Tag Archives: story

Writing Prompt Weekend #4

You open the gift and are unenthused. But you smile “I love it!” You lie. “Thank you so much!” You lie again, with an even bigger fake smile.

“I thought of you as soon as I saw it!”

Really? You take it out of the box. It’s a _______ …….

Made this one up myself, while I’m sick with a cold for Christmas. Happy Holidays Everyone!

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky.

“Is your Boyfriend a Jedi or a Sith Lord?” Excuse Me?

So, funny story.

While I was braving the mob of last-minute Christmas shoppers, I went into the Newbury Comics store in the mall. It’s like nerd central over there, I love it. They sell books and comics and other geeky trinkets. I was trying to find a present for my boyfriend, Micheal (Y’know, that guy you hear so much about on my blog). Thankfully, he’s a big nerd too.  So I found something in the store that led me to have this interesting conversation with the store clerk.

(This is a side note;  I try to be considerate and a freaking perfectionist when buying gifts. I consider myself a pretty good gift getter, most of the time. I pride myself on it. I put a lot of thought into the presents I get for people.)

(Another side note; I can’t say specifically what I bought, because my boyfriend will probably read this and I want his Christmas presents to be a surprise. I might have to censor myself. We’ll call it a Star Wars related item.)

Here’s how that conversation more or less went….

I picked up said Star War’s related item and looked mildly interested in it. This store clerk guy came over. Not gonna lie, he looked like a cute dork from a cartoon, with big glasses and a nervous laugh. Maybe he was still in high school, I don’t know.

“That’s a good [Star Wars Item]” He commented.

“Oh yeah? I’m trying to find something for my boyfriend and he’s a big fan of Star Wars.”

“Yeah, that one’s pretty popular.” Note; I think he was right about that, because there were only three of ‘said item’ in stock in the entire store and they all looked beat up. I tried to find the least damaged one. Back to story.

I told him while examining said item “I think he’d like it, he likes stuff like this”

Then he asked me, “Is your boyfriend a Jedi or a Sith Lord?”

“Excuse me?” I was genuinely unsure. Is that something you’re supposed to ask your significant other? Should I know that off the top of my head? I mean, we’ve been dating almost six years, shouldn’t I know if my boyfriend is a Jedi or a Sith Lord?

“Well…” I said, somewhat stunned by the question. How do I even answer that? “I’m not a huge Star Wars fan myself. But I know his favorite character is Kylo Ren.”

This poor store clerk. “Cool, he’s with the Sith. They’re the bad guys.” I may not be a big fan of Star Wars, but I know the Sith are the bad guys. Who doesn’t know that?

Then he said “Your boyfriend’s probably a Sith Lord” What? Are you calling my boyfriend a Sith Lord? Should I be insulted? He’s more of a turtle than a Sith Lord.

Me trying to change the subject back to the said Star Wars related item I was thinking of buying. “Yeah, I think he’ll like this because [reasons why my non Sith Lord boyfriend would like said gift]”

“Oh Yeah, and also because it has [more reasons why my non Sith Lord boyfriend would like said gift]” He was adorable, he was just as excited about the ‘item’and he actually did sell it to me. So points for being a good salesman, I guess.

I tried to wrap up the conversation because it was 30 degrees outside and I wore a bunch of layers, but inside the store it was 110 degrees and I was slowly melting in my sweater as I bought the thing.

Hopefully Michael likes said Star Wars thing. Cross your fingers when Christmas rolls around. What are you guys up to this holiday season? Getting carried away in the bustle of shopping? And just for reassurance, that’s a weird question to ask someone right? Or is it just me?

Write With Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky.


Writing Prompt Weekend #1

“There are two kinds of people in this world,” my companion slurred, pausing to take another artless swig. “Those who ______ and those who _______.”

I’m gonna try and post one prompt every weekend from now on. This one comes from Writer’s Digest.

Don’t stress and don’t rush, just be creative.

Post your stories and ideas in the comments, I’d love to read them.

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky


The Brawn Man of Brooklyn (A Short Story)

They called it an extraordinary phenomenon.

A regular Hercules, Dr.Robinowitz on 3rd street claimed. Their son, Frank, was born with the capabilities of lifting objects 100 times heavier than his body weight. Super strength, the kids would say. His mother said Hail Mary in Italian ten times a day and cried, as if he son was some kind of devil. She constantly scolded him out of fear of his destructiveness. “Don’t touch that!” and “Don’t touch anything!” or “Don’t you dare touch the baby!”

He was a toddler. And his strength was something unexplainable, something that should remain a secret. If he pressed his hand into wall too hard, the wall would crack. Toys, if not handled gently, would be crushed or broken into pieces. Even the metal handle of his bicycle would be indented by his fingertips. He couldn’t control this, even as he got older, his power grew more dangerous. On the kindergarten playground, he pushed a kid out of the sandbox and cracked his rib. When he was seven years old, he threw a baseball and it landed three blocks away and through a car windshield.

He couldn’t touch anything. He wasn’t safe.

Frank would hold his small hands and peek into his sister Camilla’s crib when she was an infant. He was afraid of breaking her too.

His father owned a deli under the train tracks, Berardi’s Deli. Behind it was a dead patch of grass they called a backyard. And above it was a shoe box apartment they called a home. His father wore a filthy apron as he sat on the sidewalk’s edge, smelling like fennel seed and sweat. He smoked a cigarette and watched the kids in the street play. Frank, a small boy with small hands, sat beside him.

“Pops, why can’t I play with them?” The boy said “I promise I’ll be good. I won’t hit so hard. Honest.” He watched as the kids played stick ball.
His father gave him a side glance, taking a long drag and rubbing his stubbled chin. “Last time, you knocked a kid out.”

He looked down at his hands, discouraged “I-I didn’t mean to, Pops, he was….”

“Your mother with have a heart attack if she finds out you hurt someone else with your…” Trailing off, he stood up and stomped his cigarette out. The few remaining embers in the curb fizzled into the cement. “Don’t let nobody see you doing that. You hear me?” He warned. Frank’s eyes wandered to the window to the apartment above the deli, where his mother, with tired eyes, looked out.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Camilla.” He said, looking down at his feet as they walked home from high school one crisp autumn afternoon. His black hair fell into a perfect greased curl.

“Sure it is,” His sister grinned, holding her biology textbook in her arms. “You love baseball.”

“Watchin’ baseball, sure. Not playin’ it,” He shrugged, still unsure “Pop’s will be mad. And Ma’s gonna be in hysterics if she finds out.”

She nudged him with her elbow. Her long wool skirt matched her mint green sweater. “Come on, don’t worry about that stuff, Frankie, you’d be amazing and you know it.”

Frank sighed, shoving his hands in his Letterman jacket. A chill blew between them. A police siren blared in the distance. The sun was setting, burning orange and gold.

“What if I hurt someone?”

“What if you only hit home runs?”

“I’m serious, Camilla,” He grabbed her arm lightly, as if he was holding a feather. They stood on the street corner across from their family’s deli. “I can’t control this. Someone’s gonna get hurt.”

“You can control it. You don’t have to be scared. You’re strong… super strong, but it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You can do something good with it.” The sirens grew louder.

As they crossed the street, a car screeched around the corner, being tailed by red and blue flashing lights. A police chase. Frank was in the middle of the street, frozen for a moment. Camilla screamed, pulling at his hand. “Frankie, move!” He wouldn’t budge. He didn’t want to be scared anymore. The car was barreling towards him. He pushed his sister out of the way, and braced for impact, with an arched back and outstretched arms.

The car slammed into Frank, metal crushed against his chest, pushing him back a couple of feet. His sneakers skid against the pavement. The vehicle was stopped completely, with three bewildered robbers wearing ski masks sitting inside. The headline in the newspaper the next day dubbed him “The Brawn Man of Brooklyn”.

Why I Failed NaNoWriMo, but I’m Ready for Next Year.


I’m going to be real honest for a minute.

Before I started National Novel Writing Month, I had an idea for a story. A detective and his assistant, solving mysteries in the 1920s. In the summer, the concept and plot were strong and clear in my mind, I just wasn’t motivated enough, I guess. But when Autumn rolled around, that picture became a little fuzzy. I didn’t feel like I had the connection to the time period and to these characters that I wanted to once November started. It was like we were once roommates, living together and then, they became the neighbors down the street. An unexplained distance came between me and this story idea.

I tried my best, give me credit for that. I wrote about 10,000 words this November, which is an accomplishment, in some regard. I’m grateful for my experience with NaNoWriMo, it got me back into writing, regularly, without stopping to edit. It pushed me to be a better writer and to write more frequently. And I think that’s what I needed at this point in my life.

But It also made me realize, I might need to go back to the drawing board with this story idea. It made me question, is this the best story for my two main characters? Should I change the case my characters are investigating? Should I write something completely different?  Should I add a little fantasy element into this mystery?

If I do justice to these characters, they can be something special. I have to believe that.

Yes, I understand fictional characters are fictional. As writers, the characters we create can be more than that to us and we feel obligated to tell their tale and tell it right.

Going back to the drawing board and figuring things out is not a bad thing. Sometimes you have to step back and look at the big picture.

There’s another reason why I had to quit NaNoWriMo. (Possibly a good reason)

I got an internship. Now, for those of you who have read previous posts and know a bit about my life, you know it hasn’t been easy for me to find a job in the field I just earned a diploma for. I won’t sugar coat, it’s been tough. After hearing rejection after rejection (even got rejected by Barnes and Noble during the holiday season. Seriously?), I eventually heard a yes. It’s currently an unpaid internship, writing for a blog that focuses on everything Disney. It’s definitely made me unusually busy this November (After a couple uneventful months). Something is something, and I intend to learn a lot and gain some valuable experience. My task is to write 5 articles per week, with an average of 600 words each. That’s about 3,000 words a week, if my math is correct. I want to do a good job on this, it’s the perfectionist in me. And technically, I will have something published with my name on it. So, I’m okay with focusing on this internship for a while until I feel comfortable balancing article writing with fiction writing and my own personal blog writing.

I’m definitely gonna try NaNoWriMo next year. It really was a good experience, even if I didn’t “win”.  I still kinda won, sorta. NaNo gave me the push of motivation I needed.  So this rookie ain’t out yet, next year, I’m aiming for the world series  (I’ve been making a lot of baseball references to NaNo, haven’t I? Should I be concerned?).

I want all you aspiring writers to keep on writing, even if you feel stuck at the drawing board or things don’t fall into place quite so easily. Never forget how magical storytelling is.

Write With Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky.

Check out this video on writing descriptions.


Hello everyone,

It’s been a roller coaster of a week. The Good stuff? Possible internship opening and fun weekend trip with my boyfriend coming up. The not so good stuff? My dad had a bit of a health scare (he’s fine now) and there’s a leaky pipe (which is not fine) and another closed door job wise.
All these happenings, and writers block, have led to an unproductive week of writing. My attempt at NaNoWriMo is slightly derailing, unfortunately, but I’m still gonna try and keep writing, whether I reach my goal or not.

In a previous post, I mentioned my difficulty writing about the appearance of characters and the setting. Just thought I’d share this video about writing descriptions I found. It’s really helpful, at least, I thought so. Made me think about writing descriptions and my choice of adjectives and how I paint the picture.

Just watching it made the phrases “ghost quiet” and “stewed cherry” get stuck in my brain. And really did change my thinking when it comes to writing descriptions.

Hope you find this video helpful too. I want to know what you guys are working on, so let me know in the comments.

Write with heart,
Lady Jabberwocky


Red Hots and Cold Cases (A Scene)

The summer of 1925

“It’s really quite simple, once you think about it.”

“it can’t be that simple, even the police ruled it a suicide,” I leaned on the counter and ordered. “Two red hots and a root beer,” I glanced behind me at Mr. Barnaby. His shoulders had stiffened from being crammed into the crowd of hollering teenagers. I grinned. “You want a soda pop, boss?”

His wrinkled face pinched into a scowl. “Too much sugar.” What a flat tire.

“Make that two root beers”

We made our way to the Coney Island boardwalk. The sound of waves crashing and thrilled screams filled the air. “I don’t know why you insisted on coming here. It’s terribly noisy.” He huffed as he eased onto a wooden bench, holding onto his walking stick.

“It’s summer. We live in Coney Island,” Ladies were prancing around in tiny bathing suits, showing off their curves and exposed knees. “What could be better than this?” I raised my root beer in an unmet cheers.

Mr. Barnaby took a sip and grimaced. “Solving a case, for starters.” He furrowed his thick grey eyebrows and removed his hat, wiping the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief.

“Or agreeing he shot himself.”

“You think finding a scribbled message about how cruel the world is and what appears to be a self-inflicted gun shot wound to the temple is enough to prove a man killed himself?”

“Pretty much.” I took a bite of the frankfurter. Definitely needed more mustard.

The detective began to ramble on about his brilliant revelation, how seemingly minor details led him to his remarkable conclusion. I didn’t hear a word of it. I was to busy eyeing the gams of a gorgeous brunette with a sharp bob smiling at me from underneath her parasol.

“Are you listening, Oscar?”

I toss him a distracted nod. “Absolutely, boss”

Meet Detective Barnaby and his assistant, Oscar Fitzgerald.

Write with Heart,

Lady Jabberwocky

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