Brand new year, brand new place: Welcome to This Side Over Yonder!

As we say farewell to 2012 and hello to 2013, I feel it’s a good time to start over. The Life of a Working Writer Mommy (my nonfiction site) and The Other Side of Deanna have merged and are now This Side Over YonderI hope you’ll spread the word, stop by, have a sit down and stay to chat a while.

Also, thanks so much to Steve Green for the Liebster Award! I feel quite honored and will (hopefully sooner rather than later) be posting the acceptance on This Side Over Yonder.

Liebster-award-ribbon

I wish you all the best for a blessed and happy new year!

Love, Deanna

Embarrassing note: Thanks to Helen Howell for letting me know the new site had not been marked public, (apparently my changes were not saved). I apologize to those who tried to visit but couldn’t. You should be able to now. Also note that first comments will be held for moderation – I will approve them as soon as possible (I will be away morning – midday Wednesday) and you should be able to comment without the moderation after that first time. Thank you all so much for your patience!

Happy New Year!

Hey everyone! I’ve been away for a while but am looking forward to getting back into the swing of things soon. I hope you’re all doing well and have had a wonderful and blessed 2012. Visit my sister site, The Life of a Working Writer Mommy, to read my farewell to 2012 and welcome to 2013: Gonna get birth naked and bury my old soul, and dance on its grave.

I wish you all a happy and blessed new year!

Love, Deanna

The Best of Friday Flash, Volume 2 is here! #fridayflash #BOFF2

BOFF2 cover

After much hard work by brilliant artists, The Best of Friday Flash, Volume 2, is available for purchase as a paperback and as an ebook!

Flash fiction is supposed to be just that: fiction, but all stories are built on real life, even those with dragons and ice queens and cyborgs. When my cousin took his own life in February, 2011 my family was devastated. I wanted to go visit my aunt, (his mother), and my cousins, (his sisters), desperately and right away. But I was afraid I’d say the wrong thing, I was afraid of overwhelming them with too much sympathy. So instead, as a particularly vibrant memory of growing up with my cousin, Doug, played through my mind like a film stuck on repeat, I sat down and wrote that memory. Later I posted the story, Boy-Cousin: The Marvel, as a #fridayflash.

With the gracious critique of the Friday Flash community, I was able to improve the story and submit it for consideration to be included in the second volume of The Best of Friday Flash. I am honored that the tribute to my cousin’s memory, Boy-Cousin: The Marvel was chosen to appear in this super work of art.

Edited by the Grand Master of #fridayflash, (what I like to call the great man who created this meme), JM Strother, and by the talented Rachel Blackbirdsong, and Tony Noland, and designed by the super-creative Jodi Cleghorn, this 199 page anthology, The Best of Friday Flash, Volume 2, is a true work of art featuring many terrific “read ‘em in a flash” stories by outstanding authors worldwide – everything from humor to horror to fantasy to romance to magical realism and all in between. You will laugh, you will cry, you might cringe, you might hide under the covers, but one thing is certain – you will definitely be turning the pages of this fantastic anthology in anticipation of the next word! Go to e-Mergent Publishing to order your copy today.

Be sure to join in the release party on Twitter by using the hashtag #BOFF2, and stop by Friday Flash Dot Org to find out for yourself why this great community of writers has become so important to me. Not only do the writers offer support, encouragement and helpful critique, they offer great and lasting friendships.

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Click here to subscribe to The Other Side of Deanna.

Thanks so much to all who have been praying for me and sending positive energy my way. I look forward to joining in the weekly fun again soon.

Away for a bit – #fridayflash community

Thank you all so very much for being the supremely loyal readers and friends you are. I appreciate you more than I can tell you. I wanted to take a minute to let you know that I’ll be away for a while, as my family deals with a personal issue. I don’t mind asking for positive energy and prayer either; in fact, I appreciate all you can throw our way. For now, that’s all I’m comfortable with sharing. I know for a fact that this stepping stone, (that is trying real hard to be a stumbling block), will turn out to be a Big Life Lesson, and when I understand more about it I’m certain to have the knowledge and strength needed to help others who may be experiencing the same thing.

That said, I do have some great news to share as well: The Best of Friday Flash, Volume 2, is in final review and will be available soon! My story, Boy-Cousin: The Marvel will appear in this anthology, alongside many more terrific flash stories by outstanding authors. I will certainly let you know as soon as we have a release date, and how to get your copy of this awesome work of art.

Don’t forget: September 30 – October 6 is Banned Books Week. Be sure to visit their site and find out how you can join in celebrating our freedom to read – and write. Long Live Literature!

Thank you again for your loyal readership and especially your friendship.

Deanna

Carl’s Pain – #fridayflash #amwriting #story

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Thank you for stopping in to read my #fridayflash. Be sure to visit the Friday Flash Community for more great flash fiction by outstanding authors!

Carl’s Pain is rated PG-13, according to my standards.

Carl’s Pain, by Deanna Schrayer

Carl shuffled into the kitchen and hung his cap up, closing the screen door softly behind him.

“Any luck?” Amy asked.

Her husband looked at the worn linoleum floor and raked his hand through his hair, shaking his head, but not looking up at her.

“Oh honey,” she walked towards him with her arms held out as if to hug him. But he pushed past her, quickly crossing the small kitchen in two single bounds. Amy jerked when Carl slammed his fist into the doorframe as he passed into the living room, her own fist automatically scrambling to cover her mouth.

For a minute it was silent, even his footsteps had halted. Then she heard glass breaking and she closed her eyes. She knew he’d knocked over the vase of daisies she’d hopefully set on the coffee table earlier. Yet, she didn’t move from her rigid position in front of the sink. A single tear slid down her damp cheek. When she heard the stairs creak she bent over the sink, turned the spigot on full blast and splashed her face with the cold water. It may not have brought any relief from the humidity, but at least it hid the tears.

The phone rang, jolting Amy from her trance. She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there looking out the kitchen window, watching the neighbor boy and his dog rolling down the hill behind their house. She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Amy,” her mother, Rhonda said, “Are you okay?”

“Yea, yea Mom,” she said as she rubbed her swollen cheeks, “I’m…I’m fine.”

“He didn’t get the job, did he?”

Amy hesitated, unsure why she’d even consider lying to her mother. Then she sighed and told the truth. “No…no, Mom, he didn’t.”

Rhonda said nothing, only sighed.

“We’re okay Mom,” Amy said.

“Well, do you need money? Do you have enough groceries?”

Amy bit her tongue. She wanted so much to tell her mother to stay out of their business, that she and Carl had made it through worse, that they’d be fine. But had they? Would they? She decided to be kind, if for no other reason than not having enough energy to argue. “Yes Mama, yes. We’ve got plenty to do us. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.” She hung up before she changed her mind.

The neighbor boy had gone. Amy didn’t see his dog either. A woodpecker pounded, pounded, pounded away at the crumbling post of the back porch. The wind had picked up and was blowing shadows through the kitchen windows as the sun sank lower in the sky. It was going to rain. Amy felt chilled and hugged her arms about herself, pulling her sweater tighter as she tiptoed to the landing of the stairs. Slowly, she ascended, one step at a time, so softly none of the familiar creaks reached the arches of her feet.

Amy was shaking as if a ghost had just flown through her body, but when she pushed the bedroom door open the sight before her caused her trembling to stop altogether. She expected Carl would be getting ready to go down town for his regular Friday night drink with his friends. But he wasn’t at the closet. The water wasn’t running in the bathroom. Carl was not getting ready to leave at all. In fact, he was doing nothing. Nothing but lying there on the bed, face down, his arms spread out on either side of his head.

The window was open and splashes of rain began to darken the fluttering ivory curtains. Amy walked over and closed the window, as quietly as she could. She felt that if she made the slightest noise it would break some spell cast over them both, she was afraid it would shred what little fringe was left between them.

She realized her breathing was ragged and so she stood at the window a moment longer, forcing herself to breathe through her nose, to calm her nerves before going any further. She couldn’t see Carl’s face from here, it was turned towards the interior wall.

Shivering again, Amy walked towards the bed, towards her husband’s inert figure, using all her will to keep her pulse normal. When her thighs touched the bare mattress Carl turned over, grabbed Amy’s arm, and pulled her down on the bed. Easily, expertly, he pinned her with his knees and held her arms above her head. Amy’s heart now pounded so hard she was sure it would leap out of her chest and hover there in the inch between their bodies.

Carl stared into his wife’s pale hazel eyes with an expression she’d never seen before. His breath came in ragged spurts, and then stopped as if he’d quit breathing. Then he took a gulp of air and released it into her face. There was no whiskey on his breath, not that she could smell. And she could always smell it.

“Carl?” she whispered, not sure what she expected to happen. But what did happen shocked her for she’d never seen him act this way. Her husband’s exhausted body fell upon hers, nearly crushing her petite form. But she was grateful for the weight. She felt his pain wash over her body before she felt his tears on her shoulder. Amy took his cheek in her hand and gently wiped the tears away; she took hold of his thick black curls with her other hand and pulled his face down to hers, and she kissed him. She kissed him softly, yet strongly, showing him that she could handle the pain, if only he would release it all to her she would share his burden.

Finally, after they’d both stopped shaking, she spoke. She stroked his hair as she said, “Honey, it’s going to be okay, we’re all right. I’m here.”

“You’re…here…” Carl said it wonderingly, as if he couldn’t believe she’d still be here for him, the man who’d punished her, who’d pushed her away all these months, simply because he couldn’t seem to find a job.

“I’m here,” she said again, and she smiled.

Carl held nothing back now as he allowed the despair to come forth, to pour from his gut, and drench his love, the love he knew was strong enough to handle the wrenching pain he’d held in for so very long. He lay beside his wife and he held her, tighter and tighter. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids. And he murmured into her mouth, “Thank you.”   

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This story was inspired by Bruce Springsteen’s poignant new song, This Depression. Just listen to how beautiful it is!

 

Not only This Depression, but every song on Bruce’s new album, Wrecking Ball, is amazing. Yes, I’ve always loved Bruce, but despite who the artist is there are usually a couple of songs I don’t care for on any album – not the case with Wrecking Ball. Buy it, you won’t be sorry.

Note to FTC: This is not a review, only a strong personal opinion, for which I was not compensated.

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Click here to visit my nonfiction site, The Life of a Working Writer Mommy.

 

2 important reasons every writer should read Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947 – 1954 – #amwriting #fridayflash

Windblown World

If you’re a Kerouac fan, (or even if you’ve never heard of Kerouac), you’re going to want to have Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947 – 1954 on your bookshelf and refer to it often. I use large index cards for bookmarks so that I can jot down favorite lines as I read – I filled three large index cards (front and back) with quotes from Windblown World.

Part 1 of Windblown World is Jack’s journals during [a portion of] the time he wrote his first novel, The Town and The City, (the journals published in Windblown World being from 1947 – 1948). Part 2 is his journals as he wrote what is arguably his most famous novel, On the Road

#1 important reason to read: Learn (and relate to) how a writer grows in his craft

The most fascinating aspect of these journals is that you can sense how Kerouac grows as a writer, from the time he started [the novel] to the time he finished it. He shares how he discovers the way characters interact with one another, why certain scenes that he’s spent days and days working on are going to have to be cut, why a particular scene will need to be moved, etc., etc.

I wish I could tell Jack how much I appreciate his taking the time to write down his process, and his feelings about it, as he wrote The Town and The City, and I know I’m not the first writer to have that very sentiment. You can feel the way Jack grows, not only as a writer, but also as a person, a man who insists upon self-examination, almost neurotically, which he admits to often. I’m sure many psychologists have thoroughly examined Windblown World, looking for “what made Kerouac tick”. [The book] would make a terrific study for psychology students, I believe, but I fear those who study his words with a clinical eye, rather than a sympathetic heart, would translate Jack’s words the direct opposite of the way he intended to come across. In other words, only an artist – or maybe those who’ve lived with an artist – can truly appreciate the meaning behind those words. That’s not to say the reader alone, (as opposed to the reader who is also a writer), won’t appreciate Windblown World. On the contrary, I’m sure they would cherish it just as deeply; they just may not read certain phrases as “profoundly” as a writer would.

For example, here’s one “writerly” quote that I, (and I’m sure all writers), can relate to:

It’s a lot of bull about the artists – having all the leisure time in the world to ‘work’. Work is involved with time; you can’t waste time building a house at leisure or you’ll never move in.”

When I read that line, I wanted so badly to show it to my husband and say, “See! This is why I need time to write every day, there’s a reason I need a scheduled time to write.” But he would’ve only looked at me askance and said, “Who’s Jack Kerouac?” Yes, my husband is a John Grisham, Tom Clancy kind of man, (not that there’s anything wrong with Grisham or Clancy, I just mean that he occasionally reads today’s well-knowns, and never reads classics).

#2 important reason to read: Boost your self-confidence as a writer

I’ve loved Kerouac since I discovered him, (way too late in life) – he had such a vivid, emotional way with words. But to read his journey of writing, and the hope/anguish that surrounds that life, is a great comfort, and more. For anyone who is writing with the intention of being “recognized as ‘a writer’”, Part 1 of Windblown World is probably the most insightful and hopeful work you’ll ever read. For Kerouac not only tells us of his struggle to be published, but also, (and here’s where I believe this is one of the most important works a writer can read), also of the loneliness, the madness, the fear of going insane, the exuberant joy of surpassing a daily writing goal, etc., that gives us writers hope that there is light at the end of that kaleidoscopic tunnel, and that the light is bright and worth fighting for. It’s the RECOGNITION of like feelings that makes Windblown World more than worth the time devoted to reading it thoughtfully.

Some of my favorite quotes from Windblown World:

  • “Words, Words, Words – and what are blank pages for?” This one is going on my inspiration board.

  • And this is the way a novel gets written, in ignorance, fear, sorrow, madness, and a kind of psychotic happiness that serves as an incubator for the wonders being born.”

  • Writing is an explosion of interest, it is not something that gets done one by one gravely, and the explosions of interest arrest themselves with a crafty expectant grin.”

  • “…all deep novels could very well be entitled simply “people” – because that’s all they’re about. But an author chooses a theme, a title, and pretends knowingly, with the knowing understanding of his deep reaches, that the theme is really a theme apart from people.”

  • It’s not the words that count, but the rush of what is said.”

Hear what I mean? Feel what I mean? Have you read Windblown World? What did you think of it? Do you like Kerouac’s work, or are you of the [boisterous] minority who believe he couldn’t write? I’m anxious to hear what you think.

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Note to FTC: No compensation was received for this review.

Read (short) reviews of every book I’ve read this year on my bookshelf at my nonfiction blog, The Life of a Working Writer Mommy.  *Includes links to bookshelf for 2011 and 2010 as well.

Click here to read my #fridayflash for this week, a slice-of-life called Fudgesicles for Breakfast.

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Fudgesicles for Breakfast – #fridayflash, #amwriting, #story

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Thank you for stopping in to read my #fridayflash. Be sure to visit the Friday Flash Community for more great flash fiction by outstanding authors!

Fudgesicles for Breakfast, a slice-of-life flash which I haven’t done in a while, is rated PG, according to my standards.

Fudgesicles for Breakfast, by Deanna Schrayer

Cindy rolled her suitcase in to the living room. “Okay guys, you can have one more dip in the pool before we leave but we have to help Daddy finish packing first,” she told the twins.

The toddlers, Ben and Kaylee bounced up and down on the luxurious couch and squealed with joy.

“Ben! Kaylee!” their dad yelled, “How many times have I told you? Don’t. jump. On. the furniture. It doesn’t belong to us!” Brent sighed, forced himself to gather patience and hugged each of his children tight as he moved them from the couch to the floor, where they took off running towards the condo door.

“No, no, no,” Cindy called to them, “don’t y’all dare open that door, we aren’t ready to go just yet.”

Ben and Kaylee whined a bit but they shuffled back from the door, deliberately stopping where the tile met the carpet. They sat down on the tile and spread their legs out in front of them, their shoulders and legs touching as if they were one person instead of two. They looked for all the world like a golden statue that had been placed in the condo as decoration. Ben and Kaylee stared at their parents, ready to jump up and go to the pool at the sound of their mother’s ‘okay’.

“What’s all this stuff still doing in the fridge?” Brent said, his voice muffled as he buried his head inside the refrigerator.

“What stuff?” said Cindy, “I thought I’d gotten everything we couldn’t take with us.”

“A pack of bacon, not even open, why did we even buy this stuff if we weren’t going to eat it?”

Cindy held her temper, (for Brent was famous for complaining about wasting money), and walked over to join him at the fridge. “I’ll take care of it honey,” she said as she nudged him out of the way, “you go on and take the bags to the car.”

“But what are you going to do with all this?” he asked.

“I’ll drop it off at the front desk, I’m sure they’ll know someone who needs it.” Her usual answer to the seemingly rehearsed question.

Brent began gathering the suitcases, “Ridiculous!” he said, “Every time we take a trip we end up feeding other people instead of ourselves.” His usual remark to her answer.

Cindy said nothing, only scanned the contents of the fridge and put the bacon, a pack of cheese, and several other unopened packages into a grocery bag. She felt a twinge of guilt when she opened the freezer and discovered they still had a whole box of fudgesicles not even opened. She knew Brent was right, that she always overloaded on groceries when they stayed somewhere more than a few days, but she’d never admit that to him.

“Mommy, when we go swim?” Kaylee asked. Ben followed her lead, “Yea, go swim Mommy!”

Cindy looked to her beautiful little babies and had an idea. “Soon sweethearts,” she said as she took up the grocery bag, “Let’s grab our swim bags and go downstairs. We have to stop by the front desk first.”

The twins jumped up and ran to get their Superman and Cinderella backpacks from the living room. They bounced up and down as Cindy opened the door and held it for them.

They stepped out of the elevator on the first floor to see Brent waiting to go back up. “Daddy!” Kaylee yelled. She hugged his legs and told him, “We going swimming!”

“Hey,” said Ben suspiciously, “How you get here Daddy?” He looked back at the elevator as if expecting a robot to jump out of it.

“Hey you two,” Brent said. He tousled Ben’s hair while he gently pulled Kaylee off his legs. “I’ve got to go up and make sure we’ve got everything and then I’ll meet you at the pool, okay?” The elevator had closed. He pushed the button to bring it back down.

“Ya!” Kaylee screamed.

“Shhh,” Cindy said, “there are people still sleeping here. Come on, let’s go take this stuff to the front desk and then we’ll go to the pool.” Ben was inspecting the elevator when it opened. He jumped back as if he’d been burned, yet still he stuck his head inside as if looking for a secret.

“Watch out buddy,” Brent said as he pulled Ben away from the elevator and stepped in, “that thing can bite you.” To Cindy he said, “I’ll meet y’all out there in a few.”

“Come on kiddies,” Cindy said, walking towards the lobby.

Ben and Kaylee squirmed and bounced as Cindy sat their things down at a table by the pool. When she didn’t immediately begin blowing up their arm floats, the twins looked at her askance. “What you doin’ Mommy?” Kaylee said.

“Well, before we go swimming,” Cindy said as she took out the fudgesicles, “I thought we’d have a treat first.” She grinned at her kids, a sneaky smile as if she were allowing them to do something naughty.

Ben and Kaylee squealed with delight and immediately began clambering into a seat. “Ya for Mommy!” Kaylee said, and Ben followed up, “Yes! Mommy’s the best!”

Cindy got them each settled with the ice cream, not bothering to give them napkins since they’d be getting in the pool anyway, and sat back with her own fudgesicle. She watched her happy children and a surge of love came over her as if she were standing on the beach and was suddenly splashed by a huge wave. She took it all in, giggling at them as the chocolate dribbled down their chins and onto their stomachs.

After Ben and Kaylee had eaten half their treat Cindy helped them into their swim gear and they ran and jumped into the shallow end of the pool. Cindy was grateful they both had learned to swim as babies. She sat back and watched them as she opened her second fudgesicle.

Brent walked in and waved to the kids on his way to join Cindy. “Oh wow, you guys look great out there!” Kaylee sat on the steps leading down into the pool and watched Ben as he dove into the water, letting out a big ‘Woooohoooo’ in the air.

“Hey beautiful,” Brent whispered in Cindy’s ear and gave her a peck on the cheek. He sat down opposite her and looked from the package of fudgesicles to her playful eyes. “Fudgesicles for breakfast?” he squinted at her.

“That’s right,” Cindy smiled, handing Brent one of the quickly melting treats, “Fudgesicles for breakfast.”

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Yes, this is semi-autobiographical. Ah, how I miss those days! (My sons are now 13 and 15).

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