tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85740909187673228322024-02-07T17:32:00.808-08:00Krystina Grant's WritingsKrystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-85330869734307268212013-09-26T16:29:00.000-07:002013-09-26T16:29:01.340-07:00Poem - Autumn<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love autumn so I wrote a poem about it several years ago. However, I recently tweaked a bit and thought I would share.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Autumn </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">by Krystina Grant</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The evening air grows crisp</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The days become short</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">An the nights longer</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Green leaves on trees</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Give way to brilliant shades of color</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Reds, oranges and golden yellow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Falling down like gentle snow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To cover the ground</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Apples and pumpkins are everywhere</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A reminder the Holidays are coming</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ghostly goblins and turkeys</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Signs of Halloween and Thanksgiving</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But for me, I smell the cool air</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Scented with cinnmon, apples and pumpkin pie spice</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> welcome the change in season</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I welcome the days of Autumn . . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">September 26, 2006</span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-91013144059051628842013-09-25T10:33:00.002-07:002013-09-25T10:33:32.464-07:00Dynamics of a Fight - Flash Non-Fiction<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is my recollection of this event. When faced with trauma the mind's memory makes it fuzzy, as self protection to go on with life, or it did for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b>Dynamics of a Fight</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>by Krystina Grant</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It had been a yelling match at first. The computer room was supposed to get turned into a nursery and the computer desk was supposed to be moved into their room. But help left and she was furious that it didn’t get done. Plus the argument continued on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I’m calling my mom!” she said and went to the phone in the computer room.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He tried to stop her and supposedly had pinched his finger. But suddenly he was hitting her back, her shoulders . . . She was too stunned at first, but it wasn’t long before she tried fighting back, but she was facing the computer. The memory was blurry on how, but she was able to get out of the room. However the fight continued. She was no challenge for someone that had been in the military and she struggled against him as much as she could.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Eventually he had her pinned to the floor, holding her still as she cried hysterically. Finally, he let her up. Barely remembering what she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Hit me again and you will never see this baby. The court is not going to give visitation to someone that would hit a woman who is six months pregnant.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She went to the bed, laid down and cried more. But he never touch her violently again.</span></div>
Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-10225966630057421132013-09-16T09:45:00.000-07:002013-09-16T09:45:25.720-07:00Flash Fiction - Is Tonight the Night?Is It the Night?<br />
by Krystina Grant<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Bryan was thrilled to be able to hold Marissa so close as they sat on her couch watching “Sherlock Holmes.” That was something he appreciated about her. He had been willing to sit through “Letters from Juliet,” because he knew it was one of her favorite movies. But she loved action movies more than chick flicks. </div>
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<br /></div>
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She snuggled closer to him and tenderly she kissed his cheek. He smiled and turned his body so that he could kiss her in return, but on her lips. Surprisingly, the kiss grew in intensity and his fingers wove into her hair, pulling her gently closer to him. He loved the feel of her body against his. He had wanted her so badly and now he felt as if he could finally make her completely his. His hand started roaming down her side and touching her breast.</div>
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“I want you,” he whispered in her ear.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I want you too . . .”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Then let’s go to your bedroom,” he replied.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“We can’t,” she said softly.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Why not?” he said with surprise. “Are you afraid?”</div>
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“No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I started today.”</div>
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He groaned.</div>
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<br /></div>
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(Flash fiction is a short story of 300 words or less. It also has to have some kind of twist to it)</div>
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<br /></div>
Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-1587881095460053922013-09-15T17:41:00.000-07:002013-09-15T17:41:05.258-07:00Poem - Blessed Life<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Blessed Life</b><br />
by Krystina Grant<br />
<br />
September 15, 2013<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wake up and smile,<br />
Like I have never smiled before<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Every day brings something new . . .<br />
Something to love, learn or appreciate . . .<br />
My life once so dark for so long<br />
Has exploded with light!<br />
<br />
Never did I imagine my world<br />
Would be so bright<br />
<br />
So blessed am I for every moment<br />
For every day I live . . .<br />
I feel as if I am a rose<br />
Blooming in the sun<br />
After a long, cold winter<br />
<br />
The frost is gone<br />
The pain has ebbed away<br />
<br />
What’s left<br />
Is a beautiful life</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-22801328156243245262013-09-14T18:50:00.000-07:002013-09-14T18:50:58.863-07:00Poem - Bipolarity<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This was written from the experience of my mood swings since I am Bipolar II. I wrote this a long time ago before my meds were working as well as they do now.</span><br />
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<br />
Bipolarity<br />
by Krystina Grant<br />
_________<br />
<br />
Up and Down<br />
Up and Down<br />
Around Around Around<br />
<br />
Up and Down<br />
Up and Down<br />
Spiraling to the ground . . .<br />
<br />
One moment up<br />
Flying high in the sky<br />
<br />
The next crashing down<br />
Hitting the ground to cry . . .<br />
<br />
Happy<br />
Sad<br />
Angry tears<br />
Laughs, Cries, Shouts<br />
On and on it goes<br />
<br />
Up and Down<br />
Up and Down<br />
Around Around Around . . .<br />
<br />
October 28, 2008Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-17655889902367334362013-09-13T20:19:00.000-07:002013-09-13T20:19:25.208-07:00Poem - Childhood Dreams<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>Childhood Dreams</b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>by Krystina Grant</i>
_______________<br />
<br />
<br />
Golden light dampened<br />
By the actions of others<br />
<br />
Childhood dreams<br />
Of perfect parties<br />
<br />
Dashed . . .<br />
<br />
By two selfish girls<br />
<br />
But light prevailed<br />
Dreams achieved<br />
The party saved!<br />
<br />
The Golden light returned<br />
<br />
Even those who chose to bring darkness<br />
Cannot snuff out<br />
The endless enthusiasm that is<br />
<br />
Childhood dreams!<br />
<br /><b><br />
November 17, 2008</b><o:p></o:p></div>
Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-49907596445717501502013-09-11T11:59:00.000-07:002013-09-11T11:59:26.470-07:00The Day That Changed America - Poem<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The Day That Changed America</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>by Krystina Grant</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">__________________________</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I remember this day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So long ago</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Planes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Twin Towers</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fire</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Death</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But what was meant to break us apart</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Only strengthened us</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our flags flew everywhere the very next day!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Reminding us that we were a country</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Meant to stand together</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And we did . . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">9/11 our Patriots Day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Will never be forgotten</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>September 11, 2013</i></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-54180518819981688652013-09-10T13:54:00.003-07:002013-09-10T13:54:18.713-07:00The Price of Life - Poem<div role="article">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Price of Life</b><br /><i>by Krystina Grant</i><br />__________<br /><br />For everything there is a price<br />A cost of mind, heart or soul<br />Friendship, love, life . . .<br />And sometimes<br />The Price is darkness . . .<br />Pain<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />With no way to escape . . .<br />Is the price worth the pain?<br />Is it worth the darkness?<br /><br /><i>December 5, 2008</i></span></span></div>
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Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-2839266600508532632013-09-07T13:49:00.000-07:002013-09-07T13:49:49.324-07:00A Writer in the Works by Olivia Stark<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A writer in the Works<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By Olivia Stark<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There have been many stops and
starts, not to mention set-backs, for this aspiring author; but she continues
to endure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Born to a young mother, and
adopted at three days old by Harold and Helen robinson, Krystina Grant grew up
in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">San Diego</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place> as an only child. She had four
older siblings, three brothers and a sister, who had already grown, at least
physically. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She never quite fit in with her
adoptive family. She also wondered why there were never any pictures of her
mother pregnant with her. Yet she didn’t learn of her birth parents until age
28, when she discovered a legal document of her father’s, which listed her as
an adopted daughter. “It never came up, and when my nephew told me I was
adopted, I apparently flipped out,” Grant said. “I’m thinking this was around
the time my friend, Diane, was in the foster care system, and the people that
were taking her in decided they didn’t want her and sent her back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Later in life, she started to
believe she might have been the product of one of her father’s many affairs.
But at 28, the truth finally came out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I was house-sitting with my then
husband and our children, and they had a living trust done for them, and it was
delivered by one of my brother’s girlfriends at the time. And I thought, okay,
I don’t know what this is about and I don’t
care if I’m in it, but I wanted to find out how these kinds of things
break down, so I decided, okay, I’m gonna read it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That was when the revelation
came. “My name popped up on the first paragraph, and it listed me as “an adult
adopted daughter.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This time, her parents had no
choice but to tell her the truth. Within a month, she found her birth mother.
Within eight months, she located her birth father. She re-united with both
parents, at least temporarily. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Grant’s passion for writing began
at age 11, when she was assigned a two-chapter story. She wrote a twist on
“Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” called “The Nine Critters. The characters
were based on the stuffed animals on her bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The following year, she and a friend
were roll-playing a story. Her friend suggested they write it down. From there,
she began script writing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I could write for “<st1:placename w:st="on">Fantasy</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Island</st1:placetype>”,
I could write “<st1:city w:st="on">Battle</st1:city>star Galactica”, I actually combined the two of them – it was a lot of fun.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At 15, she began writing
free-verse poetry, along with a comedy play she wrote with her best friend,
Nicole Renee Bissett, that could have earned the two of them millions. It was
called Love On the Socks”. Sadly, it never made the stage – yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Later in high school, she tried
her hand at romance novels. She amused her class mates by writing short romance
fictional stories coupling them with their favorite musicians or movie stars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I had a mad crush on Tom Selleck,”
recalled her long-time best friend, Nicole Renee Bissett. “She wrote a really
cool story about how I was a journalist and got together with him writing a
story on him. Ironically, that was long before I ever even thought about
becoming a journalist. Those were some fun times, and we needed fun times back
then.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Grant’s nine year marriage, which
was stormy from nearly day one, ended in divorce. But out of it, she got two
grown children, Jordan and Cassandra. She is currently living with her good
friends, Jason and Susan Schneider, and her daughter, Cassie, in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Spring Valley</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place>.
She continues to edit her first novel, and is excited about the prospect of
publishing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To chat with Grant personally, you
can email her at lillyblade@gmail.com <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-72847025322994092082013-09-02T11:39:00.000-07:002013-09-02T11:39:27.253-07:00Writing Exercise. Word Ice Queen<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She couldn't believe it! The man actually had the nerve to call her ICE QUEEN?! She was stunned and furious. The man had been nothing but abusive during their stormy 10 year marriage; yelling, name calling, verbal put downs, emotional abuse . . . and even on occasions he'd hit her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Emily Grant had stayed through it all, even though, if she'd been smart, she thought, she would have dumped him years ago. But then . . . she wouldn't have her children and she couldn't imagine her life without them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But ICE QUEEN? It wasn't exactly unexpected that he'd try to instigate a fight with her upon bringing the kids back after his weekend visitation. Usually it was something to do with the kids; like spots on the clothes, or that she didn't pack the clothes they needed or something or other. It didn't matter to her because it seemed half the things she packed didn't come back anyway. So why send more??</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But ICE QUEEN?? ICE QUEEN?? Over all the times he'd been an ass and had hurt her emotionally, verbally and physically, she'd NEVER denied him sex! HE was the one that wanted to jack off in front of his computer screen instead of coming to bed with her. So if she was the Ice Queen then he was the Court Jester, perferring images on a screen to her in the bed. What a boost to her self esteem THAT had been!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was after the birth of their second child . . . a little girl . . . she decided that enough was enough. She didn't want her daughter growing up and finding a man just like her father. Emily didn't wish that for her daughter and she prayed that it wasn't too late for their son, who was six at the time of his sister's birth. Two years later, they'd been in court; court order for visitation and all that fun stuff. He had never gotten over the fact that she had DUMPED him.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">THAT was what the continued abuse was all about. She knew it, but it didn't make her feel any better. He was sore that she left him. He was sore that she didn't love him anymore or want to be with him. 'Gee, I wonder why that would be,' she thought sarcastically to herself. 'Why wouldn't I want to stay with such a charmer!!'</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Though he was gone, the tiff replayed in her mind. The bastard had the nerve to call her an Ice Queen as if SHE had been responsible for their divorce. It had nothing to do with him being an abusive jerk! Nope! Couldn't be!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Eventually, her daughter, who was now 4 years old came up to her.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Momma?" she said with concerned eyes.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I'm, okay, baby doll," Emily smiled as she picked her up and put her on her lap. "Mommy was just thinking about something. But don't you worry . . . everything's fine."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Can we have pizza?" she asked.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Emily smiled.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I think Pizza is an excellent idea! What kind do you want?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"CHEESE!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Okay, we get half pepperoni for your brother and cheese for us," she said.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"YAY!!" the little girl squealed in delight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For the moment, the argument was pushed into the back of her mind. She had more important things to focus on.</span></div>
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Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-83540800957296316282013-08-31T20:58:00.000-07:002013-08-31T20:58:34.085-07:00Poem - Falling AngelHere is another poem of mine<br />
******<br />
<br />
<b><u><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fallen Angel</span></u></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By Krystina Grant</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">August 9, 2006</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I fell through the darkness</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stars like diamond dust my only light</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Scattered across the sky</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Black as death . . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once I flew so high</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Touching the sky was possible</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anything was possible . . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yet time is not so kind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And my wings of white</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have turned to black</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now broken and failing me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I plummet toward the ground</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Knowing it is the end of all I have ever known</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That darkness will take me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I am only a single angel</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Alone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Falling . . .</span><br />
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Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-18490392296725848422013-08-29T19:26:00.000-07:002013-08-29T19:26:44.361-07:00Poem - Cast DownThis is a poem I wrote a long time ago.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><u>Cast Down</u></i></span><br />
by Krystina Grant<br />
July 31, 2006<br />
<br />
In the darkest depths of hell<br />
Beyond the fires<br />
Into the darkness<br />
Into the cold<br />
<br />
There is where I reside<br />
Alone<br />
Fearful<br />
Cloaked by the shadows<br />
Away from the light<br />
<br />
Nothing to save me<br />
No one . . .<br />
I feel nothing but pain<br />
Sadness<br />
<br />
Crying out for salvation<br />
Yet met with nothing<br />
But more darkness<br />
More pain<br />
<br />
There is no escape . . .Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-77334258681129021082013-08-28T18:05:00.000-07:002013-08-28T18:05:04.727-07:00Another Writing Exercise - Word Meadow<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>I wrote this a couple of years ago, but it's one of my favorites.</b></i></span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 18px;">******</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">He wasn't supposed to have found her. She thought she'd covered her tracks. But somehow, there he was . . . unfortunately. The idea was that it would be over. She'd be alone and at least find peace. There would finally be peace and no more pain.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">She stared out across the meadow. It had been her place of solitude so long ago. She'd fo</span></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">rgotten than she'd taken him here. Her mistake, she thought sadly.<br /><br />With a long ragged breath, she closed her eyes.<br /><br />"You need to leave, Daniel," she said.<br /><br />"Not without you," he said simply.<br /><br />She couldn't look at him. His chiseled face and blue eyes . . . strong like stone, but she knew the side he hid from the world. Like all of them, he had a soft spot too and apparently she was it. But she didn't want to be it. She wanted it over.<br /><br />"Lara, you can't do this," he said softly.<br /><br />"But I can," she replied.<br /><br />He saw her finger twitch on the trigger, as the pistol with silencer was pressed firmly against her temple. He knew she was serious. He'd seen it in her from the moment they'd met. But somehow he had to stop her. After everything, he couldn't lose her.<br /><br />"Lara, just take a moment. Just think . . . Tell me why," he implored; anything to stall the dark haired beautiful before him from taking an action that could not be undone.<br /><br />"You know why," she said. "Just leave me." She choked back a sob. "I am tired. I am sick of the world we live in. I can't live with the memories of the world I somehow managed to survive. The bullet is just making things official. I was dead a long time ago."<br /><br />"No, Lara," he said. "You weren't. I felt you alive in my arms. When I kissed your neck and your shoulder . . . Your heartbeat would rise . . ."<br /><br />For a moment, he thought he saw her waiver.<br /><br />"That's life . . . right there, your heart beating . . . heat . . . touch . . ." He slowly inched toward her. But immediately, he saw her stiffen again. The momentary waiver was gone.<br /><br />"That was . . . lust," she said. "Chemistry . . . hormones . . . pheromones . . . nothing more."<br /><br />"Is that what you honestly believe?" he asked.<br /><br />"Yes," she said, but even the softness of her voice fractured at the simple word. It was a lie. Only he could read her so well.<br /><br />"Then look me in the eye and tell me that you don't love me," he said. He needed to get close enough to her. If he could look into her green eyes, then maybe he'd have a chance . . . stall her . . . save her . . .<br /><br />She battled with her feelings. It was like a raging storm and there was no end in sight. She felt as if she was a ship constantly being bashed upon the rocks over and over again. Pain just grew and now he was here. She'd wanted to shield him from this side of herself, but someone he'd known. He's sensed it and followed her. She didn't want him witnessing this final end to her pain . . . to have the image carried with him forever of her weakness and inability to fight the pain any longer.<br /><br />Barely above a whisper as she bit back tears; she implored him. "Daniel, please just go . . . I don't want you here."<br /><br />"Look me in the eyes, Lara," he said. "You look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me and I'll leave you."<br /><br />Steeling herself for the lie to come, she swallowed hard. Carefully, she moved, never taking the gun from her hand, or away from her temple. Her green eyes were like marble by the time she gazed at him; hard and cold. She'd learned to do that well long ago.<br /><br />"I don't love you," she said with as much cold as she could muster. But through her emotional fog of pain, she noticed he seemed closer . . . too close . . . She had to act. She didn't want him to see, but now there was no choice.<br /><br />He had used her indecision to inch closer; distracting her with his request. Seeing the muscle in her arm begin to twitch, he struck like a snake, grabbing the weapon from her and pulling out the clip tossing both as far as he could out into the meadow. She moved to stop him, but was met with nothing but his muscular chest. She pushed against him and shoved at his chest, but in the end, she just dissolved into tears.<br /><br />His arms held her close. Finally . . . the tears . . . she needed the tears and he needed her. The man made of ice wasn't any longer, not since meeting the girl made of fire. Their line of work rarely made for happy endings one way or another, but he would find a way; for them.<br /><br />Lara had run so far and so long trying to escape the past that had always haunted her and the overwhelming pain that came with it. She'd never trusted anyone; never let the walls down far enough to allow anyone in until Daniel. He'd made it through her defenses and wanted to save her . . . he wanted to save her so badly, but she wasn't sure she could be saved.<br /><br />"Don't give up, Lara," he said softly as he kissed her forehead. "Don't give up on me or yourself."<br /><br />Suddenly, in the distance, she heard the sound of a helicopter. Her eyes turned to Daniel's questioningly. "Thought you needed help," he said simply and before she could argue or struggle, he used a small injector at the artery in her neck and tranqed her. He watched as her eyes grew glassy. "I love you, Lara, and if you think I'm going to just let you die, you've got another thing coming . . ."</span><br /><span style="font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Those were the last words she heard before everything faded away into darkness.</span></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-79357852617589206132013-08-25T18:43:00.000-07:002013-08-25T18:43:59.664-07:00A Positive Thought When You Have One of Those Days!<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thankfully I haven't HAD one of those days lately, but tonight I am a bit tired and just wanted to share something empowering! </span><br />
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Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-39681912250461611672013-08-24T21:16:00.000-07:002013-08-24T21:16:48.398-07:00The Butcher, The Baker or the Candle Stick Maker?<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Who do you think would be the scariest bad guy? Would he be rich or poor? Intelligent? A good worker? A slacker? A gentle voice or something scary in it? What makes the perfect bad guy to you? I know what scares me!! But what scares you?? </span></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-30537349970935391862013-08-23T15:43:00.000-07:002013-08-23T15:43:33.346-07:00The Story That Needs a Good Title! :-)<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u><i>Working Title - The Protector</i></u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The psycho in the story is going after Emily, the main female character. But she has also met another man who she seems to have clicked with. There is more to the story, but as you can tell, it's a bit of a suspense story, so I don't want to give too much away. I don't know if it's enough for some ideas for titles from you guys, but I'd love to hear some ideas! Who knows! I might pick one!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So if you have an idea for it just suggested it. Oh! And the psycho has "lovers," but none are alive now. Another bit of inspiration! ;-)</span><br />
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<br />Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-28494254762148894532013-08-22T14:40:00.000-07:002013-08-22T14:42:45.091-07:00Brain Storming Day!! <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I'm feeling so clear-headed today despite not sleeping in the last 28 1/2 hours! </span><i class="_4-k1 img sp_dpr65p sx_fbbabe" style="background-color: white; background-image: url(https://fbstatic-a.akamaihd.net/rsrc.php/v2/yT/r/3iifGvVHQnh.png); background-position: -17px -683px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: auto; color: #333333; display: inline-block; height: 16px; line-height: 18px; vertical-align: -3px; width: 16px;"></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"> But I'm happy that my newest story that I gave a taste of on here is coming along. I have several scenes plotted out in my head and I have the majority of the story. Now I just have to settle down and start writing. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow. But today was brain storming and it was fantastic! By the way, I have a working title for it, but I don't like it. I will try to explain the story a bit and see if anyone can come up with something. The working title is "The Protector," but it's a boring title. I am thinking more of something that deals with the psycho. Think that's a good idea? I'm open to opinions on this! </span><i class="_4-k1 img sp_dpr65p sx_fbbabe" style="background-color: white; background-image: url(https://fbstatic-a.akamaihd.net/rsrc.php/v2/yT/r/3iifGvVHQnh.png); background-position: -17px -683px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: auto; color: #333333; display: inline-block; height: 16px; line-height: 18px; vertical-align: -3px; width: 16px;"></i></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-38230421050230286542013-08-21T15:59:00.000-07:002013-08-21T15:59:14.276-07:00Poem - The Darkness<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wrote this awhile back. Enjoy!</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*****</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">The Darkness</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">The darkness comes</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">In a whisper</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">Slipping silently by</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17px;"><br />Engulfing all in its path<br />Leaving nothing untouched<br /><br />February 14, 2011</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-90652303680460960552013-08-20T19:45:00.000-07:002013-08-20T19:45:06.327-07:00Writing Exercise - Word Love<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"><i><b>This is another Writing Exercise I did awhile ago. The word for inspiration was Love.</b></i></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">*****</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">Kira couldn’t believe it. After so long, she was finally there . . . Australia. It had been her dream for two years after she had met James rather unexpectedly online one evening through one of several networking sites she was on. There was something about his photo that had drawn her to him. His smile and t</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">he twinkle in his eyes had immediately gotten her attention so she’d sent him a message. It didn’t take them long to be friends, followed by flirting and so much more than that.<br /><br />Growing up had been an ordeal for Kira. Emotional abuse, verbal abuse and on occasions she was hit with wooden spoons. She guessed it was her mother’s equivalent of a birch stick. All of it had left its damage on her to the point that when she married, she married someone just like her mother. His abuse was the same, only in some respects more and worse. When he hit her, it wasn’t with a wooden spoon but with his fists – though he was always careful not to strike her face. The last time he’d laid a hand on her she’d been 7 months pregnant with their daughter. To that day she still couldn’t remember what she’d said, but he never struck her again. Only the memories of the striking stayed with her. The words had faded when the hysteria had.<br /><br />When she had divorced her husband, he had continued to emotionally abuse her, using the kids in his games. But in the end, she had gained custody and no visitation for him, so finally she’d had a chance to start healing . . . a bit.<br /><br />Still, for so long she thought she was broken. That she would stay broken forever. That she was truly incapable of loving someone and that maybe she just wasn’t really loveable. Years she was like that, willing to keep going through life, because that's what life was; living for her kids. Making sure they grew up healthy and as happy as she could make it and try to hold onto herself for as long as she could until there was truly nothing left of her.<br /><br />Kira had encountered several suitors, but none of them were successful with her; brief affairs, no serious emotions. That was her life and she had accepted that fate; until it got turned over on top of its head by James.<br /><br />It had started simple; short emails back and forth and sending little pictures and funny captions to each other. It progressed to flirty mass emails where it asked questions “What would you do with me if you found me in your shower” giving many options from calling the police to joining and other things more pleasant. It were those that they finally realized their true attraction for each other and in time that became love even over thousands of miles and almost a day difference between them.<br /><br />But here she was. Finally . . . She stood on the sand looking out across the ocean in New Whales. It was beautiful. The sky was beautiful. Kira couldn’t honestly remember being this happy, except the days her children were born.<br /><br />Sighing contentedly, she felt hands move tenderly around her waist.<br /><br />“What are you thinking?” James whispered in her ear. “Missing home?”<br /><br />“Not yet,” she replied as she turned to kiss him tenderly. “Part of me feels I am home.”<br /><br />He smiled and caressed her face, leaning toward her for another kiss; one with more passion. She lost herself in it.<br /><br />“When will the kids join you here?” he asked as the kiss ended and their eyes met.<br /><br />“One week,” she replied.<br /><br />“Then we have a week just for us,” he grinned wickedly, scooping her into his arms as he headed to the car.<br /><br />She laughed. “What are you doing?<br /><br />“I’m not going to waste a moment,” he said.<br /><br />Carefully sliding her into the car she pulled him to her. “I love you,” she said softly and cuddled against him.<br /><br />He had awakened a part of her that she had felt dead. Because of him, she had looked toward the future; not just making it through each day. He gave her a dream. He gave her his heart . . . He had given her his love and she had willingly given herself to him.<br /><br />“I love you, Kira,” he said, whispering her name, like a breath on the wind.<br /><br />For the moment, life was perfect and she couldn’t ask for more.</span></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-81479860112434604922013-08-19T16:46:00.000-07:002013-08-19T16:46:45.119-07:00Writing Exercise - Top 10 Songs on Your Character's Playlist<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"><b><i><u>This is another writing exercise - </u></i></b></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><br /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">Kara Storm was getting ready for a work-out of punching and kicking at a suspended bag, but to help focus her, she had her ipod. Placing the buds securely in her ears she scanned the songs looking for the right one to get started with.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">'Policy of Truth' by Depeche Mode, no . . . 'Move along' by All American Rejects . . . no . . . 'Otherside' by the Red Hot Chili Peppers? No she wasn't in the mood to start with those and kept scanning. 'Tourniquet' by Evanescense, 'Bullet with butterfly wings' by Smashing Pumpkins,'Savin' Me' by Nickelback, 'Leave Out all the Rest' by Linkin Park, 'Kryponite' by 3 Doors Down? But nothing sounded good. Then she found it!<br /><br />"Ah yes . . . No More Sorrow," she said to herself. Linkin Park was good work out music and especially this song when you had things in your past you wanted to get even for. One day, she thought, but not today. Today she was going to punch and kick the bag in front of her until she couldn't move her arms and legs without aching. It would keep her sane for the time being.<br /><br />Starting the music, she took her first punch at the hanging bag.</span></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-52911722995212774632013-08-18T15:23:00.000-07:002013-08-18T15:23:51.110-07:00A Taste of Another Story in the Works<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">Emily Sinclair was just getting up from the couch. It was getting late and she needed to get home, though it was only a house away.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">“Thanks for having me over,” she said to her best friend, Amanda White, who was still on the couch. “The movie was great!”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">“I told you you’d like it,” her friend smiled, remote in hand s</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">hutting off the DVD player.<br /><br />As soon as the machine was off the TV channel popped on. It was so late that the 11 o’clock news was playing.<br /><br />“It has been almost four weeks since the disappearance of Candace Langston, the 30 year old mother of two. Her car found abandoned in the parking lot of the market she regularly shopped at. There are still no leads, but it’s suspected that this ties in to the other disappearance of Morgan Leigh the month before that . . .”<br /><br />“That’s just awful,” Amanda said.<br /><br />“It’s sad to say but the women are probably dead,” Emily said.<br /><br />“That’s horrible,” she replied. “But probably true.”<br /><br />“Makes you want to walk around with a gun,” Emily replied.<br /><br />“I don’t know if I could shoot someone.”<br /><br />“If my life were in danger, I don’t think I’d have any trouble pulling the trigger.”<br /><br />“You were always more of the defensive type,” Amanda replied with a smile.<br /><br />Emily returned the smile. “Want to have dinner tomorrow night? I’ll make burritos,” she said.<br /><br />Amanda groaned. “Oh man . . . my favorite! But I can’t. I’m going out to dinner with Mark.”<br /><br />Emily shrugged. “Okay, next time. Just let me know when you’re not seeing Mark, or invite him! I don’t know my best friend’s boyfriend all that well.”<br /><br />“That sounds like a plan!” she said. “I’ll see if he likes burritos.”<br /><br />“Oh, he’ll like mine! Everyone likes mine!”<br /><br />“You’re right!” she said. “I’ll call him tomorrow and let you know.”<br /><br />“Great!” Emily replied. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Night!”<br /><br />“Good night, Emmy.”<br /><br />Emily headed to the door. She yawned. It was definitely time to get ready for bed.<br /><br />He watched as she exited the house; her wavy, chestnut colored hair hanging around her shoulders, moving gently in the slight breeze. Her body was ripe. Perfect. Her curves were a woman’s curves. Her features were soft and strong at the same time. He could almost feel her struggle against him already. See her body spasm against the pulse of energy he would put her against. He could feel her body and see her blood . . . especially the blood. He would have her and no one could stop him. She would become one of his lovers.</span></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-26119438904247294382013-08-15T18:29:00.000-07:002013-08-15T18:29:46.495-07:00Writing Exercise From Today. Word - Burglary<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"><u><b>Writing Exercise - Word: Burglary</b></u></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">My heart pounded as I looked around. My whole apartment had been trashed! Things were broken everywhere! Things toppled over. There </span><span style="line-height: 17.984375px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"> seem to be anything that </span><span style="line-height: 17.984375px;">wasn't</span><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"> touched. Well, except for the kitchen table. The view of it all sent shivers down my back. Was this random or did someone specifically go after ME. I did have enemies like my Ex-Husband and this</span></span></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"> woman, Jackie, at work. I never knew why she </span><span style="line-height: 17.984375px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"> like me specifically, but she </span><span style="line-height: 17.984375px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"> like me. I </span><span style="line-height: 17.984375px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"> think she was capable of doing something like this. She was more hot air than anything else. So that left my Ex-husband Mark. But what could he have been after? It’s not like I had a bunch of a things that were useful to him, or worth much. But it could have just been someone off the street as well.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">I went to a sliding panel on the floor in a corner under the brown rug. Under the panel was a safe. It could only be opened by my thumb print. As I pressed my thumb against the sensor, the safe popped open. I looked inside. There were still all my passports, birth certificates, money, jewelry and a flash drive. I looked at it and sighed. I was happy that everything was there.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">Just as I started putting everything back a hand went around my neck pulling me up to my feet. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">“Hi, Sarah,” said a familiar voice. It sent a shiver down my spine! It was someone I </span><span style="line-height: 17.984375px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"> expect; a colleague. “I was just waiting for you,” he said with a happy, seductive voice.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">Suddenly I felt the pinch in my neck and everything began to turn dark; my body feeling like putty.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">“Now you’re mine,” he whispered into my ear.</span></span></span></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-14971963456738909072013-08-14T15:00:00.000-07:002013-08-14T15:00:37.779-07:00A Quote from Assassin's Seduction<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Isn't
it dangerous to get to know your prey?" she asked as she bit her lower lip
again. </span></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-81696416675675611732013-08-13T15:57:00.001-07:002013-08-13T15:57:11.535-07:00A Positive Thought for Today!<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">though I don't feel like I am pushed down right now, I still find it very motivating; especially when I have been pushed down in the past. Staying positive is the best thing you can do for yourself. And for me staying positive is the key to my passion in writing! I will get up and keep going!!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJsf7EvZ1s4c1hVfBl5OoIkY_P7tNlNIJPk2evs1J0rH_rTdSbSsFQ60Z9w22s61w8X1NMmxTLEyF5Q5nrutc4AsTcNnC-vQwbFL_YZVRzbffKFFpIYbmV2JJ4p6_xEPEUq76U76ChZ6Q/s1600/positive+thoughts+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJsf7EvZ1s4c1hVfBl5OoIkY_P7tNlNIJPk2evs1J0rH_rTdSbSsFQ60Z9w22s61w8X1NMmxTLEyF5Q5nrutc4AsTcNnC-vQwbFL_YZVRzbffKFFpIYbmV2JJ4p6_xEPEUq76U76ChZ6Q/s320/positive+thoughts+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574090918767322832.post-57388935651638855852013-08-12T13:24:00.000-07:002013-08-12T13:24:04.067-07:00Writing Exercise<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I shared this on another Blog I have, but this is a writing exercise I did awhile back. The way this particular writing exercise works is that you pick a word or two and write a little story that gets inspired by them! It's a good way to keep working on your writing! :-)</span><br />
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<b><u><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">Writing Exercise - Words: Valentine's Day, Rain</span></span></u></b><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">What a Valentine's Day, Lynne thought. No boyfriend to speak of and all</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 17.99715805053711px;"> her friends had someone. She had still managed to get a reservation at her favorite restaurant so she had been looking forward to that. They served the best steaks.<br /><br />As she walked from her car to the entrance it started raining and not just sprinkles. It was hard rain like God had opened the flood gates. Needless to say she was instantly wet. She groaned inwardly, but she wasn't about to give up her reservation no matter how wet and scraggly she looked now.<br /><br />However, as she approached the door a man sat there on the bench completely drenched from the rain. He looked very forlorn as he held a single red rose in his hand. She couldn't help stopping to check on this man.<br /><br />"Are you okay?" she asked.<br /><br />He gave her a half smile as he gazed at her with beautiful blue eyes. "I'm okay. I just got dumped by my girlfriend on Valentine's day in a text . . . a text . . ." He shook his head.<br /><br />The rain was still coming down on them as she looked at the door of the restaurant and then back to him as an idea formed.<br /><br />"What's your name?" she asked.<br /><br />"Brad," he replied.<br /><br />"Well, Brad, I'm Lynne. Want to come in and have dinner with me? I have a reservation."<br /><br />"You want to have dinner with a stranger?"<br /><br />"Why not?" she said. "We're both alone and it's Valentine's day."<br /><br />He smiled a little more. "All right," he said as he stood up. Then he handed her the rose. "Happy Valentine's day."<br /><br />Lynne smiled. "Thanks," she said as she took the rose. "Happy Valentine's day to you too."<br /><br />Together they walked into the restaurant soaking wet, but glad they weren't alone.</span></span>Krystina Stormhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11685813610431117311noreply@blogger.com0