Didi Oviatt

Author of the Time Waster Series-Super Short Preludes, and suspense novels Aggravated Momentum, The Stix, and New Age Lamians… (blogger)



Prologue: Aggravated Momentum (18+ reading)


My hands are as far above my head as they can reach, my back intensely arched, and my calf muscles tighten, extending to the footboard. My pumpkin orange painted toes point as they join the stretch. The sun beams through a tight crevice in the drapes, challenging my eyes to regain vision. I squint and strain to open them. Its late afternoon, and I’ve been sleeping for four hours. Sadly, it’s the most uninterrupted sleep my taxing life has allowed in over a week.
The sensation of piercing eyes causes the hair to raise on my forearms. After I finish rubbing the sleep from my face, I glance around intently. No one is here. Weird. I swear I could feel someone’s presence. It must be my nerves. My thick down comforter drops from my shoulders as I sit up for another stretch. It isn’t usually this hot in my room, so I’m glad I was able to sleep through my sweat. My body is clammy. The tank top and shorts that cling to my skin are damp and wrinkled.
I’m supposed to meet Markie for a girl’s night in an hour. I better hurry. I told that weird friend of hers from work that I wasn’t going to make it, but changed my mind after debating all week. The decision is made: I’m going. Markie is one of my closest friends, but she’s changed since Beth died. She’s distanced herself. Now, with everything else going on around her, I’m afraid.
As the water heats, steam fills my shower and escapes through the bathroom door that I usually leave open. I like stepping out of the shower feeling clean and refreshed, not muggy and overheated. I think about Markie’s situation as I rub an oversized purple loofah across my skin. A deliciously scented lather forms on my protruding ribs and bony hips. The stress of all these deaths has taken a serious toll on my appetite. My body is shrinking, I’m beginning to look sickly.
I wonder how I’m supposed to tell Markie that I’ve been sleeping with the one acquaintance that’s off limits. I guess I can’t. Not now anyway, it will have to wait. I should feel worse about it than I do, but he’s convenient, and I’m lonely. He’ll do for now. It must be the guilt of it that’s forcing me to go to this stupid club tonight. Any smart woman would stay away.
My fingers scrub harshly into my scalp. My eyes squint tightly, trying to block the shampoo as it washes away. Before they can fully open, the shower door slides. A shocked gasp rises from my throat, and I force my lids open through a painful soapy haze. The air escapes my lungs in a slow, relieved sigh. I take in the sight of him. He stands naked with a grin, ready to join me.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand.
“What does it look like?”
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“You’re pretty sexy when you’re startled.”
“I really don’t have time for this.” I snap, “I’m in a hurry.”
He pushes his way in anyway and shuts the door behind him. He stays just out of reach of the spraying showerhead, and watches me wash off. My back tingles and the blood rushes to my skins edge in reaction to his touch. The last of the soap bubbles disappear into the drain at our toes. He picks up my leg at the thigh and presses me forward against the shower wall.
With one hard thrust, he forces himself inside me. It is a lot rougher than his usual tactic. I gasp and press my hands against the wall for balance. He moves violently, but I like it. Strong fingers intertwine through my wet hair at the base of my scalp, then he pulls it, hard. My head jerks back with the powerful tug. A quiet, excited, involuntary squeal escapes my open mouth. His breath is hot on the back of my neck.
“You like it hard, don’t you Joyce?” His voice is lower than I’ve ever heard him speak.
For the first time in my life, I get a thrill from hearing my name. He releases his hold on my hair and shoves me back against the wall. A firm arm presses against my back. I’m unable to move my chest or shoulders, and am forced to take him in on his terms. Just as I’m about to crumble under his strong hold, a menacing whisper echoes in my ear.
“This is going to hurt.”
A shock pools to my center and a chill runs down my spine. It takes every ounce of strength I have to pull away from him. He squeezes my body tightly against his own. Then he loosens his grip, allowing me to turn and face him.
“What are you talking ab…”
A sudden pain consumes my neck, cutting me off mid-question. My voice catches in the center of my throat and is unable to escape. Instinctively, I grab hold of the sharp pulsating pain and squeeze. The fluid filling my hands, and running down my arms is much thicker and hotter than the shower water. Everything is beginning to blur. I look at him, trying to plead with my eyes. I am unable to speak. I lean against the wall, in effort to regain balance. Everything is spinning. I pull my bloodied hands from my neck to take a look. My vision is distorted, but not enough to disable the sight of color. My scarlet fingers spin and blur.
I feel cold. I want to grab him, beg for his help, but I can’t. My body slumps down the wall. My legs become weaker and weaker. What have you done to me? I scramble through the black and red blur, struggling to take a look at his face. For a flash, I see him. His head is tilted to one side and his face is blank. A hint of a smirk forms across his lips. I black out. I can still feel but I can’t see. I pull in breath with short shallow pants. I can hear an awkward gurgle coming out of my throat. My body is ice cold under the hot running water.
My life slowly drains away, yet a sharp digging pain reminds me that I am still alive. One piercing jab after another stings into my ribs, chest and stomach. I try to kick, throw my arms or scream, but cant. I can’t move. It only takes a few more jolts to realize that I’m being stabbed. Over and over the shock spreads across my body. After what seems like a lifetime of torturing pain, it finally fades. A faint sensation is left at my neck. There is something touching my midsection, something inside it. That too melts away until there is nothing left. I don’t feel anything anymore – no pain, no fear. I give up the struggle for breath and let myself go to the darkness.




Excerpt: Search For Maylee …. COMING SOON!

Nervously, Autumn hurried to the door. Before opening it, she took a quick heart throbbing look out the peep hole. There he was, the man she had spent her evenings swooning over while listening to the steady hum of his voice over the phone. A man that she once detested, and now ached for. There were so many things she wished could be different about this moment. She would have prepared herself, dressed nice and fixed her hair – probably up and swept from her face. She would have picked something with a low neckline to wear, lathered her skin with her silkiest lotions, and even taken the time to shave. Everything…

Rather than the romantic reunion Autumn had been anticipating, she was being forced to see him in dreaded conditions of her own, and clearly of his too. It was going to take everything she had to shoo him out of her apartment. She had every intention on telling him all about Josie, but not until she had the time to speak with her first. Josie needed to warm up to Autumn, and rest. That wouldn’t be a possibility if she was thrown to the wolves before even being able to catch her breath. Autumn had to keep Josie a secret, at least for tonight.

Chance stood outside the door waiting impatiently. It’d been a long trip, he’d caught the first flight possible after hearing news of another sighting of Maylee. Right there in Denver nonetheless. It was time to be completely honest with Autumn, and he had to do it in person. Anxiously, he held his breath as her metal door creaked open. All he could do was come clean about his lies and pray for her forgiveness.

Their eyes locked and for one brief moment they were the only two people in the world. Josie, Craig, Jeremy, and even Maylee faded into mere background.  The sharp gray shards of color in his eyes pierced through her, and she drank in their naked vulnerability. There was a sense of surrender in the upward pull of his brows. It was a look she was yet to see plastered on his handsome face, a look that melted her from the inside out.

As she welcomed him in, the sexy familiar scent of him threatened to consume her. It smelled like spruce bark and ocean mixed into a fresh rustic blend, and it followed him into her apartment, her heart, her future. They had opened up to each other in a way that there was no turning back from. Even if it had only been by phone. No matter what he had to say, there was sure to be a way around it. Autumn was confident of that.


As usual, I’ve bitten off more than I can chew lately. One project after another, I’ve filled my to-do glass until it’s spilled on the floor leaving me nothing but a mess. But, I’m happy to announce that I see a light at the end of the tunnel.  I have set everything aside for the last couple of days, and have really thrown myself into my latest and greatest!

I’ve been working on revisions for this portion of my book-to-be Search For Maylee, and I’m so excited about it! So, I thought I’d share an excerpt today, hope you enjoyed, and I hope you hang in there!  I’m definitely still planning on a fall release for this book and I’ll keep everyone posted as soon as I set a date!

Thanks for reading!



Wk 4, Prompt: “When he ran his hands up my thighs I…” #kdsuspense #romance


The full length mirror I’m staring at is just as unforgiving as every other at my age. Luckily, it’s at least the slimming kind. You know, one of those trickster mirrors that practically every clothing chain feels the need to stash in their dressing rooms. They get people feeling all beautiful in their ‘unique line of shit’ only to go home, slip on the same outfit in front of their own truthful mirrors, and then want to puke up their dinner. I put one of these mirrors in my own home, just to avoid such catastrophes. Either way, I need this lie of a reflection today, now more than ever. It doesn’t really matter if I know it’s a slimming trick, I could still use the confidence booster.

I take a long hard look. The dress is nice, it’s black satin, bunched nicely around the hips to accentuate my curves. They need accentuating. My figure has deflated plenty from that of my curvy youth. My hips are boney and my ass cheeks have been pulled downward by the fifty six years of gravity they’ve been forced to endure. My breasts have also been reduced to shrivel and sag. When I’m naked I think of myself as a breakfast plate. Boobs like flat pancakes topped with tiny little round dots of a dark colored syrup, and the skin of my belly is as wrinkled as bacon. The built-in breast booster of this dress accompanied by the princess neckline is helpful. For the first time in years I actually feel somewhat sexy. I need that.

I glance over to see my daughter Tiffany leaning casually against the doorframe of my closet. Her arms are folded across her chest, one foot leans over the other and rests on one toe, and her head  tilts to the side. I have no idea how long she’s been standing there. She’s staring at me with a goofy little smirk of satisfaction, and there’s a cute measure of content admiration in her sparkling eyes.

“Mom, you look to die for.” She grins, wholly proud of herself for picking out the dress.

“I can’t believe I’m actually going through with this.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t done it sooner.” She retorts.

Tonight I’ll be meeting up with a man that I haven’t seen in almost thirty years. His name is Joshua and we spent some unbelievably blissful time together in 1961. I was actually seeing the soon-to-be father of my children at the time, and he is who I ultimately chose over Joshua. Don’t get me wrong, I love the way my life turned out. The marriage to my one and only husband was a strong one, and I wouldn’t change a minute of the life we built nor the time we shared together. He passed away five years ago from a sudden heart attack. My three grown children have been trying to talk me into dating for a couple of years, but obviously I’ve declined. Until now.

“It’s your fault, you know?”  I’m quick to point the finger at my ever so proud daughter.

“What is?” She asks with a chuckle.

“If it wasn’t for you and that damn internet, I wouldn’t be going on this date.”

“It’s called Facebook Mom, and if you’d pull up your own news feeds once in awhile you might actually like to see some familiar faces.”

“I’m too old for that shit. And, I’m too old for this date too by the way.”

“Love knows no age, Mom. Those were your own words once, remember?”

“Yeah but, Jesus Tiff, I’m almost sixty.” I sulk, as I look in the mirror with disappointment at my aging body.

“Whatever Mom, you’re a healthy old bird, and you’re hotter than ninety percent of the other women around in their sixties. You’ve been a swimmer your whole life. You still do laps. You’re legs are stronger than mine for hell’s sake. I don’t know what you’re so worried about.”

“Did you just call me an old bird?”

I raise a questioning yet playful brow in her direction. She’s right, I’m definitely a healthy woman, especially for my age. That doesn’t stop me from picking myself apart though. I suppose that’s just a natural part of humanity. Tiffany offers only a giggle at my question and then makes her way to my side. As she unfolds her arms, I notice a small velvet rectangular box clutched in her fingers. My stomach sinks at the sight of it. I know the box well, as I personally buried it in the bottom of my cedar chest years before she was even born. I can’t believe she remembered me telling her about it, and for her to have pulled it out of what I assumed to be it’s final resting place comes as a shock. I hold my breath as the most sentimental one of my children picks up my hand, and places the box in my palm. She flashes me a loving closed mouth grin.

“I love you Mom.” She says before turning a heel to leave.

I swallow the lump in my throat, and sniff back the moisture that’s suddenly forced its way from my nasal cavity to the base of my tear ducts. I told Tiffany all about Joshua once when she was in her late teens. Some dickhead boyfriend of hers had just broken her heart, and she was completely devastated. I told her all about the love I once had, and the way I was able to find the inner strength to move on.

My relationship with Joshua was quickly formed. It was a very overwhelming type of love. The kind that sweeps you off your feet and leaves you forever changed. I’d told her how Joshua made me promise him that I wouldn’t wait. He wanted me to move on with my life, make a family. Joshua knew that his odds of returning home at all where slim. He also knew that if he did make it back to me, then he’d likely never be the same man he once was. He wanted me to live a full happy life, so he forced me to make the promise.

I squeeze the box for a second and stare at it, rubbing my thumb across its soft velvet casing. I close my eyes tightly and recall the look in Joshua’s eyes when he handed me this very box.

“I want you to have this, my love. It was my mother’s.” He told me, in a soft deep voice. “It’s the only thing I have left of hers, and I want you to know how much I care for you.”

I tried to protest and give it back, but he insisted.

“If I wasn’t leaving tomorrow then I would stay with you forever. I’d marry you and spend my entire life by your side. I want you to have this part of me. The good part. Before the damn Army rips away every bit of me that’s wholesome and worth a damn.”

Joshua held me close, our foreheads touching lightly, and his arms draped heavily around my waist. I remember the heat of his body, and pulling in his scent. I’d inhaled our last moments together like it was the last time I’d ever really breathe.

“Promise me, Sarah, I need to hear it.”

I shook my head in refusal. I couldn’t bare it.

“Do it, my love. I need to hear that you’ll move on. You won’t wait to live your life. Promise me or I’ll die now, before I even leave.”

I whispered my, “promise,” into his mouth as I gave him one last passionate kiss.

Now, as I look down at my aged hands clutching that same box, my heart races. I’ve kept it in a safe place all these years, but have refused to open it. I kept my promise to Joshua, I was strong. I married Brian and made a family. The love I shared with my husband was real, but it never held the same passion. The love I had for the father of my children was safe, it was comfortable.  All-the-while that fire that burned inside of me for Joshua never fully faded away. It left my body and followed him, like a shadow as he turned his back on me. I would have waited an eternity for him. But I didn’t, I held  my promise and let myself love another.

Then there is Tiffany. My romantic little girl, so full of spirit and promise. She found him, God bless her. One full year ago, she had remembered our story and asked me to tell her all over again about the love I once had with the man named Joshua. Then that busy little mind of hers wouldn’t give it a rest until he was found. After the loss of my husband, reliving my memories of Joshua struck a deep chord. Apparently Tiffany sensed that spark. She did the unthinkable and she actually found the man who held my heart so many years ago.

I slowly crack open the velvet box, it’s tiny hinges rusted. Inside is the most stunning necklace I’ve ever seen. The chain of it is gold and delicate. Dangling in its center is a turquoise heart, laced around the edges with sparkling diamonds. I brush the slow dripping tear from my cheek and slip the chain around my neck, clasping its clip shut. I take a deep breath and then turn for the door. To my date.

The restaurant is a very elegant place. Tiffany set it up, of course, she made the reservations weeks ago.  She even prepaid, bless her little heart. Apparently Joshua has been sharing the same state as us for the last twenty years. He’s been alive and well all this time, ageing with grace a mere two hours from me. The news came as a slap in the face. How surreal could this entire thing actually get? He committed to making the drive, and as I stand here waiting for assistance in parking I spot him. He moves with confidence, with roses in his hand. Even after thirty years, I still recognize his stature. The shape of his still broad shoulders, and the swing of his arms in stride are as familiar to me as the back of my own hand. I smile to myself at the notion, and then hand over the keys of my car to the Valet parker.

By the time I waltz in Joshua has already been seated. Soft classical music floats softly throughout the dimly lit twists and turns of each perfectly secluded corner. Our table is stunning, covered with thick, silky, cream tinted linen and the center decorated with a perfect bouquet of red and  burnt orange colored daisies. A vanilla musk floats upward from the burning candles, and a small classy chandelier hangs overhead. There are large windows off to the side overlooking a very stunning rose garden.

Joshua looks up, his sharp brown eyes meet mine and my knees nearly buckle. His face has leathered some with age, and the wrinkles branching from the corners of his eyes and mouth instantly tell me his life has been full of joy and laughter. The memory of his laugh fills me, and I melt  from the inside out. There is a familiarity swirling  around us as he stands to his feet and I’m at ease. The nerves that had nearly consumed me only hours before now floats from my shoulders.


My name escapes him, and it sounds the exact same as it once had. After a long heartfelt hug, he holds me back at arm’s length to take a look at me.

“Wow, my love. You look as stunning as ever.”

The sound of his pet name for me pulls at a tear to the corner of my eye, and my lungs threaten to stop pulling air.

“Thank you.” I smile, completely beside myself. “As do you, babe.”

After a full sweep over of his aged but still very attractive and wanting gaze, he notices. Joshua has recognized his mother’s necklace and all formalities are out the window. His mouth opens slightly in shock and his eyes pull together at the middle.

“Oh my God, Sarah, is that?”  He pauses.

I watch his eyes fill up with moisture, and I draw in a deep breath and nod.

“You kept it. All these years, you still have it?”

Again I can only manage a nod. The shock in his face is honest and genuine. We have so much to catch up on, and all I want to do is pull him in and tell him how I’ve never forgotten. His eyes are the same and the energy of his body so close to mine makes my chest scream out. If only I could turn back time…. If only, I think.

Joshua pulls my chair from around the table, so that it’s right next to his. We sit side by side, close to the window, and the waiter fills our glasses with the most perfect red wine. Softly, his hands rest on my exposed knees, his fingers wrapping around to the sensitive skin behind them. For a moment it feels as if my spirit lifts, my heart free.

I close my eyes and allow myself to be emotionally transported to a different place in time. I breathe in his scent. The hands on my legs no longer feel rough and calloused with aged. They’re young, strong, and smooth. I remember the heat of his body against mine, young and pulsating. When his hands ran up my thighs I instantly reminisce the feelings of our first night together. The night that I gave myself to this man. I gave him every part of me. Heart body and soul I gave it all. Joshua, my soldier. The man who left, but  I’ve carried inside myself for thirty years.

It was a beautiful summer day in 1961.



World War ll was in full swing, he was called up toward the end of it in 1944 to serve the British Army, that’s when we first crossed paths. The day we finally met face to face didn’t come until June 1961.  After seventeen years of writing letters in secret, back and forth across the Atlantic. I set up a private mailbox account once I was engaged to Brian to receive my letters. I knew my he wouldn’t approve. Yes I loved Brian dearly, but I considered Joshua a friend, a very dear friend. Even though we were already in love. I ended up marrying Brian as Joshua had made me promise to “live life”, but I never lost the flame of desire that burns within me for him. We lost contact shortly after we met in 1961. My heart was broken. I put him in a box and moved him to the back of my mind, and tried to move forward in life.

I remember the day all those years ago towards the end of the war, an advert in the San Francisco Times caught my eye. Soldiers were looking for companions to accompany them while at war. I showed it to my girlfriends none of them thought it was worth a shot. Wasting money on oversea postage when money was tight, and rations were needed back then.

I wrote a simple letter introducing myself and hoped that he wouldn’t mind an American companion, would he pass me over for a European pen friend? I sent a photo of me and waited patiently. I attached an international stamp and kissed my letter goodbye, as I dropped it in the mailbox  to make its way to the London address, shown in the advert. Weeks later, I heard news from Joshua. My letter arrived just as he was about to leave the UK. When he wrote to me he was stationed over in Germany at the time, ready to battle on the front line. He enclosed a photo and my heart skipped a beat. Straight away I wrote back to him in Germany. I checked my mail box everyday for a response. The feeling of seeing his familiar handwriting on an Airmail envelope, made even the darkest days feel like a walk in the park on a hot summer’s day.

Our letters flew back and forth. A few went undelivered but we always caught up with each other, while Joshua was in the Army and I was in San Francisco.

In 1961 Joshua was granted leave, and he flew over to San Francisco to meet me. One hot summer’s day we met on the Golden Gate bridge and the romance erupted like a volcano. It was the swinging sixties, my girlfriends all teased me about my mystery man, as they knew that I was still trying to decide on how to proceed in a relationship with Brian. They could see the spark in my eyes when it came to Joshua, and they knew that’s what I lacked with Brian. They helped me backcomb my flame red hair into the biggest beehive, and apply my thick liquid liner and paint my nails. I wore my tiny black and white striped A-line dress, and white knee high patent boots. Amy Winehouse the British soul singer reminds me of myself  back then, everytime I hear Tiffany blasting out Back to Black at  full volume.

When we met he took my hand and blessed me with the most handsome smile. I had butterflies in my tummy at the sight of him, in his brown flares and sleek skinny tie.  I took in all six-foot-two of his height as a buried myself in his strong arms.

We had lunch in a beautiful seafood restaurant, just a stone’s throw from the bridge. Joshua sipped his Jack Daniels and Coke while I drank my red wine, and tried not to get too tipsy. I was tipsy all right, not on alcohol, but what felt like love. Seventeen whole years of it via personal handwritten letters. I had shared some of my most intimate moments with Joshua. He knew me well, maybe even better than Brian. It was almost like I held something back from Brian, especially for Joshua.

Once lunch was over we explored San Francisco. I showed Joshua all the sights to see. He was thrilled with excitement, the English gentlemen that he is had never as yet set foot in the USA.

When all was said and done, we walked hand in hand by a makeshift river. We found a spot where we could sit out and watch the sun set by the water. It was getting late the evening was drawing to a close. We never wanted to leave each other after such a beautiful day.

Then it happened, the passion stepped up a notch, Joshua leaned in and kissed me full on the lips. Not the kind of kiss he gave me when we met on the Golden Gate bridge, this was full of passion but tender. As he kissed me his hand slowly made it’s way up to the hem of my dress. He took his time, he never rushed, inside I was urging him to make his move. I was a virgin, but I knew it was him I wanted for my first time. When he ran his hand up my thigh, I lost my mind, as his fingers danced over my skin. Slowly his right hand parted my  thighs. His fingers and found their way farther up my thigh. He ran his fingers over my intimate area, pulling away from our kiss to check my reaction, he slowly moved my panties to one side. I closed my eyes begging to be touched like that. I heard my girlfriends tell me how it felt I wanted to experience it too. He entered me gently at first with one finger and slowly slipped in two.

I was young and inexperienced, I only ever saw lovemaking in the movies. I had no idea what it felt like when an older more experienced man explores a woman’s body. I found out that night. On the edge of the river bank, masked behind a few bushes Joshua slowly undressed me and I allowed him. When he entered me and we connected, a small sound escaped me, my voice was unrecognizable to even myself. We joined hands as I wrapped my thighs around him, and allowed him to break me in gently and softly. I’ll never forget it. On that riverbank with a beautiful sunset and the birds singing sweetly Joshua was my first sexual experience. It was everything I hoped for and more, his way with me was so romantic and loving. In our letters that followed we spoke about that night, and I’d always tell him how alive he made me feel.

Joshua breaks my daydream with his clipped crisp British accent.

“Sarah, it’s been so many years! Too many to count. I’ve missed you and our letters.”

I look up into his  brown eyes, and take in his full head of hair now sliver grey. My last memory of Joshua, he had silky brunette hair. Styled with the iconic side parting of that era.

“I’ve missed you too, I still have everyone of your letters.”

He smiles and rubs my thigh again under the dinner table. Just like all those years ago on that riverbank in San Francisco, when he ran his hand up my thigh, I melt again thirty years later. I thank God for the invention of the internet or Facebook as Tiffany calls it. In my day it was good old school snail mail or telegram that was our “instant mail.”  All these years later with the advancement of technology  my first love has been found, and I have no intention of letting him go this time. Like fine wine Joshua looks better with age. I smile at him again like a giggly school girl.

“Joshua, I never stopped loving you. It’s always been you.”


Thank you for reading our FIRST ROMANCE!  Feel free to write your own using our prompt (you did vote it in after all!)  “When he ran his hand up my thigh I…” link it into this post with a comment and use the hashtag #kdsuspense

For more info on our weekly stories Click Here

Stay tuned to vote in our next story!!  Kim will be posting the poll tomorrow (Wed. 14th)!

Wait… You Wrote What?!?! #kdsuspense

If you ever have the opportunity to work with a like minded author who’s writing style and preferences are so close to your own that its almost scary…. Then DO IT!!!

As most of you know I’ve been working on weekly short stories with my writing buddy Kim Knight. We’re on week four and the entire experience has been exhilarating!  I highly recommend working with a writing buddy to anyone who is yet to give it a shot.

Kim and I have gotten to know each other well. I love that I can be myself in our emails and Skype conversations. Being able to drop the F-Bomb and laugh over otherwise completely inappropriate things with another author is surprisingly refreshing! I love it. Honestly, if anyone ever got ahold of some of our email chains then they might die of laughter  and/or embarrassment… Really… I absolutely love what this friendship has grown into! Kim is wonderful to work with!


Now, aside from my ramble of writing love, there’s another point to this post. With K & D Suspenseful Collection we’ve left the WHO WROTE WHAT portion of our stories up for guess. It’s kind of funny, because practically everyone so far has guessed WRONG.  Which really just confirms what we both already know to be true, and that’s: WOW our writing is so much alike its almost surreal!

So here it is nerds, the BIG REVEAL!! I’m just going to go right on ahead and share who started and who finished which stories so far!


(If you haven’t read any of our stories yet, then don’t fret… I’ll put a bit of a description for each and you can click on through to read… If you feel the urge, that is.)  

Week 1: It Was The First Time I Killed A Man.  Kim was the starter!!! (AKA Author A.)

Kim, the starter, Author A: kimknightprofilepic

Yep, Kim whipped up this crazy ass woman Lisa Vanicilli and then handed her over to  me to decide her fate. Let me just tell you, I f**king LOVE this story. The MC Lisa is nuts! She’s vicious, sexual, smart, deadly, and lacks all couth! She’s right up there with the craziest characters I’ve ever written. When Kim delivered the first half of this story in my mail box my jaw hit the floor!! We’d talked about writing all different personalities; men, woman, sexual preference, race, age, everything… With every story we want to keep things fresh new and shocking!

My first thought when I read Kim’s first half of week one was, ‘HELL YES KIM! You nailed it!!’  Then I pranced around my house all day long excited to be able to finish creating this psychopath.  (this one is 18+ reading.)

Week Two: Every Time I Hear That Voice From The Basement: I was the starter!!

Didi (me), the starter, Author ADidi (1)

When I sent Kim the story, I told her in the body of the email, “I got a real dochebag for ya Kim. Can’t wait to see what you do with him.”  HAHA, and I totally meant it!

George is sly, very sly, not as bold as Lisa. He’s a plotter very calculating he won’t lash out like Lisa. I wanted to challenge myself by putting together a character who’s crazy, but in an out of the ordinary kind of way. I didn’t want him to be a regular deranged psychopath, I wanted him to be mentally sick and misunderstood. I gave him a serious case of schizophrenia and topped it off with a thick slab of OCD. Then I fattened up his wife and put an overbearing voice in his head. I left it open for Kim to decide what to do with that voice — whether to make it magical, paranormal, mental, or what.

What Kim did with George and the voice from his basement was EPIC. Her ending went above and beyond anything that I could have came up with!

Week Three: The  Entrance To The Tunnel Is His Only Way Out. Kim was the starter!

Kim, the starter, Author A: kimknightprofilepic

When Kim sent me Juan the Atlanta gangster escapee, on the run with stolen money from his drug boss, I’ve got to admit I was a little stumped at first.  I couldn’t even write on it for a while because I couldn’t make up my mind lol.  Kim drew Juan SO WELL that I couldn’t decide whether to let him get away with the cash, get busted by the Mexican Cartel, do I bring his mom into the escape along with him???

Ultimately I decided, hell, why don’t I mix things up way beyond the average gangster tale and see if I can’t surprise Kim with something completely unexpected as well. So I threw Juan into a whole new disgusting mess. The kind that leaves a really gross taste in your mouth. Juan will never be whole again. Its an ending to be devoured.   (I hope you picked up on all those cannibalism(ish) hints and word pun, because I was laying it on pretty thick! haha)

So there you go. You know who author A and author B is for weeks one- three. Stay tuned for week four’s story which will be posted on Tuesday!

This week were doing ROMANCE!!  The winning prompt is: WHEN HIS HANDS RAN UP MY THIGHS, I…

EEEKKKK I’m so damn excited to do a romance story!!

Polls will go up to vote for week five’s writing prompt Wednesday. Why not write a story to the prompt with us? Leave your link on our pages and use #kdsuspense!



A halfway through review… (is this even allowed?)

So, I’ve been making my way through a TBR list that I pulled from an Indi-Author open read swap that I posted just over a month ago. (yes it’s still open BTW and I republish the post every week or two to keep it growing. So stop on by and find a great book to read from the options in comments!)

Anyway, I’ve hit a slowing point on my way through reading the books listed, and here’s why… My daily routine is a bit crazy. I’m a mother of two with WAY too many logs on the fire. Between the kids, the hubz, the “job”, and my writing career, I’m pretty strapped for time.  As every other career mom is (or all moms for that matter) But, as much as that sounds like a reasonable enough excuse for being behind, it’s only half the reason.  As any good author knows, reading in general is IMPERATIVE to your growth as a writer. So naturally, finding the time to read another excellent writers work daily is very much a priority.

I pencil my reading time at night. That’s my routine, and it totally works for me. My kids are sleep fighters. They are 2 and 4 and they NEVER go to bed.  We battle for hours. Bath time is at 7:30 and we lay down by 8:30… But they never ever fall to sleep!!!  Which actually works out well for me, because I can read them their bedtime kids books first as we’re winding down, and then I can settle in with my Kindle and snuggle one or the other kid for the sometimes HOURS it takes them to fall asleep. They get their snuggles, I get some quiet reading time…. Win Win… It works for us.

Right now I’m reading a Paranormal book off of my Indi-Author open read swap list and it is ROCKING MY WORLD.  I love paranormal books. Well, I love all scary books.  Well, okay okay, I just love all genre’s of books. Variety is the spice of life right?

Anyway, this particular Paranormal is SO good, and SO scary that I’m honestly freaking myself out while trying to read it at night during my normal slot, and I’ve had to cut my reading time short. House noises have me on edge. Every time my dog makes a peep, I’m convinced there’s some creepy evil spirit messing with him. It’s so bad that I’m honestly seeing shadows.


To top things off I’m having nightmares!! BAD ONES

Now, let me tell you. The writing is superb. I absolutely love the story line, and I’m falling head over heals for the characters too!  There is so much going on with this book I just want to devour it, but its taking me so much longer than usual because I’m cutting each session short from being a scaredy-cat!

Anyway, I promise to finish it up over the next couple days. It’s time to strap on my big girl boots and get past my freaked out mental anguish. At that point I’ll give it a real review.  For now, if anyone out there is ready for a book that will actually make you tremble even in your sleep then this is it!!!!

In the prompt lead: “When his hands ran up my thigh, I….” There is still time to change our story!! #kdsuspense #writingprompt

The poll is climbing for this week’s short story! Kim and I would love to see you pick a favorite prompt so that we can tell you a tale. Right now the leading prompt is “When his hands ran up my thigh, I…” but there is still a couple hours left before the votes are closed.  This week we’re running with ROMANCE!

So jump on and VOTE HERE


This interactive writing challenge is simple and insanely creative. It’s a group effort and we are so glad to have you join in the writing fun!!  I hope you’re ready to challenge us by choosing which prompts we can transform into stellar suspense!  Give us your best shot!  You vote on our weekly prompt, and we provide the entertainment. It’s that simple!

Here are our previous stories, should you feel the urge to read:

Week 1. It was the first time I killed a man

Week 2. Every time I hear that voice from my basement

Week 3. The entrance to the tunnel is his only way out.

(Feel free to write your own stories with the prompts voted in each week! Join in the game by commenting your own story links and by attaching our hashtag #kdsuspense)

Humorous YA Love Story, Teaser.



Finally, the longest Garth Brooks song in the history of country music comes to an end and I look up to see him. That’s right, HIM.  The twangiest voice of the bunch was sung by none other than the man of my dreams.  All beard and no embarrassment. They’re slapping each others backs after their proud display of Low Places.

“Look at him.” I tell Lynn.

“Which one?”  Her head snaps up like a lioness on the prowl.

“Far left, Yankee’s hat.”

She tilts her head in thought, “Yeah, he’s alright I guess.”

“Alright?”  I can’t believe her. “Just alright? He’s a ten!”

“Dana, I don’t think anyone in this bar tonight is a ten.” Then she returns her attention to her phone and spits out some statement that I only hear half of. “Just don’t leave me at this…..”

I’m out of my seat before she has the chance to finish. She may have said ‘table’ and ended it there, or maybe she said ‘table without getting me a drink’… Who knows. I’m distracted and far too busy honing in on my prize. His small group splits, some make their way to the pool tables, some to a bar stool.  I linger in close behind until he takes a seat, then I cram myself between him and some other burly looking guy who took the stool next to his. There’s no stool for me to sit on, so I’m forced to stand shoulder to shoulder between them. I bury myself with the scent of his cologne and then allow my entire left side to feel the heat of his body.

Without any words, I tell him hello with only a smile and undress me eyes. A fraction of me is shy, which is weird and completely out of the ordinary. Another part of me is overwhelmed by excitement and the embarrassing question as to whether or not he’ll be able to tell that I just barfed my guts out. I lean over the bar to draw the attention of the woman behind it, and of course to give this enticing man a good look at my rear end. I ordered us each one shot and one beer. The rest of the night is history.

This has been a short excerpt out of Love or Low Places? Super Short Prelude to Love, by yours truly.  It’s the first in a series of short stories. I invite you to read more!  Reviews are welcome!


(Which is marked down from $3.99 to $.99 for the next three days!  SO CLAIM YOUR COPY NOW!)

Writing Prompt!! #kdsuspense Feeling A Little Romantic… You Pick Our Prompt!

Kim and I’s suspenseful weekly short story collection is growing like a weed!  Every week we get more votes on a prompt choice and every week we whip up a suspenseful short story! Today, like every other Wed. is the start of a PROMPT VOTE DAY!!! It just so happens this particular week is my turn to throw a poll out there with prompt picks, and I kind of feel like I’ve been bitten by a LOVE BUG!



Take a second to click on your favorite prompt, and more details on this weekly challenge is bellow. You can read, participate, or even JUST pick a favorite writing prompt. Either way please VOTE and SHARE!

Here are our previous stories, should you feel the urge to read:

Week 1. It was the first time I killed a man

Week 2. Every time I hear that voice from my basement

Week 3. The entrance to the tunnel is his only way out.

(Feel free to write your own stories with the prompts voted in each week! Join in the game by commenting your own story links and by attaching our hashtag #kdsuspense)


Also, our weekly challenge details and schedule is as follows!:

This interactive writing challenge is simple and insanely creative. It’s a group effort and we are so glad to have you join in the writing fun!!  I hope you’re ready to challenge us by choosing which prompts we can transform into stellar suspense!  Give us your best shot!  You vote on our weekly prompt, and we provide the entertainment. It’s that simple!  Here are the steps.

STEP ONE: Every Wednesday well post a voting pole with a few prompts to choose from.
STEP TWO: With the click of a button, you cast your vote on a prompt. (voting will stay open for three days.)
STEP THREE: READ AND ENJOY!  Every week on the following Tuesday we will post the short story that transformed from the very winning prompt you chose!
All comments on the story posts will be open. We love feedback, and I’m willing to bet you will never guess who wrote what!!   Therein a challenge of your own! (Yes, one of us writes in British English, and one of us in American. We are well aware, and ready for some trickery. Trust me, we are brilliant at adapting styles.)



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