If you could put anything on your bucket list, what would it be? Something classic? Like Paris,
Rome, or Athens? Something adventurous? Like hiking the Appalachian Trail, skydiving, or
scuba diving at the Great Barrier Reef? Something exotic? Like Antarctica, Arashiyama Bamboo
Forest, or Easter Island?

You might be surprised to discover that my list is nothing like yours. It’s far more common, run-
of-the-mill – some might even say mundane. But I’d gladly trade a cruise to an island paradise
for more everyday life.

-Eating breakfast together, asking you if you’d rather have Honey Nut Cheerios or Raisin Bran
Crunch.
-Looking over the bills that came in the day’s mail.
-Deciding if we should shop around for car insurance.
-Looking at paint samples for the bedroom wall.
-Hopping in the car to pick up a great find on Facebook Marketplace.
-Watching an episode of some war movie with the sound up far too loud.
-A tandem bicycle ride.
-A walk on the beach.
-Sharing tater tots at dinner.
-Sneaking a sip of your diet Pepsi.
-A hug.
-A kiss.
-A simple ‘I love you.’

The Hospice newsletter, Compassionate Journey, arrived not long after cancer took him from
me. Amid all the articles on grief was a suggestion to write to this prompt: It has been such a
short time since I lost you, yet it seems like far longer. What I already miss the most right now
is…

I threw the newsletter across the room and cried because the answer is everything. The smell of his soap after he showered. His loud Hawaiian shirts that never matched his choice of ballcap. His energizer bunny on steroids drive. His amazing ability to find a pun in anything. His dimples that popped out whenever he smiled. His complete belief in me. Knowing he was there for me when I succeeded, but more importantly, when I failed.

My bucket list is filled with simple, inexpensive, routine dreams that will never come to pass
because cancer is a thief. One that comes in the night and steals what is most precious. Most
valuable. Most dear. And yes, most ordinary.
​
So, I ask again. What is on your bucket list?

I'm super excited to announce that 10 Little Rules for a Double-Butted Adventure is now available in three formats:

1. Hardback
2. Paperback
3. Kindle

Untold Reads states, "Brown’s storytelling is warm, candid, and infused with humor, making the reader feel like a companion on her incredible adventure."

To get your copy, just click the links provided above and be sure to add your review once you've finished reading!

BONUS ANNOUNCEMENT: I'm currently working on getting 10 Little Rules for a Double-Butted Adventure in audio! 

*As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

​On the first weekend of each month, the Australian Writer's Centre puts out a Furious Fiction contest. Writers take the prompts given and write a flash fiction piece of no more than 500 words during the 55-hour contest. 

In June 2024, writers had to include:
​

• A relationship between two characters
• The words uniform, jar, and syringe

The piece I created, Versatility, was longlisted.
Enjoy!

Versatility
Merv sat on the edge of the bed holding a jar in one hand and a needle in the other. He nudged June with his elbow.

“Wake up, baby,” he pleaded in an urgent whisper.

Merv squirmed in the ill-fitting uniform. The legs were a bit too short, as were the arms. However, it was the best he could do on short notice. He nudged her again.

“June. Wake up. We don’t have much time.”

June’s eyes fluttered open. “Merv? Is that you?”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me.”

“Why are you wearing a mask?”

“It’s part of the uniform, baby.” He pulled down the mask, letting it rest under his chin. “See? It’s me. I did what you asked. I got everything.”

“Everything? Are you sure?”

Merv’s hands began to shake. “I’m not a dimwit. I only needed two items and a way to camouflage my actions. Even I can’t muck that up.”

She raised her eyebrows. Merv always managed to muck things up.

As if to prove her wrong, he held up his right hand. “Phenobarbital.” Then he held up his left hand. “Syringe.” Finally, he looked down at his attire. “Standard hospital garb.” With a satisfied nod, he said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s time. It’s way past time.” June emphatically nodded her approval.

Merv removed the cap and plunged the needle into the clear liquid, tears leaking from his eyes. She told him she was tired of living this way. How could he deny her an easy escape?

Suddenly, the room filled with shouting people. Aides. Nurses. Doctors. Above the commotion, he heard her say, “I woke up to find him sitting on my bed, filling that syringe. I think he was planning to kill me!”

Merv stammered. “But…June…”

Before he could say another word, security pushed him to the floor. Someone wrapped duct tape around his wrists and pulled him by his legs into the hall. Before he left in the squad car, he’d been labeled a murderer.

As for June, once alone, she smiled. For the first time in their entire thirty-year marriage, Merv had done exactly what she needed him to do. No handholding. No procrastinating. No errors. And because of his spectacular success, she’d finally be free to live the life she’d always wanted - right after she healed from her plastic surgery.
​
Who knew euthanasia could be so versatile?