I went to the ocean to clear my head and get some writing done.
Darn! Forgot my laptop charger. Now what?
Took a walk on the beach: cool water, crashing waves, sweet warmth of the sun.
Laptop battery dead, but I am recharged.
Found pencil and paper in a drawer.
Sherri Bale is a retired geneticist, part-time personal trainer, Jack Russell Terrier mom, and writer of fiction as short as 50 words and as long as 90,000. Whatever it takes to tell the story.
The Demolition Pending sign went up only days after the old lady died. The bulldozer was already waiting nearby. That night I snipped the sunset- and dusk-hued hyacinths blooming in her yard. She would have wanted that. I thought they would smell like Spring but they were tainted by death.
Sherri Bale loves using the fewest words possible to tell a good story. So why the heck has she just drafted a novel that stands at 387 pages?
As a Darksider, I live in the absence of color: the impenetrable depth of the universe, the blazing of a star. Black and white.
Lightsiders can see sunsets of gold, pink, and violet. But also parchment earth, bloody scarlet of war, gray ash of nuclear blasts.
Still, I envy them.
Sherri Bale writes to the tune of waves crashing on the beach and the scent of salt in her nostrils.