Threads and Chaos

I started to begin this blog by apologizing for doing yet “just another reblog.”  Then I realized that it is because this author stated my feelings at least as well as I would have and I enjoyed it – why not you?

Also, after the short story I posted earlier this week about Vegas, I needed to pull myself back together a little and, perhaps, even make a bit of amends, so here is another Pam Grout post:

Threads and Chaos




The Vigil (Coincidentally, My 1,000th Post)

As a fiction writer, sometimes, I have difficult tasks.  As, primarily, a horror writer, those tasks can become very uncomfortable.  I almost didn’t send this story, but the writer in me got the best of me.  It touches on some hard, difficult spots.  I realized that that’s what horror should do.  It should leave you feeling raw and exposed, scared and nervous.  Please understand as you read.  Scott

The Vigil

By Scott L Vannatter for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

People of all ages had come to the memorial, candle in hand.  The 7 who had been shot at the mall were neighbors, friends, even family in the small Indiana town.  Something this horrendous had never happened to most of these individuals and they were scared, sad, and horrified.  The sheriff and several deputies stood around watching the crowd.  Even during this event, looters and pickpockets could happen.  So close to a holiday made things even worse, if that was possible.

He had paid his respects earlier.  His duties had pulled him long before he had spoken to many and gotten to know them better.  He didn’t expect friendship, but knowledge helped all the same.  A tear ran down his cheek, but it wasn’t really sadness, more of a reverence or prayer.  From the courthouse tower he loaded the first magazine and clicked it into place.  So many here.  He might just outdo Vegas yet.

word count: 155

My story was inspired by this week’s picture which has kindly been provided by Elaine Farrington Johnson. 

Where have all the People Gone?

A week or two ago, maybe a bit longer, I posted my coming out to BDSM: > HERE < .

I spent quite a bit of time beforehand worrying, contemplating, tossing ideas, and talking-to-self before writing and hitting that “publish” button.  Now, from 9-7 to 10-1, I have received a few views and far few comments.  Also, all the comments have been good.  I just keep asking myself: Scott, you published this on WordPress, which showed it on FB, Twitters, LinkedIn, and Google.  You have referred to it numerous times and still…?

Now, today, on FB, I saw a friend whom I haven’t visited in quite awhile.  I remembered I have messaged her a few times since Sept 7 and never heard back.  It finally began to sink in.  People who know me are embarrassed, uncertain, scared, nervous, angry (choose whichever you think applies, maybe all), or something else and simply are not speaking to me or being very general as if it never happened.

Your imagination, you say?  Perhaps, but it begins to make sense then.  I have well over 569 friends on FB, 734 connections on LinkedIn, who knows on Twitter / Google…That’s over 1300 people (I know, some overlap) who have, at least, seen the title.  I didn’t expect all of them to be happy (so far, all of you on WP have been, Thanks- you are the best).  I really didn’t.  I expected some unfriending to occur on FB and a few snide comments (or paragraphs) from a few on FB and Twitter.  But, none of that, seems…weird.  I should be happy, but it just seems too strange to just go “oh, the world is a different place and everyone is okay…”  Right?

Anyway, just a short rant.  Let’s go back to saving animals and filming babies.




1 Shade of Amber

Friday Fictioneers entry for the week.


“Really, Naomi, just leave it and someone will return for them.”  Cylene took the ink pen from her mouth, pointed toward the decorated mug and sunglasses. ”  She returned pen to mouth.

Naomi hissed. “I know, for your information, I was more concerned the table is not clean.”  Cylene was unconcerned about such things.

The truck stop door tinkled, both looked as a god entered.  He was about six two, 30ish, flowing hair, and built.  Naomi and Cylene tensed pleasantly.

“Ah, there they are,” he whispered, reaching for forgotten items.  His hand brushed Cylene’s; she blushed; he noticed.

Their eyes met, Cylene let some air escape her mouth, pen falling.  He took her hand, leading toward the bathrooms.  Cylene never glanced at Naomi, but he did, barely.

Naomi saw meadows and starlit pastures.  After a second, shaking her head, reached in her purse, pulling out a small, long,pointed wooden object.

She wasn’t certain those were fangs she saw, but never hurt to be careful.  She headed toward the bathroom as the door finished closing.

Word Count: 174 , photo credit to shivamt25.

A “Bare” Icon

Yesterday, 27th, an Icon died.  I don’t know if any other WP posts are about him; I just felt it needed to be done.

Hugh Hefner died at 91 years old- the man who “began the sexual revolution” (more his words than mine).  A man who almost everyone in the US and most places throughout the world had, at least, heard of.  If you went up to someone and said, “Plato”, you might get someone who says “philosopher” or even “The Republic”; if you went up to someone and said, “Einstein”, you might get an “E=MC(squared)” or a “theory of relativity”.  You might get those or you might get any of a dozen related answers.  However, if you went up to someone and said, “Hugh Hefner”, you would, very likely, get a resounding “Playboy”!  This is how the man was known.  He was not always seen in a positive light; he was not always talked about pleasantly; however, he did carry a certain amount of importance in who he was and how he lived his life.

I do not judge people; I will not judge Hugh Hefner.  I will merely say that, for this author, I have had a off/on type of relationship with him.  His magazines have given me  pleasure, pain, embarrassment, and a lot of guilt.  But, when I look around at where we are today as opposed to where we were when I was a teen, I have to salute him.  He was not my savior, but neither was he the cause of all my suffering.  I either did that to myself or let others do it for me.

My upbringing was mostly like a great part of early 60’s Indiana: conservative and rigid.  Sex was not talked about.  What this meant was that I learned about sex from books (restricted also) and people around me.  I remember being quite young and believing that kissing caused babies.  I didn’t kiss my grandmother for quite awhile.

I remember being told that french kissing caused pregnancy.  It wasn’t until long after I broke up with that particular girlfriend that I learned the man had meant “could lead to sex and pregnancy”.

I started out going into the Methodist church via college ministerial training.  That lasted less than 2 years.  I became disillusioned with the church and much less so with Mr. Hefner.

Marriage also pulled me away from the pages of P. Though it was, probably, more my upbringing and the terrible guilt I always carried around that did that – mostly.

Now, at 59 – holding my breath for the arrival of 6 decades on this dear Earth  – I have accepted Hugh Hefner as, drum roll, just a man.  He created a brilliant magazine concept at a crucial time in history and the rest has just followed along.  Yes, I see him as just a man, but he is an important man for what he did and, if nothing else, deserves this small amount of remembrance from me to my followers.

The article I first read is here > Hugh and Playboy



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