Category Archives: Write It Up! Wednesdays

Write It Up! Wednesdays 3.26.14

This Write it Up! Wednesday I want to do something different. I wanted to post some previous work I did on the amorphous blob that is the novel in my head. This is the opening. I don’t know how I feel about it but it does still need quite a bit of work. Enjoy and please feel free to leave comments and questions! Happy writing!


The hunter glided along the canopy careful the leaves did not betray his presence. A small squirrel, grey with snow tipped fur, was busy buried in the knot of a large oak on his own hunt for a mid-day meal. The hunter carefully spread his wings careful again that the subtle rustle of feather did not scare away his target. His tongue, sharp and quick darted out of his mouth tasting the cool late-summer air hanging within the forest foliage. His tail flicked with anticipation. He coiled his body into a springing position, raised his wings and opened his mouth revealing twin sets of venom dripping fangs. His eyes dilated and he prepared for a well deserved meal. The squirrel unawares continued to root through the half dead oak searching for a forgotten cache or some new growth. His ears twitched.

The hunter sprang from his viridian cover. His careful planning and silent approach won him a kiss from a rotting oak.

The squirrel sprinted and bound from branch to branch desperately trying to gain distance himself from a certain death. The dangers of the forest were not to be trifled with. The hunter recovered quickly. His meal was not to be denied him. His smooth and muscular body contorted so that he could remove his embedded fangs from the caressing oak. He once again spread his pearl wings, attached just below his head, and sprang into the air pursuing the quick morsel with a burning desire. The serpentine body acted as a rutter while in flight. The canopy was a treacherous place to fly. The maze of branches and leaves made it difficult to judge what was coming next especially this time of year when the forest reveled in the hot summer sun. Quick eyes and an agile body were more than enough to conquer this dense channel. Every so often the hunter would wrap his body around a branch using it to spring again into the air. His wingspan was too large to fully fly within the confines of the forest he would have to deal with simply gliding towards his prey. That was fine for him as the small squirrel was quickly approaching. It had to navigate the pathways of the trees while the hunter could circumvent and take to the spaces between and more direct and efficient root.

The squirrel could hear his attacker approach quickly and would use his small size as an advantage ducking through particularly tight spaces and turning quickly knowing his pursuer would have to waste valuable time to reposition his body. He had a goal in mind if he could get to The Alley all would be fine. He saw a recognizable oak and darted quickly to the left. He was almost there. He hopped as quickly as he could keeping low to the branch making himself a smaller target. His ear twitched.

The branch he had new climbed to exploded in a sea of bark feather and scales. He narrowly avoided the direct hit but the power of the strike had launched him into the air. He used his tail to turn himself around in time to see winged snake spring again towards him. Wings spread, fangs glistening and body tight and straight. A missile of destruction pointed directly at him. His tail again rotated providing momentum and as certain death careened towards him he spun midair. His tail had allowed him to avoid the open jaw of his attacker and actually use passing body as a substitute branch. He was on his way towards a near hanging branch when the serpent’s tail caught him in the face. His attacker had regained composure quickly and had used his own tail to his advantage. The grey squirrel once again found himself hanging midair. With a flick of a tail he righted himself and found the ground meeting him quickly. The soft forest grass softened the fall a little but that was the last thing on his mind. With the advantage of the trees gone he was an easy target and an easy meal. He dashed hoping to gain a head start hoping to get to The Alley before he became lunch. His heart beat wildly in his chest and he could hear the rustle of wings. Without the trap of branches his pursuer could freely fly through the ancient tree trunks. His chances of survival were dwindling fast. His ear twitched once more not because of a sound but lack thereof. The hunter was in a dive. He quickly changed direction, hoping the surprise would be enough to avoid the coming strike. Like a jet of water caught in the wind the hunter’s body contorted and caught the little squirrel’s head with his tail. The squirrel, dazed continued to run until the sun beat down heavily upon him. The wall of trees had ended. He had made it to The Alley. Just in time for the winged snake to coil his scaled body around him.

Write It Up! Wednesdays 3.19.2014

Thanks for joining me for another edition of Write It Up Wednesday! And yes I know it’s thursday but… well… I don’t know… ENJOY!!!

The Living Doll” by Brian A. Klems

While shopping downtown one day, you find an antiques store that has a rare, old doll. You buy it for your daughter. A few days later she tells you her new toy can talk. You don’t believe her, until one afternoon you find yourself alone in the house, and it starts talking to you. Write this scene.


I opened my eyes to the afternoon light shining through my curtains. Swinging my feet around I pushed myself from the stifling covers and staggered into the hallway.

“Sean?” I presented to the empty house my voice still gravelly from sleep. Shuffling down the hallways I checked the rooms before going downstairs. All empty.

“Sean?” I tried again. “Sophie?” No one answered.

He must have taken her to the park. I thought, my mind still fighting the afternoon fog. A tiny giggle leaked into the room. I went to investigate thinking it odd that Sean would leave the house with me passed out and Sophie unsupervised. I explored the living room and dining room before arriving at the kitchen.


No one was here. I convinced myself that I must be hearing things.

I’m still groggy. “God, I hate naps”. I shuffled over to the fridge navigating the kitchen island and the labyrinth of toys Sophie had left out. That girl will be the death of me. I thought almost tripping on a fire truck.

I opened the fridge looking for something to help clear my head when the giggle rippled through the air. I spun around and came face to face with the antique porcelain doll I had gotten Sophie sitting on the kitchen island. Its blonde pin curls falling gently below its shoulders resting on its cream lace gown. I looked out the window thinking the neighbors kids had run through our backyard again but it was empty. I turned back and grabbed the milk. Closing the door I placed the milk on the counter beside the fridge.

“May I have a glass too, please?”

My back went rigid and goose bumps ran up my arms. I turned around again keeping perfectly still when faced with the open room. I guess I was hoping that if I didn’t move I could see what did.

“Sophie? Are you hiding, little one?” I tried calling out but it only came as a croaked whisper. “It’s not funny to scare Daddy.”

“All I asked for was a glass of milk.” it replied its little voice sounding confused.

The voice had come from the island. I slowly moved towards the cabinets underneath and carefully opened the doors. Pots and pans. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“What are you looking for? Glasses?”

I looked up to see the doll perched over the edge of the counter. It seemed to stare at me with its painted green eyes, its lips curled into a smile. Startled I fell back moving as far away as I could stopping when my back hit the fridge. I stared up at the doll. It studied me on the floor. Its face flickered between expressions like an actor switching masks. Amusement to confusion to understanding until it rested on an expression of amused superiority with an eyebrow cocked and a sly smile spread across its lips.

My eyes grew wide with what I witnessed. “What are you?” I stammered out.

“Thirsty. I asked for a glass of milk.”

I slowly stood to a standing position keeping my eyes on the doll. I grabbed for a glass and filled it with half full with milk. I slid the glass to the doll keeping as far away as I could. It looked at the glass and the milk started to drain. I slapped my hand to my mouth afraid I would start screaming.

I don’t know what this thing is. I can’t scare it. It turned its head and the glass launched off the counter hitting the cabinets beside my head, milk and glass shards pelting my head and shoulders. My eyes grew wide as I stared at the tiny demon. It was doing its best Linda Blair impression. Its head spun becoming a blur. It stopped abruptly, its mouth a large devilish smile..

“What do you want?” I whimpered through my hand.

“It is a touch cliché but I want to play a game. It’s called Ouija. I send you to the spirit world and see if I can talk to you.” It giggled as black bile started pouring from its eyes and the corners of its mouth.

Without thinking I grabbed the doll and started shoving it down the sink drain. I flipped the switch under the counter and the garbage disposal whirred to life. I screamed as I shredded the porcelain head of the tiny demon, pieces flying up adding to the cuts already on my face. I continued to scream as the disposal turned off.


I stopped screaming and turned the shredded shoulders and body of the doll still in my hand. It was Sean and Sophie. They were dressing in light spring jackets and stared at me wide eyed.

“Mark, what are you doing? What happened?” Sean said scanning the kitchen.

“I don’t- the doll- I-“ I stammered, tears welling up in my eyes.

“Dolly!” Sophie cried as she reached up and grabbed the doll limp in my hand.

I looked at it. The head was completely gone. There was no black bile on the dress where I had seen it leak. I looked in the sink. Porcelain and horse hair lay in chunks but no black bile. I turned to Sean confused.

“I just don’t know- I mean it was sitting here and it talked.” Sean looked at me skeptical.

“I told you she did!” Sophie cried her eyes getting misty.

“Daddy is sorry that he broke Dolly. How about we go out and get you a new one?” Sean said crouching to Sophie. He wiped the tears from her cheek and she nodded. “Mark, go lay down. I’ll be back and we can clean up and talk about this. Ok?”

“Ya. Ya, I will. I’m sorry, Sophie. I really am, honey.” I left the kitchen and headed back upstairs to my bedroom. Lying on top of the covers I heard the front close and Sean’s car start and back out of the driveway. I closed my eyes trying to fall to sleep. My body started to relax. I never realized how tense I was. I drifted slowly into dark.

When a giggle drifted into the room.

Write It Up! Wednesdays 3.5.14

Dear John Letter” by Brian Klems

You return home from work to find a Dear John letter on your kitchen table. Oddly enough, it’s from one of your favorite pieces of furniture. What does the letter say?

Dear Geoffrey,

I know this might be hard for you to hear but I can’t stay in this place any longer. We have had some great times. You saved from a house with a dog and were they smoked inside and I will always be grateful for that. I remember in the beginning when we would snuggle together all day watching our favorite shows. We didn’t even need to talk. We understood each other but we have been drifting farther and farther away. You barely look at me anymore. All I am to you know is storage space. A place to throw your cast offs like some cheap Rubbermaid bin! I know my cushions a getting a bit thin and I know that you can’t get rid of that smoke smell but I am still a part of your living room! Also I’ve seen you with the chair. I thought it was merely friendship but you have made your choice quite clear when you dragged that harlot in front of me to play videogames. You have chosen and so have I. When you read this I’ll be gone with all the scars you have left. The ink for that exploded pen, that mysterious food stain from that party and the tear from moving. These will be with me always but I can no longer be with you. You saved me and I am forever grateful and for that I hope you are happy. I hope one day I can be too.

Your Couch.

Write It Up! Wednesday 2.26.14

Welcome to the first entry for Write It Up! Wednesday. This is where I share with you some of my creative writing for the week.

I got today’s writing prompt from Writer’s Digest. This prompt is called “A Sword Fight Without Swords” by Brian A Klems.

The year is 3014, and you are on an intergalactic out to protect your planet. During your final battle, you cross paths with the leader of the opposing forces. It ends with the two of you in a sword fight, only problem is instead of swords you are both using (fill in the blank). Write this scene.

So I did.


Seela ran down the corridor nearly tripping on a fallen cooling tube, its blue contents leaking on the smooth metallic floor. She ran a quickly as she could, her suit saturated in sweat and coolant splash back, dodging the debris falling from the bulkheads.

“Seela! The rebels knocked out the repulsion field. They have a clear shot to our hull. Are you at the engine yet?” The voice cracked rising through the smoke hovering in the air.

“I swear to the Thermal, if you keep asking… I could get there faster if the lifts were working so you’ll just have to wait.”

Seela turned a sharp corner when a quake shuttered through the ship. Steadying herself on the corridor wall she touched her temple.

“Box’ar! What in the Thermal was that?!”

Box’ar voice, mingled with static, croaked though the air.

“They didn’t shoot. They… Rising Thermal, they boarded! I can sense 8, no 9, squads of rebels. I think there is a-”

Seela tapped her temple in confusion.

“Box’ar! Box’ar!” Seela swore to herself. She continued to run towards the engine hoping that if she could get it running she could jettison all the ships rooms, other than the engine room and the Captain’s Platform of course. The sound of the intruders echoed through the vents that veined the ship but that only spurred Seela faster. After a few tense minutes she spied the causeway, segmenting the pond of liquid coolant, leading to the crystalline arbor housing the ship’s living core. She stopped dead as a figure stepped from beneath the core’s leafy iridescence.

“Seela the Cannon Scribe. I know the Prince is on board. Hand him over and all this can end. When I lead the new regime I’ll need all the competent captains I can. I can make you very comfortable. I just need the Prince.”

Seela’s jaw clench and she spoke through her teeth failing to hide the anger as it spilled out with every word.

“Chawnic, I would rather die than see you bring down the Stardom.” Her hand went for her waist then panic flared in her mind. Her vials, her only weapon, were hanging on her chair in the Captain’s Platform.

“I see you’re unarmed.” Chawnic said with a chuckle. “I had hoped to do this with you intact but I guess you can’t light a fire without cutting down a few trees.” He put his hands to his own waist dipping his fingers into the vials that hung there. As he raised his hands into fighting position Seela could see the Sereph Ink clinging to his finger tips. Her eyes widened. Each tip was covered in a different colour.

Even her master couldn’t attack-paint with ten colours! Her mind raced. She had no ink to defend herself. She scanned the room for anything she could use. Her eyes snapped and locked on Chawnic. A smile crept onto her face.

“I glad you find this so amusing.” Chawnic spewed before barreling towards Seela, his fingers like venomous needles. Seela grounded her stance and jabbed her middle and index fingers into an open cut on her thigh. She didn’t know when she got it but it proved to be a blessing. As Chawnic closed in Seela twisted her body positioning herself above his attack and smearing his cheek in her bright red blood. Chawnic turned surprised and after realizing what had occurred he cautiously he began to step forward. Before he had time to wipe off the first hit Seela sprung forward pressing the attack hoping she could make contact again. Her hands were a blur remembering the exercises drilled into her during her training but Chawnic’s hands moved just as quickly. She realized that her fingers were running dry so she jabbed them back into her thigh. The pain was more intense than she expected. Chawnic used the moment to smear her forehead. Seela jumped back. They studied each other. She could feel the cool sensation of the ink on her forehead, chin and her left temple. She had only managed to smear his cheeks. They both studied each other, waiting for the other to strike.

“I’m impressed but you only have one colour to work with. Only the weakest incantations use one colour.” Chawnic said through a labored smile.

“It’s doesn’t matter what you inscribe with but what is inscribed.” Seela burst forward and at the last second she ducked under Chawnic’s block. Their faces came only centimeters apart: Chawnic’s faced reflecting his surprised while Seela’s, stern, in her resolve. Seela’s hands moved like a blur. Two red strokes over the eyes and a blue dot in the middle of the forhead. Seela jumped back and slammed her palms together. Chanic’s body convulsed as blue engery jumped between the marks on his face. He fell to the floor immobilized.

“ Blue coolant to make the focal point. I wouldn’t try moving. I’m sure you know the weight the Elephant Mask imparts.” Seela wiped her face then tapped her temple. “Box’ar. We all good?”

“Ya, Seela. We’re good.”

Seela smiled and started toward the engine.


After Thought:

I find writing prompts to be very freeing. You don’t have to think of an idea but you can just let your mind soar! I love it and I had so much fun writing this. I think I want to expand this in the future.

Also can you guess what my “sword” was?

Fingerpainting. Ya, I went there. Edgy.


Write It Up! Wednesday

Hello all!

Part of my goals for this blog is to create motivation to stretch and flex my writing muscle. As I’m sure some of you can relate, I suffer from lazy-ass-itis. Sloth seems to be the death of creative growth. It only produces stagnation. Netflix is a wonderful lover but it can only entertain the mind not satisfy the soul (damn that was deep…and I ruined it). I want to be a better writer, technically and creativly. I figure that if I say I’m going to post something every week than I have to. And since this is the internet I can only assume at least one person will read this, even if they accidentally click here when they were searching for good butternut squash soup recipe or info on tadpoles or whatever normal people use the internet for.

Anyway, getting back to the point. I want to introduce my Write It Up! Wednesday posts. On Wednesdays I’m going to be sharing the products of my weekly creative writing. I’ve decided to use writing prompts from the Writer’s Digest website. They are weekly but it goes back pretty far so it shouldn’t run out any time soon. I have only done a cursory search of the website but it seems to hold a lot of great info for writers and enthusiasts. If I find anything particularly awesome I’ll defiantly share a link. If you find anything in your own travels to help me and anyone with their writing or if there a website you use for writing prompts defiantly leave a link in the comments!

Stay tuned for the first post Feb. 26th 2014! I know you’re thinking to yourself “How can I wait that long?!” and all I can say is… you’re going to have to.