Nary a Clue
November 30, 2025 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as short fiction, Thanksgiving, writing
Thanksgiving was three days ago, and I’m still reeling at what I witnessed. My sister hosted, as she has for the last twenty years. That was the only thing predictable about the holiday, though. I was there, of course. She assigns me a dessert every year, and as the dutiful sibling, I oblige, although it’s always store bought. Me, bake a pie? For the sixteen others in attendance, it was more or less potluck. By that I mean both the dishes shared and the personalities that came with them.
Will, my brother-in-law, made a mistake by suggesting we try a team effort at cooking. Sister Steph wasn’t buying it. “Out,” she said, when the horde attempted to breach the kitchen walls. Instead, she selected four of us (yes, me, always) to run the prep, allowing Will in only to check on the turkey. The rest dispersed to the family room for football or the basement for games.
That’s when the screaming started. I was the first to react, given that the only thing I was busy with just then was peeling potatoes. The scream pierced the holiday music that Alexa was playing in the kitchen, and I dropped the peeler and sprinted for the door.
There was confusion among the football crowd, most seeming reluctant to abandon the game underway to locate the screamer. I passed them by and pulled open the basement door.
“Auntie Rhea, you’ve got to help.” That was my nephew Shawn, eyes wide as dinner plates. Behind him on the stairs crowded another nephew and a second cousin.
Expecting to mediate a fight over who was winning at a board game, I had to blink several times to take in the scene at the bottom of the stairs: Instead of just a small knot of preteens, the room now included several adults, none of whom I’d seen before.
I walked up to the nearest person, a middle-aged man dressed in clothing straight out of a Victorian era film. “Who are you?” I couldn’t let the children know how alarmed I was. “What are you doing here?”
The man had the look of a vulture—his six-foot-plus stature to my smidge-over-five-feet height. “We have a crime to solve, madam.” His brow furrowed. “We suspect that one of these scamps is the culprit.”
The narrow basement had somehow expanded to include several new doorways, a brick fireplace in which flames crackled, and picture windows that overlooked … a broad, wooded valley. On a suburban street in Doylestown?
“What crime would that be?” I kept up my no-nonsense demeanor even as I struggled to understand what was going on.
He pulled out a small notebook and flipped several pages. “A murder.”
Quickly I counted the youngsters in the room: eight. That seemed correct. “One of the children is dead?” I said, my legs suddenly wobbly.
The man grimaced. “Hardly. It’s someone related to the Colonel. Mustard’s cousin.”
Mustard? The other adults in the now-sumptuous room also wore period clothing, one of them in a khaki military uniform complete with a few medals pinned to his chest.
“Are we talking about the game Clue?”
Shawn tugged at the sleeve of my cardigan. “Auntie?” His lower lip trembled. “We were playing, and Amanda sprinkled what she said was stardust over the board.” He pointed at the adults. “And then they all appeared.”
Miss Scarlett, Mr. Green, Mrs. Peacock, and Chef White nodded curtly at me. Each carried a weapon in their hands.
“As you can see, we are in a dreadful predicament,” the tall man with the small notebook said. He had to be Professor Plum. “They’ve elected me to find out who—”
He was interrupted by the loud clanging of a bell from upstairs, my sister’s way of calling everyone to the table. I’d missed out on the rest of the dinner prep. Too bad.
I patted the professor’s arm, impressed with the high-quality tweed of his sleeve. “The kids and I aren’t going to be able to help you right now. Thanksgiving meal is waiting.” All eyes were on me. “You all are welcome to join us. Cranberry sauce, stuffing, roast turkey—and pumpkin pie.”
The entire group, kids and interloper adults, followed me up the stairs. We added another leaf to Steph’s table and made do with several folding chairs Will found in his garage workshop. The kids sat at their own table, in the kitchen, where they could argue over who got the drumsticks.
The newcomers introduced themselves as everyone settled in at their places.
Will raised an eyebrow at them. “Aren’t you all from—?”
“Shush,” I said, putting a finger to my lips. “Let’s eat.”
More of Dianna’s Books
Symphony by Neetu
November 25, 2025 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as love, music, Neetu, symphony, waves
Symphony
all I hear is this song…
carried to my ears upon waves
as they ebb and return
a symphony of love
played on instruments
of the heart—
those harps that pull
me into the ocean
teach me
to ride the waves
© Neetu Malik
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Finding My Voice by Veronica Jorge
November 22, 2025 by Veronica Jorge in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as muse, voice
I didn’t lose my voice. I just can’t find the heart of my story or the right words to express it.
Like teenagers talking all at once, ideas wave before my eyes vying for attention and making me dizzy. I blink them away because I sense they are distracting me from finding the jewel I seek. I silence them using the voice of my 8th grade teacher. “Empty barrels make the most noise.” They flutter away. It’s silent now.
Silence. What is it they say about silence? Silence is golden. Aha, the treasure I seek. Which reminds me of a line from the 1956 musical film by Rodgers and Hammerstein, The King and I. In a pregnant romantic moment between King Mongkut played by Yul Brynner and Mrs. Anna portrayed by Deborah Kerr, the king says, “When one does not know what to say, it is a time to be silent.”
Sage advice. So I quiet all of my thoughts and emotions. In that silence, I hear a sound of rushing waters. Then music trickles out like a spring, new and refreshing. It is my voice.
My fingers tinkle the keys of my laptop. Like musical notes, I string the letters together to form the right words.
A vision of Disney’s The Little Mermaid appears before me. Ariel has lost her voice and found her prince. I smile for it was in her silence that she touched and won his heart.
See you next time on December 22nd.
Veronica Jorge
Love’s Perilous Road: A Review
November 15, 2025 by marianne h donley in category Apples & Oranges by Marianne H. Donley, Book Reviews tagged as A review, Alina K. Field, anthology, Bluestocking Belles, new release, Regency romance
Love’s Perilous Road
A Bluestocking Belles Collection with Friends
Ebook ISBN 978-1-965509-03-6
Print ISBN 978-1-965509-04-3
ASIN B0DZPKDMXV
Publisher: Bluestocking Belles
October 31, 2025
Regency Romance
I’ve been a fan of the Bluestocking Belles’ anthologies for years, probably since Alina K. Field first joined them. I’ve been a fan of Alina K. Field since she first published Rosalyn’s Ring and it won the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best contest. (It absolutely lived up to its reputation.)
So I was pleased to read and review Love’s Perilous Road, a collection of ten Regency Romances all centered around the mysterious highwayman, Captain Moonlight. All the characters have an encounter with the man, and there are brief journal entries from The Casebook of the Principal Office Robert Pierce who is planning Captain Moonlight’s capture—even if he leaves his ill-gotten gains in the chicken coops of young widows with children to feed.
As with all Bluestocking Belles Collections that I have read, all the stories are well written and very entertaining, which is not always the case with anthologies. I appreciate the care the authors take with their stories, adding in the clues to Captain Moonlight’s true identity.
Having said that, I still had my favorites: Charred Hope by Caroline Warfield in which an honorable man returns a miniature and finds a future. Sir Westcott Steals a Heart by Alina K. Field: Sybil Dunsford disguised herself as a boy to protect her brothers but, of course, Sir Westcott Twisden follows her, and hijinks ensue and they get locked in barn overnight. A Duke in Peril by Meara Platt: Lady Florence Swann rescues a wounded soldier from the side of the road near her home. But he’s more than just a soldier.
I’m looking forward to the Bluestocking Belles next collection.
Buy Buttons
More Books by Alina K. Field
Writers Against Hunger Raised $20,535 . . . so far.
November 14, 2025 by marianne h donley in category Apples & Oranges by Marianne H. Donley tagged as Feeding America, Lyssa Kay Adams, The Confession of George Mullins, Writers Against Hunger
LONG time friend and one of my favorite writers, Lyssa Kay Adams, has organized Writers Against Hunger, and I am happy to participate.
Stories feed the soul. Food feeds the body.
This fall, writers across the country are coming together to do both.
Writers Against Hunger is a nationwide write-a-thon uniting storytellers, poets, novelists, journalists, and anyone who believes words have power. As SNAP benefits end and food insecurity rises, we’re using our creative energy to help fill plates across America.
From Nov. 1-24, writers will set personal writing goals ( from finishing a chapter to drafting an entire novel) and invite friends, readers, and fellow creators to sponsor their efforts. Every dollar raised goes directly to Feeding America, the nation’s largest hunger-relief organization.
Together, our words can do more than build worlds. They can build hope.
How it works:
If you’re a reader, fan, friend, family:
We hope you will donate to our team through out the month. You can do a one time donation, or find an author who is accepting pledges. Here is our team page:
https://teamfeed.feedingamerica.org/teams/7574 .
I’m not taking pledges, but would be grateful if you made a donation to MY page. The link is here:
https://teamfeed.feedingamerica.org/participants/Marianne-Donley.
If you’re writer:
- Join the Write-a-thon.
Sign up to be part of Writers Against Hunger. Whether you’re a published author, a blogger, or journaling for the first time, you’re welcome here. - Set Your Writing Goal.
Commit to writing for a set number of hours or words during the event. Share your goal on social media to inspire others. Don’t forget to use the hashtag #WritersAgainstHunger - Ask for Pledges or Donations.
Invite your friends, family, and followers to pledge a donation for every page, word, or hour you write—or to give a flat donation to Feeding America through our official campaign page. Don’t forget to donate yourself, too! - Write to Feed.
During the event, check in, share your progress, and celebrate every milestone. Every word you write helps put food on someone’s table. - Don’t want to write but still want to contribute? Make a direct donation!
You can join the team or make a donation at this link: https://teamfeed.feedingamerica.org/teams/7574
All month I’ll be working on my short story The Confession of George Mullins. I’ll post my I’ll post my update on both the story and the Write-a-thon.
****************
I’m 100% complete on The Confession of George Mullins for the Second week of November. I should finish the story tomorrow . . . well ahead of my deadline of November 30th. Hopefully, I will be able to start on another story before the weekend.
Writers Against Hunger has already raised over $ 20,535 for Feeding America.
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