Category Archives: Blog Hops

Dirty Goggles: A Blue Heart

This is my second entry into the Dirty Goggles Blog Hop, run by Ruth, Jen, and Steven. this time it’s an attempt at Dieselpunk.

A Blue Heart
Dieselpunk
691 Words
Lisa Shambrook
@LastKrystallos
Safe Content

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
A Blue Heart
Nell was fed up with waiting. She watched the indigo skies night after night, but he failed to return. 
She smoothed down her combat trousers, and buckled up her boots.
He’d told her to be patient that he’d seen her future and it was good. 
She sighed as the building vibrated with the closeness of the dirigible flying low overhead, and she imagined the vibration and hum, desperately trying to change it to fit…
She expertly ran her fingers up her weathered, leather jacket, tightening buckles. She was ready, even if he wasn’t.
She grabbed her Derringer, and checked its barrel before closing the breach and engaging the safety. Nell cast a glance out of the window one last time before she flicked the ugly generator’s switch, extinguishing the light, and strode out of the door. “Damn you,” she muttered as she clattered down the iron stairs and out into the street. 
Mist shrouded the road and gas lamps were halos of light amid the haze. Nell wandered, her fingers reaching up to her neck, stroking the blue heart at her throat. Its silver cogs and contorted wires reminded her of the complicated man who’d given it to her and she smiled. She walked, restless, her eyes flickering over the glistening pavements and her ears listening over the sound of the train on the track behind her. 
She searched.
He’d caressed his bow tie, bowed low and told her to watch her heart, her blue heart, but wouldn’t give her another word, didn’t want to spoil anything. Then he’d gone.
Was one adventure all a girl got?
 A scream echoed through the night and Nell ran. The chill night air tore down her throat and stung her eyes but she ran all the same.  The scream rang out again and Nell ducked. She stared, watching a dark figure dragging a young woman across the tracks. She reached for her gun, and chased after the shadows. 
The girl lie limp in his arms and Nell swung into action. She brandished her pistol and marched forward. “Let her go!” she ordered stepping over the rails. Fear was a thing of the past, she been through too much, seen too much to waste time on fear.
He turned and grinned, and Nell steeled herself. She only had two shots and they were only any good at close range. She closed in, still clasping the pistol in outstretched hands. “Let her go,” she repeated.  
The man silently cast his hostage aside and in one quick, unexpected movement had Nell in a head-lock, one hand twisted up behind her back and the other still clutching her useless weapon.
Fear came flooding back.
Her pendant tightened against her skin, its chain choked her and began to cut into her throat. She dropped the pistol and grabbed at her necklace, but it was too tight and she began to lose consciousness. 
Her eyes bulged and her breath caught and her ears drummed. 
The throbbing sound built, humming, hissing, throbbing…until a hefty motorbike roared up the gravel and squealed to a stop, spitting grit. Exhaust smoke filled the air and shouts rang out, followed by shots. 
Nell dropped to the ground, clutching at her throat. She stared behind at the mound that had been her assailant and watched the goggled man in the grey, military greatcoat as he helped the first victim up off the ground. A small crowd gathered and Nell gathered her senses. Army Officers arrived and removed the body as her saviour approached, his hand extended. 
“Jack…”he offered, “…and you are?”
“Nell,” she murmured gazing up at him.
“And this must be yours…” He opened his fist and revealed her pendant. He smoothed his short, oiled, black hair as he roughly pushed his goggles up onto his head.
She nodded, and accepted her blue heart from the man with eyes that matched the stone precisely. He glanced at his leather wrist strap, and pressed a blue button, and smiled at Nell expectantly as he revved his bike. She grinned and stared up into the indigo skies. Maybe a girl really was allowed just one more adventure!

Dirty Goggles: The Apothecary’s Art

This is probably the most difficult contest I’ve been part of…Steampunk and Dieselpunk…I’m a huge steampunk fan, but writing it’s another matter altogether. It has, though, been lots of fun!
This is for the Dirty Goggles Blog Hop, put together by Ruth, Jenn, and Steven.

The Apothecary’s Art
Steampunk
698 Words
Lisa Shambrook
@LastKrystallos
Safe Content

The Apothecary’s Art

Razor-sharp claws hung just shy of his eye and a bead of sweat slipped down his cheek as his brass-topped cane clattered to the floor. The dragon hovered, its leather wings beating a rhythm of their own and armoured spines glinting down its shimmering, metal back. It clicked and whirred and glanced at the watching girl.

“Could you call it off…please?” Anxiety rippled in the stranger’s voice and Elspeth smiled.

“Why are you in my shop?” she asked.

“Looking for you…” he replied as the clockwork dragon flapped its wings and dipped closer.

“After closing?” Elspeth stared at his long, dark hair, and the top hat now lying abandoned on the dusty floor. He struggled to maintain his awkward position, pressed against the medicine cabinet, and she knew beneath his floor-length coat lurked fear. “Who are you?”

 

Symphony_of_Dragons_L_Shambrook_FC_WEB
This is a preview to the story that can be found within A Symphony of Dragons. You can find this enchanting book of short stories in many outlets in both paperback and eBook or at my publisher BHC Press.

(This is possibly the hardest piece I’ve removed from my blog, as I love it so much, but you can now read it in my short story book: A Symphony of Dragons)

I also won First Place with this piece in the Steampunk genre of Dirty Goggles!

 

Love Bites Blog Hop: Voting Commences…

Sharpen your pencils and cast your votes…
Fan Favourite Contest
Open for votes Friday 15th February through midnight (est) Sunday 17th February.

Vote for your favourite entry in the comments box below by typing in the name of the writer and the title of their story.
You can vote on my blog Below…or Here or Here
In addition to the stories linked below, we have an entrant without a blog whose story is posted HERE, so please be sure to stop by and read, comment and take into consideration! 

*Please note: stories by Hop Hostesses: Elisabeth Koch, Lisa Shambrook and Ruth Long are not eligible for votes.

Writers get our there and shamelessly pimp your story! 

Voters: one vote per person, please!
Winners will be announced Monday 18th February.

Best in Show wins One Hour Coaching 
with Rebecca T. Dickson
Emotional Whammy wins Personalised Painting
by Lee Clements
Judges Favourites win a Bookmark
by the Divine Hammer
Fan Favourite wins Bragging Rights and a Bookmark

Questions? Contact a hop hostess: @lizzie_loodles / @lastkrystallos / @laurahoward78 / @bullishink

And thanks for joining in it’s been so much fun!

Love Bites Blog Hop: Pillow Talk

Photo by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)
She watched as he climbed into their bed longing for his hands to run across her body beneath the moonlight, to feel his breath capture hers, yearning to hear bedroom words whispered evocatively, but as he settled he thrust his arms behind his head and began to talk. 
He grumbled, and groaned, and complained from the moment his head hit the pillow to the moment he fell asleep. 
With fury and resentment pumping through her body in response to his perpetual deference, she propped herself up on her elbows and stared at him. She growled through clenched teeth, her fists balling the pillow in her hands and she began some pillow talk of her own.
They lie, their bodies barely touching. The bed sheet crumpled and kicked half to the floor now scarcely draped across their stomachs. The pale moon peeked nervously through the curtains as her eyes roved, taking in the contours of his upper body lit by silvery rays. She watched as he lie beside her, finally still and acquiescent.
She reached across, took his hand in hers and gently stroked it, her soft fingers caressing his knuckles and his rough skin. She eventually lifted the pillow away from his face, and glanced at his expression, calm and serene in the silvered light.
She sighed, it was the quietest he’d ever been at this time of night and she realised despite all his talk, he’d never really offered an opinion on euthanasia…
(244 Words)
Written for the Inklingette’s Love Bites Anti-Valentine Blog Hop 
Go take a look at how to enter
Read the other great entries!

Love Bites: An Anti-Valentine Blog Hop

This Valentine’s Day, we invite you to join us in thumbing our noses at Cupid, Love and the Whole Schmaltzy Holiday!!
Introducing … 
LOVE BITES: An Anti-Valentine Blog Hop
Hostesses: The Inklingettes
Theme: Love Run Amuk, Aground or Otherwise Off Course
Schedule: Friday, February 8 through Thursday, February 14
Word Count: 250 Words
Incentive: Community spirit, inky fun and lots of laughs!
And Prizes: 6 Broken-hearted bookmarks made by the Divine Hammer
A one-of-a-kind painting personalised with a quote from the winner’s piece donated by Lee Clements
A one hour coaching session by Rebecca T Dickson 
How To Participate: 
•Write a cheeky anti-valentine story of 250 words or less.
•Post it on your blog. (If you don’t have a blog, contact any of the hostesses and space will be magically provided).
•Copy the linky html and blog badge from this page and paste them into your post, beneath your story.
•Add your post url to the linky.
•Bop around the interwebz to read and comment on the other entries.
•Pimp out the hop and entries on Facebook, G+, Twitter and anywhere your heart desires!
•Don’t Forget: HAVE FUN!
•Got Questions? Contact any of the hostesses and they’ll be happy to help!If you want the collection of stories to show on your post go to http://www.bullishink.com/2013/02/08/love-bites-blog-hop/ and grab the inlinkz code…(I can’t get it to work on Blogger!)

 Grab the Badge:

12 Days of Christmas: Moon

It’s the final day of 12 Days of Christmas and this is my final offering, with a nod to the lovely @Rowanwolf66…and thanks for hosting this fun and inspirational Blog Hop.

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (from my calendar!)
Moon
Some thought she was a witch, others thought she was gypsy, she didn’t care what anybody thought, as long as people stayed away.
The cabin was out in the back of the woods, and she had few visitors, if any, which was just how she liked it. 
People could gossip and talk as much as they liked, providing they kept themselves out of her business, and they did, on both counts. 
She kept herself to herself, coming into town just twice a week to collect supplies and trade. She grew vegetables that surpassed any grown in the region, and flowers, and made tinctures, tonics and sweet wine.  
The old women watched her with wrinkled wisdom, the middle-aged women with envy and the young with curiosity. The old men, middle-aged and young men…just watched.  
 A young girl living alone was a danger, they’d say…and they should have been right.  
Such was her beauty that some men made it through the forest in the deep of night, just for a sight of the maiden or for other unsavoury reasons, but rarely did any make it back without scratches and wounds and tales of a voracious hound, and some didn’t make it back at all.
She danced as dawn crept over the horizon, sang as she worked, and wandered through the woods in search of plants. As night fell and the moon rose high in the indigo sky she returned home, and nothing worried her. 
They townsfolk were right she should have been vulnerable, but for the wolf that lay across her doorstep every night. 
And every full moon she left her door wide open and the wolf crept up the stairs and into her bedroom, and under the silver rays her husband was hers, just for the night… 
(296 Words)
Day Twelve: December – Moon
The stories have been amazing…check them all out!

12 Days of Christmas: Feast

Today I rebelled…12 Days of Christmas offers up to 300 words to tell our stories and today’s Feast needed eighty-three more in the telling! My OCD usually keeps me to word counts, but today I’m rebelling!

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)
Feast
Jamie hated supermarkets. 
His weekly shop was monthly, once a month and his trolley contained ready-meals, Pot Noodles and a bag of apples. 
Two things changed: his mum sent him a cook book, by his namesake, and Joanne started on the checkout.  He knew her name because he studied her name tag every week when he went shopping. 
The frozen meals became meat and, god forbid, actual vegetables. 
Slowly, once a week became twice, and herbs found their way into his basket along with mushrooms and onions, and Joanne smiled at him as he put his groceries into bags, reusable bags. 
Jamie’s cooking expertise did not come naturally and when Joanne commented how much she liked swede as it passed through the till, Jamie blanched, he had no idea what to actually do with the said vegetable, but he smiled and nodded like he did.
Joanne chatted away as he packed and Jamie grinned and nodded in all the right places, knowing that if he spoke, his words would run away with him and trip right over his tongue and he’d never be able to speak to her again! 
“Lamb, my favourite!” she said.
Jamie smiled, tongue-tied.
“So what’re you making? Oh, silly question…lamb, obviously…”
He nodded.
“I’ve got a great lamb recipe I’ve never tried,” she said flushing under his gaze. “I got Jamie Oliver’s book for Christmas…”
“So did I!” he managed.
Her smile grew even brighter. “You did! It’s just…I’ve no one to cook for.”
He knew his grin was stuck and it wasn’t going to move. 
“What about you?” she asked, “Anyone?”
He shook his head and squeezed out the words. “No one, just me.”
“I’m sorry, I’m holding onto these like an idiot!” She placed carrots into his bag. “Well, I hope the lamb tastes good!” Jamie paid and grabbed his bags, his stomach twisting. 
Before he walked away Jamie’s mouth moved of its own accord. “Joanne…I really have no idea how to cook lamb, in fact I’ve got no idea what to do with most of these vegetables…” 
“I can help…” she offered tentatively, “I’m finishing in ten minutes.”
“I’d like that…” Jamie’s stomach flipped, like a burger on a grill, as Joanne’s smile lit up his life. “I think it’s time I opened that recipe book!” 
(383 Words)

Day Eleven: November – Feast
Follow the other writers and stories!

12 Days of Christmas: Spirit

A tale of possession awaits Day Ten of 12 Days of Christmas:

Spirit
She didn’t know what thrust her towards the cemetery, an unusual shortcut home, but she saw him kneeling at the grave, unaware, as she hurried through the church gates. Unwilling to disturb him, she walked quickly down the York flagstone path. As she passed the grave she shivered and her face tingled in the cold chill of winter’s evening. At home, she barely glanced in the mirror before settling for the night with a hot chocolate and book, so her green eyes turned blue, was a surprise the next morning.
It was a perverse desire to see the grieving man again that took her through the graveyard another night, but he was gone and the chill that surged through her was one of guilty disappointment.
Two more nights, and the shortcut became an obsession, but he was never there. 
Cold nights played havoc with her hair, curls loosened and her locks darkened almost as black as the raven watching on a nearby tomb.
The cemetery became familiar and the grieving man a memory until two weeks later when she bumped into him, dropping her bag, as he wandered down the cobbled path. He raised his head, stepped aside and paused as their eyes met. His eyes lit up his tearstained face as he stared at her, and his hand reached out to touch her arm and shivers twisted down her spine. 
His apology coffee became a meal and two weeks later she crossed his threshold. She shivered and glanced in the mirror by the door; she’d lost weight and grown taller. Then she noticed the portrait, ebony hair and blue eyes, and she suddenly knew why he adored her. He watched as the silent raven landed on her shoulder, shivered possessively and vanished…and his love was finally home. 
(298 Words)
Day Ten: October – Spirit
Take time to read all the other stories…

12 Days of Christmas: Stories

Day Nine of 12 Days of Christmas …and it’s: Stories, we all love stories!
Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)
Stories
“Could you stay behind please Cara.” Cara sat back down at her desk and spent the next few minutes pulling fluff bobbles from her school jumper. 
“I wish you’d foster that kind of attention on your school work, rather than your uniform Miss Langston.” Cara jumped as Mr Lewis approached. “It’s been noted you’re withdrawn, that maybe, you’re not happy…that maybe…”
There was a knock at the door and his face relaxed. Mrs Taylor walked in. “Sorry I’m late, bit of a rush!”
They both regarded Cara with such seriousness she wanted to laugh.
Mrs Taylor spoke softly. “Cara, we’ve had some concerns and just wanted to be sure you’re okay?” Cara’s shoulders relaxed, maybe they were about to address the bullying. Mrs Taylor continued. “It’s obvious you haven’t been happy this term…” 
Only this term, thought Cara, they haven’t watched me that closely then!
“If we can help…” Mr Lewis flicked through her English exercise book.
“Is this because of my story?”  Cara stared straight at her English tutor. Mr Lewis cast a sideways glance at Mrs Taylor.
“It is isn’t it? It’s fiction you know! All made up!”
“Of course it is!” Mrs Taylor smiled, “Just that if it wasn’t…”
“It is.” Cara rubbed her forehead, “I have an overactive imagination.”
“It’s very lifelike, very real…”
“But it’s not,” insisted Cara.
“But you understand why we’re concerned?”
Cara flushed. “They’re just stories, things I make up and write down…”
Is there anything you’d like to tell us? We’ll always be here.”
Cara shook her head and after a moment Mr Lewis dismissed her.
The school was so intuitive…fiction had raised alarms, whilst her reclusive state at the hands of bullies was missed. Cara didn’t trust the school to put a plaster on her finger, even less a psychiatric overhaul!
(301 Words)
Day Nine: September – Stories
And there are more great stories to read…

12 Days of Christmas: Sea

Day eight and we’re at the sea…

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use)
Sea
Alice went to the beach with one intention.
Not to return.
She walked to the beach, wiping tears away as she approached the dunes, and stood for a moment as the breeze lifted her hair from her face. 
The ocean rolled in, wave after wave, never ending, and she tightened her resolve with a deep sigh.
 She knelt and untied her trainers, kicking them off and leaving them behind as she stepped, barefoot, across the soft, hot sand. 
Her toes wriggled and sand trickled through them, raising a momentary smile, but her legs, now heavy though single-minded, still propelled her towards the shore. The sand kicked up behind her and drifted across the dune, and her feet stepped across the tide line, across the mounds of wet seaweed, and the sand firmed beneath her toes.
She stopped and closed her eyes, allowing the gentle gusts of wind to caress her face, one last pleasantry…and she tried to calm her hammering heart. She braced and breathed in salty ocean air, tasting the salt tracing her lips. She listened to her brain, to her grief, to her despair and stepped forward. 
She opened her eyes as a young girl raced past.
The girl ran into the water, leaping over waves and giggling, she hitched up her shorts, already darkened by splashing water, and stopped. Alice watched as the girl in the orange shirt threw out her arms in abandon and turned her face towards the glorious evening sun, enjoying the simple delight of waves at her feet, wind on her arms and the warmth of the sun on her face.  
Alice sank to the wet sand, tears rolling down her cheeks, and a newfound innocence engulfed her, and her hand gently trailed across her newly rounded stomach.
(295 Words)
Day Eight: August – Sea
Read more…