Janna Ehrenholz
Bio
I love stories. And I think you do, too.
The stories I write are influenced by old fairy tales, the wild landscapes I've lived in, and every question that I've felt the need to ask again and again.
If that appeals to you, come along. :)
Stories (14)
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Universe Shamed
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Until they didn't. Do you understand what it means when blushing is no longer paired with dancing? It's like the difference between a girl's face when her eyes sparkle at her schoolyard crush while her heart forces love-struck blood into her cheeks and another girl's face that is red with shame and judgment, her eyes downcast. When the purple clouds stopped coming, it was like the sky itself averted her eyes from the whole earth and we didn't know why.
By Janna Ehrenholz3 years ago in Fiction
After-Brunch Tears
We had brunch together this morning. Kristie, Dayo, and baby Kayo. Noelle, Carter, little Sadie and baby Brynn. And me. Kristie, Noelle and I clustered around one end of the table, still reveling in all being together again after 12 years of living in different places. We've all changed so much in that time, but we've stayed in touch. The most visible and tangible changes are evident in the husbands and children who have been added to our group.
By Janna Ehrenholz3 years ago in Families
Treasured
Winter's hunger rushed through Harrzna's body and mind as she prowled through the forest. Warm rays of sunlight had finally penetrated through the opening high in her rocky cave and fought off many months of hibernation. Now, thoughts of food consumed her. And just behind those thoughts, a deeper obsession also woke, stretched, and began to gnaw.
By Janna Ehrenholz3 years ago in Fiction
Dad as Boy
No one ever guesses that the quiet old farmer in front of them got his start in life as a weapons dealer. I'm not entirely sure what the usual signs of a weapons dealer would be, but I can assure you that he has none of them. So when people find out, they are invariably baffled. Anyone who has had so much as a conversation with him is shocked to the core. It's at this point of bewilderment that a few more details of the story need to be told. He was just a kid and the weapons were pea shooters (or so he calls them) made from pilfered clothespins. Other kids would put in orders and he would make and distribute the pea shooters on the school bus. The ladies of the community, including his own mother, were frustrated and confused at finding their clothespins continually missing. One day he finally got caught and his life of crime came to an abrupt end.
By Janna Ehrenholz4 years ago in Families
