Penny Fuller
Bio
(Not my real name)- Other Labels include:
Lover of fiction writing and reading. Aspiring global nomad. Woman in science. Most at home in nature. Working my way to an unconventional life, story by story and poem by poem.
Achievements (8)
Stories (65)
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Abaddon
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The single light was too dim to make out the walls, so Megan lit another and placed it on the dust-covered table. A third, fourth and fifth light took their places around the room in relatively even spacing. They would be her guideline to mark the points of a pentagram and begin the ceremony. As she pulled the chalk from her bag to draw the symbol, her hands shook. The chalk shattered to the floor, split cleanly in two.
By Penny Fuller4 years ago in Horror
Intertidal Magic
I am not a native Pacific Northwesterner. My husband and children have that birthright; for me, I fell in love in my twenties with this misty region where snow-capped volcanoes and rocky mountains mingle with temperate rainforests and orcas frequent the inland sea. It is home to giant tides, where the vertical height of the water can change by sixteen feet within a single day- it can creep over shorelines to shape beaches at one point, and twelve hours later it will draw back to the point that entire bays and sandbars appear, the waterline now more than a thousand feet from shore. It is here, within the mysterious intertidal zone, that my favorite mysteries of the Northwest lay waiting to be discovered. It is also home to one of my favorite delicacies, intertidal clams.
By Penny Fuller4 years ago in Feast
Clarion
She smelled like Christmas. Piercing the late July city stench of sweat and tar, Keith noticed notes of peppermint, cinnamon and clove emanating from the woman pressed at his side as they waited to cross the intersection. As the little white man appeared in his electronic box and the cuckoo that signaled a north to south crossing began to whistle, she pressed something into his hand and whispered in his ear with a faint Germanic accent:
By Penny Fuller4 years ago in Fiction
My Favorite Works of Fiction Use Setting Like a Character
When I think about writing fiction, I spend a lot of time considering the fundamentals. Character, setting, theme, tone and language can completely reinvent a story. Every Shakespeare play or Jane Austin story reinvented into a 90’s (Clueless) or early 2000s rom-com (10 Things I Hate About You) rom-com are examples of how you can take a compelling story and make it fresh and original.
By Penny Fuller4 years ago in Journal
Letter to You on Our 20th Valentine's Day Together. Runner-Up in From Across the Room Challenge.
I did not go to the ends of the earth to find you, I went there for me. But when I arrived at the spine of the Pacific, to an island forged of ice and fire, there you were.
By Penny Fuller4 years ago in Poets
Thank You, Coach
Coach: I think I have been composing this letter to you for most of my adult life. I’m sorry that I couldn’t get the words together soon enough for you to read them. Now, you have been gone from this earth for longer than my kids have been alive. But your gifts, instilled through hundreds of hours of training, practice and repetition, continue to unfold in unexpected ways. I have always been grateful to you, in my own quiet way, and I’m not sure I did enough to say thank you when you were around to hear it.
By Penny Fuller4 years ago in Humans
Fighting Dragons From Across the Rainbow Bridge
As darkness falls outside our home, the monsters come out. The shape, size and intention of these creatures change as my boys age and their viewing habits introduce new creatures to their inner grimoires. However, no matter the creature that could be lurking in the yard, ready to peek in through the windows, Bella the ghost dog is ready to protect my boys from any danger.
By Penny Fuller4 years ago in Families
Owl Rock. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
The night the town burned down we were thirteen. Shireen, Marta, Anna and I had all spent the night at my house. After my parents, who slept like corpses and retired each night promptly at nine, had reminded us to turn off all the lights and get to bed at a “sensible hour,” we gathered our supplies and headed out the front door toward Owl Rock.
By Penny Fuller4 years ago in Fiction
