Writers are frequently asked:“Where do you get your ideas?” Some come up with clever quips; others, mysterious evasions. The true answer is “everywhere.” In this section, I’ve collected a few of my favorite published stories – those that touched me in some way, showcased a particular style or were just fun to write. At the end of each, I’ve appended a short author’s note telling where I got my idea. The inspirations varied – dreams, the daily news, museum exhibits and many more. If anything touches you or you’d like to make a comment, please contact me. Read and enjoy!"Better the Devil" © 2005 is published in Circles in the Hair. It won Honorable Mention in the Writers of the Future Contest and is one of five stories from the anthology awarded Honorable Mention in The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror: The Nineteenth Collection. Mrs. Marston heard the warning honk as her daughter's rusty Nova puffed onto the cracked concrete driveway. 7:28. Not bad for her workaholic daughter, but Abby had a good reason for an early arrival. "Ten points for punctuality," Mrs. Marston muttered. According to her mother's point system, most of Abby's infrequent love interests barely made it into the "acceptable human" range, much less scoring as a suitable son-in-law. Mrs. Marston sniffed at the aroma wafting from the aluminum pot on her ancient Chambers stove. Corned beef and cabbage made the traditional way – with corned beef from the can. The mangled container with the key broke halfway (Mrs. Marston always kept a screwdriver in the utensil drawer for just such emergencies) nestled in the recycle bin. (Read more.) "Time Again" © 1996 graced the labels of coffee cans courtesy of Storyhouse.com, appeared in Pirate Writings Magazine and won Honorable Mention in the Writers of the Future Contest. “Goddam daylight savings time,” McElroy cursed as he reset the antique clocks in his shop. Seven grandfather clocks, eighteen cuckoo clocks, an even dozen musical clocks, and an assortment of character clocks from Felix the Cat to Teddy Roosevelt ticked, tocked, warbled and bonged at 9:00 a.m. All gleamed with polish and fresh paint. McElroy pushed his wire spectacles up his nose and looked closely at his hands. The knuckles were swollen and the fingers beginning to twist with a hint of the grotesque to come. They throbbed with the effort of twisting keys and winding springs. “Time,” he muttered pushing wisps of white hair behind his ears. “I have so little time left, and they rob me of an hour.” He pounded a painful fist on the oil-stained workbench. “What right does the government have to take away my time?” Two red spots appeared high on his bewhiskered cheeks and his breath came in short ragged gasps. He clutched his right arm to his chest. (Read more.) "Fantasy For A Hot Summer’s Night" © 1995 appeared in Mocha Memoirs and Black Lotus. She stepped to the window to find a breeze. Any hint of surcease from the heavy humid air. A gas lamp in the street and a full moon provided the only illumination to a room filled with the mysteries of women's things. Crickets chirped when they found the energy. She turned from the window gasping for breath, clutching at the jet buttons on her high-necked gown. The heat pushed in, pulsing from the street. Her fingers trembled as they loosened the dress from neck to bodice to waist. She tore at the stays that trapped her body in their suffocating cage, then stepped out of the sweaty coffin of her small clothes. (Read more.) "The Jar" © 2004 appeared in The Copperfield Review. The jar traveled north in a red silk pouch beyond the Great Wall. Made of white jade and carved with protective dragons, it fit into the palm of the young daughter of the Emperor's minister. The Woman of Beauty journeyed in a lacquered wagon drawn by black horses with six other young women – seven being an auspicious number – destined as shameful tribute to a barbarian lord. The Emperor, with his armies in disarray, hoped that beautiful women, gold, and silk would soften the warlike nature of the hordes beyond the Great Wall. Her father told her it was her duty to family and Emperor. Her mother gave her the jar to hold her bitter tears. "Fill it only at night. Let not the enemy sense your fear," she counseled. So the Beauteous Woman passed out of the land of rushing waters, lush rice paddies, and cities teeming with merchants, actors and priests. She met her barbarian husband on the cold steppes and entered his dark, stinking yurt, where others could not see her beauty. (Read more.) "Cats Pause" © 1991 was my first sale and appears at Intertext.com and in Beyond Science Fiction & Fantasy. Kefira woke up feeling warm and satisfied. She stretched, extruding her claws and plucking at the rumpled blanket with alternate paws as she arched her back and flicked her ears and whiskers forward. A deep rumble started in her chest and erupted as a satisfied purr. Her round yellow eyes snapped wide. Whiskers? Claws? Lord Androff's bells! She glanced around the room feeling disoriented by the faded colors and distorted depth perception that flooded her brain. An overpowering smell of human sex came from the narrow bed she shared with the young guardsman snoring next to her. (Read more.) “Samhain” © 1996 appeared in Alternate Realities and Freezer Burn Magazine. Samhain, the night of the dead. Yevetha knew from the ice around her heart there was one more ghost to walk the night and haunt her dreams. She clutched a tiny fur blanket to her sunken chest and rocked back and forth, keening. Sixteen summers ago she had ripped a bloody baby from the womb of her dying daughter and had wrapped him in the fur. Yevetha had searched in the bogs for the rare herbs that would bring on her milk and had endured the pain caused to an aging body as it prepared to nurse the tiny infant. Her love had been rewarded as Bohumil grew into a fine strong young man with his mother’s blue eyes. At the waning of the last full moon, Bohumil had come of an age to marry. He had packed for the hand of days it would take him to travel to the ocean tribes and set out through the forest to trade for a bride price. The full moon returned. Bohumil had not. (Read more.) "Slow Death" © 1995 appeared in Mocha Memoirs and Show and Tell Magazine. I am here to see Tommy Lee Norman suck cyanide and die. I walk through a handful of protesters at the prison gate. Their faces ghoulishly underlit by flickering candles, their bodies vague shadows in the predawn murk. I automatically clutch my bag tighter and quicken my stride. An elderly black man with a halo of white hair and burning eyes steps into my path intoning, "...and forgive those that trespass against us." My gaze slides away and fixes on the visitors' entrance. I continue my journey surrounded by muted prayers. (Read more.) “Daughter of the Winds” © 2003 appeared in Song of the Siren. Mahala was born of red earth and salt tears. The Four Winds gave her life and gifts for the mind, the hands, the heart and the spirit. Mahala dwelt in the Valley eating fruit from the trees and fish that eagles dropped in her lap. She ran with the deer in the forest and played with the rabbits at dusk. One night Mahala had a dream. She watched Anona, her West Wind Mother, rampage across the sky. Anona danced over the western seas. Her long brown hair and frothy white robes became heavy with water. When she reached the land, she whirled in an ever tightening circle flinging the water away to the parched earth. With her came the buffalo and the elk and all the eaters of grass and grain to feed on the greenery that sprang from her step. (Read more.)
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