I came for the soup: Welcome To The Table

Faith Art Fiction

Welcome to I Came For the Soup!  I Came for the Soup” is about my exploration into my reawakened and somehow untapped creativity, through the expression of words, fiction, and visual art, seasoned with my faith. This Blog is me, chronicling my inward journey through outward vehicles of artistry, while hoping to encourage others to do the same.

If you follow this link to MY FAVORITE WRITES, (New Titles added every Tuesday) you will find a growing collection of some of my favorite written pieces, born on this blog. Feel free to leave your thoughts, browse through my drop down menu above for other creations and thoughts, and do feel free to share with others.

Also, feel free to read through my Blog Novel, titled ASCENSION GRAVEYARD. New chapters are posted weekly and feedback is always welcome. To read along, click HERE.

If you’d like to send me a message, you can do so at: icameforthesoup@gmail.com

Enjoy the soup!

Promise me you’ll always remember-you’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

~Christopher Robin to Pooh

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Being discouraged by circumstances or challenges is easy. It’s deciding to overcome them and be victorious that takes courage and strength. the beauty is, just like with any muscle, whenever their is resistance applied and a push back given in the face of resistance, do we see strength and growth occur. our courage, our hearts, require healthy doses of resistance in order to grow strong. whatever you’ve set your heart to do, be brave in your doing. discouragement can always be turned on its head and be the stepping stone to CATAPULT you to your goal. if the dream is in you, it only means you were meant to see it as a reality. Be Brave and keep creating!

Changing Seasons: Flash Fiction Results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt Feb 1st 2016

Happy Thursday, friends! Here are my results for Monday's Muse Writing Prompt Feb. 1st 2016. To see the original post and even give the prompt a try yourself, click HERE.

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Changing Seasons

She stared at the screen of her phone until it went black, as if that would change what she’d just read.

He still wanted to marry her, after everything that she had done to change his mind. Her stomach seemed to drop just like a heavy stone in shallow water. She didn’t know if how she felt was anger at him for loving so fearcily or sadness for herself for thinking she didn’t deserve it.

It was amazing how wounds and scars, abuses done her by others had made her feel as if her value had slipped, as if her worth was as fleeting as a price sticker in a supermarket; always in danger of having a roll back.

She’d been down this road before with other guys, but amazingly Logan was the only man, the only one able to love her anyway. He’d said so in the text, said he’d tried calling but she just wouldn’t answer. She was actually getting ready to block his number when his text came through.

She felt heat rising up her neck and cheeks, clear into her hairline. Her eyes stung with tears. A mixture of gratitude, elation and absolute fear swirled around her like the dying leaves of fall. She didn’t know how to be loved. The prospect of it gave her so much hope that it made her lungs feel as if they’d explode.

More than anything, she was filled with her own broken love, for Logan. He was the accidental eye that caught. The tender kiss that made her press her lips together even then if to savor its sweetness long gone.

She didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know how to make it right.

Her body stiffened ramrod straight, her blurry eyes still staring at the blackened screen. Even still she could see Logan standing behind her. How he’d know where she was was beyond her or maybe she was just oblivious. She’d always loved the park during this season.

She took in a liquid breath and pressed her eyes closed. “How’d you know where I was?”

Silence assaulted her ears, the stillness of it only broken by the sound of shifting leaves. Logan had sat down beside her his arm resting behind her, not touching her, but set at the ready should she desire his embrace.

“I’ve been here the whole time.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest.

Her head turned quickly towards him. She’d been sitting for hours, sending his calls in to voicemail and he’d been there with her. Logan pointed towards the far parking lot before turning back towards her, his gunmetal eyes misting with tears of his own. “I don’t want to lose you.” He whispered, his voice cracking as he continued. “I’m hurt, but I know you are too.” He took her hand in his and laced his fingers with hers. “But that doesn’t mean I am through loving you. Will you let me?”

She found her words lodged her throat, to thick to form any answer. Instead she allowed her movement to be her answer, shifting closer to him and into his embrace, her head pressed into the crook of his neck and shoulder as she cried.

She wanted him to love her as she loved him. It was time to change her seasons.

THE END

Wisps and Willow: A Poem #Blogbattle Week 47

Happy Tuesday, friends! The Blog Battle Week 47 is upon us. Our Keyword: FOREST and my Genre: CONTEMPORARY. To read other entries by fellow battlers, please click HERE! Also, feel free to participate. The gate of entry is open until Midnight PST.

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Wisps & Willow: A Poem

Forested in by sunlight and skin

My mind drifts upon dream’s meadow

To turning unwind the shackles that bind

Through whispers, wisps and willow.

The sweet cedar kiss of dew and mist

Roll gentle as the thunder

Until I awake with the craving ache

That tears my heart asunder

I’ll heed beck and call forsaking my all

For the embrace of wisps and willow.

 

Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt: February 1st 2016

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OPENING LINE (S): “She stared at the screen of her phone until it went black, as if that would change what she’d just read.”

RULES: Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or one of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within up to 20 minutes. Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of this  post to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “Monday’s Muse.”

If you do not have a blog of your own, leave me a comment and send me an email to icameforthesoup@gmail.com and I will post your lovely words here on my blog.

(PLEASE KEEP ENTRIES THAT NEED TO BE POSTED ON THIS BLOG WITHIN A PG13 RANGE. THANK YOU)

My results will be posted on Thursday February 4th under the FICTION tab, then the WRITING PROMPTS AND EXERCISES, then MY WRITING PROMPT RESULTS.

Ebbs are always followed by flows.”

~Candice Coates

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our creativity flows out of us in so many avenues of expression. But just as it flows out of us, it will also flow back in with freshness and newness. be at peace with your creative cycle. It is as natural as breathing or even the tide against the shore; in, out, in, out…

Final Hour: Flash Fiction Results For Monday’s Muse Jan. 25 2016

Thursday has come upon us and with it, my results for Monday's Muse. Be sure to check out the original posting with rules should you feel the itch to give this writing prompt a try! You can do so by clicking HERE.

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Final Hour

Nearly twenty two years under his belt with retirement to a nice quiet, cushy, uneventful life, right on the other side of midnight, and this had to happen. He let out a breath of resignation and stared into the dark coffee in his mug.

He’d been working this site for the last six months. He’d already ‘handled’ his mark but had been instructed to stay on the wire until the final hour of his assignment.

The final hour.

“So I hear you’re ready to go on to greener pastures.” The man, a newbie, smiled at him, a cup of coffee in his hand as well. His face held no signs of treachery, but his clean fingers and pale skin gave him away. Did the bastard think he was that stupid?

He gave a quick smirk and sloshed the coffee around in the cup and with a scrutinizing eye watched as tiny specks of oil clung to the sides of the white porcelain. He raised the cup to his face and took a whiff and closer look, careful to keep the stuff from touching his mouth even though he feigned drinking.

Yep, definitely poison. But to be offered a knock off in such a pathetic way bruised his ego almost as much as the curiosity as to who would want him dead in the first place especially when he was going ghost. He was done with this life. He’d started early in years, worked hard and wanted to spend what was left of it being dull and boring.

Heck, he might even get himself a wife and a kid or two. He was definitely going to get a dog. He’d always wanted one of those.  “Yeah,” He said, pulling the coffee cup away from his face. “I figured it was time to move on, do something that required a little less wear and tear if you get what I mean.”

The man nodded and plowed ahead into several minutes of empty conversation. That was good. It afforded the opportunity to pull the mug up in an attempt to drink and then lower it right before doing so in an attempt to answer every stupid question the amateur was asking. By the time his break was nearly over the coffee was as ice cold as his talkative companion was going to be by the end of that evening.

He glanced down at his watch and sighed. “Man, my break is almost up. Welcome aboard though. It was a pleasure talking to you.” He began to walk away, noting the anxious tick that quivered by the guy’s eye, his gaze lingering on the deadly cup of black.

The guy followed him. Good. That was going to make things much easier. “You didn’t finish your coffee.”  He tried to sound casual, watching as it was dumped onto the ground.

“I don’t like cold coffee. We talked too much and let it turn over. Its alright though.” He took the long way behind the trailer office and into the bathroom. His friend still on his heels.

He pitied the guy as he readied himself for one more job. Nobody wanted to die in the restroom.

He made quick work of him and set him in a storage locker before heading out himself. He’d deal with his body after hours.

Last job? Who was he kidding? Someone had wanted him dead, and he would be a dead man if he didn’t find out who and soon.

His final hour had suddenly turned into a brand new shift.

THE END

Closer: Music Interlude

Romance is such a glorious thing. But I have found that though the love of man to woman is something divinely inspired and beyond glorious, there is nothing in all creation that can compare to the love that one experiences in the arms of god. to draw closer to him, to know his heart, to know his greatest and purist love is for us, for you, to be wrapped securely in that does more than take your breath away.

~Poiema, Poetry in Motion

Sweet Tea: Flash Fiction Results For #Blog Battle Week 46

Happy Tuesday! Happy Blog Battle Tuesday! This week we are aiming our writing guns at a new GENRE:ROMANCE using the KEYWORD: INDIAN. To read other stories writing by other battlers, please click HERE.

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Sweet Tea

The way the ice melted beneath the heat of the sweet tea made him stick his fingers between  his neck and collar and loosen up its choking bindings. It was early November. There should have been at least frost on the ground, not flowers and sun dresses and certainly not sweet tea in the garden. But they were experiencing a glorious and completely unexpected Indian Summer, one that was just as unexpected as his being there, in Miss Lorrel Hadly’s garden in the first place.

The young woman was absolutely divine. Here generosity and charity of heart had certainly humbled Blake Dunnan. But it didn’t make him wish to run or scorn her. Instead it made him covet her company like a bee to nectar. He’d heard Pastor Rolan’s preach from the scripture in Galatians, he believed, Blake couldn’t be quite sure which book it was, but he’d heard him say that it was the grace of God that brought men to repentance. And since Blake had met Lorrel, he couldn’t disagree. The grace she’d given him under their hateful circumstances had made him so much more than repentant, they’d made him love her.

Lorrel sat the large citrus tea pot on a cozy and offered the mason jar of sweetness to him. With a whispered thank you, he drank down several gulps feeling as hot and cold as the tea and as anxious as the bee that danced around the floral arrangement on the table, grateful for the extra chance to gather nectar, just as Blake was.

He smiled at the tiny creature  before setting his drink down and clearing his throat. Lorrel hardly made eye contact with him. She probably suspected the worse. That’s all his presence brought her in the four months head made her acquaintance. He’d hoped he could undo that.

“Miss Hadly,” He said, noticing that his voice gave a dry crack. Heat crept up his neck and rose to his face with the look in her eyes. She was kind and generous but she was clearly anxious about him being there. It wasn’t his fault that her father had all but ruined his own business dealings with bad investments only after signing over just about everything including his soul to Dunnan Shipping and Imports as collateral. When the old man died he left mountains of worry and debt that landed in his daughters lap and a financial inconvenience that had made Blake none too happy even though he was really nothing more than ‘inconvenienced’.

He admitted that he’d acted rashly as he demanded liquidation of most of the Hadly estate in order to make himself and his father whole. It was the right thing for all the wrong reasons and once the ball had begun rolling it was virtually impossible to stop it. He’d only met Lorrel towards the end of his devastation of her life, but now he wished nothing more than to make her whole again.

“Miss Hadly,” He said again. “I wanted to have a very important word with you.”

Her eyes grew wider and it seemed the pink had washed out of her face. Her mouth bobbed in a rushed response. “Mr. Dunnan I know that I’m supposed to be off the estate grounds by month’s end. I assure you that I’m doing everything I can to get things squared away. I,” She twisted a napkin she had only just laid across her lap. Blake’s heart kicked in his chest. He couldn’t stand to see her anxious.

“There is not trouble with that, Miss. Hadly. I didn’t come to speak to you about the house, but rather something I lost inside your abode, and,” He scooted a bit closer to her. “And I was wondering if you should find it, and see any value in it, would you do me the honor of keeping it?”

Lorrel tilted her head, her thick blonde curls catching the sun with glow that made her hair appear as spun gold. “I’ve not come across anything of yours, Mr. Dunnan,” She stood. “Perhaps its in Daddy’s study. We can look now if you’d like?”

Blake rose to meet her this time he took her hand in his. He closed his eyes and thanked God she did not pull away. His throat was already beginning to close with nerves. Lorrel laid her other hand atop his and gave a gentle squeeze of concern.

“Are you alright, Mr. Dunnan? You look unwell. Is there anything I can do?”

He managed a nod and even a bit of laughter before opening his eyes. “Indeed you can.” He spoke his words little more than a whisper. “You see, I lost my heart in there, but not in your father’s study. I lost it in your hands,” Lorrel took in a sharp breath. The angel had no idea. Blake took a step closer to her and again thanked God she did not shy away from him. “And though I recognize it is a shabby heart, the last months can attest to that, I was wondering if you would be willing to keep it for a spell.” He tried another smile but this one made him look like a school boy he feared, for he was well out of confidence though he managed to press on.

“Keep-keep your heart?” Lorrel whispered, her blue-green eyes glassy with tears.

“Only if you think it worthy of you.” A tear slipped from her eye and he thumbed it away with such reverence as he would show gold. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you with it for long, however, only maybe til death us do part.” His heart kicked again in his chest especially with her glorious smile.

“I think I might have some time available for that Mr. Dunnan.”

“Blake, call me Blake.” He said before giving her their first kiss that tasted of sweet tea.

THE END

 

Captive Hope By Rachael Ritchey: Book Release Blog Tour!

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Captive Hope Book Release Tour!

Hello my friends! It is with great pleasure that I get to be apart of the Book Release blog tour for Captive Hope by Rachael Ritchey, the second book in the Chronicles  of The Twelve Realms Series.

To stay in the “KNOW” with this series and to be entered in for the chance to win one of the prizes below, be sure to sign up for the email newsletter through MailChimphttp://eepurl.com/bhA6dz
Everyone who signs up for Rachael’s newsletter will entered in for a chance to win 1 of 3 randomly drawn prizes:
  • 1st: ebook of Captive Hope & choice of one from a host author 0b85353f-e1fb-4b46-bb71-eb7c03e26006
  • 2nd: ebooks of Captive Hope & The Beauty Thief
  • 3rd: ebook of Captive Hope
The window for signing up will start Wednesday, January 20 and be open until Wednesday, February 10th. Rachael will announce the winners on her blog on February 11th and email the winners directly, too!
Captive Hope can be purchased on ebook through all major retailers including, but not limited to:
Paperback and hardbound are available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Be sure to connect with Rachael Ritchey through social media! 

Want more? Here is an EXCERPT from Captive hope!

The following excerpt comes from the first chapter and illustrates an aspect of Lady Idra and Sir Ahmad’s close friendship. To set the scene, Idra needed to escape the confinement and incessant gossiping at High Castle, so with only a groom to accompany her she has escaped the city, galloping on her horse through the fields outside the walls. But while stopped to rest, Sir Ahmad arrives, sends the groom back to the castle, and requests Lady Idra come at the summons of High Prince Theiandar. The request is uncommon, and she couldn’t refuse him even if she’d wanted. They have just mounted their horses and are on their way to meet the prince.

“You picked the perfect time to ride out. It looks as though it may rain again soon.”

“Yes. The rain has been rather more than I am used to. Taisce’s autumn rains tend to hug the mountains.”

“Do you miss Taisce?”

“Every day. But Sir Ahmad, you really mustn’t ask me such things. I find I cannot keep a secret from you. Let’s talk of something else. You mentioned the emissary from Emlyn. I’d heard a messenger arrived, but I admit I’ve contemplated several possibilities for his presence. Tell me, do you see us going to war with the Crescents?”

“You’ve been listening to the gossips.”

She cocked her head and gave him a mock look of chastisement. He winked, and she fancied the idea of giving his arm a playful tap but didn’t.

“No, not a bit, though gossip does abound here. Still, you must allow there have been several messages sent back and forth of late. It only makes sense, seeing as how Emlyn is our realm closest to the Crescent Cave Nation.”

“You are as observant as you are lovely, my lady.”

Idra hid her blush by looking across the meadow. It was rare anyone ever commented on her attributes, let alone complimented her, and Ahmad was reserved with such things. He tended to be forthright. She wasn’t quite sure she believed his words were anything other than a gallant nicety, but it didn’t stop her from wishing they meant more.

“You, sir, are attempting to avoid my question.”

“You see, observant,” he said in a teasing tone. “I’ll answer your question, even if it is complicated. I’d like to say we won’t ever go to war with the Crescents, but as things stand, war is very much a possibility. In fact, it is one the king takes seriously. Much depends on a course of action which he is not ready or willing to enforce.”

“I see. Or should I say, I think I see. Is there anything I should do to prepare?”

They were near to the castle gates, and Idra lamented the hasty passing of time. It had been a most pleasant moment, but not all things in life were meant for her pleasure.

 

*   *   *
0e23cf23-1e32-42e9-8af3-f02485595a46Rachael Ritchey is the author of the Chronicles of the Twelve Realms, a YA fantasy fiction series set in a medieval era. Her passion for writing stems from her appreciation of history, since our world is built on stories, true and imagined. Rachael writes with teens in mind, because she wants her own kids to be proud of her work and be able to share it with their friends. She’s a wife and a mom to four amazing kids. Rachael and her family live in Eastern Washington where there’s plenty of inspiration to dream up exotic worlds, both real and fantastical. 

 

 Be sure to follow Rachael’s Blog and spread the word!
Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt: January 25th 2016

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OPENING LINE (S): “Nearly twenty two years under his belt with retirement to a nice quiet, cushy, uneventful life, right on the other side of midnight, and this had to happen. He let out a breath of resignation and stared into the dark coffee in his mug.”

RULES: Using the above line and the picture provided, (Or one of your own choosing) create a story (or even a poem) within up to 20 minutes. Once you have finished your super awesome masterpiece, add a link in the comments section of this  post to your story for others to read, as well as a link on your page back to this original post for others to follow along and write with as well. In your “tags” section, add the tag “Monday’s Muse.”

If you do not have a blog of your own, leave me a comment and send me an email to icameforthesoup@gmail.com and I will post your lovely words here on my blog.

(PLEASE KEEP ENTRIES THAT NEED TO BE POSTED ON THIS BLOG WITHIN A PG13 RANGE. THANK YOU)

My results will be posted on Thursday January 28st under the FICTION tab, then the WRITING PROMPTS AND EXERCISES, then MY WRITING PROMPT RESULTS.