A Flash of Inspiration:
A Collection of Very Short Stories by Indie Authors
Compiled by Helmy Kusuma
Cover by David Thomas
Edited by Susan Bennett
SMASHWORDS EDITION
1.1
Published by
Helmy Kusuma at Smashwords
Every author on the List of Contributors retains the copyright of his or her contributions, including stories, author biographies, and links.
List of Contributors
Alex Canton-Dutari, Annarita Guarnieri, Anthony Beal, Brandi Salazar, Craig Smith, David Thomas, Helmy Kusuma, Holly Hood, Kate Hughart, Kender Mac Gowan, Kristen James, Kristina Howells, Kristina Jackson, Lia Fairchild, Mark Cantrell, M. Edward McNally, Stephen Hise, Susan Wells Bennett, Terry Simpson, Todd Russell, Vickie Johnstone
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied, and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided that the book remains in its complete original form, and the authors given credit.
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Table of Contents
Foreword
Prologue: Quick Fix
Epilogue : I Am Providence
Contributors
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Foreword
Welcome to our collection of flash fiction. But, I hear you ask, what is flash fiction?
If you look it up on Wikipedia, you will read that it is "a style of fictional literature or fiction of extreme brevity" with its "roots going back to Aesop's Fables." There are different ideas on how long the story should be. Nanofictions are complete stories, with at least one character and a discernible plot, of exactly 55 words; a drabble is a story of 100 words; and a 69er is a story of exactly 69 words. We went for the 100 words or less option. Each story has a beginning, a middle and an (often dramatic) end, a plot and an interesting character or two.
How did our book come about? It all started a couple of weeks ago on Facebook in our group, Book Junkies. There we were discussing writing, marketing, books, etc., and someone suggested writing some flash fiction off the top of our heads for fun. A hundred words or less? Many of us thought this was impossible -- and then we had a go and found it interesting trying to dream up something coherent in such a small space. You have to use only the words that you think are important. Create the scene, the mood, the action, the drama, and resolve it all in a piece that takes less than a minute to read.
So our imaginations went wild ... some to comic effect... and often with spooky goings-on or bloodshed... and what we came up with ... the combination of our creative juices... is this book. We hope you enjoy reading all of the stories inside. We have added short biographies of the authors and links to their other work. If you enjoy their stories, be sure to check out their books and blogs. Thank you for your interest in our book. Your feedback is much appreciated.
So, then, what are you waiting for - pick up a pen and have a go. You've got 100 words or less... starting now...
[Foreword by Vickie Johnstone]
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Prologue: Quick Fix
My hands trembled; I hadn't had it for two days now. I needed a fix.
As I scanned the room, a figure motioned me close.
A crooked nose, yellow teeth and a hunched back. He is Fagin and I am Oliver, but I was desperate. "Waddya have?"
I showed him my gold-plated pen -- from my bestseller’s prize. He grabbed it and grinned.
He scurried and opened the back door. We passed through a long dark corridor; he stopped and opened the door at the end.
He unlocked a cabinet and opened it: rows of quick fix. I am saved.
[Prologue and Epilogue by Helmy Kusuma]
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Alex Canton-Dutari
The Flight
I threw it in the air, very sure of its return.
When I held out my hand to catch the boomerang, sixty years had passed.
From Here To… Land?
"He jumped!....He jumped!”
When they sensed the end was near they jumped from water to land.
"I'll never do it!" "Die on land!" "Ridiculous!"
He saw the scenes in his mind. They had been telepathically relayed from the Japanese pond somewhere in the mother wet-land to the little bowl in some Western city.
One bright morning the cleaner started to perform his duties: a deep spoon lifted him from the water; the kid tripped, throwing the arrogant, lone, fighting Beta fish on the cold floor.
On his way down all he thought was: "Die on land!" "Ridiculous!"
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Annarita Guarnieri
Sunset Love
A thread of sunlight filters through the shades, much thinner than it should be… for my room has no blinds.
I wake up with a start, confused, then memory floods back as I raise myself on my elbow, to better watch you sleep…
A July morning, browsing the net, we met in a chat room, two middle-aged, lonesome people. We hadn’t been looking for love, but then came the long letters, and friendship slowly changed into love, a love parted by an ocean. Then my decision, still tinged with a shade of doubt, the long flight, and your arms around me, dispelling all doubts and fears.
And now, as I look at the smile curving your lips, I can only wonder at the miracle of our newfound love, in the sunset of my life.
Homecoming
I crossed the threshold and knew something was amiss. I tried the light switch: nothing. Panic tightened my throat as I groped my way through the hallway. I’d been out just for a little while, and when I’d left, everything was as usual; now the power was out, and, without the humming of appliances, the house was eerily silent. Still groping, I found the electric meter: dead.
Panic growing, I grabbed my lighter. Its light showed the awful truth: the cable going to the meter had been neatly cut. My domestic rabbit, the Infamous Rodent, had struck again.
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Anthony Beal
Memoria
Asher made music that licked the masses, dragged a playful tongue along the necks of his faithful. His guitar was his cock when he was onstage. He wept before disciples new and old as he wrung sorrowing melodies from his guitar and remembered Basil’s smile, Basil’s herb-laced kisses.
“How much do you love me?” Asher had asked before drawing the razor across Basil’s hesitant throat as they lay sweating into satin last July.
Turning his guitar pick, the one fashioned from a chip of Basil’s skull, over in his hand, he listened for Basil’s answer in the encore he began.
Cautery
Her childhood, she’d spent collecting bruises like purple hearts.
“They aren’t bad people, your parents. They love you,” folks always assured her. When she was nine, their love broke her arm in three places. At age twelve, it collapsed a lung. She’d wished then that they hated her.
“Good, god-fearing folk,” neighbors called them. She knew better. Abusers feared nothing.
Until tonight. She and her tire iron had changed that.
Wearing her parents’ blood, she struck a match over the gasoline-soaked seniors bound on their bedroom floor. Later, watching the house burn, she felt thirty-year-old wounds begin to close.
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Brandi Salazar
Buried Secrets
His booted feet crunched through the dry leaves that coated the ground as he stepped over and around broken and decaying headstones. There would be no more whining, no more rancid stenches to explain away, and no one to eat his tiramisu while his back was turned ever again. Yes, that damned dog wouldn’t be giving him anymore trouble, he thought as he slipped through the cemetery gate and melted into the shadows, a wicked smile twisting his face and a dirtied shovel slung over his shoulder.
Steep Consequences
She focused on the pile of suitcases. “Is it someone else?”
“Of course not, don’t be absurd.” He pulled her into his arms.
She froze, snapshots of him with another woman racing through her mind. “Do you love her?”
“Yes. I mean no. I told you, there isn’t anyone else.”
Gathering her strength, she thrust her arms out, giving him a hard shove that sent him somersaulting down the steep staircase. He landed in tangle of limbs on the marble foyer below.
Crouching down beside his exanimate body she gazed into his vacant eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, Jim.”
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Craig Smith
Jeddy Vs. The World
Jeddy was a very small man. He often had to jump up and down to get people's attention. It frustrated him no end.
One day he decided enough was enough and put his considerable mind to work. Months later he had his eureka moment. He would cut everyone down to size.
Booking a seat on a tourist space flight, he sneaked his ray gun with him. Just as the earth become a large sphere in the window he fired his gun. He watched in amusement and then horror as the ray shrunk the earth to the size of an orange.
Electrifying
Maggie was 70 years old. She hated kids. She hated them messing up her lawn, but most of all, she hated when they would ring her bell and run away.
But today was going to be different. Today she was going to show them what was what. Maggie sat waiting at her door; plump water balloon in hand.
Finally, the door bell rang. Up in a flash she swung the door open and threw the balloon. She watched in horror as it bounced back off the astonished kid's face and exploded at her feet and all over a power cord...
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David Thomas
Two Worlds
The heavy door slammed behind him. Holding a yellow plastic bucket, he stood glancing around at the grey painted cell. A single cot with two dark folded-up blankets and a small frosted window waited for him; odd misspelled graffiti scarred the walls, A numbing chill of wasted time hung in the air like a bad omen.
Eighteen more years he would have to wait before he could physically live in a world without this. He then thought about his freedom, his escape. He closed his eyes and found that world was already there waiting for him.
A Ray of Light
It was late and raining heavy; she stood alone outside Tehran railway station watching the large neon train sign fizzle in the storm.
She thought about her warm thick coat at home. Just then a well-dressed man stood next to her. He looked worriedly at the rain above: she glanced at him in much the same way. He turned to her and spoke.
“The prophet Mohammed once said the best of alms is that which the right hand giveth and the left hand knoweth not of.”
He then handed her his father’s umbrella and walked off side-stepping the gathering puddles.
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Helmy Kusuma
Dear Mina
Dear Mina,
Sorry I couldn't reply earlier. I'm still grieving. My friend, John, has passed away. He was found dead at the park; he died of heart attack. Oh, poor fellow! Last time I contacted him, he was working on his second title -- Haunted Tree. I'm going to finish what he had started. It's the least I can do.
Love,
George
George buttoned up his jacket as he leaned against a tree. He felt cold. It's unusual at this time of the year, he thought.
I watched him typing on the keyboard. Another silly author.
The Black Box
When I was a child, my father used to bring a black leather box into the bedroom. Later, I would hear my mother screaming and cursing. I was scared.
When I was a teenager, my father never failed to continue his daily habit, but my mother never complained; I was intrigued.
When I was getting married, my father gave the box to me. I did not dare to open it.
Now, as my wife is moaning and howling, I regret that I didn't open the box sooner. I'd found inside it various wooden tools and a book, titled "Reflexology Kit".
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Holly Hood
Time
His sanity flew out the window, along with his cigarette. Life, he thought, was endless: one minute he was brand new, the next old and withered. He missed the days he chased women, drank gallons of whiskey, and set the nightlife on fire. Now he was simply an old man, gray hair, who only was given a passing sympathetic smile. But he remembered one thing as he took his last breath: he had asked for wings, and he hoped they were waiting for him, because flying sounded marvelous.
Karma
I hugged her tightly, holding my breath. Her eyes dark, if only she knew what I was thinking. I crossed the room hurriedly; her sheer nightgown was going to look mortifying when it was covered in her own blood.
"Where is it?" I asked loudly, my hand sifting through the drawer for the gun. I spun around, just in time; she was no idiot. The look of amusement on her face hurt more than the bullets. I clutched my chest, stumbling to the door.
"Trust: it gets you every time." she said with a pleased smile.
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Kate Hughart
Gabby's Special Day
Gabby was excited about her special day, September 20th. I will be sixteen and finally a woman, she thought with satisfaction. When September 20th came and went, Gabby looked back with a heavy heart. It was her Quinceanera -- it was supposed to be her entrance into womanhood. She was supposed to celebrate with her family and friends, but it ended in disaster. Now all she had left of her Quinceanera is confirmation that she truly entered womanhood and the irony of the blood stain on her beautiful dress.
Charred Goodbye
Sarah watched as the fire licked her skin. She couldn't feel the pain as the flames singed and burned her skin away. She felt like she should be screaming in agony, but she was numb to its effects. She had spent 80 long years in the now-charred body. She felt peculiar as she watched it burn, but felt that it was an ending to her old life and a beginning to the journey yet to come in the afterlife.
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Kender Mac Gowan
Liquid Courage
The pub had been shut for the night, and as usual the old drunk who mopped up afterward did a shoddy job. Small puddles and splashes of ale pooled under tables and chairs, its heady aroma drifting slowly across the floor and behind the baseboards, where a hungry mouse caught a whiff. Creeping slowly out into the darkened pub, he lapped up drop after drop, puddle after puddle.
If one had observed the mouse at this point they would have said he was swaggering, assured of his invincibility. Striding out into the middle of the room as if he owned the pub, he squeaked a mighty squeak, looking for the old house cat that called the pub home.
Spying the old cat sleeping in the corner, he charged.....
Whispers of Liberty
He'd heard whispers all night. The war had gone badly for months and yesterday’s rout of his battalion left him lost, alone and injured. He'd make his way toward the whispers and they'd vanish.
Sometimes he heard men groaning “don't surrender”, other times it sounded like men screaming, only in a whisper. Crawling all night, he found himself next to a road, and rested as the whispers continued around him.
Dawn crept in, the whispers faded and he saw the road sign: “Gettysburg Battlefield, next right.”
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Kristen James
Missed Connections
She glanced up from her book, wondering if the flight would board soon. As she looked back down, her mind caught up with what she’d seen. Henry? Her son? After that horrible fight and three silent years, she wondered what to say. But that didn’t matter. How she had missed him! Sara shoved her book into her bag and rose, striding to the thin thirty year old bent over a book. So like her! He looked up blankly. It wasn’t Henry.
Later, after drying her tears and rebooking a missed flight, she found a quiet place to make a call.
Going Around
Layla witnessed the crime from the top of the Ferris wheel. She screamed but her voice mixed with the noise of the happy fairgoers below. The previously fun ride lurched forward, painfully slow. That might be why she took her time in revenge, getting to know the man, plotting, and bringing him back here.
Now, at the highest point in the ride, she pointed to the very place of his crime three years ago. “Do you remember when you killed my sister there?”
He looked at her in complete shock before the syringe plunged into his heart.
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Kristina Howells
Under the tree
It wasn’t like any tree. This tree was special.
It was a hot day in Candle bay. Taking a good book and reading it. Time soon passed by sheltering from the heat.
The hot sun rays shining in between the green leaves left one bewildered.
‘Oh I do hope that he will arrive.’
Whilst waiting for the young man sitting closely by the stream, it was then that she began her dream.
Dreaming that he would pass by like a bird in the sky. But the rustle of the leaves soon stopped her. Eventually she woke, still under the tree.
The Sun
The hot shining sun beat down upon the earth reflected in the eyes of two lovers, under the heat, began to take pleasure from it.
The sun adding to their lusts, they started to groan with delight at the heat. The rays had shone through. Their desires were not finished.
The lovers fled into the forest, close to where the river was. There they saw shimmers of light reflecting in the water, the sun’s rays penetrating down on them further.
Before reaching their final climax, the sun started to lose its heat, stopping them before it got late.
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Kristina Jackson
Voices In The Glass House
That reminds me of something that happened in college. I went to horticultural college. Students being students decided to play a prank on one of the teachers who was known to walk around the glasshouse before a lesson talking to the plants. A group of us hid and started talking back. He jumped out of his skin! OK, we all did end up having to stay behind and clear up the pots from potting, but it was good-humouredly done and our work rewarded with coffee!
Never Doubt the Cards
The curling smoke of sweet musty incense hung in the air; candlelight reflected off of the tarot cards laid upon the a heavy velvet cloth on the table:
“What do see?”
“There will be changes in your life, sudden and dramatic ones.”
“Where does it say that?”
“Here, The Tower.”
“What else do they say?”
“They show an ending and a beginning.”
The person who was having the reading done got up and left the room, stating ‘mumbo jumbo.’ He walked outside, not looking where he was going and got hit by a bus. Never doubt the cards.
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Lia Fairchild
Waiting
I had grown quite accustomed to a life spent waiting. I waited for his daily doses of criticism and ridicule. My unstoppable drive to live life to the fullest had deteriorated to a robotical task manager serving his needs. Many say I built him up in my servitude, creating the monster that now controlled me. Each day I waited for the next order, the next insult, the next fist. At night, I waited and prayed he wouldn’t challenge my fictitious sleep. Now it is his turn to wait. And, he will. Until the air runs out and then for eternity.
Dreaded Duty
Harvey entered the dimly lit room, then suddenly froze as the light coming from the closet hit him. He realized he had been spotted and would not be able to turn back. It was too late. Fear began to set in. Unfortunately his strength had been waning as of late and his confidence level was at an all-time low. He wondered if he still had a chance to pull it off. With sweat beginning to form on his brow, he slowly stepped forward until he reached her. “No, honey. Those pants don’t make you look fat.”
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Mark Cantrell
Final Draft
Dan’s fingers flew over the keyboard as the story came to life. It was like being amidst the action until Kelly brought him back to Earth.
“You promised…”
She was all dressed up ready to go. He’d forgotten. Again. Now he’d run out of stock apologies.
“I can’t do this anymore, Dan. It’s me or that machine.”
Stunned, he stared at Kelly, torn between his two loves. Then, no choice really, he closed the laptop. Kelly threw her arms around his shoulders. “I love you!”
Dan took her hand in his, gave it a little squeeze.
“I’ll help you pack.”
Sod's Draw
They were waiting for him again, but this time it was going to be different. This time he'd show them what respect really meant.
Tom took a deep breath and steeled himself to walk the walk. The thugs watched, amused by his new-found determination, jeering out the same old insults. The leader just stared, grinning, psyching him out. It almost worked, but Tom kept his nerve, wrong-footed the first thug who tried his usual “accidental” shoulder-barge, pushed him away and pulled out the gun.
Satisfying to see the leader flinch. "Laugh this off!"
Click. Impotent. Forgot the safety.
Oh shit…
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M. Edward McNally
Making an Exit
When I had said all there was to say -- elucidated my points and expounded all my arguments to their undeniable conclusions -- I spun regally on my heel, marched across the room looking like Washington crossing the Delaware, and yanked open the door to pass through it for the last time. Tripped over her cat on the landing, and promptly fell down the stairs.
Presence
He played great, but of course I'm going to say that as I am biased. He had fun though, and after he fouled another kid who then tumbled over the ball, he helped him up with a smile. The team lost, but nobody cared.
Driving home, I smiled at my son sitting passenger. "Mom would have been real proud of you today."
He nodded; blue eyes just like hers had been looking out at the world rolling on beyond the glass.
"I know she was," he said. "She told me."
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Stephen Hise
Dawn’s Early Light
The first rays of dawn warm my face through the window and I slowly open my eyes to see my beautiful wife still in her repose. In the faint morning light she looks like she could still be a teenager. There is not a crease on her face, no furrow on her brow.
It has rarely been like this. Evidently I displease her; or perhaps no longer please her. There have been harsh words and tears.
Now is a rare moment of peace. I can love her again. It almost makes me sorry I killed her.
The Best and Brightest
M281 is a rock about 80 kilometers across that is moving through space at twenty times the speed of sound. We saw it 31 years ago and realized as we plotted its course it was headed straight for Earth.
There was only time to save a handful - the best and brightest. We were among the few thousand sent to the lunar base to preserve humankind.
How ironic that the best and brightest should make such a mistake. As M281 neared Jupiter, the gravity altered its course. It now bears straight for the moon and we alone shall die.
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Susan Wells Bennett
Revelation
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Go on, my child.”
Becky McCall frowned. “You sick, Father?”
The priest coughed. “I’m fine.”
Becky glanced at the mesh between them, but only could see a figure clad in black. “I thought hateful things about my family. And I let Johnny touch me above my knees.” She waited for absolution.
The door on the other side of the confessional opened. “Michael McCall, come out of there!” Father Stephen bellowed.
Becky rushed out in time to see her brother flee the church. Red light, streaming from the stained glass above, colored her.
Finality
Pulled from a deep sleep, she picked up her ringing phone. “Hello?”
“Turn on the television,” her husband commanded.
The dark box came to life and she tried to make sense of the images before her. As she watched, a plane struck a tower like an arrow shot through a cowboy. She gasped.
“The world is ending. I want to be with you.”
“If the world is ending,” she answered, “I don’t want to be with you.”
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Terry Simpson
Absolution
Clutching at his chest, the assassin stumbled to one side like a puppet doing a macabre dance. Blood bubbled to his lips and his watery eyes shifted rapidly as he tried to focus.
"I've already had the three Ds."
Knight Cogin's brows drew together. He circled to match Lodrimere's jerky movements.
"Death. Despair. Damnation," Lodrimere chortled at Cogin's confused expression, red spittle painting his chin and beard.
"What can you offer me, good knight?"
"Peace." Cogin didn't even feel the scrape of bone as his sword took Lodrimere's head.
Late Night Love
The clock struck well past the witching hour. Outside lightning flashed, thunder pealed its angry response, the winds howled, and rain drummed in concert.
Perfect. I caressed her neck with my fingertips, the sweet feel thrumming through me. A throbbing anticipation coursed along my palm.
This is probably the best sex you ever had, Terry. I'd started fast, worked the middle and now the time had come to climax.
With a contented breath, I squeezed the pen tighter and began to write.
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Todd Russell
Feeding Time
Their all-male chorus scratched his frontal lobe: nothing's happening.
Harris protested with hands to his ears. Cricket numbers increased.
He hated the night creatures for cursed words they sang every night. Something was happening tonight.
An ugly, hungry creature landed on his knee. He swatted and crushed it while trying to roll back inside but at once they were everywhere. Some became crushed in the spokes of his wheelchair; some were killed by his hands. He opened his mouth to scream and they entered the warm hole. He swallowed while some bit his tongue.
The night song returned: feeding time again.
Croupier Creature
The severed head of a past player with a missing eye lay propped on the slowly spinning wheel. The metal ball was pushed through the eye and spun around the track leaving a gruesome trail. Men didn't play this heinous game of roulette with chips but by cutting off their own fingers and placing them on the desired numbers.
Henry took his finger and placed Ellen's birthday: seven. The eyeball slowed, black 35, no, stopped: RED SEVEN. The croupier creature roared.
Smoldering corpses waited next at the blackjack table. One step closer to their freedom.
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Vickie Johnstone
Creaking
In the corner of the room he snuggled down in his warm, little bed. In the opposite corner, the dark cupboard heaved. The wood creaked in and out, ever so slowly, ever so meekly, its lifeblood seeping down to fill the floor with a river of red. From behind the door something breathed. Something moved. Something spied. Through the cracks in the door it could see the little boy sleeping soundly, dreaming little dreams of clouds and dolphins and summer smiles. But in the cupboard the something moved, biding its time, waiting. Waiting so patiently. Waiting for the moment when the little sleeper would wake and wonder what wailed behind the dark door.
Showtime
Applause slapped her face as she strode on stage, kicking her heels with that insouciance they loved. They craved it. She relished the attention. Cue music. Cue song. They roared and she blasted it back, carrying every tune they cried for. She gave them her life in one hour. And they left satiated. When the lights sank, she stared at the face that had stared back below these lights for so many nights. Reaching up she pulled off the long, red wig. Wiped away the make-up. Said goodbye to the plush furs. He was just plain old Dave again.
###
Epilogue : I Am Providence
I leaned back against my chair, savoring what had just passed.
"I told ya, I ain't lying… Tis' good."
He gave a sly smile when he saw my satisfied expression; I hate it. He knew too much about me.
"D'ya want more?"
The struggle was an instant one; I gave him my golden watch.
Another bastardly smile. He opened a trap door, descended into the basement and turned the light. Oh, I could not believe my eyes; I saw piles of goodness.
I smile remembering his aghast face as I erased him from the final draft... I am Providence.
[Prologue and Epilogue by Helmy Kusuma]
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Contributors
Alex Canton-Dutari
Finally, at 67 years old, I consider myself a full-time short story and novella writer, all non-fiction fiction. Am a part-time grandfather and throw in non-religious Humanist. A Ph.D. clinical psychologist by training. Widower with three very grown-up boys and four grandchildren. Born in Panama City, educated in the US, Spain, and back to the US. Live in Panama.
Link Personal Blog: www.terapiacanton.blogspot.com
Link Book Fan Page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Alex-Canton-Dutari-Author-Fan-Page/123574267713417
Annarita Guarnieri
Born in Trieste, Italy, in September 1955, I have a high school degree and a degree in law, but I started studying and using English at the age of 6, and chose to work with the two things I love most: books and the English language. Therefore, I’ve been working as a translator for the past 31 years. On and off I’ve been writing too. I won a couple of non-professional awards and I’m beginning to publish a few things. My dream is to become a fulltime writer. I have a few projects in my drawer, but little time to work on them.
Author's Page http://www.facebook.com/pages/AnnaritaautoreGuarnieri/122381707837830
Anthony Beal
Anthony Beal is the author of Funereal Diseases of the Mind: Fifteen tales of dark erotica. He enjoys writing, reading, drinking, and cooking spicy food. His writing is influenced by Anais Nin, Edgar Allen Poe, Poppy Z. Brite, and H.P. Lovecraft. He also enjoys maintaining his website at www.TheOfficialAnthonyBeal.com, where he regularly posts excerpts of his dark erotica.
Brandi Salazar
Brandi Salazar is your run-of-the-mill wife and mother to three beautiful children. She attends University studying business and plans to become an editor once she is unleashed upon the world. When she is not toiling away at homework, you can find her jamming out to her hardcore playlist, curled up with a good book, or writing one herself. Her dark and quirky personality is reflected in her writing and her musical choices, as well as the company she keeps.
Brandi’s first novel is available on Kindle.
Stay up to date by following her on Goodreads:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4810728.Brandi_Salazar
Follow on Twitter @brandellavanela
Feel free to visit her Webook profile for more samples of her work:
http://www.webook.com/member/Brandis1
Craig Smith
Craig Smith lives in South Africa and spends his days, working, writing, and reading. He has had several short stories published, as well as two novels: The Red Stone and Zoolin Vale and the Chalice of Ringtar.
Facebook Author Page http://on.fb.me/fbauthor
Blog: http://bit.ly/craigsmith
Twitter: @craigwfsmith
David Thomas
My name is David Thomas and I’m from Wales. I've been published all over the world and am working on my first novella called THE LOST GRAVEYARD, which will be available for free on Smashwords.
Helmy Kusuma
Helmy Kusuma was born in Palembang, Indonesia, and spent 18 years there. He went to Jakarta to continue his study in IT and is currently living there. He is still looking for a place to spend the next decade.
Also by Helmy Kusuma:
Poems, Essays and Wannabes [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/49831]
Mementoes of Mai [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/56911]
Connect with Me Online:
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/hanzpk
Fb profile: http://www.facebook.com/helmy.kusuma
Fb Page: http//www.facebook.com/EL.Publish
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/helmypk
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4797189
My blog: http://www.helmykusuma.com
Holly Hood
Holly Hood is a 27-year-old indie author from Sylvania, Ohio, as well as a mother, wife and reality TV aficionado. She enjoys music, spending time with her family and, of course, writing. Inspired by authors such as Edgar Allan Poe, Jim Carroll and Nicholas Sparks, she strives to write stories that move the reader. Holly’s stories are about emotions. She likes to put the reader into the characters’ shoes; she wants to leave you feeling the same emotions they are. “Goosebumps and tears” are her motto when she writes anything. So enjoy!
Links for Holly Hood: http://winglessreapers.blogspot.com/
[Holly Hood's Wingless could be bought at Amazon.]
Kate Hughart
Kate Hughart is a freelance/fiction writer based in the Toledo area. She is a hard-working wife and mother. She is inspired by many different genres including Fantasy, Romance, Thrillers, Mystery and Mainstream Fiction. You can see some of her non-fiction articles on Examiner.com.
With one book finished and nearly ready for release and another one in progress right now, she is looking forward to her new releases. She feels a sense of great fulfilment and accomplishment when people share in her creations by reading and being entertained by her work.
You can follow Kate on Twitter @ khughart
Kender MacGowan
Kender MacGowan – a reluctant romantic, sarcastic cynic and victim of love – writes poetry as a cheap alternative to therapy, hoping that somewhere karma will pile up in his favor. He lives in Southern California, where he spends his time living the lifestyle of other curmudgeonly and famous writers in hopes of emulating them – mainly by drinking, writing and being antisocial.
Link: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/kender
http://kendersmusings.blogspot.com/
Kristen James
Kristen James works as a fulltime author, freelance writer/ghostwriter, editor and book publisher with Bravado Publishing. She lives on the river and enjoys the outdoors like most Oregonians do. A few of her hobbies include reading, cycling, fishing and camping. Read more at www.writerkristenjames.com and http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/KristenJames.
Kristina Howells
Kristina Howells is a published author and poet. She currently lives in Calais in France, works as an English teacher and a British expat. She has written non-fiction and fiction works. Since 2006, Kristina has started to self-publish due to her publishers going bankrupt.
Her works include:
A Hatter goes Mad, Bookcastle
Te Deum, Minerva Press
Una voce, Vista House
Lettre Fatale, Paragon Press
Making Sense of the Genesis Flood, published by Kristina Howells
Short stories
Poetry
Smashwords Profile : http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/kristinahowells
Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kristina-Howells/129257537150357
Twitter : https://twitter.com/violin21
Kristina Jackson
Kristina lives with her husband David, and two children. She has several pets, one of the cats, Bono, is her writing companion. He is often found sharing her laptop.
Kristina took the hint that she should be writing after her illness POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome) had to a greater degree disabled her. As physical doors have shut, the mental ones have opened. She swears the characters in her head are trying to run away with her remaining sanity. Kristina has so many ideas it is anybody’s guess where this will now lead.
Smashwords Profile: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/kristinajackson
Lia Fairchild
Lia Fairchild is a native Californian who loves reading, writing, movies, and anything else related to the arts. Writing is something she’s thought about all her life, so the completion of her first novel, In Search of Lucy, is truly satisfying. Lia holds a B.A. degree in Journalism and a Multiple Subject Teaching Credential. Her most enjoyable moments are spent with her family, traveling, spending time outdoors, or simply laughing and being together. Look for updates on her next book at http://www.liafairchild.com or follow her on Twitter at https://www.twitter.com/#!/liafairchild
[In Search of Lucy can be bought at Amazon]
Mark Cantrell
Mark Cantrell is the author of the science fiction thriller, Citizen Zero. A Yorkshireman who somehow landed on the wrong side of the Pennines, he lives in Stoke-on-Trent but commutes to Manchester where he works as a journalist.
Citizen Zero: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/35159
M. Edward McNally
M. Edward McNally is the author of The Sable City, an epic Musket & Magic fantasy. As he resides on the outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona, he is very likely sweating at this very moment, and has possibly been chased into a Palo Verde tree by a marauding pack of javelinas.
The Sable City: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/46661
Stephen Hise
Stephen Hise is the author of the novel UPGRADE and contributing author to the short story anthology CREEPIER by the DOZEN. He lives in Arizona with his wife, daughter and a menagerie of animals.
Creepier by the Dozen: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/26452
Upgrade: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/23869
Susan Bennett
Born and raised in Arizona, Susan Wells Bennett frequently uses her native environment as the primary setting for her novels. After nearly a decade working as an editor, she turned her attention to writing fulltime in 2009. Producing contemporary novels in both dramatic and seriocomic genres, she is gradually gaining a devoted audience through word of mouth. Her most recent novel, Forsaking the Garden, a dark tale of lies and their consequences, was released in May 2011. She is proud to be a Book Junkie.
http://swellsbennett.blogspot.com
Terry Simpson
Growing up in Barbados, I have always had a love of writing for as long as I can remember. Somehow I grew to love fantasy more than any other genre, although my early days were spent reading my father's books -- from Louis L'amour's Westerns to Don Pendleton's Executioner series. That developed into me reading and loving fantasy authors such as Robert Jordan, Terry Goodkind, Brandon Sanderson, George RR Martin, Brian Lumley, Laura K Hamilton and quite a few others. I am currently working on a high-fantasy novel.
Author's Page https://www.facebook.com/NovelistTCSimpson
Todd Russell
Todd Russell has been reading and writing horror for 30+ years. He lives in Orting, Washington, a small city about 30 miles from beautiful, active and deadly Mount Rainier. Mental Shrillness is his first book. What are some things that scare Russell? Broken shards of glass, rock music after the ‘80s, clichés, Sunday night, predictability, stalemate chess matches, who really shot JFK, the iceberg that downed the Titanic, asteroids hitting earth, the insatiable beast known as ET Cetera.
Mental Shrillness - six twist-ending horror short stories
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/49957
Official Website
http://twitter.com/Todd_Russell
http://facebook.com/booksbytoddrussell
Vickie Johnstone
Hi, I live in London and have a thing about fluffy cats. I work as a sub-editor on business mags, enjoying the delights of mining. I love reading, writing, films, the sea, art, nature and travelling. In March, I published my first book, Kaleidoscope, a gathering of poems I’ve written over the years since a very long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. In April, I published Kiwi in Cat City. The star is a little black cat who takes her two young owners to her other home, Cat City, to meet Inspector Furrball. Happy reading and writing!
Link: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/vixie
A Flash of Inspiration:
A Collection of Very Short Stories by Indie Authors
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