Lara D. Elliott - Inspirations

Wouldn't it be great to be happy all the time? I've fallen into the trap of comparing myself to someone. Someone who appears happy all the time. Not always smiles. Sometimes complaining. Sometimes frustrated. But never sad. Never depressed. I've been happy for the past month. Somewhat of a record in comparison to the past year. But today, one little thing set me on a downward spiral. Five minutes. Five measly minutes. In the grand scheme of things, five minutes is nothing. But today, five minutes put me into a sort of relapse. If only I had gotten ready faster this morning. If I hadn't hit snooze one more time. If my son would put his own freakin' shoes on. If I had eaten my breakfast in the car instead of at home. Five minutes was all I needed. Now I can't stop thinking about it. I made a mistake. A tiny mistake. But the impact was bigger. My reflection on what happened is bigger. Every depressing doubt about my life has invaded my brain again and won...

Having heard rumors of what happened to Rapunzel’s keeper, Elvira vows not to befall a similar end and so stows away her beautiful ward, Zerlina, in a tall tower in the middle of the sea. “One of my more brilliant ideas,” Elvira brags to the witches’ council. “Not a chance that the little darling will escape. Not only can’t she swim, but I’ve cut her hair short as a pixie’s.” Meanwhile, in a faraway kingdom, Prince Gian sets out on a quest to rescue the daughter of the great mage, Masetto. “My daughter is very beautiful,” Masetto tells Prince Gian. “I offer you her hand if you can bring her back safely. A witch has taken her across the land toward the sea.” Eager to win the hand of such a conquest, Prince Gian seeks the help of every troll, gnome, and hobbit to point him in the right direction. Soon enough, he finds his way to the edge of the sea with a view of a tall tower that stands quite a distance from the shore. The waves look too violent to swim and he has no bo...

The case still had dust on it. The old flute had been on a high shelf in the closet until June’s counselor suggested a hobby might distract her from the grief. When she saw the ad for a community band that was starting up, she knew this was the way she wanted to go. She stepped into the auditorium and saw a diverse group of musicians, every age, every size, every color. How wonderful that music could bring all these strangers together. But one man wasn’t a stranger at all. His face was all too familiar. It was a face that dwelled in her dreams as a teenager. A face now weathered but, if possible, even more handsome. Andrew’s face. June kept her distance. It didn’t work out then and it wouldn’t work out now. That ship had sailed. Music was passed out and rehearsal began. Andrew would be at the back of the group. She couldn’t see him, but every cymbal crash, every bass drum hit, she thought of him. She remembered how he used to make up the parts when he lost the music. He’d get ...

Tabitha’s fingers curled around the neck of her guitar, stretching in every direction. “I can’t do it. My fingers don’t bend that way.” Stupid guitar. “Remember your wrist." Sam reached over and delicately adjusted Tabitha’s grip. His touch sent shivers up her arm. Moments like this kept Tabitha coming back for lessons every week. With more attention to her wrist, Tabitha formed the chord with her left hand and strummed the strings with her right. A twang and a thunk emitted from her instrument. She sighed. “Don’t get frustrated. Press the strings firmer.” Sam’s voice was calming. Another attempt. This time, a few melodious tones accompanied the twang. “See? Better. Just keep practicing and your fingers will get used to that position. Your muscles will get stronger.” Sam glanced up at the clock. “Well, that’s our time.” Tabitha latched up her case. “So, I’ll see you next week?” Sam chewed his lip. His face reddened. He was kinda cute when he squirmed. But what was t...