This page and its companion feature snippets from a selection of the works in progress and draft stories currently in my writing folder. They form a snapshot of what I have going at this moment in time (late 2022). Some of them may be posted soon; others may never be finished. The snippets on this page are non-universe, stand-alone stories.
A story about Di escaping a manipulative relationship.
“Hey! What are you doing there?”
Di turned to see a young woman who was dressed as if she worked in the hospital striding towards her.
“Oh! Sorry. I was… uh, lost.”
The other woman raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “And you were thinking you’d get directions from that car?”
Di smiled and shook her head. “No, I saw this sticker here and… well, it’s from my home town and it’s a small town and I wondered whether I knew the owner of the car and I was wondering who they might be and… well, anyway, I’ll just go now.”
“Wait.” The hostility had gone. “What’s your name?”
“Diana…” She paused, wondering which name to give. “Diana Lynch.”
“It’s Dr. Brian Belden’s car.” The woman smiled. “I thought for a minute that you were his ex-wife.”
Di’s eyes widened. “His what?”
“You did know him, then.”
Di nodded. “I used to know him very well. I’d love to get back in touch with him. Is there any way I can get a message to him?”
The woman nodded. “Come in and say hello, if you like. I just need to get something from my car and I’ll take you there.”
A complete story that I’ve never gotten around to posting.
“I’ve called everyone I can think of,” Trixie complained. “No one knows of anything I’m likely to be able to do. Why couldn’t I have broken something more convenient? Like my head?”
Smiling, her mother sat opposite and began eating her own breakfast. “No matter what you broke, you’d still have a recovery time. And who knows, someone that you’ve spoken to may hear of something yet.”
Trixie heaved another heavy sigh. “I sure hope so, or this summer will be the most boring one ever.”
I really want to finish this one, as I have quite a fondness for the character we meet in this snippet.
“You’d better be going, Alicia,” the elderly lady interrupted, in a gentle voice. “You don’t want to be late.”
Alicia looked at her watch and winced. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Here are the house keys, Trixie; make sure you keep them safe. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
“We’ll be just fine, Aunt Alicia,” Trixie answered, walking her back to the bedroom door. “Drive safely!”
Alicia looked ready to issue forth more instructions, but Trixie smiled and shut the door in her face. She turned to the little old lady lying in the bed and smiled.
“I didn’t need an introduction,” Aunt Hepzibah grumbled. “I knew exactly who you were the minute I saw you. My mind is just fine. It’s my legs that are bruised and sore.”
“I was sorry to hear that you’d hurt yourself,” Trixie answered. “Is there anything you need at the moment?”
The old face crinkled into an expression of mischief. “About three hours’ more sleep and a nice, young man to keep me warm. But since you can’t supply the second unless I miss my guess, I’ll just make do with the first. How about if you wake me at nine and I’ll have some breakfast then. Can you poach eggs?”
Trixie’s face fell. “Sorry, no.”
The old woman shrugged. “Pity. Neither can I, but I was hoping you might be better in the kitchen than I am.”
Trixie grinned. “Probably not. I can fry, scramble or boil eggs. Would any of those do?”
She thought for a few moments. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll take one egg, fried, and a slice of white toast, buttered – thickly, mind you, and with real butter; none of that nasty, artificial stuff for me. Oh, and a cup of my special herbal tea. You’ll find it in a canister next to the kettle. And fix something for yourself in the meantime. You must be hungry.”
“I am, a little. And that’s not too much trouble at all.” Trixie glanced around the room. “Do you want me to bring your food on a tray at nine? Or can you get out of bed?”
She hesitated a moment. “I think I’ll have breakfast in bed. Then, if I’m feeling up to it, I might try to get up.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Trixie answered. “I’ll see you at nine with breakfast.”
“Thank you, dear,” Aunt Hepzibah replied. “And don’t you dare touch any housework, other than the cooking. I haven’t got you here to dust! Useless chore!”
A smile spread across Trixie’s face. “My thoughts, exactly!”
This one is an interesting concept, but I’ve gotten a bit stuck with the technical details. The snippet, however, is just a fun bit of dialogue.
“It’s finally happened,” Brian muttered, in a weary voice.
“What has?”
“Someone has revealed to me what you’ve all been thinking all along: that I’m an embittered, old crank, who has let life’s opportunities pass him by and, by extension, must feel the need to destroy other people’s happiness, since I, obviously, will never have anything of the kind.”
“When did I give you that impression?” Trixie demanded. “Because I don’t remember implying any of that and I definitely didn’t think it. You’re twenty-six years old, for crying out loud. It’s a bit soon to say that you’ve wasted your entire life and are doomed to die alone in the very near future of incredible old age.”
A long pause ensued.
“Can we start this conversation again?” he asked, at last.
“I think that would be a good idea,” his sister responded. “Let’s imagine that when I asked you how you were, that you were a bit more honest and answered with something like ‘exhausted’ and go on from there.”
Some other snippets of this unfinished story have been posted on the message board.
“Sometimes I wish I lived somewhere like this,” she told him, as a small house winked in and out of view. “It would be nice to get away from the world and the pressure and the people I don’t ever want to see again, to have beautiful views to look at and fresh air to breathe.”
He nodded. “I have those thoughts, sometimes, too. And then I remember my patients and I make up my mind to just put up with all the crap and keep on helping them.”
“I admire you for that.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I keep having wild ideas of running off places and starting again. Only I doubt that I’d enjoy any of the things I’m coming up with, or the strange places I think of to do them in.”
“Maybe you just need some time and some space,” he suggested. “You’re too close to it, right now. You can’t get the right perspective on it.”
Her lips twisted into a smile. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”
“Or wishful thinking for my own situation,” he countered. “I’m walking a similar path, right now. And I don’t know where it goes.”
A mystery involving a small-town historical society.
[Trixie related what had just happened] ending with the comment, “All the old people in this town are horrible to me. Sometimes I wonder why I even stay.”
Honey tapped the spoon on the side of the pot and cast her a sceptical look. “Not all of the older people.”
“Yes! Every last one.”
At that, Honey laughed. “What about Joe Vincent?”
“He’s not old!”
“He’s eighty-three. He told me so himself.”
“He doesn’t act old, so that doesn’t count.”
Honey shook her head at that logic. “Well, how about Mary-Anne Van Graff from the historical society board? Or the lady in the grocery store? You know: the one who always asks us to get things down from the top shelf for her. Or the man who likes feeding the pigeons in the park?”
Trixie waved all of those people away. “None of them are that old.”
“Oh, so people don’t get to be old, so long as they’re not cranky?”
“No!” Trixie hesitated a moment. “Okay, so maybe I exaggerated just a little…”
A story fragment where a newcomer stirs up an old controversy.
“He’s dreamy,” Di declared, with a breathy sigh.
Beside her on the school bus, Trixie gave the target of her friend’s attention a look of intense scrutiny. “His eyes are too close together. And I didn’t like the way he looked at me in English today. I think he’s suspicious.”
Mart, who sat in front of them turned around. “He, therefore, joins an illustrious group, among whose number is our esteemed fellow Bob-White, one Daniel Mangan.”
“Leave me out of this.” Dan glared at the newcomer, whose back was turned. “I’m with Trixie: there’s something off about that guy.”
“I never said there wasn’t,” Di told them. “I only said he was dreamy, which he is. It’s perfectly possible to be suspicious and dreamy at the same time.”
A story fragment about a mysterious box.
The box sat in the middle of the kitchen table, tormenting her with its bland exterior and neat label. Diana tried to keep out of its way, but it seemed to loom at her whenever she entered the room.
How often do I come in here in a day? she wondered, while retreating to the living room for the fourth time in as many minutes. I’m not even hungry.
She began cleaning under the sofa cushions, just to keep her mind off the box. But one of the more mysterious items she found happened to be a spoon – which belonged, of course, in the kitchen. She sucked in a deep breath and marched in there, chastising herself all the way for her reaction to an inanimate object.
I am a grown woman; wife, mother and grandmother; I had a successful career; I have a wide circle of friends; I have hobbies that I love. I don’t need to be afraid of a box. Dropping the spoon into the dishwasher, she turned and stared at it once more. I’m afraid of the box.
