New World

 

I wasn't able to get a great shot, but yesterday, I saw this double rainbow, and I had to post it. It blew me away.

Here's a taste of what's to come...

New World

I am hungry.

I am awake.

I am confused about so many things.

I'm making new, uncomfortable decisions.

I'm making decisions that are familiar too.

Old and new, I am trying.

Beautiful.

I am changing, but I am also honoring my past wisdom. Some days it feels scary and unique. Yesterday, I was afraid because I was happy, as if I didn't deserve such peace and happiness. But I do.

And so do you.

It is amazing to know that at any given moment, I can create a whole new world.

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. NOVELS:  Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email:  right here.

It Begins with Me

Everything is here.

In this moment, everything is right here.

In front of me, all around me, I have created everything that I see, smell, touch, taste, and feel.

I have created the entire world around myself.

I am responsible.

What can I do today to honor myself and honor the world around me? Large or small, how can I become a part of healing and goodness? Can I help people? Can I help myself? Can I sit patiently or take some action?

It begins with me.

I suppose I've decided that I will be happy, light, and free today, that I will see the magic in the little things, that I will dance when I feel like dancing.

It begins with me.

Love to you,

C.A. MacConnell C. 2025

Books Five and Six!

Howdy. Excited to say that I'm chiseling away at Books Five and Six for you. Some nonfiction work. It's all a mess right now, but it always starts out that way, ha. Getting it all organized. Feels good to be digging in.

I think you'll be surprised at the result. XO.

Until then, check out my four novels! You'll never forget the ride! Thank you for supporting my books and photos. On the way to number ONE!

P.S. NOVELS:  Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email:  right here.

Have a great night. Love to you,

C.A. MacConnell

P.P.S. Met this guy today:

Tissue

 

Tissue. C.A. MacConnell C. 2025

Good morning. Hope you have a good day. This reminded me of the ocean. Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

NOVELS:  Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email:  right here.

Flesh Wild Rock

 

Flesh Wild Rock, by C.A. MacConnell C. 2025

And something mundane can become so fiery, frightening, and irresistible.

NOVELS:  Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email:  right here.

Dancing Salted Road

 

Dancing Salted Road, by C.A. MacConnell C. 2025.

I took this just now. Interesting how something mundane can become joyful. XO. 

Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

NOVELS:  Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email:  right here.

The Air That Surrounds You

I just wrote this. It came from a vivid dream I had last night. I hope you have a beautiful evening. Enjoy the poem...there is a softness to the rhythm, purposefully. And a careful choice of words that punches the emotion. A little secret place in my tricky brain. Actually, there is no separation. My life = my craft. XO, C.A. 

The Air That Surrounds You

There you are, in the crowd,
wearing a red T-shirt. In a mess

of cross-style sitting strangers,
you are the only one standing tall,

your long arms hanging loose,
your hands making slight fists.

Around you, a foot of yellow,
glowing space graces each side

of your form. And this is the air
that always surrounds your shape.

You are smiling wide, your dark hair
barely reaching your shoulders.

Freshly shaven, your pale cheeks
spotlight-shine. And you are looking

up. This time, you move. This time,
you hold up your hand, furiously

waving. But even then, you forget
to blink. And from the stage, struck

by the stare, in the middle of two
difficult words, I stop speaking.

Like always, my breath turns
guttural, a seemingly solid pant,

a trapped, warm, familiar ache,
a sky-stuck moon sliver of light

caught in a crevice
deep inside my left

breast.

C.A. MacConnell

Books, Writing, Editing

 

Good afternoon. I hope you had a beautiful day. Here are my four amazing books. I guarantee they'll all take you on an adventure you'll never forget. Dialogue is my specialty, and I'm a master at it. Oftentimes, when people read my books, regarding the male characters, they can't believe I wrote the voices; that's because I heavily research and dive into voices. Perfect. 

I have a master's degree in English and Creative Writing. Any genre, I can do it. Over 30 years of writing and editing experience. Recently, I've helped folks out with college essays, nonfiction, poetry, nonprofit writing, and much more. I can make anything slick. I've done a vast amount of work on numerous projects, from bios to script editing to book editing, and everything in between.

Feel free to contact me.

NOVELS:  Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Email:  right here.

Have a great night. Love to you,

C.A. MacConnell

Moment.

 

Moment, by C.A. MacConnell C. 2025

We're here for such a brief time. Some hours ago, I was joking with a friend. Now, I'm here, and it's morning, and I'm writing to you, like I have been for years. So strange, the way time works. Moment by moment. Breath by breath. Change and stress have forced me/taught me to really live this way. Meditation helps, but I'm definitely learning! Every day. Every moment, ha.

Love to you.

Hope you have a great one. It's going to be freezing here!

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

Lifelines

Good morning.

You're OK.

No, it's not perfect.

You're doing a great job.

Your imperfections make you the beautiful human that you are.

Focus on the tiny details, the beauty all around, the laughter and the love that enters your life today. Life may not be perfect, but the mystery of love, and the way that it circles around through each moment, is perfect.

If you lose track, find an ancient tree. Or a young one. No matter. Move closer. Talk to it. Touch it. Feel the lifelines there. Feel the gentleness.

Yes.

C.A. MacConnell

On the Way

 

Two for one today! A poem and a shot. I just took this. I love it. <3

On the Way, C.A. MacConnell C. 2025

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

Higher Brow

Good morning. I have a gazillion poems. I actually began with poetry, in terms of writing and then, I moved into fiction; it all works together. Here's one I love. It's a love poem of sorts. Hint:  there is a softness to the rhythm that pushes the emotion. I use such tactics in fiction as well to push emotion. Have a beautiful day, C.A. MacConnell

Higher Brow

We were ready to face them.

How casual we were – leaning back in heated seats, 

listening to the radio's low hum, riding in the strange
car. You were driving carefully – not too fast,

not too slow, taking the turns lightly, teaching me
how to settle and sink, to welcome the ache of calm.
We were making it. On the way to the most crucial

event, lit up with talent fire, I looked out the window,
and I had a vision of what the packed party might be like –
pretty lights, round, clean, white tables, the rich, organic

smells, and a thousand flutes – glasses upon glasses
shining at flashes, and when they touched, they hit,
screaming with cheer. Everywhere, flawless smiles,

sharp shadows, quick hands gripping microphones,
dresses reaching ankles or knees, tailored pants, fitted
jackets, and the difficult height of heels. We were ready

to face them. For weeks, we had planned the perfect
timing, the shifting flame of our long-awaited arrival.
Then, suddenly, still on the road, you looked at me

once, twice, three times, then shrugged and said,
You know, we don't have to go, and I nodded, smiling,
staring straight ahead, then looking back at you,

studying your cheek, loving your fine, cut jaw,
loving the way the higher brow hugged your right
eye, loving the way that some days, the lid seemed

purple, and we both laughed, and we couldn't stop,
and again, the road, the life, the laughter, the costumes,
the sky lights, and the newly burning stars, were ours.

We were ready to face them.

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

Never Give Up.

 

Never Give Up, C.A. MacConnell C. 2025

Love to you.

Hope you have a great night,
C.A. MacConnell

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

All

Good morning. What comes to mind? Remember, the feelings always change. Sometimes it feels like the dark spots, or the fearful times, may last forever. But eventually, the laughter, lightness, and joy always roll back in. Love to you, C.A. MacConnell.

All, photo by C.A. MacConnell

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

Lost Glove 61

 

Good morning. Happy Valentine's Day. Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

While You're Down There

This shows an example of my intensity and style. In this one, just a hint...short sentences give a feeling of stress, and it punches out a little nervousness for the reader. :) A little secret. I do such tactics with poetry as well. Have a great day. C.A. MacConnell

While You're Down There

by C.A. MacConnell

Stifling. The air. A hot, damp, thick Seattle summer evening. Seven-thirty on the nose, it was time for Charlie to head home. She scanned the crowd and spat. It was her secret, buried bad side that flew out of her mouth only when no one was looking. A simple thing - spitting - but it felt good. It seemed like she had spent her entire life with her mouth pursed in a tight petal, acting demure. Spitting, every now and then, gave her a tiny, wet release. When no one was looking.

Standing at the entrance to Seattle's Pike Place Market, Charlie removed her apron. Under the apron, Charlie was thin. Well put together. She was thirty-three, but she looked twenty-six, give or take a few.

With a bony finger, she tucked her hair behind her right ear. For ten years, she'd maintained neat, straight, brown hair with short bangs. She slid on bug-style, sexy sunglasses, hiding her deep brown eyes.

Moving forward, Charlie waited to cross the street. Wind blew at her dress enough to reveal her pale, clean, long legs, and her slender ankles. When she went out, anywhere, she wore dresses with closed-toe sandals. Market rules on shoes. Calf-high boots in the winter. Her classy look never varied. When she walked the Seattle streets, heads turned.

The lights were taking forever. Red. No change. A dirty skate kid rolled up, handing her a flyer for the latest show at the Seattle Art Museum.

Charlie read the brochure, then tore it to shreds. At heart, she was a painter, but she never painted anymore. Not for ten years.

For ten years, she'd lived in the city of rain. Ten years. No variation. For spending cash, she worked at The Market. The job was filthy, and the hours were long, but it was simple. Charlie was wickedly smart, but she liked the grunt job. It gave her an excuse to have short, rough nails. Besides spitting, this was her only flaw. Bad hands. And being part of the downtown scene was all that she had left of her creative side. She took home leftover produce, and she liked the ease of it. Among all market employees, Charlie stood out. Everyone thought she was spitting gorgeous. Daily, men and women whistled at her. So she stayed. For ten years.

Something must be wrong with the light, Charlie thought. No change. Still, she stood there waiting, sweating, and musing about her life. Ten hours a day, four days a week, her job was to stand with a dripping, half-cut nectarine and force testers on the tourists. To the boss, fruits and vegetables were gold. Charlie’s stand was the largest in The Market. Daily, tourists weaved through her aisles, squeezing skins; what they took home had to feel ripe.

When they packed in on her at lunchtime, Charlie gave it her all. She'd yell, "Last chance! Eastern Washington nectarines and peaches! Come and get 'em!" over and over until, on the busiest days, her voice turned hoarse. Sexed-up.

--
For ten years, Charlie had taken the same route home.

She still hadn't gone far. Still waiting on the damn light. All around her, people started shifting and complaining, but Charlie said nothing. She waited. Like a sniper, she waited. As usual, in each hand, she carried a plastic bag full of avocados, lettuce, peaches, almonds, and more. One bag split. She paused to check the damage. She'd lost everything. She shrugged, littered, and finally walked forward. One bag was enough for her and Danny, her husband, anyway.

But when she neared the bus stop, when she looked up again, she saw someone strange and new. There was a man, an oddly young, white-haired man; he was heading toward Seattle's Best Coffee. Quickly. On a mission, perhaps. The man looked cool. Retro.

Charlie thought about stiff Danny. A handsome, slick computer suit. She and Danny were a horrific match. They both said so daily. But they stayed together, acting out parts in their modern, cold apartment uptown. It held angular furniture, the kind that looked better than it felt. What kept them together was the sex, and the codependency that Charlie knew everything about, but she didn't care. Long ago, she'd decided that she wasn't changing anytime soon. "Anytime soon" had turned into ten years of Charlie waiting on Danny and his cocaine to come home.

The white-haired man stopped in front of Seattle's Best Coffee, studying the building.

Curious, Charlie watched him. Her stomach hurt, gurgled. Then she felt her gut start to boil, as if it might rupture. She put a hand at her aching belly. Something seemed wrong.

Danny always thought it was cute. Her shrugging, her spitting silence, her stomach aches.

Charlie liked the sex.

The white-haired one rocked from foot to foot, the way Charlie's fish stand lover did. The fish guys were two stands down from her stand. While the boss timed her, during Charlie's coffee breaks, she watched the men throw salmon. Hands gloved in slime, the fish men sang to the tourists, reeling them in, smiling and wiping grimy fingers on grimy aprons that were already black from the day before. Daily, Charlie imagined their hands turning into slick, human fins. Danny had taken away many of her things -- her paints, her brushes, and her blank canvases -- but Danny couldn't steal her imagination. This, and the spitting and the sharks, was Charlie's little secret.

For ten years, she'd been picking up sharks, banging them. Her current one was twenty-three, and he had quite the stamina. Kid was always asking Charlie to leave Danny and run away to Portland, but when he looked at her with watery blue eyes, begging, "Please," Charlie shrugged and answered, "Maybe." She'd said "maybe" to a different shark for ten years. Please, please, please.

The white-haired man wasn't moving. Customers slipped in and out of Seattle's Best, and he stood there, staring at the window.

Charlie had never seen him near the Market. Not a customer or worker. She studied the back of him.

He wore slick black gloves. Black combat boots, a black leather jacket. Too many layers for summer.

Charlie moved closer.

The white-haired man slowly reached inside his jacket, pulling out a black gun.

Drooling, Charlie put a hand over her mouth.

Slowly, he aimed the gun at the glass window of Seattle's Best Coffee and shot. Then he stood there smiling, watching people run.

Behind him, like a firm statue, Charlie waited. Maybe he'll kill himself, she thought. But he didn't. It didn't seem like he was looking for money or blood. Charlie spat.

Everywhere, people scattered into alleys. Even after the shatter, the screams, and finally, the sirens, the white-haired man stood still, putting his gun on the ground, surrendering, hands up.

While they cuffed him, he looked back at Charlie.

Amidst the chaos, she was the only one standing out in the open. A still, naked, easy target.

The shooter's expression remained flat, expressionless. His v-shaped mouth was closed tight, upturned at the corners like an envelope's seal. Then he smiled at her.

Charlie shrugged. For a second, she thought about smiling back, but people were looking. Still hiding, but they were looking. The shooter's only visible audience, she stood tall, full of rage and peace and utter fear and no one was near. No one came out of hiding. She felt like her body might split in two, and half of her would roll away like a splintering, wooden wheel. She'd never felt so bare, so exposed. No more than a blank piece of thin, wet paper about to tear.

Repeatedly, the shooter turned his head to look at her. He smiled one last time before the cops got rough. When the police hauled him away in a dark cruiser, the sky leaked rain.

She'd better get home. Surely, Danny was waiting, wanting her to make him a meal. But for some reason, it felt good to connect with a criminal. Charlie had never even stolen a single grape.

Nobody died that night.

--
The next morning, Charlie didn't kiss Danny, because she knew he hated her strawberry lip-gloss.

They had sex on the kitchen table.

In his stiff suit, Danny gave her a stiff hug and left.

As usual, wearing a pretty dress and sandals, she took the bus to work.

Mornings, Charlie had to carefully arrange the fruit and vegetables to attract people. Colors sucked them in. She was good with colors. But numbers were difficult. Sometimes, she cheated customers. Sometimes, they cheated Charlie. But she figured it all worked out in the end, one way or another.

Lunchtime. It happened every day. When she bent down to pull out a crate of nectarines, her boss laughed and said, "While you're down there, why don’t you do me a favor?" He said this when her eyes were level with his zipper. His mustache was thick, a spongy mess hanging over his lip.

Charlie thought about peeling him, but she smiled, shrugged, turned, and became good and quiet, hauling out the heavy crate, acting like nothing happened. For ten years, she acted like nothing happened.

"Last chance. Come and get 'em," Charlie muttered to the tourists.

On her way home that night, it rained hard. She accepted the feel and kept on walking, oblivious, imagining she was in the desert.

At the bus stop, she thought about Danny saving her from Dr. Mom and Dr. Dad. When Charlie was ten, she got a "B" once, which made her sniffle.

Mom said, "Suck it up, Charlotte. Life's rough. Work harder."

Mom and Dad were doctors who liked to save the world. To Charlie, Mom was a Type A bitch, and Dad was a shoe sole.

After the "B," Charlie made an apple wood carving in Art class. Because it looked so real, and she was hungry, she bit into it. She got splinters in her teeth. And a bloody lip. Other kids laughed at her. Laughed and laughed. Charlie decided that day to never, ever create anything that real again. Then, when no one was looking, she spat.

Her bus came and went. Charlie sat still. After ten years of Danny, uptown, thick silence, suits and sex on hard, angular chairs, Charlie's teeth chattered. She felt a subtle, stirring anger, and then full-on fury bled into her. She pictured Danny coming home from the office, wearing his fresh-pressed suit, and his striped, expensive tie. She pictured Danny opening and shutting and opening and shutting the blinds. She pictured him doing lines on the glass den table, then leaving without a word. Then she saw him returning at six a.m., redressing, wanting sex and breakfast.

Always home by eight p.m. Ten years of home by eight. She should be there, boiling something.

Another bus came. And went.

People did what doctors told them to do. If Charlie didn't, Dr. Mom would give her that look, and that look meant that no matter what, Charlie was no more than bruised fruit. Suck it up, Charlotte. Life's rough. Rough enough to give her splinters. Later, alone, she had to pick them out of her lip, in the basement, in the dark, tasting blood and spitting and tasting blood until it tasted good.

Then Charlie thought about the shooter. She thought about his nature -- unpredictable and cool. She thought about what she could do, since she wasn't home, boiling dinner. She could find her lover, the kid shark. Please. Maybe. No. She had another idea.

She returned to the bus stop. Here it came. It was the wrong bus to take her home, but suddenly, it was the right bus to Charlie. Why not, she thought. Why not just get on the wrong bus, get off at the wrong stop, and stay there. Forever. Why not.

Riding, she pressed her pale face to the window, watching the human blur outside. Another bus, then another, a few cell calls, and she arrived where they were holding him, the shooter.

She crossed the street without looking. Suddenly, feeling was everything. The rain was the bullet kind. All around, people ran for cover. No control over the weather and the way the peaches weren't ripe yet. They came around with time. Danny was probably home, nursing a bloody nose, wondering why she wasn't there, slicing pears.

She acted slutty with the officers, getting the shooter's name. Aaron something. She sketched it down.

For ten years, Charlie had access to Danny's money. For ten years, she'd refused to borrow cash. But she remembered the passwords. All letters. Letters came easy to her. A few calls to Key Bank, a few emails on her cell, a few transfers, presto. Finally, she had a reason to harvest the goods.

That summer, jails were overflowing. It wasn't hard to bail Aaron out.

Aaron's white hair was slick. His big eyes were shaped like sideways avocados, turning into pistachios when he squinted at her.

Charlie picked at the remnants of mushrooms under her nails.

Aaron came forward to the free side.

Side by side, they walked like any old couple. Criminal and artist, interchangeable.

Aaron put his jacket around her shoulders. His eyes opened and changed. More like plums.

Charlie thought of pistachios. She loved them until the boss saw Charlie breaking shells with her teeth, and he gave her that look that said, While you're down there.

Danny might be calling the cops, looking. No, he wouldn't want them finding his coke. Either way, right then, there was nothing better than wild, convict Aaron and the rain. That was enough.

Together, they took the bus to Aaron's pad, a dive in Belltown.

Inside, when Aaron kissed her, he kissed her. He swallowed her. He sucked her in. Lip to lip, he held her there. She felt him grow into her. She felt her insides tear.

His hair moved like white fire.

Aaron rested his head on her blue dress, and they slept this way.

--
In the morning, Charlie stretched out naked on the futon. Her body tingled, feeling new.

Aaron looked strangely peaceful, lightly snoring on his side.

She slipped a pretty dress over her head, ran her fingers over her bangs, smoothing them, and stood, looking around.

Aaron's place was simple. One knife, one fork, one pan. No clutter.

She made coffee. Seattle's Best. Black. She felt cold, damp, chilled, as if she were inside a melon. Sipping from the mug, she tiptoed around, rummaging, finding Aaron's other gun under a couch pillow.

She slipped the gun into her purse. One last time, she looked at him. Aaron was strange, dangerous and beautiful, and he had never even spoken to her. She thought about poking him, just to make sure he was real. She thought about squeezing him, testing his age. Then she decided that it was better to wonder. In the moments with Aaron, words had been replaced by lips, jackets, and the sound of his and her breath, breath and only breath, breath alone. With him, she was fresh juice. She was thirsty and alive.

Quietly, she slipped out the door like a thin letter. Heading to work, she felt pensive and alert. She hadn't missed a day in ten years, and she wasn't about to break that vine. When the rain came down hard enough, Charlie drank it. She had to finish things with the boss.

Morning wasn't bad. Charlie weighed apples and caught bananas, yelling, "Last chance! Eastern Washington nectarines and peaches! Come and get 'em! Last chance!" She was perky. She sold it like a lady.

Around lunchtime, Charlie had a bad taste in her mouth. She was sick of hard furniture, lists, and bringing home leftovers. She was sick of Danny leaving, coming home, leaving, sick of his missing nose cartilage, sick of lines on the table, the fruit, the bruises, the fruit, the skins. Nothing was ever fully skinned, edible, tangible, real, whole. No matter how much she touched handsome Danny, he was never better, never ripe.

"Come and get 'em!" she yelled. "Last chance!"

The boss was rotten too. People could be tricky. She could get too close, and they locked her up, and no matter how gorgeous the house or the market colors were, they were still prisons. Suck it up, Charlotte. Life's rough. This much was clear.

The boss cracked his knuckles over and over, like he was trying to get at a nut's insides. Crack, crack, crack. He had leftover lunch on his mustache.

Charlie fixed the fruit, and when she bent down, when her mouth was level with the boss' zipper, when he said, "While you're down there," she reached her hand inside her purse, pulling out her bug-style sunglasses, slipping them on. Then she reached deeper, finding the cold gun with her bad hands.

She shot at the star fruit, the kiwis, and all of the produce until guts were everywhere. The boss screamed, running down the aisle, backing his fat body against the fish stand.

Smiling, Charlie stood still, holding the gun loosely.

The boss' eyes widened, apricot-sized. Then he covered his face with his hands, crouching low in front of the fish stand's glass case.

She raised the gun again, pointing it at his apron. She said, "While you're down there," smiling. Her finger brushed the trigger.

Then she spotted the blue-eyed kid, her lover shark, who had a wicked tremor going on. He stood up tall, moving his skinny body between Charlie and the boss, right in the line of fire.

Charlie stared into his watery, grape eyes.

One tear drifted out of the kid's left eye, cleaning his market-soiled face. "Please, Charlie, please," he said.

Charlie spat, putting the gun down. She whispered, "Why not."

Nobody died that day.

-- C.A. MacConnell C. 2025

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

Speak, Pole, Heart

 

Speak, Pole, Heart. Photo by C.A. MacConnell C. 2025

I took this yesterday. I love it...it emits quite a bit of emotion. The power of the little things. Hope you like it. C.

Have a great day. Love to you.

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

Lost Glove 63

 

Glove 63, by C.A. MacConnell

This is one of my favorites, out of 63 Lost Glove shots. Took this one this afternoon. :) XO. Have a nice night, C.A.

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

Right Here. Four Books.

 

Four novels by C.A. MacConnell. Touch/click book covers above for descriptions/purchase info! Or, see my Author Page right here. Thank you for loving and supporting my photos and books. On the way to number one!

Have a beautiful day. Create. Love to you, C.A. MacConnell

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

Call

 

Call, by C.A. MacConnell C. 2025

There's a hawk in there if you look closely. :)XO. I picked this one because I've been reaching out more and watching it unfold. I'm extremely introverted for sure, but lately I've been getting out more...feels good to get out of my comfort zone. :) The world happenings are chaotic, but I'm just trying to stay centered and focus on what's right around me and how I can be a part of the goodness, however small my effect may be. Just part of who I am, I suppose. Feels good when I stay in this flow, anyhow. Stay present, stay focused, look inward and allow it to radiate outward.

People have different ways of going about the day. I've been trying out different hats, so to speak. And settling into what works for me at this time in my life.

My fiction is amazing and quite different than these little blurbs. I hope you get a chance to check it out. Thirty years of hard work. :) Proud of that. Slick, raw, real, mysterious, smart, and definitely humorous at times. You'll be surprised.

Love to you. Have an awesome day,
C.A. MacConnell

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

Hawk, Sunrise.

 

Photo of the day by C.A. MacConnell

Good morning. Stay focused on my path. Return to the basics. Be kind. Be aware. See and be a part of the goodness.

That's what just came to mind. And so, I shared it with you.

I hope you have a beautiful day. See the beauty around. And see the beauty in yourself too. Hope you have a good day. Love to you, C.

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.

I'm Asking.

Good morning. What is right next to you? What is right in front of you? What is right behind you? Who is there? Who responds and reciprocates? Where is the love, the action of the word, in your life? I'm asking.

I'm wondering.

Where is the love, the action, within myself?

What is it I can do today to give and receive love? How can I be a part of the good?

I'm asking.

C.A. MacConnell

Thank YOU! My Books, My Stats. Thank YOU!

 

Highly rated, fast-paced, mysterious, raw, real, and even humorous at times. Click here! Over 30 years of hard work.

My stats? See my bio. M.A. English and Creative Writing, Hollins University, home of numerous award-winning authors, including me! Right on.

Thank you for supporting and loving my photos and books! On the way to number ONE! Thank you to all those who have left ratings!

Thank YOU!

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. NOVELS:  If you are enjoying my writings and photos, please consider purchasing a book or a print. Or, consider donating to my site. "Donate" button on the right side of this page. Everything helps! <3 Four published books by C.A. MacConnell on Amazon NOW! Need writing help? M.A. English/Creative Writing, Hollins University. Over 30 years of experience in all genres. You name it; I can do it.

P.P.S. PHOTOS: custom, signed prints. Or, prints on metal or canvas, ready to hang. Msg FB:  C.A. MacConnell or Email:  right here.