Write a Mystery with Me

It’s mystery month on JPC Allen Writes, and like I did last year, I’m inviting you to write a mystery with me. I’ll post photos in the hope that you will join me to write a collaborative story. What is a collaborative story? It’s a story in which authors take turns writing it. I’ll post a photo each week and write a few paragraphs for a story about it. Then whoever wants to write a few more paragraphs can do so in the comments. By the end of the month, we’ll have a story!

To read other collaborative stories, click here.

Here’s the beginning:

The chilling fall breeze flung the ends of my hair against my cheek and I brushed them away as I stared at the vacation house across the lake. I hadn’t expected the site of a murder-suicide to look so … cheery. Painted bright yellow with smoke curling from its chimney, it didn’t look any different from the other vacation homes nestled between the shore of the lake and the steep hills blazing with autumn colors.

I shook my head. My imagination had run away with me. After the crime, the house wouldn’t have turned black and had vultures circling it.

Two people stepped out on the little deck that ran along the front.

I gasped.

God Produced the Pineapples

I wanted to finish this month’s focus on Christian fiction by providing a prompt to write a poem in the style of the Psalms. But God produced the pineapples on Tuesday and that made me change my mind. I’ll explain.

After weeks and months of battling depression and anxiety within and circumstances without, I was drowning by Tuesday afternoon. You couldn’t tell by looking at me. As a mom, I shove on a brave face and still function, even if it’s at a low capacity.

I was in the process of chauffeuring kids, and when you live in the country, this can take hours. As I drove, I realized I needed fruit for supper and would have to stop at the store. I don’t like grocery shopping, and one more stop seemed so exhausting.

So I went home, hoping I’d find the pineapples I’d needed, actually praying for a can of pineapples. And I found them on the last pantry shelf I checked. Because of that, I got to take a fifteen minute break before heading out agin.

I was just so grateful to God. Maybe for more reason than I understand, God knew I needed pineapples on Tuesday afternoon. That act of kindness did wonders for my mental state. I grew hopeful.

Too often, I think of God as the One who split the Red Sea, rained manna, and raised the dead as if He’s only the god of dramatic rescues. But He’s also the god who cares enough about each of us personally to produce pineapples when He knows we need it. The god of the universe cares about our individual needs. That fact is awesome.

So my prompt today is: when has God produced the pineapples for you? I’d love to read your stories.

To read my posts about Christian fiction this month, click here.

What’s His Mirror Moment?

My last prompt for the month with my theme of tackling the middle of our stories. What’s his mirror moment? What has made him question who he is in the middle of the story? For more on the mirror moment, click here. Below is my inspiration.

This power was getting out of a hand.

I shoved my hand through my hair and clamped it on top of my head.

What was I supposed to do with this superpower? I couldn’t use it for my own entertainment any more, not with what I’d learned in the cafeteria. But if I acted on the information, someone might ask me how I knew. I’d never lied enough to be good at it. And I’d have to lie if I didn’t want to become the main specimen at a secret government research facility.

I fell back against the wall of the empty room.

Or I could just pretend I didn’t know what was about to come off Saturday night? Couldn’t I?

Click here to find more prompts for the mirror moment.

What’s the Mirror Moment?

Today’s prompt is to inspire a mirror moment in the middle of a story. What’s the mirror moment? According to James Scott Bell in his book Writing Your Novel from the Middle, it’s the moment in the middle of a story when the main character (MC) decides who he or she truly is. I’d also say it’s a moment when the MC decides on an irrevocable course of action.

So how could this photo provide a mirror moment? The woman looks deep in thought. Why is she thinking in the middle of a bridge with a guitar? Here’s my inspiration.

The wood of the old bridge felt warm on my bare legs in the afternoon sunlight. I sat and strummed. Music had always been my refuge and my joy. When had it gotten so complicated? I was a songwriter, not a singer. I didn’t care if people loved the singer of my songs more than the writer. That wasn’t why I wrote them.

But Jake said he believed in me.

I plucked some notes. Sitting on this old bridge had inspired some of my best songs. Maybe it could inspire me to make up my mind.

For more mirror moment prompts, click here.

Collaborative Speculative Fiction: the Whole Story

After taking off last Monday for the Fourth of July, I now can publish the entire story I offered prompts for in June. Thanks to author M. Liz Boyle for her wonderful inspiration! This was so much fun to write. Since speculative fiction isn’t my genre, I had to work my imagination over time. To see all the photo prompt, click here.

Collaborative Speculative Fiction: the Whole Story.

The creature barely had to swish his tail, the sea was so calm. The moon turned the surface to silver, and the creature’s wake appeared as an arrow cleaving through it.

Lifting his head, the creature looked to the horizon, where many pinpricks of light dotted it, his nostrils flaring. He inhaled deeply, then tilted his head to one side and gazed at the sparks of light, which lined the horizon as if the stars overhead had fallen into a rut.

With one great last of his tail, the creature pivoted. Then with his tail acting as both rudder and engine, he swam toward the lights.

*****

I ran onto the pier. I had to get out of the house, go some place without people–people meant problems.

Slowing to a walk, I jammed my hands into my windbreaker. The cold night and rising fog had left the pier empty of people. Perfect.

I leaned on the railing, breathing in the salt air. The sea was still, touched with silver where the moonlight could slip through the mist. 

I stared at the horizon. How far could I see? How many miles? How many miles could I put between myself and–

The smooth surface of the water rippled. Something was swimming toward the pier. Something big.

My eyes widening, I felt my heart take a jump.

The ripple stopped, and a head broke the surface. A head like every dragon I’d ever seen in a fairy tale.

I slapped my hand over my mouth to squash a scream.

What was it? And why was it coming toward me? The creature’s eyes had to be as big as my head. And its eyes were fixed on me. It was approaching me fast, now only ten feet away. A wild cry, a high-pitched roar that seemed to slice my ear drums, raged from the creature’s throat. I spun on my heels, adrenaline surging and heart pounding, but I slipped on the wet pier and face planted the cement. Was this it? Why, oh why did I leave the house, slam the door, yell that I never wanted to see any of them again? Was that really the end of it all?

I whipped around to a seated position, expecting to see the creature opening its mouth for its first taste of me. 

Instead it lifted its head and made a sound like a giant sniff. Then it swam toward the end of the pier.

Leaping to my feet, I was about to turn and put as much distance between me and the sea as I could when I saw a light bobbing at the furthest point of the pier. That bobbing had to mean a person was holding a light. I’d thought I was alone on the pier. Had the light or whoever was holding it attracted the creature?

The creature glided toward the light, its long body leaving a slow wake. My jaw open, I watched it too. Then a gentle splash to my left caught my attention. I stared for a minute and then realized that a second creature like the first was making its way toward the light. I quickly looked between the two animals, and then glanced back at the distant light. Clearly I had been forgotten by the enormous and mysterious creature. Had I also been forgotten by the hurt people back in my house? Now that I wasn’t about to be torn apart by teeth the size of my arm, I had a chance to go back and apologize. I blew out my cheeks, dropped my head, and took two steps toward home. Another thought crossed my mind. Now that I wasn’t about to be torn apart by teeth the size of my arm, I also had the chance to find out what that animal was. And who the person with the light was. And what they were doing. I looked back to the light and counted four distinct swells with tails cutting through the water. I turned my face toward home and heard the door slam. That was enough to make up my mind.

I strode down the pier, the only sound the slapping of those tails and a gulping sound. Through the mist, I saw a white head illuminated by a lantern. The elderly person was pitching something from a garbage can seated on a dolly.

I had the strangest feeling I was interrupting something but cleared my throat.

The person whirled to me, an old man, his face seamed from age and weather. “What’re you doin’ out on a night like this?”

“I-I-I–who are your…pets?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen the animals?”

“Yes.” I stepped closer, and the stench from the garbage can pushed me back. 

“And you didn’t run away?”

I decided to be honest. “I thought one was going to eat me, but then it swam out here to your light.”

“Ain’t my light.” He dug a short shovel into the garbage can and heaved the stinking meat into the sea. “They smell the rotten fish. They can smell it on still nights.”

A thousand questions swirled in my mind like the mist. As I was trying to choose one, the old man stiffened. “That shouldn’t be on the water at this time of year.”

I peered at the sea. The boat that took tourists on pirate cruises in the summer chugged toward the pier.

The old man rummaged through items in a box beside the garbage can. “It’s gettin’ so’s a man can’t have any peace with a few friends any more.”

My eyes focused on a gun in his hand, so I took a slow step backward. “Y- you’re going to shoot the pirate cruise ship?”

His dark eyebrows lowered. “Course not. Ya’ think I want me AND the boys to wind up behind bars?” He took aim at the water and I heard a pop, not as loud as I braced myself for. “I just shoot a pellet into the water, in the direction of danger. Just enough to warn the boys without drawing attention.” Immediately the animals changed direction and turned toward the open sea.

“The boys?” 

“They’re all males in this pod. Won’t join the ladies until next month. Then I don’t see of ’em for awhile.”

Pod? So are they some type of whale? Afraid that question was too stupid to ask out loud, I asked another question, a safer question. “So are you a researcher?”

A throaty chuckle rumbled out of the mysterious man as he propped the shovel back in his nasty garbage can. He grabbed the handles of the dolly and looked at me with dark, serious eyes. “No. And you best not mention any of this to anyone.” 

He wheeled the dolly two steps when a beam of light landed on him. “POLICE! STOP! You too!” Another light blinded me.

I threw up my hands, but the old man just snapped, “Della, it’s me. You think you’re gonna find a drug kingpin out on the pier?”

“Martin.” The cop groaned the name as she lowered the light. “Martin, I can’t keep persuading the owners not to prosecute you for trespassing.”

He glared at her. “My family’s been on this shore for three hundred years. This pier’s been here for sixty. Who’s got more right?”

“I’ve got to follow the law, Martin.” She sighed. “You should too. And you definitely shouldn’t talk this girl into coming out here with you.” She looked at me for the first time. “Maybe he didn’t tell you it’s trespassing if you’re on the pier after it’s closed.”

So much had happened so fast that I didn’t bother to make up a lie or a truth. I just stared.

“C’mon, kid.” Martin pushed the dolly toward the beach. “We’d better get a move on before Della cuffs us.”

Once we reached land and the cop had driven away, I had to ask, “Has your family been feeding the creatures for three hundred years?”

Martin just grinned and then pushed the dolly and its odorous trash can up the street.

People meant problems. And I didn’t need any more. And yet–

I caught up to Martin, the mist obscuring the mist behind us. “You said they come on still nights?”

He nodded, the dolly creaking up the hill. “In winter.”

“Could you use some help?”

He stopped and grinned again.

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