Current goals and updates

My current blog count (up to September) is 158. Just 42 blogs to go.

  • Personal blogs 65 beckyms1213
  • Fun blogs (Celebrity inspired or fan fiction) 2 rebekah1213
  • Writing blogs 44 Rebekah Quinne
  • Spiritual blogs 16 Spiritualbeck
  • Short stories 31 rqshortstories

(Note links to the other blogs is at the bottom of the page)

This is really close to the 200 blog goal I have given to myself this year.

Year goals https://rebekahquinne.wordpress.com/2018/01/07/what-i-want-in-2018/

More writing Goals

https://rebekahquinne.wordpress.com/2018/06/24/2018-writing-goal/

I’m in 275,817 words (As of September) of my 400,000 word count goal this year. Just 124, 183 words to go. Yay. Since June I wrote 115, 089 words. Busy Summer, I hope for a busier fall (writing wise).

The Links to my other blogs are . . . https://rebekahquinne.wordpress.com/2018/09/04/links-to-my-pages-4/

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Links to my pages

Featured

Writing is my number 1 passion. I write short stories, poems, novels, and blogs. Genres I’m interested in are but not limited to . . . Horror, paranormal, occult, spiritual, romance, modern, suspense, thriller and drama. (I have worked with some erotica, but with another pen name.)

These are the links to all of Internet me (but the naughty part)

Facebook page

http://www.facebook.com/RebekahQuinne

Twitter

https://mobile.twitter.com/rebekahquinne

Smash words

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Rebekah1213

Deviant art

https://www.deviantart.com/rebekah1213

Good Reads

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6454956.Rebekah_Quinne

Old LiveJournal

https://rebekah1213.livejournal.com

Fan fiction.net

https://www.fanfiction.net/~rebekahwriter13

Nanowrimo profile

https://nanowrimo.org/participants/rebekah1213

Tumblr

https://rebekah1213.tumblr.com

My WordPress blogs

https://rebekahwolveire.wordpress.com

https://rqshortstories.wordpress.com

https://rebekah1213.wordpress.com

https://beckyms1213blog.wordpress.com

https://spiritualbeck.wordpress.com

My Ideal day

I wake up by 10 am. “Let’s make a Deal” is playing in the background. I make fresh coffee and egg sandwiches.

I write my daily blogs while enjoying breaking and listening to game shows.

By lunch, we go out get a quick bite and get errands and shopping done. (I love to shop, but on days I’m not doing errands, I will organize notes, research topics for my writings, clean a room, or write more. I fit in writing whenever I can.)

We get home and together make a fun dinner. . . Cheese shrimp pasta or steak fajitas.

Then we clean up together and enjoy down time.

My down time is chatting with online friends, listening to music and working on my short stories, blogs, and novels.

Read a bit before going to bed.

Note: For those who say, I write too much, then I say you don’t know me. (And you probably never truly understand me.)

A day without writing, is unproductive say to me.

Working on Nonfiction

I wrote 30,691 words on Camp NaNoWriMo. I wish I wrote more, but I’ve been battling with my muses.

So I decided to write some personal articles.

(Since my mom is getting hernia surgery this month, I’m using this to write and learn about myself and be a distraction.)

I will be posting on these blogs

http://Rebekah1213.WordPress.com

http://beckyms1213blog.WordPress.com

http://rqshortstories.WordPress.com

Please read and enjoy.

Writing Mood: Content

Its day 19 and betweens the blogs, notes, and novel I’m at 35,000 words. Yay! My novel is at 25,715 words which awesome for my 30,000 word goal. Again, I would love to reach 50,000 words, but if I don’t I still did really well. What counts is that I got parts of my novel written.

Lately, I’ve been in a writing and very creative mood. I feel like myself. . . like I can face the world with pen (sword) in hand.

Only frustration is when I get interrupted, it gets hard to get back into a drama scene. I sometimes have to reread my work and notes a dozen times. However lately its like my head can magically go back.

I still snap when someone interrupts me, and then I feel bad. Like the other night, I’m in my zone and I was sitting at the edge of my seat, and kept asking me “what are you doing?”

Now I could have gotten sarastic, and said “winning fake money at slots or petting my monkey. . .” but then he will just ask more questions.

He kept asking my mom until both her and I were irked. I snapped. I wasn’t mad. I was irked, annoyed. If he stood up, he would have saw the the pens and notebook out.

Even today the drunken neighbor asked “What was I do with the notebook and pen?” I could have said ” I am your new ruler, and I’m just now working on your million rules.” However I just said “I’m a write, and I write stories.”

I’ve learned that sarasm just isn’t that nice anymore and makes me sounds more like a cranky b*tch.

The thing that my uncle said the other night did get to me . . . “why aren’t you happy?”

Actually, minus a sleep issues, I’m pretty content right now. I don’t have to be explosive happy all of the time. I’m content writing in my own world.

Her Path to Hell

 

Normally, these get posted on my blog site http://rqshortstories.wordpress.com However I clicked on the wrong blog. I’m working a few short stories over the weekend to wake my muses up for Camp Nanowrimo July.

Now onto the fictional story. . .

 

 

She shouldn’t have done it. Stress killed her rational thought, while she was still shattered and crushed from the breakup. She was in pain and still helped him. It was just type of person she was . . .loyal and devoted.

One half of her family yelling at her feeling used, but it was not her intension. It was never her intent, but she is not going back to the looks of bitter disappointment and half yelling lectures of being used with half rolled eyes watching her on her knees while telling her “we told you so.”
She also was not going to cause wedges between members, so she left and didn’t look back. It was best for everyone. She just didn’t know she was going down the dark path.

Everyone yelling at doctors. . . specialist telling everyone different things. Some days she had three or less hours of sleep. She was sleeping in the hallways of the hospital waiting for answer. Then a weak voice ask to go home, and he listened to her advice. The final few days everything declined making her feel like a useless liar.
He left the earthly realm, and so did part of her heart and soul. She felt empty and purposeless. She was simply a walking hallow shell of a human. The dim light of her soul barely sparked, and she bared got out of bed. So many pushed her, encouraged her, but by the time she woke up and everyone was gone. They all moved on with their own lives. She instantly felt lost and alone.

Drama with landlord. . . rules upon rules, she felt like she was in a prison not a rental. There was a prison of her heart and mind locked in her cautious and scared soul. She was locked with “what ifs” for bars. The endless verbal rules made her even more alone. . .
No cats, shoo away the stray cats, fees if you feed them, no guests after ten, payments by third, keep windows close, don’t talk to neighbors in the middle of the sidewalk, do not discuss rent prices.

Soon she just locked herself away until one day the nightmares got louder, scarier, and more confusing.
So she ran, but turned the wrong way. The lifted truck came out of nowhere, she had no chance. Secretly, she didn’t want one.

Extreme scream pain coursed throughout her body with seconds, and then instant black numbing silence.
She waited in a line only to greeted by her ex with the words “What are you doing here?”

Then he begins to step back and panic. . . “It’s too early, you are not supposed to here.” A siren blares hard and like a mixture of flat angels singing blended into bitter souls screaming and slowed aged bells.
“Oh God, gun, what did you do?” his eyes got large in terror as armored angels grabbed her both sides and pulled her out of line.
“You are the wrong location, miss.”

They drug her away and pushed her into a slide. . . whispering words and thoughts twisted.. . .it was bright turned into a redness, crimson shadow into a darker blackness. . .lacking light and warmth. Whispering word of gossip and lies turned into harsh shrieking, blood curdling screams.
She landed on a hard black slab or cold rock. The only thing she could hear was the arguing bitterness and cries of old friends and separated family blaming each other for her death. . .

Time went by . . she wasn’t sure how much because she was alone in her darkness with her past playing over and over in her head.

Finally there was a candle. . .although it was a dim light it was enough to burn her delicate eyes. Her head felt as if someone drilled a screw in her head through her eyes. She squinted and lowered her eyes to the harsh yet dim flame lighting most of the room.
Then a slim man walks into the room, she saw his dirty feet. She looked at him and instantly looked up and memories of her childhood crush replayed in her head.
He was still beautiful with his dirty skin and greasy hair. For one second she was stunned. . .
Until said “no, I cannot do this.” There was no sorry just a look of unattractive disgust.

 

 


At that moment, she knew she was in hell.

For my other short stories http://rqshortstories.wordpress.com