Warm Fuzzies Blogfest, week 4

Sadly, it’s the last week of the Warm Fuzzies blogfest. To celebrate how wonderful the past three weeks have been, I have a pretty awesome prompt and prize for you.

The past weeks we have taken a look at the ways being a writer can be difficult, but this last week we’re going to talk about why it’s worth it.

I write because I love it. I feel it in my bones, gnawing away until I get the words out. That is the best way I can put it ๐Ÿ™‚ All of the difficult moments are nothing compared to the feeling of when a piece of writing comes out exactly as I see it in my mind.

There are moments for each of us when we write something and go: YES! I’M THE BEST WRITER EVER! You can laugh and deny it, say ‘no-way, I’m not that conceited!’ but you can’t fool me, I know it’s true ๐Ÿ˜‰ These are our Warm Fuzzy moments and I believe it’s completely perfect that we have them.

This week, post what makes writing worth it for you and most importantly, post one of your Warm Fuzzy moments. It can be a scene from a WIP, short story, poem, anything that strikes your fancy. Visit one another’s posts and enjoy the writing you find there.

Here is one of my Warm Fuzzy moments, taken from my current WIP, Cadaver Dog.

It is as if the people here disappeared from where they stood. A pile of womanโ€™s clothing sits in the middle of the road. It appears as if she was sucked straight into the sky and left her dress behind.

Down the road, around a few corners, I find a door covered with the same markings I saw earlier. I trace them with my finger, spelling along seven letters.


I donโ€™t know what it means but my finger likes the way the markings fee, so I push open the unlocked door. A small bell hung above the door chimes. Dust fills the room and I find myself amidst piles of bound, leafy paper.

I have seen these before.


Hundreds of them are stacked together. The light comes through the front windows in streaks and is so dim I struggle to find my way deeper into the room.

There is a smell here that comforts me. Maybe it is the earthy grime covering the books or maybe it is the way the paper crinkles, setting loose old drafts of air when I peel apart the pages.

I stop searching the room when I find the skeleton of a man. Ancient clothing hangs off his bones, leaving him gimmicky and strange. His arms are crossed over a thick book heaped onto his chest. The book has pushed against his torso for
so long it appears as if it has become a part of him; it winds tightly into his body, growing among his ribs.

The Forgotten Dead litter the desert and never cross my mind, but I can feel this man’s presence here among the books, along with those of the others long gone. This ghosts of this town linger. It is haunted here but I cannot figure out why.

How long has the Drought continued? At least before the time of my great-great-grand father. I remember stories of him, told to me by my father.

Is that one-hundred summers?

But how much longer before that did the Drought begin? And at what point did this man bind himself to his book and die, leaving his spirit twined into the letters I canโ€™t read?

My head hurts from trying to think back so far. I give up the search for answers and leave the manโ€™s spirit behind to endure among the remains of his books.

This week, Lauren is giving away another sweet hat, except this one will look like this:

I know, it’s pretty awesome!

The other super-duper prize I have is donated to us by Angie Miller. Angie is an incredible graphic artist who is donating a personalized piece of artwork for the winner this week. You can check out one of her pieces on my ‘Books’ page; she is in the process of creating a piece of art for my other books as well. Here are some other examples of her work!

You will have the option of Angie drawing for your Warm Fuzzy moment, or another of your choice.

Again, have all posts up by Friday 3pm CST and write your points at the end of your post (+5 for blog posts and +1 for fb/twitter/Google+)

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