In the Zone

Thought for the day:  Hopeful thinking can get you our of your fear zone and into your appreciation zone.  [Martha Beck]

Yes, indeedy. It's that time again, people.  Yet another month has slipped through our fingers, and it is once again time for our IWSG monthly posts. As always, thanks to our fearless leader, Alex Cavanaugh, for founding this fine group, and thanks to all the other nurturing guys and gals who've helped turn it into the thriving community it is today. I'm telling ya, this group offers better support and lift than the world's most expensive bra. (No pesky underwires, either!) To join this super duper supportive group of writers and to see links to other participating blogs, please go HERE

Well, yes sirree, I took most of the month of April off from blogging, ostensibly to get back to my poor neglected manuscript, which has been gathering dust for the past year. I knew it would be difficult to get back into the groove after so long, but um, I failed to even find the darned groove. To tell the truth, I didn't spend much time looking for it, either. I still believe in the value of the story I want to tell, but the truth is, I don't know if I can regain the enthusiasm it requires to get 'er done or not. At least, not right now, because I'm having a hard time believing writing even... matters. (Yeah, I know. Blasphemy, eh?) But I'm not quite ready to give up yet.

Because of my current situation, this month's question is particularly pertinent:

Do you have any rituals that you use when you need help getting into the ZONE? Care to share?

[image: unsplash]

Well, that's a real challenge, isn't it? Or as someone much smarter than I said, "Therein lies the rub..."

OY! I'd LOVE to get back into the normal zone again. I really would. I'd love to fire that ol' football into the end zone in a perfect spiral, right into the hands of a deft receiver. Woo HOO! Touchdown!

Or, um... I'd settle for a few successfully written pages.

Unfortunately, I seem to have... dropped the ball. And rather than trying to recover it, I've retreated to the bench. I don't feel like playing.

The zone is a state of mind which is marked by a sense of calmness. In addition, there is a heightened sense of awareness and focus. Actions seem effortless and there is an increased belief that your dreams or goals can become achievable and real. In addition, there is also a sense of deep enjoyment when the person is in this unique, special, and magical state of being. [Dr. Jay Granat, sports psychologist]

[image: unsplash]

You ever been in that kind of zone? The closest I've ever been was at the bowling alley some years ago. At the time, I bowled on multiple leagues, and I was pretty good... but certainly not great. But that one night... it was as though I could do no wrong. STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE! Some of my balls curved into the pocket like magic, but even the ones that weren't exactly on target resulted in yet another strike. It was incredible! A crowd gathered behind our lanes, watching and cheering me on, but  I could barely hear them for the pounding of my heart. I could barely breathe.

And I blew it. Got a split in the tenth frame and ended up with a 261. But man oh man, it sure felt good while it lasted. It felt good when I was writing regularly every day, too, but if I were to compare what's happening now to what happened in that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to roll a perfect game, I haven't just rolled a split in the tenth frame. I didn't roll a ball at all. I simply shoved it back into my bag and retreated to the lounge to sing some karaoke.

[image: unsplash]

Alas, my bowling days are over, but it's probably just as well. Judging by how lost I feel these days, I'd probably roll the ball in the wrong direction.

It's the same with writing. I've been in the zone there before, too, but I'm having a hard time finding my way back. Then again, I'm not looking very hard, either.

[image: unsplash]

Sure, I used to have some writing rituals. I learned to write first thing in the morning... before I even allowed myself to read the newspaper. And I'd stop writing for the day right in the middle of a scene, which made it easier to get back to it the next day.

Now, it's like my inner self is rebelling. Reading the newspaper comes first. Writing generally loses out, because there's always something else that requires my attention.

Clearly, I need some new rituals if I ever want to finish my book(s). (Or maybe I just need to get back to the old rituals.)

                                                    But rituals don't always work.

[image: wikimedia]

Not that I'm not in the zone... of course I am! For better or worse, we're all in some kinda zone. The problem is, it feels like I've ventured into the twilight zone.

Life has been rather surreal for the past year. Between my husband's whack-a-mole battles with cancer and now, this pandemic, somehow, whether or not I write doesn't seem to matter very much in the scheme of things, ya know?

What matters most is spending time with  my husband. What matters is laughing and making the most of each day. In due time, perhaps writing will regain its level of importance in my life that it once enjoyed. But ya know what? If it doesn't, I'm okay with that. Life is good. And besides, writing isn't the only game in town. (Think I'm too old for football...?)

How about you? How do you get... and keep... yourself in the zone? Go on... I'm all ears...

                                        Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

On Seeing Clearly

Thought for the day: See as much as you can, I guess. Rachel Carson said most of us go through life 'unseeing.' I do that some days... I think it's easier to see when you're a kid. We're not in a hurry to get anywhere and we don't have these long to-do lists you guys have. [Jim Lynch- The Highest Tide]

Yep. It's that time again.  Yet another month has slipped through our fingers, and as you can clearly see by that nifty badge on the left, it's once again time for our monthly IWSG posts. As always, thanks to our fearless leader, Alex Cavanaugh, for founding this fine group, and thanks to all the other nurturing guys and gals who've helped turn it into the thriving community it is today. I'm telling ya, this group offers better support and lift than the world's most expensive bra. (No pesky underwires, either!) To join this super supportive group of writers and to see links to other participating blogs, please go HERE

It's April first, (No fooling!) and for the past, I dunno, eight years or so, I've taken the month of April off from blogging to concentrate on writing and editing, but here we are at April's front door, and I still haven't decided whether to take a break or not. So tell ya what... if I show up, as usual, I reckon I decided to hang around. If I don't? Don't worry. I'm just fine, and heck, who knows? I might even be writing. (What a concept!)

[image courtesy of pixabay]

The pandemic that's been gathering momentum this past month is on everybody's mind these days, so it only makes sense that this month's question is about COVID-19:

The IWSG's focus is on our writers. Each month, from all over the globe, we are a united group sharing our insecurities, our troubles, and our pain. So, in this time when our world is in crisis with the COVID-19 pandemic, our optional question this month is: how are things in your world?

[image courtesy of morguefile]

Thanks for asking. Because of the medical stuff that's been going on in our household for quite some time, staying at home ( except for obligatory trips for chemo and radiation) is a verrrrry easy order for us to follow. It helps that we thoroughly enjoy each other's company, but we also like to eat. And I like to cook. Which means, even though I keep a well-stocked pantry, it was clear that a trip to the grocery store was in order. Fortunately, our local store instituted an old farts hour last week.(Um, NO, they don't actually call it that...) On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, we oldie but goodie folks can now shop at 7AM before the younger folks gain entry. Cool, huh? So I planned to go last Wednesday.

[image courtesy of morguefile]

I must confess, though, I was a tad uneasy about the whole thing. See, my night vision isn't so hot, and at 7AM, it's still plenty dark here. In the past, I've had so much trouble seeing in the dark, I'm ashamed to say Smarticus had to drive us home from the hospital after one of his surgeries. We were supposed to leave the hospital in the early afternoon, but they kept him in recovery much longer than expected, and by the time he was discharged, it was way past midnight... and very dark.  I tried to drive us home, but it simply wasn't safe, so I had to pull over and let him get behind the wheel. Since that awful experience, I had some eye surgery that's definitely helped, but I hadn't had an occasion to test my ability to drive in the dark since then... until last week. In the house, I make sure to flip light switches on so I can see my way safely through the house at  night... but how was I going to manage outside???

I went outside. So far, so good. I go out early every morning to get the paper, so that was no problem.

It was too dark to see the buttons on my fob, so I fumbled the key into the door lock and got the door open. Eventually.

Buckled in and started the car. No problem.

Then... BIG problem. I couldn't SEE!!! Not a thing! I mean NOTHING!!!

I turned on the high beams.

Nope. Still couldn't see. I wasn't exactly in panic mode at that point, but I was a teensy bit upset. I mean, I needed to go to the grocery store, but Smarticus needs his sleep. I did NOT want to wake him up just to take me to the store...


                                                            Then I started laughing.

[image courtesy of morguefile]

The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision. [Helen Keller]

                                              What a DOOFUS! I had it all ass-backwards!

               When I stopped laughing, I removed the sun screen from the windshield.

I could see just FINE. I still can't believe I did that. How could I be so dumb? (Don't answer that!)

The trip to the store was uneventful. Actually, it was kinda nice sharing the space with the handful of other seniors who were there, even though a lot of the shelves were woefully bare. (Would you believe even the frozen Brussel sprouts were completely sold out?!)






After all, the true seeing is within. [George Eliot]
                                                                   

[image courtesy of unsplash]

                                                        It's a relief to know I can see well enough to drive safely in the dark now, but I need to do some serious inner seeing to figure out if I'm ever gonna finish the trilogy I started a while back. I think what I have so far for Book Two is really good, but it's been more than a year since I've even looked at the unfinished manuscript. Now that most of Smarticus' treatments are (hopefully) behind us, it's time to decide: to write... or not to write. If you don't hear from me for the rest of the month, that might mean I'm writing again. Or it might not. Who knows? I might be alphabetizing everything in my china cabinet and washing my spices. Or something like that. Either way, know that I'm okay. And I'm no longer afraid of driving in the dark.




                                                                  How about YOU...?     

                                  Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

A Shout-Out for a Super Writer

Thought for the day:  Publishing a book is like being pregnant. By the end, you're just ready to get that baby out! [Carmen de Sousa]

Yes, indeedy. It's that time again.  Yet another month has slipped through our fingers, and it is once again time for our IWSG monthly posts. As always, thanks to our fearless leader, Alex Cavanaugh, for founding this fine group, and thanks to all the other nurturing guys and gals who've helped turn it into the thriving community it is today. I'm telling ya, this group offers better support and lift than the world's most expensive bra. (No pesky underwires, either!) To join this super supportive group of writers and to see links to other participating blogs, please go HERE

Before I go forward, one step backward. Last month's question was about whether or not we'd ever been inspired to write something by a photograph. I said no. Um... oops.  I was wrong.

THIS stunning photo inspired me to write a blog post. (Can ya blame me???) It was taken by photographer Todd Robinson at a KKK rally in a county just north of us in the 1990s.

[If you're interested, you can find that old February, 2013 post right HERE ]

There. Now I feel better. (I didn't mean to lie to ya!)

Now, moving on to this month's question...

Other than the obvious holiday traditions, have you ever included any personal or family tradition/customs in your stories?

Um, probably. It'd only be natural, dontcha think? But rather than pontificate on this subject, I've got something much better to write about... a new book!

Nope, not mine. Somebody much better. It's a brand new release from the lovely Elizabeth Seckman. If you aren't familiar with her, she's one of the sweetest ladies around, and what's more, SHE CAN WRITE!!! Reeeeeeally well!

A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book, nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book, nothing can help him. [Edna St. Vincent Millay]

I'm sure Elisabeth would feel a teensy bit insecure at the prospect of appearing on my blog with her pants down, but honest... she has nothing to worry about! Her books are ALL good. Really!

Let's check out her latest, About Us, shall we?

Blurb:

Hayden Matthews isn’t looking for love—she’s trying to get as far from it as possible. She's already wasted eight years in a failed marriage and is ready for a good life. A peaceful life. One where she can raise her daughter to be strong, independent, and happy. But to make that happen, she must fix her own life first.

Cam Vorelli has loved Hayden since he was in grade school. Always in the friend-zone, he stood on the sidelines, his heart breaking, as she said I do to the wrong man. A man he knew didn't deserve her, who could never love her as he did. But what could he say? She was marrying into his family. Cam would never break a holy vow, much less be disloyal to his kin. 

Until he sees the bruises on Hayden. Abuse is a game-changer.

Leaving a husband like Tag, who has a hot temper, a badge, and a gun, is tricky. When Hayden calls Cam for help, she isn't trying to lure him into any romantic webs. She needs someone she can trust, and knowing her soon-to-be ex fears his former NFL cousin is a bonus. 

When Cam comes to her rescue, he isn’t doing it to win her love. He does it because it's the right thing to do. But if she starts to feel the same for him... couldn't it be fate?

Excerpt:

Was she a monster for wanting to be happy? Screw happy. She didn't start the divorce process so she could be 'happy'.  She wasn't a child. She knew 'happy' was an elusive, often selfish goal. Being happy was Tag's thing. He wanted every day of his life to be some sort of party. She hadn't asked for anything so impressive. She didn't ask for a big house or a new car. Hell, she didn't even expect vacations. All she wanted was a simple life, a peaceful life. A life where she knew when her husband said he had to work late that he truly was working late, not diddling the bartender or dropping the grocery money into a slot machine.  She'd have been content with a marriage that simply wasn't miserable.

Kobo: FREE

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/about-us-a-second-chance-novel

Smashwords FREE


https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1004700

Amazon: 99 cents 
https://tinyurl.com/u6xcrob


Elizabeth is a multi-published author of books for people

who are believers in happily-ever-after, true love, and stories with a bit of fun and twists with their plots. The mother of four young men, she tackles laundry daily and is the keeper of the kitchen. She lives along the shores of the Ohio River in West Virginia, but dreams daily of the beach. 

[And she's as cute as a button! sez ME]

Facebook/ Blog/ Website

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. 

Careful What You Wish For

Thought for the day:  Why are you trying so hard to fit in when you were born to stand out? [Oliver James]

Have you ever felt like you didn't quite belong? Like you were on the outside looking in?

Meet Cowboy. He belongs to a neighbor, but I think he wishes he were our cat. Most mornings, when I open our front door, he's right there, waiting for me. He immediately sits up and peers in at me. (Or at least, he looks in my general direction... as cross-eyed as he is, it's kinda hard to tell.) He looks pitiful, and dare I say ... hopeful?

Matter of fact, he spends a good bit of time lying or sitting on our front porch. Looking in. Looking pitiful. Or in our back yard, following us around or gazing into the house from out there. He could be running around the neighborhood, doing whatever it is outside cats are supposed do all day, but instead, he bides his time ... wastes his time ... looking in our windows. Wishing he were inside. Hoping his luck will change.

If wishes were horses, all beggars would ride; it wishes were fishes, we'd all have some fried.

He isn't our cat, but I guess you could say he's our collateral pet, just like the other critters who come to our place for a handout and a scratch behind the ear. We don't mind him hanging around, but there's something heart-breaking about the sight of him looking in our window so often.

His expression looks so ...  familiar ...

I'm pretty sure I know how he feels. I've been excluded a time or two.

And I've seen people with that same wistful expression, people who bide their time ... waste their time ... pining to be someone or somewhere they aren't. Essentially, they're wasting their lives on wishes for fishes instead of eating what they have right in front of them, or reaching for the doggone fishing rod. Rather than enjoying what IS, they waste their time wishing for what isn't.

Sometimes Cowboy and Dot look at each other through the window.

Sometimes he and Dash watch each other.

Cowboy wants to come inside so badly. He wishes it were so. We can see it in his face when he stares in the front door. We can see it in his face when he stares in our back sliding glass doors. We can see it when he tries to slip inside when we open the door, and when he rolls on the ground in front of us, doing his tricks and trying so very hard to please.

He wants to be part of the... in crowd.

                                                                     Ironically,

                                                  when we're on the OUTSIDE, we want IN.

                                     

                                             And when we're on the INSIDE, we want OUT.

Is happiness always just on the other side of a proverbial closed door? When we're different from everybody else, we wanta be the same, and when we're too much like everybody else, we yearn to be different. Ya know what? Inside yourself or outside, you never have to change what you see, only the way you see it.  [Thaddeus Golas]  We yam what we yam. And we yam pretty damned good.

Okay, so maybe you never felt like part of the in crowd. Big deal!

So what? Be a standout.

Outside may very well be the new in place. There's lots of us out  here.

 I was always looking outside myself for strength and confidence, but it comes from within. It is there all the time.  [Anna Freud]

So by all means, chase your dreams. Never give up on the possibilities. May we never be so blind that all we see is our own small world, nor so self-satisfied that all we are is all we ever hope to be. Keep striving. But... don't waste too much time making fruitless wishes.

Cowboy may wish to come in, but I have a feeling he wouldn't like the reality of this mean old lady trimming his nails every couple weeks. And no matter how much he begged, we'd never provide him with live birds or mice to supplement his diet, either.

                                   And you guys? Always, always be careful what you wish for...

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for this old gal to take her annual leave of absence. I'll be vacating the blogosphere and focusing on some other things for the next month... like working on my current book, doing some dreaded spring cleaning, and editing a very talented writer's most recent book.  I'll seeya in May. I wish... you all the best. 

But, first... I couldn't resist.

 Even though I won't be here for next Wednesday's IWSG post, the May question kinda goes along with this wishful thinking post:

If you could use a wish to help you write just one scene/ chapter of your book, which one would it be?  

 See what I mean? That question was like made to accompany this post. My answer? If I'm gonna wish, I might as well wish big. (Insert deep breath here.) The ultimate wish fulfillment would be to write a scene... any scene... that would so capture the imagination and respect of readers, they'd tell all of their friends, You've gotta read this book!"

Yeah, that'd be cool, but in the meantime, I'm not holding my breath. If you haven't read either of my novels yet, here's a heads up: next week, Amazon will have both e-books on sale for the paltry sum of ninety-nine cents in both the U.S. and the U.K. Don't have a Kindle? No biggie. I hear Amazon has a FREE app that'll allow you to read e-books. (A left click on the book covers in the sidebar will deliver you directly to Amazon U.S.)

                         
                               Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

A Fresh Start

Thought for the day: Cheers to a new year and another chance to get it right. [Oprah Winfrey]

First off, Happy New Year!!! Now that the ball has dropped, the champagne's gone flat, and the resolutions have been broken, it's time to face a new year of endless possibilities. Let's try to carpe the heck out of every new diem, shall we?

As you can probably tell by that nifty badge on the left, it's that time again.Time for our monthly IWSG posts. As always, thanks to our fearless leader, Alex Cavanaugh, for founding this fine group, and
 thanks to all the other nurturing guys and gals who've helped turn it into the thriving community it is today. To join this super supportive group of writers and to see links to other participating blogs, please go HERE

We all have a brand new soft-as-a-baby's-butt year ahead of us, and the possibilities are endless. We've all been given a clean slate, and it's up to us to grab the chalk and start scribbling. I suppose the notion of each new year being a clean slate explains the age-old tradition of starting each new year with a list of resolutions and a determination to get it right. 

As Mark Twain said, Now is the time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them. 

Me? I don't make resolutions. I mean, why set myself up for failure, right?

As exhilarating as the idea of a blank slate may be, there's also something a teensy bit intimidating about it, too. Kinda like a blank sheet of paper... or a blank computer screen with that cursed pulsing icon urging you to WRITE SOMETHING, YOU MORON!  (Or is that just my computer...?)

 A blank piece of paper is God's way of telling us how hard it is to be God. [Sidney Sheldon]

Ah, but I'm an optimist. Let's all make the most of this shiny new year, shall we? Let's dazzle ourselves.

An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in; a pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves. [Bill Vaughn]

Whether you're an optimist or a pessimist, 2018 is now officially kaput. Perhaps the champagne bottle is empty and the candles extinguished, but there will be other bottles, and hope can always light the way, if you let it.

And you know what? If you think about it, what lies behind us doesn't really matter all that much, and neither does what lies before us. When you get right down to it, the most important thing is what lies within us. For all of you, I wish that to be peace and joy. Here's to a successful 2019 for all of us!

Okay, let's take a quick look at the question for this month, shall we?

What are your favorite and least favorite questions people ask you about your writing? 

Hmm, just having someone acknowledge my writing is pretty darned exciting. I suppose my favorite thing would be when they ask me anything about the characters in my book. Hearing other people discuss something I've written at a book club or whatever is absolutely thrilling. Makes me want to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. (But not too hard. I'm old, and I bruise easily.) Least favorite? Hmmm, that's a toughie. Maybe being asked when the next book is gonna be released like a day or two after one is published. Geez. Gimme a chance to enjoy it, willya? HA. Just kidding. I don't think I will ever tire of people talking to me about something I've written. It's a sort of vindication, ya know? It might not pay the bills, but it feels pretty darned good.

Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each New Year find you a better man. [Benjamin Franklin]

No thanks, Ben. I'm pretty darned happy with the one I've got. [me]

                          Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

WEP: Deja Boo

Thought for the day: I shipped my characters to Alaska, but on second thought, maybe I should've sent them to Mali-boo...

Since this is my buddy/kid sister Renee's last month to be on the WEP team, and she said she'd really like it if I participated... how could I not?

So here it is... just for her. And the rest of you, too. I hope you like it.

To access the stories written by the other participants, please go
HERE



                                                   DEJA BOO

John sat rigidly erect in his recliner, deeply engrossed in Yolanda Renee’s latest murder-and-mayhem mystery. Nowadays, getting lost in her books provided just about the only spark in his otherwise meaningless existence.

“BOO!”

He dropped the book and gasped. Drowning in his own saliva wasn’t exactly the heroic demise he’d imagined for himself, but apparently, his dear wife thought otherwise. After his coughing spell ended, he regarded her through watery eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Gladys.”

The sound of her laughter echoed in the room. “I’m sorry, dear, but how can I possibly stop when you continue to make it so amusing for me?”

She perched on the arm of his recliner. “Don’t you miss me?” 

A smile toyed with the corners of his mouth. “How can I miss you if you never go away?”

“That’s a terrible thing to say! Haven’t I always been a good wife to you?”

He nodded. “The best.”

She left her perch to peer at their faded wedding picture on the mantelpiece. “We were so young,” she said with a sigh. Then she spun to face him, her alabaster skin nearly translucent in the lamp’s soft glow. “You haven’t taken me anywhere in ages!”

John closed the book and set it on the table beside him. “Gladys, sweetheart, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re dead. Remember?”

“Of course, I remember, you silly man, but just because I stopped breathing doesn’t mean I stopped thinking, and what I think is you need to take me on a trip.” She smiled. “It isn’t too late to take that Alaskan cruise we were always talking about.”

John wiped his hand over his face and shook his head. “Yes, Gladys, it is too late. You’re dead. D-E-A-D dead. Why aren’t you making mischief in Paradise?” He frowned. “That’s where you’re supposed to be, right? Not that… other place…”

“Oh, hush!” Gladys said. “Must you always belabor the point? So what if I’m D-E-A-D dead? I’m here now, aren’t I? So why not a cruise? You promised!”

“A cruise.” He shook his head again.

Gladys grinned. “And guess what, Mr. Tightwad? Good news! You only have to buy one ticket now.”

Against his better judgment, John made the arrangements. First class all the way, too. Maybe it wasn’t too late to keep at least one promise to her. On the other hand, maybe he was stark raving mad, and he was destined to be tormented by her imaginary visits until the day he died. Either way, he had to try.

He kept expecting Gladys to pop in at any minute to say how excited she was about the trip, so he spent the next week on full alert...  but she never showed. This cruise was supposed to be for her. So where was she?

When he boarded the ship, he scanned the crowd before rushing to his stateroom, but she was nowhere to be found. He stared despondently at the roiling gray water as the ship eased out to sea. What was the point? Where was she?

His stateroom might as well have been an outhouse for as little as he appreciated it. He forced himself to nibble some of the perfectly-prepared food, but without Gladys beside him, the chef might as well have served him a pile of sawdust.

The truth of it was, he wasn’t enjoying this cruise at all. It was meaningless without Gladys. Everything was meaningless without her. What he wouldn’t give to have her with him, making him laugh with her silly jokes and pranks, smiling at him, loving him. But now it looked like he wasn’t even going to have the freaky pleasure of sharing the trip with her ghost.

The last night of the cruise, John sat on the deck gulping bourbon. It was time to accept it: the party was over. Gladys was gone, and she was never coming back. It was just his guilty conscience over all his broken promises that made him imagine her visits. Nothing but wishful thinking, and he was a damned fool to ever think otherwise.

He snorted. Why would anyone leave Paradise to spend even a minute with the likes of him? He was a lousy husband, and she deserved better.

“Oh, you weren’t so bad.”

John’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of her standing on the railing in front of him. She smiled and executed a graceful pirouette.

 “I miss you so much,” he said. “God help me, I thought we’d have more time.”

“I know you did.” She hopped down and sat in the lounge chair beside him. “And now we do, sweetie. We have an eternity.”

She stretched her hand toward him, and he reached out to grab it. He touched nothing but moist salty air, but an intense coldness like he’d never felt before spread from his fingertips, up his arm, and through his entire body.

“BOO!”

John opened his eyes slowly. Where was he? It was hot. Hot as…

“Hi, sweetie,” Gladys said. “Welcome to the afterlife.”

Panic spread through him as he gaped at the abyss and  tall flames behind her. No, no, no, this couldn’t be. If the road to hell was paved with good intentions, he belonged here, but surely… not Gladys! She was an angel. An angel with a wicked sense of humor, but an angel, nonetheless.

Gladys giggled, and the flames disappeared. “Just kidding,” she said. “Now, let's go see Australia.”

                          ***********************************************

                           Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

[All images in this post are courtesy of the fine photographers at Unsplash.]