Waiting…

It occurred to me, as I sit here waiting, that we do a lot of that in our life.  We wait and wait.

When I was twelve I couldn’t wait to be sixteen. In my pre-pubescent mind if I were sixteen I might be treated differently, maybe adults would take me seriously and they’d stop treating me like a child. I could get my licence and really take charge of my life. 

When I was a senior in high school I couldn’t wait to be done. I truely belived I had outgrown high school and I was ready for the new challenge of post secondary. 

And the list of waiting for big life accomplishments could go on!

As for little insignificant waiting well…

I waited for my doctor, who always overbooked and made each patient wait over an hour.

Buses, street cars, subways and rides shared with friends. Much of my waiting in my teens and twenties was in transit. 

We wait and wait. I’m wondering though- if we take the time to observe humanity while we wait or make connections with new people. Maybe that makes all the waiting worth while.

As for the big life events we wait for- now that I’m forty- I wait for nothing (sort of). I’m living in the moment. Enjoying every second that I can. And if I have to wait…well I keep myself busy. Challenging myself to enjoy every minute of the time. And make use of it wisely!

Wait… One more thing! Don’t wait for love to find you- go find love (in all its forms) yourself!

Luv,

Brooke

Shattered- Flash Fiction.

Shattered-Flash Fiction

Shuffling into the kitchen with her house coat and slippers still on, Bethany filled and turned on the kettle. She stood mindlessly rubbing her eyes sleepily until she felt awake enough to gather their mugs, a couple of tea bags and some milk.

Once the kettle had boiled she began her tea making ritual. Dropping the tea bag in first, she poured the boiling water over, added some milk and stirred the mixture together. Then squeezed the bag against the side of each mug leaching out all of the heavenly caffeinated liquid she could before dumping the tea bag in the compost and dropping the spoon with a clatter in the sink.

By-passing the use of the proper teapot was most certainly causing her grandmother to stir in her grave, but then, Bethany always did consider herself a rebel.

She’d been staring down at her cold tea when the clambering sounds of her husband coming down the stairs made her look up. In his hand he carried two large suitcases.

“I guess I shouldn’t I expect you for dinner?” She asked, noting that her voice still sounded groggy and tried. “I didn’t know you had a business trip, where to?” She asked, taking a sip of her cold tea.

“I’m leaving.” He replied.

“Well, of course you are.” She chuckled at her own wit.

“No, Bethany, I’m leaving you.” He corrected. “And our marriage, and this home.”

“Oh…” She was dumbfounded.

Bethany recalled the night before, their romantic dinner, the love-making. They’d been fighting and off for far too long, sure. But…this? She’d thought it had been re-conciliatory sex. Now she saw it for what it really was, consolation or goodbye sex.

She took a sip of the reached and bitter tea, still processing this new bit of information.

Her husband stared at her for a time.

“It’s Sheila, isn’t it?” She asked. This new secretary he hired always wore sexy high-heeled boots and skin-tight pencil skirts. She dressed like a tart.

“Sheila? Good God no,” he paused, “let’s not do this okay? It won’t change anything.”

“No, we’re doing this. Right now. Right here. I need to know.” Her anger struck out like a venomous snake.

She waited.

His silence tasted bitter.

“For fuck’s sake, who is it Thomas?” She stood up from the table and began spewing out names of every possible women they knew. It was horrific behaviour and utterly cliché, but she couldn’t help it.

“Stop it, just stop it,” he cried out in defence. “It’s Johnathan, Okay? It’s Johnathan”

It was Johnathan. Figures. There was no way she could compete with a man. Bethany’s legs were wobbly, she had to sit down.

“I’m so sorry. I truly am.” There was a sadness in his eyes. “I never really meant for this to happen” He stepped forward, thought better of it and turned away.

Bethany silently watched her husband open the door, suitcases in hand and leave, closing the door behind him. There wasn’t anything else to say.

She picked up his mug from the table hurled it across the room, it hit the floor and shattered into tiny pieces, just as she had shattered into pieces.

There were no tears. And no anger. Just a silent void, that Bethany knew would remain for a while. After a time, she collected a towel, broom and dust pan and swept the tiny pieces of the broken cup.

Cleaning the floor after her angry outburst, Bethany realized something she hadn’t thought about before. She was a coffee person after all.

The End

Hey there lovely people in the big wide world of the web. Can you please comment and let me know if you like this one? I am unsure of the ending. This particular story has been sitting in a dusty folder on my Mac for a while. Much appreciated! 

Luv, 

Brooke

 

Escape- Flash Fiction

“Let’s give the children away,” Jenny suggested.

“We can’t, no one would take them, they’re little shits,” he replied with a grin, taking the last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ash tray beside the bed. Naked and sweaty he got up and headed for the shower.

“They are not little shits!” She cried out with laughter and picked the pillow up tossing it at his ass as he walked away.

“Maybe not, but the fact remains there is no one to pawn the little devils off to.” The door to the washroom closed and she flopped back down on the bed. Was it too much to ask for a weekend away, for a bit of silence? She’d never imagined peace and quiet was such a precious commodity.

“Damn, he’s right,” she said to the empty room.

The sound of the crackling monitor beside her on the night stand reminded her that she was never truly alone. Despite her own wish to stay in bed all afternoon, she got up and dressed. The baby would be waking from his afternoon nap soon anyway and their two eldest boys were at school for a couple more hours. Thank god.

“I tell you what,” her husband opened the bathroom door and stepped into the room in mid-sentence. The towel was wrapped around his waist so low, she wished she hadn’t taken the time to get dressed. She might’ve persuaded him to stay home a bit longer. “I’ll book a weekend away if you look into a babysitter or something,” he continued. “Someone to come to the house.”

“Really?” She hopped into his arms and smacked a huge kiss on his lips.

“Absolutely,” he pried her arms off his shoulders and grabbed his uniform. “Anyway, you have the hard part. You’re the one that has to find someone experienced enough to deal with our three little devils.”

“I’m up for the task. I just need to know when.” She began to help her husband with the buttons on his shirt.

“How about in three weeks?” he suggested “And as an added bonus if we didn’t manage to secure a bun in your oven this go around, we can try again when we’re away.”

“That could work,” She resisted looking her husband directly, mentally counting the days of her cycle. “You sure do clean up nice,” she commented. Finishing with the shirt—she flattened her hand against his chest and ran it down the shirt, going lower and lower.

“Don’t tempt me to start things up again.” He caught her hand before it got too far. “I have to be in court this afternoon.” He grabbed his utility belt from the chair and wrapped it around his waist.

“I just wish you didn’t have to go into work. When you’re on afternoons time seems to go by so quickly.”

“I know, I don’t want to leave you either.” he replied.

But, with a swift kiss he was off and Jenny was left in their bedroom wondering just how she would manage the three little monsters she already had, let alone another one.

As she walked down the stairs to the kitchen she picked up a doll with the eyes gouged out. Gawd they really were shits. No eyes! Really? She walked into the kitchen and tossed the doll in the trash.

Jenny turned on the kettle to make herself a cup of tea, sat down at the table in front of her lap top and opened it. She searched for the babysitters website and began filling out the form for help wanted.

She typed, Experienced Babysitter that Can Handle Three Little Devils Wanted in the title line. Erased it. Tried again.

Desperate Mom, needs a get away. HELP! Jenny hit the delete key continuously again until the subject field was clear.

She tried one more time. Spend the best weekend ever with three fun and energetic boys! Top dollar paid. That should do it, Jenny thought. She finished the ad feeling hopeful.

The kettle finished boiling, so Jenny got up and finished making her tea. When she was done, she checked her inbox on the babysitters wanted website. Sure enough two very capable looking ladies had replied. Jenny felt a little giddy.

Two possible babysitters—that was good—because there was no way they would come back after a night with all three of her boys.

Just then the phone rang. Jenny looked at the phones call display. Damn, it was the school again. She left the call go to the machine and finished her tea.

The EndIMG_2289

Healing by Nature

Many of you who know me, will know that I spend copious amounts of time outside during the summer months.

This past week I spent five glorious days in the wonderful wilderness.

Everyday I took a walk amongst the trees, luxuriated in the scent of nature and feasted on the sights and sounds my home away from home provided. I was lucky enough to be close to a lovely lake that was clear and just the right temperature to help cool me down after a day in the sun. The perfect break from the everyday. IMG_5826

When I am not lucky enough to be camping, you will find me in the provincial park close to my home. Catching some clean air under the trees and listening to the wind tussle the leaves.

I do this for several reasons. As a writer I can sit at my desk for far too many hours not moving anything but my fingers on the key board, I find I need a good walk to get my blood moving and mind clear. I’ve also read some articles that describe walks in the outdoors, specifically under a canopy of trees as a way to boost your mental health and well-being. But most of all, I go out and enjoy nature because it makes me very happy to do so.

IMG_5758I walk almost every day, in the shade of forest for at least an hour, sometimes more. And I can attest to the fact that it helps clear my mind, puts life in perspective and gives me the energy to better handle the stress of my everyday. Google this shit out of this, because it’s true. A whole new form of psychology is emerging called Eco-Psychology! Yep folks, it’s true. Doctors are actually prescribing walks amongst trees as a form of treatment.

So I’ll save you the cash and suggest go out and get a walk in under the trees and see how much better you feel. Not a cure-all, but definitely worth an hour of your time.

Yours in well-being,

 

Brooke

 

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So you think you’re an Incredible Lover…

Sex is a quintessential human experience that is just as unique as the people involved in the act itself. Let’s face it, what turns on one person might be a turn off for someone else entirely. So what is it that makes a good lover? And more importantly, do you fit the bill? Ask your self the following questions to see if indeed you are An Incredible Lover!

1) Do you take your time?

A connection, a real connection takes time. There is a rhythm to having great sex. One that includes a warm up ( You’ve got to get one another excited), a work up to the main event (put your time and attention into your partner), the climax (who doesn’t love that part?) and the end (Coming down from that climactic high).

That’s why taking your time and letting yourself and your partner really enjoy the experience marks you as a great lover.

2) Do you communicate in bed?

You’ve heard me mention it before, communication equals romance AND believe it or not it also equals great sex. Here’s how it works.

Listening, do you hear what your partner is reacting to when you are performing oral or touching certain erogenous zones? If your partner tells you they want to try something new are you receptive to their suggestions? If not, do you shut them down or find a compromise?

Talking works the same way. How does your partner know what you want and how you want it? If you don’t communicate it, they are in the dark. Moans are considered communication, so when your partner is down into those intimate parts, moan your way into sharing with them how much you’re enjoying it.

Best part of communication is the dirty talk. If you’re not doing this yet, try to see how much in enhances the experience (trust me)

3) Do you know you’re own body and how to use it to make your lover feel good?

Yep, I went there. Knowing your own body and how to use it to make your partner feel good is an essential component to incredible sex. Your body has incredible powers over your partner. And if you’re not feeling good about it, if you’ve got some hang ups about the way you look, it can hinder the type of openness that enhances a great sexual atmosphere.

4) Do you give good oral? Really good oral?

There is something so sensual about your partner taking the time to pleasure you with their mouth. It’s a type of communication that tells your partner that you enjoy the way you taste and smell. Its a level of commitment to the process of pleasure. If you’re new to a partner and don’t want to get in there just yet, I understand. But it’s worth the testing, trust me. You can never ever give too much oral!

5) Sex toys and Masturbation

The mark of an excellent lover is someone who is not jealous or resentful of masturbation, and not upset when sex toys come out to play. In fact if you truly are an incredible lover you’d suggest your partner masturbate. It increases sex drive, blood flow and encourages your partner to become more in tuned with their body. And when the toys some out to play, they should be used to their fullest advantage. After all, your job as an incredible lover is to give your partner an orgasmic experience. And if toys make that easier or better, why not?

I hope all of you lovelies past the incredible lover questionnaire. I know I did 🙂

Love,

Brooke

 

 

 

 

Stephen King — On Writing

The best part about writing, at least for me, is the creation of the story. I have no problem coming up with plot line, character and (hopefully) if I do my job right,  plot twists that bring the reader to their knees. Heck, I’ve got a whole note-book filled with novel ideas. But when it comes to editing I cower like a child who’s Halloween candy is about to be stolen by the neighbourhoodSteven King-On Writing bully.

I can handle the truth–trust me. If it’s a shit piece, then I’ll fix it. Here’s the rub, no matter how much I work on a manuscript I’m never truly satisfied. Never.

I can tweak and play with a manuscript for ages and ages (case in point my erotica trilogy) and still not be truly happy with it. So what do I do next?

Well,  I got help. A lovely group of local writers. We meet regularly and edit each others work. I love these ladies. They are my rock. I get a little help from my long time friend Liz McAdams too.

And I read. This particular time, the book was On Writing, by Stephen King. I’ve always been a HUGE fan.  A little known fact about yours truly is that I’ve been reading Stephen King, Anne Rice, Bentley Little, and Dean Koontz since I was a saucy pre-teen. Tons of other macabre writers have breezed through my life, far too many to continue to mention. But I love it. The dark side is deep with in me.

On Writing chronicles Stephen King‘s experience with writing and it is a fantastic story in and of its self. We’ve all been there, slogging in front of our note book, computer, or typewriter. Unsure of our talent. Unclear if we are writing the ‘right’ thing. At some point I thought, if Steven King can be rejected, then so can I! It’s what you learn from that rejection that’s important–trust me.

The best part of On Writing was the section in which Stephen details writing, its process (as he sees it), best practises and editing suggestions. These parts I devoured as though it were my favourite chocolate, maybe even my bible (yep I went there).

Macabre is not for everyone, and for every fan of Stephen King I am sure there is someone who does not care for his writing. Never the less, his understanding of the craft that is writing and its creative process is extensive.

If you are a writer, it is more than worth your time to pick Stephen King’s, On Writing up. Keep it in your library, because I am positive you’ll refer back to it. If you’re not a writer, get it anyway, its a seriously good read.

Even as I sit here leafing through the book, I think, I need to read this again. In fact I’ll start this evening.

With Love,

Brooke

P.s Thanks to positivewriter.com for the Feature Image. And Amazon .com for the image on the page. (Gotta dot all my i’s and cross all my t’s).