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    Writer's Muse Magazine Summer 2013
    Writer's Muse Magazine Summer 2013
    Writer's Muse Magazine Summer 2013
    Ebook99 pages1 hour

    Writer's Muse Magazine Summer 2013

    By Writers Muse

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    About this ebook

    Writer's Muse Magazine is a free quarterly periodical featuring the works of members of the Writer's Muse Group, a creative writing group with over 500 members, based on the concept of writers helping writers.

    Writer's Muse Group was founded by Richard Cotton and can be found on Facebook here:

    https://www.facebook.com/groups/writersmusepage/

    This issue features writing by: Steve Grilliot, Richard Cotton, Carolyn Saulson, Jane Risdon, Sue Van, Haven Malone, Kay Ziegler, Franchesca Saulson, Jessica Hug, Brian Von R, and Sumiko Saulson.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSumiko Saulson
    Release dateJul 8, 2013
    ISBN9781301195497
    Writer's Muse Magazine Summer 2013
    Author

    Writers Muse

    The Writer's Muse Page is a group started by Richard Cotton where writers can share with and support one another. Any writers are welcome to join this group. The Writer's Group Smashwords Account was set up by Sumiko Saulson for the group to create a place to publish the occasional free periodicals by the members of the Facebook Group. There are nearly 500 writers on the Writer's Muse page.

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      Book preview

      Writer's Muse Magazine Summer 2013 - Writers Muse

      About the Author

      C arolyn Saulson is a published poet, and a founding member of the community media arts nonprofit organization Iconoclast Productions. She is a singer in the band Stagefright. You can find her band online here:

      http://www.reverbnation.com/stagefrightsf

      Summer of Love

      By Jane Risdon

      They swayed barefoot in time to the hypnotic music of Jefferson Airplane, multi-colored kaftans flapping in the breeze, their hands high above their heads, eyes closed; the air thick with the sweet fragrance of weed. All around couples lay on the grass embracing, smoking or just chilling in the hot summer sunshine. Babies slept and small children ran about, giggling, naked, just as drunk as everyone else on the joy of love and life.

      The Love-In had been almost spontaneous, a version of Haight Ashbury under the huge shadows of Stonehenge, they’d come from everywhere; by transit vans covered in psychedelic art, by converted Bedford coaches, by motor-bikes with sidecars and on foot. Somehow the word had spread and hundreds of Flower People were now mingling with bewildered Druids all waiting for that moment tomorrow morning; the summer solstice.

      Smiling girls, the waft of musk heavy upon them, moved amongst them, handing out flowers and beads, eyes glassy, skin tanned and glowing with youth. Bare-chested, long-haired, bronzed and beautiful twenty-something Greek Gods moved in and out of the gathering, girls watching their every move hungrily, hoping to catch their attention and perhaps share some ‘Free Love,’ later. The air was thick with expectation, excitement and love.

      Several groups had arrived earlier, setting up their gear near the silent stones under the keen gaze of near-naked young girls, their interest having little to do with music they would hear later. The same girls had been busy writing their lip-sticked messages over the group vans, invitations and declarations of undying love. The hopefuls were eyed with disinterest by the musicians, spliffs hanging from their lips as they went about their tasks. All were ripe for the picking, it didn’t matter which they ended up with; there were plenty to go round.

      Scott McKenzie told them ‘to be sure to wear flowers in their hair,’ his vocals floating across the almost silent masses. Someone had managed to set up a PA earlier and a Phillips Record Player strained against the drone of a passing airplane, high above in the clear blue sky, sunshine bouncing off its wings. San Francisco was in their thoughts, their hearts, and the words of the John Phillips song was their anthem, soon voices lifted and joined in with the chorus. Couples embraced, their bodies molding into one as they swayed gently.

      Later, when the groups had finished playing night came, camp fires were lighted and a hush blanketed the faithful and the Hippies, anticipation filled the chilled air. Some slept but most sat chatting quietly, waiting. Soon it would be time.

      They rose as one, Druids and Hippies as the sun rose and consumed the spaces with its light. Druids performed their rituals, watched in respectful silence until it was over. A huge roar rose. Dancing, singing, laughter was everywhere. The ‘Summer of Love,’ began again, music filled the fragrant air once more; all was peace and love.

      About the Author

      Jane Risdon began writing after a lifetime in the International Music Industry managing recording artists, record producers and songwriters from all over the world. During her music career she garnered a wealth of material for her stories. She writes crime and mysteries and has three novels on the go at the moment.

      Her blog is at:

      http://wp.me/2dg55

      Her author page can be found on Facebook at:

      http://www.facebook.com/JaneRisdon2

      The Purest Thought

      By Sumiko Saulson

      The purest thought I had

      Was a little hamster

      Running in a wheel

      In my head

      It was raw-footed

      Tumbling

      Soften my words

      In a haze of rat mazes

      My life so sweet

      The pitter patter

      Of Rodent Feet

      My heart... my heart

      Stop. Start..

      If you love me

      Let it show

      I'd let you out of a plastic tube

      That a scientist trapped you in

      If you were a rat

      And I was a rat...

      I'd still be a fat.

      About the Author

      S umiko Saulson is the author of three sci-fi/horror novels, Solitude, Warmth, and The Moon Cried Blood, and short story anthology Things That Go Bump in My Head." She is a native Californian, and has spent most of her adult life in the Bay Area. Her blog is at:

      http://sumikosaulson.com/

      Random Moments from Random Lives

      By Brian Von R

      First…

      >>> It was a big, old house. Big heavy, solid doors. Old wooden floors that creaked, some muffled by thick ancient rugs, woven by hands long dead. Big multi-paned windows, unsealed, so the wind whistled through them. Thick, heavy curtains that blocked out the sun and kept the secrets well hidden. So many secrets. Handed down & acted out, one generation to the next. Too many secrets for that house to hold.

      That big, old house. Built of handmade bricks, by hands that had no choice, for a family with money as ancient as their pedigree. So finely & exquisitely bred, their basic humanity left their blood long, long ago. That big, old house encased their secrets. Terrible secrets. Pain rained down upon the creaking floors, echoing off damask covered walls as red as blood.

      The family, all of them moonlight pale & languid, wearing expensive but outmoded clothes that seemed to rustle like paper when they moved, draped themselves upon the well-used and yet still dusty furniture, as if their bones held no stiffness, with eyes like glass, shiny & solid with no moisture, and milky-green like the tarnished silver in their dining room.

      Second…

      >>> "Well, Sir, I don't know what you want me to say. I will tell ya this, though -- I think it's a real shame that the first time we meet, it's over the coffin of your son. I know you had your reasons, but I can't begin to imagine what they were...cuz there ain't...weren't... nothin' on this earth that woulda kept me away.

      I just feel sorry for ya. Y'see, your son was a good man, finest man

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