Midnight on the Steps of the Palace by Lisa

It’s impossible to run in glass slippers.

I don’t mean difficult—I mean flat-on-your-face impossible. In fact, flat on my face is exactly how I ended up when I attempted it. One heel dislodged, my toe was still trapped, and there I was, sprawled on the marble steps, the bounty of layers from my dress thankfully breaking my fall.

The palace guards were on me in the blink of an eye. Surely someone trying so hard to get away had a nefarious reason for it, and they wanted to stop it.

That was how it happened that after an hour and a half of dancing with me—and by dancing I mean all but carrying me as he twirled; it’s impossible to dance in glass slippers also—the prince abruptly met my true self, strong-armed by two men the size of trees.

Little Note from Lisa

My laptop charger is dead! I’ve renegaded my husband’s netbook for this post, but I won’t have it for long. Unfortunately because of all this ridiculousness, I completely forgot to write a story for this week. You probably noticed it missing yesterday. I’m so sorry! I’ll be back next week. Hopefully. Read good books!

xoxo,

~Lisa

Element by Lisa

Inspired by characters from the Guardian series by Isabelle Santiago. She didn’t ask me to write this, but I felt like it was appropriate to end her debut week!

She can’t remember a time when he didn’t fascinate her.

Fire.

And he was as fickle and biting as his element. Warm and sweet at times—especially when she had something he wanted—but cruel and careless at others.

She can’t remember a time when he wasn’t in love with someone else, either.

She can remember a time when it didn’t matter, though. When they all belonged to each other—a tiny family, all growing side by side. He loved her sister, but it didn’t matter, because she would always have both of them.

Until she couldn’t.

The Frozen Castle by Lisa

I sweep the frost from the path, whisking it away, just as my lady always asked of me when winter came. Some small part of me asks why I bother, when it will only build up again, with no feet to wander it but my own, and that of my broom.

It’s a curse that brought this everlasting winter on the castle of my birth. A curse, and love. Though what the difference is these days, I’m only half sure I remember.

With the grounds cleared, I gather my courage, to walk among statues.

Dealer by Lisa

The street was littered and unkempt, and my heart thundered as walked down it quickly, my eyes darting back and forth, taking note of every face.

It took me a moment to spot him, a wiry man with curly dark hair in a threadbare brown jacket, patched at the elbows. There in his buttonhole was the blue paper flower that marked his profession. He wasn’t my usual—my usual was captured, or killed maybe, by now, though I pushed the thought away. I hated going up to strangers. No one liked it nowadays. But there was no choice in it for me today.

As I got nearer the man, I made the sign that I wanted to make a transaction—I took my hat off and rolled it in my hands. I only ever wore a hat to take it off as a symbol.

The man crossed my path, casually. “So, you’re a new one, are you?”

The Night Train by Lisa

Annie woke up feeling tired, like she’d thrashed around a lot in her sleep. Not tired enough to notice she wasn’t in her room, though. She jumped up, heart pounding, almost slipping on satiny sheets. She was in a small, lush room, all embroidered brocade and rich cloth in carefully-coordinated earth tones. Her favorite colors. There was even a small china plate of chocolate chip cookies on a tiny nightstand that was built into the wall. They smelled like they were freshly baked. She herself was in a silky negligee, but it went down to her feet, very classy like.

She didn’t understand. She didn’t know how she’d come here. But if she’d been kidnapped or something, this was somebody really sick—who treated their hostages like royalty? She tried to remember what she’d been doing last, or at least what she’d been thinking before she’d fallen asleep, but her mind was a blank. She had an impression that she’d been with Derek—that she’d been breathing in his cologne and the smell of the ocean in as he kissed her neck—but as she ran a hand over the same spot, the certainty skipped away, out of her grasp.

Books are for Lovers!

We interrupt our normal weekly schedule to announce something exciting… Books are for Lovers!

So, in case you haven’t seen it, there’s this article going around about how Barnes & Noble and little Indie bookstores are the “last stand” against Amazon taking over the book industry completely and you never again having a real opportunity to be in a store where you are surrounded by a plethora of books.

The idea of this is, to me, a travesty. And so, on my blog, I’ve asked readers and lovers of books to band together and show a little love to their brick-and-mortar stores. Really all I’m asking is for something you probably already want to do if you’re reading this blog: Buy a book on Valentine’s Day.

That’s simple, isn’t it? Just make sure you buy it from your local store, and not online. If you must buy it online, order it from an Indie store via IndieBound.

I know, I know… times are hard and money is tight for a lot of us. But if we can make a difference, even a teensy, tiny difference—isn’t that worth ten or twenty dollars, even in the hardest of times?

If you want to be a part of this, join us on facebook or Goodreads, and please, please, spread the word! Invite your friends, blog or tweet about it. Let’s give our bookstores a big “Thank you!” for all that they do to support the written word.

And come back here or to my original post about this and tell us what you bought! We’d love to know!

The King’s Knight by Lisa

He is not handsome.

I watch the man sleeping on his side, one hand under his pillow, as if he had a sword stored there, and I know it as well as the rest of the kingdom does. His face is twisted in such a way that it seems as if he always has a surly expression, almost grotesquely enhanced, like some churlish tavern pamphlet illustration.

No one could believe that a hero could be so ugly. They don’t have to believe it—they see his face only when it is covered by his helmet.

He is not like my husband.

All Our Many Secrets by Lisa

When we were seven, it was the names of boys we thought were cute. We pinky swore to take the names of each others’ would-be future husbands to our graves.

When we were ten, it was words we weren’t supposed to know. After we got to the worst ones, you started making them up.

When we were fourteen, it was the worst things we knew about every other girl in our grade. We didn’t keep those secrets—we filtered them into the student body and made sure they couldn’t be traced back to us.

First Sight by Lisa

This is a short I wrote for a bloghop last Valentine’s Day. The prompt was “love at first sight.” This is just a photo, a moment.

It was a hot day for February. A Saturday, too. A million people or more littered the beaches of Southern California, which was usually enough reason for me to stay away—I liked my beaches better quiet, something akin to private. It was the first day in months that my friends Wes, Ky and I all had off work the same weekend, too, so we did the same as everyone else, and took advantage of the heatwave. We were seventeen and after graduation we’d all split ways, it seemed natural to hang out as much as we could.

The funny thing is, at first I didn’t even see her. There was a whole gaggle of girls playing volleyball, a couple of whom I’d seen before from school. I noticed because Katie Huxley was there. I’d always had a thing for Katie. We sort of grew up together, and she was nice. She reached “out of my league” status around freshman year though, and I’d always been content to admire from afar.

The three of us were walking down to the water, but we slowed to watch the game a bit. We weren’t the only ones—it’s not everyday you see the volley nets used at all, much less by a group of teenage girls. Katie was serving the ball, and it went high over the net. Some girl on the other side lobbed it back, and it went out of bounds—knocking the girl on my left right into me.