WARNING: May contain naughty language.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Happy Valentine's Day!

A few months ago, my critique group and I decided to enter a contest for very short fiction, no more than 300 words, dealing with the topic of Valentine's Day. We all entered the contest. None of us won, but I had a lot of fun writing this little piece.

Remember. Know what you're eating before the third bite!


Flickering candlelight danced across polished silverware, placed upon immaculate linen with precision and hope. I lowered the cruet and carefully drizzled raspberry-vinaigrette atop fresh greens, julienned baby carrots and strands of parmesan.
            I exhaled with relief and checked the time. My body thrummed when I realized that in mere moments Amanda would be here. My honey-haired, emerald-eyed muse, Amanda. An idiot’s grin split my face and my cheeks felt flush.  I was grateful she’d accepted my invitation for dinner, a last ditch effort on my part to rekindle the passion we’d both shared once upon a time. Longing glances at the restaurant, working side by side on the line, “accidental” brushes of flesh upon flesh. A whirlwind of passionate lovemaking and bliss, followed by a cold distance, growing longer each day since.  I missed her, needed her. According to legend, just three bites of my painstakingly prepared putto con le ali would fan the embers of our love into an eternal inferno.
            A chime sounded from the kitchen, reminding me of the entrée. As I entered the kitchen, the aroma hit me first. A mouth-watering smell of gentle summer breezes, fresh-cut roses and a subtle undercurrent of sweet cinnamon. I slipped on a pair of mitts and removed the roast.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
            Golden-brown skin, moist and beckoning. Rounded curves and succulent, tender flesh, glistening with boysenberry-infused sherry au-jus and sprigs of rosemary for flavor.  One last step remained. The kitchen shears cut through tendons and ligaments. With no small effort, I yanked the singed snowy white wings from the cherub’s back and tossed the plumage into the trash bin.

            The doorbell rang.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Goals for 2017

In the past I've always created a bullet list of a dozen or more goals (aka resolutions) for the New Year.

And I've always conveniently forgotten about them until the following year.

I'm going for something a bit different in 2017 for "reasons".

Rather than discrete tasks, I'm going macro and will focus on a theme instead.

Best wishes to you and yours in 2017.