@BloggerIdol News: Art Thief Comes Home

CLEVELAND, Oct. 8, 2013 /BloggerIdol/ -- Renowned art thief, The Grand Empress Guinevere of the Night, was last seen in the City of Cleveland late last week. Sources close to thief claim to have been in recent contact with the burglar ever since she absconded from the Museum of the Nation in Peru with a priceless artifact. This has been verified by local travel agents returning to our area from a corporate retreat in Lima, with newspapers.

Dior & More – For the Love of Fashion

Experts disagree that it is in fact the Grand Empress Guinevere of the Night in Cleveland but everyone is hopeful that if it is, she will be caught before she tries to relieve the Western Reserve Historical Society, a sponsor of this blog, of the American Beauty red haute couture ball gown and the stole which was designed by Bob Bugnand from its collection this month. Of course, if you believe that she is actually doing the work the police have failed to do then you may be ecstatic to see her in our fair city.

The Grand Empress Guinevere of the Night, who also goes by MJ, is not known for high fashion robberies and no one is certain that this is the item she will go after but authorities believe that she leaves clues at her crime scenes to indicate where she will go next.

 She was last suspected of taking a priceless Anthropomorphic Vase and leaving a brochure to the Dior & More – For the Love of Fashion exhibit that is currently at the Western Reserve Historical Society.

Anthropomorphic Vase

Local experts speculate that the Grand Empress Guinevere of the Night is actually coming home and she is a lifelong Cleveland resident. Of course it is more likely that MJ (or the Grand Empress Guinevere of the Night) is actually from the suburbs. There is no evidence to indicate either is true, just wishful thinking of the conspiracy theorists that agreed to be interviewed.

Grand Empress Guinevere of the Night is seen by some to be a modern day Robin Hood, stealing from the rich who stole the artwork that should be shared with the public but others see her as a danger to society and a threat to the art world. Regardless of which camp your opinion falls her methods seem to have the results that she intended and out smarted the police who have been chasing the trail of stolen art work.

Authorities are asking for any information leading to the capture of Grand Empress Guinevere of the Night. My editors would like to remind you that I write fiction and I am a judge in Blogger Idol who is hosting a play along weekly link up.

Write a newspaper article about a fictional crime you have committed. Guidelines: You must include at least 2 images, and the post must be between 500-750 words. It must also be written in third person.

A Love Letter to the Object of My Affection

I’ve wanted to write this to you for such a long time and now that I am, I barely know where to begin.

I’m just sitting here looking at the keyboard, trying to work and I catch you from the corner of my eye. I can hardly type as it is; you’ve got me so distracted.


I love the way you look but more importantly, how you look at me. You make me feel wanted. And, I want you.


I want to get away with you and give you what you and I both need but there never seems to be enough time. And, when there is finally that moment, I worry - am I too late?


But then I look at you and you reassure me that I am not.


So, I take you in my hands and I fill you up.

Source: obaz.com via MryJhnsn on Pinterest

I love you, my dear coffee mug, I love you.

Choose a prompt, post it on your blog, and come back.
The Prompts:
2.) Write a love letter to the object of your affection.

@BloggerIdol At Home - Super Ordinary Family

The air around me seems charged and the energy is dancing on my skin. Something is wrong but I don’t have enough information to figure it out, yet. I know that when I start asking questions whatever it is will reveal it to me but I am not sure that I want to do this right now.

You see, this sense I have is a gift and a curse. I have always been able to intuitively know some things, anticipate some needs if I was close to someone but an act of nature made it become heightened. And, this did not just happen to me but my whole family went through a metamorphoses.

I start to run down my list of people to narrow in on who is in trouble. My power is a form of premonition but, as in life, it could not be that simple. I sense a change in the atmosphere and I must figure out who needs me or my help as it were. I know what you are thinking, we all have this ability to figure out what is wrong but, mine differs by intensity and by knowledge. Once I am made aware, I go through the list of those close to me and if it is one of them, my mind is filled with images and I know what is wrong and what I must do. My powers are not limited to the people I know but will also expand to strangers with whom I have touched. I no longer shake hands with anyone I don’t think I will talk to again.

I did not take but a second to get to my son in my mind and see that he was being picked on again by a boy in his class. It was not the first time and it is hard not to go to his aide. My son’s power is as an empath. He can sense what others are feeling and can use it against them or to help them. It takes a lot of strength for him to do it and it is usually only when truly angered or provoked. Sadly, he wants so much to be his bully’s friend that he is not using his inner strength to stand up to him, power or no power.

My sweet son knows the pain his bully is in and won’t use it against him. I want to shake the boy till he hurts as much as he is hurting my son but as my sweet boy pointed out, he is already hurting that much. They both need help and I am unsure how to intervene, as a mother or as a powerful creature who can make the bully whimper in my wake.

If the bully only knew how much he should fear his prey’s father. The Husband was strong to begin with but his strength increased by tenfold when we were given these powers. Besides the strength, he can also heal with incredible speed and he has stopped aging. He looks exactly the same as the day we were married.

It was our union that allowed our gifts to surface; something to do with the planets aligning with the latitude and longitude of our union. Had we married a few minutes early or later we would be a normal family but as we stood before the man who married us our lives changed forever.

As most may know, the Husband held our son during most of the ceremony. In fact, our little one year old walked me down the aisle. So it was as a family we changed. We wondered if Baby would be born with a gift since ours came to us because of circumstances but it did not take long to see that her powers are in persuasions. She can use her big brown eyes to force someone to do her bidding and now that she is older she is really getting the hang of sublet persuasions. Allowing those she is influencing to think something is their own idea when in reality it is her doing. I worry about her turning evil, daily.

An average day for us is similar to yours with the exception that we hold the fate of the world in our hands. Bills still need to be paid, lunches made and homework done on time but in between we help make the world a better place. And today, making the world a better place means having a talk with one little bully and his unruly parent.

Wonder why I wrote this? Blogger Idol play-at-home of course! Head on over to check out submissions from those who aren’t in the contest and submit your own if you have one.  Stay tuned for your Blogger Idols submissions on Wednesday and vote for your favorite!

If it Kills Me

“You want to go where?”

She turned down her iPod as Jason Mraz crooned, "And baby that's a case of my wishful thinking..."

“Happy hour,” he replied, “with you.”

It’s about time, she thought but was trying to stay calm.

It was, technically, a company event, not a date. But, an event that she had emphatically said she would not attend when another of her co-workers had asked if she was going.

“I suppose we could hang out,” she said slowly, tilting her head to look up at him, trying to gauge his intentions.

“I think we are obligated to go.”

“Obligated? Really?”

“Yes, obligated. We need to represent those outside the cliques.”

He was starting to lose his nerve. He had been practicing for an hour on how he would ask but he had been working up the nerve for about a week to go through with it.

Her iPod sang on, "As the feeling inside keeps building and I will find a way to you if it kills me…"

“Would that not make us our own clique?” she said coyly, trying not to let her enthusiasm show, yet.

“I suppose,” he suppressed a grin and as he spoke his eyes lit up.

Have his eyes always been so damn blue?

She knew she was going to say yes. How could she not say yes when he was looking at her like that. He always looked at her like that and it was not her imagination. She felt her cheeks grow red but would not break his gaze.

“Okay”

“Really?”

Sure, she might have to explain to her boyfriend why she changed her mind. On the other hand, it is work related and she should really attend. Anti-social people never move ahead. Then again, he might not even wonder at all.

When was the last time he took notice of her comings and goings? She often wondered if he even saw her when they were together. She felt invisible with him and looked forward to the nights she slept alone.

Her iPod keep singing, “And all I really want from you is to feel me...”

To hell with my boyfriend.

“Yes, I will go to happy hour with you.”

And as they walked into the bar, all they heard was Jason Mraz… Hello, tell me you know, yeah, you figured me out.

We’ve asked you to show us in 400 words or less how your character reacts to a piece of music. Did music advance a story line or flesh out a character–or both?

Ordinary Office Romance

When you see them talking in the hallway you may think that you are watching a secret rendezvous, maybe an elicit affair, a glimpse into something special.

They do appear to have a secret but the truth is - it is only a secret to them. Their friends know the truth but others see and others gossip, but it is just gossip.  They think that they are just two ordinary people, stopping to talk to each other in an ordinary hallway, in an ordinary office. However, they are far from ordinary and maybe they are even fated to be together.

It is funny how fate whispers when it really needs to be shouting.

Our ordinary couple consciously stands a little closer then necessary when they chat.  They tend to speak softly to one another so the other must lean a little closer to hear. If you looked hard enough, you would swear you could see the spark form between them as they chat about nothing in particular.

If only they could see it.

Oh, how badly one wants to reach out and touch the other, but won't. How they plot and plan for their paths to cross and make up absurd reasons to see one another but they just don’t see that the feelings are mutual.  They only hope that they are, too scared to find out.

Those close to them see but keep their thoughts to themselves.

“It’s just gossip,” their friends say behind their backs, “What if it did not work out? Maybe they are better off as friends.”

They tend to have lunch at the same time, get coffee from the same shop and even leave the building together, but always separate. It is as if the other is waiting to make a move but keep missing that moment.

Maybe fate is not ready to show them the way.   Could it be that the moment has past?

You can see they have been alone to long. He goes from bar to bar, leaving with the pretty, young bartender knowing that he will never return to that bar again nor the bartender. She is passing time looking across the table from the man who will never marry her.

If only fate would intervene. 




This week's challenge - to try a piece using one of the writing tools you’d like to polish a bit. Some examples we talked about in our twitter chat were writing from a different point of view, engaging our characters in conflict, or improving descriptive writing.

There were no subject restrictions, but a photo was provided in case you needed a little push. 400 words.

There is Nothing Sexy About Vodka and Sauerkraut

I wonder what he would taste like, she thought trying not to stare as he walked by her desk. As if he heard her thoughts, her crush looked right at her and she blushed.

What is wrong with me? she thought as she watched him walk away. Stop, she commanded herself, but it was too late her imagination had started to wander.

What would he taste like? Honey and cinnamon comes to mind for some reason or maybe vanilla and orange.

She was thinking of ways to get close to him when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and instead of saying hello she said, "Why is it we use food to describe sex?"

"So, I take it you have seen him already today?”

Was that an accusation?

"Seriously, why use food to describe sex? Virgins lose their cherries, good girls have vanilla sex and who really wants a tossed salad?"

"Are you done?"

"For now"

"Well, I hate to disturb your fantasy."

"Did you want something?

"Nope, just wondered how long it would take you to have dirty thoughts about your co-workers."

"Are you implying that I am acting like a love struck teenager?"

"No. You are acting like one; I don’t have to imply anything."

With that she hung up and the sound of giggling could be heard coming from a cubicle not far from where she sat. Mistake number one was confiding in a co-worker about lusting after another co-worker. Mistake number two was answering the phone.

I bet he tastes like vodka and sauerkraut. Sauerkraut?  I must be hungry because there is nothing sexy about vodka and sauerkraut. Well, maybe vodka.

Would it be to obvious if I asked him to lunch? Will he ever make the first move? Why does sex and food seem to go hand in hand?

He walked by again and again she blushed.

Christ, I am acting like a teenager, she reprimanded her self, Maybe I should just write him a note and pass it to him during study hall.

Four hundred words or less, fiction or creative non-fiction, linked up on Friday morning’s post, based on one of the following definitions:

flavor |ˈflāvər| ( Brit. flavour)

The Rental Car

As soon as she got to her desk, she saw it.

A small, white box with a ribbon tied around it. She did not have to guess who it was from but she had no idea why it was there.

Cautiously, she picked up the box. “Too small for a bomb,” she though, giggling at her own joke.

Pulling at the ribbon she wondered what she was doing. Opening the lid, her heart did a small flip. It was a key for a rental car. A slight sigh escaped her lips, thankful it was not jewelery she would have to explain.

There was a note.

Call off tomorrow.

She figured he was letting her decide if and where they would go. She forced a cough, “Maybe, I don’t feel well.”

Leaving work, she spotted the rental car parked next to her old reliable. The company’s logo was proudly displayed on the bumper. Taking out the key, she pushed a button. Sure enough, the red convertible blinked its headlights at her.

“I guess I’m sick.”

Excitedly she drove to work the next morning. She had already called off and anticipated beating him to the car, but she did not anticipate how thrilling it would feel.

Parking her car next to the rental, she smoothly slipped behind the wheel. The smell of leather was intoxicating. “This is what impulse feels like.” She pushed the button and it started. The radio started as well, "Rumor has it, Rumor has it."

“Ugh,” she thought.

She imagined the open road, driving with him, laughing and singing with him. The radio sang, "Bless your soul, you got your head in the clouds."

She sent a text when she got to work, avoiding the looks of her co-workers who thought she was suppose to be sick.

Sorry.

This week we asked you to take us on a road trip. So much can happen within the confines of a car, from fraught confessions to detours for ice cream, so we’re looking forward to seeing where you take us.

Remember, your characters can drive as many miles as they want, but they should do it in less than 300 words.

To read others take on this prompt go here.

On Those Stairs, Fiction Happened.

They had fought.

His unrealistic expectations of their relationship weighed heavy on her.

Relationship.

Not sure if that truly describes what they have, had.

She leaned against the heavy wooden door, starring at the staircase that lead to the rooms they had just occupied. Impossibly complicated and beautiful.

How did I get here? she wondered to them.

Needing to escape the world, she took a flight out of town and he followed. Not asking, just showing up.

The intrusion was welcomed. He was part of her fantasy after all but he was a distraction. Why ruin this? Why be more then we are when it was doomed?

She thought she was living a fantasy until he whispered those words. Not ready to hear them, her body went  still and cold to his touch. She had told him of her expectations. Why change the game now?

He spit words at her in his anger for wanting more. She knew his pride was hurt that she did not reciprocate his words but she was not ready. She countered right back hoping her words found their mark.

How dare he, she mused, but to be fair it was not that she did not feel the same it was that she could not. He did not fit in her real world and she was tired of having this conversation.

Sadly, she knew it was time that her fantasy ended. She could feel the anger leave her. She was not mad at him but at the impossible situation. Forgiveness was already given, she just did not know if this was the last time. Would this be how they would end?

Tap, tap, tap. Brass to brass the door knocker brought her back to reality.

Opening the door was not necessary to know who it was on the other side but she slowly pulled it open anyway. She peaked through the small crack she had made to see those eyes pleading with her to let him back in, pleading for forgiveness she had already given him.

His pride would not allow him to speak and for that, she was grateful. Those eyes, so blue, yet so cloudy at that moment. Worried she would not open the door; relived that she did. That small opening was all that was needed and he pushed the door open more, falling in to her waiting arms.

She held his face in her hands for a moment, wanting to see the clouds move and when they did, she kissed him. He clasped the back of her head, pulling her tighter to his body. His hands tangled in the long dark ringlets of her hair, his lips found hers over and over again and words were not needed to know that they were both sorry for what was said.

Her arms wrapped around him and held tight as if the floor was falling out from under them. They moved as one to the stairs, dropping clothes as they went. Off came his shirt, followed by his belt; she paused long enough to move her hands over his chest. Her robe was next and they were at the stairs. He fell backward and took her with her, they did not stop and inched up one step and then another.

Forget the real world, forget reality, forget the fantasy, she wanted him and he her.

Need rising she gave in to her wants on the stairs she...

This week, we want you to be inspired by pictures.  Write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – based on your reaction to either of these photos. Or both.  Word limit…600

To read other entries to this go here.  To read more creative fiction from me go here. Constructive criticism welcomed, I can take it.

Must Like Kids

This week’s assignment was to write a personal ad, looking for love.

It could be from the perspective of a character.

The word limit was 300.

Read more of what I have written for Red Writing Hood.

I've Always Wanted a Stalker

I feel you watching.

I sense you near.

My skin tingles.

My throat tightens.

Every inch of my skin is electric.

I feel like I am on fire.

I wonder if I imagine you.

I worry that I did not.

Did you come to me during the night?

Was that just a dream?

Do you stand under my window, watching?

Am I the fantasy?

By breath quickens.

Words catch in my throat.

Do I phone or are you somewhere near?

Do you watch me as I leave?

I think you do.

I hope you do.

I want you to.

Will you stop me?

I want you to.

I imagine that you do.

You pull me into your arms.

The heat from your lips on mine make my knees weak.

Your hand at the small of my back makes me sure.

Am I wrong?

Should I not admit these things out loud?

Do you watch me twist my hair round my finger?

Do you watch me stroke my neck?

Do you know what I am thinking?

Do you know what I can do?

Should I keep these thoughts to myself?

I think that you are watching me.

I don't mind.

I've always wanted a stalker.

And you will do just fine.

I am participating in Mama Kat's  -Pretty Much World Famous- Writer's Workshop - trying my hand at free writing and Red Writing Hood.