The Ink Owl

"If you don't turn your life into a story, you just become a part of someone else's story." -Terry Pratchett

Now Accepting Guest Posts for November

As October flies by I just wsnt to remind all of you views and writers out there that I am taking guest posts for next month. I will be on break preparing for the deep dark winter months and possibly participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

So if you’d like your work and writing features let me know! November is all about food on The Ink Owl, so read more about this particular challenge!

I hope to hear from you all soon!

Here are the guidelines for submissions:

Submissions can be anything about food. The story/excerpt/journal can be fictional, poetic, food bloggerish, autobiographical, fantasy, sci-fi, anything! Do you have a favorite restaurant, or food blog you follow or run? Have it featured here!

Entries must contain no less than 50 words, no more that 1700 words.

Photos are a must, even if they are taken from the internet (please give credit).

Please list your website or blog so I can give you credit for your work and answer these three question for your author bio:

1. Where are you from?

2. What started you writing? (Why do you like to write?)

3. What is your dream for your writing?

*Pictures of yourself for the author bio are encouraged.*

**Pictures and content submitted with graphic language, violence and/or pornograpahic nature will not be accepted**

***Please give credit where it is due, I do not accept copyrighted work***

Send submissions to no later than November 1st.

I love forward to your submissions! Feel free to share, reblog, or ping this post as much as you can! Thank you!

-M. E. InkOwl

Opening November Guest Submissions

It’s that time again! The Ink Owl will be featuring selected guest posts for this coming November!

I’m starting this a bit early but seeing as November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), you all might be too busy to participate.

So to business! For the month of November I will be featuring guest food posts to celebrate the coming of  Fall and Winter, the holidays, and food in general. (I mean come on.)

Ever had an unforgettably sublime moment with food that you just can’t shake? Ever written about a fictional dinner that you can’t stop thinking about? Do you have a favorite recipe that no one knows about but changed your life? Do you just love taking pictures of food?

Then this is the month of guest posts for you!

Here are the guidelines for submissions:

Submissions can be anything about food. The story/excerpt/journal can be fictional, poetic, food bloggerish, autobiographical, fantasy, sci-fi, anything! Do you have a favorite restaurant, or food blog you follow or run? Have it featured here!

Entries must contain no less than 50 words, no more that 1700 words.

Photos are a must, even if they are taken from the internet (please give credit).

Please list your website or blog so I can give you credit for your work and answer these three question for your author bio:

1. Where are you from?

2. What started you writing? (Why do you like to write?)

3. What is your dream for your writing?

*Pictures of yourself for the author bio are encouraged.*
**Pictures and content submitted with graphic language, violence and/or pornograpahic nature will not be accepted**

***Please give credit where it is due, I do not accept copyrighted work***

Send submissions to no later than October 24th.

I love forward to your submissions! Feel free to share, reblog, or ping this post as much as you can! Thank you!

-M. E. InkOwl

Thanks for the Submissions!

Thank you to all of those who submitted their work for this past month! It has been a pleasure reading your work and seeing others love what you are doing!

Here again is a list of all those writer’s who submitted work and have websites. Please take a moment and check them out. Follows and likes are encouraged, it will help our community grow!

Kindra M. Austin

Gary Jefferies

Stephanie Lohrfink

Rachel Kallembach

Ellen Best

Benjamin D. Shelor

Charlie Laidlaw

John W. Leys


Ronel Janse Van Vuuren

Lara Clouden

Spencer Cook

Anika Kirsten

Christine E. Ray

Ash Douglas

And all of you others who submitted without a website, thank you too!

Megan Erickson


Diane (Who is Nana)

Expect another call for submissions come October for a new writing prompt and challenge in November! Thanks again to all of you who made this possible.

-M.E. InkOwl

Guest Submission: Excerpt from “The Bequest.”


Joseph Carmichael formed one third of a paranormal society membership. Nay, a fellowship. Not quite the same as Tolkien’s that set off as a company of nine from Rivendell, but three was divisible into nine so there were clearly mysteries in numbers that defied rationale. The Fellowship of The Three sat well. Musketeers they were not.

The remaining thirds were his brothers Allan and Conrad. Both equally weird which was real handy when it came to obsessive hobbies. In this case matters involving the arcane, supernatural and downright unexplainable. That did exclude the cat some mad woman had called in about one Friday afternoon that had powers of levitation. The quorum concluded being stuck up a tree was not evidence they could, hand on heart, swear by. Although they had cursed a few times whilst feeling foolish gazing at a Manx feline in a tree outside the local supermarket. They doubted it was truly stuck too. Probably saw the mad woman and legged it up so fast it may have appeared to levitate. Although based on the small crowd smirking in the background it was more like a wind up. Par for the course in fringe societies where the average Joe had no idea how unsafe things were, what with causality being wrapped up in mystery and an undying premise that monsters and ghost were real. Rolling with serendipity it was a Joe that Conrad was interviewing.

Joe Stringer sat in a chair that looked too small. Not that it was but the girth of the incumbent man made it seem so. The chair was at a table in the local public house, The Royal Oak, and the table was being attended by a waitress called Rose. Joe knew she looked down on him. They all did. Nobody liked a fat man who wheezed when he moved. Then again Joe had a gift. They laughed at that too. But sure as pigs end up in sausages, similar to those within the breakfast before him, they would be laughing out of their asses by months end. Joe’s talent lay in dreams. Mostly they were despotic and censored owing to never actually having had a girlfriend never mind sex. He was a statistic on pornography search engines and his virgin dreams cost him large in self-esteem. Every now and then though there was a genuine mother of all dreams. One the left him wide awake and staring at the ceiling covered in sweat. A lucid in your face booger of reality dipped into his slumbering. The worst ever had been a black box covered in soil with an insane man screaming in the darkness. To Joe the interred victim knew he was there. The pleading went on and on.

“Help me Joe, I’ll pay you well, whatever you want I can give you….what is it women? I can give you those Joe…and life eternal. Roll back the fat and make you one of those men fucking in your dreams.”

The temptations of the devil. Eternal life in Joe’s book was a crock of crap and demons lie. Except that one had been tempting; women and desirable. He stayed in that dream too long and rolled out of bed near midday. But boy, had it been tempting. By the end it was hurling abuse and calling him every name under the sun.

The last line as he woke to, tangled in sheets with his head under a pillow was, “Fuck you Joe, you’re a dead man walking…and I’m coming. Just you wait. Keep your fat ass alive and then we’ll dine together.”

Whatever that meant. He was under no delusions of being the corpse on legs. Every doctor he met said so, his bloods said so and no doubt if they asked his heart that would say “Any day now.”

Still, of late Joe had had a few more dreams. Not the lottery ticket numbers he’d been trying for, but ones featuring dead people. Not any old dead people. These were ones he knew of. Right here in Compton, still alive and kicking last he’d seen. But the dreams had proper scared him. People died all the time right? Old folk, terminally ill ones, junkies and those unlucky enough to be hit by trucks rolling past a pot hole. Joe remembered that in the local rag. Man killed by lorry in tragic accident; driver and local authority found culpable. Joe thought nothing of it until he ambled out of breath to the scene a week later and the dream flashed back in every detail. The only change was the pothole. Oddly that had been fixed within two days of the crash. What could you do though? “Hey copper I had a dream, next week someone will cycle down that road and get hit by a truck.” They’d see the fat man and laugh him off as a crank. They all look down on me.

The last two days changed things though. More dreams, more dead folk. Except right now they were alive, but deep inside Joe knew, like the cyclist, death was coming. So far the demon was quiet. But this needed to end before his card turned up on top of the deck.

“Joe, Joe Stringer?”

Joe wiped his forehead and refocused on reality noting somehow his plate was empty. Trance eating. “Yes and you must be Conrad Carmichael?”

He shook the hand of the man in front. Rose returned to clear the table and set down two bottles of lager. He nodded consent as she penned them onto his bill.

“That I am,” replied Conrad as he sat down opposite and took a swig of ale. “What’s got you so worked up you need a paranormal investigator to talk to?”

The fat man leaned back in his chair, decided it was uncomfortable and leaned forwards instead.

“It’s death Mr Carmichael.”

“Is it?” replied Conrad. “Anyone we know or do you actually mean Death himself?

“Somebody in this very bar, as it happens.” Joe was sweating again.

“Really? And you know this how?”

“I, Mr Carmichael, have the power of divination in dreams.”

A raised eyebrow opposite. They all look down on me.

There was a pause. “And if I’m not too presumptuous might one disclose the unfortunate?”

Joe rested uneasily, “Yes Mr Carmichael, it’s you.”

-Gary Jefferies, from a current work, “The Bequest.”

Author Bio:

I’m from Lancashire, but moved to Staffordshire when I was three and now live in Bedfordshire (England)

My favourite piece of writing is currently my first book that sits awaiting an edit, closely followed by The Assent of Rose Marie Gray, which is sitting with a publisher awaiting a decision. On my blog Dragon Stone holds quite a keen interest as do my paranormal short stories. These have been well received so far from my blogging community. As for other authors; Stephen King’s Dark Tower series is up there along with Tolkien; not forgetting the great bard Shakespeare. I read mostly in Horror and fantasy fiction as genres, but that’s certainly not exclusive.

Why do I love to write…in two sentences…seriously? It’s hard to put into words, but my mind goes into a parallel reality where the stories are evolving and demand to be put into words. It’s not a choice, it’s a long lived necessity; not doing so would be a travesty of the imagination.

You can follow Gary and his lovely writing on his blog Fiction Is Food. Gary has so many things on his blog to learn about. From writing tips, to interviews with published authors, to excerpts of his own published work. You’ve got to check it out.


Guest Submission: Twilight Visions

A one-armed Odin-eyed

Mad martyr prophet

Stands at the edge of the abyss,

Visions of the White Wyrm

Strangling creation; swallowing time.


Twilight stars fall,

Diamonds plunged in velvet night,

Grandsons kill grandfathers

Before fathers are conceived,

Chaos and Paradox burn

The charred corpse of causality.

Yesterday, today; tomorrow

Collapse on themselves

Folding into singularity:

The final moment.


Wolves loose their chains,

Feasting on Sun, Moon and Sky.

Darkness & silence fall.

The Question left unanswered.

-John W. Leys

Author bio:

1. Where you are from.

◦I currently live in Redmond, Oregon.

2. You favorite: piece of writing writing/book/literature.

◦Tough question. The first thing that sprang to mind is Howl by Allen Ginsberg, but that’s just in this moment. Ask me later today I’ll probably answer differently.

3. In no more than two sentences, why you love to write.

◦I love to write because it gets the thoughts and demons out of my already cluttered mind and traps them on paper.

You can follow John and his poetry on his blog Darkness of His Dreams, you will not be disappointed.


Guest Submission: Into The Deep

He watched the moon glow red in the sky
throw colour over ripples of grey,
A whiff of a scent as if in a dream,
A flash, then he’s falling away.

Into the deep, green tentacles flap,
as if; happily waving goodbye.
A panic, an unheard scream,
bubbles bursting towards the sky.

Down in the grime the muck and the slime
beside the hull of an upturned boat,
Protrude oars, like arms reaching out …
as if to get ahold of his throat.

An eel comes to look at the boy with a book,
who into the water was spilt.
Who struggles and fights,
his legs disturbing the silt.

Deep down he plunges
The light disappears in a mist,
Like angelic detritus he floats,
intoxicated with heavenly bliss.

The dark clears, a nymph beckons
with barely a flick of her wrist,
A wisp of a thing, lures him deep
Her face he tenderly kissed.

He’s now way below,
Where tides ebb
And flow.
And dreams

-Ellen Best.

Author Bio:

Hello, my name is Ellen Best. I reside in East Anglia, Suffolk, England. I have stepped away from my traditional working life to write. My favorite book, one I am drawn back to, time and again is Jon McGregor. If nobody speaks of remarkable things. An astonishingly beautifully written book.

My blog is where I experiment with flash fiction, poetry and secretly hide pieces of me. I attempt other genre’s, step out of my comfort zone and procrastinate from my manuscript, my first novel. Follow this link to read about Ellen’s first experience with fantasy writing. I highly recommend it.

You can also follow Ellen’s blog here.

Guest Submission: Little Sisters Can be Such a Pain


Lauren and her sisters were on the open sea, waiting for the arrival of the schooner their father’s seagulls had sighted. Camilla practiced showing off the bangles on her wrists, plundered from the last ship they’d downed. Bonnie wore a tiara with a large green jewel in the center, sparkling in the sunlight. Amanda was the youngest. She was decked out in multiple gold chains, a wide jeweled band around her forehead and a pearl snood, which she didn’t know how to wear, so it was hanging off the side of her head.

The onslaught of direct sunlight and its reflection bouncing off the waves and jewelry made Lauren’s hangover doubly painful. She closed her eyes and lay back in the water, lazily flipping her tail to keep herself afloat.

“Your hair is going to be all slimy,” Amanda noted. Lauren covered her ears, but Amanda continued in inescapable Sirenese, “No one wants a fishy looking sea creature.”

The words dove under the waves and penetrated Lauren’s aching head. She lifted it out of the water to give her sister a miserable glare.

“Who taught you that?”

Amanda looked at Camilla, whose attention was suddenly absorbed in a hangnail.

“Camilla, why would you teach her Sirenese before she’s completed her training?”

“Hmmm?” Camilla’s irrepressible grin belied her feigned innocence.

“Ugh.” Lauren pumped her tail to distance herself from the pack. There had better be rum.

“Aren’t you going to put anything on at all?” Amanda called. “Not even a bracelet?”

“Leave her be,” Bonnie said drily. “She gets it done.”

The schooner arrived well before sunset, to Amanda’s delight since she was counting on dazzling in her gold finery. The first sailor to see them was young, about her age. She glowed with pride when he pointed her out first.

“Captain!, Hoy! Fish-girls in the sea!” he shouted, leaning so far out of the crowsnest he almost fell out of it. Amanda felt a rush of power.

The boy scrambled down, as the other older sailors shouted insults and jeers at him. But one sauntered over the bough to take a look, and did a satisfying doubletake when he spied Bonnie, then Camilla. Camilla lay back in the water to give him a good view of her naked torso, pushing her hair behind her shoulders to further bare her skin, while staring unflinchingly at him, one eyebrow cocked.

“Oh my…” he began, unable to finish the thought.

His pals soon joined him, gawking at the four mermaids flaunting their beauty in the full light of day.

Amanda ruined it a little by trying to sing, but Lauren flipped her tail to splash a faceful of seawater that shut Amanda up in a fit of coughs. Lauren was the strongest swimmer and was well away by the time Amanda recovered. She made it to the ship on the side where the nets were hanging and called up to the men.

“Do you permit guests to board?”

Her voice should have been inaudible, but every man on deck heard and felt compelled to rush to the side. Bonnie and Camilla knew they were left behind, but couldn’t help admiring their sister. She just had the magic.

Four of the men lowered a net so they could raise her up and lift her over the side of the deck. The rest crowded around, pushing to see her. Although she lay in a relatively undignified state on the deck, her low murmur held them in reverence.

“Do you gentlemen have any grog? You’d be surprised how thirsty one can get in all that water.” she leveled this at the tallest of the group, who had a handsome pair of calves.

“I’d be honored to share my ration with you, miss,” he said with an awkward bow.

“As would I!”

“Me too!”

“Mine’s right here!”

She thanked the tall one and took his flask, draining it in a few swallows. She handed it back, asking “Who’s next?”

Several flasks appeared for her selection. She took the largest one from a chubby, curly headed man with flushed, pock-marked cheeks.

“Aren’t you a treasure,” she said in her low voice. He beamed as she finished off his ration.

Things were looking up now. She felt her headache melt away with the heat of the rum.

“Anyone here enjoy a game of chance?” she asked.

“I do,” an imposing voice broke through the ranks accompanied by the sound of steel unsheathed from a scabbard.

The men parted to let a uniformed officer step forward. He held his sword at ready, but looked away from her as he spoke.

“I like my chances better with my friend here.”

“Are you afraid to look upon me sir?” she goaded him. But he was a student of the lore, and knew he and his crew were in grave danger if he allowed himself to look.

It took a great amount of resolve to keep his eyes averted. Every word that she uttered caused his blood to migrate toward her. But he was a brave and stalwart captain.

“Gentlemen, mates, I believe our guest would like a tribute. Please deposit your valuables, earrings, chains, wedding bands and purses. We can do this peaceably, and I’d like to save your wretched lives along with mine, at least today.”

He sent the cabin boy to his chambers to fetch his lockbox.

“You’ve been lucky today, madame. We’ve just come back from a successful trade, and have more than enough to satisfy your elegant taste. I would only ask that you accept our grateful gift, and allow our ship to pass unharmed.”

Lauren had been looking forward to a night playing with the sailors, hearing some music and learning new card games, but she was also pleasantly drunk, and found she didn’t care much either way.

She beckoned the curly headed man to her side. “Lift me up so I can speak to my sisters.”

He did as she asked and she called out to them, “We have a voluntary tribute, shall we let pass?”

Camilla pouted a little, as she always enjoyed when the drowning sailors clung to her, but there was no denying the expedience of this take if they were just going to hand it over. She and Bonnie nodded to each other. The deal was on.

“Get something to put it in, it’s a pain to go chasing for it,” Bonnie called out.

The captain heard this and offered his lockbox.

Lauren was draped across the tall sailor, negotiating the trip back over the side while simultaneously pressing against him teasingly. The captain had just secured her in the net with the lockbox and they were lowering her down when the sound of Amanda’s singing came at full volume.

The men dropped the nets and Lauren plunged into the water. The lockbox tumbled in, disbursing its contents into the murky depths. Amanda’s siren song swirled around their heads and the men became crazed.

The captain was the first to lose his mind. He ran through the first mate with his sword. Fights broke out amongst the other sailors. The cabin mate jumped into the sea, holding his ears. More sailors jumped overboard. Camilla made for them. She caught the first one as he was thrashing, and she trained her eyes on him, calming him. He grasped her tightly, a stupefied smile on his face as he sank under the water.

Bonnie surveyed the mess a moment, then dove after the contents of the lockbox.

Lauren lay in the net, drunk and uncaring. She would figure out how to disentangle herself tomorrow. And Amanda, she was going to have to do something about that one.

-Lara Clouden

Author Bio:

  • Answer these three questions about yourself:
    • Where you are from. -Duluth, MN / San Mateo, CA
    • You favorite: piece of writing writing/book/literature.
    • (Just one? OK, but just so you know, this is also an acronym of all my other favorite books:) The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
    • In no more than two sentences, why you love to write.
    • (Can I spend that on the previous question?) I love to write because I’m good at it. Also, I recently found out that it’s ok to write garbage once in awhile.

You can follow Lara and her writing on her blog: Elbycloud.



“Come,” he said, “let’s witness love in the heavens.”

His words captured me held me hostage under a sun-filled sky.

Side-by-side, hand-in-hand, we watched in awe.

Celestial lovers moving slowly to embrace.

A union between day and night.

A kiss not to be forgotten.

Each sharing the beauty of their power.

There were no words exchanged, just his breath on her face.

The beating of their hearts,

While Venus shown in celebration.

With our faces turned heavenward, our breath taken away,

We had no words sufficient to exclaim our wonder.

Silent we were

as the wind blew softly.

Then lovers parted moving slowly, longing for their next embrace.

Not until then did he whisper softly,

Did you not know that’s how stars are born?

And as he held me close,

my heart knew what love was.

-Diane, Nana to some.

Author Bio:

Where are you from?

  • I am from Utah. Don’t worry, that doesn’t make me as uncomfortable as it does you.

What is your favorite piece of writing/literature?

  • “Poetry” by Pablo Neruda.

Why do you write?

  • To frighten my husband and express my heart.

Guest Submission: Into The Deep I Plunge

unnamed (4)

Into the deep I plunge …
The deepest, darkest place
I can find … in my brain,
Yet … nowhere to be found.

The light, the one that once shone
From within, is beckoning to be heard ….
To be seen … to be loved.



Into the deep I plunge,
Happily Ever After… One step forward,
Sadly,Two steps back.

 I vowed FOREVER!
Is forever now?

unnamed (2)

The deeper I plunge,
The further I fall …

… into GRACE?! …

A space forgotten by me,
Forgotten by all!

Shame on them, shame on me!

Take me deep …
Keep falling … Hold Me!
Let Me GO! … Take my hand,
Fall with me …..

unnamed (1)

Into the deep I go …
Where? What? Why? …

… HOW?! …

How have I fallen
This deep, without letting go?

Further … Slower … Clinching


Oh … I see now … REJOICING!

You never let go …


Into the deep I plunge …
It’s warm … welcoming,
Inviting … I like it here …

Come with me … You’ll love it too.

Hold my hand, don’t let go!

Into the deep WE plunge ……….


-Stephanie Lohrfink

Author Bio:

  • Where Am I from?  I currently live in a little town in New Jersey, called Byram … where most people know you, yet act like they don’t .. lol ;o)

  • My favorite piece of writing/book/literature?  That’s a tough one, but if I have to pick, West Side Story is at the top.

  • In no more than two sentences, why do I love to write?  I have an extreme love for conveying life in colorful words! Since I can remember, I have loved everything about writing, creating, just bringing my mind to different places.

You can follow Stephanie and her writing on her blog: JuSteph4All

Guest Submission: Diving Deep and Surfacing


You are swift moving water

traveling through dense forest



through the midnight landscape

fireflies and Luna moths


your body

in a dazzling display

of bioluminescence

while wood nymphs

waltz on your mossy banks

to the chorus of crickets

and the hoots of snow white owls

I am the waxing moon

hanging in the indigo night

cool and remote

my silver light

glittering upon your surface

where I see myself reflected

I am almost beautiful

As you flow over rocks and logs

up hills and down vales

then rush over cliffs

where become a waterfall

you sing me a siren song

of longing

of heart’s desire

until recklessly into your depths

I plunge

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

Author Bio:

  • Where you are from?
    • Born in Southern California, raised in Central Massachusetts and lived outside of Philadelphia for the last 27 years
  • You favorite: piece of writing/book/literature?
    • I am a serious Jane Austin fangirl. I have a Pride and Prejudice tattoo (“Obstinate, headstrong girl”)
  • In no more than two sentences, why you love to write.
    • I write because I have to. It is the inner voice of my conscious and unconscious minds rising to the surface and spilling out of me.

You can follow Christine and her many intriguing and tantalizing writings through these blogs: (You’ve got to check them out, they are amazing.)

The Sable Horrors

So Dark You Can Barely Comprehend

J. A. Allen

Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins

Ricardo Sexton

.Welcome to my Metaphors.

The Everyday Stray

Be the thermostat, not the thermometer

For the Love of the Arts

All things art inspired...

Mountains of Words

stories, musings and other creations


Music, Poetry, Writings & Recovery

Rachel Being Chatty

Now featuring 15% more sarcasm.

Come and Go

Fiction, Non-fiction, Poetry Writing

The Divergent Poet

A placid conservative, who believes that change is inevitable.

Finally Unchained

this site is about me , it is me ,if you understand what i wrote then you understood me

Lori Writes The World

A writing blog

Melody Chen


Stories For All

Amature Writer. Short Stories.

Karen Bain - Writer

bleeding the past. the way out through the buried box.

Laura Bon

Inspiring the world

Insights from "Inside"

Sunshine on Razor Wire: perspectives from "inside"

lois e. linkens

poems and prose from a confused english student

Lexie Brooke

Creative treasures.