While I am going to be throwing more real-life stuff at you this year, I will be trying to space it out a little more. Sorry for two angry political posts in one week, but I’m getting them out of my system. If it makes you better, this won’t be a very long post.

D’you, remember what happened in Vegas? Here’s a fun fact, as of December 20^th, there’d been 59,307 acts of gun violence in America.

I like guns. I was on the rifle team in high school. You know what I don’t like? Bump stocks, semi-automatics, automatics, gun show loopholes and gun stores that ignore standing gun laws to make a buck. I also don’t like innocent dead people who were just seeing a concert, going to a movie, going to school or walking down the street.

Hey, you know who might have forgotten about Vegas? Your local politicians and state officials. Maybe you should give them a call or write to them. Ask them what they’re doing about these attacks. If they tell you, or if you believe yourself that this is a mental health issue and not a gun control issue, then feel free to ask them what they’re doing about that instead. Here’s a link to find contact information for your local representative. Because it shouldn’t take a tragedy to remind us that something needs to be done about this.

I hope you all stay safe.

I wanted to talk today about something that I’m working on in 2018. I’m trying to be a better ally

If you want to be a better ally, then the first step is to understand your privileges. I’m a straight, Christian woman who is physically and (mostly) mentally healthy. I’m capable of learning and able to work.

One privilege that I have that doesn’t get talked about much is my gender. I’m a woman, and that means that I’m treated differently than a man.

In order to be a better ally, I want to talk about female privilege today.

There’s no denying that being a woman is easy. I’m in tech support, and there are some people who make my job harder because I’m a woman. I do, sometimes, have to spend some time convincing people I know what I’m talking about before they’ll let me help them. And that freaking sucks. I despise that every time a company wants to make something more appealing to women or girls, they make it pink.

But I don’t really want to start off a post talking about abuses against men talking about how much it sucks to be a woman. Because we all know that it’s hard to be a woman. We get it. We, as women are being told every day how men are out to get us. Women, think about this. We’re taught to carry our keys between our fingers so we can defend ourselves. We carry pepper spray (in pink containers). We’re taught to always be on our guard, and not go walking at night because men will hurt us given half a chance.

But will they? Actually, according to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, men are overall more likely to be victims of violent crimes. Here’s a link. So why are we teaching our daughters that they’re in more danger than our sons? At very least, shouldn’t we be teaching our sons to protect themselves just the same?

We don’t really want to talk about violence against men, though. We want to talk about violence against women. We want to protect women and teach them to support each other. We tell men over and over that hitting women is bad, as though they need to be told that. But we don’t really have that same sort of response to violence against men. Think about how many jokes there are about men being hit in the gentiles. We’ve all seen it, the classic eye crossing pained face. It’s hilarious, right? Is it that hilarious if a woman was to be kicked in the gentiles? Hell, it doesn’t even seem to matter when the man in question is in real danger. Lorena Bobbett was a huge running joke after cutting off her husband’s gentiles. Tiger Wood’s wife was nearly a hero when she tried to beat him with a golf club. And to anyone who’s going to tell me that those men cheated, I don’t give a damn. Would you applaud a man who cut off his wife’s breast or tried to smash her head in with a golf club? What if she cheated on him? Is it better now?

Now, I want to talk about something that’s plagued me for a good part of my life. Choosing to be a working mom hasn’t always been easy. There’s a lot of guilt that goes along with it. Mostly inflicted by other women. But there’s a large part of our society that applauds me for being a working mamma. Look at me, going to work to bring home the bacon for my family. I’m not letting some man have financial power over me.

Instead, I’m letting some man have domestic power over me. My husband’s the homemaker in our family. He’s responsible for homeschooling our girls, making dinner, keeping us to our budget, taking the kids to doctors appointments, performing upkeep on our house and doing most of our major shopping. While I do a good amount of the everyday housework, he does the major things. Like shampooing the carpet in our whole house, bless him.

Now let me tell you how many times my husband has had to call me from the doctor’s office so that I could tell the doctor that he had my authorization to see my kid. Let me tell you how many times the schools have asked to talk to me, and didn’t seem to believe my husband when he said that he would be the one handling these things. Oh, or the apartment that we didn’t get to rent because the elderly couple renting it didn’t like that my husband didn’t work. Or the people who ask him what he does, then ask him why he doesn’t work.

Now, full disclosure, my husband does have health concerns. But that’s not why he’s the homemaker. He’s the homemaker because he’s better at it, and I’m better at making money. I started working young and built a portfolio of experience. He became a daddy and that became his focus. We’re both well suited to what we do. And we should both get the same respect as any other breadwinner or homemaker.

Now, on to something more serious. Women’s lives are more valued than men. And let me prove it to you. Women are not permitted to be GI soldiers because America can’t handle seeing women come home in body bags. Women are given preferential treatment in emergency situations. Not pregnant women, just women. Cancers that impact women are given more grant money and attention. We know October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. I’ve personally known two women with breast cancer. One made it and one didn’t, so don’t think this isn’t serious to me. But testicular cancer is also horrible. My husband’s grandfather died of it.

As another example, men don’t have the same protections as women. Male domestic violence victims can’t go to a shelter in the way women can. Male rape victims are treated as a joke. Even when a male student is abused by a female teacher, it’s laughed off. I think we all know what happens to a male teacher who abuses a female student. He gets nailed to the wall, and he damn well should. But so should a female teacher who abuses a male student.

Men also don’t have the same rights to their children as women. In fact, women, for the most part, get to choose how involved a father is going to be in the lives of their children.

Setting the discussion of abortion aside, because I could go on for a long time about the complexity of that situation, let’s take a look at parenthood. A woman can decide to defer her parental rights in most states. She can say that she’s brought this child into the world, and now she’d like to have someone else care for them.

I’m not hating on women who give their children up for adoption. Part of being a parent is giving your child the best chance to have a good life. To decide that your child’s life would be better without you is a heartbreaking, loving, selfless decision that shouldn’t be taken lightly or judged by anyone. It’s also one that men don’t have the option for.

On the flip side, a man has limited ability to fight for their parental rights if the mother of their child decides that they don’t want them to be a part of their lives. Courts favor the mother in almost every custody case unless something pretty bad is going on.

Finally, women are more trusted than men. Recently, we’ve seen many heartbreaking examples of this. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Hundreds of allegations have come forward about respected men in the entertainment industry. Some politicians have been accused as well. While no actual legal action has been taken against these men, many have lost their jobs without any actual investigations.

I’m not saying that they’re all innocent, or that they’re all guilty. I’m saying that maybe before someone loses everything they’ve ever worked for, maybe there should be some sort of proof. Maybe there should be an investigation. Because if a person, man or woman, really did abuse or harass another person, man or woman, they should be held accountable by the law. Just like when someone commits any other sort of crime. And yes, I realize that it can be hard to prove abuse. But we can’t have our society’s default be she said it, so he did it. Now he has to lose everything and apologize. Because really, anyone can say anything. I could say that Hank Azaria molested me. I’ve never actually met him, but are you really accusing me of lying? Why would I lie about something like that? It’s not like he’s a well known and respected actor and I’m a barely known writer still trying to make a name for myself. (No disrespect meant, Mr. Azaria. You’re a wonderful actor who’s given me hours of happiness with The Simpsons, Bird Cage, and Ray Donovan. Keep doing what you’re doing, Man.)

If you don’t agree with me, please share what you think. I’m open-minded, so please give me facts to prove that I’m wrong. We’re never going to get better if we can’t have discussions and disagreements.

But to my fellow women, I’m asking you to check your privilege and take the challenge to be a better ally. We’re upset because we’re not respected and we should be. But they’re upset because they’re literally dying and losing their children.

Want to know something scary? You all know I love a good horror story, but this one is really bad.

It’s January 5^th, and some people have already given up on their resolutions.

And you know who they are! The friend who threw away their cigarette packs on New Year’s Eve went out and shamefully bought a new pack on January 3^rd. The cousin who swore off sugar is sneaking leftover Christmas cookies right now. The college buddy who swore they were done drinking picked up a six-pack.

And the person who said they were going to write a book in 2018 is already finding excuses why they ‘can’t’ write today. Or yesterday. Or the day before that. The rest of this week doesn’t look good, either.

Now, I know you guys hear this every year. And there are lots of posts floating around right now to help you not fall into that trap. I’ll be spending a lot of time this year trying to help you reach your writing goals just on PBW. But I wanted to start out the year by giving you some tools against the mid-January slump. We’re going to try together to make 2018 be a great year.

Consider why you want to do this thing

Look, I’m fully aware that I’m going to get some hate for this. But I’ve got to be honest anyway. If you started out the year saying that you’re going to cut out sugar, fat, gluten, caffeine, whatever it is you’ve decided is unhealthy this year, I think you’re probably going to fail. And honestly, I kind of think you should.

I say this for two reasons. The first reason is that it’s too dramatic of a change in your lifestyle. To swear off something like sugar or caffeine is going to mean not only a serious change in your everyday life but for the people around you as well. It’s basically saying, “Please don’t include me in any of your food-related plans. Because not only will I make it harder for everyone, I’ll make everyone feel bad about it along the way.”

But if you really want to do it, then don’t worry about that. You do you, for real. If you really think that cutting out something that’s considered unhealthy from your diet, then go for it.

The thing is, I don’t know that you really think that. I think that we’re all told that certain things are unhealthy for us. And I think that in the new year there’s a lot of pressure to make society approved healthy changes in your life. So maybe some of us say we’re going to do something that we don’t really see a benefit in. Maybe we say we’ll go to the gym, or stop drinking soda. Or go back to school. But do we really want to do these things?

I’ll tell you right now, I have no intention of changing my diet in 2018. I listen to my body and don’t overindulge, but I do enjoy some sweets and fast food. I do want to do yoga more often, and start working on toning my arms. But I want to do those things for me. I want to do more yoga because I’ve been having some serious back problems that I want to be proactive about. I want to tone my arms because I don’t want to be one of those old lady’s with wings. So please consider why you’re making these goals for yourself. Because if they’re not for you, they’re not going to happen.

Control what you can control

Last year I made a whole list of goals, and I accomplished all but two. I didn’t save money, and I didn’t break even for my writing. I lost more money promoting and producing my books then I made.

The first goal was a good goal, and I should have reached it.

The second goal was a bad goal, and do you know why? Because it wasn’t in my control.

Yes, I control a lot of the factors around selling my books. I control how many books come out. I control how much I market and promote. I control how much I spend on my writing.

But I can’t control how many people will actually buy. All I can do is keep on writing and sharing. So, no more sales goals, because I can’t control them. Instead, I have goals concerning how often I’ll promote and produce. The rest of it is totally out of my hands. And I’ve got to learn to be okay with that.

The good news, though, is that the vast majority of our lives are totally under our control. We decide how to spend our time. We decide how to eat. We decide how to react to our situation in life. We decide where we live. All of this is totally, absolutely in our control. So if your goal hinges on the actions of another, take it off your list. Replace it with something that’s entirely in your control.

Don’t give up if you slip for a day

I recently went through the FlyLady’s baby steps, in an effort to dramatically change the condition of my home. I learned a ton from the experience, and can’t recommend the steps enough for everyone.

One of the best lessons I learned, though, was to not give up if I slipped for a day. And I do slip, a lot. But I no longer let one slip lead to another. So if I miss my morning routine, I don’t decide to just skip my afternoon routine. If I don’t feel up to doing a whole home blessing hour, then I tell myself I’ll do one thing, then see how I feel. (Spoiler, that usually encourages me to go on to the next item. Then the next, then the next.)

So if you didn’t write yesterday, don’t let that stop you from writing today. If you can’t write for your whole time, write as much as you can. If you swore you’d quit smoking, but you slipped up and bought a pack, throw it away. You have another day, another hour even. Don’t get hung up on the fact that you slipped. Just make better decisions going forward.

It’s never going to happen if you don’t make it happen.

And this is really what it comes down to. You have to take the steps to make your goals happen. If you want to write a book, you need to do it.

Let me give you an example. My biggest goal in 2018 is to do a Pittsburgh book signing tour. It’s a huge, daunting, terrifying goal. I have to call people I’ve never talked to and pitch my book to them. I have to invest a ton of money in ordering books (and maybe some merch). I have to dress up and act like a famous writer, probably for multiple days in a row.

This is going to take money, planning, and courage. But mostly planning. So I’m working on it now. I’m making a list of bookstores and coffee shops. I’m saving up money to order copies. I’m scheduling time off from my day job. I’m making this happen.

So how about you? What’s your plan to accomplish all of your goals in 2018?

Happy 2018! I hope no one’s too hung over this morning. I spent last night partying in Pittsburgh with my kids and wonderful husband. So no hangover here, but I am sleepy.

I want to talk about some things that happened in 2017 (and how we can all take steps to be better allies), but I’m not going to do that today. Because it’s the first day of the new year, and today I want to focus on just one thing

How are we going to become better people in 2018, and how we’re going to improve the world just a little bit.

To that end, I want to share with you my word of the year, and what my overall goals for the next twelve months are. I do this every year for two reasons. One, publicly announcing my goals keeps me accountable and two, I hope to inspire you to reach as far as you can towards the person you want to be in 2018. I’d love it if all of you reading this would tell us in the comments section, or jump over to our Facebook page and sound off there, what your word for the year and goals for the year are.

My word for 2018 is learn.

I want to learn to be a better ally. I want to learn new and better ways to keep my home in order so I can write more. I want to learn a new language, or at least start learning a new language. I’m aware that’s a several-year-long commitment. I want to learn new and better ways to reach new readers. I want to learn about the new technological advancements mankind is creating. I want to understand better what’s going on in the world, and how I can help.

Mostly, though, I want to learn my craft better. I’m going to be seeking out some writing classes to strengthen my skills and get feedback from my peers.

Of course, I also have a long list of concrete goals and plans for the year. Here’s a list of what I’m going to strive to accomplish. It’s a mix of personal and professional, but so is my life. That’s how it should be.

• Finally, save up my $1,000 emergency fund.

• Get my drivers license. (No I don’t have it yet. Neither does Tina Fey, and she seems to be doing just fine, thanks.)

• Buy a car.

• Upgrade some of my tech, like my tablet and maybe my laptop.

• Publish a total of six books this year, unless something out of my control happens.

• Get my books into the two local bookstores that don’t currently carry them.

• Go to Kennywood with my family three times.

• Camp more. We got this great tent last year and only got to use it once.

• Get some merchandise for Station 86. I have some ideas for t-shirts.

• Have my short stories featured in at least four publications or anthologies. This would double the anthologies I was included in 2017. (Oh, did you not know I did that? Here’s a link to Project 9, and to my stand-alone short, Man In The Woods.)

• Go through some serious house upgrades. I don’t love where I live, but I’m probably stuck here for a while. So I need to make the best of it.

• Finally, I’m going to schedule a book signing tour of Pittsburgh. That one’s the most daunting, but the thing that I want most to do.

So now it’s your turn. What’s your word for 2018, and what do you plan to accomplish?

Every year, my last blog post is a review of the most popular blog posts of the last 12 months. I’m not the only blogger who does this, to be sure. I love reading everyone else’s roundups, though, so I hope you enjoy reading mine.

I also love checking out what you, my beloved readers, enjoyed most this year. It helps me figure out what you appreciate and what you want to see more of.

So let’s jump right in and see what the ten most popular posts of 2017 were, according to all of you.

My Freeform Outline

I wrote two rough drafts in 2017, and I took a new approach then I have in the past. I had a rough idea of what I wanted to see happen in the story, and I had some plot points to guide me. But as I wrote, I just let the story go where it wanted to go. It worked really well. I hope that my freeform outline experiment helped you, too.

Facebook For Writers

While social media has changed a lot over the last year, Facebook is still a useful platform for writers to stay in contact with their readers and fellow authors.

Write a Ghazal poem

This is an old post, from when I still did writing prompt Saturday. I feel like I should do more about unique forms of poetry in 2018.

Living My Best Live

I’m trying to live my best life every single day. How about you? Hopefully, this post encouraged some of you to do just that.

What Scares People

I feel like I want to write a horror novel. I’ve done fantasy, done sci-fi, done horror collections. Maybe not in 2018, maybe not until Station 86 is done, but at some point, I want to write a true horror novel. Until I do that, I want to help you all do it.

What I’ll Leave Behind

We lost a lot of amazing, wonderful people this year. We had so many tragedies, so many horrors. I really understand that at no point is tomorrow promised to any of us. Coming home at the end of the day isn’t promised. So think about what you’ll be leaving behind.

Second-Hand Stores, a Personal Essay

I was so touched and surprised that a personal essay made it not only to the top ten but so high on the list! I definitely think I need to do more personal essays in 2018

An Open Letter To The Teacher Who Changed My Life

I really hope that this post was so popular because you all have your own teacher that changed your life. If so, please tell your story about them and share a link below.

Writing Dark Poetry

I hope that some of you found dark poetry therapeutic.

How I Messed Up My Book Launch

It’s incredibly humbling that this is the most popular post of the year. I mean, it’s literally a post about my worst mess up of the year. I actually pulled Starting Chains and decided to seek traditional publication for it. I want to make sure that what I’m putting out is the best possible product. And what I had out there in Starting Chains wasn’t. It’s too good of a story to sell short.

So those were the best posts of 2017. Now, I want to ask you something.

What would you like to see more of here on PBW in 2018? I have some plans, including talking more about world events and my personal life. I want to write more about poetry and in-depth writing techniques. But what would help you? What would make you a better writer or happier person if you understood better? Please let me know in the comments below.

 

 

 

 

Merry Christmas!

It was Christmas Eve, and the snow was falling hard. Lizzie used to like the snow when she’d had a warm home to go to. But since then, she, for the most part, hadn’t been fond of it. She was glad of it that night, though.

When the sun went down, she found her way to a specific gazebo. There, a handful of other children had collected.

There was Toby, the oldest after her at 10. His little sister, Lisa, who was just six, was leaning against him, coughing.

Alex was there too, her arms crossed over her chest. She had a raggedy scarf wrapped around her face.

“Did you find any food?” Toby asked, by way of a greeting. “I only got a loaf of bread, and I think it’s got mold.”

“I couldn’t find anything,” Alex said, looking sulky.

“I did,” Lizzie said, reaching into her bag. “I got this, too.”

She pulled out a bottle of cough syrup and tossed it to him. “This should help Lisa,” she said.

Toby and Lisa looked at the bottle. “I hate cherry,” Lisa muttered.

“Shut up, Stupid,” Toby said. “It ain’t supposed to taste good, it’s supposed to make you feel better.”

Lizzie took out a box of gingerbread cookies. “I got these, too,” she said, “for Christmas. And, I’m going to tell you a story.”

Alex and Toby had brightened at the cookies. Together, the three of them sorted out the bread, picking off the moldy bits. The three of them got Lisa to eat some, and take some cold medicine.

Finally, with cookies in hand, the four of them cuddled together for warmth. “You said you had a story?” Alex asked.

“Yeah,” Lizzie said, putting her arm around Lisa. “It’s about a group of lost fairies.”

“Fairies are for girls,” Toby said, “I don’t want to hear a story about fairies.”

“Hush, there’s other stuff, too,” Lizzie said. “Anyway, these four fairies got caught out of their circle when it vanished. So, they had to disguise themselves as human kids.

“The problem was, so long as they were in their disguise, they couldn’t use their magic. And since there was only four of them, and they needed at least six to make a fairy circle, they were stuck in the human world.”

“Sucks for them,” Toby said.

“Shut up,” Lisa said. “What did they do?”

“They couldn’t do anything,” Lizzie said. “But the fairy queen knew that they were lost. And so, she sent a knight to find them. The knight was worried, though, that he wouldn’t know the fairies. He was also worried that the fairies wouldn’t know that they could trust him. But the queen said she would give him a gift so that the fairies would recognize him.”

“What did she give him?” Alex asked.

“A red poinsettia flower, to wear in his coat,” Lizzie said.

“What’s that?” Lisa asked.

“It’s those red flowers everyone’s got around now,” Lizzie said.

“But how was he supposed to tell who the fairies were?” Toby asked.

“The queen took care of that, too,” Lizzie said. “She gave him a charm, that let him see their footsteps. They would always leave silver footsteps so long as he had the charm.”

“Did he find them?” Alex asked. But before Lizzie could answer, a flashlight shone over the gazebo.

All the kids went quiet. The light bounced back and forth over the area, accompanied by the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.

Alex bolted before they could even see who it was. Lizzie and Toby watched her run, only to see what they’d feared worst catching up to her.

A police officer.

Toby looked at Lisa. Lizzie knew that she was too sick to run. He wouldn’t leave her, she knew.

Lizzie took his hand and waited.

A moment later, a second officer shone his light into the gazebo. “What are you kids doing out here?” he asked.

“Sorry,” Toby said, standing up. “We’ll go home now.”

“No, nu-uh,” the officer said and pointed at Lizzie. “I recognize you. You’re the one who stole stuff from the Walgreens. I’m taking you all down to the station.”

“But our folks-,” Toby said, but was interrupted by Lisa giving a huge, wracking cough.

The officer’s face softened. He put a hand on Lisa’s head. “You’re burning up. Come on, let’s get you kids inside.”

He picked Lisa up before either she or Toby could stop him, and headed for his cruiser. Lizzie and Toby followed. Alex was already in the back seat, looking furious.

“Lizzie, Lizzie,” Toby said, pointing at the officer. “Look what he’s got.”

The police officer had a red poinsettia tucked into his coat pocket, right over his name. Lizzie put an arm around him, glad that the officer had followed the silver footprints she’d left in the snow.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Ghosts can’t be said to sleep, but Bianca was trying to one cold December morning. It was really just existing in the tree that was her home without moving around or attempting to interact with anything. It was just meditating, to be honest.

Whatever you wanted to call it, that’s what Bianca was doing when her tree suddenly came down, landing with a crash on the snow-covered ground.

Bianca was jolted by the fall, then again when two people lifted her tree from the ground and began to tie down the branches.

“What is this, now?” she snapped, but of course the living people couldn’t hear her. The merrily sang as they worked, finally tying her tree to the roof of their car. Then, much to her horror, they drove away!

Bianca, who had been attached to this tree since crossing over, tried desperately to pull away. She didn’t know where the car was headed to, but she knew she preferred her quiet woods to it.

The car drove into the city, with screaming cars and bellowing people. Bianca tried to shut her hands over her ears to block out the cacophony. But as her hands and ears weren’t physical, it did no good.

Bianca looked around, needing something else to attach herself to. She needed something to touch her tree so that she could make the jump. But the only thing that was touching it was the car, and that would hardly be better.

The car pulled into a parking garage, and the living ones got out. They lifted Bianca’s tree off of the roof and carried her up several flights of stairs.

There was a flurry of activity when they went into an apartment. Children, moving too quickly for Bianca to really count, were crowding around to help set her tree up on a stand, and start taking the ropes off of her branches.

What was Bianca going to do? These people, they were going to use her tree for Christmas, then dump it in the garbage! Her tree would be burned and she’d spend the rest of her eternity in the ash at the bottom of a dump’s incinerator!

Then the living started pulling things out of a box and hanging them on her branches. Lights first, then long paper chains.

Then, they started putting on the ornaments.

Bianca saw one of the children, with a mop of curls that looked like it might have some peanut butter stuck in it, take an ornament out of the box. It was a metal disc with an angel on it. The tiny child gave the ornament a little kiss, and then hung it on the tree.

Before she could change her mind, Bianca jumped from the tree to the ornament. She felt herself warmed by the love from the child to the object, that held a woman’s name who had only recently passed from their side to Bianca’s.

It was better than ash, Bianca thought, and maybe even a good place to spend the rest of eternity.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Collette hated Christmas music. She had ever since she was a teenager, working through the holidays at the mall. She didn’t have that one exception. She didn’t like them for a while but then get sick of them. She didn’t just think they were played too early in the year. She hated each and every Christmas song that had ever been written.

Unfortunately for her, it was Christmas Eve, and she hadn’t been able to escape the damn music all day. Everyone at the restaurant had insisted that it play over the happy families coming in for a Christmas Eve meal. Most of her fellow servers had gone so far as to sing along with their favorites, usually badly.

She drove home with her radio off at the end of her shift, with nothing to look forward to the next day but a day off. She hadn’t even bothered with putting up a tree. What was the point? It was just her and Baxter, her moppy looking mutt. He sure didn’t care if there was a tree or not.

Collette pulled up in front of her house, a rundown looking place in a row of rundown looking places.

There were little boot prints all through the snow in her tiny front yard.

Knowing what this likely meant, Collette got out of the car. She walked carefully along the walkway between her place and her neighbor’s that lead to their joint backyards.

There were boot prints all over the backyard too, and a lopsided snowman in the middle.

“Damn it!” Collette cried. She marched back through the walkway, right to her neighbor’s front door. She could hear Christmas music before she even started hammering.

It took Sean several minutes to answer. Collette thought he must know it was her. She didn’t know how. His little brats were such a pain in the ass, she couldn’t be the only one in the neighborhood that bitched about them.

When he finally answered, he looked irritated. “What now?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“I think you know what now,” Collette snapped. “I have told you I don’t even know how many times to keep your kids out of my yard. Why can’t you control them?”

“Hey, I don’t want to hear it,” Sean snapped, waving a finger at her. “You don’t like my kids in your yard, put up a fence. Or, maybe, you could keep your damn dog quiet so he’s not waking us all up at every hour of the night?”

“My dog is not that loud,” Collette said, “Stop deflecting. Your kids aren’t allowed in my yard, it’s trespassing. And I’m gonna call the police if you can’t keep them under control!”

From the end of the street came the sound of singing. Sean started to say something, but then stopped to look towards the sound.

“Who is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Collette snapped. They were singing a Christmas carol, of course. Couldn’t anyone give it a rest?

It was a woman’s voice, high and clear. They were singing as though they wanted the whole street to hear them, and Collette was sure that they were succeeding.

“Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let Earth receive her king!”

“Can she be any louder?” Sean muttered.

Collette turned back to him. There were bags under his eyes, she realized, and a worn look at the corners of his mouth. She’d never seen a woman around, now that she thought of it. Just him and the two little girls.

“Look,” Collette said, “don’t worry about it. Just, I don’t know, ask them to not leave their toys there, okay? I don’t want to run over something in the spring when I start mowing.”

“Yeah,” Sean sighed, “That’s fair. They just, they’re here by themselves before I get off work, and sometimes they don’t want to listen to me, you know?”

“I get it,” Collette said. “It’s cool. Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, you too,” Sean said, giving her a nod.

Collette went back to her own house to let Baxter out. After he’d done his business, she knelt to pet him. “Why don’t we go to the store, and get you some Christmas presents, huh?” she asked. “And maybe we’ll get a little tree. Just a little one? I guess I could use a little bit of holiday decoration.”

At the end of the street, the singer continued her song. She smiled. This particular spell almost always worked. And she thought those two at the top of the street could use a little peace on Christmas Eve. It might even last awhile.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This Christmas story takes place on Station 86, during the December in between Seeming and You Can’t Trust The AI. Godfrey and Ki are planning on celebrating the season with Sennett, April and Mason by enjoying Christmas Eve dinner together. But Sennett, who’s just lost her mother, is not quite in the Christmas spirit.

“Damn it, Mason, will you hold up your end?” Sennett snapped, carrying one side of a heavy metal box.

“Sorry,” Mason said, adjusting his hold on the other side. They were carrying the Christmas holographic from the storage room, struggling with every step. It was covered in a years’ worth of dust, and Sennett was sure that she was going to drop it any minute.

“Why do we have to use this one?” Mason asked, “It’s so outdated. Don’t you have one that comes out of a two inch by two-inch projector?”

“Yeah,” Sennett said, “but I wanted to use this one. Set it down here.”

They carefully placed the box on the ground, next to the wall screen. April, who’d been sitting on the couch watching them, clapped her hands in excitement. “Can I turn it on, Mommy?” she asked.

“Okay, Baby,” Sennett said, stretching her back out. “Go ahead, and then we’ll go get the lights up on the front of the house.”

“Yay!” April said. She hurried over to press the red button on the front of the hologram. A fir tree appeared, decorated in twinkling lights and red bulbs. Snow fell around the tree from the ceiling, dusting the limbs and making them glitter.

“Gorgeous,” Sennett said, giving the tree an approving nod.

“I still think it’s an outdated piece of junk,” Mason said.

“Can you not?” Sennett whispered. “It was Mom’s.”

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she wished she hadn’t said it. Mason’s face fell, and he said, “Oh.”

April hadn’t heard Sennett, thankfully. She looked up at them, beaming. “Can we make cookies tonight?” she asked.

“Probably,” Sennett said, pulling her face back into a smile. “Godfrey and Ki are coming by, I bet that’s something he’ll be into.”

“Bet he wants to make them from flour or something like that,” Mason said, sniffing a little. He turned away from April so she wouldn’t see his tears.

“Come on, little woman,” Sennett said, reaching a hand out for April. “Let’s go get those lights up.”

April hurried outside, Sennett just a little bit behind her. She glanced back at the tree, wanting another look at it.

Suddenly she was a child again, no more than seven. She was sitting on the floor while her mom pulled the hologram out, and set it in place. “Do you want to turn it on, Baby?” Mom asked.

“Yeah,” Sennett had cried and rushed to turn the tree on. “Mommy, what’s that stuff falling on it?”

“It’s snow,” Mom said, smiling. “It snows on Earth when it gets cold.”

As if the first memory had opened the gates, others came flooding in. The first year Mason had lived with them, four years old and still unsure that this was really going to be his family.

They’d sat together by the tree on Christmas morning. Sennett, twelve years old and a little unsure about this new little brother, had watched his eyes light up when Mom had handed him present after present to open.

“Are you sure they’re really for me?” he’d asked.

“They have your name on them,” Sennett had said.

“There are so many, though,” he’d replied. Then, he’d found the gift from here. It was just a stuffed bear, something she’d gotten just to please her mother.

“I, I’ve never got a teddy bear before,” he said, awed. Then, much to her surprise, he’d launched himself at her, and given her a fierce hug. “Thank you, Sennett!”

“You’ve never had a teddy bear?” she’d asked. Mom had given her a serious nod. It was a reminder, for Sennett, that Mason’s life had not been a good one before he came to live with them. Sennett had realized, for the first time, that her own life might have been far different. She didn’t know who her birth parents were, after all. She might have never had a teddy bear either before Thorn became her mom.

“Mommy, come on!” April cried, pulling Sennett out of her memories.

“I’m coming,” Sennett said, her voice thick.

When the lights were up there was nothing left to do but wait for Godfrey and Ki. Sennett left April in the living room to watch a Christmas movie and went into the kitchen. She was just pouring a glass of wine when Mason came in. “You okay?” he asked.

“Eh,” Sennett said, “not really. It’s the first Christmas without Mom.”

“Yeah,” Mason sighed, leaning against the counter. “I’m trying to be happy in front of April, but it sucks.”

“I know it,” Sennett said. She took a sip of her wine. This was the kitchen she’d made Christmas dinner in with her mom. The kitchen where she’d asked Lo, stammering and terrified of what he’d say, to marry her on a Christmas Eve a long time ago. In this house, she and her mom had made their own family.

Just then the doorbell rang. Sennett answered it, admitting Ki and Godfrey.

“Merry Christmas!” Ki cried, giving Mason and Sennett hugs. “We brought crackers, and Godfrey made a ham.”

“Yep,” Godfrey said, holding up a box that was giving off a strong scent of baked ham and cloves. “Where can I set this down?”

“In the kitchen,” Sennett said, “this way.”

They made their way into the kitchen. Godfrey’s brows were furrowed, and his mouth was thin. “What’s up?” Sennett asked.

Godfrey sat the ham down on the counter and started opening the box. It was a few minutes before he asked, “Was your mom okay with you marrying Lo?”

“Yeah, she was,” Sennett said, leaning against the counter. “She loved him, actually.”

“That’s good,” Godfrey said, “that’s really good of her. You were lucky, you know.”

Sennett took a few more glasses out of the cupboard. “Want to tell me what happened?” she asked, pouring wine.

“My dad didn’t call or write,” Godfrey said. “He won’t answer my calls. He hasn’t talked to me since Ki and I got married. I thought maybe he’d at least, I don’t know.”

He looked up at her. “It’s Christmas, you know? I thought maybe he’d talk to me.”

Sennett put a hand on Godfrey’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said, giving her a small smile. “And thanks for having me here. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sennett said, “Christmas is for family. You’re family.”

“Well, not really family,” Godfrey said, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Hey,” Sennett said, “in this house, family is family. We don’t make distinctions because of blood here. My mom taught me that.”

Godfrey took a glass of wine and smiled. “Yeah. I think I like that idea.”

“Come on, before April opens all the crackers,” Sennett said, heading into the living room.

Copyright © 2017 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.