Happenings in 2016

This is a list of my projected projects for 2016. It will be interesting to see how many of them I accomplish over the year. I may complete them all and I may only complete a few of them, but I definitely need to get back to my writing and get some projects completed.


For the entire year, I will be doing 365 Days of Writing Prompts, a download that I snatched from Word Press that came out in 2013. You can find it happening over at Promptly Written

Also for the entire year, I am going to do small stones over at A Whispered Wind


At As the Fates Would Have It, I will be celebrating Joyful January with Satya and Kaspa over at Writing Our Way Home


No project scheduled as of yet


No project scheduled as of yet


Over at Promptly Written, I will once again be participating in the Blogging from A-to-Z April Challenge

April PoemADay with Poetic Asides to be posted on Promptly Written


StoryADay in May Challenge with Julie Duffy — This will take place on my Promptly Written blog


No project scheduled as of yet


No project scheduled as of yet


No project scheduled as of yet


No project scheduled as of yet


No project scheduled as of yet


I will be participating in NaNoWriMo, but I am not sure yet if I will post my novel on any of my blogs at this moment. This will be my 3rd attempt in 4 years. Something always seems to come up around that time to prevent me from completing this challenge, but not in 2016! I am sending out to the Universe that I will complete a novel in November 2016!


No project scheduled as of yet


  • More Astraeus stories (or another novella) – these will be posted on Promptly Written as I get them completed – I will be adding them here because this is where I began the project last April for the A-to-Z Challenge and I don’t want to confuse my readers by moving them to another blog – they will not be prompted stories.
  • Post my Ravyne Ramirez stories and write more of them – these will be posted on A Whispered Wind
  • More of the Candy from a Stranger stories – these will be posted on A Whispered Wind
  • I began a series of stories earlier this year called Killer Tales and I want to write more of them – these will be posted on A Whispered Wind
  • I want to work on some Flash Fiction this year, some time during the summer months
  • Poetry – I want to write 100 new poems for publication. These will not be posted on any of my blogs
  • I’ve been working on a project with a friend about Bobby Kennedy, so I will continue my research on that – none of that will be posted on any of my blogs.

This seems like a lot of projects, but spaced out over a year, that really isn’t a very big to-do list. As I decide which months to do which projects, I will update this list of Happenings.

Flash Fiction: When Freedom Finally Comes

“Sorry, Bill doesn’t live here anymore… No, I don’t know where he is now… I don’t plan on seeing him again, so it won’t do you any good to leave a message for him… that’s okay… no problem.”

She hangs up the phone and looks around her apartment. Her apartment. Finally hers for the first time in seven years. She inspects her bookshelf. Her books. Her mythology, metaphysics, science fiction. No more thriller novels, how-to books, political non-fiction… all his, all gone. She looks at her CD collection. Her David Sanborn, Enya, Kenny G, Jimi Hendrix, an assortment of Seventies and Eighties rock, blues, and R&B. No more Hank Williams Jr., Alabama, bluegrass and rap… all his… all gone. She walks into the kitchen. Her toaster. Her microwave. Her dishes and pans and crystal. Her herb rack. His wok, blender, juicer, and coffee pot… all gone.

She pours herself a glass of Glenfiddich. Her drink. No more Budweiser cans to clutter the trash. No more Marlboro Reds to clean out of the ash trays. No more… she spots his favorite mug. Still on the cabinet beside the stove. She picks it up, inspects it, turning it around and around in her hands… she remembers the night he brought it home.

Bill wanted to go into a cute little coffee shop down on the Market. They had dressed up to see a play, but she felt over-dressed for the coffee shop, so they stopped home to change first. She took too long, as usual, and Bill left without her. When he returned hours later, she was curled up on the sofa reading and ignored his entrance. He was drunk again. His usual escape when he was mad at her. In his hands was a mug from D’Angelo’s a bar down town, and his name had been etched into it. They had their usual fight, and he went to bed, snoring before his head hit the pillow… the mug tucked tightly under his arm.

He kept that mug close to him ever since. An excuse now to return to the apartment, she surmises. Turning it once more, she drops it into the trash can. No more mug. No more Bill.

She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a jar of salsa… hot. No more mild salsa for her. She grabs some chips and patters down the hall to the living room. No more television. No more wrestling. Serenity at last. She curls up on her sofa, opens the jar of salsa and eats it, dipping the chips right into the jar. No more bowls. She places her scotch on the table, letting it leave a ring if it wants to on the old coffee table. No more owl-shapped coasters. She picks up a copy of Omni and begins reading it. No more interruptions. No loud a-hems from across the room. She can read as long as she wants to.

After a few minutes, she places the jar of salsa on the coffee table, picks up her glass, swallows the rest of her scotch and lays the magazine on the sofa beside her. She glances around the living room, soaking in all the changes she has made in the three days since Bill moved out. A new fern, candles on the mantel piece, a large rocking chair in the corner of the room, a new stereo system. And then she notices the picture of her and Bill on vacation in Nantucket last year. She gets up, moves to the table it is resting upon and picks it up. She looks at it longingly. No more vacations in Nantucket. No more love-making in a hotel while people sleep in the next room. No more roses on her birthdays. No more Saturday morning breakfast-in-bed treats. No more rides on his Harley in the rain. No more Bill.

She drops the photograph on the floor, watches the shattering pieces through teary eyes. She returns to her couch, cradles a pillow in her arms and cries.

© 2013 Lori Carlson

Flash Fiction: The Mirror

Tilly passed the antique store every day on her way to work. She stood for a few moments staring inside at all the furnishings she wished for her own home some day.

On this particular day, there was a new mirror hanging in the display room. She went inside. The mirror was round and heavily embellished in the Baroque style. It wasn’t reflective. She surmised that perhaps it was damaged in some way. Leaning forward, she touched the mirror. Smoke cleared and it suddenly became reflective.

Standing before the mirror, her hands on her cheeks, Tilly gasped. The eyes of an eight year old Tilly stared back at her.

And then she spoke.

“Come play with me.”

Tilly was never seen again.

Case #305 – Flash Fiction

Elsie sat quietly while the professor discussed Case #305 in her Criminal Justice class. She was easily distracted. Thoughts hurriedly ran through her mind. Every now and again she would pick up pieces of information: razor blade, no sign of forced entry, no fingerprints but the victim’s. She was just about to walk out on the class, when something too familiar was said.

“The police found a used condom in the trash, but it wasn’t used on this victim,” her professor said. “It was from another unsolved rape case. This perp was taunting the police.”

Elsie let out a soft cry, but in the near-silence of the classroom, it echoed louder than she thought. All eyes turned to stare at her. She feigned a sneeze and said she was fine, then apologized to the professor. But she was not fine. She didn’t need to be there for the rest of this case; yet she couldn’t leave now.

She tried to drown out details of the case with songs in her head. At first Beethoven and Mozart and when they didn’t work, heavy metal songs played over in her mind. Nothing worked. She was sweating and breathing harder. She couldn’t sit still any longer and rose to leave.

“Miss Johnson, are you okay?” she heard the professor ask.

Elsie turned to look at him and said, barely audible, “Just need some air, sir.” She stumbled out of the room.

She ran outside the building, threw her books down on the stairs and leaned over a ledge, puking. Her mind raced with images, such horrible images.

Three years ago. Her dorm room. Her rape. Her case.

© 2013 Lori Carlson

A Little Something Different

Since I’ve barely used this blog, I’ve decided to do something a little different with it. My husband gifted me with two books this week: The Pocket Muse and The Pocket Muse 2 both by Monica Wood. I guess he doesn’t want me to run out of ideas because these books are full of writing ideas and tips. My ramblings from these books will be posted here and if anything exciting comes of the work here, that will be posted on my writing site: My Poetry. 

Just a note: If you do search my poetry site and you are unable to view a piece of my poetry, it is likely set at Mature and you would have to join the site and add your birthday to show that you are over 18. Silly, I know, but what can you do?

So yes, this will be my sounding board where I hash out poetics, essays, memoir pieces, etc. It should be interesting and hopefully I will have the stamina to maintain it. I do tend to create things and leave them half nude.