Tag Archives: writing

Behind the times? Catch up on Synchronicity now!

It occurred to me that many of you may not have had a chance to read Book One of the Synchronicity series yet, so here’s your opportunity. Check out the Amazon Kindle book giveaway here: Out of Time Giveaway.

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Giveaways and an excerpt

I’m expanding my probably ill-conceived time limit for comments. If you comment any time today or tomorrow on one of today’s posts and I still have coupon codes to give out, you’re eligible. In the meantime, here’s an excerpt from Time Being to convince you to read it:

Lost in thought, Kaelyn almost missed the first whispers. The branches of the bushes nearest her were already waving in a nonexistent breeze when she noticed them. She faced them, unafraid and head held high. Everything became very quiet. She raised her chin and spoke. “I am Kaelyn, Queen of the Meti. I am looking for a kinsman. His name is Hunter Drake.”

The whispers started again, grew louder, and Kaelyn waited, knowing there was still a possibility that she would feel the telltale prick of the Little People’s barb in her neck, the spread of their poison through her system. Tamsin would remove the barb if it happened, but it wouldn’t be in time to stop her from experiencing some of its torture. What would they make her see this time? Last time it had been forgetting her father’s death, fighting to return to him. And each time she’d remembered had brought with it a rush of loneliness and fear.

This time would they bring back her baby? Maybe make her feel what it would have been like to hold it in her arms, to hear its cry, her body answering a call she’d never experienced before? Would she be able to return from that anguish? Jack had helped her back the last time, but even he might not be able to bring her back from the new torture she imagined. And maybe this time, she wouldn’t want to come back. She closed her eyes, half anticipating, half dreading the sting of the barb in her neck.

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Giveaway: What’s your favorite part of a book?

Romantic fantasy has opened up a whole new writing world for me. I love the creative license of world building. You could get a god complex from this! I invented a whole new race of people for the purpose of my Synchronicity story. I’m playing with the rules of physics. And I’ve liberally mixed existing mythology with made up mythology.

It’s fun.

And it’s got me started thinking about what makes a good book. Is it the characters? The backstory? The action? The romance? Great dialogue?

What does it take to make a book worth reading for you? Comment below withing an hour and I’ll send you coupon code good for a free copy of Time Being from Smashwords!

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Cover Reveal: Time Being

I’m thrilled today to be able to share with you the cover (designed by the fabulous Farah Evers Designs) of my upcoming novel, Time Being, the second book of my Synchronicity series (Out of Time, Book One; Strange Path, A Synchronicity Story). Time Being continues the adventures of Kaelyn and Jack from Out of Time and brings back Hunter Drake from “Strange Path”.  I hope you’ll join me on the journey June 21st:

time-being

Can love survive when time and space are out of sync?
In the aftermath of the Battle of the Portal, Kaelyn and Jack are left to pick up the pieces. But now they face their greatest challenge yet. Locking the portal hasn’t provided the Meti with the safety they’d hoped for. Instead, it has wrenched the worlds of Eladi and Ayeli into worse alignment than before.
With time and space at war with each other, Jack and Kaelyn must endure more devastating loss in their search for answers for both worlds. They turn to Kaelyn’s Elf uncle Hunter Drake. Will his sorcery be the answer to their prayers…or bring more danger into their midst?

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National Poetry Month: Poem 12

Please keep in mind that these poems are written very much off-the-cuff, usually when I sit down at the computer to update this blog. So they’re very rough. Some of them aren’t very good. Some of them I’m not sure about. Maybe some of them will speak to some of you, maybe others won’t appeal to anyone. It’s a fun thing to try, though, writing a poem a day. I highly recommend it.

Poem 12

Pink Moon

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

When the moon turned pink,

The flowers bloomed and you said you loved me.

But there’s no such thing as a pink moon

And that makes love extraordinary.

 

Moonlight doesn’t change colors.

Nature is what makes the flowers bloom.

Everyone knows the moon is green

…Except when it’s blue.

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Happy National Poetry Month!

It’s my favorite month. National Poetry Month. I try to read a poem or two a day during National Poetry Month. It’s not very hard, so this year, I’m challenging myself to something a little tougher.

Write a poem a day.

Post it here.

Yeah, I know, not smart to post raw stuff, but I’m determined and not many people read this anyway. So today I dug deep, and here you go:

 

End of Daffodil Season

By Michelle Garren Flye

 

Thick, yellow air.

Breathless.

 

Sun warming,

Breeze chills.

 

Tall stems sway

Shrivel.

 

Die.

 

No more buds

To love.

 

Yellow blossoms

Are gone.

 

Winds promise

More fun.

 

Soon.

 

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Jesus Walked Into Planned Parenthood

The other day as conservatives chanted “USA!” and “Lock her up!” as if they were interchangeable sentiments, I found myself in a very dark place wishing very bad things to happen to all of them. I pulled myself out of that place as best I could by writing this:

Jesus walked into Planned Parenthood. He paused at the desk. The receptionist, tired and counting the minutes until she could get out of the tiny, antiseptic-smelling room with its buzz of computers mixing with the sniffles and throat-clearings of the waiting room, looked up, her expression guarded out of habit. “Can I help you?”

“No.” Jesus smiled at her and she thought about the scent of dandelions. She’d loved dandelions when she was a child. She remembered the clump of golden dandelions she’d spotted by the bus stop that morning. Tonight, when she left, she would stop and smell them. Maybe she’d pick one and take it on the bus with her. The thought made her happy because dandelions smelled like hope and she very seldom felt hope anymore.

Jesus reached through the small opening in the glass window—the one she used to pass clipboards back and forth to patients—and touched her hand. “I’m just looking for a friend,” He said before turning to the waiting room.

Jesus found her in the waiting room. It was late, and she was the last one there. A middle-aged woman holding her purse on her lap and staring into the distance as if she could imagine herself somewhere else for some other purpose. Jesus sat next to her and took her hand. “She’s all right.”

As if she had come back from somewhere very far away, the woman looked at Him. She heaved a breath, raspy, sounding like she hadn’t breathed in a long time. “Is she?”

Jesus thought of the woman’s daughter undergoing a procedure in one of the back rooms that would take away the baby conceived in an ill-timed relationship. He thought of the frightened boy who’d refused to take responsibility, whose parents had taken him away instead of facing what had happened. He knew the young girl had agonized about it. He’d heard her prayers. He’d heard her father’s anger, felt the words fall like blows on the girl’s heart. If you have an abortion don’t ever come back to my house.

But in the end, full of fear instead of hope, she’d gone to the clinic. And her mother had taken her, in spite of her own convictions, too worried about losing her daughter to obey her husband. Both of them had spent the past few hours imploring Him for forgiveness.

“My husband says it’s an unforgivable sin. That she’ll be locked out of heaven forever.” The woman’s voice quavered, imploring a contradiction.

Jesus stood, and the woman’s eyes filled with wonder. For a moment, when He smiled at her, she heard again her daughter’s bell-like laughter tinkling through spring air while she ran and played in the golden sunshine. Jesus bent and kissed her forehead. “There is no sin I will not forgive if I am asked in time.”

He left the clinic and paused outside. He saw the man standing on the other side of the road. He was a man who prayed daily, almost hourly, but Jesus could no longer hear him, though from this distance He could see the man’s lips moving. Jesus knew what He’d said to the woman in the waiting room was true. But He wondered—if this man ever asked His pardon—would He hear the prayer?

His heart heavy, He walked away from the clinic as the man entered it. He heard the explosion, and as those He passed turned to see what had happened, He spotted a clump of dandelions growing between the cracks of the sidewalk.

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