It Started With A Challenge

My novel, Dance with the Enemy, is currently $0.99 over on Amazon. But that's not what this post is about. Today, when I logged in on Facebook, it had a memory at the top like it often does. This particular memory had to do with a certain short story I'd written for a writer's blog called Clever Fiction. What is that, you ask? It's a blog that offers a prompt-based challenge. Currently, you post the story on your own blog and let them know. They then put up a link to your story on their blog to help push traffic your way. It's a great idea and, without them, I may never have written that first story that has now led to 2.3 novels (Book 3 is in the works), a couple of novelettes, and more understanding about positioning myself as an author. Has it allowed me to quit my day job? No, but it may just inspire you and give you that little push, like it did for me. Participating in the challenges helped me to not only "create product", but to also get into the habit of setting aside writing time. It also increased my exposure as more people saw and read my work. 

So, whether you're a reader looking for something new to read, or a writer looking for inspiration, be sure to check out Clever Fiction. The current challenge -- Sailboat - Cove - Goldmine -- should be completed by Friday, Sept. 30. A new challenge will be posted sometime after that. 

An amazing journey begins with a first step, just like a single word on a page can be the beginnings of a whole, new fictional world. Read. Write. Enjoy!

The Lucky Ones ~ My Valentine's Gift to You

Being a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic, I couldn't let Valentine's Day go by without sharing some kind of love! I thought about it off and on all day, finally deciding on a short story that I wrote a while ago. It was supposed to be included in a short story collection I was working on ... but I took a turn and ended up in the executive seat of my own publishing company instead of finishing the book! Still, I pull out these stories from time to time to enjoy -- they're my favorites because...they all deal with love. I'm thinking someday I'll have to finish compiling them. For now....I hope you'll enjoy this one as my Valentine's Day gift to you ~ my way of sharing the love!

The Lucky Ones ~ a short story by Linda Boulanger

Marci’s Mom had unknowingly planted the seeds of doubt in Marci’s head several months before. Marci had mentioned all the weight her husband had lost and how good he was looking. Hot, if you could say that about a forty-eight year old man. She was feeling pretty lucky to have him.

“Maybe he’s having an affair,” Connie Gordon had teased. “Men do that, you know. They reach middle age and suddenly the pastures look greener across the way.”

She was joking and Connie, Marci, and Marci’s older sister Diane had laughed. Marci had never been fearful that Greg might stray; partaking of the fruits of another woman. She’d been lucky that way.

Yet here they were at a company event and Marci was finding herself more and more concerned that perhaps her mother’s words had been true. Greg continuously circled them around to where one Danielle Stevens was in his sights. She certainly had eyes for Marci’s husband…and a bright smile and a pat on the back and a hand ran down his arm.

Greg returned the flirtatious behavior unabashedly, making Marci extremely uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure but she suspected others were noticing too. She thought the looks she was receiving from his coworkers were looks of pity and warning.

At last she found herself in a near-secluded spot with her husband whose eyes still searched for the young, attractive, 30-something Danielle.

“I’m going home,” Marci hissed, removing the name badge they’d been required to wear and throwing it at her surprised husband.

“What? Why?” He grabbed her arm as she turned to go.

“Oh, please! Heaven forbid I stand here and be humiliated any longer. Now I know why I never come to these things with you! And to think I busted my rear to look good for you so you’d be proud to have me at your side. What a fool I am.” She breathed deeply fighting back unwanted tears as she tried to free her arm. “Let go! Go find your precious Danielle.” She jerked free. “And don’t bother coming home.” She yelled back as she wheeled and began to walk away.

“Marci!” He matched her steps.

“Greg?” Danielle called as they passed the little group she was with. “Everything okay?” Marci heard her ask. She could hear Greg’s voice and knew he’d stopped to talk to the younger woman which fueled her irritation.

Greg was at her side again before she reached the exit. She felt his hand close around her upper arm, trying unsuccessfully to stall her forward movement. There was no stopping the hurt-filled, determined woman. She burst through the front doors with Greg in tow.

“Marci! What is going on? Why are you so angry? What did I do?” Marci turned on Greg, her eyes wide with disbelief at his cluelessness. She studied her husband, trying to discern if he truly was that dense.

“You’re unbelievable Greg. You have two advanced degrees and you direct a top notch group at a major corporation that deals with highly sophisticated equipment. You’re joking right? You know exactly what you’ve done. Jerk!” Marci was seething. Greg shrugged and shook his head.

“Maybe you could ask Danielle and she could….oh, Greg, hee, hee, hee, hee, hee….maybe she could fill you in.” Marci chided, mocking Danielle’s giggly little voice. She rolled her eyes and turned again to make her way to where they’d parked. She fished in her little bag for the keys.

“You can’t be serious, Marci. You’re acting as if you think I’m interesting in Dani. That’s absurd….”

“Dani is it now?” she interrupted.

He stared at her, bewildered. “Marci! She’s a co-worker. And she’s well connected.” He acted as if that should clarify everything.

“Yeah, she’d like to connect with you, Greg, and everyone in your office except maybe YOU is well aware of that fact! Stupid, stupid, stupid me.” She peered into her hand bag. “WHERE are my KEYS?”

Greg chuckled, pulling the keys from his pocket and jangling them before her. “We came together, Marci.”

Marci grabbed for the keys but he stepped back, laughing at the sheer, unmasked emotions on his wife’s face.

“Give me those keys and GO AWAY!” she demanded with a stomp of her high heel-sheathed foot.

“Not gonna happen, Marci, may love and you know why?” She glared at him. His smiling face was as disarmingly handsome as it was when she first met him. She felt that familiar tremor of desire course through her body. She breathed deeply as he walked toward her, stiffened as he slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her to him. He released her with one hand and used it to tilt her chin up. He kissed her now trembling lips softly and wiped the lone teardrop from her cheek.

“Because I love you, Marci. Only you, always you. I’m sorry you misunderstood and that it hurt your feelings. Did you happen to notice who Dani…Danielle was with? Stan Golden. Marci, Mr. Golden holds the purse strings to my next project. I was playing games all right. But not with Dani. With Stan. Everyone knows how I feel about you, Marci. Didn’t you see them all looking at me like I’m the luckiest man on the face of the earth?” She’d thought they’d been looking at her as if she was an idiot for not knowing her husband was having an affair with a colleague. Marci still wasn’t completely convinced. Greg could tell.

“You look amazing, Marci and, in case you didn’t notice, I’ll bring to your attention the fact that I never left your side the whole evening.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I was right there watching you ogle and be mauled by Miss I’m-thirty-and-look-awesome.” She tried to pull away as another tear streaked down her cheek, but he held her tight.

“She did look awesome.” Marci shot him an are-you-for-real look and he laughed. “But you look awesomer. And you are the one I’m going home with whether you like it or not. Now if you’ll let me help you into the car, I’d love to take you home now. And on the way, I’d be happy to tell you just how much I love you and exactly what I’ve been thinking about doing with you since our children are staying at your mother’s and we’re alone all night for the first time in a very long time. And I will tell you I will very much enjoy doing those things with you and will NOT be thinking about Dani or any other woman besides you while doing them. And I’ve never considered sharing such said events with anyone but you. Enough said or shall I continue?” he asked as he felt the tension in her body begin to ease. “I can continue but I’d really rather drive home and quickly at that.” He kissed her quite passionately leaving her in a twixt between breathlessness and laughter.

“I’m so silly,” she said as he helped her into the car and slipped around to the other side.

“Yes you are. It’s one of the things I love about you.” He booped her nose and started the ignition.

The happy, laughing couple did not notice Danielle Stevens near the entry as they drove by. But she noticed them. With a smile she turned to another co-worker. “I hope I can make someone that happy someday. He’s a lucky man.”

“Yes, and his smile will be even bigger on Monday when he finds Golden’s decided to increase his funding for the Cross project. He’d have told Greg tonight if they hadn’t left in such a hurry. Wonder what happened to make them skip out like that?” She smiled and elbowed Danielle conspiratorially before they headed back to rejoin Stan’s group.

Stan smiled at Danielle as she walked up. She patted his back and he leaned close to her.

“I’m glad you came back.” He ran a hand down her bare arm. Danielle breathed deeply, clearing her head of all thoughts of the unavailable Greg. She’d heard he was a happily married man though his wife seldom came to company events. She’d begun to have her doubts but the evening had proved her wrong. No matter, she thought as she turned her overly bright smile up to the man at her side who received it eagerly. Stan Golden, a superior, though not directly over her. Still, he was well connected. He wasn’t bad looking, he was always fun to be around and…there was no ring on his finger. Another lucky guy perhaps? If his smile was any indication, he certainly seemed to think so. Danielle felt pretty satisfied with the way the evening had progressed. Not at all what she’d hoped for but so much more than she’d expected. She thought of Greg and the way he’d looked at his wife and how Stan was looking at her. It was more than an evening office flirtation. She felt sure of that. And she was feeling pretty lucky herself right then.


Across town Marci had a sudden urge to call her mom and tell her thanks for nothing and thanks for everything at the same time. She giggled as Greg nuzzled her neck and she thought of the look on his face when she’d thrown the name badge at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she answered with a smile. “I was just thinking I’m glad to be one of the lucky ones; especially in your arms tonight.”

"Unwanted"...success for a story that was originally placed in the "bad" file

I thought I had posted my story "Unwanted" here before but I could not find it in the archives...so I guess not. A little background on why I was looking: I have undertaken the job of "being in charge" of a compilation book we are doing with several awesome authors who are part of Jillian Livingston's Aspiring Writers Group over at Mom Bloggers Club. We haven't set a date for the book release yet but I can tell you from the submissions I am receiving and the works of the paticipants that I have read...you won't want to miss it!!

Anyway....I was reminded (thank you, Shay) how sometimes I write something and have to shake my head and put it aside wondering how could I write something that bad! Well, I have a success story about one of those "bad" stories. My first published piece is a short story called "Unwanted" and it was originally placed in the never-gonna-be-seen-by-other-eyes file. It was very short and did not capture the emotion of what I was writing about (purely fictional, mind you). Several weeks later there was a contest and, as often happens to me since it is my only truly alone time thanks to 4 pets who want my attention when my children or husband are not around, while showering I got a "vision" of where that story should go for that contest. It was perfect! I reworked it and it won and was my first published piece.

So, don't throw it away...file it away. You never know where it will take you.

I'll post the story here so you may decide for yourself: thumbs up or thumbs down...

"Unwanted", a short story by Linda Boulanger

Betrayal. Is there a more justifiable reason to be angry? I had every reason in the world to be bitter but would never find backing or support from the scriptures. I was swallowed up in the deepest, darkest time of my life, but God wasn’t giving me any slack. And I had done nothing wrong! I was still seething as I looked down at the tiny bundle wrapped in soft pink. She returned my gaze, her eyes filled with trust. They were the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Oh how sweet she looked.

I picked her up, feeling her tiny nose against my cheek, soft yet firm, like nothing I had ever felt before. She nestled against me as I held her in my arms. I breathed deeply, the aroma of baby lotion, powder, and her distinctive scent filled my head. She smelled like him, her father….my husband.

I didn’t want to love her, vowed I would not the day he told me about her and that he wanted to bring her home. To our home! His child with another woman…brought into this world by a chance encounter and I was supposed to take her in and love her as my own. Preposterous! I had resolved to harden my heart toward her. Bitterness had tried to creep in.

I’d already made my peace with my husband…with an awful lot of help from God. I had come to terms with the fact that, perhaps, it had even been my obsession with the need for a baby that had driven him away for a time. It had been difficult enough but we’d gotten through it. And then he’d learned of this child, his child, to be given away without a care from her real mother. And now, here she was, so small, so helpless. She was soft within my arms, looking to me to take care of her, to show her a world where someone cared.

“God, how could you do this to me? How can I do for her what is needed when my heart is hurting so?” I’d been denied my own child in life. Years of trying had left me with nothing but a hardened heart, wounded pride, and a taste of bitterness in my mouth. The barren woman…..and now this child.

She began to fuss. I laid her back and she looked at me again. I was touched by the total lack of judgment in her eyes. She had no idea how tormented I was or that I had planned not to love her, only that she needed someone to take care of her and that I seemed to be doing a pretty good job at that very moment. Her own mother didn’t care, didn’t love her; had not even loved my husband as I did. I brushed the palm of my hand across the soft down that covered the top of her head. She liked it. Her eyes took on that dreamy look and I smiled. The realization of how much she needed me washed over me with great cleansing waves.

I leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her eyes fluttered, and then shut. I could feel her breath. Soft sweet whispers caressed my face as I rubbed her cheek with my own. In her sleep, she smiled. It was an angel’s smile. I couldn’t hate her. My bitterness faded away. She was the answer to my prayer for a child. And, with a sigh and a thank you, I resolved to be her mother, to be that someone, who would love her.

Write Me A Love Story

Ever since he’d found out what she did for a living, Lance Dixon had been dogging her to write a story about him. Carmen Collier was quickly becoming very irritated with the otherwise overall well-pleasing man. Oh yes, Lance was handsome. He had sparkling ocean blue eyes and dark, wavy hair; perfect for the main character to run her fingers through. His smile was disarming, framed by full lips that her eyes might feast upon before they lavished upon her the most tender of kisses. He was tall but not too, athletically built yet not in an intimidating way. Oh he would be the perfect hero in one of Carmen’s stories or novels if description alone was all that was needed.

Carmen Collier was a romance writer; the queen of fluffy, happy-ever-after stories. Yet she required more than a pretty face to help her fashion a real-life person into a full-fledged fictional character.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Lance asked, sliding into the seat across the table and flashing that gorgeous smile her way.

“Why are you here, Lance? You’re never here on Tuesdays,” she retorted to the owner of the Coffee Garden, the little shop with tables ideally situated among a garden-like setting where Carmen had, until recently, enjoyed mornings of Espresso, croissants, and writing. Lance had purchased the unusual shop about a month and a half ago and begun to “befriend” his regular customers. Most of them loved the attention lavished on them by the handsome owner. Even Carmen hadn’t minded the brief chit-chatty moments at first.

Then she’d made the mistake of bringing him a copy of her latest book and topping that by telling him that her characters quite often walk onto the pages from real-life collisions with actual people.

“Will I find my way into one of your stories?” he’d asked.

“Perhaps,” Carmen had flirted a bit. “Just what type of story would you like to see yourself in, Mr. Dixon?”

“Oh that’s easy,” he’d shot back. “A lovely little romantic interlude between the handsome Coffee Garden owner, new to town and the business, and the wildly famous romance author whose very appearance takes his breath away.”

Carmen had stared at him for a moment; the word-wielder was stumped for a comeback. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his request, or the way his eyes washed over her, or the way his foot rested against hers under the table. Was he truly making reference to the two of them? At last she’d chosen humor to rescue her from uncertainty.

“You know any women that would fit that description because I’m afraid I’m just not quite wrapping my head around a character quite like that. Must be the blonde hair.” She’d looked down at the light reddish-brown hair that cascaded off her shoulder. “Hmm. Or not...” He’d laughed and left her with a “Funny girl,” comment.

But the next morning he’d been right back in the seat across from her asking if she’d written him a story yet.

“Sorry. It takes inspiration,” she said shaking her head. “I’m not a formula writer like some. I write from my heart.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Time…and something to inspire you.”

“Precisely. Now go away so I don’t lose my current train of thought. Josh Green is working up the nerve to plant an unexpected kiss on the unsuspecting Caroline French. Important stuff in the world of fluffy romance.” She’d smiled as he looked at her with a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding kind of look. He’d smiled back, shaking his head as he left her table to visit with other customers.

Each day as she broke her fast at the Garden, he’d join her and ask. Every time she’d answer the same. That morning she was particularly irritated as the story she was working on was giving her fits; a pivotal point of pieces she could not get to fit in her mind.

“Lance! I’m not going to write you a love story just because you ask me to. I can’t do that! I don’t work that way. I need inspiration. I need…”

Lance stood quickly from his spot opposite her and walked to stand beside her chair. She stared up at him with crinkled brows unsure of the expression on his face. Then, without warning, he grasped her upper arms and gently pulled her to him.

“Lance…” One arm encircled her, holding her tightly as the fingers of his other hand walked expertly up her spine and into the curly mass of her gorgeous reddish-brown hair. Their eyes remained locked; hers dreamily expectant, his warmly mischievous. Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers. She could feel the smile on his lips as they met. She didn’t care. All she cared about was melting into him and the way he was making her feel.

When at last he pulled away, Carmen felt as if her knees were too weak to support her. She continued to lean against him.

“Is that enough inspiration for the famous author?” he whispered against her hair that tickled his cheek.

“It’s a good start,” Carmen said at last. “But sometimes I have to go over these things again and again before I get my head fully wrapped around them. You available for further research?”

“It is my day off,” he answered. “I have time if you do…”


“Carmen? Carmen?!” she heard her name being said over and over. Her eyes snapped open. Bewildered, she looked up at the smiling face of the handsome barista from the little espresso shop.

“Oh! Lance! Sorry,” she laughed, embarrassed at her complete absorption. “I was just…I had a thought running through my head.”

“It looked like a good one.” Oh his smile was so inviting. “How’s that class going? Did you get your romance story written that you were working on last week?”

“It’s due tomorrow. I was having trouble with the idea but it seems I finally got my inspiration after walking in the door of the Coffee Garden.”

“Well,” he spoke mischievously, “I’d sure like to think I was able to help. Maybe someday you’ll be a famous author and you can write a story about me.”

Carmen giggled nervously and Lance thought perhaps he saw a slight stain of a blush creeping into her cheeks. He sat her cup on the table, winked, and waltzed off to wait on the other customers.

Carmen watched him intently. “Someday,” she thought. “Someday may be sooner than you think.” She began to write him into her love story featuring herself as the leading female main character.

The following is a work of fiction. All characters and events are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons is entirely coincidental…

Happy To Sacrifice...a short story

In honor of an excruciatingly busy week, I am going to share some of my writings with everyone. I hope you will enjoy reading them as much as I did writing them. The first one is from my co-written collection of short stories called Time Out On A Roller Coaster, written with dear friend Patrick Sipperly. We co-wrote several then added more of our own. This one is all mine and I rather like it. Hope you do too...


Happy To Sacrifice by Linda Boulanger

She landed the plane with ease, guiding it to the ground with the same precise gusto that made her appear to blaze through life with an air of confidence. As the tiny craft taxied to its destination of rest she felt a certain wave of nausea. She patted her stomach knowing her days of carefree climbing in and out of the cockpit were numbered. Abigail Brighton was pregnant.

The reality of that statement had begun to sink in as increasing bouts of nausea had sent her marching more and more often in and out of the bathroom. Her husband had joked that they needed to install a revolving door. He’d said it, of course, as she’d clung to the rim of the porcelain bowl for the third time that morning. Abigail had failed to see the humor in his statement.

The sickness had begun to subside enough that she felt confident to pursue again her greatest love – flying. Taking to the skies had always helped her clear her head. She’d needed this time to concentrate, to figure it all out, to sort through her feelings and come to terms with this tiny being that was growing inside of her. It was a life form so new; yet still it was threatening to change her lifestyle. In many ways, it already had. She no longer felt free to do as she pleased and her confidence in her ability as a mother was severely grounded, not unlike her plane on a bad weather day.

The pregnancy was unexpected. Her husband was thrilled. She was, thus far, unenthusiastic. Of course her husband had not had to make sacrifices. He had not been kept from the things he loved or had to deal with the nausea and fear. She thought of another who had made sacrifices for her; her own mother. She was the very person who had instilled in her the love of flying. And her mother’s love of the air had come from Abigail’s grandmother; one of the few women who had belonged to a quietly heralded group of Soviet women pilots in WWII known as the Night Witches. These women, a small regiment, flew bombing missions from 1942 to the end of the war. They were the most highly decorated unit in the Soviet Air Force. Amazingly, they flew in obsolete wood and canvas biplanes that could carry only two bombs at a time. The aircraft was extremely slow with a maximum speed lower than the stall speed of the German crafts which made them difficult to shoot down. Abigail’s grandmother, as had the other women pilots, had made daring use of her flying skills and the plane’s exceptional maneuverability. They became known as the Night Witches because of the tactic they used of cutting their engines and coasting over the enemy camps to drop their bombs. They could come in lower that way without detection and possible ground fire. The women, making their runs under the cover of night, soon had the enemy believing them to be witches appearing out of the night. It added to the mystique and heroism of this brave, resourceful regiment of flying women.

Her grandmother had continued to fly after the war; passing that love down to her own daughter and granddaughter in turn. Because of these two women, Abigail was who she was. They’d each made sacrifices for motherhood and now it seemed to be her turn. A smile lifted the corners of her lips. Again she patted her stomach. Her mind filled with dreamy thoughts of sharing with her child this love that had been shared with her. She imagined the times they would climb in and out of the cockpit together. She could feel the soft fingers with the tiny hand in hers; hear the high-pitched, childish voice chattering away excited questions; see the cherubic face upturned to her in awe and admiration. Her face beamed, glowing as only a pregnant woman’s does.

Abigail walked away from her plane with a new confidence in her ability as a mother; not born of knowing what to do, but of the dream of sharing her knowledge and experiences with her child. Secretly she hoped for a daughter to follow in the footsteps of the flying women before her. As another wave of nausea washed over her, she no longer cared about all she might miss and what she must endure to bring her baby into the world. Her spirit soared with giddy delight as she realized she was now happy to sacrifice.