A Story A Week: Stranger

This week's story is a piece of flash fiction -- less than 500 words -- and is based on a nightmare I had the other night. I couldn't get it out of my head, so decided to write it down.

In the new apartment at last, my eyes lingered on what was mine, set in all the wrong places. The girls had been great. They’d bustled into my old home, packed away my belongings, and brought them here in boxes, while I stayed hidden in the hotel.

This afternoon they were taking me to the Caribbean, on a cruise.

“Get in there and get packed!” Emily told me when she dropped me off that morning. “We’re not going to let you lie around moping.”

I wasn’t lying around. I wandered and touched. My fingers rested on the porcelain cherub Thomas had saved up his money for and given me three years ago for Christmas; the recipe box Harold had given me for my birthday, oh, maybe a year after we got married. I told him at the time it was the wrong gift to give a girl on her birthday, when she was hoping for a diamond necklace or a window box of marigolds – something that described who she was. Because a girl always hopes her husband knows who she is on the inside, hopes he can see past the cook, clothes-washer, floor-mopper. Getting a recipe box for a present was almost as bad as the vacuum cleaner he gave me the next year.

These objects had meaning in my old home. Here, they lost their significance. I moved, feeling nothing between my ribs, like the vacuum from my second married birthday had sucked my heart and organs right out.

When my cell phone sang, I answered it automatically. Emily, of course. “Are you packing?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, why not? I’m coming to get you in an hour. We have a plane to catch.”

“I need to see the new place, figure it out.”

“There’ll be time for that when you get back. Right now you need a little sun and a change of scenery.”

I flipped the phone shut. A blank wall was all the scenery I wanted. I found it in my bedroom, a single wall they’d left alone. Plain white, not all the sassy colors they’d splashed everywhere else – colors picked to make me happy. Bless their hearts, it wasn’t working.

I heard someone knocking at the door. There was my heart, in my chest after all, speeding up, doing somersaults. I raced out the bedroom door and through the living room before I knew what I was doing, exactly.

Harold didn’t make eye contact. He set the baby down and she waddled over to the bookshelf where there was a pot of African violets within reach. “The girls wanted to see you.”

Heart squeezed, I reached for my baby, trying to scoop my three-year-old into my other arm, but she wiggled out of reach. “I missed you,” I breathed in the baby’s ear, taking in her smell – apple sauce and milk – and the delectable softness of her skin.

She stretched her arms toward Daddy and let out a screech. I was nothing but a stranger.

Valentine's Day Contest!

The book I'm querying right now is set on Valentine's Day, so it's fitting that I should say thank you to my readers with a

Valentine's Day Contest.

The winner will get either:

(1) Residents of the U.S. & Canada: A $25 gift card to Powell's. They have both online and physical stores, and free shipping for online orders.

(2) Residents of other countries: You tell me what book you want ($25 & under), I'll buy it, and mail it to you. Sound good?

Because I'll be choosing a winner on Valentine's Day (next Sunday, Feb 14) and because this blog has a little bit of an international flavor, I wanted a contest that would embrace all of that.

So, here's how to enter:

(1) Make sure you're a follower. (A networked blog follower is okay, too.) If you're not, go ahead and click the Follow button on the right side bar. I'm excited to get to know you!

(2) Tweet or Facebook or blog about this contest. Mention Valentine's Day Contest and put a link to this contest page as your Twitter status, Facebook status, or in a blog post. OR, you can put my blog on a blogroll on the sidebar of your own blog. That works too. Just let me know as part of your entry which one you decided to do. (Note: My name on Twitter is @alsonnichsen.)

(3) Answer this question: (This is what my husband will be judging -- totally impartially. He is very fair and will not discriminate on any grounds whatsoever, even if you are my sister or my best friend or that jerk from high school who made my life miserable. *grin*)


If you could travel outside your country of residence with your significant other (imaginary significant others are fine), where would you go and why?

(4) Post your entry in the comments below. I'll remain open for entries until Saturday, Feb 13 at midnight Pacific time and announce the winning entry on Valentine's Day!

(Note: The husband will be judging based on originality and creativity. Incorporating humor will also score you extra points.)

Another Reason To Eat

I love how Americans find excuses to eat.

On Thanksgiving, we eat.

During the entire Christmas season, we eat.

There's also Valentine's Day, Halloween, Easter, and Fourth of July. But let us not forget the splurge-o-rama, stuff-your-face-extravaganza of

SUPERBOWL SUNDAY

which happens to be today if you're living outside the United States and don't follow football.

Our American food-centric traditions are quite a contrast to Chinese holidays. Basically, there's Chinese New Year where you go to your family's house and eat a lot of food. But that's about it. Even then, traditional Chinese New Year food is pretty healthy: jiaozi -- a boiled dumpling -- filled with meats and vegetables. I mean, okay, the stores are burgeoning with moon cakes around lantern festival, but generally mooncakes are pretty healthy too. Fillings usually include egg yolks and red bean paste and other lovely things.

I'm working pretty hard in the kitchen getting ready for the Superbowl Mexican food fiesta we're attending at my in-law's house this afternoon. I'm in charge of the pico de gallo and the dessert. I'm waiting for the brownies and pudding to cool a little more before I build my infamous chocolate-strawberry trifle. The pico de gallo turned into a glorified guacamole because my avacados were too ripe. But I'm not complaining. If it's got avacado in it, I'm eating it.

We'll get to my in-law's house. The pre-game show will be on. There will be a zillion children running around screaming and dumping out toys; my children will joyously jump into the fray. We'll sit in front of the tube, laughing and cheering, stuff ourselves silly with lots of greasy, salty, sugary wonderfulness, share dish duty, and head home bloated and happy ... like we do every American holiday.

You've gotta love it ... but no wonder I'm not fitting into my jeans anymore.

Celebrity Children

Anna and Sophie got their two seconds in the spotlight last night. They actually made it onto our local news after dancing out on the court during half-time of a Prosser Mustangs basketball game.



Yes, if you're wondering, they take after their mother.

I've Been Gone Too Long

Yesterday morning I heard a persistent, high-pitched beeping.

"Is an alarm going off?" I walked around the house, but the sound didn't seem to be coming from any of our appliances.

I sat back down on the sofa and continued reading. Still, I could hear the noise. It distracted me.

"Something's going off." I made another round of the house, even running downstairs to check the washing machine.

On my way through the kitchen, I opened the door to my deck on a whim. There it was -- the beeping! It was coming from outside. And it was...

...A bird.

You know you lived in China for too long when you think a bird's tweeting is an electrical appliance.

Need to Laugh?

Maybe you've already seen this, but it's always worth a re-watch.

Oh, How I Love Contests!

You probably know how much I love contests.

This week I entered three! And they're still going on, so you can enter too.

• Agent Kathleen Ortiz has a new blog, The Neverending Page Turner. Grand prize for her contest is a query critique. (Oh, I hope I win, I hope I win, I hope I win!) If you enter, mention that I sent you. Thanks!
• Agent Kate Testerman has a fun writing contest going on over at kt literary to celebrate Publication Day for two of her clients. Winners get a free book: Albatross by Josie Bloss or Scarlett Fever by Maureen Johnson. (Oh, I hope I win, I hope I win, I hope I win!)
• Kristin Rae is hosting her first contest at her new blog, Kristin Creative to celebrate having 100 followers. Winners get a $10 Amazon gift card. (Oh, I hope I win, I hope I win, I hope I win ... As my son said just the other day upon opening his Chinese New Year red envelope: "Oh, wow! I've always wanted ten dollars!")

I'm starting to think I need to have some fun around here and have a contest of my own. I guess what's stopped me in the past is that I'm afraid of failing. What if nobody enters my contest? What if people think my prizes suck? What if everyone thinks my contest idea is dumb?

The Golden Rule of Blog Contests: When all else fails, hand out cash and free books. And if that fails, I'll keep my cash and have a few extra books. And neither of those options is bad, really. It's kind of like querying. I mean, what do I have to lose by trying? Absolutely nothing.

Now that I've finished giving myself a peptalk, I'll make a deadline: Fabulous Green Bathtub Contest to be announced on Monday, Feb 8. Stay tuned!

(And if you have any ideas for a totally awesome contest, write them in the comments. Thanks! *wink*)

WIP Wednesday: Too Busy Crying

Seriously. I'm not going to blog much tonight. I'm too busy crying, writing one of the last scenes in my new novel where I have to kill somebody. And it's horrible.

No, it's not gory. I'm not writing another thriller. There's no knife or gun involved. Just me being mean to my fictional characters.

I doubt what I'm writing tonight will stand the test of tomorrow. Way too dramatic and cheesy. But it's making me cry, so I guess that's a good foundation for something good in the future, after a few rounds of editing and de-cheesing. Maybe I'll make other people cry, too. I guess that would be a positive thing. Something to strive for.

But I won't get ahead of myself. Back to writing I go.

Twins Update

The twins, Rosa and Linda, bloomed this morning. Since then they've been helping out around the house. I don't know how I ever lived without them!

They played with Sophie.

Took out the garbage.

Cleaned up after dinner.

Tucked the kids in bed.

Helped me with some much-needed line editing of my new novel.

After all that, I let them relax for awhile. They deserved it.

It won't be the same around here when they die.

A Story A Week: Falling, But Not For You

For this week's story, I'm using the same first line I did last week, but this time I'm working on weaving backstory into the action. If you have time to read it, let me know if it works for you -- or not. I've also decided that a thousand words posted on a blog is a lot of words, so my stories are generally going to be shorter than I originally planned -- probably 500-750 words. This one is a little under 750.

Falling, But Not For You

She sucked the air in through her nostrils, lifted her sternum the way she'd learned to in ballet, decided to clear her mind of the particular things she was thinking about, and stepped out.

“You all right, Mags?” Carl called up.

Maggie extended her arms like wings and, wobbling a bit, felt the dig of the safety harness into her waist. Exhaling, she placed one foot directly in front of the other on the narrow beam. She tried to block him out, the fact that he was down there, fifteen feet below, staring up at her – probably up her shorts. She couldn’t let him break her concentration.

“Yep,” was all she said, willing him to be silent.

Her telepathy didn’t work.

“Okay,” Carl said. “Keep going. You’re doing just fine. You look like you’re keeping your balance real well.”

I know I’m doing fine. Just shut up.

Carl had been okay in elementary school when all he cared about was playing soccer. One day in second grade, he’d come in all sweaty from recess and Maggie remembered thinking he was kind of cute with his hair slicked back and that smudge of dirt on his nose.

But that was a long time ago.

Once they’d entered middle school, he stopped being so interested in soccer at recess. Instead, he realized girls smelled kind of good. He liked the way their eyelashes curled, the fullness of their lips, and those curves they were getting – he paid attention to those. And ever since he’d opened his eyes to the magnificence of the opposite sex, he’d taken a full-frontal, downhill plunge into unbearableness. At least, that was Maggie’s opinion, and she didn’t even mind having to make up a word to describe him. Unbearableness suited him perfectly.

Carl had shown up at their door that morning five minutes early, smelling fiercely of cologne and with enough gel in his hair, if held close to an open flame, to launch a Saturn V.

He sucked in his cheeks to accentuate his cheekbones when Maggie opened the door. “Hey, Mags,” he said, leaning against the door frame. She noticed his jeans were too tight. Why was he trying to dress like one of the Jonas brothers when they were heading to a mountain camp for two days? Weirdo. “Ready to hit the road?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, pulling on her purple sneakers. From the way Carl was acting, anyone would have thought this was a date, not a two-minute drive to school where they’d meet the other members of the leadership team and board a minibus.

Maggie attempted to focus on the beam, but sweat trickled down her back.

Carl, below, persisted in his encouragement. “Don’t look down. Just keep moving forward.”

“Okay!” she said. “You are not my coach.”

Toward the middle of the beam, she stopped. The treetops at eyelevel seemed to sway in her peripheral vision. She stared at the beam, but maybe that was wrong. Maybe she should keep her eyes focused on her destination – the platform at the other end. Why was this so hard? She could walk on something half this width when she was closer to the ground.

“Don’t lose your momentum,” Carl said. “Focus on where you need to go. Keep moving your feet.”

She knew there was a harness around her waist, but there might as well not have been for all the confidence it gave her. She wavered.

“Keep going!” Carl yelled. “Why are you stopping?”

“Would you just shut up?” She swung her head around to glare at him. And fell. The harness bit into her sides as she flipped over with a shriek, and dangled there like a spider on a thread, arms and legs flailing.

“You’re okay, Maggie!” he cried. “Don’t worry! The rope’s got you!”

She had her eyes squeezed shut, but as she opened them, there was the world in greens and blues, upside down and spinning. And there was Carl’s voice, ever constant, barking out orders to the other students scurrying like ants below her.

As the rope continued to hold and she realized she was not going to die, Maggie found herself laughing. Really, falling was fun. It pinched around the middle, but that was the only bad part. Best of all, Carl wouldn’t understand why it was fun, even if she tried to tell him.

And she was glad.

We're Expecting Twins!

...Twin blossoms, that is.

For those of you who are not plant people (I know I'm not)

this is an amaryllis.

We named her Rosalinda.

Rosa on the left.

Linda on the right.

The man who is letting us enjoy this one (he grows dozens of them in his home)

has another bulb that he (quite appropriately) named Hercules. It's twice the size of this one and bloomed seven flowers on one stalk.

But we're delighted with our twins.

I can't wait for them to open up.