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Bliss Morgan
Works at writing excellent things
Attends Bridgewater State University
Lives in Duxbury, MA
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Bliss Morgan

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Nightmare Fuel, Day 1 - Story

I am very behind on my own project; forgive me, please, with the same grace whereby I attempt to forgive myself as I brush the dust off my fingertips and write again.

“It looks to be a beautiful day, to go to sea, praise God!”

Harold looked up from the rope he was coiling on the deck of the Carassius, out of the way of the men carrying the last of the cargo down the gangplank – crates that they shouldered with difficulty, so weighty were their contents, but that they carried with care to the wagons waiting to spirit them off to their destination in the dockside warehouse district. Not far beyond them was a squat stack of wine-butts being rolled and roped one by one to hoist and haul aboard.

One of the newest members of the crew was performing the same duty a few paces distant. He was a lanky young man Harold was sure would spend half the time up the rigging given half the chance, and the older sailor shook his head and turned his attention back to the wrist-thick rope.

“Her name is Phyllis.”


For a few moments Harold let the boy stew, carefully laying down the last coil of the line. It tucked neatly into the center, a satisfying flat spiral that was likely to trip no one as they moved about the decks, even at night.

“The god you want to be praising at sea. Her name is Phyllis.”

The young man barked out a merry laugh and nearly dropped the loops of rope dangling over his arm.

“Go on, there’s no god named Phyllis, there’s only God!”

“There is though, lad,” Harold cautioned, and couldn’t stop himself from glancing across to the mouth of the harbor, brow creasing in concern. “Her name is Phyllis, and a cruel and lovely god she is. You be sure to drop your thanks to her into the waves once we’ve shipped out. I’m not of the mind to find us becalmed, or blown off course, because you’ve taken it into your head to be rude. She can’t abide rudeness.”

“Oh can’t she?” the lad snickered good-naturedly, and shrugged off the conversation, bending to his work. Harold watched him a moment, pursed lips frowning.

“What’s your name then?”

“Not Phyllis, that’s for sure! Call me Jim.”

“Bite your tongue about her, Jim! She’s fierce when she’s upset, I’m telling you!”

The young man’s coil slipped neatly into place, and he strode across the deck toward the butt of wine that was lowering toward the opening to the lower decks. Harold watched him steadying it with the others as they lowered it down, and listened to what the wind blew him of their words.

“Old…. says there’s… named Phyllis! Ridiculous, if you ask… might as well belie… fairies next.”

Within the hour, Harold had sought out the Captain and Bursar to see himself paid out and separated from the crew.

. . .

In a well-appointed drawing room, a fish swam inside an open-topped glass globe, making round after golden-scaled round not far above the layer of dark grey pebbles over the stone bottom. The globe fairly glowed in the late afternoon sun that spilled in the window that stretched the height and very nearly the width of one entire wall, overlooking the sea. The ocean waves lapped low and gentle upon the shore, not even whitened by the sweet and steady breeze.

Though the air in the room was still, similar waves in miniature graced the surface of the water in the globe, dashing against the side in minuscule licks soundless in the silence. The fish remained below, glittering and flicking its tail for no one’s delight.

Not long after Harold’s feet met proper dirt roads outside of town, a towering wooden door swept open to let into the drawing room a sedate and sweet-faced woman. The pinned-up coils of her hair, gleaming golden oak like the hull of a freshly launched ship, were as artless as her loose white gown. Sleeveless upon one side of the broad and curving neckline, a long and drooping sleeve dripped from her other arm. But for the rope knotted at her waist, it would have been shapeless utterly, from the bleached-sail shoulders to the ragged-looking kelp-colored bottom.

Despite her dishevelment, she moved through the room familiarly, the space as much her own as her very feet, which padded softly, bare beneath the gown, upon the pristine parquet as she circled the bowl upon its stand of convex and intertwining wrought-iron bars. She watched the fish, which ignored her as it swam its rounds, far more interested in the pebbles and low plantings between which it wriggled.

“Fare thee well, Harold,” she murmured with a sad and wistful smile, before taking up a small chest from a nearby shelf. Upon opening, there was a tiny boat no larger than her pinky nail affixed to the inside of the lid. Wriggling that same pinky nail behind it, with infinite care, she delicately pried the little boat free, and held it up to the light, examining it thoughtfully.

“Alas, Carassius,” she declared, and set it carefully upon the glimmering waves inside the bowl.

Round and round the golden fish swam, ignoring the boat.

The bulk of the chest held a pile of bright red and crumbling flakes, a few of which the woman pinched before returning it to its shelf. Her arm swept up, and paused. Her hand was casting a shadow upon the water. Stooping, she caught up a long and ragged edge of her dress and slipped to one side, letting the full light of the sun fall on the bowl.

“Phyllis!” a voice called from the hallway beyond, “Are you quite finished? Dinner is nearly served!”

The fish swam round and round, a lazy golden circlet in the glass.

“A moment, darling!” she called back, hand and gaze unwavering. She waited, hem drooping from one hand, until footsteps retreated. Then the shadow that had fallen upon the water darkened her face, sweet lips curling into a sour snarl.


Her fingertips rubbed hard together, disintegrating the pinch of red crumbles into a fine powder that fell upon the water in the bowl. With a flash of sunlight glinting off golden scales, the fish darted to the surface to devour, its callous lip bumping hard against the delicate boat.

By the time the door closed behind Phyllis, the wee ship was listing. It was ignored by the busy fish, a small hole in the belly of the boat, until an impossibly small figure slipped out, flailing helplessly; a red stain followed, leaking from the tiny cask that fetched up against the hole.

The fish tasted both, but did not like the stain. The figure sated what the crumbles had not, though, and the fish wormed between a pair of plants and spiraled down into its slow and golden rounds, while myriad and minuscule figured ran about the deck of the little ship, patching and shifting and shipping off lifeboats.

The fish swam round and round, and the room was silent.

Nightmare Fuel, Day 1

Thus, we begin. Those who have played before, welcome back!

Those who are new, welcome. This is how it works:

- Each morning in the month of October, I shall post a prompt image to this Collection.
- Each evening, I shall post a flash fiction inspired by the image.
- If you write a flash fiction, post it somewhere and drop a link to it in the comments on the prompt image
- read other people's fictions. Enjoy the creepies (or whatever other flavor results)

Why is this project happening?

In brief, it helps me get rid of nightmares that happen seasonally. Writing little bits of horror gets the creepiness out of my head so that I can sleep, and it entertains folks in the process. I aim to write a flash fiction every day in October. You don't have to write every day, but I do hope you join me.

I try to attach original sources to the images I use whenever I can find them. The first image, below, was originally a painting by American artist Charles Courtney Curran.
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Phyllis cannot abide rudeness. XD
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+Bruce Shark have you been posing for art projects and anatomy books?
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Lessee, who fits in that blue wedge...

+Lisa Cohen, +Anthony Deaver, +Carrie Canup +Charlie Hoover +Mary M. Cooper maybe? Who else? 

Yeah, I'm looking at you. 
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Ooh... +Markus Christopher​
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30 minutes into memes without pictures and chill and he gives you this look.

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Horrorstör is a horror novel set in an Ikea-knockoff store, with chapters labeled with the names of furniture, including diagrams of them, and the physical book is made to resemble the dimensions and feel of a furniture store catalog.

I, uh... ::grabbyhands::
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I picked this up for my wife, because of her love for Ikea. She enjoyed it, and even says it gets downright disturbing. 
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Nightmare Fuel, Day 12

There have been some really great responses to these images so far, but I've been told that they're hard this year. Have they been too subtle? Too atmospheric? Should I go for more blunt and blatant horror/creepy in the images?

Tell me. Or the human-shaped figure in black.

#NightmareFuel   #WritingPrompt   #Writing   #Horror   #FlashFiction  
Jo Ann Cabrera's profile photoHilary Truman's profile photoAshen Jackal's profile photoLeonard Suskin's profile photo
It's likely my headspace as much as the prompts. This has been a difficult year for me, and there's more recently about which I've not spoken on here.

I perhaps should, but don't really have a "close friends" circle these days. I keep writing for my own reasons, but it's not always easy.

Oh yeah, day 13:
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Good evething

HUGE SUCCESS! We made a shift in the overall schedule of our eening, today. Elder, being ten years of age and willing to take on certain chores as part of the privilege, has been granted a half-hour bedtime extension, with a 9pm lights-out instead of 8:30. Aside from Younger making an appearing at 8:40 claiming hunger (satisfied with a handful of raisins) and then needing cuddle-comfort at 8:50, not being used to going to bed at home without his brother, all went well.

This shift was preceded by a big dinnertime discussion about privileges and responsibility and chores and the importance of everyone contributing for the sake of the general good and so on so forth et cetera. I was unsurprised that DG asked if they could get moolah for these chores. I was pleasantly surprised when, after being told no, she nonetheless expressed interest in taking on chores anyhow. In particular she is interested in making the coffee, so tonight we had a lesson on how to clean out the old grounds and coffee, add fresh grounds, and add fresh water. Tomorrow she will be in charge of flipping the on switch.

They've also been informed of impending weekly room cleanings with vacuumings. They cheered.

The 8, 9, and 10 year old cheered about getting to vacuum their rooms.

There wasn't cheering about the impending learning how to do all their own laundry, but eh. Can't have everything, amirite?

SALM is conquering the world, and I have retreated to the Basement/Dungeon/Lair/suggestaninterestingnameformymakerspacehere to do some more catching up on the Nightmare Fuelling that I am woefully behind on. On which I am woefully behind? On which behind I am woefully?

Argue that one out amongst yourselves.
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+Bliss Morgan Oh my. This idea has much merit and that picture is perfect for The Scourge of Legions. 
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On this day three years ago, I shaved my head to mark the end of my fundraising for +St Baldricks . We raised over $1700 to donate to research for a cancer cure.

Some folks were sad about me shaving off my hair, but donated anyway. I hope they, in particular, enjoy the pictures of my hair today - three years of growth with a couple trims for shaping and dealing with split ends, and it reaches the middle of my back.
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Nightmare Fuel, Day 13

Do you folks tend to find a picture easier to write from when there is a human(oid) figure represented in it, or when there is a scene of some kind set? Do you prefer the picture to be atmospheric or the hint of a situation that needs explaining/resolution?

#NightmareFuel   #Writing   #WritingPrompt   #FlashFiction  
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Good mornthing!

Today's #Selfie  is #MFW  I open a plastic bin to discover it is some cloth plus all my candles and incense, yay! ...and then realize that somehow enough wetness got in there that everything is moist, and it happened long enough ago that a lot of it is molding. I have to throw all of it out. Including an entire box of Nag Champa, and I don't mean one of the skinny boxen that hols 20 sticks, I mean a big box that holds like 24 of those big boxen.


Meh meh meh.

On the upside, since it all is going to get dumped in a garbage bag and put to the curb, the silver lining is that technically I have one less box to pack, neh?

It is a Things Are Slightly Off sort of morning. Things went okay with kiddo enschoolenation, for the most part. DG started up with angry-cranking at me for waking her up and I had to shut her down for it. Younger was rollysnugglysnoozy but I managed to jolly him into his clothes. Elder was awesome but his sandals that he still insists on wearing every day have vanished and there was a last-minute scramble for socks and sneakers.

It's picture day, and I let them dress themselves for it. They all look pretty good. Younger's got a little polo shirt on. DG's got a stripy sweater over a dark dress, and her stylie red wool hat. Elder's got a blue and black striped waffle shirt, and I painted his nails blue at his request. (DG then requested and received pearlescent nail polishing, and Solstice Scents Garden Gate perfume which basically smells like lilacs)

I definitely neglected to fill out order sheets or send in checks, tho. With photographs so easy to take and share with friends and family in the digital age, I just don't see much value in paying for school portraits.

I shouldn't be allowed to make coffee before I've had coffee: I went to reheat a cup of coffee, and caught myself putting the mug into the microwave empty except for a packet of Truvia. I'm glad I figured it out before I pushed the button to make it go. I'm not sure what would have happened to this mug, and I'd be bummed if I broke it through basic dumbness.

It's Tuesday! #ButYesterdayWasTuesdayToo  
It's Taco Tuesday, so at some point my day is going to involve going to the store for a tomato and some ground beef and cheese and a taco kit. It's really nice having this one day a week that is the same dinnerfood no matter what, and it's something we all like.

So what's my to-do, to do today, Tuesday? I'm about to put up the NF image, and then sequester myself in the basement with my minimachine and work on writing my own flash responses. I've been slack, as +Leonard Suskin kindly pointed out, and I'm definitely feeling the effects. At some point, shopping. Cookery with SALM.

Parenting and girlfriending. Stuff and thing.

The usual.

Hi. <3
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Thanks! Me too!
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Good moooooooooornthing
and happy Bartholomé Day!

We all have off school and work and suchlike, and we are treating the day in proper holidayish fashion - the Collective got up and entertained themselves taking turns with Minecrack in the living room, and I was a bladder-ninja to the bathroom and back without alerting them to my wakeful presence, thereby allowing for some world-savery!

Now there are cinnamon rolls and fresh coffee and SALM is making eggs while 2/3s of the Collective play in the living room and Younger plays on a computer at the kitchen table in front of me.

I successfully got my password and was able to get into my wee little portable Dell! Muchas gracias to +Motavis Jones, +Maggie Brazeau , +Philip Setnik , +Charles Moore, +Adam Black , +Doug Meredith , +Danial Hallock , +Cory Westgate , and +Craig Shaw for the help - and +Leonard Suskin for the giggle-worthy subtle dig at me having a machine running Windows XP. xD

Of all things, the trouble I was having getting the machine to boot from the USB stick was the mere problem of plugging it in to the wrong USB port, so the machine wasn't detecting it on startup. Rookie mistake. I blame being tired.

Today's plans include charging Lucky up all the way, loading the Nightmare Fuel prompt images on it, and then taking the Collective out to Ward's Berry Farm to climb the playground toys, pet the goats, and run ragged up and down the pathways. At some point, there will be dinnerfood. We are not planning to clean or move or hoist or fix or install or repair or fold or put away pretty much anything, and given that this weekend we built a bed, swapped out another bed, and slung a mattress and box spring down into the basement to be part of the sound baffling for the kiddo music area, PLUS the unpacking and area-setting we did down there... yeah. We can take a day of ease and not feel bad.

Can't help the world if we don't help ourselves. Put on your own mask before tending to the person next to you.

Hi. <3
Zachary Falle's profile photoCraig Shaw (Sîdh)'s profile photoJohn Lewis's profile photoBliss Morgan's profile photo
Yeh, he's got mah back.
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Congratulations to +Catt Kingsgrave and +Adam Fromm !
Since my social media spamming apparently didn't make it as far as GooPlu, at last it can be told: Murder Ballads has been invited as the Musical Guests of Honor at this year's Philcon, held in Cherry Hill, NJ on November 20-22. Philcon is the oldest SF/F convention in the US, and we are honored beyond words to be invited, not to mention excited to the point of Kermit-flaily-hands-levels of hyper. This is our first GoH in the history of ever, and we hope you all will check out the event and come join us for what we're anticipating will be a weekend of, dare we say, epic proportions. Let the strategy meetings and obsessive rehearsals begin!
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+Adam Fromm You're going to be fantastic. <3
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Writer, Crafter, Multi-flavored Geek, Sensualist, Musician
  • writing excellent things
    wordsmith, 1995 - present
Map of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has lived
Duxbury, MA
Ballston Spa, NY - Colonie, NY - Albany, NY - Latham, NY
Hey cool. You found me.
You've found the right Bliss - the one that makes shiny things, and soft things, and knots things together. The one that paints things and sings things. The one that writes very very naughty things. The one that likes a little slap and tickle, especially when the slap makes her gasp. The one that is bringing hashtags into meatspace. The one that told you that funny little joke that one time. The one that earworms you.

Yeah. That Bliss.


This is my Amazon wishlist. Because people keep asking.

My books:

Nightmare Fuel: A collection of creepypasta flash fiction plucked from the mind in a wild attempt to stave off an annual influx of sleepdep-inducing nightmares. From werewolves to walking statues to the question of humanity in tiny alien cephalopods, there's fuel aplenty for your own nightmares from under the bed.

Bits of Bliss: "Bits of Bliss is a delicious dish. It is smart, evocative and sensual. It flirts and teases, turns you around and on - and it does it in all the best ways. It's also incredibly addictive. ...there's nothing quite so sexy as erotica like this: one that thinks of itself as literature first and sexually explicit as an added spice." Erotic Flashfiction collection.

Dance Me: It's the kind of night that's a young woman's dream - pretty dresses, delicious food, amazing music, an unexpected gorgeous dance partner, and explosions. Okay, maybe her dream didn't include the explosions.

Spider GirlYet despite knowing there were zombies out there somewhere, from the news brought by the occasional traveller, survivalist Charlotte finds herself unprepared for the unannounced arrival of one undead creature at her cabin - and entirely unready for the truth it brings along with it.

Beneath the Jolly RogerEveryone knows the story. A lovely lady is kidnapped from a sinking ship; a dashing pirate captain saves her and, through a series of adventures, they become intertwined in a web of romance. This is not one of those stories.


Send snailmail!


(and while that Bliss doesn't REQUIRE anything because hi, this is the internet, you can do what you want... watching this 10-second video is highly recommended: )


FEED THE BLISS - Here are some links, because happiness is free but as much as I try my stomach refuses to live on it and the student loan company won't take emoticons and erotica as payment.

If you are anybody at all or have just circled me I suggest you see my circle maintenance posts. I have a lot of varied interests, and not all of them are universally appealing, so I use y circles to filter my output. I like to organize and compartmentalize. Tell me what you want to see beyond the public posts!


If you are a writer I suggest you see this post to see and participate in some or all of the daily writing projects that I run on a month-by-month basis:

Those of you who participated in Nightmare Fuel... yeah, it's pretty much like that, except not only horror. :D


For folks who want a taste of my writing, I suggest you start with my erotic microfiction _Spaced_ which you can read for free here:


If you are a writer I suggest you see this post and check out the Nightmare Fuel project:

If you just want to follow my results (or read other things I don't post here) see my Wordpress:

November note: This project was a great success! I'll probably do it again next year, if people are interested.


And for the sake of findability in the search (humans feel free to skip past this): 
#knitting #erotica #crocheting #jewelry #emotiplush #stuffies #etsy #sewing #spinning #sex #woodcarving #carpentry #cooking #gardening #SCA #writing #editing #funny #kinky #weaving #scifi #fantasy #horror #NightmareFuel #Blisstopia #geek

AIM: IAmBlissing
ICQ: 30857715
and of course, I'm
Bragging rights
Being viewed trying a new food is apparently like watching food porn. (Somewhat relevantly, I've also been told "There's a fine line between flirting, play, and harassment. Your line seems to be farther out than most.") ~~~ “Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything. They make you feel so alive that you’d follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix.” — Karen Marie Moning
  • Bridgewater State University
    English, 2013 - present
    Pursuing an MA
  • Siena College
    English, 1999 - 2003
Basic Information
January 7
Other names
The Duchess, Andrea Trask, Andrea Doria, Andrea Howe
Bliss Morgan's +1's are the things they like, agree with, or want to recommend.

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