Hello my lovlies. (I have seen other girl bloggers use that term and it’s so cute)
As you read this, I am off to the wilds of Mount Shasta. Okay, not actually the mountain as it is covered in snow, but the city below. I hope it will be a sunny clear day so I might be able to snap a shot or two of the mountain.
I was puttering around with an idea so here is a smidge of flash fiction to start you off on a Monday. A bit of back story; I love pin curls, and I love putting my hair up in pin curls. I’ve yet to master it, in fact I usually come out looking like a cross between a poodle and a fight with an electrical socket. Not a pretty picture. But I do try and I hope someday I might have them tamed when I do them. So, there I was, picturing one of my heroines, Rena Bliss, putting up her hair in pin curls.
Enjoy.
She sat at her vanity putting up her hair in pin curls. She wore a filmy white and pale blue concoction of a summer nightgown; more slip than anything else, though everything essential was modestly covered. Her glasses were perched o the end of her nose and she frowned intently as she carefully rolled her blond hair up, securing the curl with two bobby pins.
Milo watching in fascination as Rena sectioned and rolled. She had this perfect set up, her brushes and combs laid out in front of her, spritz bottles of setting lotions and grooming sprays, her bobby pins and other clips in miss matched teacup saucers. There was a little click and rattle of metal against porcelain every time Rena pulled one out of the dish, then a flash of white teeth as she pried open the pin and jammed it into the curl. Sometimes she would stop mid curl to take a sip of tea from her pale teal polka-dot teacup. One hand held the curl in place while the other lifted the cup to lips that were full and very pink.
Rena was pure femininity. The movements she made, the clothes she wore, down to her pale pink fingernails, she was ultra girl. Which was funny since country life was hardly conducive to all the girly things about her. But that’s what made her such a fascination to Milo. And watching her put up her hair; well that just sealed the deal.
Pretty, flirty, and sexy as hell. Yeah, she was a dream girl.
I first heard about using music to inspire a story when I read all about Stephenie Meyer’s account of writing the Twilight Saga. While I have always enjoyed music and certain songs make me think of writing a story, I had never put music to a scene like they do in a movie. Since reading Stephenie Meyer’s account though, I have really used music to instil a character, a scene, a story into my mind. Where a song becomes the character’s song. A song becomes the story.
For instance, a novel/romance I started several years ago about a girl running a bookstore all came from Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘Bookends’ song. Not even the ‘Old Friends’, though I do adore that song as well since it is part of ‘Bookends’, but just the one song. There is no specific reason for that, other than books = Bookends kind of theme. But, that song is stuck in my head for that.
Recently, as in just this last week and last night a song and scene fit together almost so perfectly I’m slightly amazed. I would like all you reader’s input. Whether you agree or not, I’d love to know if you think the music I chose fits with the scene I’ll include below. Kind of like watching a movie and you hear that one song that just fits perfectly with the scene. The ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ at the end of You’ve Got Mail. Or the ‘Northern Sky’ by Nick Drake at the end of Serendipity. (pardon to the guys who may or may not have watched these chick flicks)
The song of choice is from a new band my father found, The Paper Kites. The song: “Willow Tree March”. You can hear the song below.
And here is the scene. I’ve mentioned Rena and Owen before, if you’ve read some of my flash fiction. Here they are at it again, only this time, a kiss. Enjoy and I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Rena reached up to hug Owen, pausing as she noticed that he was covered in sawdust and chainsaw oil. He glanced down and grimaced, but she put her arms around him anyway, hugging him close, not worrying about the grime. As she pulled away, her eyes rose to his and in that moment she wondered why she had always pulled away from him in every way. She saw the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, the intensity that had always been there, but she had shied away from it.
She moistened her lower lip and as his eyes followed the movement they both moved in one motion. He leaned down and she tipped back her head as his mouth settled on hers, closed and just pressing. It wasn’t passionate and it wasn’t spectacular, but when she pulled back and staggered for a moment, she had to grab his arm to steady herself.
“Mmm. Hmm,” Rena hummed a frown forming and wrinkling her nose. “Could you, uh, try that again?”
Owen’s arm wrapped around her lower back and he tipped her more until for a moment it felt like her world fell away. She slid her hand around the back of his neck and held on , clutching his neck, as his mouth settled back on hers. The tingle started and traveled up her back as his mouth pressed gently. Before he could pull away, Rena gripped his neck firmly and opened her lips to him.
Rena almost smiled as she felt Owen change his stance to hold her closer as his mouth moved over hers with staggering results. Her hands clung to him, holding him as close to her as she could. She cupped his rough cheek with her left hand, her fingers lightly brushing the stubble, while her other hand slid up into his damp hair at the nape of his neck.
He tasted of pine and the woods. The hot summer sun beat down on them as the heady, intoxicating smell of pine resin swirled around them, baking and making their temperatures rise. A symphony of sensations assailed Rena’s senses. He smelled like the sawdust and chainsaw oil, of sweat and summer sunshine. He was pure nature. His mouth was warm and so soft on hers, his lips moving over hers sipping and tasting her as if she were a glass of brandy. And around them the buzzing of bees and insects in the meadow combined with the dying of a chainsaw on the edge of the clearing. A sudden silence that was deafening.
Rena heard a moan then realized that it was her as Owen deepened the kiss. He tasted her and settled firmly on her mouth. She couldn’t get enough; it was too much. She felt as if she could crawl into his skin; she felt like she needed to shove him away and take off all her clothes that were binding her too tight. Her fingers fluttered on his skin in panic and he gave her space, his face burying into her neck.
They gasped for breath, heaving against each other, clinging. His arms were wrapped around her holding her as if she were a lifeline, while she clung to him, pressing her body as close as she could get.
She felt devistated. Like her world had come crashing down before sending her in a rush to the stars. Dazed, confused, aroused. She was a bundle of nerves. It was stimulus overload. She shuddered, but couldn’t pull away.
It was the whistling catcalls that jolted them both back to reality. They were far from alone. Instead, they stood in the center of the clearing, the center of attention, a show almost, to the guys cutting with Owen. Rena turned a bright red and buried her face in Owen’s shirt, mortified. Not because it was Owen, but she hated being the center of attention. She would never live this down. Word would get around.
But then Owen’s fingers tilted her chin to look up at him and as he smiled, she forgot again where she was. She wanted his mouth on hers again, and she knew he knew it. Finally, they were in sync.
Well, again, I would love feedback. I doubt this will every go anywhere, but hey, I love tapping out things.
He watched her pin up her hair. A twist, spiral and poof, it was done. Nothing more than that, but they way she could just do a few minor movements and have such an elegant look upon her head was spectacular in his mind. She would grab a couple hairpins, prying them open in a flash with her sharp, white teeth, then jam them into the twist.
Then would come that moment when her arms would be raised up, that curve of her neck, a few loose wisps of hair along the hairline and his mouth would go dry. That superb bit of her femininity was what made her so unique and special to him. It was the ritual. It was her.
I love this picture. It is superb to me. I love the femininity of the whole thing and it’s just so cool.
“Settle down it will all be clear…..” sang the words of the man playing a cover song of a popular new artist. He was set up on the corner of 1st and Green, his worn guitar lovingly strummed as he sang.
A crowd was gathered around him, smiling and tapping toes to the catchy tune. Above, the twinkle lights were strung across the brick facade of the old building. Old world lights glowed brightly in the winter night. The town was hosting a troubadour gathering, and there were musicians on different corners and set up at the entrances to the various shops. The coffee shop was the most popular, open for later hours and serving spicy mugs of hot cider and specialty lattes.
Kids ran up and down the street, more interested in the candy canes they were sucking and crunching on. Soon the gathering of singers would change to the annual Christmas tree lighting at the village square. Santa would have the honor of plugging in the lights, then he would sit in his Christmas throne to listen to all the requests for presents from the children.
The holiday fete was popular, and this year, doubly so with the various musicians.
“…The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home.” As the last lines were sung, the crowd clapped. This town was definitely home.
I found this wonderful picture on {dream a little dream of me} a tumblr blog that I have fallen in love with. The image made me immediately think of Phillip Phillips song “Home” and that little blip in the music video that shows lights strung across the street. I absolutely love that image and I wish our town would do that. It would be so beautiful on our Main street.
Well, I hope you all enjoy this bit of flash fiction. Like I said, I’m in the mood.
Her toes peeked out from beneath the rumpled bedclothes. That was all that could be seen of her. Her head was buried from a night of debauchery. The light was banned, all things bright and cheery were not allowed. But oh, how soft the bed was. And how sweet it smelled. Why would anyone leave the soft haven anyway?
I’ve been meaning to dabble in some flash fiction as of late, but I’ve been putting it of in lieu of other pursuits, such as reading. I have these massive stacks of books from the library, and I’m knee deep in half of them. I’ll have to possibly review a few if I can.
She sat at her vanity putting up her hair in pin curls. She wore a filmy white and pale blue concoction of a summer nightgown; more slip than anything else, though everything essential was modestly covered. Her glasses were perched o the end of her nose and she frowned intently as she carefully rolled her blond hair up, securing the curl with two bobby pins.
Rena was pure femininity. The movements she made, the clothes she wore, down to her pale pink fingernails, she was ultra girl. Which was funny since country life was hardly conducive to all the girly things about her. But that’s what made her such a fascination to Milo. And watching her put up her hair; well that just sealed the deal. 
