HOW TO USE THIS BLOG...

I have posted some of the stories and the beginning of two novels I am working on below. All stories are listed in the Blog Archive at the left as well. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to click the "comment" link below each story. I am seeking feedback so that I can improve my writing. Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy what I've written!

You can also contact me at picklzzz@hotmail.com if you would like to make comments privately.


~ J. Elyse

I won 3 contests!!!

Hi Readers,

Not to toot my own horn (ok, I guess I am), but I just won my third short-story contest! It's on a forum I frequent, and the wins have given me the courage to enter some stories for publication in a few magazines! I just submitted my first story (not published here - I'm not sure what the rules are but don't want to have any trouble) to Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. I also am submitting a story to Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, and I have a few others in the works. We'll see. I'll update once I know anything (should be a few months).

The one I submitted for Ellery Queen is called "The Imagination Game", and it revolves around a man trapped on a commuter train by a woman from his past. As she drags him on a trip down memory lane, the perfect life he has worked so hard to construct slowly unravels around him.

The other one I wrote for Alfred Hitchcock is called "Don't Save the Children", and it involves a woman who is stuck in a huge traffic jam on New Year's Eve when she gets a call from her daughter. The daughter is babysitting for a new family, and after the power goes out, the daughter notices someone has entered the house carrying a large knife. The woman panics as she tries to convince her daughter to leave the house, but the daughter is insistent that she must save the children.

Thanks for reading! I'll keep posting new stories as soon as I write them!

J Elyse

Back to the Flashback Again

This is a story I wrote in a few hours for a contest with the theme "Flashback". My boyfriend spontaneously came up with the great idea (thanks, Bob!), and it just poured out of me. I had another idea, which I'll develop later, but I liked his idea better. :)

Back to the Flashback Again

     If only he could have kept it in his pants. He had really tried, damn he tried, but Lewiston Maverick’s daughter was just too fine to ignore. Kent had worked for Maverick’s law firm as a paralegal for three agonizing years. He liked the work, sure, but having Sierra taunt him with that gorgeous body of hers every chance she got, well, shit, it really wasn’t his fault.

     He finally gave in, a few times in a row actually, after she lured him up to the rooftop at the company Christmas party and stripped down to nothing right there in two feet of snow. Got down on her knees, buck naked mind you, unzipped his pants with her teeth, and when he tried to back away and almost fell off the roof (he was a bit blitzed at the time), she held him down and mounted him while he partly dangled from the twelfth floor. Hell, what man could resist that?

The True Story of Pete and Repeat

The True Story of Pete and Repeat

Sunday, April 17, 2011 – 11:12 am

     Pete leaned far over the guardrail at the apex of Hightower Bridge. The carriage bolts that held the railing in place bent slightly in protest. Repeat held his breath, shutting his eyes as his nerves tingled with shameful anticipation.

     What a sissy I am, he thought. I can’t even watch after all the effort I’ve put into this? His eyes remained closed as he waited on his bench. Every muscle in his body throbbed from last night’s harrowing activities.

     “What the hell is that?” Pete asked. His voice seethed with anger. “Get over here and look at this!”

Hoops of Fire

It's a tough job market in this suffering economy. The main character of this story finds out the hard way.

Hoops of Fire

The bride glides slowly down the aisle, her lace and taffeta train trailing behind on scattered rose petals. Her father is somehow beside her, there for her special day, smiling despite discomfort in his stiff tuxedo. The crowd murmurs approval as they look on, but they blur as she focuses on her beloved standing at the altar, looking so handsome as he awaits her arrival. She cannot wait to spend her life with him, so she speeds up, her father and the violinist adjusting their paces, anxious for the moment when the priest will pronounce them husband and wife.

As they join hands, she feels the spark of a magical electricity course through her. The priest starts to speak, and the bride gazes lovingly at her groom, noticing her beaming reflection in his eyes. She glances away momentarily as the priest asks her to repeat after him, and when she turns back, her fiance’s eyes have clouded over. Sweat is pouring off his brow, drenching his face and dripping onto his starched ivory collar. His forehead creases as if he is suddenly fraught with worry, but then it flakes off in chunky layers, exposing an oozing mass of muscle and soft tissue below. The bride’s mouth drops open as his face suddenly melts away, falling to a puddle of flesh at her shiny sequined ballet slippers. He continues smiling broadly as he leans forward for a kiss.

Deeply Wrinkled

I wrote this one for a contest themed "The Kitchen". Some of this is based on actual events, unfortunately.  

Deeply Wrinkled

The blade slices through the threads that hold the buttons onto Marian’s shirt, one by one, with agonizing slowness, until she is left exposed and breathless. As unwavering hands tear her blouse from her shoulders, she lets out a gasp. Norma tries to call out in her defense, to stop her mentally challenged son from whatever he is about to do. Instead, her voice comes out a low, inconsequential gurgle as she struggles against the restraints that bind her. The blade continues, now on Marian’s bare skin, winding up her side, circling around her breast, scraping against her ribs as they jut in and out with her ragged breath. When the knife reaches the hollow of her neck, she tries to scream, but the tip has plunged into her soft flesh far enough to render her mute.

Juicy

I wrote this for a contest with the theme "cryogenic accident". My boyfriend came up with the great concept. He's very creative. My muse, you could say. I put it into action. It was a wonderful, collaborative effort.

Juicy

The glare of the stage lights blinded me as I peered out through the convex glass of my new home. I’d moved around so much in my short life, from the Winthrop Vine to the crate to the truck, and then aboard a freight train for a long while, it was hard to tell which end was up. Now I was here, wherever that was.