Story Published in “Dog Days of Summer 2010”
My 101-word story “Woe, Mirror” was published in an E-chapbook. Mine is on page 35.
Thanks to Michael Solender for putting this together.
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Read More »My Interview with Sonya Clark
Sonya Clark interviewed me about Rogue’s Curse. Come see! Come see! I express my undying love for maenads and all things Michelle Forbes.
Embarrassed and Honored
Adrien, my editor, decided to embarrass the hell out of me today. I read this in public and turned three shades of red.
I also got choked up. Crap, I’m getting choked up right now, too.
~Ahem~
101-Word Stupor — Can I Stay the Night?
Keywords: Sweatshirt, Cowboy, Vitriol
The old farmer smells turpentine and sex: like bologna and mayo sandwiches warmed in the sun. He tilts his straw hat, pulls a pickle from his pocket and munches. “A-yup,” he says with vitriol. “They been diddlin’ in my shed.” The stained mattress tells the story. A soiled sweatshirt sits near the tractor, likely used to mop up. Old Joe loads the shotgun. It’s always the same. He’s filled three ditches with traveling salesmen, lawyers, cowboys. He’s filled the barn with cars that “broke down” or “ran out of gas.” Thinking of his three beautiful daughters, Farmer Joe whistles. It’s time.
Preview for tomorrow: Brie, Cadence, Metallic
101-Word Stupor — Grocery Store Torture
Keywords: Scone, Linebacker, Aphrodisiac
Helen stops setting groceries on the conveyer belt. She stares at the magazine cover. That’s me, she thinks. Well, not anymore. She glances down at her own 45-year old linebacker body, sniffs, and returns her gaze to the airbrushed blond with the high-arched cheeks. Helen grabs the bag of scones from the checker’s hand. “Not those,” she says, trying to exude the same Aphrodisiac Charm as the girl on the cover. I used to look like that, she thinks. I used to— “Paper or plastic, ma’am.” Ma’am. Ma’am. When did people start calling me— “Do you need help to your car?”
Keyword Preview for Tomorrow: Sweatshirt, Cowboy, Vitriol
101-Word Stupor — Free Range
Keywords: Boisterous, Abracadabra, Golf
George’s wife and her lover rotate on the rotisserie pole, bare asses dipping into the fire with every turn of the spit: hers, his, hers, his… The metal growls with each rotation. Abracadabra! his friend’s body disappears into the flames, then reappears. They’re screaming, but not like they were when George caught them. Now his wife rasps unintelligibly. And his friend sounds like the pig they roasted after playing golf last weekend. The spit grinds, rotates, and drags his wife through the fire. Something’s missing. With a boisterous “Ah-hah!”, George enters the trailer and emerges with two shiny apples. Much better.
Keyword Preview for tomorrow: Scone, Linebacker, Aphrodisiac
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