Hair askew

and sequins in her eyes,

black silk dress

clinging to her curves.

Little sparkles

polka dot his palms.

He itches to slide

her sexy dress,

glide it past her hips,

uncovering to find

sunken treasure there.

Hidden in her pockets,

he finds more sequins

fallen from her hair,

sticking to his fingers,

gluing them together

never will they part,

sharing forever

one sequined heart.

     "I promise, Susan, the void was better yesterday!"

     "Kathy, what it was like yesterday doesn't matter if it's swallowed three volunteers and a janitor today! Get that black hole out of the teacher's lounge or you're no longer secretary."

     Susan (you know, the president of the Parent Teacher Association?) bustled out of the lounge carrying a box full of t-shirts that would be on sale in front of the school within the hour. Kathy, the newly elected secretary, stared into the nothingness where the vending machine that only sold Coke usually was with something between apprehension and desire. 

     "If I walk into it, I won't have to deal with Susan's crap anymore. But then Andrew won't be able to go on the end-of-year field trip. Damned conditional scholarship; whose idea was that in the first place?"

     Kathy began by putting up caution tape between the wall and the counter, careful to not fall into the black space, which was now emitting a sinister whispering. Or maybe it was just white noise; she couldn't quite tell over the screaming of the principal down the hall. It was a third Friday, which was Presentation Day (as everyone knew), and giving a PowerPoint displaying the school's monthly progress to the county superintendent was every administrator's worst nightmare. The secretary then printed a sign in large Comic Sans font, displaying "CAUTION: VOID HERE - DO NOT ENTER", though she knew it was practically useless since everyone thought they were the exception to the rule. If they wanted to have their person absorbed by the pulsating shadow for the sake of an ice-cold Coke, so be it.

     Kathy left for five minutes to put the sign-up sheets for the next bake sale on the front table, where two visor-wearing mothers were exchanging money for tickets as they gossiped about Sharon ("She just remarried!" "So soon after her divorce? Very suspicious." "I know! And he's an accountant!" "Oh, this won't last."). The two lines of parents waiting to enter stretched down the steps, but Kathy knew that asking the women to hurry it up would only make her less popular, so she headed back through the office past the secretary, who was feeding the odd new fish, to the lounge.

     The void had spread, and now it was gnawing away at the edge of the pushpin-punctured announcement board. Kathy put up a new strand of caution tape and sat to ponder a solution in one of the red leather armchairs, where the attached sensors read her heart rate, her body temperature, her current emotions, and her opinion on the state of the decreasing whale population before sending the information to a satellite, which sent it to the county office to be read by someone in the Statistics Department and filed away, never to be seen by anyone else ever again. Kathy was comforted by the fact that there was someone out there paying attention to her feelings. 

     The darkness began to whisper- definitely whisper, not just emit vague noise. It was a little loud to be considered a whisper, but it wasn't normal volume talking and Kathy couldn't think of a better descriptive word. She listened to it, and moved perhaps closer than she should have in order to hear its message better. There were no distinctive words, although it had plenty to say, and she knew that it wanted something. This void, like all people and most living, self-aware organisms, wanted something.

     Susan came back.

     "Kathy! What are you doing?! It's still here! Do you want to lose your position? The fair is filling up and teachers and volunteers are going to be flooding in here for a break from their booths! Do you realize how much work goes into the snack stands? Or the educational presentations where we teach students and their parents to adhere to the status quo and accept the knowledge approved and censored by our county office and benevolent state government? Or the games, like Pin the Sacrifice to the Superintendent on the Altar, and Vote For the Right Candidates? Do you?"

     "I..." Kathy paused. She did know how much work went into the booths, and felt shamed for a moment before remembering that she helped set up the fair earlier that afternoon, and submitted most of the booth ideas at the committee meetings. She had done more work than, perhaps, even Susan had. 

     The void whispered. Kathy listened. 

     The void whispered to Kathy personally. Kathy listened, personally, to the void. 

     Kathy knew what it wanted. 

     She did something, whatever the pulsating blackness wanted, and Susan screamed some, and then she was gone and so was the void and what Kathy did never happened, and neither had Susan or the void.

     Tricia (you know, the president of the Parent Teacher Association?) entered to see Kathy taking down the caution tape from in front of the vending machine. 

     "Kathy? What are you doing!? You have to go man the costume stand! Everyone is vying for it to open; they all want their fake mustaches and personalities!"

     "I know, Tricia; I was just about to go. This caution tape was here for some reason and I thought I'd clean it up." Tricia bustled out in the privileged way that only rich soccer moms can.

     Kathy paused to put two dollars in the slot of the vending machine that only sold Coke, and considered her choices briefly before deciding and pressing the button for a Dr. Pepper. The little screen above the slot went black for a moment, reminding Kathy of something significant, also black, but she couldn't remember what she was reminded of. The screen flashed "$0.25 CHANGE" in neon green lettering, breaking her unremembered recollection, and a can of rootbeer tumbled down. Her change went somewhere else, but Kathy wasn't allowed the knowledge of where.

We find 

little fault

with the mouth

that bit 

the apple

when the lips

bowed and juicy

rival the yield

Does it cease 

to matter

the message

candy-coated

in a poison

so sweet

you can

no longer

tell the difference?

Beauty has

beguiled the eye

longer than 

our tongue

has tasted

the forsaken truth

its a miracle

at all 

that we 

even set foot

beyond Paradise

when her

ripe fruits

keep us 

infatuated with

the wretched tree.

Well, lovely Prosers; it’s that day of the week again. It’s Friday. Huzzah! So that means that we peek behind the doors of a Proser that we may or may not know. This week we head to the awesome city of San Francisco (my favourite American city – PaulDChambers) to find out all about a lady that lies behind the sobriquet of @PhynneBelle

P: What is your given name and your Proser username?

PH: Hallo Prosers! Some of you may know you me as Trish, but many of you know me by the moniker PhynneBelle. If you're nice, I'll even respond to Fish or Phone Bell.

P: Where do you live?

PH: I have lived in the San Francisco Bay Area, home of the Six Gallery and the Friday Poet's Salon for the past twenty-sixish years.

P: What is your occupation?

PH: I champion the cause of helpless furballs everywhere! I work in general medicine veterinary practice.

P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?

PH: Writing and I have been tempestuous lovers through many long years. Yes, I think that's a good way to visualize it. Perhaps we started out as very peripheral acquaintances while I had other creative outlets as affairs--intense infatuations with visual art and fashion, passion-filled dalliances with dance--but expressing and making order of my energetic, sometimes frenetic thoughts and ideas in poetic form has always been this constant, this very sane and centered solitude to which I return.

P: What value does reading add to both your personal and professional life?

PH: In reading, even genres and stories to which one would normally not be drawn, especially these initially "undesirable" topics or ideas, one's tastes are imperceptibly shaped. The interest is suddenly expanded or constricted to a very definite preference. For me, this easily parlayed into how I approach my own writing; there is an intuitive purveyor of sorts that shapes voice, story, direction, style.

P: Can you describe your current literary ventures and what can we look forward to in future posts?

PH: Is there every any predictability when comes to my writing? For better or worse, I write what the very moment whispers in my ear. Or what tends to wake me in the middle of the night, insisting on being heard and faithfully recorded. I admit I am being seduced once more into the genius of eloquence within brevity--I'd like to revisit there, see where it will lead. A peculiar notion (peculiar to me at least) popped in a few weeks ago to try out something episodic, something narrative, drawing on non-sequential recollections with a uniting element.

P: What do you love about Prose?

PH: The endless corridors and turns where I happen upon talented new writers. I have yet to discover everyone and that is both maddening and exciting! The like-minded friends I have made; I doubt I will meet a Proser that would be astonished should I ever decide to run away from my daily life, live in a shabby but picturesque cottage in a charming, minuscle village, subsist on toasted dandelions and homemade wine, and write my days away. It would be a plan insane to anyone else but fellow writers.

P: Is there one book that you would recommend everyone should read before they die?

PH: Maus by Art Spiegelman and Noli Me Tangere by Dr. Jose Rizal. Without at least a glance backward, we are devastatingly blind. The future is out of the question. We do it no favors by disrespect to what has already transpired. Lest we repeat the same mistakes.

P: Do you have an unsung hero who got you into reading and/or writing?

PH: At this very moment, three ladies popped into my mind:first there was my mama, who I have earliest memories of patiently reading to me from well-worn Golden Books. I also remember my fourth grade teacher Miss Ellis. My god, she scared me with her steel wool hair and her strict ways! But at years end, when my family and I were moving away to the Philippines, Miss Ellis gifted me with Carlo Collidi's "Adventures of Pinocchio." 

That book was my security blanket for my first homesick year. Then there was Bea, my mother-goddess, free-spirit, one-woman-fan club at the advent of my adult writing journey. She would supply exactly what was needed at the perfect moment: no nonsense advice, praise (even for the laziest and smarmiest of my writing endeavors!), and feedback. 

Oh, and Iyanla Vanzant! I mustn't forget. Bea was a big fan of quoting Iyanla Vanzant. I think those wise, wild woman ideas still stubbornly find their selves wedged between my words.

P: Describe yourself in three words.

PH: Incorrigible. Transparent. Real.

P: Is there one quote from a writer or otherwise that sums you up?

PH: "A mind lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer." Jane Austen

P: Favourite music to write and/or read to?

PH: Almost everything! Disney tunes, showtunes, no kidding. Right now, the Hamilton Mixtapes.

P: You climb out of a time machine into a dystopian future with no books. What do you tell them?

PH: "Sit down, everyone, and let me tell you a story..."

P: Is there anything else you would like us to know about you/your work/your social media accounts?

PH: I'm trying to share my writing world with the "real" world, a teensy bit at a time. I can be found lurking on Instagram (@phynne_belle), Twitter ( @PhynneBelle) and Facebook (@PhynneBelle and @WeAreWordWeavers). I've got a little bit of a theme going there, eh?

Thanks to PhynneBelle for letting us in. You know what happens now. Follow her, interact, like and all that business. Do YOU want to be featured? We’re running low on victims (I mean participants). Do you want to find out about another Proser and wish to volunteer them up for scrutiny? Then send us a message on info@theprose.com

God stop sending me angels 

I can´t bear another heartbreak 

I can´t bear another crack to my heart 

because it´s holding up with duct tape 

Perhaps it’s not been good

to venture forth without a plan.

Such slothful will, defined

or ill, finds naught to follow…

every effort starts to

stall in different

hall of fame; no blame.

Except for paltry piles

instead of miles plopped

far ahead of where

the mound was meant to be.

If I’d have found just

one completion sign,

the road to ‘done’

would rest much easier

on eyes rolled languid

past another day.

The first Friday of the New Year. Epic. HAPPY NEW YEAR PROSERS!!!!

So, this is a big ol’ doozy of a Friday Feature. You probably know this crazy lady (crazy as in good, not surrounded by 47 cats and shaking a bejewelled stick at passers-by kinda crazy) already, but if you don’t; you’re about to. People, meet the wonderful person that is AmandaHugNKiss – ha! Only joking, it’s the inimitable @AmandaCary

P: What is your given name and your Proser username?

A: Before I answer, I just want to say thank you so very much! This is by far the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me. I also need to take a moment to thank my mother because it’s standard practice.

Thank you, Mom.

My name is not Amanda Cary, it is actually Ashley Cavanagh. User name, @AmandaCary. I know it seems pretty ridiculous to use a real name as a screen name that isn’t my real name at all, but it’s a pen name my daughter gave me whilst attempting to write an erotic romance novel, so I kept it and love it dearly.

P: Where do you live?

A: I live in Texas, close to Dallas, on three acres of beautiful semi-wooded land with @MilesNowhere, four kiddos, a tiny pond full of tiny fish, a blue heeler, a devastatingly challenged King Charles Cavalier, lots of bunny rabbits, and Miles' two goldfish named Satan and Bernard.

P: What is your occupation?

A: Well, currently I am mom/wife/chauffer, but next month I am going back to work! @MilesNowhere and I own/operate a small property maintenance business, so I like to call myself a carpenter’s apprentice. To be honest, I just paint things and go to the hardware store and talk a lot while he works.

P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?

A: I’ve written since I was very young; poetry, stories, started a few books that I never finished, music, etc. Generally, the only thing I ever used it for was a cathartic outlet and a way to BS through essays in school, but I decided in the last year or so to just throw myself out there. I’ve sent multiple pieces to large contests, won a few small ones, been messed over by a couple of small “publishing companies” (I can give you guys a few tips on how to avoid these guys), and I found Prose along the way. It still serves as a way to purge myself of inner demons, but my goal now is to eventually find the resources and skill to make a living…one day…far, far away in Fairytale Writer’s Land, where I shall mount my golden unicorn and ride into the sunset with a leprechaun named Hal.

P: What value does reading add to both your personal and professional life?

A: Oh my, what value doesn’t reading add to life? The obvious, of course, entertainment, information, education.

Aside from the meat and potatoes, there is the delving into another person’s mind and picking them apart. Whether you prefer fiction, nonfiction, classic, fantasy, etc., you will pull something from the writer into yourself.

On a personal level, this creates a growth and open mind, connectivity to the people around you. You understand that the workings of the human mind are in no way, when speaking in terms greater than the cut and dry, standard or unequivocal. At the same time, we can all relate to the very primal core of what drives us a species and use this as a way to feel kinship towards one another - if that makes any sense.

On a professional level, making sure to keep up to date with what is going on in the literary world (i.e., styles, trends, language) should in essence help you break out and fit in just enough to raise a few eyebrows. One thing I’ve learned whilst trying to pave some kind of minuscule walking trail to a decent income is that while people are looking for unique, they are also looking for trendy. So, you have to be able to produce what people want and are reading in such a way they haven’t seen it yet. I guess.

The best example I can think of is prompt I was given for little supernatural romance novellas to be sold as e-books: “strong female lead; supernatural male lead; erotic but not too adult; can be about vampires, shapeshifters, ghosts; make it unique.”

It really helps to read in these cases to see that you are hitting the mark whilst simultaneously not hitting the mark that has been hit 342 times before.

P: Can you describe your current literary ventures and what can we look forward to in future posts?

A: As of now, the only thing I’m actively trying to achieve is to finish my first novel. On the side, I’ve been attempting to blog and ghostwrite academic articles, but I’m just not finding it fulfilling, to be honest.

I suppose you can one day expect a few more chapters to be added to “Of Those Born in Dyad” and lots of other “for the sake of writing” writing to be posted.

I am also thinking about taking the premise of my story “None” and turning it into some kind of short story series. It may not be worth much, but it holds a special place in my heart, so that will be enough to get it going for my own sake.

P: What do you love about Prose?

A: Oh, I love so many things about Prose! I love, love, love the bookstore! It’s a wonderful opportunity for the authors here to put their blood and tears out for others to enjoy! I can’t think of anything more important for a person who has spent so many long hours, so much hard work and dedication on their masterpiece, than to have it read and appreciated by an audience. It really is a great feature for Prose and its users.

I also love the challenges! Such a great way to stay on top of your game and continue to broaden your skills, reach outside of your comfort zone, and just have some fun with writing.

Of course, I also love the community here. I love the “pretty much anything goes” policy that seems to remain unwritten and respected. I can honestly say I’m pretty bad about responding to comments and reposts, so I’m not the best example for a person who takes advantage of it because I have an army of children to attend to, but it’s wonderful when I can!

P: Is there one book that you would recommend everybody should read before they die?

A: Am I allowed to feel embarrassed that I don’t have an absolute answer? I have a few that pop into my mind, but the first was “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy. It’s post-apocalyptic (who doesn’t like a good end-of-the-world read), it’s heartwarming, it’s devastating, it’s profound, it’s genius, and it’s going to make you cry.

I have also always loved the novel “The Mists of Avalon” by Marion Zimmer Bradley. I can’t even say exactly why, but if you haven’t read it, read it!

P:Do you have an unsung hero who got you into reading and/or writing?

A: Ha! Okay, so also a bit embarrassing. When I was a child, we were very poor. I mean, like food pantry, Ramen Noodle, Hamburger Helper, racing cockroaches for entertainment poor, so one thing we didn’t have many of were books.

One summer when I was around 11, my aunt Mary came to stay with us and left a huge box full of Harlequin romance novels for my mother. I snuck them out and stayed up night after night reading them and probably learned way too much about adult relations, but she is who I can attribute (blame for) my love of books!

P: Describe yourself in three words!

A: I don’t know.

P: Is there one quote, from a writer or otherwise, that sums you up?

A: @MilesNowhere nicknamed me Fruitcake. That’s the best I can come up with.

P: Favourite music to write and/or read to?

A: I will always love grunge and nineties college rock. I do not like metal. I love to write to classical, preferably strings with no percussion. Sometimes I turn on Florence Foster Jenkins because she makes me feel a bit whacky and wonderful!

I’m a lyrics girl, and I also love folk music, some alternative country, old-school soul (that sounds really corny). Anything beautiful and melodic, and I love edgy. Some of my favorite artists are The Counting Crows, Jason Isbell, Gillian Welch, The Shins, Father John Misty, Sean Hayes, Hilary Hahn, and so many more. If I name them, it’ll take up the entire page.

P: You climb out of a time machine into a dystopian future with no books. What do you tell them?

A: I would tell them to write. No need for explaining the past. Just write their hearts out and it will reform itself, and a whole new era of literature will be born.

P: Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you/your work/social media at accounts?

A: I am not a very exciting person, actually quite introverted. I used to run a small cottage bakery with Miles called Fruitcake’s Mad Yummies. Hmmm…I play guitar and sing, actually spent a lot of time doing that before I settled down. I once worked for an Elvis impersonator who ran a small diner that served a 14-course meal to 60 people every Saturday. I have sung the song “Black Velvet” so many times that I now automatically vomit if I hear it.

I’m also a transcriptionist, but it’s miserable work, so it’s not something I do on a regular basis anymore unless I find the subject interesting.

Feel free to find me on Facebook, although I can’t promise I’ll ever be around, and when I am, I usually just post kid pictures and Donald Trump memes, so pretty boring.

Again, thank you so much! I love and enjoy Prose and all you Prosers to the point of forcing myself to limit my time here for fear of becoming molded into the desk chair. It is a beautiful piece of the creative interwebs.

Thank you for all you do!

Round of applause for @AmandaCary – and you know what happens next. Follow, like, love and interact if you don’t already do so on here. You also know what to do if you want to be featured or know someone that does: or that you’d like to know more about. 

Do it! Do it here: info@theprose.com

(Lol hey guys I'm alive and here to write more for the Nightingale series. And hopefully more. Hope you guys enjoy this installment! Also side note for later on in this part: in the universe I've created magic can be done without a conduit [like without a wand or stave/staff] but with one the magic is able to be performed on a larger scale and more powerful and the person casting it has more control. Anyways enjoy!)

"So how is it being the apprentice to the big ol' great Mage? Like what does she teach you? Is it fun? Or does he talk like my old teacher and just goes on and on and on and on?" Vivienne asks excitedly as she leads you somewhere.

You laugh and let her know the Mage is a great woman. You explain how her lessons are always exciting, especially considering how you've always loved magic. Every lesson you received from her was exciting and made you excited to take on her role. You tell her how the Mage felt like the mother you had always dreamed of. Your face falls after you say that and you go quiet.

Vivienne stops and turns to you.

"Is everything...alright? Did I touch a sensitive topic? Ohmygosh I'm sorry!" Vivienne exclaims

You shake your head and tell her it's alright. You tell her how you grew up in an orphanage in the capital city. You had friends and the people who ran the orphanage were nice, but you never had a proper family. Then when you began practicing magic and excelled beyond everyone's expectations is when you became the Mage's apprentice. You smile as you tell her how the Mage gave you the sense of family. You tell Vivienne not to worry too much as it's all in the past now.

Vivienne nods and sighs.

She smiles, "Anyways, c'mon let's get to practicing!"

~

Vivienne leads you to a building that resembles a green house. Inside there are plants, however there appears to be a mage's study shoved in as well. Bookshelves, a desk, and various other magic necessities are scattered throughout the building. You laugh at the site before you, having always studied in dusty libraries and high towers. Vivienne turns to you and smiles.

"What?" She asks, "I love natural magic so this seemed like the best course of action. Gee and Markus helped me set everything up."

You simply tell her you had a very stereotypical experience when you learned magic.

She laughs, "Ah, my first teacher always told me that if I were to continue magic I should do it in a place I love. And this is it; I'm surrounded by the best people and I have a workspace where I am able to do whatever nature magic I want. It's perfect! Oh, speaking of magic I love, what's your favorite magic to do? Or are you one of those people who can't decide?"

You smile and tell her you've done all sorts of magic and just haven't found the right one, and that the Mage was helping you find it.

"That makes sense. Oooo! Can you show me something the Mage taught you? Like, um, maybe something she did at the festivals?"

You nod, saying those spells were some of the first she taught you. You summon your stave. It appears before you in a small magic cloud. Your stave is an elegant one. It is made out of a dark oak wood, with veins of a dark blue jewel tracing up and down it. At the top an intricately twisted metal forms a half cage where an orb, which is always changing colors, delicately floats. You grab the stave and see Vivienne's shocked expression. You cock your head to the side and ask her why she's shocked.

"Summoning your stave like that...! It was so clean! It was amazing! You just did it with such ease! Wow!" Vivienne exclaims, "Summon spells are usually the hardest and you just did that with no problem! Also your stave is so pretty! Mine is just a simple wooden one with a dark green orb fixed to the top, nothing fancy. Anyways, sorry for freaking out like that. Magic just always makes me excited."

You nod and tell her you understand completely. Using your stave you say a short incarnation. A galaxy swirls out of the orb and takes its place around the room. You see Vivienne looking around, her face shining brighter than the stars. You sheepishly ask her what she thinks.

"This was always my favorite part during the festivals," she responds, amazement in her voice, "and you've just recreated for me. It's amazing!"

You smile and take a mock bow. Just as you're about to say something, Gee frantically throws open the door.

"Save the magic show for later; we've got a problem," she states.