Picture Perfect
January 30, 2025 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as beach, fiction, short fiction
Shaun held the framed photo of his grandfather and traced the image with his finger.
“He was such a great man.”
Granddad had died four years ago, but the rawness of grief still gnawed at Shaun. He’d lost the man who had raised him when his own parents couldn’t—or wouldn’t.
And here he was, reviewing plans for his wedding, his fiancée at his side. Erin would never meet the person he owed his life to.
“I see where you got your good looks,” Erin said. “Too bad I never knew him. My own grandfather died when I was just a baby, so I never knew him either.” She paused, and looked down at her notebook. “Maybe we can honor your grandpa in some way at the reception?”
She launched into an update on the guest list, the bridal party, and other wedding details he honestly didn’t have an opinion on. They were getting married, and that was enough. If only Granddad were here . . .
Once again he touched the photograph, taken when his grandfather was Shaun’s age, his eyes sparkling in laughter, his ever-present Tilley hat pushed to the back of his head. In the background, the surf at Brigantine crashed onto the sand, a gull winging overhead. Shaun had framed the photograph after he reached adulthood and went out on his own. He wanted to be reminded of how far he’d come, thanks to the man.
Erin continued her updates, and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he was standing on a beach, with the waves rolling in below a clear sky. Gulls cried above him, and a briny breeze flowed off the ocean. Erin was looking at him, her mouth agape.
“Where are we?” she squeaked.
“Not sure,” Shaun said. “The Jersey Shore, I think.”
The beach was deserted except for a man walking toward them—the guy definitely had them in his sights. As the man drew closer, Shaun knew who it was, but not how or why.
The face was younger but unmistakable. “Granddad?”
In the warm summer sunshine, the man wore jeans and a tee, his head topped with his usual brimmed hat. His smile enveloped Shaun, and he followed that with a bear hug.
“Shaun, my boy,” the man said. “Good to see you.” He turned to Erin, shock still etched across her face. “And this must be your fiancée.” He extended a hand. “A pleasure, miss. You’ve got yourself a real catch in Shaun.”
Erin slowly put out her own hand, and the man covered it with both of his.
“But how . . . ?” Shaun said, his voice trailing off until the roar of the surf absorbed it. “You’re young—my age. And you’re here. It’s impossible.”
“Not impossible, but complicated,” his grandfather said. To Erin, he said, “You can call me Paul. I’ve known Shaun for years.” He offered his arm to her and winked. “I think it’s time to take a walk on the beach. Beautiful day for a stroll, don’t you think?”
For the next few hours, that’s what they did, talking and laughing as the waves tugged at their feet. With every step, Shaun tried to make sense of what was happening. Erin, trading jokes with Paul, was at ease as if she’d known the man for years, not just an afternoon.
Finally, Paul came to a halt and turned to Shaun. “You’ve done well, grandson. I’m proud of you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. “Take this. When the time comes to say your vows, this will stand in for me, since I can’t be there.”
Shaun took the coin, felt the smoothness of the metal, its unyielding strength.
“Thank you,” he said, content to remain in this must-be-a-dream state as long as he was allowed.
The wind gusted, sending up spray from the surf. Paul grabbed hold of his hat and settled it on the back of his head.
Erin, still at Paul’s side, reached up and adjusted it. “There, that looks better,” she said, smiling. “And it keeps the sun out of your eyes.”
Shaun shaded his own eyes in the brightness, closed them briefly—and he was again in his living room, the framed photo of his grandfather back on the side table where he kept it.
His right hand still gripped the silver dollar, and he opened his palm. The coin was real enough; he hadn’t dreamt that.
Erin shook her head, her eyes dazed. “What just happened?”
“I’m not sure,” he said.
He glanced at his grandfather’s photograph. It was the same, and it wasn’t. The Tilley hat perched on the back of his grandfather’s head was now straightened, and his lips curved in a friendly smile.
Food and Fiction
June 10, 2024 by Tari Jewett in category Charmed Writer by Tari Lynn Jewett, Writing tagged as Beach reads, fiction, food, romcoms, SummerI’m working on a new romcom, and as the story unfolds, I realize that food plays an important role in all of my stories.
Not surprising as a former food columnist, and photo shoot ‘chef’. I raised three boys, four if you count Hunky Hubby, all who loved food. A lot of my life has been centered on cooking and planning menus. I think that in most cultures food is the center of family and friends. My childhood family sat at the dinner table together every night, and we did the same when we raised our boys. Holidays revolve around tables laden with foods, whether homemade, catered, or from a favorite shop or restaurant. And friends get together for Brunch, lunch, dinner…coffee.
So, as I write, I see and smell the food that my characters put on their tables. In the #HermosaForTheHolidays series, the main characters often meet at The Beach Break, a little coffee shop on the Hermosa Beach Promenade. The Beach Break is fun for me, because the owners are two brothers, who experiment with new recipes from time to time, which has me looking through my recipes, through my approximately 200 cookbooks (it used to be more, but I’ve culled each time I move), scouring the internet, and looking at restaurant menus for new ideas. This often sends me to the kitchen to try something new.
In Love and Mud Puddles cooking is the focus of the plot, and Hannah, the main character’s quest for the perfect Christmas Cookie. Hannah doesn’t bake, she doesn’t cook, her oven is another place to store things. But, Christmas cookies are so important, that she’s determined to learn…and maybe find love along the way.
You don’t’ have to be a chef, or even a home cook to love food, or to love romance!
If you’re looking for a summer beach read, I hope you’ll check out #FireworksInTheFog, part of the #HermosaForTheHolidays series to get you set for 4th of July, and summer romance.
And I thought I’d share one of my favorite summer potato salad recipes. I love it as part of a meal, but I’ll eat a bowl as a snack as well!
I’d love to hear your favorite summer foods, and feel free to share a recipe! And if you try this one, let me know how you like it.
Horseradish Potato Salad
1 ½ pounds red potatoes
1/3 cup mayonnaise (I use low fat)
1/3 cup sour cream (again, I use low fat)
2-3 tsp. prepared horseradish (not sauce)
¼ tsp. salt
½ tsp. pepper (or pepper to taste)
¼ tsp. garlic powder
½ small onion, minced
2 stalks celery, minced
Place potatoes in a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, and cook 15- 25 minutes, or until tender. Drain, and cool.
Add mayonnaise, sour cream, horseradish, salt, and pepper to a mixing bowl. Stir until well combined.
Dice the potatoes, leaving the peel on and place them in a large bowl. Add onions, celery and dressing. Stir gently, until combined. Cover and refrigerate for 2- 24 hours to allow flavors to blend.
Serve.
Makes 6 servings.
0 1 Read moreFlight Pattern by Dianna Sinovic
March 30, 2023 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as fiction, flash Fiction, Flight Pattern
Dianna has had a very busy month, so we’re rerunning a flash fiction piece from several years ago. She’ll return next month with a new post.
Flight Pattern
Joe cradled the cockatiel in his hands, then extended one of the bird’s wings to trim the flight feathers. His flock of birds now numbered eight, and one pair had three eggs incubating. The birds shrieked and twittered around him as the morning sun though the skylights lit up the aviary.
“Easy there,” he said softly, gently turning the bird and trimming the other wing. The bird’s mate was preening on a nearby branch.
After releasing the cockatiel, he surveyed the aviary. Carey was coming by in twenty minutes, expecting a tour. Would she like it? It was important to him that she understand his passion. These birds were precious to him—they kept him sane. He walked with effort to the doorway and looked back one more time.
He had met Carey a month ago, when she sat next to him at a township meeting. He had come to make a statement about the pending municipal budget. She was there to see her friend’s grandson get a community award. They got to talking and discovered that they had both lost spouses. They both read voraciously, he about the Civil War and she about women’s history. And she loved birds. Joe had vowed to himself that no one would ever replaced Amelia, but he was drawn to Carey’s joie de vivre. She wasn’t pretentious, and she seemed genuinely interested in him.
Joe’s arthritic hip wouldn’t let him go birding with her, but she said she was intrigued by his cockatiels.
But now he was nervous. Twice he checked his reflection in the hall mirror, smoothing his thinning hair. When he saw her drive up, he felt as he had all those years ago, when he and Amelia were on their first date. Could love happen twice in one life?
“Joe, you look pale. Are feeling alright?” Carey wore a peach scoop-necked shirt and tan capris. She looked lovely.
“I’m fine, fine.” He ushered her in the door and accepted her gift of freshly baked bread.
“I thought we might have a slice or two after we look at the birds.” She looked around at the modest living room, and Joe was pleased to see her nod in approval.
The aviary was at the back of the house, in a room that had once been the den. He had built a screened foyer that allowed him to look into the aviary before entering it. Most guests got only that far—a chance to see the birds but not handle them. Joe took Carey into the room itself. When a bird landed on his shoulder, he transferred it to her hand. He pointed out the markings that made cockatiels unique. He told her about building his flock after Amelia’s death. He showed her the nest with the three perfect eggs.
“Would you like one of the hatchlings?”
Carey shook her head. “Thank you, Joe, but I think the baby birds belong here, with your flock.” She seemed to sense his disappointment. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the offer.” Her eyes twinkled. “In fact, I will take one of the hatchlings—as long as it stays in the aviary. That will give me an excuse to come here as often as you’ll have me.”
Some of Dianna’s short stories are in the following anthologies.
Author Chrysteen Braun talks about The Guest Book Trilogy!!
March 2, 2023 by Jann Ryan in category Jann says . . . tagged as fiction, mystery
Chrysteen Braun is a California native, born and raised in Long Beach. The mountains, where she and her husband had a second home, were the inspiration for her first three books, The Guest House Trilogy. These fictional restored cabins from the late 1920s all had their own stories to tell. Her writing crosses genres of Women’s Fiction with relationships, and a little mystery and intrigue. She’s published articles about her field of interior design and remodeling, both for trade publications and her local newspaper. She lives in Coto de Caza, with her husband Larry and two Siamese cats.
Contact her at chrysteenbraun@gmail.com, or www.chrysteenbraun.com
Today I have the pleasure to chat with the amazing Chrysteen Braun, author of The Guest Book Trilogy.
Jann: When did you know you wanted to be a writer?
Chrysteen: I think every author “always knew” they wanted to be a writer. I was around twelve when I wrote my first book. I have no idea what it was about, or where it ended up, but I do recall being so proud of myself. I actually knew how to type at that age since my parents worked from home and I learned to type and use a 10 key adding machine. Did I just date myself? I joined a writer’s group in the 80s and then got sidetracked with business, so I wasn’t able to write much more than newspaper articles about decorating. Our business was remodeling and interior design. It wasn’t until I retired that I decided I only had so many summers left, and if I wanted to write my novel(s) I’d have to get on the ball.
Jann: Was your journey to publication easy? Tell us about it.
Chrysteen: I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I was going to write; I knew I didn’t want to write romance, but I also wasn’t a mystery writer, so I had to figure out how to combine the two. Then I had to decide whether to publish traditionally or go indie. I listened to a lot of seminars and webinars about everything writing related, and honestly got so overwhelmed, I had a difficult time figuring it all out. Then, I wrote the first drafts of five novels while they were fresh on my mind. That threw me into another state of overwhelm, along with Covid-19, and I knew if I didn’t make some decisions, I’d never get anywhere. I decided to jump into indie publishing, and began editing the first book, which is the first in the Guest Book Trilogy. Three years later, I’ve published two books, am working on the third, but have gotten sidetracked with a sequel novella, and a prequel novella, (which is turning into another book.!) I went with a company called Bublish, who does everything; book cover, ebook and paperback layout, book description, ISBN, NetGalley, editorial reviews, and initial Amazon and Facebook Ads. I’ve paid for these services, and they’re all under roof, but I knew I’d never be able to finish my books if I tried to learn how to do it all.
Jann: Book One in The Guest Book Trilogy, The Man in Cabin Number Five, made its debut on May 10, 2022. Which came first—plot or character?
Chrysteen: The overall story. Then I had to figure out who my characters were, and since I’m a pantser, I
didn’t do an outline. I did, however, keep track of all my characters, and I made up a timeline since the story itself is set in the 1980s but works up to that. I really got myself confused a couple of times and have learned how important it is to keep track of it all.
Jann: Would you share with us what The Man in Cabin Number Five is about. Where did you get the idea for the book? Who are the main characters?
Chrysteen: I read about an unsolved murder in the 50s. and knew I wanted to add it to the story, and The Trilogy is about Annie Murphy who moves up to the mountains in Lake Arrowhead, Ca, to move on with her life after discovering her husband was unfaithful. There she reinvents herself and restores a series of cabins. She complicates her life when she meets a new love interest. She also meets Alyce Murphy, whose story runs parallel. Alyce discovers her father didn’t die of natural causes as she was led to believe but was involved in a murder/suicide in one of the cabins Annie now owns. You don’t know until the very end, what really happened, until Alyce’s father John Murphy tells his story, The main characters are Annie, Alyce and Noah.
Jann: On November 28, 2022, The Girls in Cabin Number Three, Book Two in the Trilogy came out. Tell us about Annie Parker and Carrie Davis, the book’s main characters.
Chrysteen: In book two, Annie makes a wrong turn in her relationship, but also meets Carrie Davis, whose mother Elizabeth, also stayed in one of the cabins during prohibition. There was a (real) speakeasy up in Lake Arrowhead in the 20s and 30s, and as with book one, the reader doesn’t know the real story until the end, when Elizabeth tells us what happened.
Jann: Are you working on the third book in the trilogy? If so, can you give us a sneak peek?
Chrysteen: Book Three is about a Starlet named Celeste Williams who stayed in cabin number seven when filming a movie. Annie meets her son, and he describes growing up with an ‘absent’ parent, and again, it isn’t until the very end Celeste tells her story.
Jann: What would you like the readers to come away with after reading your books?
Chrysteen: I don’t write for causes; I write so my readers close the book and say, “That was a good read.”
Jann: What preparation did you do for the launch of your books?
Chrysteen: I stressed about it, but Bublish launched both books. I wish I knew more about book launches, and hopefully with the next books, I’ll have a better idea of what I can add.
Jann: What still excites you about writing?
Chrysteen: I thought for sure I was going to run out of ideas, but I’m finding I can hardly wait to finish one story so I can go on to another. That’s what happened with the prequel novella; I kept coming up with more ideas so it’s not turning into another book.
Jann: What’s the best writing advice you ever received?
Chrysteen: Oddly enough it’s from my husband; “When in doubt, just write it.”
Jann: Do you have a website, blog, twitter where fans might read more about you and your books?
Chrysteen: Website, www.chrysteenbraun.com and I’m always available to chat at chrysteenbraun@gmail.com
Jann: Do you ever run out of ideas? If so, how did you get past that?
Chrysteen: I wish I had a writing ritual. I absolutely have to get all my ‘busy work’ done (like answering emails, doing marketing, listening to seminars, bookkeeping) before I can focus on writing, but sometimes this takes me into the afternoon and I’m burned out. I’m constantly making notes on little pieces of paper, and then when I’ve finished a draft, I go through them and see where I can add or embellish. And when I think I’ve run out of ideas, I go to my husband and ask something like “Where would they go next?” “What could they do?”
Jann: What profession other than your own would you love to attempt?
Chrysteen: Would I sound pretentious if I said I’ve done everything I’ve loved, not always successfully? Interior Designer, retail store owner, contractor, writer….I haven’t had a ranch or been a court judge. Hmm
Jann: What’s your all-time favorite book?
Chrysteen: I have several. Everything written by Jonathan Kellerman, Sue Grafton, Robert B. Parker to name a few.
Jann: What’s on your To-Be-Read pile?
Chrysteen: Any Jodi Picoult books, The Bookwoman of Troublesome Creek,
Jann: What’s your favorite song?
Chrysteen: The Wind Beneath my Wings, Bette Midler, and Conte Partiro, by Andre Bocelli
Jann: What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done?
Chrysteen: Waterskiing in Capetown harbor.
Jann: What is your favorite word?
Chrysteen: “Dork” when I’ve done something dumb, but “love you” would have to be my favorite
Jann: What is your least favorite word?
Chrysteen: The “F” word and shut up.
Jann: What turns you off?
Chrysteen: People who go overboard with a cause or are totally opinionated.
Jann: What’s the funniest (or sweetest or best or nicest) thing a fan ever said to you?
Chrysteen: “You don’t look as heavy as your photo.” No, just kidding!!! “I’ve read your book and I’m buying six more to give to friends for Christmas!”
Chrysteen, is was great doing a Q&A with you. Thanks for giving us a peek into your writing world. Good luck with Book Three!!
Book One Buy in Links
Amazon ebook: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09Y9KGZ3R
Amazon paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1647044626
Amazon hardcover: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1647044642
B&N paperback: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-man-in-cabin-number-five-chrysteen-braun/1141373079?ean=9781647044626
B&N hardcover: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-man-in-cabin-number-five-chrysteen-braun/1141373079?ean=9781647044640
2 1 Read moreThe Gifts by Kidd Wadsworth
February 27, 2023 by Kidd Wadsworth in category Infused with Meaning by Kidd Wadsworth tagged as fiction, kidd wadsworth, Seasons Readings, short story, Short Story Award, short story contest
She placed the three gifts on the mantle, each beautifully wrapped: one in gold foil paper with a white ribbon it’s bow a dove, the second in green and white striped paper like a mint candy cane was topped with a green paper pine tree, the third in classic red and white Merry Christmas paper was adorned with three large red bows. Otherwise, the room and house were undecorated. She couldn’t bring herself to carry all the boxes of ornaments and lights down from the attic. Mike used to that. He would shout, “Ho, ho, ho and where’s my hot toddy!” Christmas decorating had always begun the same way with Mike carrying box after box down the stairs and her in the kitchen juicing lemons and then screaming, “I forgot to buy bourbon!”
By the time she returned from the store, he’d have the tree up, Christmas music playing, and strings of lights spread out on the floor. “Did you buy replacement bulbs?”
She turned on the gas fireplace. It was cozy room—a lonely room. She pushed down the yearning inside of her soul. “Don’t go there,” she whispered.
She bulwarked heart with memories of other Christmases. Presents and more presents, how rich her parents had been. And each Christmas morning ended the same way, with wrapping paper strown about and delicious smells of ham wafting from the kitchen, and presents, so many presents and not a single gift she liked: clothes, all in shades of navy and mauve, clothes she would never wear, high-heeled shoes that hurt her feet, make-up—didn’t her mother ever look at her face? She didn’t use makeup. At her church they had a Christmas tree with tags on it: stuffed animal, girl’s coat size 8, mittens, boy’s backpack, etc. Surely her Christmases were like the Christmases of those children. All the gifts bought by people who didn’t know them, who didn’t really understand them. Year after year, she slowly learned. Don’t get your hopes up. No one knows you. You are their daughter, but they don’t see you.
Now twenty-eight years old she understood. She had reconciled her expectations to the reality of the world. It was impossible to really know another human being. So, every Christmas she bought herself presents. All sorts of wonderful things like copper cookie cutters and an antique bookshelf. She cooked what she loved including pumpkin pie with extra cloves. She never offered anyone a slice of her pumpkin pie. That would have been cruel—too, too cruel.
And every Christmas she put Mike’s gifts back up on the mantle and dreamed of what could be inside. Their first Christmas together he had stormed out when she refused to open his present. “Please understand, I just can’t be disappointed anymore. What we have is so special, I don’t want to damage it. I can’t bear knowing that you’re the same as my parents. That you don’t really get me.”
He had come back, of course he’d come back. He’d held her.
The next Christmas she’d put the green and white striped present on the mantle, and their third Christmas the present with the red and white Merry Christmas paper. By then Mike had adapted. He brought home hundreds of small things for her. A new mixer, he’d gotten her the red one to match the paint she’d picked out for the kitchen walls. A cup holder for her car that expanded to hold her giant coffee mug. Caffeine and cloves, yup! He was Santa all year long.
“Someday you’ll trust me,” he’d said. “Someday, you’ll open the gifts.”
But that someday didn’t come—no one is supposed to die at twenty-six. She looked up at the gifts on the mantle. “The last two probably just have rocks in them to make them rattle. I mean he wouldn’t keep wrapping up stuff knowing I wasn’t going to open the presents.”
She turned away and turned back again.
“My memories are all I have, Mike. I don’t want to find out that it wasn’t really as good as I thought it was. I don’t want to know that you were only human. You tried hard. I know you did. And this way, I can keep on pretending that you loved me, that you really understood.”
She sipped her hot toddy.
This is the beginning of a story I’m considering for the Bethlehem Writer’s Group new anthology. By the way, did I mention the Bethlehem Writer’s Group’s short story contest is now open for submissions? Click here for details: https://bwgwritersroundtable.com/
Kidd Wadsworths Stories
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