If you’re ready to change your life, it’s time to get started with the Ambitious Girl Guide to living your full potential! The Ambitious girl guide is an inspiring e-course and self help challenge that helps you live your full potential. With this course you will be able […]
People often ask me what inspires me. The best way for me to answer that is by saying, whenever I feel a strong emotion. The emotion can be Love, sadness, joy, curiosity, desire, or pressure, but in order for it to inspire me it has to come from a place of Love.
If you haven’t already, you’ll discover everything you need to through love. Love is always the answer.
5/642 Days of storytelling
“It’s not about love, ” Jacqueline said.
“It’s never about love” Stacee chimed in.
“It’s about convenience,” Marc, Stacee’s husband, said.
“You can’t tell them that,” said Jacqueline’s new husband, Jay, as he interrupted the conversation.
“Can’t tell us what?” Jacqueline said grabbing her husband’s arm, as he sat across from her.
“We’re both getting an earful later,” Jay said, shaking his head at Marc.
“What did you want me to say? They’re right, it’s never about love,” Marc said.
“What do you mean never?” Stacee said now staring intensely at her husband.
“Oh Stacee, you know it’s all about timing with them. They could have the perfect girl, but men wait until the perfect time,” Jacqueline said.
“Hold it right there, that’s not entirely true,” Jay said chiming in.
“She’s right, Jay, give it up,” Marc said taking a sip of his half glass of foamy bear.
“In my case she’s not,” Jay said.
“So this is a case by case basis?” Stacee said.
“The perfect girl came when I wasn’t ready, and soon I became ready,” Jay said.
“Bullshit,” Marc said pointing at Jay.
“Honey that was sweet,” Jacqueline said.
“When we are tired of whoring around we settle upon the first girl who comes along,” Marc said.
“Marc, stop drinking you’re being an ass,” Stacee said, pulling his beer away.
Jay chimed in, “Yeah Marc, those are only in high school relationships, or college flings, never for the girl you marry. You know this.”
“I’m not talking about me. I’m stereotyping, all men, Stacee.” Stacee waves her arm at Marc, while flashing a thirty thousand dollar ring on her finger. Marc reaches for his beer, Stacee puts her hand over his. He pulls his arm back before saying, “I’ve seen this happen to all of our frat bros Jay. We fall in love when we’re ready to fall in love. Happens every time.”
“Maybe you’re just a lover boy,” Jacqueline says staring sweetly into her husband’s eyes.
“You got a good one Jackie, don’t let him go,” Stacee said.
“He’s a lover boy alright,” Marc said patting Jay’s back with a heavy hand, “Remember that time you cried over that chick you got pregnant?” He let out a wheezing laugh.
“I cried because she miscarried,” Jay said.
“No way Man, she just said that because she didn’t want anything to do with you,” he took another drink of his beer. He looked to Jacqueline, “Your husband has a kid running around.” He laughed again, and said “Love child” into his glass cup.
They were all silent for a moment. Unsure of where to carry the conversation, Jacqueline stood up, the sounds of the chair making a loud noise against the wood floor.
Jay grabbed her hand, she pulled it away, and grabbed her wine glass, along with empty glasses of beer.
She came back with four bottles of wine, and a trey of prearranged cheeses, with almonds and crackers with jam, purple and green grapes.
“What’s with all the wine?” Marc said breaking the awkward silence he started.
“Oh, you’re right,” she said grabbing the bottles of wine and putting them back in the cupboard. The other three watched as she opened the freezer, and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels.
She slammed it on her antique wooden table. “Yeah, it’s a party,” Marc said, putting his two hands up and waving them.
“Couldn’t hurt,” Stacee said, now pulling her straight hair back into a ponytail.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” Jay said grabbing the bottle by then neck, and tilting his head in an exaggerated manner before filling his mouth up with pure Whisky. Two gulps, he held it in his mouth too long. He made a face, with a squinted eye and an slanted mouth.
“So Marc, tell me what happened with Jay’s ex?” she said giving him a challenging look.
“See that’s the problem with women, you guys care too much about the past. Don’t let it bother you,” Marc said taking a swig of Jack while squinting his face.
“It bothers me because he didn’t tell me.”
“It didn’t matter,” Jay added.
“The other problem with women is that you all fall in love too quickly. Look at Stace. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is and she fell for a bozo like me.” Stace looked at him sweetly. “No honey, you’re a moron, look at me,” he said pointing at his beer belly.
Jacqueline was playing with her infinity diamond ring as though she were going to take it off. The three of them watched as she twirled the ring around, and pulled it up to her finger tips, only to slide it back down.
“Just take it off then, if you’re going to taunt me with it,” Jay said, now angry at Jacqueline.
In one movement she took it off and threw it at him. It hit his chest, and landed on a crease of his grey shirt. Jacqueline got up and marched over to her room. Making sure to slam the door behind her.
Jay sighed heavily, and looked down at the ring in his hands.
Stacee grabbed Marc’s hand tenderly, and made a sad face. He hugged her and kissed her temple. She leaned his head against his chest as they sat at Jacqueline and Jay’s kitchen table.
Jay sat looking down at the ring he held in between his thumb and index finger. He began to stand up, only to sit back down.
Marc observed, “I told you it was about timing.”
#inspiration You’re never going to steer yourself in the wrong direction when you follow your heart. Your gut is always right. You can always tell if something is right or wrong by the way that it makes you feel. If you choose to ignore this, that is another […]
Short Fiction Story: Day 1 of 642 of storytelling
“Always sit with your legs crossed,” Bree’s Mother said, as Bree sat swinging her legs joyously back and forth since they could not reach the floor. Bree’s mother was taking the dead leaves off of the roses. “Except when you’re at church. You sit up straight, as you should be sitting now.”
Bree sat up and fixed her beige squort before crossing her legs. “Had that been a squirt or a dress, you wouldn’t have been able to sit like that. Remember you don’t want the boys to see your panties,” Bree’s Mother said. Bree shook her head in agreement. She pulled her sunset yellow headband over her face, and readjusted it, tucking the baby hairs beneath the headband. It had become habit.
“Your hair looked fine, stop messing with it,” Bree’s Mama said emptying the mildewed water, and replacing it with fresh water. Bree’s mother wore a floral dress down to her knees. Bree never judged whether anything her mother wore was cute or not, she just assumed that it was always what was “right.” What she was supposed to wear. But when Bree noticed the roses patterned along the dress, it only reminded her of how much she hated roses.
“Mama, do you like roses?” Bree said, folding her hands together and leaning into the table to listen.
“Honey, as a woman you’re supposed to like roses, they represent elegance, and romance,” she said as she changed the burgundy roses into a glass vase.
“Well, I like sunflowers better,” Bree said.
“That’s a wildflower honey, it grows tall in the summer. It reminds me of freedom, the inability to be tamed. It’s a promiscuous flower. A decent man is supposed to buy you roses,”
“In that case I prefer a dandelion than a rose,” Bree said with her nose up.
“Sweetheart, those are mediocre flowers that died into a cotton ball and does nothing but pollute the air and bring us allergies.” Mama said arranging the roses neatly. Bree’s mother then stopped and looked at her daughter with an intense stare, “Dandelions are weeds.”
“Mama, they are not weeds.”
“Why yes they are.”
“No Mama, they’re pretty yellow flowers of hope that blooms into a bunch of tiny invisible angels, that need a spot to plant their umbrellas, so when you make a wish and blow them into the wind, the angels will guide the seeds to that wish in the right direction to make it come true. When you see one floating alone, there’s actually an angel with it.” Bree paused looking at her mother’s face, “Don’t you see Mama? Dandelions are wishes,” Bree said now standing on her chair to be her mother’s height.
“Well if Dandelions are wishes, then roses are love,” Bree’s mother said, moving the vase to the center of their four person dinning table. “And get off that table young lady you are eight years old, not three.”
Bree stepped down from the chair using the table as support. Rose petals fell as the table shook.
“If roses are love then I don’t want it, Mama. I’d rather have a bouquet of a thousand wishes,” Bree said reaching her arms out and tilting her head back, as if she were holding a huge basket .
Bree’s mother said softly, “Now, don’t you want a love like me and Daddy?”
Bree stared at her mother, “Mama, you feel the same way about Daddy that you feel about those roses. And if that is love, I don’t want any roses.” Bree said starting to pout. She crossed her arms and wrinkled her face at her mother.
Bree’s Mother loosened the ribbon belt around her waist. “Honey, I love your father, what are you talking about?”
“You look at those roses the same way you look at Daddy,” she said ever so slightly raising her voice, then in almost a whisper she added, “and sometimes you look at me that way too.” Bree sat at the kitchen table uncomfortably sitting cross legged, with her curly hair loosening down to her shoulders with every passing minute.
Her mother rushed to her side, kissing her daughter’s forehead, and hugging her tightly.
They went out to the porch, past Bree’s bedtime as they waited for Bree’s father to come home from work. They sat on the antique rocking chair that belonged to Bree’s grandmother, for the first time since her passing because it was a “filthy thing” and did nothing but “waste precious time” that could be spent on chores. Bree sat in her mother’s lap. Slouched against her arm, and legs uncrossed down her mother’s own legs. Bree’s mother was barefoot, in her nighties, and pulled her hair out of the tight bun to comfortably lean her head against the wooden chair. Today to Bree, she looked beautiful. Slowly, the rocked back, and fourth in silence. Looking out into an unlit street, and past that into fields that eventually blended into the star sprinkled sky. Bree’s mother rested her chin against Bree’s head, and kissed it frequently.
The warm wind, giving no sign of cooling, blew faintly into a patch of dandelions. The umbrella shaped seeds danced in the air before gliding across Bree’s sight.
Bree smiled excitedly and broke the silence, “Mama, I wished for this.”