#Poetry: Desolation




Even tho the sun shines,

I feel no warmth


While the moon rises at night,

my eyes are shuttered against its rays


My heart’s hard and

the red fluid of my flesh runs cold


I long for the quickening

of my essence once more


But all I see is darkness

and the way back now forever shut




#Writing is a Journey


Photo Credit: Pixabay Free Images CCO


You may have noticed a few subtle changes on this blog.  One’s the color.  The other is the name.

Since 2007, I’ve been blogging and (seriously) writing, and have used “a writer and her adolescent muse” as a title because I was still exploring genres and forms to see which were the best fit for me.

It’s now 2018 and I believe I’m close to the answers  I’ve been seeking.


I enjoy writing horror and dark stories and dark poetry.  And I plan to continue. As for writing books, I will be focusing on inspirational romance-suspense.  Hence, the name change of this blog to A writer and her sentimental muse to reflect this shift.

I also have a memoir in me that wants to be written.  This will be titled, The Whispering Shadows.  I already have a blog by that name, and will be revamping it in the near future to start the memoir.  I will share more on this in the future.

Sunday Story: The Vanishing

Click on image for original story

*Author’s Note: I wrote this short story over five years ago.  It’s dark.  It’s creepy.  It’s one of my secular, mainstream stories that I decided NOT to submit for publication now on Wattpad. 


Story Blurb:

Leesa, a mother and wife, contemplates on the undesirable state of her life…but one should be careful, you might just get what you wished for in the most unexpected of ways.


Shadows wavered in the expansive backyard as the woman peered through the round window in front of her.  The reflection within the twilight didn’t reveal a happy face.  The skin under her brown eyes, fixed on the deck that spread beneath the small set of panes, sagged with a purplish hue.  Premature wrinkles lined her eyes and mouth.  No, she definitely wasn’t a happy person.  Her hands mindlessly moved each dish from the stainless steel sink, rinsed under cool water, and then carefully placed in the racks of the dishwasher.  She then reached for the knife and grabbed the wrong end.

“Damn it!”  She recoiled and placed the bleeding finger into her mouth.

Nope, it’s been the week from hell, and this was just another reminder that it hasn’t end yet.

Voices drifted into the room from a nearby television.

“Here are our top news of the hour.” A male news anchor said. “State and Federal law officials are investigating multiple cases involving children who have gone missing in the past three days. In every cases, each child reported to have disappeared sometime between bedtime and morning…”

“Frank.” She turned her head towards the living room. “Please turn it to something else.”

“Yes, dear.” A man’s voice said.

A click sounded and a commercial about a brand of soda came on.  She went back to rinsing a coffee mug with the uninjured hand when the floor board creaked.  She turned and smiled at her four-year old daughter who stood, wearing a pink nightgown, at the entrance of the kitchen.

Renee.  The small child was the only source of joy in her otherwise joyless life.

“What’s the matter, Renee? Did you have a bad dream?”

The girl shook her head, locks of blonde curls waved over her petite shoulders. “No, mummy.”

Mother picked up a towel to dry her hands. “What’s wrong then?

“There’s a boogeyman in my room.”

Click here to read rest of the story on Wattpad…




I have two other short stories also on Wattpad.  These two have been previously published.

His world was ending. How will he choose to go out? (Click on image to read the story)

Four college-aged people are dead on an island. The killer? Unknown, but definitely not human. Anna Mae Hart and her partner are called to help with the investigation and things get bloody from there. (Click on image for story)




#IWSG: Why I Love #Romance

Click on the image to access this group’s official page


Question for this month: What do you love about the genre you write in most often?



When I discovered writing as a girl, my first story I ever wrote was horror.  Ever since then, I’ve mostly wrote horror stories, or dark fantasy, or dark poetry.  Nothing truly had a happy ending.

Was this how I really felt about life in general?

Yeah, for a long time, I did.

But, there was always this other side of me that dared to hope, and dream, and wonder about the magical and beautiful aspects of life; and many times these involved this concept called…love.

I’ve always enjoyed reading both fantasy and horror books.

Romance novels?  I devoured them.  I never could get enough.  It was a wonderful feeling when you get to the end of a book, and there’s a happy ending!

Real life doesn’t always have a happy ending.  In fact, for many there’s only sadness and pain and emptiness.  It’s nice to be able to open up a book and get lost in it, in another person’s life, and be able to feel what they feel, and experience what they experience, and leave your own unhappy reality behind for a while.

These are some of the reasons why I love the Romance genre.  And why I’ve decided to write in this genre for my very first book.

What about you?  Which genre do you enjoy most, and why?

Writing: Favorite Story Type

Gabriela covers the story types in chapter eleven in her DIY MFA Book. Just click on the image for the book.

In this prompt: “Are you like me and a sucker for underdog stories? Do you love that classic boy-meets-girl Rom-Com formula? Are you crazy for epic quests about heroes saving the world? For today’s prompt, tell us which story type you love and why.”

Oh, this one is so tough as I enjoy all of them!  My writing background, so far, has been horror short stories (where many times the protagonist does NOT survive or win in the end), dark poetry, and dark fantasy stories (these would include the epic quest types).  Now that I’m thinking of it, for some reason, I’ve yet to complete a fantasy story.  Well, I do know the reason.  The stories tend to grow too big, too complicated, and overwhelm me to the point that I stop writing them.  These have all been written in the serial-format.  I’ve come to a realization that perhaps serial fiction may not be for me.  Not at this time anyway.

The only romance story I’ve written is a screenplay (“Storms of the Heart”) which I will be converting to a book this year.  This one has comedic scenes throughout, but probably not enough to be truly called a “rom-com.”   There are dramatic parts, and suspense too.  The heroine has both internal and external conflicts to wrestle with.  It’s a love story, and it’s a survival story.  It’s a story that keeps pestering me since it’s birth back in 2008.  It’s a story that will deal with PTSD.  And losses.

It’s the type of story that has won my heart.  And it is the one I will write in the coming months ahead.

So, to answer the prompt question above.  The type of story I love most is the survivalist kind, the underdog where the conflict/antagonist that the protagonist has to face is so much stronger than she is, but she’s determined to survive.  And this particular story also has a love story intertwined which makes it all the more endearing since I love watching something bloom between two people in-spite of all the roadblocks standing in their way.

Why this type?  Probably because I consider myself a survivor.  I’ve been an underdog all my life.  And I’m still fighting, and I suppose I always will, but that’s fine.  I don’t think I would have it any other way.  🙂


The Last Child (Part Four)


As soon as the toboggan halted, the front door swung wide

and out bounded an elder woman, her hair as white as the snow;

but it was the smile that warmed her the most

for it reminded her of a mother she once had.


“Land sakes, Micah!  Get that child inside before she freezes!” The woman said.

“Yes, Ma’am” He replied with a grin.


In moments, she found herself in a plush sofa before the roaring fire

and a bowl of hot soup in hand.


“You must be exhausted, child.” Mrs. Claus said as she sat beside her.


Her mouth full of broth and vegetables, she only nodded.

“We’ll have you in a cozy bed in a jiffy.  It’s Christmas Eve you know.  All the children must be asleep before he can arrive!” Her grey eyes sparkled.

She swallowed before asking, “there are other kids here?”

The woman’s smile softened as she reached out to push a stray strand of hair from the girl’s cheek, “Oh, yes! And you will be meeting them all tomorrow.”


“Everything’s all set, ma’am.” Micah’s voice drifted from somewhere.

“Thank you, Micah. I’m sure Nick will be by tomorrow to see you.”

“I look forward to it.  Good night, and Merry Christmas ladies.”

She turned around in time to see the door to the outside closing.

He was gone, and suddenly she felt sad.


“Don’t you worry, child. You will see him again soon.”


As promised, the woman had her tucked in a large fluffy bed a short time later.

“Drink up this hot cocoa, dearie. It will help you sleep.” Mrs. Claus handed her a tea-cup sized mug which she downed in one gulp.

“I don’t like to sleep.” She said as she laid her head on the pillow.  “Bad dreams.”

The woman caressed her forehead.  “You will have no such dreams tonight.”


True to her words, the first thing she saw once her eyes closed were flying reindeer with Micah leading them.



Interested in seeing this story in a video format?  Click here!

Story Saturday: The Last Child (Part Three)


Thick fur blanket cradled her body

in the long wooden sled

as they silently sped along

in the deep snow.


Micah stood behind her on the edge of the runners

while he guided the half-dozen dogs in front

white flakes filled the air with the wind whistling in her ears

rugged mountains loomed on the sides

blocking her view of the sky.


“We’ll be in Nordpolen soon.” Micah said “Just keep looking ahead and you’ll see it.”


It felt like they were gliding through a dark tunnel

but as she peered ahead, speckles of light slowly appeared

and suddenly they broke out in to an expansive opening;

there lied a village nestled on the banks of the immense mountains

which ran along the shores of a mirrored lake,

the lights from the buildings shimmered on its surface;

the sight made her gasp out loud.


“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Micah said.

“Oh, yes!” She replied.

“You’ll be staying at Saint Nick’s tonight.”


Instead of remaining on the main route, they veered off on a smaller trail

which took them through a dense forest;

for several moments, fear shook her body

as she watched moving shadows among the trees.


“You have nothing to fear.” He said.  “I won’t let anything harm you.”

She took deep breaths until her muscles relaxed, and heart slowed.

“Look, we’re here.” He said.


She glanced out and saw the wondrous sight;

stone walls cloaked by fresh snow, all lit up in white lights

revealed the way to a large rustic lodge

its front nothing but glass

in the center, an enormous decorated Christmas tree.


“Welcome to the Christmas Lodge.” Micah smiled.




Missed the previous two parts?  You can read them here!

Part One

Part Two






The Last Child (Part Two)


Nestled in the back of the sleigh, she heard

the jolly man called his reindeer by name

as they glided off the roof-top

and gave way to flight in the dark snowy sky.


Such a strange sensation

floating high in the air where peaceful quiet reign

leaving behind death and memories

of a life she once knew

now finished.


She sniffled but swore to not look back

in fear she’d break down in full-blown tears

and scare the good chap off

for sure.


“Look ahead, child.” The red cheeked man said. “A new life awaits you on the other side of the moon!”


Stare ahead she did at the bright orb with strange pot marks

’till its’ light completely immersed the sleigh

and in the next instance, she realized the moon

shifted from the forefront to their rear.


Once the sleigh touched ground

she saw a new landscape extend all about her

with snow-capped mountains and the glistening meadow

where a wooden toboggan waited.


“Micah will take you to my village, child.” The saintly fella said with a great smile.


With a wave, she watched as his sleigh flew away

feeling suddenly alone and naked

in a land strange and distant.


“Do not be afraid, child.”  a kind voice spoke.


She looked and saw a man with golden hair,

his gentle blue eyes met her brown ones

she gave a nod, and climbed in the sled

and off they started, on to her new life

what ever or wherever that may be.




To read Part One, click here.

Story Saturday: Santa-Zombie Story

Nearly a year passed since the start of the undead plague

she’s been on her own since

in an empty house, in a not-so-empty neighborhood.



Christmas Eve

she decorated the dead tree with handmade ornaments

made from cereal boxes;

took the last can of Spam as her treat for the white bearded man

and placed the plate on a table beside the sofa.



With a bat in hand, and the sounds of death rattling at the front door,

she fell asleep on the dusty furniture

in front of the cold, stoned hearth.



Rustling sounds awoke her

with a great start,

as she swung the bat through air,

a voice sounded,

a voice so beautiful and warm

it caused her eyes to sprang open;

bewildered, stunned

she stared at the not-so-frightful sight.



A chubby man dressed in a red suit

stood before her;

she blinked and swinted

thinking she’d died already or just dreaming

but saw that this was no dream


he was really real!



He held out his hand,

“Come, let me take you to a wonderful place.”



In a blink of an eye, she found herself

on the roof-top

where a sleigh and eight reindeer stood waiting.



Santa, beside her now, smiled;

a smile she’d thought never would form on her lips again,

she returned with glee.



Note: This story has been renamed to “The Last Child” and a video portion of this story can be found here.