Posted in Stories

Short Story Saturday: Making A House A Home

In today’s short story i will be writing about making a house a home. This story is birthed out of my own struggle to maintain a clean home in the midst of mine and my husband’s crazy work schedules and the busyness of life. Thankfully we don’t have children yet, or our home would look more like a war zone! Without further ado, i present to you:

Making A House A Home


Angela Frantz

Irene wakes up at 4am each morning, thanking the Lord for another day. She then proceeds to start her morning ritual; brush her teeth, tame her wild hair, and make a cup of coffee. Today is Monday, and it seems like the weekend was way too short, but Irene is thankful she gets to see her friend’s baby that she cares for. See, Irene doesn’t yet have littles of her own yet, and so she cherished the moments she gets to babysit for her friends, it is a chance to love on them and fill the gap of not having conceived yet. Also, because she works 10 hour days, and her husband works in the mornings, they can barely care for their fur baby and keep the house from looking like a danger zone. Most of her friends call it “lived in”, but she knows in the back of her mind her mother and in laws complain to others about the way she “manages her house”. Some days it is all she can do to not set fire to her belongings and start over, but with working the shift she does, and not getting much help from her husband she doesn’t have time. Life always seems to get in the way, and she has to make excuses for not only saying no to her friends invites, but allowing anyone over to visit. Irene dreams of a small home in the country, one where she gets to stay home all the time and keep the place tidy and neat. She knows life is busy, but one day she hopes to make her house a home!

Hope you enjoyed this short story. If there is a topic you would like me to write about, head on over to my contact section and send me a message. Have a good weekend!


Posted in Stories

Short – Story Saturday

Growing up I used to love to write short stories, and until recently I had forgotten all about this. One in particular that I remember was when i was home schooled and I was given the topic “going out for milk,” and I had to write a story surrounding me going out for milk and the things I saw and did between my home and the local grocery store. This was a difficult activity at first, but then after doing some thinking i found it to be a lot of fun. I was nine years old at the time, and for that whole year i remember coming up with little stories, that to be honest, I have no clue what i did with. woman-typing-writing-windows.jpg

After doing some research, and trying to find topics to help me write more this year, one of the things that came to mind was writing short stories.  I was a little apprehensive at first to do this because i knew that writing in general was difficult for me, and obviously short stories take more work…but from the readings i found it is actually quite the opposite. So I hope you will bear with me over these next few weeks as I attempt to try something new, and hopefully expand my writing pallet. Without further ado, here is my short story for this week.

A Man and His Box

There once was a man who had a box. The man carried said box everywhere he went, and when people would ask him about it, he would simply reply, “It holds a priceless treasure.” One day this man befriends a little boy who was sitting by himself on the bus. Many years go by, and this little boy becomes a man, his mom helps the man with the box when his wife dies and he loses his home, and is even invited to the young man’s wedding. One night the young man and his wife get a phone call from the hospital that his dear friend is ill and wants to see him. When he arrives to the hospital he is led to the room where his friend is at. The young man looks at his friend and asked him, “All these years and you never once told me why you chose to befriend me and my mom. Why did you do it?” The man looked at him and pointed to the mysterious box, and upon it sat a letter. The young man walked over and grabbed the letter and began to read it. “Dear Joey, I remember the day we first met. You told me your father left before you were born, and your mother was determined to give you a proper education no matter what. This of ‘ course meant that you had to ride the local bus to get to school, but it never stopped you, not even for once. I think you were about eleven at the time, and you said it broke your mothers heart when she would drop you off each morning. I never asked anything of you or your mother, and yet i was taken in as part of your family, a stranger without a past. What you didn’t know was that I was family. See, my son’s name was Joseph, and he died in war when he was just twenty – one years of age. He left behind a wife and his first born son. I didn’t get a chance to meet either of them because we quit speaking up until a few years before he died. I never told your mother who I was except for being an old man with a lot of mistakes in his life. I feared telling your mother who I was because of what she might think of me, and the way I treated your father growing up. I feared losing him all over again if I spoke those words out loud. As I lay here on this bed, I think of what life would have been like had you known I was your grandfather. Would your life have turned out differently if you had known? That day on the bus when we first met, I might have changed your life, but ultimately you have changed mine. Because see my boy, for ten years i felt like I had my own son back. I felt that somehow I could right so many wrongs, and make amends by taking care of his family. If I don’t make it to see your little boy grow up, I hope you will take this box and cherish it, just as I have done all these years. Please take it, and hopefully you will find your own priceless treasure in the years to come.” After reading the letter he looked into the box, and inside of it were pictures of his dad growing up, his mom and dad’s wedding photo that was taken at the local courthouse, and a few of his father’s belongings – one of which was his dog tags that his mother never recovered. Joey looked at this man he befriended all these years, the man he came to know as Mister, his grandfather. With tears in his eyes he hugged Mister, and said a silent prayer to God for this man he had come to cherish. Eighteen Years pass, and Joey’s son, Joseph Nicolaus the third. – named after his grandfather and great granddad -, comes across a box in his father’s hall closet. “Dad, what is this?” He replied. Joey smiles and simply says, “It holds a priceless treasure son, a priceless treasure.”

If you have a short – story, or even a few of your favorite authors you would like to share, then list them below. Have a good weekend.