Attempt Number 683

It’s probably true. This time I’m going to do writing prompts every day. I honestly don’t know what I want to write. The sexy stuff doesn’t exactly hold my attention.

Today’s Prompt: Go to and use the daily featured article to inspire your next plot point.

Anabelle sat cross-legged amid the tall swaying grass of the savanna; an ocean of orange not unlike the often milk chocolate waves of Galveston. The wind swept softly across the tips of the grass like lonely waves without a shore to rest upon. A heavy heart beat and soundless footfalls were the silent tail swishes of this sea’s hunter, but the lioness too stood alone. There were no smaller fish to feast upon in the fading light. Smart prey seek safety in the twilight hours.

She no longer knew if she was predator or prey. Regardless it was to late to retreat. The thing they stalked meant to wipe out the world that Anabelle no longer belonged to. The wind and the lioness did not belong to that world either. They were all alone. Maybe the loss of her soul severed her link to humanity, but at this moment she felt a part of something. The feeling helped lighten the darkness that dogged their steps.

The song of a Cape sparrow sifted through the breeze. Anabelle remembered it was deemed a “species of least concern” by some government organization it had even less concern for. She honestly couldn’t tell a difference between it and a sparrow from Texas. The familiar song summoned a smile from her lips.

The cooler breeze signaled the sun’s exit and the girl stood to retreat to the safety of the native village. There were plans and shamans and stories to hunt down, and the lioness’ definition of sharing this moment was exactly appealing.


Meet Damien (Read at Your Own Risk)

I post here periodically when I have a new poem to share and I get noticed which is amazing. Sadly my writing comes in very short bursts like the occasional broken water line. I try to function within the ordances of a broken government most of the time I guess. It makes my momentary inspirational moments seem more like malfunctions. That needs to change. I have a few readers and maybe one of them will point me in the right direction. I need a reading community to critique my work so I can formerly submit it for publication. Obviously I am willing to reciprocate. Below is the seventy-five hundred word short story that started it all. I wrote it from the point of view of a girl, but I was so intrigued by the creature (for lack of a better word) that I kept writing. I have a whole world now that includes one “finished” book, one that is almost finished, and plans for 8 more books. I need my tribe though.

Beware. It is dark erotica and definitely not for the young or fragile (emotionally or otherwise).

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