I don’t need to look at my 12-string Gibson as I start the haunting intro riff of “Comrade in Arms.” That song, like all of Bryson’s songs, is embedded in my fingertips. But I look down anyway, staring not at the strings but at the words scrawled in Sharpie on the worn mahogany body of the guitar: Monti, Cunny, Hud. Heroes of Hell’s Highway, Lameass Singers. I know better than to look at those names; I know the memories—the nightmares—it’ll stir up…(excerpt from Tangled Up in Blue)

I stare into the darkness, trying to remember where I am. I can just make out a stained ceiling above me. A thin stream of light is coming through nearby window blinds. Then it hits me: it's Blue's ceiling; Blue's window; Blue's bedroom. I fell asleep in here on Blue's bed as he sang to me. When I turn my head, I can just make him out, stretched on the floor. He's tossing and turning, crying out in his sleep… (excerpt from Tangled Up in Blue. Read it free here on Inkspired.)

The full moon hung over the abandoned carnival as Jenny crept through the rusty gates, regretting her dare to explore at midnight. Empty booths and faded rides cast shadows. A screech made her freeze. A massive raven watched her, then let out a bone-chilling caw before flying toward the dilapidated rollercoaster. Jenny wanted to run but curiosity rooted her. What was the raven showing her? She took a breath and chased the inky bird into the carnival's shadows. As she ran, the raven cawed again,

"Sorry to interrupt this estrogen infusion," Blue drawls. "But I just want to ask you one more time—" "Yes, Blue," I interrupt, turning my Swiftie playlist back up, "I am absolutely certain it's okay with my grandmother that you come for Thanksgiving. She's totally fine with it." Okay, that's a lie. She is so not fine with it. But I told her I wouldn't come if she didn't allow me to bring Blue. I need him with me… (Excerpt from Tangled Up in Blue. Read it free here on Inkspired.)

I'd just turned my bike toward the base when I got a clear view of the Buffalo, black plumes of smoke boiling above it. I knew it was one of ours. I didn't know who was inside until I reached the vehicle and saw Cunny. He'd been in the back when the RPG hit. That was the only part of the vehicle that wasn't incinerated. He'd managed to call for help; his hand was still gripping the radio. I could already hear the choppers coming… (Excerpt from Tangled Up in Blue. Read it on Inkspired.)

Keegan puts a hand on my arm. “It’s okay, Blue.” It can't be my imagination that something—a sizzle, a spark—passes between us when she touches me. I'm pretty sure she feels it too because she gives a little gasp and quickly pulls her hand away. Then she smiles, and for a second, I can't breathe. Lots of women can give me a boner. But I've never met anyone who takes my breath away with only a smile… (Excerpt from Tangled Up in Blue. Read it free here on Inkspired.) #microfiction #love

The guitar's dinged wood has almost as many battle scars as I do. But it’s kept me sane, or at least saner than I would have been without it. Plus, it was the last communication I’ll ever have from my old man, his wordless attempt at a peace offering. I never even thanked him for it. I figured I’d have plenty of time later, after I let him suffer for all he put me and my mother through. But all of us ran out of time… (Excerpt from Tangled Up in Blue. Read it free here on Inkspired).

I’m seeing the beautiful front and scarred back of Blue Daniels. I keep replaying my meeting with him, wondering about him. Where is he from? Has he been in the military? How did he end up in this house? How did he get those scars? There’s something about Blue, something that gets to me. It’s not just that he’s sexy or obviously has a story to tell. There’s something between us; I can sense it, even if I don’t want to… (excerpt from Tangled Up in Blue. Read the book free on Inkspired)

Blue is scrambling up the tree like Romeo climbing the balcony for Juliet. Seriously? He sits on the branch that extends toward my window, placing his feet on the roof and positioning his guitar in his lap. Then he begins to sing. It's ridiculous. But also, kind of hot. His voice is like his smile, deep and warm, with a gravelly hint of mischief in it. I start to tingle all over… (excerpt from my romance novel, Tangled Up in Blue. Read it for free here on Inkspired.) #lovestory

In the quiet countryside, away from the city's clamor, Maria found solace. But soon the tranquility felt empty and lonely. Every day she'd sit by the misty lake and stare into the water, thinking about her turbulent past, dreading her uncertain future. And then one chilly morning, a stray, mangy dog approached, its clouded eyes mirroring her own sadness. Trembling with fear, the dog gingerly laid his head in Maria's lap. And something stirred in her, the slightest shift from despair to hope.

At dawn, an old street performer played his violin for the last time. In the deserted plaza, the tune drifted through the mist, hinting at a life of loss. The sparse notes caught the ears of a few passersby, including a harried young woman, who stopped abruptly to listen. Each successive note seemed to further uncover her hidden sorrows. As the music faded into the silent morning, she approached the ragged old man and hugged him. #song #sad #courtneyhume

Lila's music seemed to go beyond the mere arrangement of notes. It was an exquisite tapestry of sound, each note spun from silken threads. When her fingers caressed the piano keys, they didn’t just produce a tune, they whispered the essence of her silent soul. Her melodies were unique, bearing a distinct signature of subtle grace and poignant yearning. The harmony she crafted went deep, stunning those lucky enough to fall into its gentle sway. Lila had no words, but she didn’t need them.

Willow Creek was unchanged, or at least that's how it seemed as Sarah's car curved along the winding mountain roads leading into the heart of the town. The dense foliage of the Appalachian Mountains flanked the sides of the road, leaves showing the first hints of autumnal gold and amber. As she drove, fleeting memories of her childhood—laughing with her brother Caleb, adventures with her first boyfriend Ben—played in Sarah's mind like old film reels. It hurt to think of them. It hurt like hell.

Willow Creek was unchanged, or at least that's how it seemed as Sarah's car curved along the winding mountain roads leading into the heart of the town. The dense foliage of the Appalachian Mountains flanked the sides of the road, leaves showing the first hints of autumnal gold and amber. As she drove, fleeting memories of her childhood—laughing with her brother Caleb, adventures with her first boyfriend Ben—played in Sarah's mind like old film reels. It hurt to think of them. It hurt like hell.

In a sunlit room speckled with floating dust motes, the baby boy planted his dimpled hands on the worn carpet. Every gaze was trained on him. Taking a tremulous breath, he pushed up, finding balance on unsteady legs. One step, two steps, with wobbles and near-falls, determination propelled him forward. As he reached his mother's outstretched arms, the room echoed with jubilation. In that fleeting moment, the boy wasn't just walking; he was soaring.

Amidst the silence of her childhood home, Eleanor felt the weight of years past pressing on her heart. The old oak door creaked, familiar yet different, revealing rooms that held whispers of laughter and shadows of memories. On the worn-out table lay a letter, untouched, yellowed with time. She opened it to find her own handwriting from years ago: "To my future self, never forget where you came from." With teary eyes, she settled onto the porch, the horizon merging her past and present into one.

In a dimly lit cafe, Isabelle played her heart out every night, her violin pulling in two regular patrons: Jack, a painter with a rustic charm, and Adrian, a suave novelist. With Jack, life was colorful like never before, full of passion and spontaneity. With Adrian, she was engulfed in an upper-crust elegance and ease she found hard to resist. Torn between these two loves, Isabelle composed a hauntingly beautiful song that spoke of her heart's struggle. And then she made her choice.

In the golden glow of twilight, Jacee stood at the edge of the weathered pier, her father's old fishing hat clutched to her chest. She could still smell the lingering scent of him on it—earth and salt. At 18, she’d run from him, eager to chase dreams in big cities. “I’ll visit,” she’d promised, a vow time eroded. Now, the stillness of the lake whispered regrets of unspoken words and missed chances. Dropping a single rose into the water, she whispered, “I'm home, Dad.”

"All Done," the neon sign blinked above the city's last laundromat. Jake entered, dirty clothes clutched tightly. Most people wore disposable duds now, but he clung to the old ways. As the washer began churning, he noticed the old song playing; it reminded him of loves lost and time wasted, and for a second, he could barely breathe. Then Clara, a woman in a tattered red dress with silver streaks in her hair, walked in toting a plastic basket. Their eyes met, and she smiled sadly.

In the shadowed glens of the Cascades vast, A maiden roamed, bound to memories past. Each leaf that whispered, each stream that gleamed, Held tales of lovers, of hopes once dreamed. “Why,” she sighed, “do mountains stand, Yet fleeting are the prints of man?” A nightingale sang, as if to respond, “Mortal loves fade, but nature lives on.” Moonlight draped her in misty veil, She danced 'neath the pines, letting sorrows sail. By dawn's embrace, she became, One with time, a legend in that place.

Amid the hushed whispers of the hospital, Ella cradled baby Noah, tubes intertwining like vines. Every beep echoed her heartache, each labored breath tearing at her soul. She whispered lullabies, fingers tracing his delicate features, willing her strength into him. One night, a tear fell upon his cheek. Noah's tiny hand gripped her finger, his eyes meeting hers. In that fragile moment, heartache and hope were eclipsed by a love so vast, it threatened to swallow the universe.

Anna set up camp in the shadow of Mt. Rainier, its icy peak glowing in the twilight. Each year, this pilgrimage marked her farewell to summer. Night descended, and she lit a fire. The flames danced, casting silhouettes of memories on the tent walls: laughter, hikes, marshmallow roasts, family. A chill wind stirred, signaling autumn’s impending grasp. Wrapping herself in a blanket, Anna gazed up into the starry expanse. Rainier stood stoic, a timeless sentinel bidding summer goodbye with her.

In the heart of the magical city stood a bookstore where books chose their readers. Lorelai, heart recently shattered, walked hesitantly into the shop. A midnight-blue tome floated toward her. She settled into a chair and began to read. The story within depicted a love like she'd always longed for. Drawn in, she felt each emotion. As she reached the conclusion, a man entered the store, and they locked eyes. The book slipped out of her fingers and made its way to this man. And their story began.

In twilight's tender embrace they play, Grandchildren, with joy that never sways. Echoes of laughter, magic they sew, Erasing past sorrows, making hearts glow. In their eyes, tales of futures so grand, Yet shadows of regrets, in my hand. Mistakes once made, in days long past, Wish I could change, make the good last. But these young souls, with love so pure, Whisper forgiveness, a balm, a cure. In their embrace, both joy and regret, Life's bittersweet dance, beautifully met.

Amidst the smoky haze of a burned forest, a spectral figure glides. Wherever she touches, ash swirls and memories of charred trees whisper tales of yore to her. Villagers say she is a spirit of fire, bringing devastation. But a lone child sees differently. He watches as, with every dusk, the Spirit Woman weeps silver tears. Each morning, where her tears fall, green buds sprout.

The old farmhouse echoed with bickering, the Jensen siblings arguing over its fate after their father's passing. Julia wanted to sell, Mark wished to renovate, and Ellie hoped to leave it be. Amidst the chaos, Mark's young daughter, Lily, planted seeds in the garden. Weeks later, as disputes reached a climax, Lily pointed out the shoots breaking through the soil. For a few precious moments, the squabbling ceased, and they knelt beside the new life, hands brushing earth’s bounty.

The subway car hummed quietly, everyone absorbed in their screens. Alex was no different, eyes fixed on a game. Unexpectedly, his phone died. He felt a momentary panic, then looked up. Across from him, a girl was sketching, her fingers moving gracefully over paper. She looked up, catching his gaze, and smiled. Embarrassed, Alex grinned back. The next day, he boarded the same car, leaving his phone in his pocket. Sometimes, a dead battery is the universe's way of nudging us to see the world anew.

The subway car hummed quietly, everyone absorbed in their screens. Alex was no different, eyes fixed on a game. Unexpectedly, his phone died. He felt a momentary panic, then looked up. Across from him, a girl was sketching, her fingers moving gracefully over paper. She looked up, catching his gaze, and smiled. Embarrassed, Alex grinned back. The next day, he boarded the same car, leaving his phone in his pocket. Sometimes, a dead battery is the universe's way of nudging us to see the world anew.

In the village of Lyr, people whispered of a piano that played by itself at midnight. When Luann turned 16, her curiosity got the better of her. Sneaking into the old chapel, she waited. At the stroke of twelve, a gentle melody resonated. But there was no ghostly hand—instead, a series of delicate vines emerged from the ground, pressing keys with their leafy fingers. Entranced, she approached. The piano, sensing her presence, began a duet, inviting her to join.

Tiny feet dipped in red paint, stamped on Cupid’s progeny. A card winging its way to a great, great grandmother. Decrepit, painful hands struggle to open it. But she smiles, her old, tired soul knowing, This pure new life is her ticket to eternity’s causeway. And the frenemy at the gate, blade raised at long last, Will soon welcome her home. #valentine #newlife #death

The baby's pure laughter fills the room. Holding his son close and drinking in the sound, the young father thinks of his own painful childhood. A deep gratitude for this little life surges through his soul, and he vows with every fiber of his being to surround his boy with joy.

The sun blazed down as a boy dressed in ragged clothes strummed his guitar on the Florida beach and sang a raspy love song. Beside him, his trusty border collie wagged his tail at the approach of a long-limbed girl in a bikini. Despite his rough appearance, the boy's voice was rich and sweet and full of emotion. The girl was entranced by his quirky smile and the soulful melodies that filled the air. The dog barked happily, as if he too was serenading the sun, the sea, and the girl.

The weak sunshine struggled to reach the old, crumbling fishing pier as the biting wind whipped sand into the air. A seabird lay injured on the wooden planks, its wings torn and battered, its breathing panicky and pained. As the grizzled fisherman cast his line and pondered past regrets, he wondered how he could help. But then he simply sighed and stared out over the churning waves. It was too late.

As the sun set over the Oklahoma bison ranch, the cowboy led his horse as he walked alongside her on the dusty road. She was older than him, a picture of grace, with a warm smile that lit up her face and eyes sparkling with life. It made him ache with a longing that was way more than physical. They walked in silence, taking in the beauty around them, until she caught his eye. “Tell me your story,” she said softly. And so he did. Not everything, of course. Never everything. But enough.

Old friends sit in the kitchen, reminiscing as they bake together. Recipes passed down for generations fill the air with sweet and savory smells. Thoughts turn to loved ones no longer there, to gnarled hands that once expertly kneaded dough and told tales of laughter and heartache, of life's joys and sorrows. On this day, in this sunny, warm spot, all that matters is the delicious taste of home. #home #cooking #friends #lovedones

The city was in ruins, a war zone of broken dreams and shattered hopes. She walked among the debris, searching for any sign of life. Suddenly, a flash of light caught her eye. She looked up and saw a figure floating above, holding a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. It was the Author, come to rewrite the world’s story. As the new words flowed, the city was restored, a bustling metropolis full of laughter and love. She smiled, knowing that in this world, anything was possible.

She scrubbed away at the grime, trying to erase the years from the building's face. The graffiti mocked her efforts, its bright colors taunting her. She sighed, knowing that tomorrow it would return. But for now, she'd done her part to maintain the illusion of respectability. The people who lived behind the facade deserved that much.

They slow danced in the mountain cabin, whiskey in hand. Snow fell softly outside while they swayed to the music by the warm fire. He whispered, "You're more beautiful than the snow outside." She leaned her head on his chest, and they sipped in unison, savoring the smoky taste on their tongues and the aroma of the crackling wood. In their memories, this moment would be frozen in time long after the snow melted and the fire turned to ash.