I am tired of feeling sad.
I am tired of feeling low.
I am tired of feeling broken.
I am tired of feeling useless.
I am tired of feeling lost.
I am tired of feeling anxious.
I am tired of feeling worried.
I am tired of feeling scared.
I am tired of feeling fear.
I am tired of feeling the need to be strong.
I am tired of feeling.
I am tired.
I am….
(Image sourced via Google- credits to the owner)
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Tagged #CoralMcCallum, #emotions, #feelings, #mentalhealthawareness, #poetryblog, #poetrylife, #resilience
In the wee small hours of the morning, Anna sat at her desk, her writing in full flow. The desk in front of her was littered with post it notes with phrases, names and key parts of the storyline scribbled on them. Earlier in the evening, she had reached the part of the tale where her male and female protagonists kissed for the first time. Caught up in the moment, the scene she initially envisaged spiralled and her “chaste kiss” became more passionate and as she wrote had evolved into something way sexier than she had first intended… but it worked, her characters were having fun, so she went with it.
Her male lead had given the female lead a ride home after her car had broken down…corny but true. In fact, her own car had broken down on the way home from work that afternoon and as she had walked the three miles home, she had dreamt of a “knight in shining armour” rocking up to give her a lift.
The tale emerging in front of her had seen her female lead invite her “knight in shining armour” in for coffee. They’d shared that first not so chaste kiss in the kitchen.
A noise from the kitchen behind her startled her back to reality. It sounded like footsteps. It also sounded like someone was making a pot of coffee, but she was home alone…
Quietly, Anna got up from her desk and tip toed across to the door which stood slightly ajar. As she peeked through the narrow gap, she caught sight of a man in her kitchen. She paused, a scream half-formed on her lips. He looked familiar. Long sun-bleached blonde hair caught back in a ponytail. Skinny black jeans. Black boots worn down at the heel. Slim fitting black V-neck tee. Tattoos visible from under the short sleeves.
She sniffed the air as a whiff of aftershave teased her sense of smell.
With a glance back at her notebook, Anna shook her head. She had to be hallucinating. The man making coffee in her kitchen matched the description of her male lead to perfection. Even the aftershave was the same scent.
Deciding that logically this couldn’t be real, she opened the door and walked through to the kitchen. At the sound of her feet on the tiled floor, he turned to smile at her. Oh, it was that dazzling smile she had written about a few hours earlier when he had stopped to rescue her female character.
“Hey,” he greeted her casually. “Where do you keep the coffee mugs?”
“Top cupboard on the left of the sink,” she heard herself reply as she took two small steps towards him.
“Black? Right?” he checked as he set two mugs down on the countertop.
“Milk and two for you?” she replied.
“Spot on.”
“I’ll get the milk,” she offered, reaching for the fridge door handle.
As she gazed into its brightly lit depths, Anna’s heart was pounding. Whatever was going on here, he was hot! That smile! Those eyes!
Lifting the carton of milk from its place on the door, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves then closed the door over. With trembling hands, she took the milk over to where he stood beside the two mugs of coffee.
“Which one’s yours?” she asked, unscrewing the lid.
“One on the right,” he replied as he spooned in some sugar.
As she stepped in to pour the milk, she felt his hand on the small of her back. Little ripples of excitement scooted up her spine at his touch. Setting the carton of milk down, she turned to face him. Their eyes met as he reached his hand out to tip her face up towards his. As their lips met, he drew her close, their kiss deepening with unspoken desire. Her hands were running up and down his back as she relished the taste of him. When she felt his hand move to caress her breast, she sighed.
“I want to make love to you, Anna,” he declared between kisses. “Right here. Right now.”
“Not here,” she whispered.
“Where then?”
“Family room,” she suggested. “Through here.”
Taking his hand, she led him into the adjacent family room. A small table lamp was still lit and offered enough light to create a more intimate atmosphere. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms and gently laid her down on the couch. Straddling her, he began to unbutton her blouse, exposing the swell of her ample breasts. He ran his tongue over their curves while his fingers continued to deal with the remaining buttons. Not wanting to be the only one undressed, Anna tugged his t-shirt from the waistband of his jeans before reaching up under the soft cotton, feeling his skin smooth and warm under her cool fingers.
Within moments their clothes lay discarded on the rug. Naked, they explored each other’s body with a combination of gentle caresses and soft tender kisses. Anna ran her finger over the reddish birthmark on his hip. He traced his fingertip around her areola before biting each nipple sharply. She gasped at the thrill of the bites. He slid his hand up between her thighs, his thumb instinctively finding her sensitive nub. A small groan of ecstasy escaped from her as sparks of electricity fired through her at his every touch. Reaching down, her hand found his hard length. As she wrapped her fingers around him, it was his turn to let out a small growl of pleasure. Slowly, she massaged his erection while his fingers explored her wet feminine folds.
“I’m going to make love to you,” he said, his voice warm and husky. “I need to feel you around me.”
Parting her thighs, he entered her with one confident thrust. Her hips bucked in response. Still kissing her neck, he began to stroke her slowly, languidly, teasing her towards orgasm.
“Harder,” she breather as their bodies moved together as one. “Deeper.”
“As you desire,” he said, thrusting hard and fast.
Her orgasm shattered around him a split second before his own hot creamy load filled her in a few frantic thrusts.
“Mark,” she purred as she felt herself sink back into the soft cushions of the couch.
“Sh, Anna,” he said, putting his finger to her lips. “That was…”
“Perfect,” she finished for him.
Again, she was rewarded with one of his dazzling smiles.
Gently, he eased out of her then he spooned around her, cupping her exposed breast with one hand. Stirring purring with contentment, Anna savoured the warmth of his slender muscular body around her.
She felt her eyelids grow heavy…
A sudden chill wakened her minute…hours…later.
He was gone.
Gathering her discarded clothing into her arms, Anna wandered back through the kitchen, barely noticing the two mugs of cold coffee sitting forgotten on the counter. Her mind was focused on one thing. She needed to keep writing until she wrote Mark back out of the story…
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Tagged #adultfiction, #adultflashfiction, #CoralMcCallum, #erotica, #IndieAuthor, #shortstory
Being back in the small fishing town after eighteen years felt surreal to Freya as she walked down through the narrow winding streets towards the harbour. In her jeans pocket, her hand was wrapped around a set of keys. The keys to her new shop. Everyone had told her she was insane to open her dream business in such a small tourist orientated location but something deep inside her told her that the location was perfect and that this was exactly where she was meant to be.
The place had captured her heart when she had spent the summer there. It had been her first experience of living and working away from home and had set her on the path to follow her dreams. That summer, she had worked in the town’s only hotel as a receptionist. Home for the summer season had been a tiny sweltering caravan at the campsite on the edge of town. It had been a long hot summer; it had been almost the perfect summer.
As she drew closer to the harbour front, the street grew busier with tourists meandering through town, browsing in the shop windows. “Busy’s good,” she thought as she reached the door to her own shop. It was located on the corner of the main thoroughfare with an oblique view of the harbour. Despite its prime spot, the shop had lain empty for several years. The estate agent had explained that it used to be a book shop and when the owner died, there had been a lengthy dispute over settling the estate. With the legalities agreed in the background, the shop had been put on the market. Immediately she saw the sale notice ping into her emails, Freya knew this was the place she had been searching for. Decision made, she had sealed the deal within days then spent another few weeks negotiating to buy a small cottage on the outskirts of town.
A glance at her phone told her she still had about an hour before she was due to meet the joiner who was going to re-fit the shop for her. “Time for a coffee,” she thought with a smile to herself. Coffee was something else she associated with that summer from the past.
When she had stayed in town before, Freya had fallen into the habit of walking to work via a small coffee shop hidden in one of the myriad of tiny side streets. The barista was a summer worker just like herself and he quickly sussed out her routine. By the time summer was drawing to a close, he knew it so well that her morning coffee was just being placed on the counter ready for her as she walked in the door. They’d flirted outrageously with each other but both were working long shifts with little free time. They did eventually manage one memorable date shortly before they both left to resume university life at opposite ends of the country.
She smiled at the memory as she set off to see if the coffee shop was still there.
It was! And it was exactly as she remembered it. The delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with freshly baked pastries brought back sweet memories. Behind the counter, a tall dark-haired barista was busily wiping down the coffee machine after the last order. His long hair was pulled up into a man bun, but a couple of tendrils had escaped and were curling down at the name of his neck.
“Good morning,” he greeted her as he turned round to take her order.
“Morning,” said Freya politely. “Large cappuccino with cinnamon not chocolate and an extra shot.” She paused, “Oh, and I’ll have a cinnamon apple Danish too please.”
“Sit in or take away?”
“Sit in, please.”
Their eyes met as she paid for her order, a spark of familiarity instantly re-igniting deep inside her.
“Grab a seat and I’ll bring it over.”
“Thanks,” she said, fumbling to put her change in her purse.
Stumbling into an empty table en route, Freya scurried across to the empty corner table by the window. It was him! How? Why? He hadn’t even been from here so why was he back? A voice in her head whispered, “Why not? You’re back, aren’t you?”
In an effort to calm her nerves, Freya pulled her project book out of her canvas tote and tried to focus on the list of things she needed to speak to the shopfitter about in order to ensure the place was ready for her grand opening in two weeks’ time. Turning to the next section where she’d noted down all the colour options for the interior décor, Freya caught sight of the small, frayed napkin tucked into the plastic envelope section of the section divider. She fingered the delicate edge of it as memories flooded through her.
He’d written his phone number on it and passed it to her with her coffee the last day that she had come into the shop on her way for her final shift at the hotel. She’d never called the number. Coffee had dripped onto the napkin by the time she reached work, smudging the ink and rendering the two middle numbers illegible but she’d kept it. That tiny napkin had been her only link to him for all those years….
Sensing him approaching with her order, she turned the page over so that by the time he reached the table, all that was visible was various paint colour sample cards that she had pasted into the notebook.
“I like the bottom one,” he commented as he sat the mug down, followed by a white plate with her Danish pastry on it. Next, he placed a small square napkin down with several sachets of brown sugar and a wooden stirrer on top.
“Me too,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Would look great as a feature wall,” he continued casually.
Gazing at the teal green square of colour, Freya heard herself saying, “I’m thinking of painting the whole shop that colour.”
“Shop?” he quizzed. “Hey, are you the new owner of the old book shop? I heard it was due to re-open but no one in town seems to know much. It’s been quite the local mystery this week.”
There was no backing out now. Taking a deep breath, Freya revealed, “I’m opening in two weeks hopefully. Tattoo parlour.”
“Tattoo parlour? It’ll be the only one for miles. You could be onto a winner there.”
“I hope so,” she said, looking up into his dark brown eyes for the first time in eighteen years.
“Enjoy your coffee,” he said as he turned to walk back to the counter to serve his next customer.
Had he recognised her? Had she got away with this? It had been eighteen years so why would he remember her?
She lifted two of the long skinny sugar sachets and the stirrer. Something caught her eye. There was writing on the napkin. Pushing the remaining sugar sachets aside, she revealed the whole message. “Call me, Cinnamon Girl followed by a mobile number. Been a long time.”
Cinnamon Girl….his old nickname for her from all those years ago.
Not taking any chances this time, Freya tucked the napkin into the project book. She felt something inside her shift. A calm feeling washed through her. Her heart lightened. Suddenly she knew this was all going to work out ok. They had a lot of catching up to do.
As she took her first bite of her Danish, her phone buzzed. It was a What’s App message. “Hi Mum. Will be down on Saturday. See you about 4.”
Yes… there was a lot of catching up to be done…
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Tagged #cappuccino, #cinnamon, #coffeebreakread, #CoralMcCallum, #fridayfiction, #IndieAuthor, #shortstory
Less than an hour later, the burgers were sizzling on the grill, Maddy and Lori were bringing salads and relishes out from the kitchen, Becky was contentedly watching TV and the four band members were all catching up with each other, as they sprawled across the sun deck. Rich had taken charge of the BBQ, ordering Jake to stay clear of the smoke. Happy to relinquish the cooking duties, Jake had gone back to the sun lounger without a word of complaint. Once all the food was out, Lori came and sat beside him. He draped a protective arm around her shoulders, kissed the top of her head and whispered, “Love you, li’l lady.”
“Love you too, rock star,” she purred, resting her head against his bare chest.
Within a few minutes, Rich was dishing up burgers and they were all scrabbling round the table for rolls, salad and relish. No one was standing on ceremony and the relaxed atmosphere gave it the feel of a family meal.
Just for today Bonded Souls, book 3 in the Silver Lake series is free to download to Kindle
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XSQHG71
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B06XSQHG71
Without thinking, I took the first tentative step. It had finally happened. I had reached the point of no return…. or was I dreaming?
For months I’d been saying “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” dismissing future challenge after future challenge instead of facing up to them there and then.
Clutched in my hand was a well-worn piece of paper. It was the list I had written… the list of many of those future challenges that needed to be faced.
As I stared straight ahead, it looked as though each and every one of them had their own bridge.
Glancing down, all I could see were swirling mists. Just how high up was this rickety old bridge?
Carefully, I took a second step. The bridge shook but it held. Taking a deep breath, I took another small step then another.
In the dark recesses of my mind, I heard a voice say “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” Those words offered just enough reassurance to give me the strength to take the next step…and the next…
Eventually, I made it across the bridge. My hands were trembling. My heart was pounding. I had done it.
I glanced down at the list. The item at top had been scored through. How? Who? Did it matter? I’d crossed that first bridge when I came to it.
Step by step, bridge by bridge, I kept going. Challenge after challenge was scored off the list. I took my time, taking care not to rush the journey.
When I stepped off the final bridge, I stepped onto warm soft sand. The sun was shining, and I could hear the ocean waves crashing ashore just ahead of me.
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Tagged #continuethestory, #CoralMcCallum, #flashfiction, #IndieAuthor, #newfiction, #shortstory
The wine waiter approached with the two bottles she had selected from the list. Lori nodded her approval and asked him to pour. Once they all had a full glass, she proposed a toast, “To the success of Silver Lake”
“To rock’n’roll,” declared Paul theatrically.
“No,” corrected Jake warmly, “To Lori. Happy Birthday, Mz Hyde.”
She blushed, then added, “To health, wealth and happiness.”
While they waited for their starters to arrive, Becky produced a gift bag from beneath the table and gave it to Lori.
“It’s from all of us,” she said with a smile.
Lori carefully opened the small bag to reveal a long slim black jewellery box. She opened it to find a silver charm bracelet with three guitar charms, drumsticks and two music notes. It was perfect.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Can one of you help me to put it on?”
Jake obliged by helping her with the catch before producing a second small gift bag, “And this is from me.”
Inside the bag she found a second small black box, squarer in shape. She opened it to find a delicate silver chain with a treble clef hanging from it. There was a small diamond in the tail of the treble clef.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered, kissing Jake on the cheek, “I love it.”
“Put it on, Lori,” squealed Becky, clapping her hands.
Again, Jake assisted her, kissing the nape of her neck as he fastened the clasp. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Thank you,” said Lori again. “I never expected presents. You’re all too kind.”
To celebrate my own birthday, Stronger Within is free to download to Kindle today
As it was her last night in town, she had taken her time getting ready, making an effort with her make-up. Two weeks in the sunshine had added natural blonde highlights to her long hair. Her skin glowed, the strained dark shadows long gone from under her eyes. Glancing in the mirror one last time, she smiled. The reflection smiling back finally looked familiar.
With a swish of her long flowing cotton skirt, she left her Airbnb apartment, walked carefully down the stairs, reaching the boardwalk within a minute, just as the website had promised. Down on the beach, the last of the day’s sunworshippers were packing up. Further along she could see a group of teenagers playing volleyball and beyond that some fishermen with their rods sunk into the sand and their lines cast out into the ocean.
Unable to resist the lure of the sand, she kicked off her sandals, scooped them up by their straps and set off barefoot across the sand, it’s soft grains still warm underfoot from the day’s sun. To her right, ocean waves crashed ashore.
Her heart wasn’t ready to leave; her mind told her it was time to head back to reality.
When she had booked the trip that she’d dreamt of for so long, she’d told everyone “What I really want to experience is sunrise and sunset on the beach.” And she had…every day since she’d arrived.
Tonight would be her last sunset for a while; tomorrow her last sunrise before the Uber picked her up at lunchtime for the first leg of her journey home.
During the long dark months at home, she had checked the beachcam images of the beach and boardwalk daily. As she’d gazed at her laptop screen, she had promised herself when she finally made the trip that she would visit the bar in the foreground of the webcam view and enjoy a drink gazing out over the ocean.
The first night when she’d walked in there alone, her heart had been pounding, her anxieties crashing through her like one of the powerful ocean breakers that were breaking on the shore behind her. Walking into a bar alone was way outside her comfort zone but she knew she had a promise to herself to keep so, taking a deep breath, she walked across the room to the bar. She took a seat on a tall cocktail stool at the bar and ordered a margarita.
She’d done it. Another promise from the list honoured.
Around the same time the following evening, she’d returned to the bar for another margarita. This time it felt less daunting.
On her third night when she’d walked in feeling confident, the bartender had smiled as he saw her approach and began to mix her cocktail. When she went to pay for the drink, he told her the check had been taken care of.
There was someone sitting on the stool next to her usual spot when she entered on her fourth night.
“Chris, mix the lady’s margarita,” the stranger had instructed then turning to smile at her, said, “Good day on the beach?”
“Perfect,” she’d replied feeling a little flutter of nerves.
“Been beautiful today,” he’d agreed before introducing himself.
And so, her holiday margarita ritual had begun.
Each evening he was there waiting for her. A couple of nights they had gone for a walk along the boardwalk; a couple of nights the following week they had gone for dinner. He had been the perfect gentleman, proving to be easy to talk to and a good listener. Gradually, through casual conversation, they got to know each other, the first seeds of friendship sown over their margaritas.
When she stepped up onto the boardwalk from the beach, she found him standing watching her.
“Hi,” she called as she brushed sand from her feet before slipping them back into her sandals.
“Hi,” he greeted her as she walked towards him. “The lure of another walk on the sand too much to resist?”
“Always,” she laughed. “Going to be hard leaving here tomorrow.”
“Then don’t.”
“Pardon?”
“Stay,” he suggested simply, slipping his hand into hers. The fit instantly felt natural to her.
“I can’t….” she began.
Gazing down at her, he said, “What if you gave yourself permission to say yes?”
The next promise on the list waiting to be honoured was “be happy”.
Deep inside the flame burns quietly.
It flickers and dances as emotions fly by.
Some days its dim as reality takes its toll.
Some days it dances momentarily bright.
Even on the darkest of days its still there safe inside.
I nurture and treasure its warmth,
The heart of my soul at its core.
All that I am wrapped up within it.
Buried deep inside the light is me, the real me,
Tucked away safely,
Protected from reality,
Tended with love and patience,
Until the day comes when the flame can blaze brightly once more.
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Tagged #CoralMcCallum, #IndieAuthor, #innerflame, #poem, #poetry, #poetryblog
Every Autumn as I meander after work along my usual route, I pass two specific trees. The first is part way down the hill from our house. The second is further along the main road, a couple of hundred metres past the lighthouse. Both shed “wee hairy balls” in the Autumn and in those balls are slightly flattened chestnuts. (Keep it clean, folks. I can hear you sniggering.)
(credit to the owner Anna Elias via Getty Images – sourced via Google)
I’ll be honest, until a few minutes ago when I did a little Googling, I had no idea what kind of trees they were. Turns out they are sweet chestnuts.
(credits to the owner mikromano via Getty Images – sourced via Google Images)
Last Autumn, having had success the year before at planting acorns which have grown into young oak trees, I decided to gather up a dozen of these chestnuts and plant them in the hope of repeating my success.
(credits to the owner Nenov via Getty Images – sourced via Google Images)
From my experience with the acorns, I know it takes a long time for “trees” to germinate. I planted my twelve sweet chestnuts in late Autumn, nurtured them all Winter ensuring that their pot was sheltered from the storms and in the Spring, I was reward with several wee green shoots.
Success!!
For the past few weeks, I have nurtured the young plants and watched them grow…and grow…and grow.
Suspicion set in…. trees are slow growing, are they not?
What was I actually growing from these “sweet chestnuts”?
Buds started to form…flower buds!
An lo and behold, from twelve sweet chestnuts I have grown a pot of red poppies!
What alchemy is this? LOL
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Tagged #alchemy, #blogger, #CoralMcCallum, #growing, #nature, #poppy, #sweetchestnut
“Which author (famous or not) is your greatest writing influence?”
That’s the question I stumbled across when I was scrolling through Facebook recently. (Yes, I know I should have been writing and not wasting time scrolling!) I paused to think…
I went and stood in front of my bookshelves and gazed at the familiar titles, remembering scenes and characters from many of them fondly.
After a few minutes, I realised that I can’t single out just one author’s name in order to answer the question.
I drew up a list.
Here it is along with my reason for choosing said author.
Paulo Coehlo -for his encouragement via The Alchemist to chase my dreams.
Stephen King – for his encouragement to be a “storyteller” first and foremost.
Anita Shreve – for showing me the importance of a good house in the story. She has written several novels set in the same house at different points in time. Great books.
Diana Gabaldon – for teaching me that a story will be as long as it will be and a series will last as long as it needs to in order to tell the whole story.
John Irving – for teaching me its ok for your characters to have flaws, obsessions, bad habits and personality quirks. Love his books!
JRR Tolkien– for showing me the beauty of the use of language itself to tell a story. Lord of the Rings is the best written book I have ever read.
Kathryn Stockett– for inspiring me to write and develop characters you can hear in your head as you’re reading. If you’ve read The Help, hopefully you’ll have heard Aibileen talking to you.
There are countless others whose word has touched me in so many ways. At the heart of this creative path I’m walking is my fundamental love of books and a good story with good characters.
One other author I would mention here is Gregory David Roberts, for reminding me to persevere with writing the story, to keep going no matter what adversity you face and not to give up on yourself. If you’ve not read his debut novel Shantaram, I’d encourage you to add it to your “To Be Read” list. It’s a tome at around 900 pages but it’s a fabulous read! I first read it about 15 years ago and am currently re-reading it, something I rarely do with books.
If the books you’ve read haven’t inspired you or touched your soul yet, perhaps you’ve just not stumbled across the right storyteller. Keep searching. Keep reading. Or even better, try writing.
The world needs more storytellers.
And , yes, I know my bookshelves are chaotic! Ha Ha
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Coral McCallum 