Sustaining Mood via Fantasy & Science Fiction
Sunday, Sept 13th, 2:00 pm at Unity Center
Dear Members of the Columbia Chapter of the Mo Writers Guild:
We are happy to announce that we just held an audit of our financial situation and the recommendations are included here. The Board will take the recommendations given by Bob Ackermann into account as we meet in the near future. As well, Suzanne our treasurer has made a proposed budget that we can work from and make decisions as we go into the new year of 2015 and beyond.
2015 CCMWG President
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” said Joni, laughing loudly enough to be heard by the woman and man sitting on a sofa at the far end of the room. “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” The child smiled broadly so that, when she stopped laughing, they would still notice how happy she was.
Twenty or more children stood in rows on a raised platform at the east end of a long room. When the front row had undergone adequate scrutiny, as indicated by nods from the woman and man on the sofa, three teachers stepped up onto the stage and directed the children in the front row to return to the back while the second row stepped forward. Wave upon wave, the rows of children rhythmically replaced themselves.
It was a bleak day; a gray day, the kind of day that if you didn’t have to go to work you’d just pull up the covers and stay in bed. But you wouldn’t enjoy that either, Joni thought.
She looked out the grimy window of her dreary room at the barren harvested field beyond the motel’s parking lot. “Empty,” she muttered to herself. As empty as her life since Roger had pulled up stakes and left her all alone on the outskirts of this Godforsaken, down-at-the-heels farm town.
Urban Fantasy Author, Liz Schulte is our first entry in our “Show not Tell” Challenge. What was the challenge? Show this: “Joanie/Joni is really sad.”
The curtains were pulled tight and the wood blinds closed. There was still too much light. Joanie’s feet shuffled across the bedroom floor pushing cold, wet tissues out of the way. With a sniffle, she wiped beneath her nose and knocked away another errant tear with the back of her hand—there seemed to be no end to them. No matter what she did, she couldn’t piece herself back together.
She sank into bed, pulling the plush, warm cover over her head. Finally it was dark enough to remember or forget, but she hadn’t made up her mind which one she’d do yet. Both choices were equally devastating. A shaky breath escaped her tight chest as a new round of tears spilled down her cheeks.
She wasn’t just bent, she was broken.