Home Is Where...

I'm in the business of arriving.

We bought a house and moved into our new place of residency two weeks ago. My boxes arrived before me, they came in a large truck while I drove up to the house with my kids and a couple of suitcases. It's good that we're all here now, finally. I know I'm supposed to be dancing. But in terms of being here, finding myself at this new place, I'm still on my way. It's a funny thing, when you leave behind an area that's trusted, well-known roads and short cuts and a house that is so familiar, you know every noise you're about to hear when someone from your family moves through adjacent rooms. 10 years is a long time. New house, new town, and it doesn't sound or smell familiar. It will someday, but it takes a lot of time. I think I need spring, yes, maybe that would be a great time to arrive, to meet everyone and shake a couple of hands. Right now I feel like I'm at the airport, waiting for my luggage to arrive. Everything's in boxes and I don't know where anything is. And my kids keep saying they want to go home. I can't argue with that. Home is a state of mind I haven't gotten around to just yet. I tell them and myself, that this is our home now. The other house is empty, another family will move in there shortly. We are here. They then nod, as though they'd understand, but I know that they don't. How can this be, their glances ask. The large truck came, it took all our belongings and it brought them here, I tell them. How can this be, I ask myself. And it's hurting a little to think that someone else will be living where we lived, invading our space. Yes, we moved. Yes, I am still moving.

First Page Review - Anoethau

I can't remember how often I rewrote that passage to introduce Arthur, the main character of my soon-to-be-published fantasy novel Anoethau. I can see him clearly in front of my mind's eye - a Gene Hackman type person, but a bit younger than the actor is now, severely disconnected from the world by his past and through his own volition, unsociable, selfish. But as Mr. Cohen once sung, those cracks are how the light gets in. So in addition to all that, he's quite resourceful and pensive to the point of insecurity with a concealed sense of comradery. As the story unfolds, things will happen to challenge those qualities. Dear First Page Review reader, after reading the first ~ 900 words - would you continue reading this story? Is this character interesting? 

Thanks so much for taking the time to read and review. :-)

Please click to enlarge the picture.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Into the Dark

Hello everyone and welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. Wow - it has been one year since we started this nice little Sunday tradition and I'm glad be a part of it and to have met such a talented bunch of writers! Today, I'm diving deeper into my story. Eloise, being haunted by the sight of the white shepherd dog that appears to be stalking her on her daily walks, curiously follows him into a grove...

Eloise plunged into darkness. Like crossing a line, the tree trunks, broad and mighty, swallowed the light of day, and with it all evidence of the outside world. 
It was a strange place, unfamiliar, and foreign to her senses and
without a flashlight, she’d soon be lost. 
Eloise moved forward regardless, and the air lay still and cold against her quickening breaths. 

“Come here, dog, I won’t hurt you.”  

Two small lights lit up between trees like pale blue crystals.




Synopsis

Eloise Walsh is a woman of modest needs - she lives with her husband George and French bull dog Aethelia in a quaint little house in the heart of Southampton, England. When fate strikes and her husband suddenly falls ill, Eloise barely accepts the seriousness of his situation. Desperate to do something, she persuades her husband to go on medicinal walks through the elaborate city park. She notices a white shepherd dog trailing them from a distance.
The dog appears to be cut off from his pack, determined to following them to the point of stalking. Struggling to shake him off, the dog makes himself comfortable in their backyard, and soon Eloise finds herself at a turning point; challenged to take care of her sick husband as well as taking in a stray dog with a strange set of abilities that cause a wild amount of trouble in their household and between the married couple. It doesn't take long before she realizes that there is a reason why the white shepherd Aned is in her hands, an how not only her life but the lives of others will be in danger if she doesn't take on the responsibility of being his guardian.

#8sunday Into the Dark http://t.co/gEU3JgXVxl
— Dana Renelt (@dasdanalein) February 1, 2014

Weekend Writing Warriors: Oblivious

Hi there writers and readers, and welcome to this week's Weekend Writing Warriors. Like so many of you I have been busy during November, working away on a new story. Well, the idea for it wasn't exactly "new", since I first thought about a back story for Anoethau during last year's NaNoWriMo. Anyways, this excerpt is taken from the beginning of Aned. I always appreciate your comments, and feedback, so don't hold back, kay? :)

Eloise only had to take one look at her husband to know that everything wasn’t alright.

“Tell me, what did he say?”

George uttered one barely audible grunt when he sat down and took off his shoes. A French bulldog made leaps around his feet, as usual, happy to see him - and oblivious to George's grim face.

“Aethelia, stop it,” Eloise demanded, and the dog backed away instantly. The pair of black and white eyes followed Eloise as she approached her husband.

“Won’t you tell me now what the doctor said?”

George folded his hands between his knees. 
“Nothing we didn't already know.”

Synopsis

Eloise Walsh is a woman of modest needs - she lives with her husband George and French bull dog Aethelia in a quaint little house in the heart of Southampton, England. When fate strikes and her husband suddenly falls ill, Eloise barely accepts the seriousness of his situation. Desperate to do something, she persuades her husband to go on medicinal walks through the elaborate city park. She notices a white shepherd dog trailing them from a distance.
The dog appears to be cut off from his pack, determined to following them to the point of stalking. Struggling to shake him off, the dog makes himself comfortable in their backyard, and soon Eloise finds herself at a turning point; challenged to take care of her sick husband as well as taking in a stray dog with a strange set of abilities that cause a wild amount of trouble in their household and between the married couple. It doesn't take long before she realizes that there is a reason why the white shepherd Aned is in her hands, an how not only her life but the lives of others will be in danger if she doesn't take on the responsibility of being his guardian.

Weekend Writing Warriors: All Alone

Hey fellow warriors, I'm back! This week, I'll share another excerpt from Imposter, a short story I wrote a little while ago. See here what happened the last time you met Paul, professional marriage imposter. This week he has his eye on a new lady.. 
Click on the cover the read the whole story on Google Drive. I've edited some of the excerpts to infuse them with a little bit of dramatic polish. :)


His most recent project was a woman named Augustine Cooper. The name initially triggered images of old gooses, but after watching her from his car, Paul had to acknowledge that Augustine looked incredibly young for a woman her age. She wore makeup, and tastefully so, and her hair, albeit neat and long, was taken in to a sleek bun. Observing how she treated herself, he immediately pegged her as someone with serious demands and expectations regarding men. 
Augustine lived a closed off life compared to the other seniors in town and Paul wondered why a woman who put that much effort into her appearance didn't follow a social calendar, or was at least part of a weekly Bridge Club. The realization that there were absolutely no elderly gentlemen sniffing around, no one lined up to escort her to cultural events, it baffled him. She appeared to be all alone.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Ally with Time

Hello and welcome to this week's Weekend Writing Warriors! Today I'll continue with my short story Imposter, and this is what happened the last time. Click on the cover to read the entire story. Just in case you're wondering, I'm giving these snippets a bit of a dramatic polish as I move forward in the story. :)




Paul was used to sitting around, since most of the time, his job entailed waiting, watching and carefully planning his steps. He had long outgrown the phase of tackling his target like a bull to the gate. That kind of mistake had been part of his novice years. Just like that one time, when he pushed himself on an old lady to get at least some kind of result before she went on her vacation and she got suspicious and called the police. Marriage imposter was the ugly word she had used; and it stung. Paul had to leave the city in a hurry, get new ID, and all for wanting too much too soon. Eventually he accepted that he would have to move at a different pace, learning that time, as he knew he had plenty of, was his ally.

Weekend Writing Warriors: July 3, 1995

Hey gang, and welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors. Let's jump right back into the story. I edited this part quite a bit for today. Read up here what happened last week, or click on the cover for the whole short story. Thanks for stopping by. :)



Paul was in his twenties and just barely a man when his grandmother passed away. He remembered the date with great clarity, the broiling day in July under a cloudless sky; a mockery to how he had felt on the inside. Seeing all the people on his way back from her house, living their lives as if this was just any other day. He observed them from the shade, powerless, shivering. There was no caesura, no change in the world, and it sickened him to think that the universe responded by brushing him off with a flawless summer day.
Later on, the media would still talk about July 3 for being the hottest day of 1995 — yet never a word about the other great event of the day.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Mother Figure

Hey guys, and welcome to today's Weekend Writing Warriors. I want to continue with my short story The Imposter roughly about where I left off the last time. There are only two or three sentences in between the snippets. You can read the whole story if you want - just click on the book cover. Oh, and don't forget to say hello to the other wonderful 8sunday authors here. :)



Paul had his wits, his greatest asset, and the women he married in several states across the country loved that about him. His charms, his looks, and the way he carried himself; it was a small piece of the persona he had imagined himself to be ever since early adulthood.
The time before that was a blur of unhappy memories of parents who weren’t altogether suited to take care of their children. They did their art thing with no regard for him or his brother, and as a result they were shipped off to grandparents on many occasions. It wasn’t exactly bad times. Paul had always liked his grandmother. In many respects she had been the only real mother figure he’d ever known.

Weekend Writing Warriors: A Poor Man's Car

Hey warriors, and welcome to another wonderful Sunday with Weekend Writing Warriors. I have been quite busy with editing, and sweating bullets over trying to get out some new stuff: I have so many stories, so many beginnings, but it's challenging to not only start, but finish them. Imposter is one of those short stories that I finished, and these are the first 8 sentences. Click on the cover to read the whole story. :)

The credit cards and some of the passports were next to him on the car seat. He drove an old Volvo, a 500 Dollar beat-up car, fully aware of the impression it conveyed to the outside world; metallic silver with a few spots of partly peeled off colour, bruises and bumps along the left side. It was a poor man’s car and he knew from experience, that because it was somewhat obvious for a poor man to also drive a poor man’s car, in many ways it was less suspicious than going the opposite route. No one ever suspected an imposter to actually drive a beat-up car. Imposter. He hated that word. It didn’t even come close to how he saw himself in the world. He was a good person, a likeable guy, someone who easily made friends with people; preferably women.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Easy Confidence

Hey and welcome, warriors, this week I'm finally back with a snippet from Anoethau. Wheew! For plot reasons, I have to skip ahead a little. Last time, the mysterious woman Artie met in Southampton asked him to take her dog with him on his journey to Wales. For understandable reasons Artie declined, but out of compassion he now agrees upon watching her dog Cabby for a little while, in order for Eloise to run some errands...



“Let me give you some money for the day, so Cabby doesn’t eat you out of house and home.” She digged deep inside her handbag for coin, but Artie waved his hand at her, “you can pay me later if you want to, after I have done my job.” 
“I live over there in the house by the corner,” Eloise said, pointing past the busy street café. 
Artie immediately knew it when he saw it; the quaint, lilac house with the white balustrades and overgrown iron gate strangely met his expectations of this woman. 
“Well then, at least, let me give you this,” she said, holding a door key out to him.  
“You can take a bath or a shower, and wash your clothes instead of having to go back to your seedy motel. The fridge is well-stocked, and there are cans of Cabby's favorite food in the pantry; he likes to eat from his bowl, you know.” 
The dog regarded each of them with easy confidence, a sentiment that Artie himself did not share.

Click for more info

Weekend Writing Warriors: Dog In Tow

Hey there, warriors, and welcome to this week's wewriwa. Let's just jump right back in where we left off last Sunday. Artie has just met a woman, who asks him to take her dog Cabby with him on his journey to Wales. He has good reasons to say no....

He didn't want or need any of that. With a dog in tow, every part of his journey would become more difficult. "What's wrong with your dog? Why would you want to get rid of it?" The dog gave a whimper, as if taking offense at the implication. The woman's eyes were hidden behind dark shades, but Artie could feel her glare. "I don’t want to part with him" she said, breathing heavily, "but this is what I am supposed to do."

Cabby the dog, as sketched by me

www.wewriwa.com

Weekend Writing Warriors: Do you want him?

 
Hi and welcome my brave warriors, to another round of wewriwa! This week, I'll continue with the fantasy adventure I've written for last year's NaNoWriMo, called Anoethau. 

Artie has finally arrived at Southampton, and is stretching his legs by the fountain at the town square, when an elderly woman and her French Bulldog come on the scene. The dog eyes Artie with open curiosity. All of a sudden, the woman makes a rather strange suggestion...

“Do you want him?” 

It took Artie a long second before he realized what she meant by that,

“You mean...your dog?!!” 

He waited for the old woman to indicate that she was kidding, but she didn't. When she gave him no sign other than a wholehearted nod, Artie frenetically waved his hand at her in refusal.

 

“No...no..." he stammered, "I’m just passing through to Wales.." 

“Well, that’s exactly what my Cabby likes,” she said tenderly, “a bit of an adventure.”

 

She persisted on holding the leash out to him, which made him think she wouldn't take no for an answer; and his pulse leapt.

“I don’t get around much these days - so, what do you say?”

 

@8sunday_writers Idiots and Earthquakes for #8sunday: Do you want him? idiotsearthquakes.blogspot.de/2013/04/weeken…
— Dana Renelt (@dasdanalein) April 6, 2013

Weekend Writing Warriors: Story in 8, Part 2

Hello there, you! Welcome to the Wewriwa Easter edition. Does it have to rain all the time, I'm asking, naggingly? Is that really necessary? It makes for a good underwater egg hunt this year. :) Anywho, back to the story in 8, my attempt to tell a whole story in only 8 sentences. Actually, this snippet is from a short story I wrote this year called The Impostor. I thought it had the bold potential to withstand being cut and edited into 8 sentences. Now I'm not sure. Is it? 

These were all lonely women, every one of them, lonely and very very rich, especially this one, Augustine, the name of an old duck. She was a hard nut to crack. For weeks, Paul had made several attempts to meet her, but as withdrawn as she was, she hardly even made eye contact with the world.

He had to resort to drastic measures; and deliberately running into her shopping cart with his was indeed drastic. It wasn't exactly cute, the way she almost tipped over and against the shelf with stacks of canned fruit, but it put a chink in her armor.

The next part was easy, as it fell in line with his natural talent. He spent the rest of the day paying court, pampering, and spoon-feeding her the usual repertoire of lies. She was just like any other woman he ever had deceived; gullible, desperate and starved for male attention.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Story in 8, Part 1

The ringing of the phone took her by surprise, the person calling, however, didn't.
"You still there?" he snorted.
She looked across the room, the black handbag was yet to be zipped.
Like a signal from above, the ceiling light cast a spotlight on it, and the item she had put in last.
She would need both her hands to use it.
"Will you ever leave me?" he slurred, when the tavern row in the background died down for a moment, "or is it like that last time, when I had to come pick you up from the station,
remember that?"
Her hand choked the phone.
"Honey," she said, "I could never leave you."

 ___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Welcome to another Sunday with WeWriWa and beautiful 8 sentence snippets. This week, I want to try something entirely different, it's an experiment. This is an attempt at telling a whole story in 8 sentences. Did I succeed? Please don't hold back, hit me with your comments and feedback! Happy Sunday everyone! :)

Weekend Writing Warriors: Ebony Eyes

 

Hey there, writers, and welcome to another beautiful Sunday with wewriwa! I want to continue this week's snippet where I left off the last time - Artie's relaxing at the Town Square in Southampton, when a woman and her dog show up at the fountain. First, doggy gets a lift on top of the brim to quench his thirst, then walks over to inspect Artie...

On top of the brim, the dog edged his way towards Artie.

The woman smiled and lengthened the leash, 
“Ah, he likes you." 
He sniffed around the edges, then shook, and thick drops of water landed on Artie's bare arm; water and dog drool. 
His face spasmed in disgust,
“Well, what’s not to like…”

The woman laughed a hoarse laugh that quickly grew into a dry rale cough. The dog's ebony eyes were glued to his as he sat down in front of him.  
Artie reluctantly moved his hand to pet the dog’s head. 
A coat of firm bristles met his palm.

Weekend Writing Warriors: At the Town Square

Hello and huzzah to another fun-filled Weekend Writing Warrior extravaganza! I'm jumping ahead in my story. Artie has crossed an ocean and finds himself in a place called Southampton, Hampshire...


Artie slid his arms through the leather straps and dropped the backpack on the stair in front of the fountain. The street café across the town square was jam-packed with sun worshippers and children, spooning ice cream from bowls with the most luscious formations. He closed his eyes to the noise, the clinking of glasses and the sound of their banter.

As he re-opened them, an elderly woman with black sun glasses and a heavy fur coat made her way towards the fountain. A brawny dog padded besides her on a leash. She dragged herself up the steps towards the brim, and for a brief moment, Artie noticed the dog frowning at him in passing.

The woman groaned with exertion as she lifted the dog up on the edge of the fountain. Once he was at the top, he craned his white neck towards the surface and began drinking the water.

Thank you for stopping by and have a wonderful Sunday! :)

I Got A Liebster (Yes, it's Denglish)

The Liebster award is one of those fantabulous blogger prizes given by bloggers to bloggers. Thank you Chris Kelworth for awarding me with it. Chris is a writer, a fellow Weekend Writing Warrior and a diligent blogger. Wheew, you're quite the busy bee! I think I have to award you with an Emsig; if there only was such a thing. :) I read up on the Liebster; it apparently derives from a German blogger tradition, given to "liebsten blogs" meaning "dearest" or "favorite" blogs. Awww. I'm touched. Thank you Chris. Now, in perfect Liebster tradition, I will answer 11 questions, and share 11 facts about myself.

1. Do you believe in ghosts/aliens/the supernatural? 

No, but I believe in axe murderers, rapists and mean people, hiding in the shadows out there to get me. I think I'd rather believe in aliens or a friendly little ghost...

2. Why do you blog?

I think I have stuff to say, interesting stuff. Yes, I think my brain is spectacular. And that's an understatement. Love youus, Frontal lobe!!

3. What's your favorite book series?

Hands down - His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. It's a shame that only The Golden Compass was made into a movie. I think it's one of the best fantasy series ever written.

4. If you could interview one celebrity, who and what would be your million dollar question?

The late Christopher Hitchens (on being brilliant): Is it lonely up there?

5. Pet Peeves? 

OK, I had to look up what that means. There are things I find annoying in other people, but mostly these are all things I am myself guilty of, like eating noisily, driving stupidly, or being a pain.

 6. Favorite Magazine?

The one and only magazine I ever subscribed to from mid to end 80's: Garfield!

7. Will you give me 100 $?

I'm flattered that you'd think me upper class. Stuff I could give you instead: A can of beans, a PEGI folder and/or a sparkling cat sticker.

8. Do you play any instruments?

I wish I did. Gave up playing my Bontempi organ career decades ago. And I didn't have the nerves to fully commit to learning the guitar.

9. What is the worst book you ever read?

Maybe this one.

10. What's with all the cats?! 

My cats are my children. Now leave me alone.

11. How's that 100 $ coming along?

Didn't you like the sparkling cat sticker?

+11 random facts you never wanted to know

➊ I'm a teeth grinder - at night my mouth becomes a grain mill. I wonder what it grinds. Story bits, hopefully.

➋ I once tried saving the world - me and some friends of mine reported a local drug dealer to the police when we were teens.

➌ I'm a movie nut - I like to dissect acting and story. Loudly. That's why I rarely go to cinemas. I'm banned for life.

➍ I'm a spiritual sponge - the bathroom is my place of inspiration.

➎ I'm shy - I don't like to use my phone in public.

➏ I'm a woman - but there was a time when I thought I resembled a dog.

➐ I'm German - born and raised.

➑ I can be a bit of a stalker, I was when I met my husband - Hey, I just met you. And I am crazy. Got your number: will call you daily.

➒ I prefer audiobooks to books, for the simple fact that I like being read to.

➓ I get Tobey Maguire and Elijah Wood confused on a regular basis. I think they share more than a similarity in demeanor, I bet it's the exact same whiny DNA!!

➊➊ I don't have 100 Dollars.


As you may know I do have my very own special tagging tradition for awards. We should all have fun doing these things and be free and willing to participate, not feel forced due to being nominated. If you read this, and you haven't gotten a Liebster award - consider yourself tagged!

Weekend Writing Warriors: Stalwart

Yay, it's WeWriWa, week #2. I'm glad you could join us. What I have here, is another excerpt from Anoethau, fast forwarding from where we left off last week, to introduce one of the other major players, and yes, before you ask, this all goes down in a public toilet. So please, have a ball today, writers, readers, and don't forget to visit us on our website every now and again, for there might be interesting stuff happening besides sign-up..like this week's prize..I mean, have you seen the size of it??! :)

Cabby moved forward towards the grime-stained urinal. Another small step, and another. He snarled. The little bell at his collar rang in that same high-pitched frequency Artie had heard once before. He drew the sword. The shadows crept closer and closer, but Cabby held his ground. He anchored his paws into the floor. As a warrior would do, Artie realized, and mirrored the dog's stance on his own two feet as best he could.

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Weekend Writing Warriors: Little White Hilt

Welcome writers, for today is the first Sunday of Weekend Writing Warriors! Squee!! I'm so thrilled and excited to making the rounds, being a happy blog-hopping bee and all! So, for the first WeWriWa, what could be more appropriate than a story about a man who found an ancient and magical weapon in his vegetable patch? Since he's out on parole, he tries to get rid of it quickly, but of course, with magical weapons, it's not as easy as throwing away gum wrapper: this is Artie Kendrick, and the Little White Hilt, sword of myth & legends.

 

He turned it within his palm, and the moon cast his light on the upper part of the blade. Artie's gaze fell upon an engraving on the steel.

He felt the roughness between his fingers, cold and sharp – when the letters came alive in front of his mind’s eye; a message, reflecting from the surface of the river, a voice, murmured from the far side of the reed.

“Take....me....up...”

A cold shiver ran down his spine. What kind of trick was this? 

A stir went through the river bank. Someone - or something - came tearing through the reeds.

Thank you for visiting me and please help yourself to some of our brand-new wewriwa badges at www.wewriwa.com

WeWriWa, We're Coming!

Let's do this - is usually not one of my signature lines. In life I tend to move like a very slow, hesitant tortoise. Change scares me, and I'd rather look the other way when I encounter it walking along the waterfront - I'm speaking figuratively of course. (Who is as crazy as to walk on the banks? Haven't you seen The River Wild with Kevin Bacon?) 

Anyways, sometimes a ball gets thrown at your face so fast, you either have to catch it or let it smack your nose. I caught it - and now, I do find myself doing this. Actually we are; we, that is Teresa Cypher of Dreamers, lovers, and Star Voyagers, Marcia Kuma of Letter Go and myself. 

We have been composing a brand-new website, following in the footsteps of the soon-to-be ending Six Sentence Sunday, but with one exception. Instead of six sentences our harsh executive admin (aka Hartman) will be allowing eight sentences. With WeWriWa we want to encourage all kinds of writers, new and old, hairy and bald to sign up on Weekend Writing Warriors for the first round of blog hopping, which will start on February 3.

The great thing is to be able to share your writing in a very friendly, laid-back atmosphere, and take a look around the blogs of other participants, writers of all genres and styles. It can be extremely helpful putting a spotlight on a marked-out piece of writing. If you want honest and blunt feedback, you'll get it, if you want to be hugged by a fellow kindred spirit, you'll get that, too. The most important thing is that it's fun!

Clandestine poets, sassy romance writers, SciFi buffs, fantasy enthusiasts, and freestyle think tanks: we dare you to share your 8 with us. There will be a winner chosen from those who sign up, and we'll award that person a special prize. Excited? We are!