Amok

The garden elephant was out of control, spraying water everywhere while Mrs. Babbity rushed to call the manufacturer.

“It’s gone mad,” she sobbed.

“Yes, ma’am. That happens to some of the older models. They forget that they aren’t in the war any longer. Just be glad it has a hose up that trunk. Ten years ago, those would have been bullets.”

“But what do I do? It’s trampled the marigolds, soaked the African Violets, knocked down the fence, and run away!”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ve dispatched a disposal team to your location. They should arrive within forty five minutes.”

“In forty five minutes, that thing will be halfway to the interstate. It’s going to destroy… hello?” The line had gone dead. Mrs. Babbity raced out front to pursue the mammoth down the street. “Look out! It’s run amok!” she screeched.

It broadsided a car parked by the side of the road, and though the car was badly dented, the elephant remained undamaged. Then it wheeled about and came running at Mrs. Babbity, who dashed behind a tree. Had the machine swerved to follow her, the tree would have been insubstantial, but it made instead straight for a game of stickball taking place at the end of the cul-de-sac. Instead of being gored, all Mrs. Babbity got was an incidental soaking.

“Look out!” Mrs. Babbity clamored from behind her tree. “There are children!” The robot ignored her and lumbered on, showering everything within its radius as it passed.

Bobby Winhoe stood on the pitcher’s mound, which was actually last year’s calendar. He heard the racket behind him, but didn’t take his eyes off the batter. He wound up, and he pitched, a hard fast ball, right across home plate. The ball connected with Lukey Williams’ stick with a crack and sailed over Bobby’s head. Bobby turned to follow its progress. “Dang, Lukey! You hit another…” And then the ball struck the elephant in the eye. It stopped where it stood, spraying its fountain into the air. Bobby looked around. None of the other players remained on the field. It was just him, Lukey, and Shrimp, the catcher.

“Woah,” Lukey said. “We’re in some kind of trouble now, aren’t we Bobby? Those elephants are expensive.”

But in the distance, they could all hear Old Lady Babbity screaming, “You’re heroes! You’re heroes! You boys are heroes!”

Then everyone went inside to wait for the disposal team. It might have been nice to play in the cool water, but the elephant’s good eye, the one without a baseball embedded in it, had gone from beneficent gray to malignant red, and nobody who saw it wanted to remain long in its presence.

Divorce: A Trifecta Love Story

 

The road manager was puking in the public bathroom.

 

She had been backstage, keeping an eye on things, watching out for security hassles. And then she urgently needed air that didn’t taste stale.

 

 

Those are (almost word for word) the first 33 words of my novel Divorce: A Love Story. And if you want to read the other 73,000 or so of them,  you can always buy it in the links in my sidebar. (It’s an e-book. It’s $3, and you can read it on your PC. Kindle and Nook both have features that allow you to enjoy e-books without an e-reader.) This shameless pandering has been brought to you by those crazy people over at Trifecta, who asked for the first 33 words of our novels.

 

The Epicurean Epicurean

Ralph  lived in a bungalow. “I’m a simple man; a true Epicurean,” Ralph (who pronounced his name “Rayfe”, like the composer) often said.

His sister gave him a birthday puppy. “You need company.”

“What kind is it.”

“Mutt. I saved her from the pound.”

Ralph studied the dog. “I suppose I’ll call you Sir Winston.”

He carried her around the block, then set her down inside the front door. Suddenly, a yellow puddle originated from Sir Winston, spreading across Ralph’s Epicurean hardwood floor, oozing into his Epicurean Persian rug.

“Oh my,” said Ralph. “We can’t go teetles in the house.”

 

NB: The gender isn’t a typo. My Ralph named his girl dog Sir Winston.

Sam’s Old School

The director pounced as soon as I walked in the door. “I’m not sure what you expect us to do.” He held up some other child’s shirt, cut to ribbons.

“I’m sure you’re doing everything you can.” And I also need to get him to therapy. “I’ll be happy to pay for the shirt.” And if you didn’t have eighteen kids in that class, he’d never have been able to get that many holes sliced before somebody noticed.

“Oh, we’d never ask a parent to pay for…” Bullshit. I still have the demanding note with the receipt for the cost of replacing someone’s sleeping bag. “…but if you’re willing…”

“Just give me the bill.” And let me get my kid out of here for  a little while. I finished signing Sam out and turned towards his class.

But the director wasn’t finished. “And when Miss Henry asked him why, he said ‘because you won’t let me cut up my own shirt!’”

“Really, that sounds pretty typical.” This is why we told her point blank that Sam can’t have scissors at all. And that was before the sleeping bag incident. “You have to be extremely specific with him. He’s very good at finding loopholes.”

“It just seems like he needs… well… discipline. He’s at an age where…”

“He’s four.” My right hand was on the knob of Sam’s classroom door. I squeezed the metal and thrust my other fist in my pocket.

The director said, “You know, consistency. If a kid touches a hot stove one time, they know they’re going to get burnt, so they don’t do it again.”

“Actually, Sam had to get burned four times before he figured that out.”

“Oh.”

I opened the door and collected his lunchbox. The child himself was out on the playground, sitting beside the teacher. “He was throwing rocks again,” she said.

“Can’t do that.” I told him. “It hurts people.”

“I hate Miss Henry.”

“Well, I like her.” No I don’t. I took Sam’s hand. “ She takes care of you so I can get work done so we can have things.”

“I want to break her head with a rock.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

The director was standing at the playground door. “Really, it’s things like that. Shouldn’t there be some sort of consequences…”

“His psychiatrist advises against feeding into attention seeking behaviors.” And I want to break your head with a rock, so really, can you blame my son?

“Well, he’s going to have to go home today and try again tomorrow.”

“I’d kind of figured that.” I held up the lunch box that I had already collected. “If we were just going to therapy, I’d have left this behind.” And what the fuck do I pay you for? You send him home more than you keep him. He considers this a reward.

The director followed us out. As we exited the building, he said, “I’m just concerned…”

“You know, you’re probably right,” I told him. “Miss Henry should be more consistent with him.” Discipline does not cure autism!

I pulled Sam across the parking lot to the car and buckled his seatbelt. When we drove away,  the director was still watching us from the door, the other child’s shirt in his half raised arm.

____________________________

Note. This is all stuff I couldn’t even write while Sam still had to go to that shithole. But I’m posting it now. It fits perfectly with my Scriptic prompt…

For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, kgwaite gave me this prompt: Beneath the surface.

I gave Tara Roberts this prompt: And I heard her song wherever I went, filling my ears, filling the night.

Flori’s New Pet

I

 “How’d you get dry ice?”

Cal wiggled the fingers of one hand and smiled at Flori. He could have been suggesting theft or magic.

She kissed him. “Nice touch.”

Flori turned to the tables. She made sure she could see all of them from the stage, no matter where she stood. She flexed her fingers and all the chairs scooted out. She closed her fists and they returned to their places.

“Don’t test it again,” Cal advised. “They’re coming.”

“All right.” Flori moved both dry ice containers under the central table, forcing them well to the middle, lids and all. Then she put two barrels of beer down there as well. If anybody asked, she could show them the beer. There was room at this table for Urre and Kulta, Aurelia with her First, and one empty chair if Flori had to sit. If anything happened to Cal at this duel, she thought she would need more than a chair.

She stalked around the stage one more time.  It wasn’t enough that the furniture obeyed her will. She wanted insurance. She didn’t have time to find any. Aurelia strode in the front door, her hair bound in golden braids that twisted into a headpiece like a thousand snakes. Cal said, “Lady Medusa.”

Flori’s eyes were fixed on Aurelia’s First. She didn’t know the name, but she knew the man. She wondered if he recognized her. She didn’t much resemble the street thief who had stolen his wallet half a year ago. She stroked her hip where she still carried it. After he hunted her so hard, she went back and got the folded leather out of the trash. Now, she understood why he had chased her all over the city for its return. He was no little tourist. And the material still probably contained enough of his essence that Flori could use it to influence him if she had to. Insurance.  Suddenly, she smiled. “My lady,” she greeted Aurelia.

“Tell me,” said Aurelia, “why you volunteered to host.”

Cal intervened as he wove his way through the chairs to stand beside Flori.  He said, “My parents want to kill me anyway, and I have very little to lose. The drug is a cruel mistress, and I let her use me badly.  If I die here, my debt is paid. If you duel to compromise, the risk pays my debt, and I can appeal to the Goddess of Mercy to cure my addiction.”

Aurelia’s First said, “You don’t speak like an addict.”

“I took enough lartë to transform myself into a man for a little while.”

“Fascinating way around the addiction. Turn yourself into the animal you are supposed to be in the first place.”

Aurelia said, “And where are your parents? I am, I assure you, eager to begin.”

A thump from the back answered her question. Flori articulated what they had all realized. “I believe they are satisfied that we haven’t consorted with you to deceive them.”

“Do they think I would descend to conspire with you?”

“They think Cal would aspire to it. And as you’ve seen, he has a silver tongue.”

A moment later, Urre and Kulta emerged from the back room, Kulta pretending he hadn’t just dunked himself in a barrel of beer. He wasn’t succeeding. With some dignity, he shook his wet hair back from his face. He said, “Lady Medusa, you’ll want to send someone to collect your Second. I believe I landed on him. It set me off balance.”

Aurelia began, “If I have no Second…”

Kulta said, “My second was Jason Cartwright. I sacrifice the right to Second.”

Aurelia nodded once. She said, “I name my First Luster of the House Berkilau.”

Kulta nodded to his wife. “My first is Urre.”

Cal said, “The parties are present. The terms are agreed. Let us begin. Admit your warriors. Flori, bind me.”

The doors on either side of the hall opened now, and seven armed fighters from each gang entered. Aurelia and Kulta both said, “I’ll supervise.”

“Do it yourselves,” Flori said. “I’ll give you no cause to suspect me of having set him up to be freed.”

Cal’s eyes widened. He had not expected this. Flori smiled. She turned to the Firsts, Cal’s mother Urre and and the man who had come with Lady Aurelia, Luster Berkilau. “Madam Urre, Lord Medusa, while they tie the tribute to the wheel, you will kindly pay me for the use of my uncle’s hall.” She was handed two envelopes, which she took out into the alley and gave to a messenger.

When she returned, Cal was thoroughly affixed to the death wheel at center stage. She hopped up and kissed him.  She did not breathe reassurances. “Now.” She turned to the warring gangs. “Aurelia carries the complaint here, and so Urre and Kulta have supplied the tribute.” She chose her words carefully. “If they have betrayed you, Lady Medusa, then their son dies.”

She spread her fingers and the chairs skidded back. “Be seated. Send your first warriors.”

A behemoth of a man who nobody had seen entering the hall rose behind Aurelia. “I have no second,” she said, “And so I’ll send in my third.” Her smile suggested that the man Kulta had landed upon had never been her second.

Kulta narrowed his eyes and pointed to one of his own fighters.  Flori took the wheel by one hand and spun Cal in a nauseating circle. They all waited until the wheel stopped with his head pointed towards the axes.  As the men took the appointed weapons and mounted the stage, Flori stood back beside Cal. She reached out her mind and began loosening his ropes. She would let Aurelia’s mammoth kill Kulta’s first warrior before she pulled off the central binding, and she wouldn’t light that rope until the second death.  But after that, when the smoke smell had wafted from behind Cal’s wheel out into the hall, she would knock over the table where the gang heads sat together,  along with the barrels of dry ice. She would only release Cal when the combatants all attacked across the false smoke she hoped they would blame upon each other.

She smiled at the men and held up an arm. She said, “It begins here,” and snatched her hand out of the way as the blades attacked.

II

Kulta’s goon swiped wide and Aurelia’s mammoth dodged. Then, as one, they turned and ran for the wheel.

 

Flori screamed, “Cal!”

Cal fell, and Flori ran to him as the fighters jumped off the stage. There was no blood  “What’s going on?” he said.

“You’re…” But he was fine. They’d cut his ropes. Their axes stuck in the wheel in two different places. Flori didn’t speak further. Cal’s muscles were starting to quiver, a telltale sign that his lartë was wearing off and his addiction floating to the surface. She lay protectively on top of him, and they watched the room from the stage.

All fifteen fighters stood in a circle surrounding Urre and Kulta, weapons drawn. The mammoth had placed himself directly in front of Kulta, but warriors from both sides held weapons against the pair. It seemed Aurelia didn’t need to lower herself to consort with the tribute and hostess. She had already corrupted her rival’s guards. Aurelia stood. As soon as she moved, the swords all pulled up into a smart military stance and spun to face her.

“Did you really think I would duel you?” Her golden headpiece quivered. It didn’t just resemble snakes; it was a mass of serpents. A dozen tongues flicked around Lady Medusa’s head.  “Did you think that I would stoop to such strife?” Kulta tried to speak, but something held back his voice.”I didn’t come to duel you, I came  to erase you. I have never known a gang so foul that it showed no loyalty to its own family.”

Urre burst out, “Cal’s a thief.”

“Tsk.” Aurelia shook her head. All of the snakes wiggled gently atop her skull. “You try him for the selfsame crime you committed against me.” Aurelia’s tone suggested deep fascination with Urre’s words. Her smile suggested lasting amusement.

“We took nothing of yours!”

“My snakes tell me your voice rings true. But I know the falsehood. Let me correct you. You took nothing of mine. But your husband, I believe, has something still. Retrieve it.” Aurelia flicked her finger, and the mammoth man hoisted Kulta up and began stripping him, layer at a time, starting with his vest.

“It’s in my shirt pocket,” Kulta snarled. The giant ripped off the shirt. He handed it to Luster, who shook a vial of what looked like lartë out of the pocket.

Aurelia accepted it. “Pity you kept only its essence. You can’t give back the snake’s life. Otherwise, I’m in the habit of cancelling debts with small criminals.”

Urre gaped now at Kulta. “And I believed you. You’re no better than your son.”

“And you,” said Lady Aurelia, “are worse than both of them. What mother sacrifices her own child?”

Now Urre’s mouth gummed up as thoroughly as Kulta’s had before.

Aurelia laughed. “Never mind. It’s done.” She nodded to the giant. “End it.”

“No!” Cal threw Flori off and staggered from the stage. The shakes consumed him now, so that he quivered and twitched. He had used his last burst of strength, and he couldn’t keep his feet. He crawled towards Aurelia once he landed.

“Oh my, what a complicated family.  All the city knows that your parents have named your life forfeit. And you say ‘no’ when I substitute theirs instead. You can’t possibly be suffering from filial loyalty. Can you?”

Cal’s body jerked on the floor. He had thrown Flori against the weapons table, which collapsed, scattering blades. She couldn’t move fast without getting cut, but she did palm a dagger before she rose gingerly and began picking her way out of the mess. Nobody stopped her.

Aurelia motioned to her behemoth, who picked Kulta up by the ankles this time and started shaking him. Urre blurted, “There’s always some in my bag.” The man dropped Kulta and located the bag under the table. He handed it to Luster.

Flori said, “Have a care for the latch. Open it with your knife or you’ll get a poisoned cut.”

Luster did as Flori suggested and produced a vial of lartë. Before Aurelia let him give it to Cal, she took it herself and poured it together with the snake’s final essence. “Don’t do that to him!” Flori, clear of the weapons, made a rolling dive off the stage towards Luster as he stepped towards Cal. Her dagger sliced through his belt, and she snatched at the leather as she curled away from him, holding it in the opposite hand.

“Goddess Beyond!” said the First. But he poured the vial down Cal’s throat anyway.

“No!” Flori landed under a table. She flipped out into a crouch and moved to cast the belt aside. It hissed at her, and before she could let it go, it flash coiled around her arm. Immobilized by fear, she watched Cal’s herky movements slow, then cease.

Then, with a pop, he stopped twitching entirely. He got up on his elbows. “That was unfair. She thought you were turning me into a snake.”

Lady Aurelia turned to Flori. “Lartë is lartë, whatever serpent it comes from.”

“Oh.” Flori held out her arm and its newly resident snake.

Aurelia crouched beside the young thief and hissed softly. The snake didn’t move. Aurelia said, “It won’t come to me, dear.”

Then, the creature lost substance, became flat against Flori’s skin. It soaked into her, through her shirt where it lay on top of it, and transformed into a black tattoo that ran from somewhere in the middle of her back down to her wrist.

“What an enjoyable group you are.” Aurelia extended one long arm, and Flori had no choice but to allow the Lady Medusa to help her stand.  “We’ll sit now and let yon Cal try to persuade me his parents’ lives are worth saving. And then I will tell you why his plight interested me enough to come down from my den.” She resumed her seat.  “Come along now,” she said. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

The warriors added a chair at the table for Cal, and Urre and Kulta slowly sat again. Aurelia smiled. There was no question who owned the duel. The only real point of concern was who would leave the hall alive with her. Flori tightened the muscles of her newly tattooed arm and hoped fervently to be in that number.

 III

 

“Luster,” Aurelia nodded to her First, “Tells me that you are an amazing thief,  Flori.” Slowly, her hair relaxed until it was not a nest of snakes but an elegant coif of braids once again.

The man did recognize her. Flori jerked out her wallet and threw it on the table. “Here, take it!” She wished she had left it in the trash. Keeping souvenirs from a lift was never a good idea. It skidded and fell open to reveal a pouch Flori had never noticed. A head popped up, the compartments became wings, and instead of staring at her wallet, she was looking at a small dragon. It belched smoke. “It’s yours,” she told Luster.

“It was yours when it failed to poison you.”

The dragon gave a toothy yawn.

Luster said, “That is a venomous breed. It should have pricked you when you tried to steal it. When you got it out of my pocket, it should have killed you. And when you tied me up with the constabulary and went back to its trash can, the little monster should have pecked your eyes…”

“You were the one got the flic involved.”

“Of course I did. I’m a respected citizen, and it should have been the fastest way to catch you.”

Aurelia shook her braids at Luster, who fell silent. She said “Of course, it didn’t do that. Which makes you interesting to the Yilan.”

On Flori’s left, Cal hiccupped, popped, and turned into a bear.

“What just happened?”

“He changed,” said Luster.

“He already changed,” said Flori.  “It’s because you mixed the snake and dragon essence!”Aurelia didn’t answer. Cal popped again. The bear became a kitten, which hopped onto the table and then fell on its face. “He needs an antidote.”  Flori rose.

“Sit down.” Aurelia slammed her hand on the table, and the kitten, which had almost regained its feet, fell over again. Flori sat. The kitten picked up its face and found itself nose to nose with the small dragon.

Flori seized the dragon just before it bit. “No,” she told it. Then she stood up, balancing the dragon in front of her in one palm.

“Sit,” Aurelia repeated. Her hair twisted once more, threatening to return to its reptilian roots.

Flori aimed the dragon at Aurelia and pushed it. The reptile didn’t fly away. It dug sharp toenails into Flori’s palm and balanced where it stood. But it hissed at Aurelia, which was enough to both fully awaken the snakes and make their owner widen her eyes. Without looking away from Lady Medusa,  Flori walked to Urre’s open kit and lifted it from Luster’s side. She carried it to Urre, who reached in, then handed Flori a syringe. The dragon hopped up to Flori’s shoulder.

The kitten popped, and now a creature with a dog’s head and an alligator’s body sprawled in its place. Flori stabbed Cal where his alligator flesh met his dog fur.  He popped and lay as himself, quivering, splayed across the table. The little dragon flapped forward and sank its teeth into his neck.

Cal sat up. “That hurt”

Aurelia said, “I believe his addiction has given him tolerance for the poison. It’s undiluted lartë.”

Cal crawled off the table and back to his seat. But he didn’t shake. He was solid. Urre, however, was quaking. “You were bluffing,” Flori said. “You never meant to kill him. Even back above the warehouse.”

“He’s a damnable thief,” Urre snapped. Then her voice softened. “But he’s my son. We meant to put the fear of death in him and make him work for the family until the addiction was cured and the debt paid. When he volunteered to set up the meeting with Lady Medusa, I thought it was working. I didn’t know…”

“My patience runs thin.” All the snakesin Aurelia’s hair were hissing now, their fangs pointed towards Kulta, who had killed their kinsman to initiate the feud between the gangs. “You,” she indicated Urre and Kulta, “owe me for the death of one of my own. “You,” she pointed to Flori, who was holding the little dragon in her palm again, “owe me for the theft of two valuable pets.” Flori’s new tattoo, the snake which had been Luster’s belt, stung for a moment. “And you,” she said to Cal, “owe me your life. I have no idea why you couldn’t hold a form, but the snake lartë is a curative, and you were dying. Truth be told, I have no interest in this little gang. I needed to get close to a young woman who has not remained still long enough for me to catch her, even though I’ve known almost exactly where she was for the last six months.” Aurelia fixed Flori between her eyes. “If you will steal one thing for me, then I will cancel all these debts.”

Flori didn’t say anything.

Aurelia went on, “Someone has been poisoning the dragons. I know who, but only a few of the dragons trust in me. They know I run to snakes. You, on the other hand carry one them, and you are a thief besides, which is what they need. They would let you in. The killing must stop or there will be no lartë to trade in this city. You help your own business as much as mine by agreeing.”

“Doesn’t sound like you need a thief.”

“I need you to steal the poisoner.”

“Kidnap, you mean.”

“She is a gnome. Taking her will be more like an act of thievery.”

Flori tensed all her muscles and flexed her fingers. She applied gentle pressure, and the dragon folded back into a wallet. She put it in her pocket and closed her fist behind her back. She said, “I’ll consider it, and we’ll talk again on my terms.”

Luster said, “I do not think…”

Flori shouted, “Hi, Cal, now!”

That was the signal, the one they had agreed upon when the scheme was to rob Aurelia of her money and Urre and Kulta of their drugs. Flori opened her closed hand, and furniture and weaponry flew outward. The vats with the dry ice overturned..

Flori seized Cal’s hand. Together, they ran out back for the bikes. Flori jumped on her motorcycle and pulled her goggles down. She sped out of the alley, Cal behind her. She heard Urre and Kulta’s machines roar to life nearby. On a whim, Flori stopped, and Cal did the same. When his parents came up the street, the thief and her lover fell in behind them.

Kulta gunned his engine and turned sharply down a side street. Flori and Cal followed, and Flori felt a rush of familiarity. This was no different than running away from Luster when she stole his wallet in the first place. She took a sharp turn and wondered where the chase would end this time.

_________________

Ahh yes. Those poor people at Trifecta made the mistake of giving me more than 333 words again. And I seem to have fallen into the same story arc. This one should stand alone, but here are the prequels

Flori 1

Flori 2

Flori 3

Bump

Scrape-squeak-squeak. Scrape-squeak-squeak. Dunk-gadunk squeeeee.

“ I think we have rats in the attic.”  I stood in the hall looking up.

Scott came from his office and listened with me. “Attic fan.”

“But it sounds like The Devil in The Exorcist. You remember that scene where Ellen Burstyn tries to convince the housekeeper there’s a rodent infestation, only it turns out to be Satan?”

“Jessie, the only thing I remember about The Exorcist is that you said it was suspense and dragged me off to see the director’s cut in 2000.”

“It is suspense! And it sounds like it’s living in our attic.” I pointed at the ceiling.

“Attic fan.” He returned to his office.

I followed. “And the housekeeper keeps insisting there aren’t any rats, and that’s true, because…”

Scott rested his head in one hand, and then went to the kitchen without listening to the end of my sentence. He handed me a flashlight and went for the ladder. The outside thermometer said 102.  But the when he came back to the hall and moved the ceiling square aside, the attic felt more like 130.

He climbed up and banged along the aisle that runs the length of the house. I followed his progress and stopped where his noise ended. The squeaking thunks continued their intermittent song and then suddenly cut out. Silence.

Bump schlep-schlep thud.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just hold the ladder still, will you?” Scott passed me the flashlight.

Sweat drenched, he stepped down.

“Well? What was it?” I handed him a towel.

He mopped his forehead. “Attic fan.”

“Are you sure? How did you make it stop? Do we need to fix it?”

“Yes, I’m sure. And I turned the sensor up so it won’t crank on when it’s still so cool.”  He handed me back the soaked towel. Leaving the ladder behind, he went to the kitchen for a long drink of ice water.

“What about fixing it??”

He shook his head. “I can’t even figure out how to turn it off.”

“But do we …”

“Let me ask you this. If we don’t fix it, is there any possibility you will stop believing The Lord of the Flies is hiding out under our old coffee table up there playing with the K’Nex that Sam’s too young for?”

I looked at the ground. “Probably not.”

“I’ll call Dixie Electric in the morning.” He put down his empty glass and went back to collect the ladder.

“What do you think it’s going to cost?”

“Jessie, I’m dealing with one problem at a time today. I’ve done basic demonology. I’m not starting in on accounting.”

He carried the ladder back out. I stood in the hall and listened. After a few minutes, the sound started again. Scrape-squeak-squeak. Scrape-squeak-squeak. Dunk-gadunk squeeeee. I wondered if we really had to wait until morning, or if I could call Dixie Electric right away. I wondered if they would understand that this was an emergency.

 

read to be read at yeahwrite.me

Guest Post Studio 30 Plus

Hey everybody,

I wrote a guest post at studio 30 plus today talking about how to show your work in narrative fiction and nonfiction. If you’ve always struggled with ‘show don’t tell’, come drop by the studio. (And join up with an awesomely diverse community of bloggers while you’re there!)

Show Me The STORY!

Monster Train Dance

Some days, the posts just write themselves. Sam has to have bloodwork done Thursday. He’s taking a mood stabilizer, and we need to be sure it isn’t screwing with his hormones. I am frantic for him to be able to keep taking this stuff. I’m seeing my child for the first time in over a year, and I’m not ready for him to vanish again. These tiny pills have given me back my sweet silly little boy. And I want to keep him. Wouldn’t you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cliffside

This is the verge. From here, I can see every possible ending, good or bad. Every time I look over this ledge, I realize the greatest leap is into self. I’m so afraid.

 

The editors at Trifecta reminded us that 43 years ago yesterday, Neil Armstrong took his famous moon walk (which is different from a moonwalk; but I digress). They challenged us to write 33 words about a giant leap. Mine is not for humankind, but for myself. And it is coming.  (And to be clear, because in my family ones needs to be clear around certain subjects, if things go right, it will be a POSITIVE leap. The things that could go wrong are many, but none of them potentially fatal.)

Memories Captured July: Family and Facebook

On my Mom’s side of the family, we have an arsenal of pictures. I have pictures of grandparents, great grandparents, aunts, uncles, hell friends of the family whose names nobody remembers any longer. (I seriously have 4 books of a family who was very close to my great grandmother whose identities are largely forgotten.) On Dad’s side, not so much. He has pictures from his childhood, but not a lot that predates it. Which means it was double awesome when a cousin looked him up on facebook and then found me as well. This cousin, John, sent pictures of my great grandfather, my great grandmother, my grandmother, and my great aunt (not pictured here). (He is my great grandfather’s nephew. Do not correct me if he’s not technically my cousin, K?)

I had never seen my great grandparents on that side. I had never seen a picture of my grandmother as a young woman. Facebook’s got problems. And I hate it for some of it’s changes. But, bottom line, we would never have connected without it. And I would not have this generous gift. Thanks cousin John. It’s wonderful having you in the family.

On the left is Ruby King, my great grandfather.

Top right is Beatrice King, my grandmother.

Middle right is Wanda King (later Powell) my grandmother

Bottom Right is George Powell, my Dad. (That’s one from my collection.)

 

Linking up here with Galit Breen of These Little Waves and Alison of Mama Wants This. Love the Memories they capture.