Writing Exercise: FanFict

Writing Meme created by Erin Penn

Fan Fiction

Or FanFic as most of the writing community calls it, is often sneered at by established writers who conveniently forget the origins of their writing development. Yes, some of the early work between age three and fifteen had originality, but much of it sprung from books read, television watched, and movies experienced. I know I had lots of stories dance in my head based on the Wizard of Oz, and even more from the Marvelous land of Oz which introduced Ozma of Oz. As a teen, Star Trek, the Next Generation, was my go-to for inserting myself into a narrative.

Why FanFic? Because worldbuilding is hard, and these worlds have been created. A reader falls in love with them, and what else is one going to do when the author stopped writing stories for the world. I love inserting myself into these wonderful layered worlds to live a little longer after the book is done and the show is over.

Side-note: Self-Inserts are great for expanding on writing skills initially, but they are not ones to share on FanFic writing forums in general. FixFic (correcting an error in the story, at least in the writer’s opinion, or making a better ending), Shipping (two characters who are not together in a relationship in the story but are for the FanFic), and Crossover (two or more fan universe mashup) are more widely accepted than Self-Inserts. This goes back to the developing writing skills (a writer knows who they are and therefore doesn’t need to work as hard for character development) and the point of FanFic (spending more time in the universe and its characters). Feel free to write Self-Inserts but keep those to close to the chest. Other expansions in all their glorious subgenres can be shared on the appropriate FanFic sites.

FanFic has been around for a long, long time. How many versions of Camelot exist? People loved the mythos for over a thousand years and have been adding to it all the time. Every movie made from a book or existing story is a FanFic by the director.

Now the question is: do establish writers attempt FanFic? All the time. Some of it even is contracted such as getting a novel published in the Doctor Who, Star Wars, or Star Trek universes. Also joint sandboxes are everywhere for playtime like Eric Flint’s Ring of Fire Series and John Hartness, Monster Hunter Universe. People make a living translating screenplays to novels.

An excellent vlog series on FanFic has been created by Jill Bearup – the first episode is: Virgil was a Homer Fanboy, the history of FanFiction part 1. If you like it, you can continue down that rabbit hole for a while (updated 11/12/17 – she is now up to seven episodes).

The takeaway I want you, dear writers, to have is: FanFic skills are valuable. They can make money writing screenplays or novelizing them. They let you explore worldbuilding in an existing world: what pieces are needed to create world robust enough to hold up to expansion and how can a world be layered enough for other people to want to live there.

WRITING EXERCISE: Write a FanFic flash – more than 100 words but don’t kill yourself. What made this world robust enough to support your FanFic? What made you want to expand the mythos?

READING/VIEWING EXERCISE: What is the most recent story you daydreamed about in a FanFic sort of way? Why?


In Men-in-Black 2, Agent J needs Agent K’s skills, so Will Smith’s character pulls Tommy Lee Jones’ character back into the business and restores his memory. At the end of the first movie, Agent K became Kevin Brown again and is reunited with his love, and they marry. The second movie has him willingly accepting being back to monitoring aliens because he wasn’t able to cut it in the real world and the woman who had waited decades for him, divorced his psychotic ass.

Dang, I loved that scene in the original film. It added so much to his character, to the world. Things flow out and in from 45-second scene.

And the screenwriters of the sequel WRECKED IT!

My FixFic starts in the same place as the sequel. Kevin Brown (Agent K without memories) working in the post office, the love of his life no longer in the picture.

After being deneuralized, Agent K walks away and keeps walking. Focused, determined. Much more his old self than the pale imitation Agent J had found at the post office. Agent J prances after his old mentor, asking questions about memory without a single reaction until he offers Kay a ride to wherever he is going when they pass a black sedan. Kay freezes, turns around, and demands, “Keys.”

“Still working on one word answers, huh?” Jay pats his pockets and pulls out the keys.

Kay grabs them and walks around the vehicle to the driver side, getting in. Protesting, Jay quickly climbs in and buckles up, closing the door as Kay pulls away from the curb. “Be careful, Zed upgraded the cars in the last four years. Do you even know how to drive? Did the deneuralizer fry you? Come on man, talk to me.”

Already on the highway and going way over the speed limit while weaving in and out, Kay looks over at Jay with disdain. 

After one quick drift between cars, Jay screeches, “Watch the road. We can talk later. In the meantime, let me tell you why Zed had you recalled…”

At headquarters Agent Kay walks right by the guard in the vent room, Jay nearly running to keep up. But being Jay, he looks over at the guard and winks as they get on the elevator. “Heck yeah,” he nods at the guard who stood, looking flabbergasted. “Kay is back in business.”

The elevator door closes but doesn’t move.

Jay looks up, talking to the ceiling. “It’s okay. Agent Kay is being brought in just like Zed asked–“

“Override Candy-Delta-<shrill-click-click>-Hamburger.” Kay interrupts and the elevator moves down.

Striding through the terminal, Jay continues to jabber and run after his silent, steadily moving partner. Around them, a ripple of beings stop and stare. Most continue on their business, but moving slowly, their heads and eye stalks swiveling to follow the two agents.

Kay takes no notice. Stopping only when reaching the crow’s nest, where Zed is standing, opening his arms. “Welcome back, my frie–“

A right hook stops the Men-in-Black leader, lifts him off his feet for a second, and drops him to the floor. He looks up at the returning agent, who is rubbing his knuckles.

“You could have saved her.” The accusation grinds out of Kay’s soul.

Zed nods, rubbing his chin. “You know the rules.” He moved to stand up. “I leaked the information as quickly as I could when I found out, but too many changes, too many jumps in technology.” He shook his head; Zed’s pompous starchiness left him sagging against his desk. His eyes watered. “I wasn’t fast enough.” Zed dropped his eyes before Kay’s dead stare.

“Two months. We had only two months.”

“At least you had that much.” Zed whispered back.

(words 475; first published 2/28/2017)

(And back to the regularly scheduled movie already in progress.)

Same end situation – Kevin working in a dead-end job, not fitting in. Same loss of love. But we got to keep the emotional payoff of the first movie, and Kay comes back as not so much as helpless in the real world but broken.

This is the FicFix I want for the movie. Men-in-black is a wonderful mythos covering multiple comics, movies, and urban legends. I think this would make it better.

Flash: Flower Power

Woman with Flower Stock Art

Image courtesy of imagerymajestic at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“Gods, I cannot believe what a bunch of losers you guys have become.” Donnie waved with the hand not holding his beer, encompassing the group sitting throughout the upscale living room where they had collapsed after an exhausting evening of interspecies political wrangling. The rant went on and on about the old days and how everything had changed since his friends started pairing off with “the girls,” finally ended with, “We’re monsters for crying loud!”

The host adjusted himself on the arm of the cream and maroon striped settee to better watch his wife as she bustled around the kitchen. “Just because I have chosen to hand the reigns to someone does not mean I am tame.” He nodded happily as Ketzal gave him a wave before she opened the refrigerator. With her hidden behind the stainless steel door, Ebon returned his full attention to his guests, smiling with his canines exposed.

“Get real, the ring on your hand is like a ring through your nose,” Donnie sneered. “Dude, you are so pussy whipped I can’t even hear the crack of the leather anymore.”

Ebon moved faster than even the vampire of the group of immortals could observe. One moment Donnie was leaning against the sofa with Maria and Lorenzo, the next the shifter was holding him at arm’s length with Donnie’s legs swinging nearly a foot above the floor. Black hair sprouted along Ebon’s elongated arms, rock-hard muscular arms ending in claws around Donnie’s neck. The back of the dark elf’s head lay gently against an undamaged silk wallcovering.

Everyone stopped moving, and those that could held their breath.

“Do not think my marriage makes me any less dangerous.” Black eyes glowed red in the centers. Ebon stepped closer to the wall, bending the arm without effort while keeping the elf suffocating mid-air. He brought his short snout and full set of glistening teeth closer to the Wild Hunt rider face.

“Dinner is ready in ten…Ebon, my heart, put Donnie down.”

“Dead or alive,” he growled unmoving, staring into the eyes of his trembling prey.

Ketzal’s sweet voice replied. “I don’t really care, but if you kill him, you will need to dispose of the body after dinner.”

“What are we having?”

An exasperated puff came behind him. “What do you think?”

“Something tomatoey,” her husband replied after sniffing the air close to the elf’s neck.

“Creole Boil.”

If anything, Ebon’s toothy grin grew wider. “You live.” He opened his left hand.

Donnie fell to the floor gasping, rubbing his neck.

“And if you have a minute, can you fetch some wine for the meal?” The brunette swung her waist long hair behind her as the shifter stalked closer to her to give her ear a quick bite.

Whispering into it, which did not obscure the communication to anyone in the room because of their heightened senses, he said, “I will need to give it a taste to choose the right match.”

The goddess of flowers and ephemeral things giggled softly a second before turning her lips to his. “I just sampled the dish.”

He kissed her a long moment.

“The Sidewood Sauvignon Blanc, 2012, should do.” He opened the small door between the living room and kitchen for the wine cellar stairs.

The satisfaction of Ketzal’s sigh left no doubt about the happiness of the couple’s relationship, even as it moved into its second decade. “Dinner is ready for seating as soon as someone helps me set the table.”

Tykevius and Carissa glided from where they had been hovering near the ceiling toward the dining area.

“Oh, and Donnie.” Ketzal’s musical tones carried the bass throb of power.

The elf snapped his head toward the Aztec goddess.

Her sweet smile looked even scarier than her husband’s. “I wouldn’t have seconds if I were you.”

(words 636, first published January 15, 2017)

Flash: Love on the Line

A gay couple dancing at the Chelsea Arts New Year’s Eve Bal

A gay couple dancing at the Chelsea Arts New Year’s Eve Ball. Photograph by Tony Linck. London, January 1947

Fran dragged Leslie onto the dance floor for the Chelsea Ball. It worked despite Leslie being taller, stronger and having a military background for two reasons. One, Leslie was overwhelmed by being in the middle of all the money, fame and demented people that showed up every year for the artist gentleman’s club New Year’s Eve Party, and, secondly, Leslie was not letting go of his hand. He was on shore for the holidays and did not want to miss a second with Fran.

Fran curled into his lover’s arms, ignoring the stares. Enough of the artists had brought their lovers to the party that one more gay couple did not matter. The stares were for Leslie being a sailor. Some artists were anti-military, but the majority of London still remembered the sirens. Only a year had passed since the war ended. Most were staring because they were trying to figure out a way to approach Leslie to thank him for serving.

Unconsciously Fran clenched Leslie’s hand tighter. They had met during training, but Fran’s family money had gotten him an officer position on shore and a quick muster out after serving his time. Leslie’s more plebeian descent had him on the front for over five years. Fran did not want to remember how often he nearly lost the love of his life. Ships were safer than ground pounding, but it also meant everyone died on the same bullet instead of an individual.

One more tour and they could be together forever.

Fran hoped that Leslie’s flamboyant style will allow him to overcome the status differences. Fran cared less about his personal wealth, but sometimes, like tonight, Leslie was clearly intimidated. The duke, whose title allowed him to disregard certain social requirements such as introductions, did express his gratitude to Leslie and had left his lover speechless.

The artist part of Fran’s mind started thinking about how to capture both an ostentatious and terrified attitude in one painting. On first pass, they do not seem to go together, but anyone who has been on the front could tell you both the sheer terror and the pure courage needed to be there.


Leslie guided Fran off the dance floor towards the bar when the song ended. He recognized the look that had seized Fran’s face. They would need to get home soon to Fran’s paints.

Leslie squashed the green monster from long habit when jealousy tried to sneak in. He only had two more days before pulling out and he had nearly ten days of Fran’s undivided attention. When he got back next time, he would need to decide if he could live as the second love of Fran’s life.

(words 449 – I believe the copyright on the photo is expired. If anyone knows that the copyright is different than public domain, please inform me – first published 12/30/2012; republished new blog format 12/11/2016)

Writing Exercise: Ticking Clock

Parkour Silhouette against Sky

Image copied from Learn About Parkour: http://robertjrgraham.com/learn-about-parkour/

Ticking Clock

You may be familiar with “ticking clocks” from the thriller genre, but they also occur in other genre. A few things to remember with Ticking Clocks:

1. Be precise about the passage of time.
NOT GOOD: “When we talked earlier today” ; “The other day”
GOOD: “When we talked before lunch in second period” ; “The day before yesterday”

The passage of time needs to feel important to everyone. If the clock is ticking off hours, be precise about the hours – if ticking off days, be precise at the day level.

2. Don’t slow down. As the deadline approaches increase the challenges. Torture your characters.

3. Remind your readers of the Ticking Clock through the urgency the main character feels, not reminding the reader by relaying the countdown through the prose.
NOT GOOD: Charlie tore down the sidewalks because he only had moments to meet his true love, according to the street soothsayer.
GOOD: The soothsayer told him he needed to be at the corner of Second and Main at 5:08 sharp. Charlie’s breath burned in his lungs as he ran. He never was good at running, but to meet true love he would arrive gasping.

WRITING EXERCISE: Write a Ticking Clock – At least three sentences and share below. Make us feel the urgency.

Make us feel like we are back in school taking a final of 150 multiple choices in one hour … urgent … and realize the last question is an essay and we have 10 minutes left …. building, racing toward the end, getting more difficult …Then realize that the essay is 25% of the grade. I did mention torturing the characters, right?


Charlie rounded the corner to Main, plowing through the professionals pouring out of the Maddox building. He was going to make it; only one city block left and it was a short side.

The bright orange cones would not have stopped him, but the caution tape was at ankle, waist, and eye level. They were repairing the sidewalk and directing foot traffic across the street. He didn’t have time.

His eyes darted for a way as his feet continued to move.

Subway, had two exits, one on Third and the other on Second.

He half-jumped the steps and half-slid the rails down; more a control fall than anything else. God, who would have thought he would be doing parkour? He forgot to breathe during the distance across tiles between the staircases. He gasp a new breath as he faced the second set of stairs, trying to ignore the digital clock above letting the commuters know it was 5:07. He had failed at everything he had ever tried unless it was a total deadend, like his job at the coffee shop.

True love was seconds away, if he made it up the three flights of stairs.

(words 42 +195 = 237 – first published 7/11/2015; republished in new blog format 11/29/2017)

Flash: Christmas Stocking

Ice in Cabin

Image Courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The wind tore the sturdy wood door from Maria’s numbed hands. Giving over now that the battle to reach shelter had been won, she let the driving snow push her exhausted body into the cabin. Tugged along by the life-line connecting them, her companion stumbled across the threshold. No longer feeling the gale force winds, Laars summoned the remainder of his strength to close the thick pine barrier behind them. The rustic cabin’s solid stone walls, slate roof and wooden floors provided welcomed relief from the blizzard.

The ceasure of the ice being driven into their bodies made the cabin feel hot. The park ranger flipped the mitten portion of her gloves back to free her fingers. Halfheartedly she lifted her goggles to view the room, knowing it would reveal the lost hikers weren’t here either. No welcoming flames were dancing in the riverstone-constructed fireplace; the table and mismatched chairs left behind by others were still stacked in a corner. The one open door would lead into a separate sleeping area, but little hope remained. Maria heard a sob escape and it took her a moment to realize the sound came from her own throat. Behind her, the intern assigned to her search-and-rescue team slowly slid to the floor.

The boy had been amazing. Maria was all for equal rights, but sometimes tasks just needed to go to the taller and stronger. Laars had at least a foot on her five foot two frame and the strength of a twenty-one year old male that enjoyed outside activity. He had blazed the trail since false dawn and took the brunt of the wind, until the storm unleashed whiteout conditions. She had often joked she could find her way around the park blindfolded; for the last two hours she might as well had been. She released the gorilla clip connecting the lifeline to her utility belt.

The sleeping room revealed a half dozen cot frames leaned against the walls, waiting for hiker’s pillows and bags. She closed the door. They only needed to heat one room tonight. A quick inspection showed the fireplace sturdy and ready for wood, but the box for wood was empty.

Maria closed her eyes; Patrick had been the one assigned to prep the cabins for winter. Laars replaced him in November, about the same time Maria came back to work full time after taking two months off to complete her GED. They were still discovering what had not been done by Patrick at the end of his six-month internship. The park manager, Nelson, was a wonderful trusting man who was willing to hire a migrant worker’s daughter, and she loved him for it. But that personality characteristic prevented him from double-checking work when an intern reported a task complete. He trusted people who were willing to work in the middle of his beloved beautiful nowhere.

Stepping over Laars’ long legs, Maria idly noted she still had on her snowshoes. Good, because she was going to need to bring in a lot of wood. College-boy and her had restock the sheds just after Thanksgiving, so there would be plenty. It would just feel like an eternity bringing the wood in.

Maria drew in a breath as she stood before the cabinet. The heavy thing was made from two inch seasoned oak and weighed over three hundred pounds, mostly to prevent campers from moving it around. Inside was suppose to be an emergency first aid kit, two tins of dried foot, several gallons of water for when the water pipes froze outside, and other survival materials.

Laars lifted his head when she switched from Spanish to English after examining the interior. It wasn’t like she had a Latin temper, but sometimes … She hoped she didn’t shock the kid’s whitebread sensitivities. Though he was two years older than her, he had a very protective upbringing. Upper middle class somewhere in Washington, a state her family picked apples in for two months when they did the West Coast circuit. His father was a doctor, lawyer or something like that.

Leaning his head against the door, his goggles completely fogged so he talked to the ceiling, Laars asked “Problem?”

Maria’s lips twitched. Single word sentences, but humor was returning. A good sign. They had just spent a full day of an unsuccessful search for three hikers who were stupid enough not to check the weather reports or to check in with the ranger’s office before taking one of the dozens of trails. They had found the car last night when closing the park, planned and fretted all night as the old man mountain promised to have his way, and initiated the search and rescue at first light. He had fallen down not one but two gorges, hiked over 20 miles in high winds that kept the helicopters grounded, and after no sleep and reaching an exhaustion he probably had never experienced before in his life, he could still joke.

She licked her cracked lips before answering. “Nope, none at all. Only we should have fired Patrick before we hired him.”

“Right.” Laars lifted one ice coated mitten to try and move his goggles, but gravity claimed the weight of the arm when lack of fingers prevented him from accomplishing his task. “No food, huh?”

“No food, blanket, and the first aid kit is a nest for something. There is not even a pot to piss in.” She closed the door to the cabinet before walking over to the intern. “Or melt snow for water.”

Standing over him, she continued. “Speaking of water, we need to get you stripped.” She picked up his hands. “Alley-up.” Fortunately, Laars had regained enough energy to help her pull him up. She was just over a hundred pounds soaking wet, and he had to weigh close to two hundred pounds in soaking wet gear. Nothing was dripping since inside the cabin was still the ambient temperature of the outside. Only lacking was the wind-chill factor.

She helped him remove his mittens then his gloves and muttered a short prayer to her family for sending her a pair of gloves that had mittens that flipped on and off the finger area. She set to work on the ice locked lifeline while he removed his eye and face protection. Her fingers, fragile from the cold, tore and bled a little but she managed to remove the line from around his body and unhook the front of his backpack so he would be able to take off his parka.

When she started working on her own backpack, Laars said, “Let me.” Maria willingly let him take over; he could see the hooks, snaps, and buckles and she could not. When she tried to shoulder off the backpack she discovered that ice had bonded it to her parka. She turned around and let the taller man leverage the pack off then did the same for him.

Placing her pack on the beatup table, she chipped away a little of the snow. The table wobbled; one of the legs was missing and someone had duct taped a branch to replace it. Eventually she was able to remove the two reflective rescue blankets. Not much good if the person was in hypothermia and not generating his own heat, but better than being naked. Turning around she noticed Laars was swaying back and forth and had made no further progress on undressing.

Grabbing what looked like the sturdiest chair, an old camp chair missing the canvas on one arm, she place it behind him and ordered him to sit. Maria took a moment to examine his eyes while she wrapped one blanket around his shoulders and placed the other on his lap. Good, her shadow cast by getting between the overbright whiteout windows and Laars caused his pinpoint pupils to get larger and darker. Some shock, but not life threatening. Not yet, if they could get a fire going. She wanted to get wood right away, but one more thing needed to be done.

Unclipping the satellite phone from her utility belt, she dialed the home office and reluctantly placed the cold metal to her ear after pushing back the parka hood. Someone she didn’t know answered. “Team Gamma has reached Merveille Chalet. No sightings of Greens. Over,” she reported.

“Verify Team Gamma at shelter. No sightings of Greens,” came the crackling response. The cell phone had trouble boosting through the storm.

Since she didn’t know who the person was, she bet he was someone from the National Guard. “Yes. Any luck at your end?”

“No Gamma, but the storm is suppose to clear tonight and the birds can fly tomorrow.” The dispatcher shared. “All other teams made it back; only you are still out in the field. I have marked you secured for the night.”

“Roger. We will report in the morning.”

“Roger and good luck tonight,” replied the solider. “Stay warm.”

No wanting to worry anyone, since they couldn’t help Laars and her anyway she responded with, “Will try, over and out.” The satellite phones were a great invention, able to get through most of the rugged terrain of the park. But the three pounds added up over time. She turned off the phone and took off the utility belt. No need for that extra weight when fetching wood.

Remembering one other rescue supply in her pack, she pulled out two cans of soup and activated the heat elements. Crouching down in front of Laars, she examined his skin, lips, and eyes again. He was awake but not doing well. “Laars, here is some soup.” She pressed warming can into his hand. “Drink it. I am going out and will be back as quick as I can.”

Debating a moment, she finished emptying her pack beside the table. She could carry twice as much wood this way, even if she wouldn’t be able to buckle it. She could carry it in her arms; on her back, the wind would pull it off balance and her with it.

Between the second and third load, she noticed he had switched soup cans. With the fourth load, he had started putting the tinder and kindling from the first load together in the fireplace. “I should be doing that,” he said as he tried to stand when she came in to dump the load of fuel logs. He nearly toppled over into the stone, but managed to grabbed the mantle before doing so. The Mylar blanket drifted off his shoulders to the floor. The mantle was a huge expanse of native wood nearly six inches in diameter and five feet long, varnished with the bark still on it. Several nails had been pounded into it to hang things and various carved names of previous visitors decorated it.

“No, you shouldn’t,” she said as she removed the wood from her backpack. The backpack provided an added bonus of moving the wood without getting snow on it during transportation. “There are at least four fire pits between here and there, and I guarantee that unless you know where each obstacle is out there you will twist an ankle or break a leg.”

Sinking back to the floor, he commented, “I am not clumsy.”

“Oops, sorry, didn’t mean it like that. I had no business having you break the trail after we passed marker 12 on Sunrift Gorge.” She pushed back her goggles to better see him. “Laars, you did incredible things today and should be proud. I could have never made it the distance without you.”

“I fell twice and you had to pull me out of a creek.” Came the sulking reply.

“So, you were my windbreak, practically carried me through some four foot drifts, and removed one rock slide.” Making certain his clear blue eyes met her brown ones. “Really, I needed you today. Understand?”

He nodded, looking like a schoolkid not certain the praise was real but wanting it to be so.

“Okay, so I am bringing in the wood because I am going to need you just as much tomorrow.” She waited for him to acknowledge that with another nod. She was pleased to see the pupils reacting more to changes in light and his lips had lost their blue tinge. He had started thinking again, but not up to full clearness. The man was normally a ball of intelligence and curiosity. Exhaustion and exposure made people do stupid things because they just can’t think. “What I need you to do is set up the fire, and then … drat.”

“What’s the problem?” asked Laars.

She walked over to where she had unpacked her supplies. “I don’t remember my matches. I have the rescue pack set up to go … double checked it last night, matches are on my list … did I check it off?” she mused to herself.

“I’ve got a lighter in my kit.” Volunteered Laars. “My swim should not have affected it.”

“Great.” She walked over to his pack. “Which pocket?”

After extracting the longnecked lighter, she handed it over to him. “Only got two more trips left and then I think we will have wood to get through the night. I want this place to be warm by then.”

“Yes boss.” He smiled.

Carrying the backpack in front of her, she quickly left the building. Outside she was almost grateful for the need to concentrate on moving. While in first aid mode, Maria had forgotten how attracted she was to him until he smiled. With the survival juices flowing she may do something stupid like admit she had fallen for the oaf. Her first day back on the job Nelson had told her to go help the intern and a Boy Scouts troop put up a new information lean-to by Avalanche Point. When she had got there, Laars was helping the tallest boys lift the beams overhead. He had had stripped down to his undershirt and khaki pants. Yum, something about a man working hard.

She had come to admire his willingness to work, but was a little worried about his eagerness to please. Yes, he was an intern but he only had one semester left before finishing college. He was smart, using his internship to study biodiversity within the park for a thesis. He should have more self-confidence.

After all he had everything going for him. Not at all like her with her patchwork schooling over sixteen states. She had been lucky to complete her GED. The only reason Nelson had been willing to hire her was because she spoke four language fluently; she was a guide he couldn’t pass up on. Her dad had dropped off the family at the park while the car was being repair and she had seen the advertisement for a bi-lingual guide. Lying about her age by one year, but not about her citizenship, Nelson had agreed to hire her for the summer. Since the job made more than twice the money she would have made picking crops, the family had been all for it. Maria missed them horribly, but one thing led to another and now three years later she was a full park ranger and had her GED. More than she ever expected from life. Definitely not in Laars’ league, however attractive he was.

The fifth trip through she opened the damper on the chimney; the smoke hadn’t been bad yet. City boys. Yes, think of him as not yet finished. Intern-expert. Worker-boss. Man-woman. Nope, don’t go down that path. Student-graduate. She was a graduate and no longer needed to worry about school ever again.

When she finished the last trip, the fire was just beginning to create a bed of coals, which would regulate heat throughout the night. She returned to the door to take off her snow shoes. The room was warm enough to start melting the snow. She stripped off her parka and outer pants and laid them out to dry before approaching Laars. He also was down to his park uniform and the room was beginning to look like a sporting good store exploded.

His soaked through park uniform; steam was rising from it as he continued to nurse the fire.

“Out of those clothes,” she ordered.

He looked up as she said the first words in nearly an hour. She had pulled the damper without a comment while trudging through. Laars looked at her in confusion, but with sparkling eyes totally aware.

Good, the worst of the exposure seems done, but why was he confused. She ran the words through her mind making certain she had spoken English. Yep. “Your clothes are wet. You know better than to stay in wet things, right?”

“Oh,” he looked at her sheepishly “but I don’t have anything to change into.”

“I know we didn’t bring extra clothes since we were not suppose to be out here all day. Just strip down and change into the extra socks and underwear. The blankets are not the best, but should do.” She said briskly.

“Extra what?” His fair skin allowed a blush to start at his neck and work its way up past his ashen eyebrows to his short curly blond hair.

Since she had taught the survival course herself the first week she was back, she replied icily, “The extra socks and underwear and knit cap that should be in your survival pack in little bags to make certain you can maintain temperature at night in dry undergarments.”

The intern dropped his eyes.

(words 2,932 – first published 10/30/2016)