Baker’s Dozen Fiction Story, chapter 12

Here we are folks, the second last chapter of the Baker’s Dozen masterpiece. This chapter is written by David Stewart and you can find him here.

It’s another great add to our story and it showed me how the human brain works differently according to experience and background.

I’m very excited to see the end of the story! Will our Joe manage to conclude without pulling into the mixture the aliens or agents Mulder and Scully?

Ok, I’m just kidding Joe! 

I’ll see you all for the next and last piece. For the moment sit and enjoy!



“This must be a lot to take in all at once,” Forrest’s sister Anna said. She laid her hand on his arm. “Still, it’s good to see you again, Ananiah. I haven’t seen you since just after David died.”

“My name’s Forrest now,” he said, stiffening at the mention of his older brother. “None of this makes any sense. What are you doing here, Anna, and with Benjamin too?” He turned from his younger brother and sister to the elderly Asian man. “I don’t know who you are and you, Angie—I sure as hell don’t know who you are anymore.” His furious glare was locked on Angie’s face. She merely nodded.

“I won’t ask what you’ve been told over the last few days,” she said. “I know parts of it, but it doesn’t matter. I am the one who you’ve gotten to know over the last few months at work, but I’m not the one you’ve been with for the last few days. That was my twin sister. Up until today, we both worked for the CIA. Twins are of immense value in the intelligence business—misdirection, confusion, chaos. Neither of our names is really Angie, but you can still think of me that way, if you want.”

“You killed her,” Forrest said. “You killed your sister, and Christina too. I suppose she was a spy too—probably never really loved me, right? I suppose everyone I know is a spy.” He suddenly felt very tired, as if another revelation would send him to his knees.

“I didn’t want to kill them,” Angie said. “I loved my sister, at one time, but I was desperate. It was probably a mistake. As for Christina, I don’t know how she felt about you, but she was a spy. Not with us though. Another group.”

“Who? The Chinese?”

“No, the US military,” Angie said.

“But you’re on the same team!” Forrest said. “Aren’t you?”

“Let me try to explain,” the elderly man said, stepping forward. “The situation is, uh . . . complex.” He had a gentle, soothing voice with just a hint of a British accent. He sat down at the table nearby and motioned for Forrest to sit. Angie, Anna, and Benjamin all sat down as well.

“My name is Mr. Xia,” the man said. He pronounced it like sha. “I am the leader of this group, which we call Mechilah. It is a Hebrew word, just like its founder, your mother.”

“My mother,” Forrest repeated. Benjamin nodded; Anna smiled encouragingly.“The medallion you carried around for most of your life; do you know what it does?” Xia asked. “Has it ever shown any, uh, unusual properties?”

“I don’t know what it does but it seems to be immensely important to everyone but me,” Forrest said. “It has gotten suddenly warm before, but that’s it.”

“Your father was understandably quiet about its nature, but let me give you a quick history lesson,” Xia said. “It is said—in legend, mind you—that during the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD, a group of priests was trapped inside the temple. One prayed for a miracle, laying the only thing he had on him, a revolt shekel, on the altar. The legend says that that one priest gained great powers when he was holding the coin and through those powers, he saved himself and his fellow priests from the pillaging Romans. The coin was made into a medallion and handed down from father to son, although the knowledge of its powers was lost to time.”

“What sorts of powers?” Forrest asked.

“The ability to pass through walls and walk unseen,” the old man said. “It was your father who rediscovered them and put them to good use—or not so good use.”

“Our father was a hero,” Forrest said. He looked unconsciously to his sister and brother for support.

“He was,” Xia said. “He is responsible for a great deal of Israel’s success in the wars of the 60s and 70s, both through intelligence gathering and, well, elimination of key enemies. He once told me that he had killed 1,482 people. Mostly men—mostly soldiers, but not all. The covert medals and commendations did nothing for his conscience and that is why he ultimately killed himself.”

“But then why didn’t he just destroy the medal, if he hated it so much?” Forrest asked.

“He did not hate the medallion; he hated himself for how he had used it. He saved his country, but he could not save himself. Still, he was too much of a traditionalist to destroy such an heirloom. That is why he passed it on to you, but did not explain its power.”

“So what is happening now?”

“Even allies spy on each other,” Xia said. “Israel could not keep its secret weapon totally secret and soon the rest of the covert world got wind of it, both allies and enemies. The vultures began to circle around you, looking for evidence that you were using the medallion and how you used it. An international covert coalition was formed to keep this technology out of the hands of ‘enemies.’”

“But who is the enemy?” Forrest asked. Xia merely smiled and nodded, as if Forrest had hit on the crux of the matter.

“Sometimes people form alliances even when they know that there can only be one winner,” Angie said, breaking in. “The alliance exists only to the point where one individual can betray his allies and seize victory alone. The Israelis may have been the first to respond to the attack on your office building, but Ross—my father—made sure the Americans grabbed you first. Now that we are in America, even national unity is breaking down as each group tries to grab the power for themselves: the military, the CIA, even political parties. This kind of power is divisive. People would kill without hesitation for it.”

“So whose side are you on, your little Mechilah group here?”

“We’re not on anyone’s side,” Benjamin said. “Mother knew all about the medallion and she formed this group to keep the power safe from people who would misuse it. Mechilah means “cave” because we want to bury the medallion, to keep it safe. But the word can also mean “forgiveness.” I do not know if the power of the medallion can ever be used for peace and forgiveness, but it is our hope. Until then, we need to keep it safe.”

Forrest gave a bitter laugh. “Well, that’s admirable, but it doesn’t change the fact that you failed. The medallion is gone. Ross has it now, although he says it’s a fake.”

“It’s not a fake,” Xia said. “You see, the medallion is only a key.”

“To what?”

“To you, Mr. Ananiah Yedidya, or Forrest Graham, if you prefer. You and your brother and sister. Only descendants of that original priest can use it.”

“Then there is no problem,” Forrest said. “They can’t use it and they think it is a fake. Can’t we just forget about it?”

“We could, for now,” Xia said. “But it may not always be that way. It may be that one day they will find a way to use it, even in ways we cannot anticipate. It is not safe with anyone but us.”

“Then what do you propose we do?”

“I want you to go back and get it.”

Forrest jumped up. “Are you crazy? I’m not a spy. I was a prisoner in that place and now you want me to walk up the front door and ask for the medallion back?”

Mr. Xia stood up and gave a slow, almost ceremonious nod. “That, son of my dear friend, is exactly what I want you to do.”

* * *

Ross Hammerstein sat behind his desk with his legs propped up and slowly turned the medallion between his fingers. It was not fake, he knew, but still they could not figure out how to use it. He had acquired it thanks to luck and ingenuity, just ahead of a clamoring mob of other interested parties. Now he needed to find out how to use it, quickly and before the winds of fortune changed direction yet again.

The phone rang and he grabbed it. “Ross here.”

“This is the front gate, sir. We have Forrest Graham here. He just walked out of the darkness and asked for you.”

Ross sat up. “Is he alone? Armed?”

“Totally alone and unarmed. We searched him thoroughly. Should I let him in?”

“Bring him, captain, but under guard.” He hung up and smiled to himself. This was a wind he hadn’t anticipated. He sensed unseen stratagems at work. A trap? Possibly, but this was his base and he was in control. A moment later, Forrest Graham walked in, surrounded by four armed guards. “What do you want, Forrest?” Ross asked. “You got balls, coming back here like this.”

“I want to help you,” Forrest said.

“Sure you do,” Ross said with a leonine smile. “And how are you going to do that?”

“The medallion you have isn’t  a fake but only I can use it. Just like my father.”

“You know what it does?”

“It increases the user’s strength a hundred times,” Forrest said. “That’s where the Jewish legend of the golem comes from. You didn’t know?”

Ross said nothing. That was not what he had been told, although it seemed plausible. He gazed at Forrest, looking for signs of lying, but the younger man’s face was impassive.

“Fine, show us,” he said at last. It was a risk, but it had to come to it sometime. “Not here, though.” He turned to the captain in charge. “Vault B.”

* * *

Forrest was stripped and dressed in a white cotton jumpsuit and slippers. Then he was led into a steel chamber with windows high up on all sides. The medallion was lying in the middle of the chamber.

Ross’ voice came through a speaker. “Pick up the medallion and demonstrate its use. You are currently being covered by a wide variety of powerful ordinance, so don’t try anything.”

Forrest picked up the medallion and held it in his fist, trying to stop himself from trembling. Mr. Xia’s plan seemed insane now. He closed his eyes, trying to remember how he had felt when it had gotten hot before. He thought of his father, willing himself to do this for him, willing the medallion to show its power.

He felt it, a growing heat in the palm of his hand. He opened his eyes in time to see the steel wall in front of him fade slightly. He could still see it, but he saw the room beyond it as well, as if he were looking through thin tissue paper.

There was an exclamation from the speaker. “You faded from sight for a moment. How did you do it? Tell me, quickly.”

Forrest did not answer. He was breathing hard; the mental effort he had needed to exert was staggering. He heard a hiss and saw that gas was pouring into the room from overhead vents. It was now or never. He stared at the wall in front of him until it faded again and then he lunged through, running as fast as he could in those ridiculous slippers.

He tripped and lost concentration, sprawling to the floor of an empty corridor. Then he was up again, desperately trying to make the medallion work again. It was easier this time, but already exhaustion was creeping in.

He ran again and suddenly found himself outside. The outer fence was only a hundred feet away. Behind him, alarms were going off. Shucking the slippers and gritting his teeth, he sprinted towards the fence just as gunfire erupted behind him

Blog on the go!- Studying

You all know already my passion for Supernatural and I’m happy to tell you that I’m watching it again!

This girl who’s staying with us seems to like it, and as she’s never seen it, I gladly agreed to watch it with her…sometimes it’s necessary to do some sacrifices.

This will turn out to be useful considering that the idea I have for NaNoWriMo this year concerns supernatural genre.

Now the reasoning behind what I’m planning to do is something I’m going to disclose in another post, maybe closer to November, but I can share with you something else.

While I’m watching the show, this time I’m taking notes.

And if something inspires me or I think it’ll be useful I’ll go deeper in researches!

Although I think my curiosity will force me to research about everything at least superficially!!!

I think that curiosity is one of my strengths, maybe it’s one of the must have characteristics for writers, but at the same time it’s one of my biggest problems.

I always forget to consider that I can’t possibly acquire information about everything. I forgot sometimes that I’m just a human being who, among the other problems, has not so much spare time. You know already the tight routine I’m trying to squeeze myself in.

On the top of that I’m trying to research and study about everything like archaeology, history, folklore to name a few. The things I would like to learn, and mind I haven’t done much yet unfortunately, will be necessary to create a few characteristics of my Sonrisa a few elements of my future supernatural/urban fantasy stories.

In the end what I’m trying to say is that I think I’m not so normal but I want to keep trying.

I was told once that human mind is like a bucket, when it’s full it’s full.

What do you think?

Franny’s daydream #1

Sorry for keeping you waiting, but I had some changes in my house lately and while I’m trying to adjust to the new situation the following post will be interesting but one of the shortest I’ve ever produced for you!

Let’s talk about daydreams! And doing so I’m going to introduce you a new category and tag!

I usually daydream, I’ve always done it. What about?


If I wanted something, if I liked someone I used to daydream. 

To tell the truth I keep doing that… constantly. The only problem, strictly connected with it, is that I often end up in being disappointed.

Take as example the last one I had. When I was going to go to Listowel I kept dreaming about my one to one with the teacher, and I always dreamed about her telling me how good I was or offering me to publish my stuff.

You can say I was fool, I know I was, but sometimes my fantasy takes over and I don’t think properly and I let the flow of thoughts go, simply because it is pleasant.

Considering this particular aspect of the phenomena, actually, I’d say that my imagination creates problems the most of the times.

Of course when in my head everything is just roses, a tiny torn in the finger is perceived like a claymore into the eye!!!!!

So, when things turn out not right or as I aspect them, on the top of the disappointment that it’s normal to feel in these cases, I feel like someone who has been buried alive during an earthquake.

I’m not here to keep ranting about that experience but it was the most recent and handy and less personal example I had at hand.

Now one of my biggest day dreams is to become a writer, of course, but there are so many ways it could happen that I’ve never focused on one daydream.

But I know something.

If I’ll ever become a writer I know already that my aim isn’t having a movie done out of my stories.

What I want is a Ghibli Studio animation movie.

You know that guy who decided to transform Diana Wynne Jones books into movies or the Mary Norton’s borrowers into the fantastic Arietty movie?

Here you have

Hayao Miyazaki sensei!

He’s one of my personal hero and source of inspiration. My dream is to meet him one day and to be lucky enough to inspire him with one of my stories.

How creasy I am? 

Baker’s Dozen Fiction Story, chapter 11

In April I came across Joe’s blog and I joined his group of writers in the attempt to create a short story! Now it’s my turn and you can read following my chapter.

I want to thank Joe for the opportunity he gave to me, the other Baker’s dozen fictioneers for the support and my friends Christina and Kevin for the help in correcting the grammar. The shadow of my self-confidence still feels sore after the bad comment received by the editor! So native speakers’ correction was a must!

So here it is:



Forrest was staring into Chrissie’s eyes but his brain was working frenetically and trying its best to recollect the thoughts and the happenings of the previous couple of days.

It seemed Forrest wasn’t supposed to trust those who were asking to be trusted or to believe those declaring the truth. Also, he thought once again, he was just an ordinary software engineer. Why him?
He was even sick and tired of repeating these things to himself…he actually started to hate himself.

He was interrupted in his train of thought by two men who pulled them out of the helicopter and pushed them forwards without ceremony.

Another pair of the kidnappers were waiting for the party at the top of the stairs. It was just then that Forrest noticed they were Asian and weren’t dressed as military but more in the style of old Bruce Lee movies. There was an exchange of words, brief and in an oriental language.

“What is it?” Forrest heard Chrissie saying.

He didn’t even realize that she was tightly gripping on to his shirt until then.

Forrest just shook his head. He pulled himself together and decided that from then on he had to pay attention to what was going on. No point in despairing and no time to feel weak anymore.

No distraction this time.

The stairs they descended were metal, the kind you would find at the top of a skyscraper.

They reached the base of the helipad and they were pushed through a door. Forrest didn’t say anything but his rage was reaching higher and higher levels. Flashbacks of his childhood were coming back to him, but he didn’t push them back this time. He tried to remember instead, something that had been dormant for the past twenty years.

He tried to remember the faces, the voices connected with his father. He remembered the trip they took to Greece. It was then he remembered that had been the first time he had seen the dress the men in front of him were wearing now.

Immersed in his thought he was barely aware of the surroundings.

He connected with the present again only when they were led into an office and when he saw Ross sitting on a chair behind a huge desk.

“Welcome, Forrest!”

Forrest didn’t answer, he was forced into a chair and the same treatment was given to Chrissie.

“Don’t you want to introduce me your friend?” asked Ross

“No, not really!” Forrest said.

He heard the door opening once again and a man entered the room. Angie was dangling from his shoulders. He just threw her on the couch in the farthest corner of the room. Then he went closer to the desk and chucked the medallion in front of him.

Ross nodded at them to go and they left the room, leaving Forrest staring at the chubby old man in front of him.

“So you have what you want now, Ross” Forrest said.

“No, not entirely” Ross said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that this one” he lifted the medallion in front of him “It’s a fake!”

He got up from the chair, walked around his desk and sat on the edge.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me where the original is?”

Forrest felt in danger once again, but he stuck to his resolution to be stronger.

“You could ask your daughter, it seems she knew better than me!”

“You’re the owner!”

“Well I don’t know! So what? Do you want to kill me? Be my guest!”

Chrissie started crying at his side.

Ross stared into Forrest eyes for a split second and then said.

“Very well, I’m a patient man, Forrest, I can wait and I want to show you that I’m also a gentleman”

He went back to his desk again and pushed the interphone.

“Take them away”

A couple of the saffron dressed men came in and again in silence and not too delicately, brought them away.

After a long walk they entered a huge suite. There was food and all they needed to get a change of clothes.

“It seems the baddies are not like in the old movies anymore!” Forrest said and laughed almost hysterically.

When the door was closed and locked behind them Chrissie went closer to him and started pleading “Forrest, please, can you tell me what is going on? Why are you here? Why am I here? Where are we?”

For the first time Forrest managed to relax a notch and embraced Chrissie with all the sweetness he had left.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m very sorry. I don’t know!” he said.

She started sobbing and then slowly calmed down. Forrest could hear his heart drumming on his ribs, and hers as well in such tight embrace as they were.

“Everything will be all right” he said, not entirely convinced.

He felt her unbuttoning his shirt and once again confusion was flooding his brain.

An intense heat hit him once he felt Chrissie’s lips on his torso and her hands going along his spine. He turned down and he saw she was in her lingerie already.

“Chrissie I…”

“Let’s go in the shower together, c’mon…” she whispered.

Forrest wasn’t surprised this time and after an initial sense of winning, detached the girl from him.

“Chrissie what have you just…”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence.

The door was knocked down and a blond fury came in armed with a gun.

It was Angie; her face was covered in blood.

“Leave him alone!” she ordered Chrissie.

Forrest looked at her and then at the woman next to him and once again he felt lost. He tried to shield Christina with his own body but Angie shot at his shoulder, aiming to hurt him just slightly.

“Stop it! You have no clue who she is!” Angie said.

“Well I had no clue who you were either!” Forrest said.

It was then that Chrissie jumped from behind him, disarmed Angie and the two women started an intense and tight fight.

Forrest couldn’t move. He admitted for a split second that he dreamed about that during his lonely nights but he didn’t see it happening for real.

He decided that despite the confusion he was feeling inside his head this was the time to go away and hide somewhere.

Once on the threshold though, he found his face level with Angie’s.

“What?!” he said.

“Move!” she yelled.

She pushed him aside, lifted the crossbow she had in her right hand and yelled once more “You’ll now die, bitches!”

She aimed to the two women fighting on the floor.

After a few idle shots she managed to hit Angie, the other Angie, in the neck and Chrissie straight into the heart.

“Nooooooo!” yelled Forrest and he fell on his knee to vomit.

After that he felt a burning sensation and nothing anymore.


“Brother” Forrest heard a familiar voice calling him.

He opened his eyes but couldn’t move. He was aching all over.

“What are you doing here?” he said once he focused on the face of his sister. He turned around and saw a high room. The walls were irregular and it was cold.

After a while he managed to sit up and having a better look around, he realized he was in a cave. He had been cured.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated.

“Brother is here as well!” she said without answering.

His younger brother came closer then accompanied by the other Angie and a very old shrunk Asian man.

“Can you please explain to me what is going on?” he pleaded.

The old man jumped on a stool, asked Forrest’s younger siblings to turn their backs to their brother and lifted a bucket full of hot water.

He poured it on the left shoulder of both of them and Forrest could see that with the heat a line started to form, and then a drawing, and then after a while he understood. The pictures he could see were forming part of what looked like the medallion.

“You have the third part of the front side, Forrest” the old man said.

“This explains why everybody was so eager to have a shower with me lately!” he said.

Franny’s news #1

Introducing the new tag and category: Franny’s news. In busy times or simply when I decide to, I’ll write under this category news about me, the updates you have to be informed about. In other words I’ll let you do my business!

Let’s get started!

I know I’ve been a bit like a fugitive lately but this week and the one before were the heaviest weeks of the month as this weekend I’ll be off! This means that I’ve worked Saturday, Sunday and yesterday…in other words I’m very, very tired!
Unfortunately doing ten hours shifts means that weekends are the busiest days and the patience and ability to stand rude and stupid customers are a bigger challenge. Also summer weekdays are very busy. I let you only imagine what a summer weekend looks like!
Tomorrow and Friday I’ll be in work once again and I fear already the horde of zombies I’ll have to face.
Sorry for the rant but bear with me for the summer!


If you’re following my blog you know that in a couple of days will be my turn for the new instalment of the Baker’s dozen fiction story. I’ve read again the pieces already published and I’ve been taking notes. I have an idea on how develop the story and as I said more than once I only hope to reach the expectations. Again as you saw for yourself the standard is very high and I’m just under the average!!! Let’s see what I can come out with!


My emails reached once again the limit but the time I had was limited, even tighter than usual, so I had to leave something behind. I will read your post for sure but it’ll take time!


I’m going slower in the reading of “A game of thrones” and I think that this month I won’t reach the target of one book, but I’ll try to get faster. I love it anyway, Martin is such a genius!


After having a look at the costs of the potential expedition to Rome next year we decided to give up on the Supernatural conference. I’m fidgeting with the idea to be able to go to Vancouver and be able to meet one of them on the street! Ah silly me…but full of hopes!


I think this is all for the moment!

I’ll see you on the next post! 

Baker’s Dozen Fiction Story, chapter 10

Hello everybody!

Sorry for the delay but I’m trying to do this in the bits of spare time! The past few days and the next few will be very busy! I know I shouldn’t but I’m doing this from work! 

Here you have the tenth chapter by the very talented Lashell Collins, and you can find her here!




“Forrest!” Her voice was a warm, breathless whisper against his cheek. “Forrest, how are you? Are you all right? Forrest?”

Her familiar voice sounded slightly frantic now, but Forrest still struggled to pull himself from the fog his brain was mired in. His eyes endeavored to focus, to try and help his brain make some sense of the confusion going on around him. He felt a sudden and erroneous jolt of relief as the owner of the sweet voice slowly came into view. It couldn’t be! Was his mind playing tricks on him?


“Oh, Forrest! Thank God,” she whispered as she held him tightly, clinging to him like a frightened kitten.

“Chrissie?” he mumbled again, still feeling confused. How was she here? What was happening? He didn’t get the chance to ponder those questions for very long, because suddenly they were being herded into a waiting helicopter. Not again, Forrest thought to himself. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Who were these people and what was going on. And most importantly … would this madness ever end?!

The fog clouding Forrest’s brain lifted as they piled in, and it was then that he finally got a good look at the uniforms their new captors were wearing. American? Navy Seals? Were they finally being rescued for real? A small ray of hope began to take root inside him. Perhaps now, things would finally begin to make some sense. He could only pray that it were true. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, he looked to his right and watched in disbelief as one of the uniformed men carried a bound and unconscious Angie onto the helicopter and secured her in the seat next to his.

“Orders were to bring this one back alive if possible,” the soldier said to the pilot. “Luckily Ross’ team of acrobats didn’t have to kill her.”

“Did you get the talisman?” the pilot asked.

The soldier nodded his head in affirmation, holding up the old medallion that used to hang around Forrest’s neck. He had taken it off and given it to Commander Yurdissen. That seemed so long ago. He wanted to ask the soldier where he had gotten it, but the man spoke up, answering Forrest’s unasked question. “As we expected, she had it on her when they neutralized her. All the captives are accounted for; let’s go!”

Forrest couldn’t believe his ears as the chopper lifted into the air. Angie had his medallion in her possession? How had she gotten it? And he felt like a fool when he realized that she must have been in cahoots with their captors from the very beginning, and that whole scene with Commander Yurdissen was all for show. All to get her hands on Forrest’s medallion. But why? Who is she really, and who does she work for? And how did his father’s old medallion really fit into the craziness that had become his life? Forrest still had so many questions and not nearly enough answers.

Scratching his head with a deep scowl on his face, Forrest suddenly felt weight on his left shoulder and it startled him. He jumped slightly, turning to the pretty young woman beside him who was resting her head on his shoulder. Chrissie! In all of the confusion and his silent quest for answers, Forrest had completely forgotten she was here.

“Chrissie,” he whispered, and she slowly lifted her head and looked at him. Her warm brown eyes were wary and frightened. “Chrissie, what are you doing here? How did you get tangled up in this mess?”

“I don’t know,” Chrissie responded softly, her voice small and tearful. “I don’t know what’s happening, Forrest. All I know is that I was kidnapped on my way to work. I was grabbed from behind and tossed into a van. And I think they must have drugged me or something because the next thing I knew, I was in that dark place! That cell, with the horrible smell and the electric shackle around my ankle! I don’t know how long I was there or even what day it is now,” she said, quietly sobbing now.

Forrest listened to her tale in horror. Chrissie had been kidnapped and brought into this nightmare, all because of him? It just didn’t make any sense. She reached up and gently caressed his face with her hand as she continued talking.

“Oh, Forrest! The whole time I was locked in there I just kept thinking about you, and how I wished I had said yes and accepted your marriage proposal. When you were punished in the cell, and the room lit up from the sparks … I thought my mind was playing tricks on me when I saw it was you. That it was all some cruel joke. But it really is you! Oh, Forrest, I love you! I love you, and I thought I was never going to get another chance to tell you that! And to tell you that I made a huge mistake the other night. Please tell me I’m not too late. Tell me that we can still be married! If we survive … whatever this is.”

Forrest’s mind was reeling. He had no clue how to respond as he stared at her lovely face in stunned silence.

TV series

It seems that lately my passion for TV series drove me mad as it used to do years ago.

I’ve always loved TV series, so much that when they decided to put the channel FOX dedicated to them I thought I could go insane!

So in a very brave way I decided that that I had to force myself to choose what I wanted really to watch, otherwise I could have spent hours, days or even months doing nothing but hanging in front of the TV.

Doing this way I narrowed the range to the ones I really liked, fantasy or comedies mainly, although thrillers fascinated me since I was very young and I used to watch Perry Mason before going to bed.

So excluding the great crush on McGyver I had when I was 9, I used to enjoy a lot of them: The Nanny, Dharma and Greg, Charmed, Buffy the vampire slayer, Everybody loves Raymond, Heroes, Supercar, Hulk, Wonder woman, to mention a few spread through all my life.

For a while I followed E.R. but I had to stop to watch it because of my hypochondria. Also I had to leave Dr. House after a while too, as, although medically speaking more complicated and impossible to understand, it was making me anxious.

Then it came the period of the thrillers like Criminal minds, CSI, and lately NCIS and the fantastic Copper. (I’m so looking forward to the second season!)

I honestly have to watch them in waves as after a few episodes I start to check the entire house before going to bed!

But the one that at the moment I’m a little obsessed with, or in other words the one that is driving me crazy is this one:


Yes, and if you get to know me a bit, and you’ve followed my blog for a while you know that my favourite is:


I know that I behave now like a 15 years old, but like someone said: it’s kind of normal as it’s one of the purposes of Television’s business. They’ve made it!

Lately I’ve become upset because one of my dearest friends suggested to go to Supernatural convention.

Now I’m not upset because she suggested it, I’d love to, mainly because all the pictures I’ve seen of her conventions (although on different TV shows)! They make me feel I want to go all the time.

However the price is prohibitive. I explain. Apparently there are two conventions near me or doable for me, the one in Birmingham and the one in Rome. I wanted to go to Rome because I could leave Maya at my mum’s but the more I looked into the prices the more I was oppressed by the anxiety!

The best pass is 425 euro and to that one you should add all the extra bits you want to book and to buy.

In fact, on the top of the pass I had to add the plane to bring Maya to grandma, the train to reach Rome, the stay in the hotel, the food for three days as a minimum.

Ah and I forgot to tell that everything was supposed to be multiplied per two as my partner was going to come with me! In the end with the basics we were over 1500 euros.

We love the show, my partner introduced to me, curse him (just kidding!) but such amount of money is insane!

Now I won’t talk right here about my hatred about money and gaining money and so on because I want to keep the atmosphere light, but still, it’s incredible that once again is the vile money to move everything.

Anyway I’m thinking how to sort the thing out and to be honest I’d love to go to Birmingham instead (we still don’t know why is cheaper!), even if my favourite actor for the moment hasn’t been announced yet. (He’s in Rome thought….shush I know, I know!) but still I’d have the problem of where to leave Maya (bringing her with me is something we think not doable as a small kid is like trapped in this way).

I was so upset and anxious yesterday that I told my partner “What we can watch tonight? I don’t want to watch Angel (is the nowadays substitute of Buffy that I’ve seen for hundreds times already), because is making me feel anxious (the hook of the last episode said that he must kill his child) Do you have anything else?”

He looked at me and said “Arrooooooow!”

I wasn’t so sure as he spent last weekend going around the house saying “Arrooooow! Arrooooow! Arrooooow!”…he has to watch something while I’m in work!

But then I told to myself “Why not!?” and I started…

Without even realizing it, I spent almost 3 hours solid in front of the TV! I was totally hooked.

Action, that’s what I forgot, I needed pure action and fights to feel better!

Ladies and gentlemen, here is my new obsession:





Ok, considering that this morning I woke up with a polemic mood, I decided that the best thing to do will be posting my dreams. I haven’t updated the page for ages, but I haven’t stopped dreaming. So it’s more than fair update you too!

My huge problem is that I let myself to be convinced to enter a fairy tale competition…in Italian…on an Italian website. I’ll wait to calm down and I’ll fill you in on this part.

I’m just upset that once again I have to confirm that Italians can’t do things in an honest way! Oh dear…

Anyway, here is my dream, fist one is from this morning before opening my eyes!

Gathering all my notes I realized that there are less than I remembered, I should write them all down!



I was into an arena similar to the ones from ancient Rome. We had to kill monsters and we were kept as slaves. After a huge bloody fight I don’t remember about, I found myself in the centre of the arena surrounded by loads of monsters/demons corpses. I managed to leave the place and find a nice spot into the wood. There was a wooden house surrounded by cherry trees and flowers. It looked like a fairy tale house indeed. I entered and there was something sad and strange about the environment. There was a small entrance with a small table leaning against the wall and two white used dishes, someone ate into. I entered then in a huge living room.

It looked like a hunter house with a touch of old lady living room.

 There was a lady with her middle aged son. They didn’t look surprised I was there and the lady wanted to do pancakes. She went to a cooking corner I hadn’t noticed coming in and began to cook them. Her son gave her instructions and his preferences.

When they were ready I didn’t trust to eat them because I was afraid they might poisoned. The son took a bite from mine and went “You see? They’re ok!”

Unfortunately the only reason they could do that was because they were immune to that poison…



Someone who was a mixture between my partner and an actor I love (but I can’t exactly remember who he was at the moment) had to go away.

“Can I go with you?” I said.

“Of course you can, and I’ll make sure you’ll forget later” he said hugging me.

So I reached the upper floor while the others were watching the TV.

I tried to tidy up the bed, and the desk and at the same time I tried to think if would remember after he was gone at least something or whether I’d miss my partner.

While I was changing my clothes my dad entered into the room and hugged me. I was ashamed because I was changing my clothes but also I was in hurry because I had to go to him otherwise he’d go back to the moon and I had at least to say goodbye …

(a bit confused, right?!!!)



I don’t remember the beginning of the dream but eventually I was in a post office and I was with my colleagues Liz, H.K and Rhonda as team leader, she was shouting orders and told me to jump on the position that unfolded under my eyes after dethatching from the wall…

(I might have some work issues…)



A ex robber wanted to become a chef. Someone wanted to kill him.

We left my aunt’s place and mould (don’t ask me what I wanted to say here because I have no clue!) so we arrived into a Hockey stadium.  Here old team members ambushed us. We ran away and we entered into a motorbike shop, the robber pretended to be dead.

After that he went into a club to warn a lady.  She seemed frightened and rushed back into the kitchen. However an unknown woman told him not to trust the lady.

Gordon Ramsay was at one of the side tables with other four people and saw him. Enraged because he was alive he threw at him something white and stunned him.

He managed to reach a small allay around there. They attacked him, they were four of them and they blackmailed him “Either you come back into the group or we’ll kill you”.

He refused and they beat him badly. They took him to the hospital and threw him into the emergency entrance.

The morning after he went out of the hospital, he was dressed with a dirty jumper that used to be red. He wondered around in a market outside the hospital area and wanted focaccia with fennel and I cannot remember exactly what he was screaming but one of the things was “Is it possible to have this damn focaccia?”…..


Writers groups

After a few sunny days it’s again typical Irish weather, but I like it as it is, so although I appreciated the summer like week, I feel more comfortable with the Gothic sky on my head, mainly because it inspires me the most of the time.

The reason why I’m writing this post still comes from my disastrous weekend spent in Listowel.

Don’t you worry, this should be the last rant post (I’ll probably post a couple of writing exercises I’d done during those hours, just because I like the outcome!) but I had to write it because I’m still trying to perfect the action to take and doing something to improve, or like someone said prove her wrong.

That’s why I’m thinking about an advice I was given.

Yesterday I spent a very nice day with Maya and my friend Christina. I can’t thank her enough for the constant support to me, to my writing and my creasy thoughts. She agreed on the positive feedbacks I received from you guys, so this encouraged me once again to keep going.

She’s been following me since I tried my first English writing, Arilla, something that was supposed to be about a girl travelling through the under the sea kingdom and ended up looking like a display of all the absurd things she could eat during her travel making her look like a barrel on legs!

Well, it was my first experiment in English and I only had tried to write a book in Italian about pirates before that, so…

But anyway, I was going to say something else.

One of the suggestions I received from the people that were at the workshop with me was to have a look at writers groups as they might help with constructive feedbacks.

This lady who gave me the suggestion said that back in Cork she found a group of fantasy writers. They were just four, but they were committed, honest to each other and it was a very good support.

I tried to have a look at the writers group on the area I live in but there isn’t much. Plus, I think that it would be difficult to find a specific YA fantasy writers group.

So I thought that maybe doing it on line would be a great solution.

But how should I do that?

So here is my invite and question:

If I wanted to form an on line writers group how should I do it?  Where should I start? Does anybody know about a good one? Does anybody want to volunteer to start one anew?

I’d highly appreciated your time and help!

Thanks in advance!


Baker’s Dozen Fiction Story, chapter 9

And here we are already with chapter 9.

I confess I feel lost this time! But we’ll see!

Now, the writer behind this chapter is Ted Strutz and you can find him here.

Chapter 9 by Ted Strutz

The staccato click of high heels on tile reverberated down the hallway alerting the men sequestered in the situation room of a rogue unit of the RNC.  A phalanx of men entered and took up position, followed by a svelte figure dressed in a back pencil skirt, topped with a silk camisole and trademark red blazer, sporting the familiar rhinestone American flag pin on the lapel.  Piercing eyes behind the Kazuo Kawasaki eyewear locked on each man for a second.

“Have you heard from Ross yet?”

“Yes ma’am.  He briefed us an hour ago.”  A withering glance made the speaker wish he had lied, he quickly continued.  “Ross claims they are being held in the Pelosi/Reid compound outside Las Vegas.  His agent arranged to be held captive with the others to gain access.  Forrest was wearing the medallion when he entered, so there’s every reason to expect recovery should be ours.”

“I would like Forrest unharmed if possible, and the girl held captive too, save her.  What of Angie?  Has she shown her true colors yet?  Her father was none to happy.”

“She is not being held with the others, so Ross thinks Forrest must know by now.  He says the conditions are pretty brutal in the cells”

Sarah smoothed her skirt and blazed a look at the group.  “That’s the Dems for you!  They have become emboldened during his second term.  Gentlemen, there can be no failure if the GOP expects to beat Michelle in the next election.  We must have the medallion.  What does Ross plan to do?”

A senior aide stepped forward.  “Mr. Ross has assembled a crack team of Cirque de Soleil performers from the show at the Bellagio to infiltrate the complex.  A complete layout and the location of the cells, along with an escape route was furnished by Max Welton after he was expelled from the house and defected to our side.  He is Tea Party all the way now and has been most helpful.  Mr. Ross is awaiting the go.”

“Good.  Then green light it and have my helicopter ready in five minutes.”  A quick turn and the heels left the room.


A nondescript white van left the bright lights of The Strip and headed toward the Wilson Cliffs.  The smell of rosin and makeup hung heavy in air.  Good thing they’re small, thought Ross, otherwise I’d have to get a larger vehicle.   After going over the plan and assigning roles, an excited silence fell over the group of men and women dressed in black.  The threat of world domination and the resulting chaos on their homelands had made for an easy recruitment.  Tranquilizer guns had been issued, and a switchblade in case the slitting of throats became necessary.  Ross hoped not, as he did not want to further ramp up hostilities.  The attack of drones on Forrest’s building and subsequent attacks had been unfortunate and showed the lengths they would go to attain their goals.  He wished he could have stayed to free him from Angie’s grasp, but after that damn fool had bolted with her, he had to make other plans. Sarah had not been happy.


In Washington D.C., two powerful leaders meet in the back room of a small restaurant.  One leads a majority and the other a minority.  The clink of champagne glasses finishes the meeting.

“Has Renaissance been notified of the news from Nevada?”

‘Yes, I’m told she’s grateful.”


The captives soon found themselves tied to metal folding chairs against a stone wall in an open courtyard.  The girl next to Forrest watched as the woman the others called Angie crushed a capsule under Forrest’s nose.  Jolting awake, he was disoriented and fought his bonds.  Waste of good Amyl, thought Angie, but it did the trick.  ”Forrest, can you hear me?  I am going to say good-bye to you and your friends now.”  This announcement and the men with the M-27′s seemed worrisome to them, as the guards had not been seen carrying machine guns before.

Sleep in the cells had been hard to come by, and the girl thought she was seeing things as if there were people sliding down ropes in the gloom on the other side.  A sudden flash of light and a deafening roar caught everyone by surprise.  There was no time to react as figures came cascading across the stones in a dizzying array of cartwheels, handsprings, and somersaults.  The guards were quickly subdued, but it took 3 tranquilizer darts to put Angie down.  The group was rushed to the center of the yard as lights started flooding the compound.

Then,  blades of a helicopter so silent they could barely be heard, and the rush of air seemed heaven-sent to the captives.  The girl crushed against Forrest asked how he had been.  Looking at her he could only say…