Bluejeans and Straw

No matter how much you dress the scarecrow, there’s still nothing to him. He has no brain, no matter how finely dressed. Who is in charge of your brain… and your heart? The tin woodsman, heartless and rusting away? Oz, the fake and powerless? Dorothy, the lost and helpless? The wicked witch, powerful until someone rains on her parade? The good witch, never around when you need her? The flying monkeys, loyal until someone else comes around? Or…

Dust, Ashes and Old Memories

Have you ever taken a sickle and cut a path through a dense undergrowth of tall weeds, thorn bushes and clinging vines? You can't do it without picking up a few scratches along with some mosquito and spider bites. You also can expect an occasional run in with a poisonous snake. I’ve been a swinger of sickles and it bears a striking resemblance to the work of a fiction writer.

The writer of fiction enjoys exploring the nature of relationships and creating characters out of the dust and ashes of old memories and finding paths through the tangled jungle of the inner self. Who knows where the path leads when we are the creators of the path? Who knows what characters lurk in the darkness waiting for the writer to shine the light of creativity upon them. Better dress for the occasion when you go delving into the secret places of the heart. This is such a place. Welcome!

Oh no! Another Writing Exercise

The first sentence was given. Write three minutes. What did you write? Share your results in the comments section. Or send it to me for posting later. My result…

Their father was one of the landed gentry in a land without gentry. Without fertile land for that matter. What need of land on a rock being mined for its nickel and small quantities of precious metals? Food you import from the bases on the south side of the moon. Landed gentry, hah. Most of them were women and they were company men, or women, as the case may be. Mine supervisors. But we called them landed gentry because they landed first. And they got to take off first at the end of the three-year shift, which now has a mere 13 months, 3 weeks and two days to go. Zelda Zilroy was of the landed gentry. She owned the land I mined with Zorkgrack, my botdrill. Of the two I preferred Zelda, but she was the bossier of the two. Zorkgrack was the better cook. But Zorkgrack in bed is just something I don’t want to think about, especially with Zelda leaning over my shoulder right now.

Road Ends

Who knows why the road ends here? And whatever happened to old Naperville? Folks in these parts know the answer but they'll never tell. Men in black suits come around and then folks go missing. But we're not afraid. This video tells all.

Rediscovering the Ring

The door popped open with a shove from Georgia. She pushed her nose through followed by her cheeks. The rest of her flew into the tiny home thanks to a giant shove from Donna. Donna, always the skinny, size four one, squished herself through the doorway and landed in the teeny hallway that led to a room beyond.

“I said it was a dollhouse.” Donna rubbed her nose.

“Too big. I’m thinking midgets.” Georgia managed to sit up without hitting the ceiling.

“Dwarfs?” Donna crawled into the room at the end of the hall which turned out to be a tiny living room.

“Height challenged.” Georgia plopped on the petite couch leaving no room for Donna to join her.

“Small size advantaged.” Donna sat on the floor and stretched her legs into the dinning room.

“Extinct whoever they were.” Georgia smiled at the row of tiny books on the shelf above Donna’s head.

Donna rubbed her fingers along the mantel. “It’s so eloquently carved.”

Georgia peeked over Donna’s shoulder. “What’s that funny looking ring? Is it gold?”

Donna picked it up and put it on her finger. Immediately she felt her mind blasted by an all pervading eyeball. "Looks harmless."

"Let me see." Georgia reached for the ring.

Donna slapped Georgia's hand away. "Isn't it precious? I think I'll keep it."

The End

Fulfillment is coming. Tell everyone!

Scary Suspense Theater Presents Superweeds

Introducing a new feature on my blog called Scary Suspense Theater. Enjoy the first video entitled "Superweeds."

I Have a Dream

Memorial Day is a time to remember the sacrifice of those who have made our freedom possible. They had dreams once, those young men and women who died fighting for us. As did those not so young military personnel who made the ultimate sacrifice on our behalf.

Revisit the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech. Think about your own dreams. And then step back into an earlier time to visit the home front in 1967 during the Viet Nam era.

This is the beginning of the Fulfillment campaign. Watch this space for more Fulfillment and ...tell everyone.

Read a short story: Little Miss Forgotten available at Amazon for $0.99

About Little Miss Forgotten 
The time is summer 1967, and you’re soon to be drafted when you meet her. But what is she?

Little Miss Forgotten is a suspense thriller mixed with lively humor and teen angst. Add a twist of horror and mystery. Set in the midst of war and fear of war. Life on the home front during the Viet Nam era. Short Story. 3,000 words.

Story Preview

"Do you wanna dance?" Okay, it was the name of a top ten hit, and today's kids would sneer if they heard me, but in 1967 it worked.

She hesitated. She frowned. She stared for what seemed an eternity, (about three seconds). "Sure, why not?"

I don't remember the song. The band was on break, and the young kids who worked as house deejays were playing records. It was a fast one. You just didn't ask a girl to dance a slow one the first time. You had to dance a couple of fast ones first. At a nice suburban Catholic church hall like Holy Cross, a girl accepting a slow dance was giving you an invitation to climb all over her.

For your Kindle: Little Miss Forgotten available at Amazon for $0.99

Need another format? Send me a buck and I'll send you a PDF. Three bucks gets you the hard copy paper version. Email me to start the ball rolling.

 Fulfillment... Tell Everyone!