Excerpt from “The Love Affair”


POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Excerpt from “The Love Affair”

By Nandy Ekle

Jose was really her perfect match. His cream-colored skin never changed and his dark eyes always showed her reflection back to her. The reflection of herself she saw in those deep gorgeous mirrors was beautiful. She giggled as she thought about his weight. Sometimes he was pretty hefty, and sometimes he was slim. But he was always the most wonderful sight for her eyes, especially on Super Bowl Sunday each year.

She straightened the front of her floral print chiffon dress and adjusted the sleeves around the upper part of her arms. Dabbing on a spray of cologne, she checked to make sure her teeth weren’t wearing her lipstick. Yes, the age showed in her face, but she could live with a little maturity. Bryan never seemed to notice; Jose would love it.

She flounced down the stairs and saw her beefy husband looking over the nest she had built for him.

“What kinda’ sammiches?”

“Bologna. I know what you like.”

“Sure do. Thanks, babe.” He grabbed one bread triangle and bit half of it, chewing with a glop of mustard on his chin. Snagging a bottle from the cooler next to him, he plopped down and wielded the remote like a scepter.

“’at’s a good sammich,” he said around his chewing. A soggy piece of bread flew out of his mouth and hit her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she answered through gritted teeth while brushing the goop away.

He swallowed. “Sorry,” he said without looking at her. He pointed the remote control at the television like a king commanding his loyal subjects.

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Excerpt from “The Love Affair”


POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Excerpt from “The Love Affair”

By Nandy Ekle

Jose was really her perfect match. His cream-colored skin never changed and his dark eyes always showed her reflection back to her. The reflection of herself she saw in those deep gorgeous mirrors was beautiful. She giggled as she thought about his weight. Sometimes he was pretty hefty, and sometimes he was slim. But he was always the most wonderful sight for her eyes, especially on Super Bowl Sunday each year.

She straightened the front of her floral print chiffon dress and adjusted the sleeves around the upper part of her arms. Dabbing on a spray of cologne, she checked to make sure her teeth weren’t wearing her lipstick. Yes, the age showed in her face, but she could live with a little maturity. Bryan never seemed to notice; Jose would love it.

She flounced down the stairs and saw her beefy husband looking over the nest she had built for him.

“What kinda’ sammiches?”

“Bologna. I know what you like.”

“Sure do. Thanks, babe.” He grabbed one bread triangle and bit half of it, chewing with a glop of mustard on his chin. Snagging a bottle from the cooler next to him, he plopped down and wielded the remote like a scepter.

“’at’s a good sammich,” he said around his chewing. A soggy piece of bread flew out of his mouth and hit her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she answered through gritted teeth while brushing the goop away.

He swallowed. “Sorry,” he said without looking at her. He pointed the remote control at the television like a king commanding his loyal subjects.

Excerpt from THE SPRING OF 2025


POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Excerpt from

THE SPRING OF 2025

By Nandy Ekle

Raylene and Sherry handed their tickets over and were led to the car. Raylene felt the same old butterflies in her stomach and sweat spring out on her hands.

“Are sure this is safe?” She asked the woman buckling her in.

“Oh, yeah,” the woman answered. “Nick has been running this thing for a long time. He’s very careful with his passengers. He checks the machinery and stuff over and over.”

“So it’s working okay? We’re not going to be stranded in this seat?” Raylene felt Sherry roll her eyes. “I mean, well, I’m a little scared of heights and I don’t want to be stuck at the top.”

“Oh, no, ma’am. You’ll do just fine.” The woman smiled, waved at Nick standing at the control center, and backed away. “You’ll be fine.” Nick touched a dial on the board and their seat went backward and raised off the ground, then stopped so the next car could be filled with passengers.

Raylene took some deep breaths. She closed her eyes and gripped the safety bar for dear life. After a minute she heard Sherry muttering under her breath.

 

Words From the Masters


POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Words From the Masters

 

A writer is a world trapped in a person. —Victor Hugo

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. —William Wordsworth

Quiet people have the loudest minds. —Stephen King

Be courageous and try to write in a way that scares you a little. —Holley Gerth

Don’t be a writer. Be writing. —William Faulkner

Take your character to the edge of who he is. —writingeekery.com

You can’t blame a writer for what the characters say. —Truman Capote

A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity. —Franz Kafka

A writer is someone who has taught their mind to misbehave. —Oscar Wilde

Forget the rules. Rules are for editors. Just write. —THEINVISIBLEAUTHOR.

NEW BOOK COMING SOON!


POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

NEW BOOK COMING SOON!
By Nandy Ekle

Coming soon, as in within the month, One Murderous Week, an anthology of seven short stories previously published on line. It will be available in ebook and in print. Enjoy!

At the End of the Day


POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

 

At the End of the Day

by Nandy Ekle

Eight to nine hours sitting in a chair at a desk in an office. I collect a paycheck every other week, pay my bills, buy food for my family, and go to the doctor regularly. For the first few years, I loved my day job. But lately, not so much. I read the same contract over and over (and over and over and over and over… ). And it seems like procedures change without notice, and then I’m called on the carpet because I didn’t see it coming.

And so, my dreams of the future have shifted.

One day not long ago (probably about 31 days ago), my muse turned up at my front door begging to be let back in. Of course, I grabbed her and held her as tightly as I could. All I could say was, “Of course!” and “I’ll never let you go away again!” To which she replied, “I promise never to leave you again!”

Today, as I sat at my desk reading the same contracts over and over and answering the same questions over and over, in the back of my mind I heard, “I’m waiting for you to get home. I have lots of words to tell you.”

And that made the day go much faster.

Congratulations. You have just receive a post card from the muse.

 

Knock Knock


POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Knock Knock

By Nandy Ekle

 

 

Going back through some stories I have written over the years when it happens.

 

KNOCK KNOCK

Who’s there?

Muse

Muse who? I haven’t heard from Muse in forever. Be more specific.

Muse with words for you.

You’re kidding! You’ve been gone for so long. I thought you were dead.

Nope. I’m here right now. Let me in.

On one condition. Never leave me again.

Done!

*Opening the door* Look at you! You’re loaded down with stories! Come in and unload!

Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.

 

 

Consider the Onion


POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Consider the Onion

By Nandy Ekle

This is not a cooking lesson, or a nutrition lesson, even though I am a pretty good cook, and know enough about nutrition that I raised three kids to health adulthood. But I want to consider the onion as a metaphor. And this is nothing new. Onions have made famous metaphors for time out of mind. I just feel like it’s my turn to consider the onion.

A lot of people don’t like onions in their food because they’re so strong, maybe a little hot on the tongue, they make you cry when you cut them up, they smell bad, and some people claim to get headaches when they eat onions (maybe because of the smell). But these are exactly the reasons onions are needed in our diet.

And so, as writers, we will examine the onion as an ingredient for our stories. First of all, they have layers. Some onions have what seem to be thousands of layers. And our stories should also have layers. The more layers we have in our stories, the better. We want thick, strong purple layer on the outside to get the reader’s attention, but we also want the thicker, juicier layers the deeper we go. This is the flavor of the story. And we want the very center, the core, to be so soft and sweet, so heart gripping, that our readers weep with every cut they make closer to the center.

We also treasure that smell. Now, it is true that an onion’s odor is not really a perfume we want to go to the store to buy. In fact, it has the reputation of being one of the worst smells in the world. But really and truly, isn’t that how we identify that it’s an onion? But then, we add heat to it, and guess what happens. The smell and the flavor change to something so mouth watering we can’t wait to eat.

So there you go. Add heat to your story. You can add a slow, all-day heat and watch the story turn different colors before your eyes. Then when your reader eats it, it will melt in their mouths and they won’t be able to stop reading. Or you can apply high fast heat, which will bring out the sweetness quickly, causing your readers to beg for more, more, more.

And then there’s the tears when you cut the onion. And when your readers cut to the middle of your story, what could be better than a good cry?

Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.

Happy New Year!


POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Happy New Year!

By Nandy Ekle

Ok. Public resolution setting time. Gonna finish at least 5 previously begun writing projects and get them published. Finish two cross stitch projects previously begun. Finish reading ALL THE BOOKS. Go to Winchester House in October. And stay low key next Christmas.

Watch for upcoming announcements.