A Collection of Six Word Stories

“What happened to the remote batteries?”

The silent anticipation of another adventure!

Review of, Warning Signs, by Carol Balawyder

As I gaze out into this cold October morning, my mind goes back to yesterday. Yesterday, was a record breaker for the number of people lining up for breakfast at a community outreach organization I volunteer for. While it’s good to see those in need using the services available to them, it’s a disturbing indicator concerning the state of things.

I’m so thankful for agencies that exist to help, and for those who dedicate their lives to correcting the imbalances in society, while protecting the vulnerable.

This brings me to my latest read. That core belief, correcting imbalances and protecting the vulnerable is a staple when it comes to the main protagonist, Homicide Detective, Darren Van Ray.

What’s it about?

Eugene’s research into his criminal mind is not about the why, but how to prevent his horrific crimes. Angie, a young woman starving for passion sees Eugene as her saviour from a lonely life of caring for her heroin addicted mother. How far is she willing to go in order to save her relationship with Eugene and his promise for a future together? Detective Van Ray is out on a vindictive mission as he attempts to solve the murders of young girls in Youth Protection. Their lives collide in a mixture of mistrust, obsession and ignoring the warning signs. A psychological thriller about human frailty and loneliness.

Just My Thoughts:

I’ve always been fascinated by what actually makes people tick, so to speak. After years of working with the Eugene’s, in a different capacity than Darren, I’ve honestly come no closer to really understanding what drives them to such despicable acts. The traits mentioned in this book do align with what I’ve witnessed. Their outward behaviors are readily observable, but to look into a pair of windowless eyes and discern what’s stirring within their murky depths is a daunting task.

 That being said, Carol’s experience and knowledge shines through in this gripping journey into the mind of a serial killer and the man bent for leather to stop him. The lack of overly graphic violence was appreciated, as I don’t think these scenarios add any value to the story.

As the title foretells, this read is far more about the back room of conscious thought. It’s where the rats scurry around, gnawing away the innocence of childhood dreams and innate needs for love and acceptance. The very things that may create these monsters. And those denizens of darkness do not necessarily produce serial killers. Some are driven to find love and acceptance wherever they can, while others seek meaning by keeping the wolves at bay. It’s Carol’s intriguing presentation of a genre that many choose to fill with the gore of the physical acts themselves that kept me turning those pages.

I highly recommend this book to those who possess a curiosity for human behavior yet prefer a comfortable pace between a mild shiver and a sleepless night.

Introducing Carol:

I hold an undergraduate degree with a major on English Literature and a graduate degree in Criminology. I taught Criminology in Police Technology and Corrections programs in Montreal. My area of expertise was in drug addiction and I worked in a methadone clinic with heroin addicts. I helped set up a writing workshop for women in prison and worked in halfway homes and drug rehab centers.

My short stories have appeared in Room Magazine, The Canadian Anthology of Fiction, Mindful.or, Between the Lines and Carte Blanche. I was awarded an honorary mention for a play submitted to The Canadian Playwright Competition.

I manage a blog where I write about: Women Nobel Prize Winners for Literature, Famous Writers’ Desks, Femmes Fatales, India, Book Reviews and my dog, Bau. http://www.carolbalawyder.com/blog

Photos With Captions To Make You Smile.

Well, Fall has firmly plunked itself here at 44.2148 Degrees North, and night now draws the curtains at 6:21 pm and they don’t open until 7:25am. I’m not sure why I’m being so specific today, guess I’m just in the mood for trivial facts. Hey, who knows if they might appear on some game show? Could help you win a car or a boat! 🙂 Or an espresso machine or even work socks.

My next post is going to be a book review, but the reading part is not finished. Meanwhile, here’s round of what the title says. Some of them are repeats, but I hope they still work to brighten your day.

Me, after I’ve been verbally outwitted by my teenager, and she’s waiting for my reply.

“Hi! I’m, uh, Jannabelle! I like you! Can I go home with you and be your friend? What time do you go to sleep?”

“Anyone know what happened to the batteries for the remote?”

I’m seriously considering installing a GPS tracker on my eye glasses that syncs to my phone; as soon as I find THAT.

It’s Been Ten Years Already!

Those who have known me for awhile may be aware that I was once a Correctional Officer. Today I received a ‘memory’ notification on Facebook, dating back to September 28, 2013. This was my last day at working at Kingston Penitentiary. The prison closed for good just a few days later, on September 30th.

Built in 1835, Kingston Pen (or KP) was one of the oldest continuously operating prisons in the world. Today it’s a major tourist attraction, our version of Alcatraz, and plenty of movies and television shows have been filmed there. I often see shots from KP in popular movies.

However, no movie scene, or guided tour can ever recapture the true ambience of an active prison. I wrote and posted this tribute below on the day that heavy steel door slammed shut behind me for good.

Today, I closed the door on 178 years of history. I’ve been part of the last thirteen years of those. As I drive away from the walled fortress for the last time, ghosts appear in my rearview mirror. No, not the spirits of the countless who perished behind those walls; these phantoms are memories. Memories of things I’ve witnessed and been part of. Incidents and characters too many to name. Some hilarious, others mundane, many terrifying and tragic; a large segment just plain bizarre. Enough ghosts for a lifetime. Goodbye KP . . . it’s been quite a ride!

Looking up at the ‘Dome’ inside KP.

The school and workshop area. Note the staircase, it’s made of limestone

Chickens, Coops, and Sweet Chili Lime Poetry

I’m guessing that since you’ve seen the cover photo and the title, the element of surprise about the content of this post has been somewhat dampened. Yes, this is a pic of the newest members of our chicken family. A pair of Barred Rock hens.

It seems ‘chicken math’ is a thing! According to local lore, our four birds will soon turn into twenty-two. Hmmm . . . two plus two equals twenty-two. Makes sense? Just how this miraculous arithmetic works, when no rooster is present, is beyond my pinheaded comprehension. Perhaps they duplicate and divide, like cells in the body.

The photo shows them in their briefly temporary smaller coop. We just got them yesterday and my daughter has yet to name them. But to her credit, they are beautiful birds and do look a tad bit alike.

We plan to move them into the coop below, ASAP. What’s not shown here is the exceptionally large run now attached to it. Plenty of room to ‘chicken’ in the great outdoors. We have to be careful out here because of the high rate of predators.

That’s it for the fowl news. Here’s a little attempt at poetry. It’s in the style of a Triolet. Anyone who’s ever had to deal with the frustration of watching their favorite snack get stuck in a vending machine will appreciate this, and hopefully get a chuckle, too. 🙂

My tummy grumbles, my eyes shed water,

 Sweet chili lime chips crumpled against the glass

Nose pressed to the pane, I beg the fraudster

My tummy grumbles, my eyes shed water

I jab the button, my mouth starts to bluster

Penniless wit is offered by all who pass  

My tummy grumbles, my eyes shed water,

Sweet chili lime chips crumpled against the glass