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Welcome back to the Two Pentacles Newsletter!

This is where you will find tips, prompts, stories, and updates from the previous month.

If you’ve created something based on one of our prompts and would like to see it featured in next month’s newsletter, please check out our submission guidelines, and send it our way!

If you utilized a writing tip and would like to share your experience, please get in touch! We would love to share your story and any creative work inspired by this tip.

Thank you so much for joining us this month. We can’t wait to see what your imagination has in store!

-Dawn and Colleen-

News and Features:

At Two Pentacles, we love what we do and we aren’t shy about it!

While this month has been spent taking long drives past the hay fields, picking fresh raspberries from the backyard, and working hard on our creative projects, this week we’ve primarily been focused on surviving the heat! Here in Salem, we were treated to several days of record-breaking temperatures exceeding 110 degrees. Luckily there’s air conditioning at Colleen’s house, so we managed not to melt. Just barely.

This month we also finalized the illustrations for Meredith Burton’s upcoming children’s book! Check out her previous works, and watch our Instagram for some sneak peeks of the artwork featured in her new book.

We’ve also been proud to continue our work on The Writer’s Grapevine Magazine and Scholars Fund. We love being able to contribute to such amazing projects, and are always so excited to see what these publications have in store for us.

Check back next month for information about our other summertime projects and collaborations.

Stay cool out there!

This Month’s Tips and Prompts:

All month long we share Writing Tips and Writing Prompts on our Instagram, Facebook, Reddit, Twitter, Pinterest, and Tumblr accounts.

If these tips and prompts spark your creativity, let us know! You can send your feedback and stories to for the chance to be featured in next month’s Newsletter!

June 2nd, 2021

The Writing Tip appears over a faded photo of a pink and yellow rose, surrounded by green leaves. The writing tip reads, "Writing Tip 11: Scent is very closely connected to memory. Try describing smells in flashbacks or memories to make them feel real.

June 17th, 2021

A full size rainbow arches over green grass with a paved road running underneath it. The sky above is bright blue with a smattering of clouds. The writing on the photo says: Write a story featuring a first person narrative of a character who is a POC and/or part of the LGBTQ+ community.

June 23rd, 2021

The tip's text appears in a white handwritten style font over a dark blue background with lighter blue polka dots. The writing tip reads, "Tips from a writer's husband #1: Just write. Just write everything that's in your brain. And then sort out the good sh*t."

June 30th, 2021

A sea foam green background features the writing prompt in black lettering with the two pentacles logo in white at the top right hand corner. The writing prompt reads, "Every house on your street looks exactly the same, but the tenants of those homes are all wildly different. Write a short story about what each household brings to the neighborhood potluck."

Your Creative Works:

We love sharing your creative efforts! Here are just a couple of our favorite submissions that we received this month.

The wonderful Patty L. Fletcher sent us an excerpt from Book One: Sides of the Order, from her upcoming series The Blended Lives Chronicles: A Lady Moonwalker Series. This excerpt was sent our way after Patty saw one of our prompts: “Take a moment to be present and observe the world around you. What do you see? What do you smell and hear? Use all of your available senses and write about it.”

The Passions of Reunion

By Patty L. Fletcher

The thought of him after all this time, still makes me half-crazy. Though I got my head all twisted up for a while, the love and want I felt for him was always real and raw. It still is. I dream about what it would be like to kiss him, to have him kiss me and to feel his strong arms folding round me in a tight embrace. I can’t help it. It’s been nearly a decade since I saw him or heard his voice, but I can still remember what he sounds like. I can still remember his scent. He never smelled like a heavy men’s cologne. More like a strong, clean scent of man. That musky male scent that always drove me slightly insane. That smell of gentleness and safety. The smell I’m never going to forget.

Late at night or during the middle of the day, like now, with the rain drumming on the roof and slapping at the windows, I imagine what having his mouth on mine would feel like. We never did that. Never kissed, even though both of us wanted it. I wanted it then, and almost did right before we parted that day but, in the end, I chickened out and I suppose it was for the best.

I imagine how it would’ve been then, and I imagine how it would be now. I dream of such a day as this, with the rain and wind howling around the house, everything quiet and still. Me, sitting here at the computer working and suddenly, a knock sounds at the back door. Rising in annoyance at my work being interrupted, I march over to the door, my slippers thumping on the floor as I go. My voice leaks out a bit of that annoyance and I ask, “Who is it?” and then, I feel my heart drop, thudding like a tumbling boulder into my stomach as his voice says, “It’s Derrick Gibbous, open in the name of The Blended Lives Federation.”

Flinging the door open, I snarl to cover my nervous thrill of his being there after all this time, “So, Casimian, I reckon they don’t have phones where you come from?”

With a laugh he takes my face in his hands saying, “Tried to call. Your communicator keeps going to voicemail. Can’t very well call if you don’t ever answer.”

And just like that, we’re back into that happy bantering rhythm.

Stepping back, I state, “Well, don’t just stand there, didn’t your momma teach you to come in out of the rain?”

Stepping through the door, shutting it behind him, he turns to me as I ask, “So, what the hell took you so long to get here? I’ve only been wishing for you for nearly a decade. I mean, hell, I know I screwed up but…”

Suddenly, without warning, he grabs me. Pulling me into his arms and crushing his mouth onto mine completely taking my breath away.

The rain pounded furiously onto the house, the wind howled, and the blood roared hot and pulsing in my ears.

For a moment I nearly resisted and then I flung myself into him and we stood holding one another locked into a hot, fervent kiss filled with a heated passion nothing in my wildest imaginings could’ve ever prepared me for.

When finally, we parted he said, “Well, at least now I know how to shut you up.”

Normally, I’d have had a sarcastic retort, but like it or not, he was right. That kiss, that hot, wet, wonderful kiss, had left me completely undone and I could do nothing but stand there with my legs barely strong enough to hold me upright catching my breath and trying, without much success, to calm my thundering heart.

“Derrick, I’ve wanted you for so long. Needed you for so long. Even if you’re only here for an hour, I must have you. All of you. I must know. I must know what you feel like inside me.”

Samantha Massingale sent us a short story after she was inspired by our May 13th prompt: “You’re on a road trip. Weary, you decide to stop at a motel to get some rest. When you walk into the office to check in, an elderly man sits behind the counter. He seems nice enough, but throughout the night, you realize that he is not what he seems.”


By Samantha Massingale

Gravel crunched under my tires as I pulled into Little Pine Inn. I desperately needed a place to sleep while I continued my journey back home to Charleston. I got out, grabbed my night bag, and walked up to the front office. Once inside, I saw an old, tanned man behind the counter.

“Hello, do you have any rooms available? I just need one night,” I said, setting my bag down and pulling out my card.

“I got a few rooms available for ya. We only accept cash though,” he said with a monotone voice.

“Oh,” I said, grabbing the only cash I had. “$40 is all I have. How much are the rooms?” I was worried that I didn’t have enough. It’s weird that they don’t use cards, I thought, seeing the little stickers on the counter indicating that they did. But it was late and he may have already closed out the credit card machine.

“One night is $35.” He handed me a $5 bill as I handed him the $40. That was fast, I thought as I looked down and saw the bill was from 1935. I looked around the room and realized that the décor looked like it was just as old.

“Wow.” After a minute, I realised I said it out loud and looked up to see him handing me a key.

“Are you sure you wanna give me this one? It’s from 1935?”

He grunted. “Money is money, young lady. Now get moving along.” He gestured to the door. I nodded.

I grabbed my bag — that was somehow much heavier than it was before — and the skeleton key, and walked out to the room. I looked at the key-fob and it had a big “2” on it. I opened the door. It was a bit tricky, and once I was in I didn’t really look at anything. I just sat the bag at the end of the small bed frame and collapsed on the bed, asleep before I even hit the pillow.

In the morning, I woke up and noticed all of the dust on EVERYTHING. It was like no one had been in the room for decades. I decided that I was going to skip my morning routine and check out. I walked into the office. It was like my room, like nothing had been touched. Even the place I had touched on the counter the night before looked unmoved. A little more than freaked out, I put the key on the counter.

“Uh, thank you for letting me stay,” I said, maybe a bit too loud. I rushed out the door. I got to my car and was putting my bag in the back when a cop’s truck pulled up alongside me.

“Hayya, did you spend the night here?” He sounded a bit worried.

“Uh hi,” I hugged myself, rubbing my arms. “I did, but I didn’t see the guy from last night at the counter so I just left the key.” He nodded and stepped out of the truck.

“You’re not the only one this has happened to. Could I see your bag please?” He paused behind my car, waiting on me. A bit confused, I nodded and opened the trunk. He reached in and opened my bag. There were about 8-10 apples, buried a little under my clothes.

“What the-“

“Old Pete does this about once every few years. He used to own the town, planted the first Hood River orchard, and when he was alive he would send people home with a bunch of apples,” he zipped up my bag, only taking one apple.

Taking a big bite out of it, he said, “You’re good to go. Drive safe ma’am.” Tipping his hat, he got back in his truck and drove off.

Thank you to everyone who sent in submissions!

If you would like the chance to be featured in our newsletter, send your writing or art to!

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