T.L. McConaughy
Bio
Weaver of stories & guide of souls. Up-market women’s fiction with a shimmer of magic—strong heroines trading trauma for tenacity. Hope • Heart • Harmony. I heal, inspire, transform.
Achievements (1)
Stories (12)
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Trills on Fifty Two
The comforter was pulled tight around my head, my back turned to the window against the barrage of sunlight infiltrating my bedroom. The morning glow lit up the clothes scattered around the room like bodies. I did not want to get up from the safety of my sadness and grief. The starless darkness of the night had illuminated my feelings, encouraging me to burrow even deeper into the hollow ache.
By T.L. McConaughy5 months ago in Fiction
Labyrinth of Shadows
The mirror didn't hold back any secrets, its reflective surface revealing every wrinkle and every sprout of witchy white hair atop my head. I suppose I should count my blessings that they preferred the top of my head to my chin. No matter how many miracle products I tried, those hairs just refused to behave. Plucking them is a never-ending battle, with each one replaced by two more. At 43, I figured it was easier to embrace the aging process than to fight it. It's just a reminder of how fast time is passing us by. This past year had been a whirlwind, between the stresses of work, juggling family life with the kids and hubby, and trying to be present for Dad, it's no wonder I'm starting to feel like I am rapidly aging.
By T.L. McConaughy9 months ago in Writers
Dancing Shadows
The campfire crackled, sparks dancing into the inky sky. A chill wind whispered through the skeletal remains of the drowned town, stirring the memories buried beneath the surface of the manmade lake. I stroked the worn pair of ballet shoes tied to my backpack while huddling close to the fire. Oblivious to the haunting history clinging to the air like a shroud, my friends howled at the moon, dancing and singing. The submerged steeple of the town's church, its spire a ghostly finger pointing to the heavens, cast a shadow on the night ahead of us.
By T.L. McConaughy2 years ago in Fiction
Hands of Today
They used to call him Popeye because his hands and his forearms were so muscular. Now his hand was sharp and bony against mine. I didn't want to squeeze it afraid it would crumble or break. The skin was translucent, thin like tissue paper. If you rubbed hard it would disintegrate away.
By T.L. McConaughy3 years ago in Fiction
The Decaying Sugar Princess
I was fighting against the wave of tears pushing for release, straining to hold them back while maintaining the elegant composure of hostess at a table of strangers. My mind was erratic and unable to focus, the sounds of the street below were distracting, enveloping me, shrouding me from the madness of this “business luncheon” or rather the facade to day drink.
By T.L. McConaughy3 years ago in Fiction
Yearning flames
Do you see it? The electricity, the spark, the kindling flame between you and me? Can you feel our restless spirits, yearning to touch, yearning to be wild, yearning for someone to calm and soothe the thirst of the lust? The flames can't be smothered, the embers burn bright, blinding me, consuming me.
By T.L. McConaughy4 years ago in Poets
22 Years
22 years of irritating habits, not picking up clothes, drawers left open, and raising children. The date is looming before me, our anniversary. We've been surviving, growing, and maturing together for almost a quarter of a century. Some days it feels more like we are sister and brother and some days it feels like we are roommates rather than husband and wife.
By T.L. McConaughy4 years ago in Viva
His Songbird
The birds chirped and pecked at the stones beneath the patio in the morning sun, while she sat sipping her coffee. There was a gentle breeze that rustled the trees in the courtyard carrying the sounds of the plaza to swirl around her. She was lost in thought, the images hiding behind her eyes were ones of sadness and loss, yet they did not mar the small smile on her face. The perfectly painted red lips curved upwards accenting the cupid's bow. Anyone who gazed upon her face would have thought she was lost in dreams and melodies of love. She had perfected this face, this pose.
By T.L. McConaughy4 years ago in Fiction
