The meaning of the seasons to me

What the four seasons mean to me. 

 Each has its good points and bad.

Spring brings flowers & Butterflies. 

Summer provides us hot days and sunshine.

Not sure where the summer went this year. We ended ours with a vacation to Tybee Island, Georgia and spent some much needed time with my Dad.

Fall is pumpkin spice lattes, wine, apple picking and cool nights.

These two are trouble. Rake the leaves and they will jump in the pile every time.

Winter equals snuggle weather, fires in the fireplace, and snow.

First snow is always pretty.  By the third or fourth go round, not so much.

All the pictures I've posted are mine to share. I enjoy all four seasons. As I sit here with my first pumpkin spice coffee of the day, I'm doing my best to write this blog and come up with something worthy that someone else would want to read. As an author, I've found that it's difficult to write on occasion. Inspiration is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Sometimes its a struggle. So please forgive me if today, I'm not too interesting. My writing partner tries to help, but doesn't seem to understand the concept of personal space.

I'm sharing a snippet of a short story titled: Lake Chariot, which  has a TBR for (hopefully) November 2016. At the moment, I'm still waiting for the cover from the publisher. This story will be included in the "Fear the Tarot" anthology from 13Thirty Books. BTW, this was my first attempt at horror. It became more of a paranormal with a twisted ghost story.

Lake Chariot

(unedited version)

     Anora reread the first words she’d managed to write in over six months. With the stress of her divorce and the battle with him in court over the rights to her novels, it was refreshing to at least be in front of the computer. All that “he said, she said” scenario had torn her apart. His claim to have been instrumental in the creation of her Josie James mystery novels was ludicrous. The judge initially leaned in his favor. Thank God, her smart attorney requested proof of Tony’s knowledge of the storyline, without using any media devices to retrieve information while in court. When he couldn’t give basic particulars concerning the characters, titles, or plots of any of the thirty-six best sellers in that series, the judge was forced to reconsider.

     Since there was no prenup, the ass was awarded a decent chunk of her money as reimbursement of all the years he’d worked to support her writing “hobby”. If the judge had known the amount of verbal abuse, the lies, and the humiliation she’d suffered in silence… It didn’t matter. It was over. It wouldn’t have made a difference in the judge’s decision. He was a man and men stuck together. Tony hadn’t been a controlling, manipulative monster when they met, but he turned into one the instant she created a formidable name for herself in the publishing industry. Anora kicked herself daily over that mistake made while wearing the blinders of love and stupidity.

    Hobby! She snorted. The judge called her work a hobby. Her lawyer had soothed her anger by saying he was just jealous that one book alone made double the benchwarmer’s yearly salary. That still made the edge of her lips twitch into a small smile.

     She leaned back, staring at the blinking cursor. Here she sat working on book number thirty-seven. Words whirled around her brain, trying to form a blockbuster start to her latest creation, but what she’d written didn’t ignite her imagination or make her fingers itch to burn up the keyboard.

“Pure crap,” she muttered under her breath. Her finger hovered over the delete key, but never landed.

     She jumped as a bright flash of lightning filled the room, illuminating the shadows that had taken over. Thunder rumbled across the slate shingles of the old cabin on Lake Chariot at the same time a hand landed on her shoulder.