I am off on an adventure!
I will miss doing my usual memes this weekend:  Fill in Fun and Saturday Art, but hopefully I am finding much inspiration while on this journey.

In my absence, I thought I should provide some proof that I have been writing.

I have a lot of what us writer sorts call One Shots -  consider it a teaser if you will.   
Sometimes you just get this idea, but it's only in fragments.   You don't always have the full story.   And I used to just day dream about those stories.  Let the characters run around freely; but within the safe haven of my own mind.

I've learned to set them free.   First, on a page.  Whether it's a crumpled dinner napkin, the notebook that's always in my purse, or the Notes app on my iPhone.  Whenever an idea strikes,  or a new character introduces themselves:  I capture them before they can run away, or get lost in the daily shuffle of life. 

Maybe it will only stay an idea. 
Maybe it will be just that one single idea for years.
But what this month writing challenge is teaching me, is that if you continue to build upon the idea: It will GROW. 
Eventually, the story will have it's way. 

You just have to do the work.
So, this is me; doing the work. 

(A part of this story was originally posted in a Saturday Art post, but here I have expanded upon the central idea and fine tuned.)



That was how she breezed into his life.   

A shadowy lone and hunched figure, swaying back and forth on the tire swing hanging from the old oak tree that stood guard at the edges of the corn field.   Her small body turned into itself, braced against the rain driving down in sheets.  The hair whipping about as though lashes striking her tiny frame.  But it was the fear in her eyes that caught him.   How they shone out from the darkness of the night.  

Standing at his bedroom window he could feel the grip of fear upon the young girl.  Though not that many years beyond her age, he immediately sensed he must protect her.   He grabbed his flashlight and threw open the window, turning the beam full upon her swaying form.  Her eyes caught the light and froze; hesitation now joining the fear in her gaze.  But also… curiosity in the slight angle of her head as her eyes met his and held.  She smiled up at him through the dark and the rain; and in that moment, he knew he was lost.
He waved her forward and pointed at the trellis covered with sweet Jasmine, it’s scent now lost in the storm; beckoning her forth.  She jumped with ease off the swing and fought the force of the storm to finally stand beneath his open window.   

 Come on up and get dry.”  

His breath held wondering if she would dare.   Surprisingly, she did not hesitate, but slowly climbed up until she could reach his outstretched hand, and holding tight, he pulled her into the welcoming warmth of his bedroom.   Raindrops clung to her lashes as she smiled up at him and her voice was smooth as honey; “I was so afraid… I didn’t know where to go.  I just ran and didn’t think…”
Handing her a towel, he whispered, “But you are not afraid now.”
She wrapped her soaked body in the towel and whispered back “No… because you’re here with me now.”
He never felt a bigger moment of pride his entire life.
And thus began one night of many stormy nights.   How often he would stand at his window during those common Southern summer night storms, watching the rows of corn for any movement.   And how without fail she would come.  Sometimes to the swing to await his beacon’s signal.  Other nights she would glance up and see him already there.   So many nights passed together while storms raged outside.  While during the calmer moments of daylight, the sun shone on a friendship that grew and strengthened until it blossomed one dark and stormy night into something more.  

How as young teens they snuggled as they always had under covers to keep warm.  She wrapped dry in his football jersey, feeling safe and warm and oh so loved.  He knowing life would never be as good as this one moment.  That night she almost lingered too long, for so much had suddenly changed between them.   The memory of his kisses and strong arms.  The warm glow spreading like fire from her very core bursting in her mind, as she slowly climbed down the old trellis; the night Jasmine bursting all around.   Silhouetted by the morning sun just peeking over the horizon, she blew a kiss back to him, before jumping down and running off into the rows of corn.   He stood at the window and watched the swaying of the rows until she was gone.
When he came down to breakfast to discover chaotic confusion and fear; the whispers spreading among the house staff like wild fire “was not even in her bed last night it seems;”  just vanished to thin air ‘twould seem!”  she was always so afraid of these storms, poor thing!  his heart gripped in fear as the truth hit:  she was gone for good.


For 12 years he had stood at that bedroom window, searching through the storm for any movement in the rows of corn that ever grew.   How many times had the wind played tricks with his mind?   How many times had he sworn he could see the rows moving; parting?   How many nights had he been torn from the depths of sleep, sure he could hear the squeaks of that old tire swing?   Hearing sweet whispers on the wind, and the scent of Jasmine filling his senses.   Shadows teased him with lone, huddled figures upon the tire seat; swaying in the wind and rain.    

Storms, and years, came and went.  But she was never there.

He should not have been surprised.  
Leaning on the bar at the old whisky dive bar on the bayou, while the sounds of laughter and deep Southern whisky bruised voices mingles with the blare of a Blues band on stage.  Mingled with the fury of the storm outside.  The smoke hanging low like storm clouds while both music and lighting crashed.   Then, the old wood door suddenly swinging open; a tangle of wind and hair caught in its darkened frame.   

She stood silent, her eyes wide with fear as they slowly scanned the smoky interior, pausing on each face, until her gaze found his.   His breath caught and his form straightened, but still the music played, the notes turning blue and falling down like rain.  He could see the rain drops on her lashes.  The scent of Jasmine filled the room.  She didn’t take a single step, but through the smoky haze he could see the word formed on her lips; all but drowned out by blues and thunder.    

Twelve years gone; but still he heard what she could barely say.   A thousand years and the loudest of storms would never be enough for his heart to forget what his ears could not hear.   

The whisper of his name upon her lips.

In a single broad step of his long, lean legs he reached her.  

 Oh my gosh.
A wee bit breathless anyone?

I have no idea where this story will go.  Or IF it will go.   So many questions to be answered, not the least of:  what happened to her that night and where was she for 12 years??!!
I have no idea at this point.
But I love the idea that he waited.   Always looking.
And that she returned.

Ah amore.   That idea of love being runaway train that cannot be stopped??   Well, I don't actually like that idea very much.  At it's core, it's often reckless.   Others tend to get hurt along the way, and that's not the story I want to write.

But the idea of a love so strong, even the passage of Time means nothing?
Now that I'd like to write. 

Stay tuned I guess dearies!