For The Moment

I was talking to our pediatrician the other day, about how parents will do anything for the health and safety of their kids. They will drive thousands of hours to see the best doctors and do whatever it takes, and give their limbs and organs, if necessary. This conversation sparked a little stream of consciousness on the drive home. I was thinking about those moments, when kids are small babies, when, for the moment, all their needs are fulfilled and they just happily lie there in your arms and doze off, while you, as a parent, can't help but think about all the things yet to come.

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: 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 For weeks, Paul had made several attempts to meet her, but as withdrawn as she was, she hardly even made eye contact with the world.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.