tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40843724385688871592011-04-21T19:06:16.881-05:00Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.comBlogger151100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-31429198174265543942009-03-13T23:04:00.000-05:002009-03-13T23:05:14.692-05:00

Dinner that night was the best they had had so far. Trista cut the fish into tiny fillets and fried them in a little flour and oil. She made bread with oil, and it was much softer than the bread she had cooked for them before. With salt and pepper, they enjoyed the fresh fish. Dion ate one fillet and Gaelin and Trista split the other three.After dinner and clean-up, the sun was falling behind the

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-86456287631599411632009-03-13T22:25:00.000-05:002009-03-13T23:03:25.072-05:00

Another day had passed, and Gaelin had not returned. Trista was beginning to wonder what had happened to him. And whenever she was able to ignore his absence for a while, Dion soon reminded her, one way or another. When she had to watch him and take care of him all day, she was reminded at least once an hour that her awol companion could have really been making himself useful at that time. In all

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-51726236714939187732009-03-13T21:07:00.001-05:002009-03-13T22:10:45.430-05:00

Gaelin woke in the first blush of dawn. There was a slight mist among the trees, and his blanket was dampened with dew. He shivered as he went back to the road and started back down it toward the town, which was hidden for the moment in the fog below him. He tried not to worry about what he would do once he got there, how he would avoid notice but still find some way to get food and supplies. He

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-32067751349515122272009-03-13T20:03:00.001-05:002009-03-13T20:08:54.908-05:00

Gaelin reached the edge of the woods by mid-morning. He stood in the last forest shade, staring numbly at the dusty gravel. For some reason, he was utterly surprised to see it again. The sight of the road from the woods in broad daylight was like the punchline of a joke he hadn’t even known had been going on. And now it was finally over. He shifted the bundle from one arm to the other, then set

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-18648548256572154692009-02-23T18:38:00.004-06:002009-02-23T19:01:56.029-06:00

Well, my good friend Julian Sanchez (Colby, you would know him as Arhdiy) has made some sketches of a few scenes of the story. Since this was actually part of a deal that I would write more chapters for each new drawing, I owe him three new chapters. Fortunately, seeing the pictures has renewed my interest in the story. Looking back over what I have written so far, I can see stuff I would like to

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-78147996815044692242008-11-12T01:54:00.002-06:002008-11-12T02:12:06.788-06:00

Trista felt a little sick as she watched Gaelin walk away. She didn’t understand what had happened to him today, but she squared her shoulders. Good Riddance. Maybe now I can take a bath and wash my clothing. But he isn’t gone for good, he will be back before too long. She didn’t know what would bring him back. She had no illusions that any fondness for her would make him return. Maybe Dion

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-391763234372305152008-11-11T21:06:00.002-06:002008-11-11T21:12:52.836-06:00

He had heard her crying. Gaelin nearly ran back to the cabin through the melting fog. When he reached it, he checked on Dion and immediately reeled back outside and began slapping his palm against his head. He wished he had a good plaster wall to beat his head on. His hand was too soft and the trees and rocks around here were all too hard.I’m such an idiot! Why did I do that? It wasn’t her fault,

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-40329288589079369042008-11-10T12:41:00.002-06:002008-11-10T19:39:38.094-06:00

The woods/from brook to where/the top of the hill looks/over the fog, send up/not one bird./So absolute, it is/no other than/happiness itself, a breathing/too quiet to hear. ~ "Breathing" by Denise LevertovWhen Trista woke up, Gaelin was already gone. The sun was only just rising and she shivered in the cold as she slipped from the bed. The bed had been warm with the little boy cuddled against

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-60673973007794768372008-11-07T20:55:00.002-06:002008-11-07T21:01:40.618-06:00

my name is rose lachenhild, and what you didn't know about me is that i am a killer. i have killed a man, and it wasn't clean or easy. i didn't have a gun, or poison. i didn't even have a blade. i only had what the lord above gave me. when i was assaulted by a man, i crushed his windpipe with my teeth. by the time i had gotten a grip he was in the midst of orgasm. i held on and his own movements

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-45779879755365594712008-11-07T12:54:00.002-06:002008-11-07T13:02:14.384-06:00

Just to remind everyone or inform any new readers, the chapters I am putting up are for a novel I am writing during November as part of the National Novel Writing Month challenge. What you see is strictly rough draft. It has received only the most cursory editing. I have never done something like this before, and honestly, I really don't know how the story will progress or end. I don't even know

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-60301982370279382202008-11-07T02:55:00.003-06:002008-11-10T12:41:23.117-06:00

Trista led Dion into the cabin. She began working on rebuilding the fire again. She thought about how she had naturally slipped into the role of working in the house, cooking and cleaning. She had been working on peeling and smoothing a broom handle. She wasn’t sure what she would eventually use for the broom itself, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. That is how I will have to

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-84077029520584611192008-11-06T19:09:00.003-06:002008-11-07T10:13:19.281-06:00

Trista woke with a start when she heard Gaelin yelp, followed by a higher yelp. She sat up. Gaelin was detangling himself from his blanket and already looking sheepish. Dion made a second try to climb over the incumbent Gaelin and was intercepted. In a second it was a stand-off. Gaelin’s legs were tangled in his blanket and he couldn’t get out while he held Dion by the arm. Dion tugged but couldn

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-50234454049806890242008-11-05T01:54:00.002-06:002008-11-05T01:58:56.227-06:00

“Golde, the first time I met you was on our wedding day” ~Tevye, The Fiddler on the Roof She was glaring at him, and he avoided her eyes. He noticed her wrist still bleeding a little into the back of the little boy’s shirt. “Come on…let’s get that cleaned up.” He was still dazed, but he had a feeling that that would pass and he would be feeling extremely self-conscious soon.

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-50216695679730294572008-11-04T13:22:00.001-06:002008-11-06T21:23:02.752-06:00

“This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends; Not with a bang, but a whimper.” ~T. S. EliotThe car left the glow of the last town’s lights far behind and wound its way into the darkness of the mountains. It was getting close to one in the morning by Gaelin’s estimate. He couldn’t know for sure; the clock in the dashboard of the car was broken and

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084372438568887159.post-57941769980339309822008-11-04T01:41:00.000-06:002008-11-04T01:56:06.986-06:00

Few will ever know why I truly named this blog "The Keyhole," but I think I can make a few more reasonable excuses out of the second and third reasons that it appealed to me. There is an idea left over from a hundred or more years ago of listening at keyholes. In this sense, the keyhole is a time-honored source of information of what is happening inside the room. So I shall name this blog for

Lissyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10417269930774936377noreply@blogger.com2