blog, romance, writing

Permanent Marker- Contemporary Romance

Rough Prompt Fiction by Lauryn Lambert.

Genre: YA Contemporary Romance

Story: When you make a connection with a girl at a party, but wake up to find that she didn’t write her number on your arm as you’d hoped. All you have left of her memory is a meaningless diagram drawn on your skin in permanent marker. Did she ghost you or does the drawing mean something more?

Themes: Love at first sight. Cinderella.

Words: 1362 ish

Permanent Marker by Lauryn Lambert

Permanent Marker

I wake with a smile on my face. What a night!

Music, a bonfire, dancing, sparklers, my cheeks still hurt from laughing!

And of course, her.

I turn my head and wipe the wetness off my cheek. Eck, drooling all over my pillow!
I flail and squint at the curtains, trying to get some sort of clue about what time it is.
It’s not my usual style on a Saturday night, but I was glad I had gone. My heart is still pounding at the thought. It was so worth this fuzzy head from lack of sleep.


I sit up slowly, thankful that all I feel is very thirsty and a little hungry. I was sensible with my choices, soft drink only, but the come down from sugar was not the nicest feeling even if I wasn’t nursing a hangover.
I grab some shorts off the floor, sleepily struggle into them and stumble out of my room.

“Good afternoon.”

I look at the clock, is it really afternoon? 11:30 was close enough. I shrug at my Mum and head to the kitchen to make some toast.

“Morning sunshine.” my mum kisses me on the cheek and pats my back.

I mumble “Hi.” I’m not very talkative in the morning. She doesn’t let me go just yet. “What’s that on your arm? Are you alright?”

I look down, but I can’t see anything. My mum twists it back up and I can see a drawing on the outside of my forearm. I shrug, suddenly remembering Crystal and now the whole night is coloured with a pang of sadness, “one of my friends drew on me.”

She raises her eyebrows, “First I thought it was a bruise, now it looks more like a map.” She twists it painfully and I jerk it out of her grip. 

“Food.” I point to the kitchen. I don’t want to get into this on an empty stomach. She can look at the drawing later.

Soon I have a pile of 6 pieces of toast on my plate, and I can’t avoid the marks on my arm any longer. My gut twists and suddenly I’m not hungry. She’s left a scribble.

The reason I had woken up so happy was that last night I had met this girl. My heart races at the thought of her. Long dark hair, brown skin and dark eyes that flashed with curiosity. We had talked for hours, and I could have been there all night. It had really felt like she was flirting, and I was flirting and so when it was time to leave of course I asked for her number. It seemed like a good sign when in response she asked for a permanent marker!

She scrawled on my arm, but I hadn’t bothered to check, because I didn’t want to seem desperate. Maybe that meant I had failed the test because I didn’t seem keen enough. My stomach churned. Now I felt like a fool.

I twisted my arm back the other way. No matter what angle I looked at it, none of what she had drawn looked anything like a phone number. It was time to face the facts. Mum was right, it looked like a doodle. Maybe a map, but that was stretching it. There was a big X near my elbow. if that wasn’t clear enough, I don’t know what was. She didn’t want to give me her number. I wish she had said, but I guess that is a bit hard to do after six hours of talking.

I slowly finish my toast and decide to go back to bed. None of my friends would be awake yet, and I’m pretty sure none of them knew who she was apart from “Crystal”, so I figured it best to go and nurse my wounds in private. I get up from the table as Mum comes back in.

“Give me another look. Is this one of those pranks from Josh? Did he steal your hat again?”

I put out my arm with a sigh. Not a prank, I think. She stole my heart. Which I didn’t even know was possible in six hours. Looks like I was wrong. I felt so lame.

“No, I think it was just someone’s way of not wanting to see me again.” I mumble and I’m not sure she hears me, but it feels better, to tell the truth rather than lie and say “nothing”.

“See there’s an x, and a tree, and the creek near Davie’s house. That was where the party was right?”

My mum thinks she’s young, and has this fantasy about how fun and exciting and filled with daring my life is, but the truth is, my life is awkward, and normal, just like hers.
I look back at my arm, looking down at it. Maybe it could be a map? That black splodge could be Davie’s house, and that could be the creek. Then there’s the skate park, a tree and an x.

My mum quirks her eyebrow, “If you don’t check it out, maybe I will, and I’m going to keep the treasure.”
I roll my eyes. “You just want me out of the house.”
“Go shower, then get out in the fresh air. You always feel better when you are outdoors. Take your bike too. If it turns into a dead end you can just hang out at the skate park.”

I shrug because it isn’t a bad idea. Moving on is better than moping. It still stings a bit though, this strangeness that is happening in my chest when I think of her, but I need to move forward. First, a shower.

As I ride my bike towards Davie’s house, and then the park, I wonder how I could make it easier for someone to decline my offer to keep in touch. Maybe I could give girls my number and then just let them decide?
If they don’t message me, I could always soothe myself, pretending they had somehow lost it. Is lying to myself even ethical?

I am distracted by the feel of the heat off the bitumen, but thankfully the breeze is cool. It is a bit hard to ride while looking at my outer forearm, so I ride around the park for a bit trying to figure it out before stopping at the biggest tree and checking the arm map again.

I dump my bike in the thick roots of the tree. There is nothing else here except leaf litter, a girl’s lost Converse, judging by the size, and a Sharpie. It seems like it should be a sign, but I know it’s not, people draw on this tree all the time. There’s barely any bark-coloured space left between all the “I heart every superstar forever”.

I unbuckle my helmet and lean against the tree. It was time to let go. One part of me had been hoping that there would be something here, a number or a note. I was no prince charming, there was no way I could tell if this shoe was hers, and trying to find a girl through her shoe was too weird, even for me. Unless it had her phone number on the sole?

I pick it up hopefully, but throw it down in disappointment.

“Is my shoe down there by any chance?” A voice calls from the tree and I jump!

“What?” I peer up to see Crystal, perched two branches above me, swinging her legs, one foot missing a shoe.

Relief floods me. I try not to grin, but I don’t succeed. I pick up the shoe again, “It’s here.”
“Oh good.” We pause and just look at each other, smiling. So she was into me!
“Hi.”
“I was starting to get worried that you wouldn’t be able to work it out.”
I laugh. “You probably gave me too much credit. I thought you were ghosting me.”
She shrugs, “Yet here we are.”
My heart rate accelerates.
“So can I come up?”
She rolls her eyes at me, “That’s the idea Jonathan, but only if you bring the pen and the shoe.”
I scoop them up in my left hand and start climbing.
I was not about to let her get away twice.



Thanks for reading and sharing!

blog, books, Children's Books, e-books, picture books, reading, writing

New E-book! There’s this really great book!

Hi friends!

I have a new e-book for Children! It’s a fun little rhyming book about reading. I have a little one beginning to read right now, so I understand how important it is to give them a good start into reading.
I hope you enjoy this fun little book!
Thank you as always for your amazing support.
Happy Reading!

Here is the blurb:
Penguin has a book!
He wants to share.
Come and take a look!
Where will you read it?

Penguin wants to share his favourite book with his friends!
He loves reading and wants his friends to enjoy it too.
There are so many things he loves about reading and books that he wants to share!.
This book introduces children to talking about and sharing books.
A delightful rhyming book introducing young children to a love of reading.

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It’s been a decade!

Hello my friends!

It has almost been a decade since my first novel came out, and I’m updating you with some exciting news! I am planning a second edition with bonus material, a new cover and a new title!
It’s not undergoing a radical transformation, but I hope you enjoy the new look and the tweaks.
I am also thinking about releasing it as a hardcover so stay tuned!
So here is the new title announcement, with the blurb, just to remind you what it’s all about.

(This is not the new cover).

A PRINCE ALWAYS LIES

Does a Prince always always lie?

Is a Healer always right?

Ambitious and gifted, 17 year old Alenia is on her way to becoming a healer. Having no father and barely any money earns her no favours. If she keeps to herself she knows she can earn the title or Healer in spite of the world’s disgust. Believing she wasn’t born to hide, Alenia earns a scholarship to Anesia’s most prestigious university, right under the noble’s noses. 

Her dream is within her grasp, now she just has to survive the colourful and flitting world of the nobility. Alenia couldn’t have chosen a worse time, the Queen has been ill for years, the crops are dying and the sole heir has failed to fulfil his prophecy to bring healing to the land. Some groups have begun to take the pirate law into their own hands.

Her budding friendship with Gypsies Relle and Laos, lead her into an odd encounter with Prince Dylantian that she cannot undo. She is not the only one searching to change family fortunes. This stormy alliance with the enemy has dangerous consequences, uncovers secrets, avenges betrayal and reveals much more. Drawn into his quest to restore the Queen’s health, and discover the truth about the Royal Family’s misfortune, Alenia knows this can only end in heartbreak, but she cannot let the chance for truth die. As Dylantian and Alenia’s fates intertwine, she finds herself gambling with more than just her own life to try and reclaim what has been lost. 

Will the Prince or the Healer succeed in their quest to reclaim what has been taken? 

Can they go on if everything they know has shattered?

Reclamation is the first novel set in Anesia, the first nation of the Dragon Isle.

blog, prompt, romance, writing

New Story! X – 273 words on a celebration involving the number ten!

“It’s a special night!” The lad’s eyes, hair and skin were dark but looked purple under the house lights. His smile broadened, he slid in next to me, slapping his hand on the counter. That grin was infectious, if not a little bit cheeky. I was willing to indulge him.

“It is?”

“Definitely.” He nodded with teasing confidence. If his grin grew any, surely his cheeks would burst.

I sipped my drink, smugly watching him wait for my response. “And why is tonight so special?”

From the twinkle in his eye, he knew he had me then. “It’s an anniversary.”

“Whose?” I pretended to look around the crowd, eyebrows raised. This was his make or break moment. Was he a creeper or was he as true as the good vibes he was giving me? 

He leans in, “It’s the tenth time I’ve seen this band play live, and I have to say, I thought it was an infatuation at first, but looks like it’s true love.”

I laugh with relief. “Well I am happy to hear that!” In more ways than one!

He was funny, not to mention cute, with that 240 volt smile in this 110V world. 

“You’re the partner of the guitarist aren’t you?” He didn’t bother to hide that he didn’t want it to be true.

“He’s my brother. I’m the help at the promotions table.”

He winced, scooting his fingers over the bar towards mine.

“It does have its perks.” At this venue especially. Was it stupid to pretend I hadn’t noticed him before?

“Seeing me ten Sundays in a row?”

There was no going back now. “Caught me.”

blog, writing

Ask the Author Lauryn Lambert- Why do you like writing romance?

Welcome to Ask the Author! I hope you enjoy these mini interviews!
On with the show!

Why do you like writing romance?
First and foremost for the happy ending. If stories are too tragic they get stuck in my head in a bad way and I can be affected for days. I guess that is the shadow side to empathy? So I like happy endings because I’d rather be affected by a happy and optimistic story about how people can grow and change and be open hearted.

Also I have completed studies in psychology and relationship counselling, so this genre is right up my alley. Except instead of counselling real life relationships, I’m helping characters through their difficulties.

What authors do you like to read?
I enjoy Mimi Grace, Melina Marchetta, and Jaclyn Moriety. I used to love Jacqueline Mitchard when I was younger and the intense drama didn’t get to me as much. Basically I love the deep character work they do. The characters are flawed and believable but they go deep. Writing goals!

What are your pet story hates?
I like a good fantasy story, but the 300 year age gap bugs me a little. Too many poor choices by a main character, also has me cringing and jerks me back to reality.



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PART 2 Ask the Author is coming soon!

blog, prompt, romance, writing

Writing fiction: How I go from prompt to idea

Hello!

Today I’m going to talk a little about how I go from having a prompt, to getting an idea for a short story.

I must first of all say that I have zero training in writing short stories. This is an area I have marked for growth, but as I have been muddling along I haven’t got to it yet. This interest in short stories is a new phenomenon that happened after I began writing prompt stories with my writing group.

So anyway, how do you go from a prompt to a story?

First of all, I think it’s important to know what your constraints are, apart from the prompt. Those things like time, the inclusion of specific themes, word count or medium, need to be factored into the idea from the beginning.

So what is my prompt?

The prompt for today is: The empty bottle.

Constraints: 

Time -I only have an hour to write this.

Genre- I am writing stories with romantic elements this month.

So, now what to do?


What I do is go to my first impression. When I think “The empty bottle” what impressions do I get?

Do I immediately think of alcohol, perfume, poison, medicine, soft drink, water? 

My thoughts were: beer, poison, perfume, milk.

So then I go through each.
Beer: It could fit with romance, like a first date, but when I think of an empty bottle for some reason I think of loneliness which was not the vibe I am after. Pass.

Poison: Now I love this idea, but I have written one about poison recently, and it’s hard to fit into the romance genre without getting dramatic, which is also hard for a shorter story.

Perfume: This would be a different take on a bottle, but when does anyone ever finish their perfume bottles? I clearly do not use perfume enough, so this one is a pass too.

Milk: Everyone runs out of milk, unless you don’t drink it. So the characters could be anyone. This makes it a lot easier on the romance, short story idea. We have a winner.

Ok so I have got my prompt a bit more defined. My story is going to revolve around an empty milk bottle. Now it’s time for some more brainstorming.

Empty Milk Bottle: It could be used for soccer ball, has fallen out of someone’s rubbish bin, might have meant someone is not planning to return or someone needs more milk for a recipe.

I pick someone needs more milk for a recipe, because it sounds like it will be a quick little interaction, and what I need is a short story.
So…what did I write?
Check out “The empty bottle” on Wattpad.

I hope you found this little walk through interesting.

How do you get ideas for your work?

blog, prompt, story, writing

The Overwhelming Dread: Suspense

Rough Prompt Fiction by Lauryn Lambert.

Genre: Suspense

Story: The main character comes to realise that there’s no escaping fate

Themes: Imprisoned against your will

Words: 560ish

The Overwhelming Dread

I don’t know how long I wait. 

The lights are on all the time, so I mark the days, with the flow of the people.
When there are people here, walking around and looking at us, it must be the daytime, but all we feel is dread. When there are not, we all breathe a sigh of relief. We lasted another day. 

It is slowly dawning on us all that this is a fight we cannot win. Each day someone cracks or melts under the pressure of waiting, wondering if they will be chosen next. If they will be plucked by a manicured hand and looked over with a greedy smile.

The crackpots, as I have named them in my head, let the pressure build up until they explode, and can no longer hold themselves together. The melty ones, also another internal nickname, just turn to goo and will not respond to anything anymore. It’s sad really, but I can’t blame them. I’m not sure how I am still holding myself together with this heat.

We don’t have a life, but we don’t want one. I’m sure all of us would give anything to remain here indefinitely, like an eternal night, trapped in this current boring existence, cramped, confined in these metal contraptions. If only we could escape the horror of being picked out by one of the people and being taken elsewhere. I’ve heard the stories. These people, these beings, are monsters!

Oh sure, we are dressed up to look desirable, and the company’s marketing is so good that the people walking around the shop don’t ever stop to think if buying us is wrong. They can’t see the dread, can’t comprehend our pain. We exist for them, to satisfy their wants. Why would we have feelings? It’s their pleasure that matters. And all they seem to find pleasure in is our destruction.

Once you get to the display, there are no exceptions, no one escapes. Everyone gets taken in the end. It’s just about if you are first, or if you are last. There’s not much hope left, but we try.

The people begin to enter again. It’s another day. I watch sadly as someone else gets taken from a different display. We all sigh in relief and feel terrible at the same time. I hope the end is quick.

I look away as they are taken from the store. It’s impossible to tell if our end will come straight away, or if the person will drag it out over hours and days. I don’t want to know. I’ve seen 19 of us be taken already, and there’s simply no way to tell. I cannot let my guard down. I cannot afford a crack. Those of us who are left are getting superstitious now. I must keep up my barriers.
The shop empties, we have survived another day, but there’s no room for cheers. The egg next to me begins to show cracks of panic.
There’s nothing I can do. But there’s something you can do. You can be the difference. Just sit here a minute with me. Can you imagine, sitting all day surrounded by metal, unable to move, watching, waiting, never knowing when you will be picked? No? Well maybe think about that next time you unwrap a chocolate egg for Easter.
But you won’t stop, will you? Monster.

Authors Note: I really love chocolate eggs 🙂 I’m glad they aren’t sentient beings!

Thanks for reading and sharing!

blog, prompt, writing

Prompt: The lonely crowd

Rough Prompt Fiction by Lauryn Lambert

The Lonely Crowd

“It’s called a painkiller!”

“A what?” he leans towards me, obviously finding it hard to hear over the laughter at his table.

“A painkiller.”

He nods at me and smiles, “Looks good!”

“As advertised.” I look back to his table, there’s about ten of them crammed in there. I can’t quite work them out. “Work function?”

His face relaxes and a genuine smile extends across his face that I can’t help but return. “No actually, more like a social club. We’ve been meeting for maybe two years now.”

“Did you know each other before?” From here they look like they have been friends for ages, talking animatedly sometimes over the top of each other, then interrupting the person talking to grab someone else’s attention. 

“No, we were complete strangers, it took some of us a while to warm up, but we’ve clicked.”

“Here you go sir.” The bargirl lines up his drinks. “Let me get you a tray.” It looks like he has bought for at least half the table.

“If you aren’t meeting someone, feel free to join us?”

I narrow my eyes, sorely tempted, but still wary. There were so many kinds of social clubs around. “What kind of social club is it exactly?”

He chuckles, and looks away blushing. “Well, it started because we were all single, looking to just make friends and hang out.”

“Socialising singles?”

“Yeah. We call ourselves ‘The Lonely Crowd.'” He shrugs loading the drinks on to the tray.

I look down at my drink, and back at the table and shrug. “Okay, I could use some more friends.”