Jeanne Owens, author

Blog about author Jeanne Owens and her writing

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So Far, So Good – Stream of Consciousness Saturday #SoCS



Terry paused and bent over, hands on his knees. He wiped sweat off his brow as he struggled to catch his breath.

Sherry walked up beside him and placed a hand on his back. “You doing ok, Terry?” she asked.

“So far…so good…” he managed to wheeze out.

“I thought you were in better shape than this.”

“So…did I.” His breathing came easier and he stood up straight. He stared down the uphill path through the woods they were hiking along. “I just didn’t know it would be so far.”

Sherry looked at the map on her mobile phone. “It shouldn’t be much farther.”

“You sure? You said the same thing half an hour ago.”

“Don’t worry. It really should be not much farther.” She put the phone back in her pocket and grinned at him. “Look at it this way. You’re getting one heck of a workout, burning up all those calories you ate at McDonald’s when we stopped for lunch.”

Terry cast her a sidelong look accompanied by a frown.

Sherry giggled. “Trust me. It’ll have been totally worth it when we get there.”

Terry sighed and the two resumed their trek along the path. To Terry’s delight, it really wasn’t much longer before the path led them out of the woods and out onto a cliff. They walked up the rail at the edge of the cliff and gazed out at the spectacular view afforded them of a deep valley surrounded by snow-snowcapped mountains.

“Wow!” Terry breathed in awe.

“See? Didn’t I tell you the trek would be worth it?”

“Yes, you did. And you were right. It was worth totally worth it.”

Sherry hugged him and said, “Happy birthday, Brother.”


This story is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “so far”:

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS March 10/18




A Fine Thing – Stream of Consciousness Saturday #SoCS


Gemma sat at a table near the back of the pub, staring at a notepad and tapping her lips with her pencil as she thought. A glass of beer sat untouched beside her.

Mac spotted her from the bar, walked over, and sat down uninvited across from her. “You are one fine lookin’ woman,” he said with a grin, setting his glass of beer down heavily and sloshing a little over the rim onto the table. “Finest I ever seen.  It oughta be illegal for someone to look so good.”

Gemma looked up from her notepad and frowned slightly, a little perturbed by the disruption. “That is the finest pickup line I’ve ever heard,” she replied, the heavy sarcasm in her voice making him flinch a little. “The grammar in it should be illegal.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a toy police badge, which she set on the table. “As luck would have it, I’m a member of the grammar police, and I say it is illegal. I’m afraid I’m going to have to fine you for it.”

“What? Fine me? For bad grammar?”


“You can do that?”


“Well, what’s the fine,then?”

She looked him up and down for a moment. Aside from the bad grammar, he seemed attractive enough. “How about dinner?”

Mac blinked briefly in surprise, then smiled. “Fine.”

This short story is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday, “fine”:

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS March 3/18


Her Again – Stream of Consciousness Saturday #SoCS



His phone rang, and he looked to see who was calling.

“Her again,” he groaned when he read the caller ID. Didn’t she have anything better to do? Didn’t she know how much he had to do?

The phone rang a few more times as he debated whether to answer or not. Finally, he picked it up and answered it just before it could go to the answering machine.

“Hello,” he sighed.

He listened for a few seconds. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said.

He listened a few more seconds. “Uh huh,” he grunted. “Right. Yes, I understand.”

He listened again for a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah, I know that,” he muttered as he rolled his eyes.

He listened for a few more seconds, then heaved a sigh. “Fine,” he conceded. “Okay, I’ll be right over.” He started to hang up, but the voice on the other end said one last thing, and he replied, “Yeah, I love you, too, Mom.”


This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “his/her(s)”:

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Feb. 17/18





In Other Words… – Stream of Consciousness Saturday #SoCS



Zeke poked his head into the room where Trisha sat at the desk in front of her laptop, her back to the door.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Trish,” he called to her. “How’s it going with the story?”

“Great,” she replied, her hands poised over the keyboard.

“It is?”

“Yeah. It’s coming along just fine. Fine and dandy. Dandy and fine.”


“Yep. It’s splendiferous. Magnificent. Outstanding.”

“In other words, you’re stuck.”

Trisha hung her head. “Yes.”

“Well, maybe a break will help. Come have dinner.”

“Very well,” she replied and, with a sigh, she rose and joined Zeke for dinner.


This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “in other words”:

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Feb. 3/18


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Getting Inked – Stream of Consciousness Saturday #SoCS



Terry walked into the room and saw Jenna sitting at the table, doodling on a sketch pad. Scattered across the table and on the floor around her were wadded up pieces of sketch paper. As he watched, Jenna slammed the pen down on table, growled angrily, and ripped the doodle from the pad. She wadded it up and tossed it aside to join what Terry assumed were other discarded doodles.

Terry walked over to her and asked, “Whatcha doing, Jenna?”

She looked up at him and answered snarkily, “What do you think I’m doing, Terry? I’m drawing.”

“Obviously. But why, Jenna? You’ve never been that great at drawing or had much interest in it before.”

She glared daggers at him. “Do I need a reason? Maybe I just wanted to practice to get better.”

“It’s just so odd for you to be drawing so suddenly. So you must have some reason.”

The corner of a magazine that had slid under a nearby couch caught his attention and he went over to it. Jenna watched, a look of horror on her face, as he dragged the magazine out.

Terry’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw what it was a magazine for, and he gave Jenna a questioning look. “Tattoos?” he said. “You’re interested in tattoos, Jenna? Since when?”

She sighed. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I thought if I got inked, you’d like it and find me more…interesting. So I started looking at magazines to get an idea of what sort of design I might want, and tried to see if I could draw a design of my own. But I’m just not good at drawing. And now the surprise is ruined.”

Terry tossed the magazine aside and knelt beside her. “Jenna, you don’t need to get a tattoo to be interesting to me. You already are a very interesting person.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course I do,” he said, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “But if you still want to get a tattoo, it’s ok with me. Just be sure you’re getting one because you want to get one, for yourself and no other reason. And if want help deciding on a design, I’ll help you pick one out.”

“Thank you, Terry,” she said, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

He gently kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome.”

This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “ink”:

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Nov. 25/17



Well Enough – Stream of Consciousness Saturday #SoCS



Leslie sat at the cafe table, staring out the window without really seeing anything. Her laptop sat open on the table in front of her with the screensaver running. A cup of tea sat forgotten next to it.

Michelle walked into the cafe and, spotting Leslie, made her way over to her. “Well, well, well,” she said. “Fancy meeting you here, Les.”

Leslie turned from the window and smiled at her friend. “Hey there, Michelle. Long time, no see. Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” Michelle replied, settling down in the seat across from here. “So, what have you been up to lately?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just keeping busy. And you?”

“The same. Staying busy.” She pointed to the laptop. ‘How’s that book of yours coming along?

“Well enough, I guess,” Leslie replied flatly.

Michelle frowned at her tone. “Oh? I doesn’t sound like it. What’s wrong? Have you hit a case of writer’s block?”

“I guess you could say that. It feels like my characters have stopped talking to me. I think my well of ideas might have dried up.”

“Anything I can do to help, Les? I know how much writing that book’s meant to you.”

“I don’t know. I need something to give me some ideas. Tell me what’s been going on with you lately. Maybe I’ll get an idea I can use – if you don’t mind me using it.”

“Of course I don’t mind. Anything to help. Ok?”


The two friends chatted back and forth for a few minutes, and Michelle told her stories of what had been going on in her life, including all the drama and all the funny happenings. After a while, Michelle had to leave. As they said good-bye, Michelle noticed a glimmer in Leslie’s eye, and she smiled.

“I take it from the look in your eye, Les, that I was able to help you. I’m glad.”

“Yes,” Leslie said with a grin. “You did help me out greatly, Michelle. You’ve given me some ideas, and my characters are starting to whisper to me again. Thank you.”

“Great! Glad to help. Don’t forget to mention me in your acknowledgments,” she said with a wink.

“I will. Let’s meet again soon so I can show you what I’ve come up with.”

“Sure! I’d like that.”

Michelle left, and Leslie sat back down, woke up her laptop, and started typing away with a smile.



This story is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “well”:

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Oct. 14/17



A Memorable Birth – Stream of Consciousness Saturday #SoCS



Martin, an older man in a Navy uniform, pulled his car up to the doors of the ER and ran inside with a cry of “Help! Help! I need help!”

The nurse behind the counter hurried up to him and asked, “What’s wrong, sir?”

“It’s my Lydia. She’s gone into labor! She’s going to give birth any minute! She needs a berth for her birth!”

The nurse gasped. “Of course, sir! We’ll get her taken care of right away!”

The nurse looked around and motioned a couple of orderlies over. They followed the old man outside to his car, with one orderly pushing a wheelchair ahead of him. Martin opened the car door and reached inside while the nurse and orderlies drew close to help move Lydia into the wheelchair.

The nurse and orderlies gasped when Martin turned to face them with not an expectant woman but a very pregnant Dachshund in his arms.

“Uh, sir,” said the nurse, her voice calm but somewhat uncertain, “that’s a dog, not a woman.”

“I know that! This is my Lydia, and she’s going to whelp her pups any minute!”

“But, this is a hospital. For humans. You need to go to a vet.”

“Don’t you think I know that? But I don’t have time. I’m from out of town, going to a reunion for some of my old mates from the Navy. Lydia went into premature labor; she wasn’t due for another week or so. I thought I had time, so I took her with me, as I always do. I stopped at the first vet office I found, but they’re closed. The nearest emergency vet is too far; she’ll not make it in time. Please! Can’t you do something?”

The nurse and orderlies looked from the old sailor to the dog and back. “Well…,” said the nurse, still unsure.

“Please! She’s all I have in this world. I can’t stand to lose her if something goes wrong. She’s never had pups before.”

The nurse and orderlies had a brief, whispered discussion, then gave a brief nod. The nurse turned back to the old man. “It’s not normal hospital policy, sir,” she told him, “but we can’t turn down a plea for help from a serviceman like yourself. And we’re not heartless enough to turn away from an animal in need. We’ll find a room and bed to make her comfortable, while Mike here,” she pointed to the orderly with the wheelchair, “contacts an animal rescue he knows that is nearby and that he believes can help Lydia.”

Martin sighed. “Thank you! That would be very much appreciated.”

“We’re happy to help, sir. And thank you, for your service, sir.”

Martin placed Lydia in the wheelchair, and the group wheeled her inside the hospital. The other people in the lobby stared at them, surprised to see the Dachshund being brought in, and watched as she was taken into a room while one of the orderlies made a call from the desk phone.


This post is part of the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “birth/berth”:

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Sept. 2/17