Where my story takes shape

January 21, 2011


Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 3:14 pm

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.


January 11, 2011

“One Day I will Find The Right Words, And They Will Be Simple.”

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 5:30 pm

Say it. Say it more. Erase it. Say it better. Say more. Erase it. Say it best. With simplicity.

December 29, 2010

Scarlet Fever

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 1:53 pm

She lay horizontally on the couch, like it was a casual summer day, with a simple white cotton shirt and bright red velvet hot pants. There was quite an allowance of skin her shorts gave her. It let it be known that her thighs were smaller than her arms, and her stomach as sunken as a pauper. It was such an exaggeration of her status; to be able to live on the verge of starvation amongst all her privileges and spoil. The red velvet hot pants that covered more of her hips than her legs most likely had passed through so many important and talented hands that the price tag went up exponentially with each, from the textile manufacturer, fashion designer, seamstress, high-end distributor, and finally to the small and exclusive boutique shop. Even the metal in the zipper, buttons, and clasps probably passed through a similar channel that ran straight to the elite. It demanded to be seen and touched, but was set so high that no one would stare or dare to reach out. Sarah’s attitude was always as though she was monumentally bored with the situation, but how could anyone be bored in red velvet hot pants?

June 24, 2010

Zombie Poetry

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 11:55 am

I brushed the earth off my shoulder.

I’ll miss the sunshine, miss its lure.

I climbed through the stones of molder,

My mind and needs no longer pure.

Some black kind and some black design;

Some deep, dark, dank life is now mine.

The black dress I was buried herewith,

Match my dirty hands clasped in prayer.

The mouth I kissed my mother with,

Quivers with hunger, so beware.

Some black kind and some black design;

Some deep, dark, dank life is now mine.

–Danielle S. J. Smith

June 19, 2010

First Blood

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 9:28 pm

I felt everything change. I felt it in my soul. I knew it like I knew my own name. I stopped in my track and turned and ran to the window to see Patty; Blood on my face and hands, and I knew no one would be looking at me.  Almost as though I knew what to expect but not knowing at all, I watched, palms pressed against the glass, marking prints of Patty’s blood. In the distance, I saw Patty crawl out of the truck then stand with the wind blowing in her face, her hair horizontal behind her, and her shadow cast long in front of her from the evening summer sun. She stood erect, like a wire doll. Tears gathered at the edges of my eyes because I couldn’t get myself to blink. My whole body shook when my tense muscles were unbearable. I should have killed her. Patty buckled over and crashed her knees into the ground. Foam billowed at her lips, like smoke that wouldn’t be free. Someone saw her fall down, and ran to assist. My mouth dropped, and I could only breathe in, not out. Patty’s skin turned pale and blue. The Good Samaritan tried to help her up, but Patty’s body was rigor mortis. In a moment, Patty’s body relaxed, then lacerations appeared all over her skin. The man tried to grab her face to get her to respond, and when he did that she attacked him.

I screamed so loud that I lost my voice. A few patrons and the gas station clerk ran out the door to see what I was screaming about. There on the asphalt was a carnage of blood and murder. Patty had ripped out the man’s throat with just her teeth. Her hands dug at the now dead man’s chest. She spluttered when she was done, and looked wildly around for her next victim. Everything became silent with only blood-curdling screams as the soundtrack. I created the walking dead. With all the guilt in the world, I ran out the station door and then rocket shot into the desert; Away from the screams, and the trucks, the road, and the hell I invited into the world.

June 18, 2010

Nulla Dies Sine Linea

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 11:15 pm

I have been writing this book since Spring 2007. It’s about time it get produced. I need to shovel more coal in the engine, add more wood to the flameless fire, and just get it together. Nulla Dies Sine Linea: Never a day without a line.

“There is no such thing as writer’s block. My father drove a truck for 40 years. And never once did he wake up in the morning and say: ‘I have truck driver’s block today. I am not going to work.'” -Roger Simon

“Use the day before the day. Early morning hours have gold in their mouth.” -Goethe

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Red-glow eyes

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 10:30 am

One time, while in Wyoming, it was dark, late, and I was tired. So my husband and I decided to stop at a motel for the night. I went in to the dark office alone, and my body decided this meant to shoot me full of fear and adrenaline. My voice broke when I yelled hello through the bars of the window where I assumed the motel owner should be sitting behind, ready to take my money. These four glowing eyes and low to loud guttering growl rushed at the bars from the darkness. I was more shocked that the eyes glowed than anything, though the growl and then sudden pounding of the two Doberman dogs on the barred window were hellishly horrible. I had heard in books this description of glowing eyes, but I never believed it until that night. The owner finally came in to her side of the window and turned on the lights. She was rude and her dogs were scary, so I opted to not stay the night in her crap-hole motel, and we slept in our car in the woods somewhere.

“I saw red eyes in the dark space between two massive cattle directly in front of me, which was only about ten feet in front of me. I didn’t know that wolves’ eyes were glow-red. I could hear it breathe a rumble. I creeped a hand forward. The red eyes got larger, because it had mimicked my move closer. There was nothing that lay in between us. With Aengus’s blood in me I was strong and fast, but I doubted if I was stronger or faster than a red-eyed wolf. The wolf took another move closer. I had to be the first to act. If it wanted me then I could fight it, trying for its blood, and I wanted so much to use its blood to curb my unrest. That would not be sinful, because it was out for a kill itself.

“I could feel its weight shift on the ground and it flung forward through the air, I reacted like bullet from a gunshot, straight towards it. At that moment the security lights, as large as the ones at a football field, came on and flooded the entire ranch with its unearthly white glow. I grabbed with my limbs and snapped with my mouth. I grabbed skin. I felt hair and clothes. I screamed so loud I thought if there was a God he could hear me from wherever he rested in the universe. A boot flung and hit my back as we were in a tumble, hitting, biting, and scratching. The thing grabbed hold of my shoulders and flung me back. As I slid on the ground my dress came up, and I took a beat to pull it back down to my knees. My hair was all in my face and it was just one more thing I awkwardly and quickly fixed so I could see my enemy. It was a boy. He must have been just shy of fourteen years old. I got him good in the eye with an elbow and I could see his black eye develop darker and darker. He was in a fighting stance breathing hard above me. The black eye went dimmer and dimmer, and then it was gone.

“’Who are you?!’ Alden yelled from just behind me at both of us. He had a shotgun pointed at my male enemy. The boy hissed at him revealing the half moon shears in his mouth. I felt my own teeth with my tongue and it was the same arrangement and design.

“’Who are you?!’ He was so calm and commanding, like when God spoke to Moses from the bush.

“‘I am only here for the girl. It would be in your best interest, if you went back to your house.’

“’Like hell I will. What are you?’

“’Who are you?’ I asked the boy, loud enough for Alden to hear.

“’I am here . . .’

“’What?’ Alden boomed from over me.

“’This does not involve you!’ He hissed at Alden.

“’You look like you just stepped out of hell, and I am the one with the gun. Don’t make me ask again.’

“The boy breathed a few breaths as he went over the situation. He must have decided something, because he crouched a little closer to me. ‘We are the living, breathing dead. The far-off, most secret, and invalid.’ Before Alden could say anything, or I could react, the boy scooped me into his arms, and took off back into the herd of cattle. I heard the shotgun go off. The sound echoed from all throughout the valley. The boy fell forward on top of me, but held me tighter and climbed up on his knees, then stood fully and ran again. He threw me over the coral fence, hopped over it himself grabbed my hand and we full-fledged ran into the wilderness.”

May 26, 2010

A Monster Story

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 5:55 pm

Nightfall approached, the sun teased the horizon, and the wind finally died down. I had but three things to say on this situation, one, I couldn’t have cared less for pursuit of vengeance, two, he deserves to die, and three, I hope God will stop us all.

Dramatic reactions to traumatic events

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 4:55 pm

I put the heavy, wet clothes on the toilet seat, then looked around for a pair of scissors through all the drawers. I found a man’s electric beard cutter and set it out. I turned my back to the mirror, dried off, and put on Bruce’s sweats and shirt. They forgot undies and a bra, but it was better than nothing, I suppose. When I was dressed I turned around and faced the mirror. I looked insane. My hair was so ratted and torn, my skin was so pale with an undertone of blue, and my eyes didn’t look normal. I shut my eyes, then turned on the clipper and it was quieter than I thought it would be. My possessed hands grabbed a wet lock of hair and let the clipper slice it off to be at level with my ear.  They gripped another knotted lock and put the buzzing clipper on the nape of my neck. I didn’t feel a tug, but more of a relief. I turned my head to see the long pile on the ground. I pulled and tugged handful after handful, but the sharp blade cut through it like a spoon through soup. I swallowed whatever overwhelming feeling I was going to have, and turned off the clipper, and the whole world became silent. My shaky hand ran through my scalp. It was short, a few inches, if that. It was so short. My head was light, like it would just float away. One smooth, hot tear ran down my cheek. I had to purposely breathe every breath or my body would try to faint, and it hurts when you know you should be gone, but you’re still here. My palms were littered with little fresh-cut hairs. I held them in front of me, then looked up at the mirror as though I was offering the discards to the new woman who looked back at me with fear and ugliness.

May 7, 2010

Alden is a man of action

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 2:54 pm

Alden came right up to the two rabid men and pulled them apart. He couldn’t quite get a hold of Aengus, but he got his own son, Monroe. Aengus did a turn around like a tiger in a cage then came back ready to fight Mr. Pennington who already had his pistol out and pointed in the square of Aengus’s eyes. Aengus stopped short and put his hands up.

“Kill him!” Monroe told his dad who remained in complete control of the situation. Aengus looked so small compared to all these men.

“Nice to meet you, Alden Pennington,” Aengus made a slight bow, “I have heard some good things about you from Pony. He says you shot him; That you intended on murdering a 15 year-old boy.”

“And those same intentions lay here, too, boy,” Alden directly replied.

Aengus stood straight, smiled gradually, and fixed his clothes and hair. Then said, “Give up the girl, Alden.”

“You know I am not going to do that.”

“Yes, well, Morgan,” he called out to me, “Come with me, we can leave now.”

“Go to hell!” Monroe yelled at him.

“And I am taking Morgan with me!” Aengus roared.

Alden shot.

I screamed. Everyone ducked. Aengus dropped down, but not before splattering his blood on the bank of the Salt River.

October 21, 2009

Hot Air Balloons

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 9:14 pm


(Picture by Celeste Drake)

“What does he look like? What was he wearing? Where did you see him?”

“I don’t remember what he was wearing. It had a collar. It was dark colored. Maybe a vest, too, but I don’t know. He has dark hair, almost black. He had a shadow of beard, like always. Monroe don’t be running around this fair punching out anyone with a dark shirt and dark hair!”

“How old does he look?”

“Your age.”

“How tall?”

“Shorter than you.”

“Is he white, Mexican, black?” I guess with a description of “black hair” it really leaves you hanging.

“White. White as a ghost.”

“Bruce, get Ash and anyone else you see on the way there, tell him. I’m going to take Morgan to the trailer. Or,” He turned to me, “You think you might be up to looking around with me and seeing if you can find him again?”


“Good, Bruce, we’re going in the balloons. I’ll call you on the cell.” The balloons? The hot air balloons?!


Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 7:44 pm

“Every man must do two things alone;
he must do his own believing and his own dying.”
Martin Luther


Alden returned in the early hours of the morning, when the sky is tan and the sunrise isn’t quite over the horizon. He put his horse in the barn, and when he was midway between that and us, the Pennington brothers met him in the lawn. They told him I was crazy. At least Ashley used that word. Alden made no attempt at conversation, he let Bruce and Ash tell him all they learned about me, and then he made his way to the apartment. I went away from the window and to my favorite corner, the one where I could see all five doors and all places that the cowboys sat. Alden came in and they all stood. Alden looked like a wreck. He looked like he had just been on a pilgrimage to hell and back. He sought for me then came over.

“I got him,” Alden said, displaced, only searching for my reaction, he continued, “Several times. Point blank,” he searched my face for a flinch or an eye dash, “Then, before I could have realized I just killed a boy, he got up and ran away. I didn’t chase him,” He waited further for my reaction, then said, with a booming voice, “Why aren’t you shocked?”

I had to show him. And myself. Cody Drake’s pistol lay in its holster on the coffee table. I darted and grabbed it before Cody Drake could realize what I had just done.

“What’re you doing?!” They all yelled in their own way. I took the gun out, and searched for the safety, unlocked the it, put the gun to my ribs, said the tiniest prayer, and shot. Monroe and Cody Drake were practically on top of me by this time. But the deed was done.

I screamed and screamed. They all climbed all over each other like ants on a hill. Ash screamed commands “Get a towel!” “Mr. Berry, call 911!” “Put pressure to the wound!” “Dad, what did you say to her?!” “Can we get her to Afton in time!”

My body shook blue. It shook hot red. My eyes fell into the back of my head, and my ribs felt like they were rising and crashing like the ocean waves. All the blood in my body seemed to have stopped dead in its flow. Monroe grabbed me, wrapped his whole body around me, and had a towel pushed into the wound. I felt my intestines wiggle from within me. Wes, Marco, and Pete all cursed loud, indecently, and unceasingly.

September 21, 2009


Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 8:46 pm

“What are your intentions?” I asked casually and sarcastically.

“To marry you one day.”

Blood, all that I have inside of me I’m pretty sure, rushed to my cheeks.


September 15, 2009

A lion can sleep on average 20 hours a day

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 10:43 am


Fear hit my heart before my brain even could digest what I saw.  My body constricted, sweat appeared on my palms, my forehead, and underarms quickly, and my hands and face went numb and cold. I realize why, and backed up right into Aengus’s chest. He grabbed my waist to stop me from continuing forcing my way back. I threw my arms up over my face and spun around into Aengus. “What is it?” He asked me with a laugh in his voice, “Is it the lion?”


Variations of the cover

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 9:07 am

I just love this picture and can’t stop messing with it.



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