About Teresa Little

A writer by nature, Teresa Little spends her free time working with words. Her current works in progress are Ring Around the Rosie with a publication date slated for 2018 and the Sisterhood Series. Finicky Eater, about a rather cranky suicidal vampire named Kasha is on hold.

Book Review: The Tiger Rising By Kate DiCamillo

I could gush about Kate DiCamillo like a young fan girl. There I said it. She has a knack of hooking me on page one and I slip into her world forgetting mine, the bills, the dog, and am transported back to my youth. A place and time devoid of Kate DiCamillo. For if her books were around when I was a child, I’d of found my best friends in the pages of her works. The Tiger Rising is no different. Well maybe a little. What person is not fascinated by a wild creature, a tiger no less? From the first words we are off and running on an adventure. The characters are real, and while I might have found Sistine or Rob my heroes Continue Reading →

Friday Writing Prompt # 1

In a recent trip to Five Below I unearthed this little book gem – 400 Writing Prompts by #piccadillyinc and figured I’d share the prompts on Facebook and then put my brainstorming attempts here. 500 Words is the writing goal, but attempt # 1 weighs in at a lean 300. That’s life. Enjoy the rambles. While at the beach you decide to write a message in a bottle. What would it say? Who would you like to find it? Sitting in the sand, my hand digging against broken shells I feel the smoothness of sea glass not quite ripe. Pulling it up I find it is not a broken shard but a bottle sealed shut. Canned air from god knows where hits sky. I stick my Continue Reading →

Benefits of a Writing Conferences

Writers are in some ways a strange breed. We are for the most part solitary creatures, the introverted wall holders at parties with rich inner worlds to inhabit. We may babble in highly caffeinated mumble speak instead of English and not be able to string together two coherent sentences in our real world conversations. Yet take us to a writing conference and whoa, who is this person? Okay, I’m describing myself but I’m sure there is at least one writer who gets this, feels my words and is secretly nodding their head. If you are that person, and you have not already done so, run, not walk, to your nearest writing conference. It just might change your writing life. Why? Reason # 1 Writers are your Tribe. Continue Reading →

Constellation in 100

Sometimes I wonder how they connect, those glistening jewels above, creating myth and legend in the night sky. Past from generations, word of mouth, we sit and stare. Each star a beacon, tracing back the years. How many pointed to the heavens, creating beauty with upswept fingers in the air? Whispered words in reverent tones, the stories around campfires told. Or lulled to the rhythm of a rocking boat, just how to navigate. Lost and found, warrior or lover, all search for the constellation they call their own. While remembering the North Star is always there to guide us home.

Ben in 100

Responsible, life affirming, love you to the moon and back. You eat your cereal in loud slurping smacks though I can’t name the color of your eyes. Shaggy haired dog, aw shucks kind of man and yet, you lawyer in, pushing, cajoling, somehow seeing the big picture without losing too many details. The closest you get to yard work is staring out the window. Later, always later, there is more paperwork to do. Then you give with all your heart, bleed out willingly though you are blind, a fool. There is more to see than your solitary point of view.

100 on Writing

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It comes in waves, the good, bad and ugly. It sits in my soul, scratching to get to a page. It is my nemesis, my beloved, my best friend. Word upon word, building, crashing, digging deeper into the shadows where others live. Schizophrenia? Maybe. Lurking below the surface of a rational mind is a Dr. Suess inspired ride. Voices of pasts, of futures yet to live. Waiting. Waiting to dance across the stage, speak whatever words fall from frozen mouths to ink dipped quills that tap, tappity tap, tap, tap tap, in keyed up rhythms on letters fingers dance upon.

Book Review: The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Few books manage to cast a magic spell from beginning to end. Gaiman managed a feat that as a reader left me spellbound and as a writer, left me in awe. Yeah, I’m late to his fan club party but what an introduction The Ocean at the End of the Lane makes! The protagonist starts at a funeral, wanders aimlessly towards the home of his childhood friend then recounts his youth while sitting and staring into her backyard pond. The friendship fostered with one amazing little girl takes the reader on a journey that delights the heart even in its sadness. It is a modern day fairy tale. Between the pages, one will find fantasy, the power of friendship, life with its inherent darkness and Continue Reading →

100 on Beast

It sits in me, this restless urge to fight the depths of what I do not know.  To bring light to the space where darkness grows. The void, pitch black, the feared and the not. Sacred somehow in its time and space. Of me it does not care, I am merely the beast knocking at its door. The fire breathing tendrils and caught up smoke, trapped and panting with rapid eye. I am the nothing to its all. The attached and unaware. Still I dive the depths and search in frantic waves. This thing that is me, aware and free.

Finicky Eater News

Good news. Finicky Eater hit the editing process. So dear reader, what does this actually mean, aside from Kasha and the gang getting a bit of a make over? Well, the writing is getting tighter, the story stronger. Bad news. Kasha and the gang are more complex than I earlier imagined and what had been a simple story has outpaced my current capacity. So back tot he drawing board. Hopefully, you will have a story worth the wait. Stay tuned.

100 on Hunger

Its sits inside me, an eternal flame, demanding quietly, gently, something more. Breathing it in, breathing it out, it hungers for all I can give. Every experience, taste and sound it wants to know. Every touch it wants to feel. A bottomless pit I cannot feed enough. It wears my skin. Knows no bounds as it reaches for you, eager to sample yet again another sweet drop of tumultuous heat, rousing from the deepest places in me to the sky.  Somehow to bear witness, to prove with nothing more than breath the sanctity of us. Satiation there will never be.