Call to Writers – Submit Your Stories Here!

Me? I’m guilty too. I don’t always look at the back pages on blogs. So I’m posting our content from ‘Contact Us’ asking for your stories here on the FVP Home Page.  I look forward to hearing from you soon! …Yes, YOU! Don’t be shy….

We would love to hear from you, and will always consider your story submissions to feature as posts on our home page with links to your sites. They can be excerpts from longer works, short or flash fiction, or poetry–preferably with a sense of story. Our site rating is PG. Pieces with no more than 500 words are preferred, though up to 1000 words are acceptable. You can also include an image to go with your writing if you own it or have permission for its use. Please indicate image credit.  Submit to:

We also offer support to writers who are working toward publishing or who are marketing newly published works. We have a pool of authors with a font of experience to share. Please let us know what you’re working on and how we can help.

We hope you’ll comment on what you read here and/or comment to tell us what you’re up to in your reading or writing. We welcome you to become part of the FreeValley community.

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Thanks for stopping in!

Sheri J. Kennedy, Editor, FreeValley Publishing




Our last official response (by Sept. 5) to this Jean-Daniel Photography photo. Thanks to those who participated! We’re not picky about deadlines, so you can still send a story any time on this or any other prompt or topic of your choosing. Send to 

w23He tried to turn his head but his neck would not move. His right arm felt stuck to the column he leaned against when he tried to lift it. The gaze of his eyes remained fixated on the street even though he wanted to look to the left, to see if he still had the camera. But his eyes would not turn. He lifted his right foot but it did not move. He tried his left and it felt stuck to the sidewalk.  And then he wondered what he was wearing. He knew he had put on a short sleeve T-shirt, below the knees shorts, and tennis shoes this morning in the hotel. But he could tell that now he was wearing a long sleeve button up shirt and jeans, over boots like some kind of cowboy.

The thought of being a cowboy made him smile, or wish he could smile because nothing in his body moved but his mind. So, he thought how did I get into this state? Why can’t I move? What happened to me? O.K. slow down, empty your mind for a few minutes the way they taught you to at the workshop. Just relax, let your mind become sky like, let the thoughts pass by like clouds, breathe deeply. Then he realized he couldn’t breathe, his whole body was solidly immobile. But how was he seeing and thinking?

Then he remembered. He was walking down the street and saw a sculpture of a cowboy leaning against the column of an historical building. Just as he was reaching to open his camera case, the earth shook and a blindingly loud crash of light filled the street. A large insect that looked like something between a roach and a moth flew straight at him. Its narrow, malevolent, gray eyes stared hypnotically into his just before it flew into his mouth and he lost consciousness.

His mind screamed and he used every bit of will power he possessed to move but nothing happened. His consciousness roared at passing pedestrians to see him, to realize he was paralyzed and needed help. But no one stopped. No one seemed to even notice that he was stuck there. Then he saw his body walk toward him. It stopped, pulled the camera out of the bag, and took a photo. The eyes though were not his. They were the same malevolent, gray eyes that flew out of the light. As it stared, he saw clearly the reflection of that cowboy statue.

by Skywalker Payne   Published with Permission

Learn more about this author, skywalkerstoryteller and enjoy her Blog Here

Mistress of the Dancing Bones

Francois appeared to Ashia’s right and slashed his dagger at one of the spears. The metal tip flew off. Then he was gone. He reappeared at her left and thrust his dagger through an opening. It bit at her side and she hissed in pain. Gripping thedancing-bones-cover wound, she spun around to face left but she knew he wouldn’t strike there again. Ashia thrust her spears behind her, trying to catch him, but true to her father’s training, Francois was adapting to her already.

Francois appeared crouched down at Ashia’s feet right in front of her and swept her feet. She tumbled down to the ground on her side, the one that was already bleeding and it sent an intense jolt of pain through her body. Ashia again tried to blow Francois back, but he rammed both blades into the ground and held onto them tight. Though his body lurched back, she couldn’t quite shake him loose.  Once her blast ended, he leapt back to his feet and landed on top of her with his blades crossed at her neck.

“Surrender or die!” Francois shouted to her playfully.

The crowd groaned in fear for their favorite Ashia. She just smiled. “Never!” Her lifeforce was already sinking into Francois draining his life force. She had a good reserve she was building already from him. Now with him so close, her lines were weaving into him everywhere. She slowly pushed his arms up away from her and towards his own neck. His brows furrowed as he fought back against her. His strength was formidable, but ever so slowly she was winning out.

Francois backed away from Ashia and she leapt up to the balls of her feet. “What are you doing?” he asked in a strained voice.

“Trying to win!” Ashia said with a smile. As he backed away, her control weakened, and within a moment, he pushed his arms out in front of him. She still couldn’t maintain such tight control for long at a distance.

He stood back up, but stumbled as he did. He was starting to feel the lifedrain. Francois shook himself to clear his mind and focus. Ashia backed up and gathered her scattered weaponry to her. They spun around her again in a tight formation as she watched his face for any slight betrayal of his next move.

He was learning quickly. Francois’s face betrayed nothing. His body tensed and he seemed about to flicker away, when Camille spoke.

“Enough!” she said in a quivering tone Ashia had never heard come from her lips. “I’ve seen enough!” Her hands ran through her hair and she looked away, her eyes scoured over everything other than Ashia.

They settled on Etienne. “What did you do to my daughter?” she asked, though she and Ashia were not technically related.

Etienne said dryly, “I stepped out of her way.”

Camille’s heels echoed through the silent courtyard as she approached, visibly shaken.

“I came here to collect a wayward child and I find… this,” Camille said.

Excerpt by Thomas Alexander – Featured with permission