier.” He turned, “Hey, Jules! You, uh, you had a call a couple minutes ago. I thought you were in the head. Guy from, um, passenger. Larry. Lance. Leroy…”

“Lee?”

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-03-31T01:00:00.000-04:00

When she was sixteen, a Navy Frigate—on a tour of the Great Lakes—visited Mackinaw City. There was to be an open house, tours, recruiters, and opportunities. Dad let Julian skip school so they could be there first thing in the morning. It was a Friday. Julian intended to write an English paper on the ride up, but fell asleep in the passenger seat. Dad felt it was a perfect morning. He knew what this meant to her. He loved the irony—how he regarded this girl as so very mature, yet here she was slumped and drooling. Even when she’s a mess, she is so endearing!

When the sun was just getting warm, they parked at the end of the pier and walked.

“Oh my God! That thing is huge! Dad, that has to be six stories high!”

“That’s about right. That’s about right.” He knew that a Frigate was among the smallest of the Navy’s warships, but even he was impressed with its sleek shape, sharp lines.

As they approached, they saw that every detail was shipshape for this tour. Colorful international flags were strung from the bow to the top of the mast, then down the backside of the ship, to the fantail and they took turns snapping in the breeze. The vessel’s paint—haze gray with sharp, white trim—was fresh. The hull number on the bow was bold “1170” with a drop shadow. Every inch of railing was shielded with white nylon canvas, stretched tight to protect sailors from the wind; but the real intent was to impress the visitors.

Before they got too close, both Julian and Dad stopped walking. They needed a moment more to take it all in, to avoid an emotional overdose, to take a mental snapshot before they went aboard.

Finally, they climbed the stairs to the brow, which led to the ship’s Quarterdeck. The welcoming committee—the Officer of the Deck, Petty Officer of the Watch (armed with a 45-caliber pistol), and the messenger of the Watch briefed them, assigned badges. They would wait until they had a party of ten or so before they began the tour.

Dad struck up a conversation with a young Lieutenant. “First time in Michigan, Sir?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. It’s been a nice tour, so far.”

“Carter Monroe.” Dad extended his hand. Julian winced—she didn’t think you were allowed to do that, to talk to and touch military people like that.

“Ah, Carl Peterson. Nice to meet you.”

“And my daughter, Julian.”

“Hello, Julian.” He bent slightly at the waist as he addressed her, shook her hand.

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-03-30T01:00:00.006-04:00

Chief led her to a quiet corner, where Radioman Chris Toumala had set up a handset. He was seated, one hand on some dials, one hand signaling for Julian to enter the space and sit. Toumala spoke into the microphone, “And we’re ready. I’ll stay on the line, Operator.”

Julian picked up the handset. Toumala began, “Okay, Operator. Please patch us through.” He covered his mic with his fingers, then spoke to Julian. “You’re going to have to say ‘Over’ each time you finish talking. The Operator will give the same instruction to your parents. That way, the Operator can switch the signal.”

In a minute, she heard the Operator’s voice. “Okay, USS Cape St. George, your line is open. Please begin.” Toumala pointed to Julian.

“Hello?” No one responded. “Hello?”

Toumala leaned over, again covering his mic. “Say ‘Over’.”
“Hello? Over.”

“Julian? Over.” It was her Dad.
“Dad.” Julian immediately choked up. She didn’t know that tears could come that quickly. Toumala made eye contact, and she remembered to add, “Over.”

“Honey, let me tell you what happened. Your brother Christian was arrested on Sunday morning. He’s all right. He’s gonna be all right.” Her Dad paused. She pictured Dad at the kitchen table in Michigan. He continued. “He’s gonna do the right thing. He’s gonna take responsibility for…” her Dad cleared his throat “…for his actions. We just wanted you to know, and let you know that everything’s gonna be all right." Dad explained the details. "Over.”

“Daddy! Oh, my God! That’s… that’s terrible!” She had her head bowed so low that it was nearly in her lap. Her questions were puzzle pieces, scattered, some face-up, some face-down. “Dad, who? Who was she?”

Julian forgot to finish with “Over,” but the Operator was following closely enough that he knew to flip the switch.

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-03-29T01:00:00.001-04:00

Things quieted down, until the only sounds were knives and forks. Mom cleared her throat and spoke. “I have some news of my own, today.”

The elders—Dad and Gramma Savannah—looked to Micaela, as if on cue. They sensed that such a preamble would not be necessary unless the news was of real importance. Dad had his water glass to his lips, but he set it back down without drinking.

“Yes, I got some test results back today. And it appears"—she paused for scarcely a second, but it felt like an eternity to her audience—"that you boys are going to have a baby brother or sister.”

Dad rose very, very slowly from his chair. His movements were dreamlike, almost ghostlike. The three boys surrounded their mother and flooded her with kisses. Gramma Savannah already had her handkerchief out and to her mouth, her other hand on her daughter’s arm. Dad wrapped around his wife, repeating a whispered, “Oh, my God,” and “That is beautiful, Baby.”

Twelve years would separate Julian from the twins; fourteen from Blair Jon.

It was quite a supper table, tonight. The matriarch—the daughter of slaves—seated next to her daughter. At the other end of the table, the white head of the household—three generations from slave owners. And between them, three sons, both black and white.

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-03-28T01:00:00.000-04:00

Julian pulled her cap down over her eyes, just to be clever and coy. It didn’t work. As Cat turned to grab some scones, she called out, “Hey, stranger!”

Julian lifted her chin up—way up, on account of the low hat brim—and smiled. She decided she must look very stupid, hidden but so easily discovered. She ambled over and got in line. “Hey, the ship’s broken down, so we’re staying the night. I just came in for a loaf of…”

”Stay here.”
“What?”

“Stay here. Alex is off with Henry for the next few nights. I’ve got some movies, some wine…”
“Oh! Really!”

“Oh, hell yeah,” she said as if three words were one. “Ohhellyeah. If you can get away, let’s have some girl fun.”
“Okay—cool! What time should I…”

“Grab your gear and get over here!” Then she added, “Want anything ‘to go’?”
“Maybe I’ll take a couple loaves of something sweet.”

“Sweet and sticky—comin’ up.” She was away for just a few seconds. “Here—these are for the troops. We’ll square up later, Love.”

Excerpts: Friday's 1-liner

2009-03-27T01:00:00.000-04:00

They collected their stuff. They chucked their apple cores into the Atlantic and strapped on their helmets. Julian warmed up the bike, then checked her coat to make sure her camera was there, the zipper up.

“Ready, Sport?”

Kali nodded, her helmet bobbing up and down. She looked like a juvenile spaceperson. But when she pulled on Julian’s sunglasses, Julian saw the faintest hint of a college girl in that face. In that split-second, she loved Kali. She saw all of the things that lay before her—the pain, the heartbreaks. But she also saw confidence, love, and reasons for living. There’s still time—time to equip her. She’s gonna do just fine.

Excerpt: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-03-26T01:00:00.004-04:00

Julian woke at the sound of her own voice. She noticed Taj up against her, silently watching, concerned at her nocturnal outburst. After a few seconds of eye contact, Taj turned his head and let his tail move slowly back and forth, content once more.

They reached slumber together this time, sharing this little space. Julian tiptoed on the fringe of dream world, thinking of Cat and Taj—amused that her mind made the association between Caterina’s nickname and Taj’s species. I am brilliant, but only briefly and intermittently.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-03-25T01:00:00.000-04:00

Like a spoiled adult child bent on driving a wedge between two fair siblings, so winter divides the calendar year.

Autumn—offering as sacrifice the vibrant birth and death of color—was but a memory now. Fading, fading, forgotten. The frozen world, however, was relentless, careless with the order of things, messy with the balance of nature. It postured, threatening to never surrender to spring’s new life, to Capri pants, to fragrant buds and sweet, essential mating. Winter was the drunken sailor aching for a fight, clearing a table full of beer glasses with one backhanded, muscle-bound sweep. There was no reasoning, here. No law could curb or check this belligerence. There was only the shattering of frozen mugs, hoppy foam, and ice chips.

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-03-24T01:00:00.000-04:00

She took his hands and led him.

He had never been down her hallway. He half-stepped, careful not to trip her. He didn’t know why, but he looked back over his shoulder to make sure the cat and the candles were safe. She sensed his assessment. “Ooo, wait.” She walked back to the table, blew out one candle and grabbed the other. She walked with her hand cupped around the flame, protecting it. Behind her, the spirit of the blown candle slinked, rose to full height, set free.

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-03-23T01:00:00.000-04:00

She trotted off, and Lee watched. He liked that she ran like a girl, but a strong one! When Julian finished, she returned to the tie-dye booth, but Lee wasn’t there. She thought he was playing a game, so she crept, moving carefully, trying to find The Missing Boyfriend. When she finally found him, he wasn’t hiding at all.

“Hey, that was fast,” he said, tucking a receipt into his wallet.
“Souvenir?”

“Dramamine, actually. That darn sea!” he said with exaggerated disdain.
“Poor baby! I thought you were a rugged, seafaring lad.”

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-03-22T01:00:00.001-04:00

They ventured between brick buildings painted the color of wine, beneath a black, wrought iron arch. Julian pointed up at it.

“Hmm… looks like “Mar... Market. Friend’s Farm Market!”

The alley opened wide before them, wider, a courtyard. And there was life inside, a fair, the buzz of bohemian artists and similar seekers of art. World music. Attire and hair that indicated membership in the creative fraternity. Love children, they rode a certain, knowing sine wave on an exclusive frequency.

Excerpt: Saturnday's 1-liner

2009-03-21T01:00:00.000-04:00

She lit only the bathroom candle, low light her friend tonight. She tested the shower temperature, the warmest of rains kissing her wrist, impatient until it could envelope her. Verbena glazed her skin and lingered, lemon bubbles reminding her that she was woman. And cocoa butter moisturized her mane, hinting at her heritage, princess of the West Indies. She leaned into the wall and allowed the intimate river to decide what needed caressing.

Excerpt: Friday's 1-liner

2009-03-20T01:00:00.005-04:00

He watched as Julian assimilated the new information. He watched with anticipation to see—finally—what it was that she felt.

But there were footsteps. Julian grabbed a nearby Phillips screwdriver and rag—preventative maintenance gear—and feigned wiping the former with the latter. A couple of Signalman entered the Bridge.

“Morning,” the two called. They went through the watertight door that led to the starboard Bridge Wing, closed it, and climbed one more level to the Signal Bridge. Aaron and Julian heard boots overhead. Julian felt a stab in her chest. Just seconds into this romance, they were faking, feeling guilty.

Aaron broke the tension with humor, whispering, “0730. Time for the Signalmen to get stoned.”
“Yeah, for the first time, today, anyway!”

Excerpts: Thirstday's 1-liner

2009-03-19T01:00:00.005-04:00

When they reached the top, Cat swung open a set of oak and glass double doors. They moved in graceful, symmetrical arcs, jungle cats silently taking up position on opposite sides of the entrance, making not a sound when they reached their finish. Julian paused at the last three stairs. She stared at the open room, tall, cream-colored, lit only by candles and tiny, white holiday lights that threw long shadows, soft but scratchy, up the walls and across the ceiling. Jazz was playing from an unseen source.

“C’mon up!” Cat held out her hand to Julian. Symbolic, because those last steps—from her world to here—took three years to climb. One step. One year. She was a woman of action, a woman of the world—but forever solitary, fragile.

Excerpt: Wednesday's 1-liner

2009-03-18T01:00:00.000-04:00

She was never without it. As long as she had pockets, she had his stone. Years later, even through new loves, she carried it, filling a gap 1200 miles wide.

Also comforting was the fact that a single stick of his Old Spice deodorant—applied to the stone now and then—could last this long. She told herself that it helped maintain the shine. And that the stone smelled like the man she loved was the lone sensual indulgence that she could justify.

All of this, of course, was too quirky to reveal to even her closest friends. So, it remained a secret, one worth keeping. The connection between her heart and his was sacred to her.

Excerpt: Tuesday's 1-liner

2009-03-17T01:00:00.004-04:00

She appreciated that he didn’t complain—not once—about the chilly breeze, about the economy, about their brisk walking pace. On the contrary, he celebrated these things. He embraced the simple life and considered simple ways endearing. He loved days like this, an hour before imminent rain—the electricity in the air, and the reaction of all creatures to the threat of wetness.

Julian decided that a new friend's most vital qualities were demonstrated in the first forty minutes, then simply confirmed over the next thirty years.

She wondered, between the sips and the thirsting for personal knowledge, if he were getting the same read from her. A big part of her was optimistic. But another part—the realist—knew that even the simplest hearts braved incredibly complex worlds.

Excerpt: Monday's 1-liner

2009-03-16T01:00:00.002-04:00

For the first several Sundays, their boots would remain parked by the front door, never to venture outside the nest. Hers, knotted for seasons at a time, slipped on and off like loafers. His, with laces undone and lovingly tucked inside. She teased him, not only because of her self-declared “fantastic time-saving habits,” but because it was she who had served in the military.

“You missed your calling, Sir!”

He came to her, arms around her waist, her bathrobe.
"Oh, I couldn't disagree more."

Excerpt: Sunday's 1-liner

2009-03-15T01:00:00.001-04:00

On their way to the ship's bow, Julian stepped into the ladies room. She was still learning the intricacies of attending to her cycle. Like every girl since the beginning of time, she questioned nature’s perfect design. She understood the mechanics, but she cursed the pain, the embarrassment, and the incredible, lifelong inconvenience.

She exited. Dad put his arm around her as they walked up the port side of the ship. He squeezed her neck a little, rocked her as they walked as if to say, “If I could take your pain, you know I would, baby girl.” After all, as an officer of the law, he knew an injustice when he saw one, even if were crafted by Our Heavenly Father.