Last Proposal

Last Proposal
A. M. Yeager

Slick with sticky blood, my fingers could barely grasp the steering wheel. My eyes, cloudy with tears failed to focus on the red glow of the traffic lights. My foot shook against the brake pedal and the car jutted forward, almost into the intersection.

Come on, I muttered. Turn green. Just turn green.

The bleeding had slowed, but it had been enough. I tried to hold my breath, to calm my heart, but it was a drum inside my chest. The light flickered to green and I sped down the street.

I gotta say, Peter. This isn’t workin’ out.

I shot through another intersection, ignoring the stop sign. At three in the morning, no one was on the streets, not that I cared. No, I would have if I hit someone. I would have cared.

But you know, Peter? It might work out. It might if you do just one small thing for me.

I knew there was going to be a cop car up ahead. I had driven this route many times for work, early in the morning, tossing newspapers out the window onto lawns. I don’t know why I didn’t slow down. I should have slowed down. Why didn’t I just slow down?

You want it, Peter. Don’t you? This job?

The flashing blue and red lights still caught me off guard. I slowed the car down and pulled over to the side of the road. Still shaking like a leaf, I rolled down the window.

You don’t want to be a paper boy the rest of your life, do you?

“Do you have any idea how fast you were go-?”

The police woman’s voice trailed off when she peered inside the car. I could see her gaping, her mouth hanging open. She scanned me and looked at the passenger’s seat and towards the back before saying anything.

“You need help?” She didn’t even ask for my license or registration.

“Hospital,” I managed to get out. “He needs to go to the hospital.”

I knew he appeared dead. He was pale, gray in color, his blue eyes glazed over in shock, and his blonde hair matted with blood.

Just do it. For me.

“Follow me,” she said. “Next time call an ambulance.”

The police woman disappeared into her cruiser. She sounded her sirens and headed to the hospital. I trailed after her wondering why she didn’t ask what happened.

Why didn’t she ask?

I’m dying anyway.

He was dying, that’s why. He might already be dead. I couldn’t hear him breathing. Had he stopped breathing?

Pull the trigger, Peter. Just do it and you’ll have my job.

Of course, I wanted the job. Who wouldn’t want to be head of an entire newspaper? Think of all the money. My tiny studio would be forgotten while I dined with the other bigwig journalism CEOS.

We’re friends, Peter. Right? Do this for me, but do it for you.

But I didn’t do it for him. I did it for me and botched it, and now he was suffering worse than before with a bullet hole and a tumor in his brain.

I’d go to jail. I knew I would. I would have anyway. Was this his plan all along? Maybe he found out. Did he find out about me and his sister? Was this his way of getting back?

Someone ran a red light. I felt the impact hit my body and push me all the way across to the passenger’s seat where he sat. I was sure he felt nothing, but me, I felt it. Guilt, pain, and all.


Copyright A. M. Yeager 2020

Five Years — Sunday Morning Songs

Hey guys! It’s been a bit. Hope you are all well. Though I’ve been busy with life, with the kiddos, and writing novels (two of which I finally finished), my subconscious pulls me back here. Well, cheers to five years, WordPress.

Here’s a little poem I wrote this morning while pouring cereal for the kiddos wondering if I could get more sleep if I slept with earplugs. For the love of my life, the one God has given to me, the one who I so wonderfully get to sleep next to in bed, the one who my soul loves. I love you.

Sunday Morning Songs

Sometimes the birds wake
with a song in the beaks,
and sometimes you wake
with a snore in your nose.

A. M. Yeager

Play Time

She dreams of fairies
small with fluorescent wings
twirling and spinning all around
the hyacinths and chokecherries.
She sings and joins in their
jubilee as the sun sets behind
her princess palace high above
the towering pine trees.

A. M. Yeager © 2020

In Pillows

In Pillows

Dawn filters through
muslin white drapes, warm enough
to leave robes on chairs.
Your voice rises, rising me
from the floor where I sleep,
where earlier that warm evening
we laid among pillows and rugs
played with your cat,
read books about photography, sang,
and chatted. Laughed until the moon
shrunk and vanished
into soft oblivion,
and we crashed.

A. M. Yeager 

On Anxiety — Psalm 71

“Though you have made me see troubles,
many and bitter,
you will restore my life again;
from the depths of the earth
you will again bring me up.
You will increase my honor
and comfort me once more.
I will praise you with the harp
for your faithfulness, my God;
I will sing praise to you with the lyre,
Holy One of Israel.
My lips will shout for joy
when I sing praise to you—
I whom you have delivered.”

–Psalm 71:20-23


As I waited for my coffee to brew, I grabbed up my Bible while my kiddos played in their room and opened the pages to the book of Psalm. Even before I woke I was feeling anxious about the day, even though it is a normal day for us. These last couple of weeks my anxiety has been a bit iffy, but as I turned to find my favorite psalm I came across 71.

Now the psalms are nice little prayers that I usually like to meditate on in the mornings and evenings. The words in this one struck me while I worried about all the things I had to get done today, which actually isn’t that much, but when you have anxiety, everything is too much.

“You will restore my life again.”

“…comfort me once more.”

“I whom you have delivered.”

Jesus comforts and restores those who call upon His name. He delivers us from sin, death, the devil, and whatever ails us. And my lips did shout for joy and I sang praise as I remembered my baptism, as I put my trust in Christ, and as I thought of this verse from one of my favorite hymns.

By Grace I’m Saved.

6 By grace! On this I’ll rest when dying;
In Jesus’ promise I rejoice;
For though I know my heart’s condition,
I also know my Savior’s voice.
My heart is glad, all grief has flown
Since I am saved by grace alone.

#566 LSB by Christian Ludwig Scheidt

So, as my coffee stopped brewing I felt rather uplifted. “My heart is glad, all grief has flown.” I went about drinking my coffee joyfully knowing that Christ has carried my burdens and anxiety with Him to the cross where they died with Him. Hope you are all having a beautiful day and finding your own joy.

Blessings and love,

-Al ❤

One Morning

I woke with this poem in my mind this morning hoping spring will come early so that we might walk through the park trees sooner rather than later again.

Pens and Erasers

One Morning

I won’t forget the morning
we met early at sunrise
to grab a cup of espresso
before hitting town for
pancakes and eggs
and we never knew
what we were missing
until we walked through
the endless park trees.

A. M. Yeager

View original post

In the Days of Kings — Poetry



In the Days of Kings

I can’t remember anymore
how the wind used to breathe
across the plane of my face
or how the sun skipped across
the glass surface of a lake.
Too long ago you spoke
stories of knights and kings–
maids and things that once danced
with flowers in their hair and twirled fresh
in my wanting youthful mind.

But light doesn’t exist here.

A. M. Yeager

Novel Writing — Do I REALLY Need A Structure?

In the last post, I mentioned I finished the first draft of a novel. Though I’ve written over twenty novels, this novel was quite different than my previous ones. It wasn’t the plot, genre, or the characters that made it unusual. Rather, it was the way I structured it.

Now, I’m a hardcore believer in writing how you want to write. Break the rules if you feel that will help you get your story told. I’m not one to plan out a novel. When I feel there’s a story in my head I write it all out as it comes to me. I’ve only ever written an outline twice for a novel.

Yet this time I decided to take a different route. As a stay at home momma, I don’t have time to sit down and “write it all out”. I have about ten to fifteen minutes to write at a time before my kiddos catch on that Momma is on the computer without them. That’s not enough time for me to get out a whole scene, so I’ve found a way to adapt. With, you guessed it, coffee! Kidding, not kidding. With outlining! And by using the Three Act Story Structure.

That’s right, past self, you were wrong! I used to think that structuring your novels was ridiculous. Who wants to read a story with the same structure as everyone else’s novel? Then I asked is it the structure that drives a story? Is it the outline? Is it the plot? No, it’s the characters.

I plan on delving deeper into the Three Act Story Structure in a later post. But I find my writing has grown and I have grown as a writer this year alone. I’m actually writing a second draft! That’s something that has always intimidated me, and it’s actually a lot easier now that I have a plan and a structure for everything.

I am still a believer that a writer is well off doing whatever works for them and whatever works for their story. And I do admit with a smaller, more minor project I am pantsing it currently. But with my larger novels, I definitely find value in this structure.

I hope all your writing endeavors are going well and you’re having fun with it. And stay warm! My fingers are freezing as I type this up. It’s a whole 16 degrees Fahrenheit out there and snowing. Have a beautiful day all.

Blessings and love,

-Al ❤