Monthly Archives: December 2013


Savage Ocean Views

Here’s another Savage excerpt. V’s a girl, H is a boy, and this is a dream.

* * *

Ocean stretched as far as V could see. No land, no boats, no hope of rescue. She treaded water, barely managing to keep the salty waves from lapping over her lips. A rank fishy scent scalded her nostrils. Something brushed her leg, and a scream tore from her throat. She paddled harder, desperate to stay afloat.

Photo credit: Stuck in Customs 
via photopin cc

She couldn’t panic. She couldn’t. If she gave in she’d sink, she’d drown.

Drowning might not be a problem if the dark shape circling around her decided to attack.

H popped out of nowhere. He stood on the surface of the water and glanced around. With an “Oh, shit,” he dropped into the sea and sent up a massive splash.

V let out a manic laugh. It was definitely one of those laugh or cry moments. And crying wouldn’t help right now.

He broke the surface and swam over with nice, easy strokes.

V held a hand out of the water. “H, don’t! There’s a shark.”

“What?” He stopped beside her, treading water easily.

She dropped to a whisper, hoping the shark wouldn’t hear her. “There’s a shark.”

“Is this like a metaphor?” he asked, his lip curling. “Am I the shark?”

“What are you talking about?”


Pain ripped through V’s leg as the shark’s teeth pierced her skin. She screamed as it pulled her under the surface. Water gushed up her nose and into her mouth. She coughed and spluttered but knew it was too late, she hadn’t even taken a breath. She expected her life to play back, like a movie, but she just thought of Mum and Dad. They didn’t even know she’d been in the ocean, how would they handle the news she’d been eaten by a shark?

H appeared in the water before her, his hair floating around him, and caught her in a hug. The pressure on her leg eased, and the water drained away. He laid her down on a bed of springy grass and patted her back as she vomited up a bathtub’s worth of ocean.

“You okay?” he asked. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth?”

V pushed herself upright, keeping her gaze turned away from him. She shivered. They might not be in the ocean any more, but her clothes were still soaked. “At least you could’ve given us dry clothes.”

“Do you really want me to try and change your clothes?”

“No. I guess not.” She closed her eyes and imagined both of them in dry t-shirts and jeans. For just a second her brain wondered what he’d look like without the clothes. No, she didn’t care what he looked like. She was still mad at him.

“Whoa, I’m naked.”

Her eyes flew open, and she found him grinning at her. Not naked.

“Made you look.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What? That was totally funny.”


Confession Time Light Relief

Photography Hilarity

What happens when you take a woman who has no idea how to pose and combine her with a snap-happy photographer?

You get a bunch of hilarious candid shots mixed in with some gorgeous ones.

Where am I going with this?  Well, I needed a fantastic photo for the website and I didn’t have any that were suitable.  I was looking at cropping my hubby out of one, or my baby daughter out of another.  (My daughter isn’t a baby any more, so you can guess how old that photo is.)  So I turned up on my sister’s doorstep with a bag full of “costume changes” and begged her to take some photos of me.

There may have been alcohol involved.

I did get a wonderful shot (check out the About page if you haven’t seen it) and we laughed our arses off at the hideous ones. Really, there’s nothing like sitting around with your sister and scrutinizing all your flaws… It really was fun.  I promise.

And then there was this photo:


I look like I should staring in an advertising campaign for Women’s Refuge or Red Cross.

Poor Amy, she looks so sad! Make a donation to one of those great causes and she might smile again.


All credit to my fabulous sister for the photos.

Light Relief

We’re gonna need a montage

Have to credit my hubby with this Friday funny.

I’m sitting in the lounge listening to 80s classics and he tells me it’s perfect music for a montage.

So here’s a montage of me writing.


Typing on the computer…

Pulsing 80s beat starts…

More typing…

Wipes sweat from brow…

Chews on a pencil…

More typing…

Switches to a typewriter (we’re doing this old school)…

Pulls the page from the typewriter and throws it over my head…

Stop-motion shot of a rubbish bin filling with screwed up paper…

Nods thoughtfully and types furiously…

Stands beside printer as hundreds of pages fly out (screw that old school stuff)…

Stacks pages and makes sure they’re even…

Music starts to fade out…

Walks off into sunset, leaving manuscript on table…

Fist pump…


Photo credit: gilles chiroleu via photopin cc