Shameless Self-Promotion

This is basically going to be a major link dump and some tidbits of awesome information. So, I’ll make it short and sweet and when we are all done you’ll be a black belt stalker. Wait…what?

For those of you are part of my Facebook group (LAL Readers – open to anyone, please ask to join to stay in touch with me and receive updates), you might remember me saying that I was going to separate my writing. I wanted to get the romance stories I was writing away from my poetry collections.

???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????Meet Ashlyn Kingsley.

Which is basically me, but just the romantic, story-telling me. Not the poetic me.

You can find me, as her, on Facebook and Twitter. As well as the blog.

If you visit, you’ll see there are still a few more days to pre-order my first book, Loving in Shadow. A Kindle Short Read!


I am one of the editors of The Reverie, which I’ve mentioned to you guys before.

We are currently open for submissions to our themed anthology. Please come visit and drop us a submission for your chance at publication.

reveriebuttonSubmissions for the Spring 2015 magazine open October 1st, so if you’re holding on to something awesome, this is a great opportunity!

Writing prompts started this week and we’re talking about social change. You’ve still got a few days to enter. This is a super easy way to submit to the magazine!

You can keep connected with The Reverie on Facebook, Twitter, Google +, and Tumblr.

Massive link drop, huh?

Well, I did warn you.

By the time you click all these links, you too, shall be a great stalker. It’s like a free course in how to just be awesome. You’re welcome.

The Room of My Heart

It’s dark in here, this narrow hall. The walls are tight and I barely have to put my arms out a bit to feel my fingers brushing against the cool, rough concrete. My breath shoots out in puffs of frozen air and I shiver, goose-flesh breaking out across my skin. The floor is wet and I must have lost my shoes, because the water licks at my ankles. It feels as if it is rising, breaks in small waves along my calves, and retreats, pulling at my toes. I close my eyes, as if that would help, but all around me is a sensation of feeling. Behind it all, a steady throb.

The beat that forms the music, and I need these things, these fearful things, to guide me there. With each step in, the beat grows faster, louder. Soon the water is up at my hips and I’m crunched over, the ceiling lower here. I’m bent and wet and the waves are slapping at my belly and I expect my lips are blue from cold. But the beat is fast. The beat is loud. By the time I reach the door, can feel the soft wood, worn by waves, it is almost deafening. The pounding has seeped into my mind, broken my defenses.

I open the door, pull myself inside, and use every ounce of my strength to push that door shut again.

And all is quiet. The floor is dry, smooth, dark wood that stretches the expanse of the room. My bare feet leave small wet footprints behind. Softly the music begins, stringed instruments to accompany the soft beat. I take a deep breath and the air is warm. It smells like an old book store, and I see the walls are filled with bookshelves almost bursting with stories. At the end of the room is a fireplace with roaring flames and a large red sofa. The room is barely lit, but that fire puts off enough light to chase away the shadows.

There are no windows here, no one to see into my space. I strip away the nastiness of the day, the sludge that I seem to carry with me. I stand naked in this space, before the fire, and let it dry away the remains of that horrid walk. I curl up onto that couch and my blanket is there, the one I sleep with at night. I wrap it around my body and lie back, letting the music soothe me and the words come as I hear them.

Beside me is a table, and on it, stacks of parchment paper. As I start to talk, the words appear on each page, filling the space until every page is consumed by them. Later I will scoop them up. I will place them in a binding and onto one of the many shelves. But for now, I will stay here, by the fire.



To visit more heart rooms, please check out Jennie’s post.

Daddy: Fiction in 50 March

I suppose I haven’t had enough of death scenes lately, so when I stumbled across this today, I knew I had to enter. Enjoy my 50 word piece of fiction:

fiction in 50



He swept her into his arms, holding her to his chest. She was such a tiny beautiful thing.

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered, and his tears dripped onto her head, a mournful baptism.

Pain shot through his chest like lightning. Her shirt grew damp with blood from his wound.


Word Count: 50

The rules for participation are simple!

1. Create a piece of fictional writing in 50 words or less.

That’s it!  But for those who wish to challenge themselves further, here’s an additional rule:

2. Post your piece of flash fiction on your blog or (for those poor blog-less souls) add it as a comment on the Gargoyle’s post for everyone to enjoy. 

And for those thrill-seekers who really like to go the extra mile (ie: perfectionists):

3. Add the nifty little picture above to your post (credit for which goes entirely to ideflex over or create your own Fi50 meme pic….

and 4. Link back here and/or add your post to the linky list so others can jump on the mini-fic bandwagon!

Prompts for the first half of 2014 are as follows – suggestions for new or alternative prompts are always welcome! Posts can go up any time during the week (or entire month – we’re not fussy!) beginning the following dates:

The week beginning:

January 27…..The best of intentions

February 24…..Love in the Time of …….  (you fill in the blank!)

March 24….A tiny, beautiful thing

April 28….Only joking

May 26….What comes after

June 30….The upper hand

You’re welcome to pick your own topics or go along with the ones above.

Fiction in 50: think of it as the anti-NaNoWriMo experience!

Herstory Lesson: Heartbreak at least let’s us know we feel.