WE PAW Bloggers E-zine — Issue 06292022

The prompt was to for contributors to write a story of themselves meeting their main character in your real life. They were to have a conversation with the characters or to make it an action scene full of mayhem. Stories were required to include dialogue. “Wee Yarns” also requires a spoken reading of the submission.

As always, contributors must be members of the “WE PAW Bloggers”group on Facebook, and participate in the featured prompts to be published in the group ezine.

THE ENCOUNTER

I had a very strange encounter yesterday.

I went to my local bookstore to pick up an item I’d ordered when I decided to browse for recent new titles in my favorite genre.

I was flipping through a book when I heard voices nearby.

An argument of some sort.

I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but my curiosity won out.

“No, we’re not here to look for books about elves.” Came a hushed woman’s voice.

“Momma, we need to find out more about them so you can save your mommy and daddy!” A girl was pleading.

“Viola, my parents are gone.” The woman replied. “And elves don’t exist.”

An odd feeling swept over me. There was something familiar about these two.

Returning the book back to the shelf, I proceeded for the aisle where the voices emanated from — and halted instantly.

The females shared the same thick and curly auburn hair. Viola was a young child around five or six years old. The mother, I’m assuming, had to be in her mid-twenties.

It was the woman who first noticed me as her green eyes pierced right through me.

“Yes?” She asked with one eyebrow raised.

I suddenly felt like an idiot for intruding on what was obviously a private family matter.

Before I could offer any form of an excuse, Viola tugged at the mother’s elbow.

“Momma, I found a book! Take a look-see!” She lifted a thick leather-bound book that seemed to weigh more than her petite body.

“Ah sweetie, I don’t have time for this — ” She began.

“But Momma! Fiona said only you can break the curse — ” The girl persisted.

The woman grabbed the book and tossed it to the floor.

“That old woman’s nothing more than a lonely hermit with a crock load of fairy tales!”

Okay, Viola and Fiona were two names I recognized as characters from my book I’m currently writing.

How was that even possible?

Was it some kind of weird coincidence that these two just happened to have the same names?

To test a theory, I just blurted out a single word.

“Ierlia.”

This really got their attention. In my story, Ierlia was the name of the elven kingdom from where the mother’s family came from.

The woman’s face turned red, and she took two steps toward me causing my stomach to lurch in fear.

“What did you say?” She sneered.

No, no this can’t be right.

I’d gone three days with only a few hours of sleep — due to trying to finish this story.

I shook my head as I held up a hand.

“My apologies! I must have misunderstood.” I swallowed hard. “Excuse me.”

I turned and practically ran out of the bookstore.

As I sit here, sipping my morning coffee, I still can’t get that encounter out of my head.

Did it really happen? Or did I just imagine the whole affair?

Either way, I’ve found that life as a writer is never boring!

“Bree and her young daughter return to her childhood home where her parents vanished when she was a girl to learn more about her heritage.

What she finds will change her life forever. “ At the moment, it’s a completed story on my blog that I intend to create an ebook for in the near future.

The Mystery Of Ms. Teak Scene

Urgent, need help. I’m at Quadra and Fort Street.

Texted Rosie.

Sister Barb’s problem would have to wait. I sped off from her house, sirens blaring, red/blue lights strobing. A glance in my rear-view mirror, another vehicle accelerating after me. “I’m being followed.”

I didn’t think they’d have someone on stakeout waiting for me after abducting Nathan. That’s one Russian harboring a huge grudge. Granted I did sink his drug laden cargo ship.

A black Expedition pulled alongside me.

This makes things worse. They have more than one vehicle.

I swerved right, taking the driver by surprise, and hammered the throttle.

The black Expedition sped up.

Crap.

Anger surged as I spotted Rosie with a man, hand around her throat, slapping her. A switchblade glinted in the street light.

I need to keep moving. Only, I can’t leave her like this. Won’t.

The Expedition closed the gap. “Shit.”

Glimpses of weapons being readied.

“Double shit.”

This means serious trouble.

Another scream, but not from Rosie.

Rubber squealed, I stamped the brake pedal. Only it was the man now pinned up against the wall. His knife was buried in his leg and Rosie, dangling him several inches off the ground, strangling him.

“What the…”

“Get in! Now!” I yelled. She had about two nanoseconds before the Ford reached us. Too late. The doors burst open ejecting four men in black, all bearing what appeared to be Russian AK-47s.

Rosie spied them as she crushed the man’s windpipe. He slumped to the ground, dead.

How in hell did she?

“I said get in! Now!”

Rosie lunged into the open passenger door under a hail of exploding bullets.

I ducked low. My back window, and one rear tire, exploded. “Thank God for run flats.” Nailing the throttle as pings rained over the metal of my police car.

My boss is going to kill me.

“Rosie! You didn’t!”

“He has much evil, doesn’t deserve to live,” a deep husky voice spoke. Agnes was right, there was something inside Rosie. I swerved around a VW Beetle. It spun around blocking the street. I flung us around another corner and punched the throttle.

Rosie grabbed at her head. “Stay the fuck out.” Her softer voice returning.

“How did you do that?” Looking up, no Fords behind us.

“The voices did it.” Tears flowed down her cheeks.

It was obvious she was possessed. “We need to get someplace safe, and talk.”

“I need some coke. It keeps the voices away.”

She reached for the inner door handle.

“No! You are bloody not!” I slammed on the brakes and drove my elbow into Rosie’s face. She fell into her seat, unconscious. Really wished I hadn’t had to do that, but I couldn’t let her get away in this state.

The only person I know that can help is Agnes and she refuses.

I stepped on the throttle and drove to the Victoria Fairmont Empress Hotel.

What Dark Secrets Exist In Agnes and How Does One Psychic Stop Another From Killing her?

Detective Carol Ainsworth really has her work cut out this time! Agnes at her craziest best.

She discovers a secret that she can’t reveal to anyone, including herself, and how does one psychic stop another from hunting her down?

Meanwhile, Carol has her hands full with pissed-off Russians, the reborn builder of much of Victorian Victoria (yes, the Sir Francis Rattenbury), a young girl claiming to be our aforementioned psychic and there’s something very wrong with Nathan, Carol’s nephew that they saved from death. To top it all, why is Agnes’ behaviour so weird? Even for Agnes!

But in traditional English fashion High Tea is, of course, still being served.

Dog Park: A Werewolf Whisperer Dog Tale

The sun had barely risen when we arrived at the dog park, my new pup and I. Tucked away in the suburbs south of the Boulevard, the empty field butted up against the Santa Monica Mountains.

Beside “Monster” (which is the name my oversized Rhodesian Ridgeback Pit Bull mix had earned when he’d counter surfed to lap up an entire pan of bacon grease), I saw only one other woman with her dog.

I felt better knowing we weren’t alone, especially since the woman looked like Linda Hamilton in Terminator. Her dog was massive, brown and black, a mutt with at least some shepherd and pit — and maybe a bit of rhino.

“Is that one of those horse leaders?” the woman called out. She looked casual — jeans, sneakers, white T-shirt, long red hair pulled back in a ponytail.

I pointed to myself. “Are you talking to me?”

“You’re the only one here.” The redhead laughed a little. “And only your pup has one of those silly contraptions around his face.”

“That’s what they recommended at the store,” I said defensively.

“They would,” she said and started walking closer. The off-leash, super-sized dogasaurus padded softly at her side, watching Monster and me closely.

Monster wasn’t so calm. He pulled at his leash, growled low in his throat, and bucked hard.

I fumbled for treats.

The woman clicked her tongue. Monster stopped fussing and stared at her as though she were a pan of bacon grease.

“Drop the leash,” the woman said.

I did.

Instantly, Monster galloped toward the redhead and her pre-historic canine.

I gave chase and uselessly grabbed for his collar.

I gaped as he dropped down at the woman’s feet. Belly to the ground, head raised as if in worship, he whimpered.

“He likes you.” I skidded to a stop.

“Just always been like that.” She held out a hand for Monster to sniff and slipped the lead off his snout. Then she clicked her tongue again.

Both dogs sprang to their feet and bolted off to play in the short grass.

She handed me the lead and the leash. “A dog like that,” she gauged, “needs lots of exercise. Two, three long walks a day. You need to wear him out before he comes to the park. You have to teach him manners.”

“He’s my first dog,” I said lamely. “More of a cat person.”

“He needs training.” She raised an eyebrow. “And so do you.”

My mouth fell open.

“There’s a great place in Westlake,” she said. “The woman who runs it is a friend. Call her today. You’ll thank me.” She whistled, and both dogs came running.

I uncoupled the leash and fastened it to Monster’s collar, determined to pitch the offending lead into the trash in front of the woman.

But she’d already turned to walk back to the parking lot with her dog.

“What’s your name?” I called after her.

“Lucy,” she answered over her shoulder. “Lucy Lowell.”

The previous was a a short scene with the main character of Bonita Maria Gutierrez and my The Werewolf Whisperer urban fantasy series.

Lucy Lowell is the Werewolf Whisperer, an ex-cop who turns out to be the only person who can control a plague of monsters descending on the human race. Her training and compassion, enhanced by her mysterious past, make her a brilliant champion as well as a lost soul.

Some call her savior. Some call her killer.

Xochitl Magaña calls her friend.

But Lucy’s uncanny ability to wrangle weres makes Team Werewolf Whisperer everybody’s target.

Forced back to ground zero of the werewolf apocalypse, they soon learn that not everything with sharp claws and pointy teeth is evil.

The end of the world has already started, and Lucy and Xochi have no idea they’re heading straight for it.

If you wish to contribute to this ezine, please join the group on Facebook. All writing creatives are welcome.

D. Denise Dianaty, Editor and Graphic Designer for the WE PAW Bloggers E-Zine. Administrator for the writers forum “WE PAW Bloggers” group and its sister group “Pandora’s Box of Horrors” on Facebook. In addition to being a self-published author and poet, artist, art-photographer, and administrator of the group, “WE PAW Bloggers,” Denise is a graphic designer with 25+ years experience, predominately in print media.

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