My words do great things.
I can help you.
Creative Writing Samples


Originally published on www.bookscover2cover.com  May 11, 2015


Lydia said

She needed a place to go.  Lydia said I got room. Lydia lived a little farther up the C Bus route, a rougher part of town.  But anything was better than staying with him one more night.  And since they worked together it wasn’t like being total strangers. Lydia’s digs were on the top floor of one of the smaller buildings, and the spare room she would sleep in actually had a skylight that Lydia kept unlocked and open for fresh air. Open! It was even weirder; Lydia had a little display just outside that open window on the tar roof. Looked like a museum setting of a couple of ratty, big, old Victorian dress-up dolls. Some faded lace fans, too. But Lydia said aint no one ever bothered the dolls or her.  She didn’t like the idea of that open window. But anything was better than staying with him one more night.

They went to work.  They slogged home. Summer came and the cobbled parts showing under the cracked streets filled up with sooty dust. Heat. Teenage gangs roaming around. Lydia said this heat makes her wiped out. Work. Home. Work. Home. Then something happened to put everyone on edge.

A murder of two little girls.  Sicko kept the bodies hid for enough days that they went stiff and then painted those girls all over with black paint.  Then trotted ‘em out to be found.  And it happened again. Serial killer. Lydia said they’s girls already black, what he doing? Newspapers and the radio were full of it.  People kept a tighter eye on their kids.  Lydia didn’t like how the dry dust blowing all around was making her Victorian dolls dirty and sooty.  But, she didn’t bring them in, no, she just put three bed pillows out there on the roof to prop them up a bit. Now they’s further away from the tar and the wind be blowing off some of that black, Lydia said.  The only thing that let her fall sleep in that space was how exhausted she was at the end of each day. And anything was better than staying with him one more night.

Work. Home. Work. Home.  One night she and Lydia took the C bus down to center city after work. They had a good time walking around the river park and seeing Camden’s lights across the water.  And it was nice and cool after it got dark.  Eventually, they shuffled to catch the bus back home.  They got in and talked about the fun it was. Lydia put on the television and she dragged herself towards her room.  Lydia called out Lord, two more little girls missing. 

She was too tired to turn on her light.  But lots of light came from the moon and through her window.  Something didn’t match up.  The doll display. It looked different. The bile filled her throat. She crashed against the door frame going back to the living room. Lydia said what? No words came out. She used her hands to draw numbers in the air. Nine one one. Lydia said what, you crazy? Time stopped. Breathing stopped and nothing but nine one one came from her hands. Lydia pushed past her into that spare bedroom.

Lydia said we got two extra dolls.


 ​Copyright 2015 Maren E. Morgan 
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Work in Progress
Working title is: I Rescued a House: One Woman's Victory with an Abandoned Castle

I am actively looking for an agent and/or publisher.

This is a novel/memoir tracking how one person saved a house through hard work, perseverance, luck, kindness of others, and by teaching herself to perform most of the mold remediation and rehabilitation on her own. The chronological account traces choosing the house, then slowly nibbling away at major demolition of damaged structures, mold removal, and creative carpentry. Several set-backs are described without self-pity and each success is greeted with celebration.