Official Blog of Kristy Gherlone

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Official Blog of Kristy Gherlone
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    • Sassafras and Valentine’s Day

      Posted at 11:43 am by writergherlone, on January 24, 2018

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      Sassafras and Valentine’s Day

      By Kristy Gherlone

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      It was Valentine’s Day and Sassafras was sad. She wanted to get something special for her Daddy, but she didn’t have any money.

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      “What’s wrong, Sassafras?” her mother asked, noticing how unhappy she seemed.

      “It’s Valentine’s Day, but I don’t have anything for Daddy. How will he know that I love him if I don’t buy him a present?”

      “Daddy knows that you love him. You don’t have to buy gifts to show someone how much you care. There are lots of other ways to do that.”

      “Like how?” Sassafras asked.

      “Well, you could make him a card, if you like. I’m sure he would love that.”

      “That’s a great idea!” Sassafras brightened.

      A

      She gathered some art supplies and got to work.

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      Carefully, she cut out colorful hearts and pasted them to the paper she had folded.

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      Next, she used crayons to write what she wanted to say.

      “How’s it going in there?” Sassafras’s mother asked.

      D

      “Good, but I don’t want you to see until I’m all done.” Sassafras said, jumping onto the card to hide it. She wanted it to be a surprise.

      “That’s fine,” her mother laughed. “You know, when I was a little girl, my favorite Valentine’s were the ones that had treats inside.”

      E

      “I have just the thing!” Sassafras said.

      When she finished with the card, she called for her mother to see it.

      G

      “That is a lovely card, Sassafras. It came out very nice. What did you write?”

      D2

      “I wrote, ‘For Daddy, love Sassy.’

      “It’s very nice, but I thought you were going to add some treats?”

      “Well, I was going to share my worms, but I accidentally ate them.”

      Sassafras’s mother smiled. She knew that worms were her very favorite thing. “That’s okay. I think Daddy might like chocolates better anyway. I have some that you can give to him.”

      H

      “Oh, thank you! I think he will like those better.”  She chose a few and stuck them to the card.

      IMG_8121 “Can I give it to him now? She asked excitedely.

      “Of course. I think you’ll find him on the porch.”

      I

      “Wait! I have one for you, too!” Sassafras cried. She gave her mother the paper heart she’d made.

      “Why, thank you, Sassy! You’re so thoughtful.”

      “I know,” Sassafras giggled and went off to find her Dad.

       

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      “Daddy! I made something for you!”

      Sassafras’s Dad was very happy with the card. He could tell how hard she’d worked on it.

      “Thank you, Sassy! That was very sweet of you.”

      “I made it because I love you.”

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      “And I love you!” he said, giving Sassafras a hug. “Now we have something for you! Your mother has it in the kitchen. Go and see.”

      “Is it a present?” Sassafras asked.

      “It might be,” her Daddy smiled.

      “But Mama said you don’t need to buy presents to show someone how much you care.”

      “That is true,” he said, ruffling her feathers. “But we got you one anyway.”

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      “Worms!” she cried happily.  “I love worms and presents and Valentine’s Day. But you know what I love most of all? You!”

      **A new short comedy story of mine has just been published! You can find “Piano Hoarding Christians” in Defenestration Mag!

       

      **NO part of this story may be copied or reproduced without written consent from the author.

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, ducks, family, familyfriendly, fiction, hearts, love, pekinduck, picturestory, shortstory, valentinesday
    • A Very Sassy Christmas-Starring Sassafras Gherlone!

      Posted at 7:17 pm by writergherlone, on December 24, 2017

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      A Very Sassy Christmas

      by Kristy Gherlone

       

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      “Is Santa real?” Sassafras asked her mama on Christmas Eve.

      “Of course he is,” her mama answered. “He used to visit me every year when I was a little girl.”

      “I’m glad he’s real, but you’re a person and I’m a duck. What if Santa doesn’t bring presents to ducks?”

      “Don’t worry, sweet Sassafras,” her mama smiled. “If you believe in him, he will come. Why don’t you write him a note, asking for something you would like.” She suggested.

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      “That’s a great idea! And I can leave him some milk and cookies and carrots for the reindeer.”

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      “How is this?” Sassafras asked.

      “It looks great! I’m sure he will love it. Don’t forget to hang your stocking!”

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      Sassafras hung her stocking on the fire place. “There,” she said. “I’m all ready for Santa. I really hope he comes tonight!”

      “He will come but not until you’re asleep,” Sassafras’s mama said. “You’d better hurry to bed.”

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      Sassafras climbed into bed with Teddy but she was too excited to sleep. She kept listening for Santa.

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      And kept getting out of bed to see if there were any presents in her stocking.

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      Finally she fell asleep.

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      When she woke up Santa had come! “Look mama! You were right! Santa does visit ducks! He left some worms in my stocking!”

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      “And he drank all of the milk and ate the cookies, too!”

      “He did indeed,” Sassafras’s mama laughed. “I think I see a present under the tree with your name on it.”

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      “I think I do too!” Sassafras cried with excitement. “It’s right here! I hope Santa got me what I asked for.”

      “Well, open it up and see,” Sassafras’s mama said.

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      “He did! He did! Santa brought me just what I always wanted!”

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      Sassafras was so happy. Now she had someone to play with, even if it was just pretend. She shared her worms with her new friend.

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      And they played dress up.

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      And had a tea party.

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      “This was the best Christmas ever! Thank you Santa and mama!”

      Merry Christmas everyone!

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged christmas, familyfriendly, friends, pekinducks, picturestory, santa, shortstory
    • Magazine Submissions: Advice from Someone Who is Not an Expert, but Knows a Little

      Posted at 3:19 pm by writergherlone, on December 1, 2017

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      Magazine Submissions: Advice from Someone Who Is Not an Expert, but Knows A Little

      By Kristy Gherlone

       

      A couple of years ago, I didn’t know anything about the writing world. I knew I wanted to be a writer and I had a lot of ideas, but that was about it. As a child, I expressed the desire to become a writer, and it was met with a great deal of criticism. It probably didn’t help that I also wanted to be a ballerina, a singer, a figure skater, and an actress. My dreams were always dismissed as foolish, wasteful, and not very realistic. My mother had me late in her life and held on to old-fashioned ideals that a woman should get married and raise a family, but despite that, I did go to college and took my first writing class. The class was called Written Critical Expression. I wrote a piece that received high praise from the Professor and earned me an overall A in the class. I was so proud! The Professor encouraged me to write more. I thought I might have a chance to make one of my dreams come true, but I ran out of funds after two years, and had to drop out of school. I got married and had children, just like everyone expected me to.  The idea of becoming a writer did seem unrealistic for me at that point. I was up to my neck in diapers and had to work three jobs, at times. I still had all kinds of writing ideas, but never could find the time or the energy to jot them down.

      Finally, when my children were grown, I turned on the computer and began to write. I didn’t know where it would take me, but it didn’t matter. I was finally writing!  I completed my first novel and by that time, I knew a successful writer well.  I reached out for advice and assistance and was surprised when I didn’t receive a whole lot of encouragement. This is what I was told:

      1. Writing is a tough, competitive business.
      2. Everyone thinks they can be a writer, these days.
      3. Most people don’t make it.
      4. There’s a lot to it.
      5. You’re better off trying to figure things out on your own, like I had to.
      6. I don’t have time to read your work.

      I was stricken. I didn’t want to give up, but I didn’t know how to achieve my goals.  Like I said, I didn’t know anything about the writing world.

      Since I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my abilities, especially after that advice, I didn’t even try to submit my novel to a traditional publisher. I found a local publisher and did it that way. I received some fantastic feedback and sold quite a few copies. It boosted my self-confidence a bit and I was happy until that same author dismissed my success by saying that I had cheated by using a “vanity publisher.” After that, I had to admit that a part of me did feel like a cheater. My success didn’t feel real to me. I didn’t feel like a real author, so I did some research to find out what the “real” authors were doing. I found that most of them had started their careers by publishing in magazines. Everyone has to do what they feel is best for their own careers and for their own confidence levels, and I decided that what I needed for me to feel better, was to give that a try. Easier said than done!

      I wrote some short stories and began submitting to magazines. My early attempts were all rejected dismissively, harshly, and unapologetically. I began to question whether I had any real talent at all.

      It turns out that I just wasn’t doing it right. Now this is where I want to point out that I am definitely not an expert. Most of my submissions are rejected and I have yet to make it into the “top” 50, but I have received 10 acceptances in less than a year. I’m proud of every one. I have been in some beautiful magazines. If you only submit to the top 50, you are missing out on being part of some truly wonderful journals, and the chance to get your name and work out there.

      I want to share with you a few tricks in the hopes that I might make things easier for you. I want to give you encouragement, where I was given none. Here’s what I learned:

      1. Get an editor. I can’t stress this enough. I use The Letter Works and my talented husband. It doesn’t cost as much as you think. Your submission will be rejected for spelling mistakes and bad grammar most of the time. You might think your work is mistake free, but a good editor can point out where your work can be improved, plus they are immersed in the business. They know what’s going on out there. I have learned a lot from mine. Even still, my work will never be mistake free. There is still too much I don’t know and the rules are always changing. This document is probably full of mistakes because I didn’t let my editor edit it. Haha.
      2. Do the research. I mean that. Don’t just skim through the magazines you want to submit to. I’m embarrassed now that I sent what I did to the “top” magazines. I never had a chance! The magazines usually tell you, right up front, what they like and don’t. If you send a romance to a Sci-Fi they will reject you. Go figure. Also, check the word counts of the material they usually publish or ask for. If they are prone to publishing 2, 000-5,000 word stories and you send them 500, they might not take it. The same in the reverse. Don’t send a novelette to a flash fiction mag. Check the style of writing they publish. Are they contemporary, genre specific like non-fiction. What do you write? Does your writing fit in with what they have already published? Doesn’t mean they won’t take your writing, but it’s less likely.
      3. Keep your cover letters simple and on task. Sometimes, if you are lucky, the magazine will tell you what they want you to write in a cover letter. A few do want flashy, creative cover letters, but I have found that most don’t. They don’t have time to read it, so they just want the facts. And don’t be showy. If they ask for a past publishing history, give it to them, but only if they ask.
      4. Do simultaneous submissions. Don’t just send one piece of writing to one magazine unless the one magazine you’re submitting to does not allow simultaneous submissions. (Again…do the research into the magazine you’re submitting to-this could make or break your career) You will have a greater chance for success if you send your story to a few magazines at a time, if allowed. And keep track! This is very important. Keep a log of every submission, every rejection, and every acceptance. You will need this information to withdraw, if you get accepted somewhere else and for a thousand other reasons I can think of. Keep careful track.
      5. Have realistic goals. Very few people just starting out get in to the top 5. Not to say that you won’t, but try smaller and work your way up. But only if you want. If you really need that top 5, keep writing and improving and keep trying. It could happen and it does to some people. But like I said, you’ll be missing out, in my opinion, if you hold out for only the top rated.
      6. Don’t give up. You need to keep writing and improving.
      7. Be yourself. You don’t have to write with the trends to be accepted.
      8. Celebrate your victories but then keep moving, unless one acceptance is good enough for you.

      So did I achieve what I wanted to? Yes and no. I guess because I’m an artist, I still feel like a fraud sometimes. It comes with the territory, I’m told. I did ditch my worries about using a “vanity publisher.” Who cares as long as you’re happy and doing what you love. Do whatever it takes, just don’t give up.

      That’s all I have for now, but look at how much I have learned in such a short time! Just by doing research!  I’m here if you have any questions. I’ll do what I can to help you achieve your dreams.

      And whatever happened to that “successful author” with the wonderful advice? I don’t know. I didn’t need that kind of negativity in my life.

      Also, here are some good sites to look at to find who is requesting material and when:

      1. New Pages

      2. Entropy

      3. Subscribe to Submittable

      4. Simply google “literary magazines seeking fiction 2017” and you’ll come up with a bunch

      Good luck!

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged advice, dreams, encouragement, goals, magazines, publishing, shortstory, success, writer, writing
    • Cracked

      Posted at 8:46 pm by writergherlone, on November 6, 2017

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      *Unfortunately, to date, the following story has not made it into the literary pages. It is an old-fashioned story in feel, but a particular favorite of mine, so I thought I’d share.  I hope you enjoy it too! While this one won’t be seen in the magazines, I do have three more that will. “The Forest Fire,” will appear in Edify Fiction on December 29, 2017. “No Parking,” will appear in Fiction on the Web on December 11th, and my new story ( a comedy), was just accepted by Defenestration Magazine. I’ll announce the date for that one as it gets closer. Also, my story, “The Falls,” is now available in print through Wild Women’s Medicine Circle Journal and you can find it on Amazon, if you are interested.

       

       

      Cracked

      By Kristy Gherlone

       

      There were cracks in the driveway. Deep, ugly grooves that marred the surface of the inky pavement.

      Janice cried out in shock. It wasn’t so much the cracks that bothered her. It was that the cracks had weeds growing in them.

      “Honey? Better get those paver fellows to come back. We have cracks…”

      She set her purse and coffee down onto the top of her car, and plucked a lime green shoot from a crevice.

      In disbelief, she held it up to her eyes, squinting as she rolled it back and forth between her fingers. “What in the Sam holy old hell? How is this even possible?” They’d only just had the driveway done a couple of days before.

      She shook her head and threw it down. She crushed it under the heel of her shoe for good measure.

      “Make sure you call them today, too! Those scamming little bastards are not going to get away with this. We paid good money for this driveway, and they’re going to fix it or we’ll sue!”

      She opened the car door. “Did you hear me? I’ve got to get to work. I’m late!” She jumped in and tore away.

      Later that afternoon when she arrived back home, nothing had been done about the driveway.

      I bet Jack didn’t even call, she thought, fuming.  That man is as useless as tits on a boar hog.  If Tommy was home, he would have made sure they’d come right back over.  Such a good kid, Tommy… nothing like his father.

      She sat, holding the keys in her hand, and wondered about her son. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left for his cross-country trip to college out in Utah. She was beginning to worry that something was wrong. It wasn’t like him not to call.

      Suddenly, there was a rap on her window. She jumped and whirled around. The afternoon sun had dropped below the horizon! It was nightfall!

      “Who’s out there?” she cried.

      “It’s me, Mrs. Sanborn. Your neighbor, Ted Gatsby.”

      “Who?”

      “Ted Gatsby. Don’t you remember me? Is everything alright?”

      Janice felt foolish. Relieved, but foolish. She rolled down the window. “Of course I remember you. How could I forget? You must think I’m some kind of nut, sitting out here like this. I was tired after work. I guess I must have dozed off for a minute.”

      “I was surprised to see anyone over here this morning. I tried the front door when I saw a car in the driveway, just now. I knocked but no one answered. I was about to leave, but then I saw you sitting inside. You scared me half to death. I thought…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

      “No, no. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She rolled up the window and opened the door, “Jack didn’t answer when you knocked?” She scoffed, struggling to get out of the seat.  “That man, I swear to God! All he does is sit in that chair and watch television. I have to light a fire under his ass to get him to do anything.” She swung one of her legs out, but couldn’t go any further.

      “Jack? You mean your husband, Mrs. Sanborn?” Ted asked, bewildered.

      “Of course my husband! Who’d you think I was talking about?”

      Ted’s mouth fell open. He didn’t know what to say.

      “Never mind. Give me a hand, will you? I can’t seem to get out of this thing.” Janice laughed, embarrassed.   “Imagine a forty-year-old woman having so much trouble.”

      Ted chuckled awkwardly, but reached in to take her by the arm. Gently, he pulled and managed to get her out. Her legs quivered beneath her as she stood, clinging to his arm.

      “Is there someone I should call for you?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

      “Call? Heavens, no! Who in the hell would you call unless it’s those damn pavers? Did you see my driveway?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “A kindergartener could have done a better job!”

      “But…” Ted stammered.

      She rolled her eyes and waved him away. “I’m fine. Just a little unsteady. I don’t know what’s gotten into me today, but I’m sure it will pass.   Probably just a bug or something.” She started for the house, but stopped and turned back around. “What did you want, anyway?”

      “Want, Mrs. Sanborn?”

      “Yes, why did you come over?”

      “Oh, yeah,” Ted said, suddenly remembering the reason for his visit.  “I thought, maybe, since you were back, you could use some help fixing the old place up again. I could put a coat of sealant on that driveway for you. I have some left over from a job I did over in Chickory. It might keep the weeds from sprouting up.”

      “So that’s why you’re here?” Janice cried, insulted.  “There is nothing wrong with this house other than that blasted driveway. Old place, indeed! What a thing to say! Our house is the nicest one on this block and you know it! I bet you’re in cahoots with those pavers, aren’t you?”

      “I…well, no! Of course, not,” Ted stammered.

      “I’m not an idiot, so don’t take me for one,” she said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I happen to know a thing or two about contractors. Never met a single one I could trust.”

      “Mrs. Sanborn, please…I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that it’s been a while since anyone…you’ve been gone…”

      “Well you can forget it,” she snapped, cutting him off. She turned on her heels, “I paid good money for that driveway not even a week ago, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay you too. They are just going to have to come back and fix it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a husband to attend to.” She stormed into the house and slammed the door behind her.

      She threw her things down onto the table and stalked into the den. Jack was sitting in his chair. The television was blaring.  Janice walked over and turned it down. “Can you imagine the nerve of some people? You’d think you could trust your own neighbors! Ted Gatsby thought he was going to con us into paying him for something that should have been done right in the first place. Well, I’ll tell you! It’s a good thing you’ve got me around. I set him straight. And where the hell were you when all of this was going on? Sitting right here, just like always. You know, I’m sick of doing everything by myself. I have a good mind to take Sal Eames up on his offer to run away with him.” She smiled smugly and went off to make dinner.

      The next morning, when she stepped into the shower, she noticed the tiles right away. They were cracked. Not all of them, but quite a few. Splintery cracks feathered the delicate flowered porcelain.

      It wasn’t the cracks that bothered her so much. It was the black mold peppering the rubbery grout that baffled her. She scraped some off with her fingernail. “Jeez Louise!” she muttered.

      “Jack!” she hollered over the rush of running water. “What on earth happened up here? The tiles are cracked! I bet you busted them up when you were trying to replace that shower head, didn’t you? I told you to be careful. If water gets in behind those cracks, we’ll have a mess on our hands for sure. There’s already mold growing. Replace them today while I’m gone, will you?”

      She finished with her shower, dressed, and grabbed her lunch out of the fridge. “Well, I’m off. Don’t forget about those chores,” she told Jack before stepping outside.

      She started down the walk, but something on the side of the house caught her attention. She whirled around and froze.  There were cracks in the foundation! Deep fissures ran all the way from the bottom edge of the siding to the ground. Gaping, jagged edges of concrete. Lush green moss clung tightly to the rough gray surface. It was unsightly. Horrified, she dropped her lunch.

      “Jack? Jack! Get out here! We have real problems.”  Stunned, she staggered over to the foundation and dropped to her knees. She began pulling the moss out in clumps. “Did we have an earthquake?  Did you see anything about an earthquake on the news?”

      When Jack didn’t answer, she got up and went back into the house. “Jack?” she yelled, going from room to room.  “Jack?”

      She found him in the den.  “I’ve been shouting for you. I should have known you wouldn’t hear me over that stupid television.”  Exasperated, she snapped it off. “Don’t you ever do anything else besides watch TV?  Did you hear me? I think we’re going to have to call the insurance company. I think we’ve had an earthquake. I’ve got to get to work. Make sure you do it today and get an estimate.”

      She hurried back outside.

      “Mrs. Sanborn?” A voice called to her.

      Janice’s head snapped up. She shielded her eyes from the morning sunlight.

      “It’s just me, again, Mrs. Sanborn,” the voice said, getting closer.

      Janice recognized the voice as Ted Gatsby’s. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she snapped. She hurried over to her car, opened the door, and threw her purse inside.

      “Mrs. Sanborn, I called Gloria. Just sit tight, okay?”

      “Gloria?” she croaked, her anger momentarily forgotten. “My Gloria? Whatever for?”

      “Yes, your Gloria. Your daughter! She was glad to hear that you’re okay. She was very worried about you.”

      “Worried? What on earth for? You didn’t drag her into our spat, did you? You had no right! She needs to be studying instead of worrying about what’s going on here. Why don’t you just mind your own business, Mr. Nosey.” She scowled and got into the car.

      All the fuss and bickering made her tired. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. A few minutes later, she felt herself falling and nearly toppled out of the car. “What on earth!” she bellowed.

      “Mama! Oh, mama! You can’t imagine how sick I’ve been with worry,” Gloria wailed. She grasped her mother’s shoulders, and tried to right her again.

      “What?” Janice demanded, confused. She looked up at the sky. The position of the sun told her it was late afternoon! She’d fallen asleep again!  She shook her head, “Gloria! My God, girl, what are you doing here?”

      “I’m sorry mama. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just that when Ted called…” she began to cry, “I’m just so glad to see you.”

      “For crying out loud! It’s only been a couple of weeks since daddy and I dropped you off at school. The way you’re carrying on, you’d think we hadn’t seen each other in years. Well, never mind. Give me a hug you foolish girl.” She rolled her eyes, but smiled as she let Gloria help her out of the car.  “I can’t believe you let Ted Gatsby talk you into coming home from college for something so ridiculous. Well, daddy will be glad to see you anyway. Let’s go in and say hello.”

      Gloria sniffled as she led her mother up the walkway. “Mama, I think we should talk,” she said, helping her mother inside and onto the couch in the foyer.

      “You didn’t flunk out already did you?” Janice tsked. “Is that what all this blubbering is about?”

      “No mama. I…”

      “Something worse then,” she pursed her lips and frowned.  “Well, go and get your father. Whatever you have to say, he should probably hear too. God! I hope you’re not pregnant,” she huffed, clutching her chest.

      Gloria searched her mother’s eyes.  “Please tell me you remember about daddy, mama. And Tommy. You do remember, don’t you?” She reached up to cup her mother’s cheek.

      “Remember what? What has gotten into you today?” Janice said, pushing her hand away. “You just go and get your father, like you’re told.”

      “Mama,” Gloria began gently, “Daddy isn’t here. He’s been gone since the week after Tommy left us.

      “Gone? What are you talking about? He hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s right in the den.” She got up and started down the hall. “Jack! You get out here and see your daughter.”

      “He isn’t here,” Gloria said again.  She got up too, and hurried after her. “He couldn’t be.” She caught up and reached for her mother’s shoulder, trying to stop her. “Daddy’s been dead for nearly thirty years.”

      “What?” Janice yelped, pulling away. Her face flushed scarlet. “Why would you say such a thing? Have you gone mad? He’s watching television, the old fool.” She made it to the entrance of the den. She stopped and thrust a finger towards her husband’s chair. “See?” she said. “He’s right there.”

      Gloria followed her in. She walked over to the chair. She held her breath, and turned it around. Other than an old drop cloth, it was empty!

      “What in the world?” Janice cried. Her eyes were frantic as she searched the room. She ran around, opening all the closets, and checking behind all the furniture. “Jack? Don’t play games now! Your daughter is here and wants to see you.”

      “Mama, stop. Please, just stop. Daddy isn’t here. He’s gone. He died of a heart attack. And Tommy died in the accident on Route sixty-six on his way to college.”

      Janice’s hand flew to her mouth. “No! That’s not true! You’re lying,” she rasped.

      “I’m so sorry, but it is true. You have to believe it. You have to remember!”

      Janice began to shake. A flood of horrible memories rushed into her brain, though she tried to push them out. “No!” she wept. “I don’t want to remember!”

      “You have to. I need you! Your grandchildren need you”

      “No, no, no,” Janice shook her head. Her legs gave out and she sat with a slump onto the couch.

      Gloria went and sat next to her. “I thought when Ted called and told me that you were here, that you were starting to remember again. Was I wrong?” she asked.

      “Here? This is my home. Where else would I be?”

      “At the center, mama. We had to take you there after daddy died. You’ve been there all this time.”

      “It can’t be,” Janice said with horror. “It just can’t be.”

      “But it is.  They called when they couldn’t find you yesterday. They didn’t know where you’d gone. We’ve all been so scared. You can’t imagine my relief when Ted called. I thought, then, that you were starting to come back to us.”

      “Come back to you?”

      “Come with me mama.” Gloria got up and held out her hand.

      Janice hesitated, but finally took it and followed her out into the hallway. Grandma’s antique mirror still hung crookedly on the wall, next to the back door.

      “Turn around, mama. I want you to see yourself.”

      “See myself? I’ve seen myself a million times,” she said, but turned towards the mirror anyway.  The woman she saw starring back at her was old. An old woman with crazy, deranged eyes!

      Frightened, she took a step back. Her hands reached up to feel her face. Deep cracks and creases lined her cheeks and forehead. Her lips were dry and puckered. Crinkles erupted next to her eyes as she stood there grimacing. “I’m old,” she whispered. “I can’t be this old. I was just forty a few months ago…”

      Gloria reached over to rub her mother’s back. “It’s been thirty years since you were forty, mama. You’ve been gone a long time, too.”

      “Am I back now?”

      “I hope so, mama. I really hope so.”

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged age, family, fiction, grief, illness, loss, mental, shortstory
    • Sassafras Makes a Jack-o’-Lantern

      Posted at 12:12 pm by writergherlone, on October 19, 2017

      Sassafras Makes a Jack-o’-Lantern

      (story and pictures by Kristy Gherlone)

       

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      “May I try on my Halloween costume and can we make a Jack-o’-Lantern?” Sassy asked one October morning.

      “Hmmm,” Sassafras’s mother smiled, noticing that Sassafras had already put on the costume, and had already gathered the pumpkins. “I guess it is almost Halloween. I suppose so. Let me get a knife and the things we’ll need.”

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      “I can get the knife!” Sassafras offered. She was excited and eager to help.

      “No. You’d better let me get that,” Sassafras’s mother said. “Knives are sharp. You should never carve a pumpkin unless there is an adult around to help you.”

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      Sassafras’s mother got the knife and stuck it into the top of the pumpkin. Sassafras began to cry.

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      “What’s the matter Sassafras? Why are you so sad?”

      “I didn’t know you were going to kill the pumpkin!” Sassafras wailed, quite upset.

      “Aww, it’s okay,” Sassafras’s mother said, giving her a hug. “This pumpkin is not alive. I promise, I’m not hurting it at all.”

      “Are you sure?” Sassafras asked, still sniffling.

      “I’m positive. Pumpkins are vegetables. People grow them in their gardens for food and decoration. They are not like people and ducks.”

      “Oh. Okay,” Sassafras sighed with relief.

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      Sassafras’s mother finished cutting a hole into the top of the pumpkin and Sassafras helped to remove the seeds that were inside.

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      “These seeds are slimy, but they taste kind of good,” Sassy said.

      “Don’t eat too many,” Sassafras’s mother cautioned. “You’ll get a bellyache.”

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      “I think there are more on the bottom.”

      “You are doing a great job. Make sure the pumpkin is nice and clean,” Sassafras’s mother said. “If you leave too many of the fibers inside, the pumpkin won’t last very long.”

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      “I think that’s the last of them,” Sassafras declared. She had created quite a pile of seeds and fibers on the plastic bag.

      “We can roast some of the seeds later, after they dry out,  if you like. I think you will like those,” Sassafras’s mother said.

      “Yummy!” Sassy cried happily. Roasted pumpkin seeds sounded delicious.

      When Sassafras and her mother were finished carving the face on the Jack-o’-Lantern, Sassafras helped to carry it onto the porch.

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      “Our Jack-o’-Lantern came out nice,” Sassafras said, proudly. “And now everyone can see.”

       

      I hope you enjoyed my story.  Sassafras is a wonderful pet and has a lot of patience for my nonsense. She is always paid for her participation in the form of worms and hugs.

      This was last years costume.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, costumes, ducks, familyfriendly, fiction, Halloween, pekinduck, pumpkins, shortstory
    • Doorways

      Posted at 12:55 pm by writergherlone, on October 14, 2017

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      Doorways

      by Kristy Gherlone

      Under the glow of a waning harvest moon, enveloped in the scent of decaying leaves, and to the din of feasting coyotes, earthly beings light fires to steel themselves against the frosty autumn air. They unwittingly open doorways to hell, allowing entrance to demons that rule October nights. On All Hallow’s Eve when Satan begs their return, they gather their captured souls and spirit them back through the entrance, slipping unnoticed through the safe passage we have created.

      Sleep tight, everyone!

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged autumn, campfire, creepy, fiction, Halloween, october, shortstory
    • When Next We Speak

      Posted at 1:36 pm by writergherlone, on October 3, 2017

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      When Next We Speak

      by Kristy Gherlone

      For all of the grandparents we’ve loved and lost

       

      When next we speak, you’ll talk to me about the weather. Overdue rain to follow a long dry spell. Garden soil and almanac predictions.
      When next we speak, you’ll talk about the kids. Chorus concerts and disappointing grades. Ballet recitals and piano lessons. Your words speak of a future that doesn’t belong to me. My time was in the past. When you speak of the weather it’s not the rain I think of. Its weathering the trials of life that come to mind. Those times I suffered and those blessed times when the sun came out again.

      When next we speak, you will perch anxiously on my chair, awkward and anxious, careful and cautious, avoiding eyes that you once sought out for comfort

      When next we speak, you’ll ask me what I want. What do you want? What will bring you solace? That’s what we should talk about, when next we speak.
      When next we speak, you’ll pity my wrinkled face, though you and I both know you gave me some of those badges. Don’t pity me. I’m proud of them! Perhaps you picture yourself in my shoes, years from now, but they are proof that I have lived!  I’d do everything again. Life was worth every wound.

      When next we speak, there will be so much to say. I’ll want to share everything with you, but it will be tough to breath. I’m being called. I hear his whispers with every breath I take. I know you hear it too.
      When next we speak, it will probably be the last time, though we’ll both lie. So, make it good! Please do not weep. I want you to remind me of the good times. Tell me how I made you feel, how I have touched your life. I want to hear the music in your words. I want you to remember those times we shared.
      When next we speak, please tell me you love me because the last time you see me, it might be too late.

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged aging, grandparents, lovedones, shortstory, sickness
    • The Fire Devils

      Posted at 12:53 am by writergherlone, on September 25, 2017

      IMG_0487The Fire Devils

      by Kristy Gherlone

      *This is an actual photo of my outdoor fire tonight. I believe I have finally caught them in the act!

       

      Joining hands, they dance merrily in celebration of a new season’s dawning. The fire devils have arrived to rule the autumn nights and haunt my dreams while I sleep in a fitful slumber.

      Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment | Tagged autumn, campfire, dreams, fire, nightmares, shortstory, spirits
    • Those Hometown Feelings

      Posted at 10:43 am by writergherlone, on August 29, 2017

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      Those Hometown Feelings

      By Kristy Gherlone

       

      Recently, my husband and I made the long trek back to my home town in northern Maine. We try to make the trip once or twice a year and each time, I find myself battling a wide range of emotions.

      When I was a child, the town was a booming, bustling city that looked like it had been dropped smack dab into the middle of a sea of wilderness. Great Northern Paper Company owned the mill there and most of the forests surrounding it. Nearly everyone worked at the mill. The salaries provided were enough so that most people had a house in town, and a camp on one of the lakes, two cars per household, and yearly vacations.

      We had three elementary schools, a middle school, and a high school. We had an enormous recreational area with a football field, a hockey rink (with warming house), a regular skating rink, tennis courts, a track field, several playgrounds, a golf course, and a large outdoor town pool. The high school had an auditorium worthy of a Boston theatre company. Two or three times a year, we would all settle into the plush, red upholstered and reclining seats, and there, as the lights dimmed, and the curtains drew aside to reveal a spacious stage, we would watch the plays put on by the Millinocket Theatre Company, or the high school drama club. We had a movie theatre, and a bowling alley. We had department stores too, and multiple restaurants.

      We had all of those things, plus our town was cradled by mountain ranges and lakes so beautiful, I couldn’t do them justice with words. Our forest neighborhood offered mountain climbs, boating, swimming, skiing, hiking, snow- mobiling…you name it! We had Baxter State Park and Katahdin, where the Appalachian Trail ends.  We were rich in every sense, but not immune to hardship. We were a close- knit community, connected by so many things, and separated by very little. We struggled through harsh winters and forest fires. Through tragic deaths and illnesses. We spent years laughing and crying together. It was a town where you really knew each other and everyone’s family.  It is a place, that when I visit, I still see people I know in every corner. It’s both a comfort and a heartache.

      After Great Northern sold, the mill began to shut down in stages. People I had known my whole life had to pack it up and move away. Stores closed, one by one. While my town still has some of the things I mentioned, it’s a struggle, I know, to keep them going. I have history there, and not all of it is good, so when I arrive, I find myself riddled with feelings. My town has changed. I have changed.

      My mother sold the camp I spent all my summers at.  Some of my family still lives in town, but most of us don’t speak. Instead of staying with them, my husband and I stay at a hotel. It makes me sad that I can’t give him some of the wonderful experiences I had when I lived there and that he doesn’t know some of the people that used to be a big part of my life.

      My Dad is buried there. His grave sits on the top of a grassy hill, overlooking the mill; the place where he worked for over forty years and probably helped to hasten his demise. He’s alongside people he’d known and worked with his whole life. When I visit, I can hear him speaking to me, “Why are you wasting your time visiting me? I’m not really here, you jar head! I’m up in heaven, so stop blubbering and go have some fun!”

      He’s half- right. It’s not a waste of time to sit in remembrance of things loved, but lost, just so long as you don’t dwell there.  It’s important to make new memories. The forests are still there. Baxter State Park and the Appalachian Trail are still there. My old fishing spots still hold trout. We even have some new things in town, like the ATV Trails. So, my husband and I will continue to go back. Hopefully, someday, he will turn to me and laugh, “Do you remember that time we…” And I will smile when I look back on how much fun he and I had in my new- old hometown.

       

       

       

       

       

       

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged familyfriendly, hometown, maine, mountains, nonfiction, nostalgia, shortstory
    • Sunfish Type of Gal

      Posted at 1:16 pm by writergherlone, on August 26, 2017

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      Sunfish Type Of Gal

      by Kristy Gherlone

      Living in the woods, like I did for many years, I found myself a frequent observer of nature. There was really no way to avoid it because once I stepped outside our brown, boxy camp, I was as much a part of my surroundings as they were of me. The sights and smells left imprints on my psyche and I learned lessons that will stay with me forever.

      Our lake and the surrounding forest held many fascinations. There were giant snapping turtles lurking around in the cove. Fish and baby duck stealing monsters that would poke their muddy green heads out of the water and skulk around brooding. I swore they were stalking me. Just waiting for me to dip a toe in so they could bite it off.

      There were several mating pairs of loons. The calls they made through the night could be both a comfort and a fright. Their cries lulled me to sleep as I lay on the swinging bed my dad made for me in the cozy loft. However, if I was awoken in the middle of the night, they sounded like ghosts! Eerie wails of long dead woodsmen that would haunt my dreams if I was able to get back to sleep.

      When I looked through the binoculars from the screened front porch, which I often did, I could spy bull moose on the far shore. Their giant antlered heads would be all the way underwater chomping on aquatic plants. Just when I thought they’d surely die of suffocation, they’d emerge.  Lily pads dangled like Christmas ornaments from their velvety racks.

      Often, I’d take to the forest. I’d wander off, far enough away from the camp that I couldn’t see it, but not far enough so that I couldn’t still smell the wood smoke puffing from the chimney. Just past the pines, through the birches and over the rows of enormous rocks left behind by glaciers, there was a clearing that held a bog. In mid-summer, it was lush and full of green plant life. Yellow lily flowers opened on the surface during the day and clammed shut at night. There were frogs in there, but they were hard to catch. The water was deep and the bottom was too squishy. I once got my shoe stuck in the muck and I never did find it. It’s probably still there to this day.

      If ever I got too bored, I’d head back down to the lake. I’d lay on my belly, draped over the faded and warped pine dock, peek into the shallow water, and look for sunfish nests. They were easy to spot. They’d be the only clean areas dotting the pulpy, dark bottom.
      The female fish crafted large, round circles of sand that looked like the sunshine had come out on a rainy day down there. They were interesting, and I learned a thing or two in all those years of watching.

      Sunfish girls were jealous and possessive. They didn’t like outsiders, and everything and everybody that wasn’t like them was a threat that should be run off quickly. They had an inherent need to protect what they felt was theirs. They’d socialize with their own kind only. The yellow perch, all tiger striped and sleek, would sneak in and try to play with them, but the sunfish wouldn’t have it. They’d chase them off, pecking at them viciously and swishing their tails to shoo them away. I felt bad for the perch as they swam away looking very dejected.

      The sunfish were industrious, spending hours cleaning their own houses. Picking up and spitting out what didn’t belong. I’d test them by dropping tiny stones in the middle of their order. They’d pick them up and move them out immediately. In my often, curious youth, tragedy would occur on occasion. Larger stones would slip from my fingers and go splashing down into their lairs. In no time at all, other sun fish would be called in to help. Everyone would work together to restore what was lost, if it could be (sorry!) As soon as it was done though, everyone would be booted out again.  It seemed they mostly only wanted company when it was to their benefit.

      Sunfish were pretty. Purple finned and red bellied beauties. They had nothing to be jealous about, but it seemed they couldn’t help it. Sometimes they would school up and swim together. They appeared cordial enough to each other, but God forbid if one tried to take something another wanted!

      I’ve known some girls like sunfish in my lifetime. I’m sure you have too. I’ve been on the receiving end of the shoo away from time to time, and it hurt, but I always tried to apply my nature observations for comfort. People really aren’t so different, after all.

      I learned, by watching the fish as much as I did, that they were too self- centered to give you a second thought just as soon as you were out of sight (or threat zone). Their thoughts always turned back to themselves and their needs. I like that. It means less gossip!

      I learned that they often end up alone, living a sad and lonely life, while the others are out having a blast.

      While few other fish are as pretty, looks don’t mean anything if you aren’t fun to be around. There are definitely cooler fish in the lake to hang with!

       

      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged camp, familyfriendly, fish, nature, shortstory, sunfish
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