Happy Valentines Day from #OurAuthorGang

 Love is in the air

Every year on February 14th, Valentine's Day arrives to remind us to celebrate love and cherish our loved ones. Although we show our love in different ways every day, this day calls for something extra special.

Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone! May this day overflow with all the love your heart can hold. Sending warm hugs and best wishes to you all!

Will You Be My Valentine?

A short story by Erika M Szabo

During recess, Ashley, the new girl in school with curly auburn hair and sparkling hazel eyes, sat alone on a wooden bench in the corner of the playground, deeply engrossed in her book. The playground was alive with the laughter and shouts of children. Brian and Scott stood near the bench, concealed by the wide trunk of a tree.

Brian, a lanky fourteen-year-old boy nervously fingered a Valentine's Day card. "I want to give it to her, but..." his voice wavered, uncertainty hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

"Save yourself the embarrassment," Scott, his confident classmate with tousled blond hair and a nervous glint in his eyes, exclaimed. "Nathan said he gave her a card, but she's just... She's so stuck-up. Look!" he pointed at the bench. "Nathan wasn't the only one giving her a card. There's stack of cards on the bench and she didn't even open."

His words hung in the cool breeze, leaving Brian puzzled. "What?" he asked, his voice tinged with surprise as his eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "She seems to be nice."

"Nathan said she just gave him a cold stare that made him feel pathetic," came the reply, each word painting a vivid picture of the icy exchange.

“Nathan is a brute,” Brian said. “Maybe he was rude to her.”

“Maybe,” Scott shrugged, looking down at his shoes and kicking a small rock. "This whole Valentine thing is so stupid, anyway."

"Yeah," Brian signed, stealing a glance at Ashley. He had a soft spot for her, a fondness that had grown over the weeks since he first saw her, but now his courage seemed to seep away. 

"I'm gonna go to the gym. You coming?" Scott asked.

"Nah, I'll be at the library until next class." 

Scott walked toward the entrance and disappeared through the glass door. Feeling deflated, Brian stood there for a minute and started walking too, though he couldn't resist stealing furtive glances back at Ashley who was still sitting on the bench, reading her book.

Should I? But what if she… but if I didn’t, I may never know. And I like her… a lot. Brian thought, trying to decide what to do. "Don't be a coward! You can do this!" he encouraged himself whispering under his breath. He started walking and every step as he approached the bench on legs that felt like jelly. His heart thudded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. "Hi Ashley," he managed to say, extending a carefully chosen Valentine's card with a trembling hand. "Will you..." his mutating voice cracked. Blushing, he cleared his throat and blurted, "Will you be my Valentine?"

Ashley glanced up from the pages of her book, her face lighting up with a warm, inviting smile that seemed to chase away the winter chill. "Happy Valentine's Day, Brian," she replied, her voice as gentle as the soft breeze. She closed her book with a gentle thud and gestured to the spot beside her on the bench, patting it lightly. "Would you like to sit with me?"

As Brian clumsily sat down, the stack of Valentine's cards scattered on the ground. The top one fell open and Brian's lips curled into a smirk. Valentine's is stupid, huh? He thought, reading Scott's name next to a hand-drawn red heart inside the card.

Enjoy the video and song created by Erika M Szabo

Happy Valentine's Day from the blog authors

In the soft glow of candlelight,

Love is blooming, everything feels right.

Hearts are beating like a sweet refrain,	Whispers of affection dance like summer rain.	From friends to lovers, near and far,
Tonight we celebrate who we truly are.	With every smile and every embrace,	It’s the magic of love that time can't erase.

Inspiration. Part one - People #ourauthorgang

I am often asked where I get my inspiration from to write stories. It’s a good question. It’s also a very complex one.

I suppose it all depends on where I am and what I want to achieve. My fellow man can be an endless source of inspiration. Sometimes I overhear a conversation that triggers an idea.

For example, when I was in a charity shop looking for second-hand books, a woman came in with a large reproduction of Picasso’s painting ‘Cat catching a bird’ and asked if the shop would like to sell it.

The assistant was not impressed and thought the painting was by a child and declined her offer. The woman stormed out mumbling something about philistines and uncultured people etc.

I thought it was quite funny and used the incident as the start of a short story about a disabled woman trying to get back her life by beginning to paint again. Here is an extract from the short story 

‘Rousseau’s Suburban Garden’ from the anthology-Glimmer

“The assistant mumbled her way to the window display and dragged the picture towards her. She picked it up as though it weighed more than she did, and carried it, huffing and puffing to the counter. Esther leant heavily against her walking stick as the woman spoke, ‘It’s a funny old picture. Is it from some children’s television programme?’

‘No, it’s a painting by Henri Rousseau.’

The elderly lady chuckled and began to unclip the metal clasps that held the cardboard back onto the frame. ‘Sorry dear, but I think this is just a print. Not a painting.’           

Closing her eyes tightly, she flared her nostrils and took a deep breath. ‘I know, but the print is from a painting by Henri Rousseau.’     

‘Never heard of him,’ the woman said and stared at the picture before her. She squinted and held it up, turning it left and right as though she could not make out what it was.

‘The colours are very garish. Not really my thing. Too cartooney for my taste. What kind of animal is it anyway? A giant kitten? Funny colour hair it’s got. Not sure about the teeth. Is it supposed to be some kind of circus act? Are they midgets riding it? All looks out of proportion.’

Esther stared into the woman’s watery eyes. ‘The lion’s mane is the colour of ripened wheat and it is smiling. Two children sit upon the animals back as it walks amongst long yellow grass. There is a moon and dove above their heads, and the sky is darkening. The girl’s untamed tresses fly out behind her in an imitation of the big cat’s shaggy hair. It is titled, ‘The Infants and The Lion’. It was my favourite painting as a child.’

‘Oh, well, I can see how a child would take to it. An adult, though?’”

I thought it was a good way to begin my story of an artist trying to find her inspiration after giving up.

Then there is people watching. I confess that I have used friends, family, and strangers as a basis for a character or two. Their quirky habits, use of words and how they react to problems and the drama of life, inevitably end up in a narrative. Memories of past loves and hates will emerge in a character, often without me being aware of it. When I do, I realise that I have the chance to re-enact moments of humiliation and sadness by rewriting what I should have said and done, so ridding myself of all those inner beasts that have haunted me for years.

This can be very cathartic and often produces charged, emotional passages that bring the narrative to life. But I don’t base characters on actual people very often, honest!

In part two, I look at how nature has, and still does inspire me.

If you enjoyed my short story extract, you might like to check out my books on Amazon: 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Nicola-McDonagh/e/B00D4NAH0S/

All images royalty/copyright free

Biological, Chosen, or Fantasy #OurAuthorGang

by Grace Augustine

I dare to wager a bet...at some point in your life you have longed for a family other than your own.  I think we all do that. My parents, in the above photo, were older parents. I was their only child. My father, a Filipino, died when I was 9 years old. My Mother died when I was 30. Tomorrow would have been her 100th birthday. 

I didn't know either set of grandparents. I think that was due to age and location more than anything.  My maternal grandparents lived in Missouri and paternal grandparents, from the Philippines, died long before I was born.

There was no one to grow up with. Don't get me wrong, I had neighborhood kids I ran around with, but there was no one to grow up with in my home. Today, my biological family is comprised of my two sons and beautiful feline, Bou. Since I have no cousins, no aunts, uncles...no one...I've chosen my family. I have chosen sisters and brothers all over the world that are either real, in person friends chosen as family, or online internet never-met family.

photo created by photofunia

When I penned The Acorn Hills Series, I based it on a close-knit group of friends who experienced life together. They grew up going to sporting events, catching each other's tears, and laughing and rejoicing at each other's accomplishments--much the same as a real family would.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01N7QFRUK/ref=series_rw_dp_sw

Whether you have a fabulous biological family, a family you've chosen through friendship, or a fantasy family that you'd like to someday have, I hope you make memories together that all will remember and maybe one day write stories about.