I had seen her a few times. What she was doing in this hole wasn’t my business. But she didn’t fit in. Nice clothes; her face, an un-inked ivory oval framed by dark hair, caught the dim lights in the bar. Eye’s that if the light was better would have probably been a bright blue. And curves; the kind to make a train jump the tracks. Distracting, follow her every move just to see things shift under her clothes, kind of curves.
A little warm-up writing (draft) from this morning’s coffee… (spurred by this image and a ‘mock’ cover I created that could one day be a real story). Spring had died, drowned by the climbing mercury in the giant thermometer on the brick wall of Tilson’s bar she could see by day in rising and fading […]
“AMY reads ‘Just Before Midnight’”
by AMY/Dennis Lowery
AMY reads 'Just Before Midnight' -- a 5.5 minute excerpt
[Couldn’t help it. I was compelled to refine and expand the premise—one made up based on the image below used in the faux cover—that started as a joke. It is a story idea I might have to treat seriously and write one day, albeit with a much better cover image.] Every picture tells a story… […]
“The unconscious sends all sorts of odd beings, terrors, and deluding images into the mind whether in a dream, daylight, or insanity. For the human kingdom, beneath the floor of the neat little dwelling we call our consciousness, goes deep into dark unsuspected caves.” Alex looked out the window as he spoke. The light through smeared […]
Every night that followed, at 9pm, she’d come from behind the bar and whisper to me, “Behave…”
ABOUT THE STORY [An endnote explains how the story ‘came to be’] A tired and stressed couple’s plans for a getaway break goes awry because of weather. They arrive at their destination but become snowbound at the place they’ve rented in the country. Their friends and family that were to meet them can’t. So it’s […]
He studied it as he had a thousand, thousand, times; the only picture he had. He loved the strength of her shoulders and the taste-memory of kissing her lightly freckled skin, nuzzling down to slip the cloth from her breasts with only his lips.
I’m a writer and ghostwriter and some of my work requires research that includes going through old pictures. One such project was with a client who was the last of her bloodline. She was 91 and told me, “These are for you. Maybe something in there,” she pointed a gnarled, crooked finger at the stacks, […]