The inspiration: a story: “Hey, pumpkin.” I open my eyes, my room pink with sunrise. Dad’s sitting on the edge of my bed. He ruffles my hair. “It’s my birthday!” Yes! That’s right! It’s always our day together, just us two. There will be fishing, joking and a picnic lunch. I grin up at him. “Something different this year, pumpkin. You need to send your mom to me.” I bolt

The inspiration: A story: Her rhythmic sweeping never ceased even as three tipsy-tangled revelers bumbled by. She grinned, hearing the dramatic sigh behind her. “Why do you indulge in such stereotypes? A broom? Tonight?” “As if you never noticed my fondness for play, mysteries … even puns.” He shuddered, “Hmmph. As if this latest incarnation of calendaring is any less arbitrary.” “Oh stop. What matters is what it marks …

The inspiration: A story: She steps through the arched doors, the voices of the guests dropping to a murmur as she moves into the grand ballroom. A room sparkling with thousands of candle lights, reflecting off the tiny gems showered on the genius of her gown, a web of light whispering information to her, guiding her mission. A diaphanous stole about her shoulders obscuring defined arms that belie a reputation

The inspiration: A story: “Ready?” He takes a last look around, feeling the pang of leaving; of all the books he cannot take. She smiles in sympathy. “We need to travel light and fast. At least you have all your work.” His hands travel lightly over the coat he wears, all his years of research and careful calculations sewn into the lining. “It will get us where we need to

The inspiration: A story: Just another morning, you leaning over to kiss me good-bye, me mumbling, “see you tonight,” and hitting the snooze for ten more minutes of sleep. Just another morning of shower, dress, feed the cat, pull something from the freezer for dinner and rush off to work. Another morning of getting my coffee, booting the computer, and turning on the radio. A singular morning of breaking news,

The inspiration: A story: No one knew where they went. They weren’t at the local mall, nor in the massive crowds who thronged the discount chain promising flat-screens to the first fifty customers for 10% of retail – a stunt that featured local reporters doing on-the-spot coverage of people camped out for a week or more. Lights blazed in the house, music blared into the street, and neighbors called authorities

The inspiration: A story: She had heard the villagers’ whispers, listened to their warnings. She was not deterred. Yet the sight of the stone rocked her, all at once familiar and enigmatic; ancient beyond reckoning and carved with shallow channels and catch basins. Oh, the villagers held dark suspicions of what had filled those depressions. They kept their distance and posted wards on their lintels. The setting sun, its light

The Inspiration: A story: She thought if she stared at the horizon long enough she would see the cliffs of the land she left. Foolish, she chided herself, yet continued to stare. “Are you going to continue to lurk behind me or finally speak?” “Mistress, I merely wait in fullness. When you wish to continue your journey, I will guide you.” She turned, brows furrowed, “All I wish is to

The inspiration: A story: “There’ll be trick-or-treaters?” “Yes, dear.” “Kids today just seem too sophisticated for it anymore.” “I believe the word you’re looking for is jaded.” “Oh. That. It’s just not like the old days.” “Dearheart, today is never like the old days. That’s why they’re called The Old Days.” “Hummph …” “Look! A smile! Now don’t shake that shaggy, grey head at me …” “Sweetheart, you know me