Angelia Sparrow's Blog, page 40
October 13, 2012
Help create the Future of Farming
My friend Alex is helping create the future of farming.
In his own words:
"I’m trying to build a farm that will have a long-lasting impact on the lives of people in this region. We need more fresh, organic vegetables in this area. We need more sustainable agricultural practices. That’s not political either. It’s just a fact. Weather patterns are changing. During the grow season, we have extended periods of drought followed by intense storms. That’s not conducive to efficient farming. The future will have to be focused on developing indoor growing environments that are year round and efficient. I’m not even going to get into the effects of rising fuel prices on traditional farming, but our current model isn’t financially sustainable long-term."
Alex is a school teacher and writer of high fantasy. As such, he needs all the help he can get. Even a buck or two helps.
October 12, 2012
More October goodness
Pic of the Day
Vid of the day
Excerpt of the day:
This is from "Tuition Fees" available in Into Dark Waters (also available for Kindle)
“Dear little one, show me what you've drawn today." Morgenstern was sitting quietly before the fireplace, a glass of brandy in his hand after Chris finished with his painting and cleaned his brushes. Chris had noticed, weeks ago, that Morgenstern never called him by his name.
He had another landscape done: the crags around the schloss, with Okeleke’s just-blooming roses making a splash of color like fresh blood against the bare and jagged rocks.
“Dear little Goth boy, turning all you see into bleakness and despair." Morgenstern smiled his approval. “How is your painting coming?”
“Acrylics are still going better than oil.”
“Splendid. Do keep at it. Have you tried any human figures lately?”
Chris dug through his work and handed over several sheets, most pencil-work, but one small oil canvas. He watched Morgenstern look them over and nibbled the end of a brush in anxiety.
Morgenstern smiled as he looked at them. There was Marcelo at prayer, his fingers working his rosary. The style of the picture led him to expect a hair shirt or some Inquisition victims in evidence. Here was Li with his test-tubes, looking like a mad scientist under Chris’s skills. Okeleke dug in his garden, but looked more as if he was burying a body than planting the flowers beside him in the wheelbarrow. Morgenstern caught himself looking for a skeletal hand under the peonies. The oil was of Nick, stretched naked on the bed, apparently working on his PDA. The angle of the viewer was from the floor looking up, as if Nick had casually tossed them out of bed, assuming the proper place for a used sex slave was on the floor.
“You have an eye for the morbid, my little artist. It is fashionable now." He tapped Nick’s painting. “Your roommate. It is an unusual angle." Morgenstern looked Chris up and down until he shivered under the appraising eyes. “Has he had you yet?”
Chris swallowed hard. “Had, sir?”
Morgenstern leaned in close, too close. His voice purred seductively, “Has he fucked you yet?”
Chris shivered, from the breath on his ear, the crudity or simply the Professor’s closeness he couldn’t say. “No.”
Morgenstern smiled. “Very good. If you are willing, after dinner, we will have an oil tutoring session. You will not return to your room as virginal as when you left it.”
Chris blinked a few times, stunned by the suddenness of the proposition.
“Problem, little artist?”
Chris smiled. “No, sir." He glanced at the Professor’s package quite obviously before he caught himself.
Morgenstern saw this and smiled. “I will not hurt you, child.”
“I didn't think so." Chris gathered up his materials, seeing time was nearly over.
“Are you willing?" At Chris’s nod, he smiled more broadly. “Very good. I do not force anyone." He watched as Chris made for the door. “And do keep drawing. You have an eye for the shadows." He crooked a finger.
“Thank you, I-” the words died on Chris’s lips as he saw the beckoning. His stomach fluttered when he stepped close to the red velvet sofa.
Morgenstern’s kiss was light, gentle. Chris closed his eyes and sighed into it. When he opened them again, Morgenstern was at the door, opening it. Confusion wrote itself large on Chris’s features and he picked up the portfolio he’d dropped.
“After dinner then,” he managed.
“Indeed." Professor Morgenstern vanished out the door.
Vid of the day
Excerpt of the day:
This is from "Tuition Fees" available in Into Dark Waters (also available for Kindle)
“Dear little one, show me what you've drawn today." Morgenstern was sitting quietly before the fireplace, a glass of brandy in his hand after Chris finished with his painting and cleaned his brushes. Chris had noticed, weeks ago, that Morgenstern never called him by his name.
He had another landscape done: the crags around the schloss, with Okeleke’s just-blooming roses making a splash of color like fresh blood against the bare and jagged rocks.
“Dear little Goth boy, turning all you see into bleakness and despair." Morgenstern smiled his approval. “How is your painting coming?”
“Acrylics are still going better than oil.”
“Splendid. Do keep at it. Have you tried any human figures lately?”
Chris dug through his work and handed over several sheets, most pencil-work, but one small oil canvas. He watched Morgenstern look them over and nibbled the end of a brush in anxiety.
Morgenstern smiled as he looked at them. There was Marcelo at prayer, his fingers working his rosary. The style of the picture led him to expect a hair shirt or some Inquisition victims in evidence. Here was Li with his test-tubes, looking like a mad scientist under Chris’s skills. Okeleke dug in his garden, but looked more as if he was burying a body than planting the flowers beside him in the wheelbarrow. Morgenstern caught himself looking for a skeletal hand under the peonies. The oil was of Nick, stretched naked on the bed, apparently working on his PDA. The angle of the viewer was from the floor looking up, as if Nick had casually tossed them out of bed, assuming the proper place for a used sex slave was on the floor.
“You have an eye for the morbid, my little artist. It is fashionable now." He tapped Nick’s painting. “Your roommate. It is an unusual angle." Morgenstern looked Chris up and down until he shivered under the appraising eyes. “Has he had you yet?”
Chris swallowed hard. “Had, sir?”
Morgenstern leaned in close, too close. His voice purred seductively, “Has he fucked you yet?”
Chris shivered, from the breath on his ear, the crudity or simply the Professor’s closeness he couldn’t say. “No.”
Morgenstern smiled. “Very good. If you are willing, after dinner, we will have an oil tutoring session. You will not return to your room as virginal as when you left it.”
Chris blinked a few times, stunned by the suddenness of the proposition.
“Problem, little artist?”
Chris smiled. “No, sir." He glanced at the Professor’s package quite obviously before he caught himself.
Morgenstern saw this and smiled. “I will not hurt you, child.”
“I didn't think so." Chris gathered up his materials, seeing time was nearly over.
“Are you willing?" At Chris’s nod, he smiled more broadly. “Very good. I do not force anyone." He watched as Chris made for the door. “And do keep drawing. You have an eye for the shadows." He crooked a finger.
“Thank you, I-” the words died on Chris’s lips as he saw the beckoning. His stomach fluttered when he stepped close to the red velvet sofa.
Morgenstern’s kiss was light, gentle. Chris closed his eyes and sighed into it. When he opened them again, Morgenstern was at the door, opening it. Confusion wrote itself large on Chris’s features and he picked up the portfolio he’d dropped.
“After dinner then,” he managed.
“Indeed." Professor Morgenstern vanished out the door.
October 11, 2012
Zombie Day
Pic of the Day
Vid of the Day
From "Meanwhile Back at the Ranch," in Adventuresses
I yanked the paint’s mane as we came close to the paddock. He slowed and stopped. I saw the problem right away.
We’d been hearing weird tales outta Louisiana for a long time now, about slave-holders who couldn’t give up free labor after the War and had just killed all their slaves and had voodoo men bring them back. Hadn’t thought much of the stories and never quite believed them.
But I’d seen drawings in the newspapers and in the penny-dreadfuls that Jack and Billy liked to read. I knew what the slow-moving thing was. It used to be a man; now it was a zombie. It sorta dragged itself along, like a bear with a broken leg. The skin was nasty rotten gray except where there was blood on it. In a couple places, the flesh was gone completely and bone showed through.
It was headed to the barn. I felt kinda bad for the man who'd been in that shell. He'd been an Indian by the look of the thing's long black hair. I shot him in the chest and he never even stopped. He just kept coming. I saw him closer than I wanted to. Oh, this was bad. I gave him the other barrel between the eyes.
I reloaded and took aim at the other big ugly critter that was eating one of my sheep. That one had been a Negro. Amanda and the big girls had the sense to hole up in the barn and bolt the door. I blew that dead gray head right off. The body toppled over.
A third shambled out of the shadows and I saw the half-eaten carcass of Sorrel, Amanda’s gelding. I blew that zombie’s head off too.
Eli made it back about then, carrying the one fool thing my husband had built that worked. He drew back the pump and fired a ball of burning kerosene onto the stinking corpses.
“Eli, you make sure that fire doesn’t spread.”
“Right, Ma Cat.” He tried to keep my boys away from it. At sixteen, Eli fancied himself the man of the house. He knew better than to sass me though, since I could still dust his britches and outshoot him.
I went to check on Amanda and the girls. They were fine. Sweating some, but fine. Amanda had armed them with chunks of wood and grabbed the pitchfork for herself. “Why were you out without your Remington anyway, Amanda?” I asked.
“It’s jamming,” she said. “I cleaned it good, but Eli insisted on working on it,” she mumbled, looking at the ground.
I rolled my eyes. By the time Eli got done, the gun would either be unusable or it’d spit fire along with the bullets. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the boy was my Luke’s son. “They got Sorrel. I’m sorry.”
Melissa and Hannah sniffled at that, but there wasn’t anything to be done. After Eli had burned the bodies, I got him and my boys to haul Sorrel and the dead sheep well away from the barn and burn them too, so the coyotes and buzzards wouldn’t come to the carrion. I wasn't gonna let my people eat after those things. I didn't know how that zombie thing could be caught and I wasn't taking any chances on my folk or the local critters getting it.
We didn't talk at dinner. The boys didn't go on about the stock and the fields. Hannah wasn't all agog at an airship she'd seen passing over. The table was quiet as a graveyard, except for somebody's spoon making the occasional noise. All of us were too upset to eat much. I expected there'd be nightmares tonight, too.
Vid of the Day
From "Meanwhile Back at the Ranch," in Adventuresses
I yanked the paint’s mane as we came close to the paddock. He slowed and stopped. I saw the problem right away.
We’d been hearing weird tales outta Louisiana for a long time now, about slave-holders who couldn’t give up free labor after the War and had just killed all their slaves and had voodoo men bring them back. Hadn’t thought much of the stories and never quite believed them.
But I’d seen drawings in the newspapers and in the penny-dreadfuls that Jack and Billy liked to read. I knew what the slow-moving thing was. It used to be a man; now it was a zombie. It sorta dragged itself along, like a bear with a broken leg. The skin was nasty rotten gray except where there was blood on it. In a couple places, the flesh was gone completely and bone showed through.
It was headed to the barn. I felt kinda bad for the man who'd been in that shell. He'd been an Indian by the look of the thing's long black hair. I shot him in the chest and he never even stopped. He just kept coming. I saw him closer than I wanted to. Oh, this was bad. I gave him the other barrel between the eyes.
I reloaded and took aim at the other big ugly critter that was eating one of my sheep. That one had been a Negro. Amanda and the big girls had the sense to hole up in the barn and bolt the door. I blew that dead gray head right off. The body toppled over.
A third shambled out of the shadows and I saw the half-eaten carcass of Sorrel, Amanda’s gelding. I blew that zombie’s head off too.
Eli made it back about then, carrying the one fool thing my husband had built that worked. He drew back the pump and fired a ball of burning kerosene onto the stinking corpses.
“Eli, you make sure that fire doesn’t spread.”
“Right, Ma Cat.” He tried to keep my boys away from it. At sixteen, Eli fancied himself the man of the house. He knew better than to sass me though, since I could still dust his britches and outshoot him.
I went to check on Amanda and the girls. They were fine. Sweating some, but fine. Amanda had armed them with chunks of wood and grabbed the pitchfork for herself. “Why were you out without your Remington anyway, Amanda?” I asked.
“It’s jamming,” she said. “I cleaned it good, but Eli insisted on working on it,” she mumbled, looking at the ground.
I rolled my eyes. By the time Eli got done, the gun would either be unusable or it’d spit fire along with the bullets. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the boy was my Luke’s son. “They got Sorrel. I’m sorry.”
Melissa and Hannah sniffled at that, but there wasn’t anything to be done. After Eli had burned the bodies, I got him and my boys to haul Sorrel and the dead sheep well away from the barn and burn them too, so the coyotes and buzzards wouldn’t come to the carrion. I wasn't gonna let my people eat after those things. I didn't know how that zombie thing could be caught and I wasn't taking any chances on my folk or the local critters getting it.
We didn't talk at dinner. The boys didn't go on about the stock and the fields. Hannah wasn't all agog at an airship she'd seen passing over. The table was quiet as a graveyard, except for somebody's spoon making the occasional noise. All of us were too upset to eat much. I expected there'd be nightmares tonight, too.
October 10, 2012
Wanna do bad things with you
Pic of the Day
Vid of the Day
Excerpt of the day
From "Hot Load" available for a limited time in Howl At The Mistletoe
I stared at the dispatch a little more, then got out my atlas and started trip-planning during the last hour of my break before I left the terminal. Once I did get on the road, I followed the directions very carefully. I did not want to get lost in the wilds of the Arkansas-Louisiana border. Bobtails are easier to turn than a full rig, but still. I turned off the main state highway onto a numbered county road. My directions said it was fine.
It hadn't been used in a long time. The yellow stripe was faded to near invisibility and the grass grew over the broken edges of the road. No houses, no farms, nothing but trees and meadows lined the road. Every now and then, a bridge would take me over a broad cypress swamp. I could smell the murky, stagnant water even over the air conditioning and the Spanish moss hung nearly to the eerie knees that poked through the scummy water. One patch of swamp was so thick and dense, and ran so long, that it was dark before I got out.
I was almost out of hours when I saw the lights of the Nesperanza truck stop. I parked my bobtail next to five others and went inside. The other drivers were sitting at the counter, and I gave the tired-looking waitress my order.
I was halfway into my chicken-fried steak when a sharp-faced little man came in. “All right, drivers, I have your bills and trailer assignments. And your routing. Fill the new guy in on the rules. Since you're all out of hours, the clock resets at seven a.m.” He handed out the paperwork and left without another word. I finished my supper and glanced at the bills.
The guys stared at me, then introduced themselves. I listened as they explained the rules: no fraternizing with the cargo, no detours, no leaving the cab at the dock. I was in way over my head. The best way to cope would be after a good night's sleep. I left a tip and went to my sleeper. It seemed to be some sort of signal, because everyone headed for bed.
At six o'clock, I sat in the truck stop drinking stale coffee and listening to the guys bitch about the run. They knew what we were doing. Every one of them had taken this job of his own free will. But it's a truism that when two or more truckers are together, they're talking about one of three things: women, their lousy job or how fast their rig goes...or doesn't go.
We were all loaded up, except me. I had one more item on the manifest before I could hook the trailer.
“Got you loaded heavy today,” Cody said glancing over my bills.
“Yeah. I guess that's what happens when they give you the sodomites.” I flinched inwardly as I read the hateful word. “Lot more of them around these days. Two hundred fifty-one, but it says capacity is two-fifty. The extra can ride in the cab. Be nice to have company.”
The other guys laughed and headed to their trucks. I was getting up, when I saw the kid standing by the rear of my trailer. Mister Two-fifty-one, I expected. I went out and did a walk around.
He sure was cute, all blond hair and big gray eyes. He couldn't have been more than twenty-two, and wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon medieval foot pad and the words “Thieves slip in and out unnoticed.” His tan jeans hugged his body and the leather sandals were the final hippie touch. I wanted to kiss him, just to see if his lips were as soft as they looked. I grinned at the irony instead. Someday, I was going to be in the trailer of this rig myself, I suspected.
“You get special accommodations,” I said to him. “The passenger seat.”
He smiled. “Better than the trailer with the rest of the damned. I thought it was supposed to be a train.”
I shrugged. “Trains went out years ago. I guess rail rates affect everyone.” I paid my tab and stood up to go.
He sighed. “Yeah, so now they get packed into cattle cars and hauled to Hell behind Freightliners.”
There it lay, the ugly truth of the run. We couldn't escape the fact I was taking him down to Hell.
“Get in,” I said, and climbed up myself.
Vid of the Day
Excerpt of the day
From "Hot Load" available for a limited time in Howl At The Mistletoe
I stared at the dispatch a little more, then got out my atlas and started trip-planning during the last hour of my break before I left the terminal. Once I did get on the road, I followed the directions very carefully. I did not want to get lost in the wilds of the Arkansas-Louisiana border. Bobtails are easier to turn than a full rig, but still. I turned off the main state highway onto a numbered county road. My directions said it was fine.
It hadn't been used in a long time. The yellow stripe was faded to near invisibility and the grass grew over the broken edges of the road. No houses, no farms, nothing but trees and meadows lined the road. Every now and then, a bridge would take me over a broad cypress swamp. I could smell the murky, stagnant water even over the air conditioning and the Spanish moss hung nearly to the eerie knees that poked through the scummy water. One patch of swamp was so thick and dense, and ran so long, that it was dark before I got out.
I was almost out of hours when I saw the lights of the Nesperanza truck stop. I parked my bobtail next to five others and went inside. The other drivers were sitting at the counter, and I gave the tired-looking waitress my order.
I was halfway into my chicken-fried steak when a sharp-faced little man came in. “All right, drivers, I have your bills and trailer assignments. And your routing. Fill the new guy in on the rules. Since you're all out of hours, the clock resets at seven a.m.” He handed out the paperwork and left without another word. I finished my supper and glanced at the bills.
The guys stared at me, then introduced themselves. I listened as they explained the rules: no fraternizing with the cargo, no detours, no leaving the cab at the dock. I was in way over my head. The best way to cope would be after a good night's sleep. I left a tip and went to my sleeper. It seemed to be some sort of signal, because everyone headed for bed.
At six o'clock, I sat in the truck stop drinking stale coffee and listening to the guys bitch about the run. They knew what we were doing. Every one of them had taken this job of his own free will. But it's a truism that when two or more truckers are together, they're talking about one of three things: women, their lousy job or how fast their rig goes...or doesn't go.
We were all loaded up, except me. I had one more item on the manifest before I could hook the trailer.
“Got you loaded heavy today,” Cody said glancing over my bills.
“Yeah. I guess that's what happens when they give you the sodomites.” I flinched inwardly as I read the hateful word. “Lot more of them around these days. Two hundred fifty-one, but it says capacity is two-fifty. The extra can ride in the cab. Be nice to have company.”
The other guys laughed and headed to their trucks. I was getting up, when I saw the kid standing by the rear of my trailer. Mister Two-fifty-one, I expected. I went out and did a walk around.
He sure was cute, all blond hair and big gray eyes. He couldn't have been more than twenty-two, and wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon medieval foot pad and the words “Thieves slip in and out unnoticed.” His tan jeans hugged his body and the leather sandals were the final hippie touch. I wanted to kiss him, just to see if his lips were as soft as they looked. I grinned at the irony instead. Someday, I was going to be in the trailer of this rig myself, I suspected.
“You get special accommodations,” I said to him. “The passenger seat.”
He smiled. “Better than the trailer with the rest of the damned. I thought it was supposed to be a train.”
I shrugged. “Trains went out years ago. I guess rail rates affect everyone.” I paid my tab and stood up to go.
He sighed. “Yeah, so now they get packed into cattle cars and hauled to Hell behind Freightliners.”
There it lay, the ugly truth of the run. We couldn't escape the fact I was taking him down to Hell.
“Get in,” I said, and climbed up myself.
October 9, 2012
October Carnivals are best avoided
Pic of the Day:
Vid of the Day:
Excerpt of the day
From Alive on the Inside
The Phantasmagoria by twilight felt different than it had by day. It had been creepy by day. Now it felt downright sinister. Cyn laughed at herself. Just virgin jitters. She didn’t plan on going
home a virgin. In the back of her mind, a small voice asked if she really planned to go home at all.
Maybe, it suggested, you could get a job with the carnival. They could use a tall, pretty girl either in the hoochie show or selling candy. Cyn dismissed the thought. She had her life planned.
She’d already sent her college applications. She was going to breeze through her senior year, graduate with honors, spend most of the summer with her dad and get the hell out of Peculiar. Then it was just a matter of how far and fast she wanted to go. Traveling carnivals, no matter how appealing, didn’t figure into her future.
She coasted down YY by the duplexes. She and her mom had lived on Shari Lane for a while, before Lee. The Phantasmagoria gleamed topaz and ruby ahead. She parked her bike, locking it to the rack near the gate, ignoring her better judgment which told her to keep on riding, spend the night at her grandparents’ house and call Mom when she got there.
For a brief instant, the lights all went out. The soft breeze stirred the flaps of canvas and whistled among the metal skeletons of the stopped rides. No people moved in the dead stillness. She looked down the Midway and saw only empty booths and rides. She shivered, remembering the way Fairyland had been so dead on her last visit right before the amusement park had closed. She shut her eyes at the sight of a skeleton propped against the side of a booth, still dressed in a ragged striped shirt and crumbling straw boater.
When she opened them, she saw the lights had come back up and she wondered how she could have missed the throng. The skeleton was the cute duck pickup guy, who flirted shamelessly with Suzie. Atop the Ferris wheel, Debbie and Michelle screamed in their high, squeaky cheerleader voices to start it back up. People she knew roamed everywhere, shooting at targets, picking up ducks, spinning around on the rides, and lined up for attractions. At least now she had an alibi.
She hurried over and joined Suzie at the booth, putting the thought of the man’s bright blue eyes burning from empty sockets in a bare skull out of her mind. “Hiya,” she said. “Look, Suzie, I’m out illegal-like. I left a note saying I was staying at your place. Can you cover for me?”
They headed to the snow cone stand. Suzie pumped her with questions and Cyn gave evasive answers.
“It’s a guy, isn’t it? One you don’t want the folks to know about.” Suzie smiled and gave her a wink. “Your secret is safe with me. Just come on over after you see him. We never lock the side door. You aren’t doing anything goofy like eloping, are you?”
Cyn laughed and squeezed Suzie around the waist. “Darling girl, why would I elope with a mere man, when you know you hold sole and only possession of my heart?” Suzie giggled and Cyn went on. “Hark, what dark in yonder window grows? It is the east and Suze the approaching night.”
“All right, all right already. Sheesh. Someone’s gonna snitch if you keep acting like that.”
Cyn nodded and let go of her. “The last thing I need is for Mom to find out I like girls, too.” She gave Suzie a wicked grin. “I have a free pass. You want to crash the adult show? I’ll go halvsies if you come along for immoral support.”
Suzie giggled. “I have the car. Sure.”
“I have to go by the piercing booth beforehand, though. Meet me at the tent when it’s time.” Cyn hurried off to see Torturo.
Vid of the Day:
Excerpt of the day
From Alive on the Inside
The Phantasmagoria by twilight felt different than it had by day. It had been creepy by day. Now it felt downright sinister. Cyn laughed at herself. Just virgin jitters. She didn’t plan on going
home a virgin. In the back of her mind, a small voice asked if she really planned to go home at all.
Maybe, it suggested, you could get a job with the carnival. They could use a tall, pretty girl either in the hoochie show or selling candy. Cyn dismissed the thought. She had her life planned.
She’d already sent her college applications. She was going to breeze through her senior year, graduate with honors, spend most of the summer with her dad and get the hell out of Peculiar. Then it was just a matter of how far and fast she wanted to go. Traveling carnivals, no matter how appealing, didn’t figure into her future.
She coasted down YY by the duplexes. She and her mom had lived on Shari Lane for a while, before Lee. The Phantasmagoria gleamed topaz and ruby ahead. She parked her bike, locking it to the rack near the gate, ignoring her better judgment which told her to keep on riding, spend the night at her grandparents’ house and call Mom when she got there.
For a brief instant, the lights all went out. The soft breeze stirred the flaps of canvas and whistled among the metal skeletons of the stopped rides. No people moved in the dead stillness. She looked down the Midway and saw only empty booths and rides. She shivered, remembering the way Fairyland had been so dead on her last visit right before the amusement park had closed. She shut her eyes at the sight of a skeleton propped against the side of a booth, still dressed in a ragged striped shirt and crumbling straw boater.
When she opened them, she saw the lights had come back up and she wondered how she could have missed the throng. The skeleton was the cute duck pickup guy, who flirted shamelessly with Suzie. Atop the Ferris wheel, Debbie and Michelle screamed in their high, squeaky cheerleader voices to start it back up. People she knew roamed everywhere, shooting at targets, picking up ducks, spinning around on the rides, and lined up for attractions. At least now she had an alibi.
She hurried over and joined Suzie at the booth, putting the thought of the man’s bright blue eyes burning from empty sockets in a bare skull out of her mind. “Hiya,” she said. “Look, Suzie, I’m out illegal-like. I left a note saying I was staying at your place. Can you cover for me?”
They headed to the snow cone stand. Suzie pumped her with questions and Cyn gave evasive answers.
“It’s a guy, isn’t it? One you don’t want the folks to know about.” Suzie smiled and gave her a wink. “Your secret is safe with me. Just come on over after you see him. We never lock the side door. You aren’t doing anything goofy like eloping, are you?”
Cyn laughed and squeezed Suzie around the waist. “Darling girl, why would I elope with a mere man, when you know you hold sole and only possession of my heart?” Suzie giggled and Cyn went on. “Hark, what dark in yonder window grows? It is the east and Suze the approaching night.”
“All right, all right already. Sheesh. Someone’s gonna snitch if you keep acting like that.”
Cyn nodded and let go of her. “The last thing I need is for Mom to find out I like girls, too.” She gave Suzie a wicked grin. “I have a free pass. You want to crash the adult show? I’ll go halvsies if you come along for immoral support.”
Suzie giggled. “I have the car. Sure.”
“I have to go by the piercing booth beforehand, though. Meet me at the tent when it’s time.” Cyn hurried off to see Torturo.
October 8, 2012
October goodies
Your pic of the day:
Vid of the day:
Excerpt of the day:
This is from FirstFruits which will be up all week for your free downloaing enjoyment.
There was no cake or pie or even cookies to offer her guest. She was out of tea, too. She couldn't remember the last time she'd shopped. Or eaten for that matter. She found a lone can of
soda in the back of the fridge and took it to the front room. “Can I off you a drink, Miss Oholah?”
The old woman shook her head. “Looks like you need it more, daughter. I came because you need something more.” She untied the bundle, spreading it over the sofa. “You need to grieve and continue instead of being stuck in your shock like a fat turtle in a garbage pail. That's why I'm here.”
Clarindy sat down on the other end of the sofa and looked into the bundle. Cloth, lots of cloth, most of it black or gray, lay in neatly folded smaller bundles. She didn't understand.
“We're going to make a graveyard quilt. It's an old mountain mourning custom, been out of fashion for a hundred and fifty years, but my family always made them. Seemed to help the womenfolk move along life's path. You got no mother or aunty or grandmother or sister to teach you and help you do this. So, get your sewing box and some paper, Clarindy, and we'll start this.”
“A quilt?” Clarindy's laugh shocked her with its bitter anger. “You think a quilt will help anything?”
“Tain't just a quilt, daughter. It's a record of your people. It's a way for you to feel the pain and let it go instead of cuddling it close in like it was a teddy bear. Pain is a bear, right enough, but it will eat your heart and your life and you as well, like a grizzly bear.”
Oholah took out an old-fashioned snapshot book. She offered it over. “These are graveyard quilts. Take a look. Think. Is there a pattern you wanted to make but never did?”
Clarindy looked at the pictures. All the quilts had a central square fenced off from the rest of the pattern and a path that ran to the border. Little black six-sided coffins bearing embroidered names and dates lay within the center and more coffins with names but no dates were tacked to the border of each quilt, all awaiting more deaths.
She shivered and handed the book back to Oholah. “That's morbid.”
“And you sitting here in the dark, not eating, waiting for children who aren't coming home from school ever again, ain't?” Oholah snapped, her famous temper peeking through. Clarindy just looked at her, blank and aching. “Well-a-day.” Oholah sorted the fabric into stacks by color and size of print. “We'll get you through this, Clarindy, just you watch.”
Vid of the day:
Excerpt of the day:
This is from FirstFruits which will be up all week for your free downloaing enjoyment.
There was no cake or pie or even cookies to offer her guest. She was out of tea, too. She couldn't remember the last time she'd shopped. Or eaten for that matter. She found a lone can of
soda in the back of the fridge and took it to the front room. “Can I off you a drink, Miss Oholah?”
The old woman shook her head. “Looks like you need it more, daughter. I came because you need something more.” She untied the bundle, spreading it over the sofa. “You need to grieve and continue instead of being stuck in your shock like a fat turtle in a garbage pail. That's why I'm here.”
Clarindy sat down on the other end of the sofa and looked into the bundle. Cloth, lots of cloth, most of it black or gray, lay in neatly folded smaller bundles. She didn't understand.
“We're going to make a graveyard quilt. It's an old mountain mourning custom, been out of fashion for a hundred and fifty years, but my family always made them. Seemed to help the womenfolk move along life's path. You got no mother or aunty or grandmother or sister to teach you and help you do this. So, get your sewing box and some paper, Clarindy, and we'll start this.”
“A quilt?” Clarindy's laugh shocked her with its bitter anger. “You think a quilt will help anything?”
“Tain't just a quilt, daughter. It's a record of your people. It's a way for you to feel the pain and let it go instead of cuddling it close in like it was a teddy bear. Pain is a bear, right enough, but it will eat your heart and your life and you as well, like a grizzly bear.”
Oholah took out an old-fashioned snapshot book. She offered it over. “These are graveyard quilts. Take a look. Think. Is there a pattern you wanted to make but never did?”
Clarindy looked at the pictures. All the quilts had a central square fenced off from the rest of the pattern and a path that ran to the border. Little black six-sided coffins bearing embroidered names and dates lay within the center and more coffins with names but no dates were tacked to the border of each quilt, all awaiting more deaths.
She shivered and handed the book back to Oholah. “That's morbid.”
“And you sitting here in the dark, not eating, waiting for children who aren't coming home from school ever again, ain't?” Oholah snapped, her famous temper peeking through. Clarindy just looked at her, blank and aching. “Well-a-day.” Oholah sorted the fabric into stacks by color and size of print. “We'll get you through this, Clarindy, just you watch.”
October 7, 2012
Sunday Treats
Sorry for the gap in coverage. Y'all know what went down.
But we're back on track.
And every Sunday, I'm giving away a paranormal in .pdf form. These will be older things, where the copyright has reverted to me. This week, your treat is Firstfruits.
This is straight-up paranormal/horror, in the vein of Ray Bradbury.
You can read it online or right click and save as.
Clarindy Wishom's grief over her dead family is not abating, so old Oholibah Jenkins takes a notion to help her out. So they quilt, all the long summer, until Clarindy has a really bad idea...
Enjoy!
Pic of the day
Video of the day:
But we're back on track.
And every Sunday, I'm giving away a paranormal in .pdf form. These will be older things, where the copyright has reverted to me. This week, your treat is Firstfruits.
This is straight-up paranormal/horror, in the vein of Ray Bradbury.
You can read it online or right click and save as.
Clarindy Wishom's grief over her dead family is not abating, so old Oholibah Jenkins takes a notion to help her out. So they quilt, all the long summer, until Clarindy has a really bad idea...
Enjoy!
Pic of the day
Video of the day:
October 3, 2012
October 2, 2012
Vampire Week continues
Your Pic of the DayYour Video of the day
Your Excerpt:
Vampire week continues with "Hunger for the Edge." This is available in Into Dark Waters
The next night, Adrien was loitering against the wall outside of Egypt. He was well-fed, warm and content looking. His shirt was a silvery blue which made his eyes look almost gray He was patient. He'd been there for most of the evening, listening to the crowd, smelling them, enjoying being among people once more.
Zach came late, held up at work. He caught a glimpse of dusky skin and a silvery blue shirt as he walked up, very quietly, behind his evening's appointment.
Adrien turned and smiled. "Zach."
"Didn't think I made any noise," Zach grumbled.
"You didn't. I smelled you. So it is you who are rude tonight?"
"Rude? How so?"
"Approaching a blind man from behind is not wise, nor is it polite." Adrien's tone was mildly chiding but nothing in it said Zach wouldn't be getting laid.
"I apologize. But since you smelled me, I don't think I've put you out any."
"Not at all." Adrien wrapped an arm around his waist. Unlike last night, he was warm, feeling almost flushed.
"Did you eat?" Zach asked, stroking his face, feeling the unusual warmth in it.
"I ate. I may stay as long as you like." Adrien smiled and pressed up into Zach's hand.
"Coming home with me?" Zach asked, gently starting toward the car without disengaging from Adrien.
"If you like, I'd be quite happy to."
Zach led him to the Jag and watched as Adrien groped around the edges of the door, not quite able to find the handle. Finally, Zach opened the door.
"Ah, thank you." Adrien slid in gracefully, settling himself in the low-slung seat.
As he walked around to his own side of the car, Zach drew a small knife from his pocket. He winced as he made a shallow cut, just deep enough to bleed freely, across his arm before getting in.
Adrien sniffed audibly. "You're bleeding."
"Am I?"
"You are, I can smell it. It's just a small cut. Are you all right?" Adrien sounded very worried. "Did you catch yourself on the car?"
"I'm fine. Do you like the smell?" Zach put his plan into action.
Adrien drew back a little, eyebrows furrowed over sightless eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm on to you." Diplomacy, to Zach, had always been a mealy mouthed way of avoiding the truth.
"I did intend to have you on me tonight, yes." Adrien tried to change the subject.
"I intend far more."
"Indeed?"
"I stayed awake all last night putting this together: empty condom, eternal boner, too good sense of smell. Mysterious feeding habits."
"You know the other senses overcompensate," Adrien said.
"Not to this extent," Zach countered.
"And surely not so mysterious. You've had lovers refuse to eat with you before, I'm sure. Special diets make other people uncomfortable."
"I know what you are," Zach persisted.
"Other than a blind creole who gives amazing head?" Adrien licked his lips hoping to move into safer topics.
"Vampire."
Adrien laughed. He laughed until the car rang with it, until he was clutching his sides, gasping for breath, the tears running from his eyes. "Have you the first idea how ridiculous that sounds? This is the twenty-first century."
Zach shrugged. "And there are stranger things out there."
"Vampires are the silly superstitions of medieval peasants to account for plagues and natural decay processes."
"It destroyed your sight, didn't it?"
"What? Are you still claiming I'm a vampire?" He hadn't stopped laughing and was clutching the hanging strap over the door to steady himself.
"And you're going to give it to me."
"There are no such things. Do you hang your windows with wolfsbane as well?" Adrien wrapped his arms around his ribs, aching from the laughter.
"I'm bored. I want it. And you can be honest with me."
"I thought dying was not part of your grand plan." Adrien flashed his fangs at Zach. "If you are bored living as a mortal, how much more bored will you be dying eternally?"
"We'll find out, won't we?" Zach smiled. He'd won.
October 1, 2012
I love October!
We're kicking off October with Vampire Week here at the Den.
Your pic of the day:
Your video of the day
Your excerpt of the day
This is from Power in the Blood . Oren's boys get a lesson on vampire history. Violence, rough language, ethnic slurs, Zionism, underage drinking, decapitated heads etc
"Now, the vamps here in Memphis. Are they all religious kooks?" The Kid
busied himself cleaning a gun as he asked.
"Not all of them," Brett said. "Dr. King runs the main vampire organization
here in town. He keeps most of the crew nonviolent. This church is a new thing. And
there are always renegade gangs that want to wallow in blood until the streets run with
it. Dad deals with them, if King or the cops don't get them first." Brett shrugged. "Our
cops have an eastward facing holding cell with great big windows just for vampire
prisoners caught killing humans. It doesn't see a lot of use. Neither does the reinforced
windowless one for the non-killing crimes."
"Swell—pacifist vamps, my favorite." The Kid's grin was ugly. He glanced up
as Anne was holding the empty bottle upside down, giving it a puzzled look. She
scowled and set it on the nightstand. "Damn it, woman." The sound in his voice was
half grudging, half admiring.
Anne stared at the bottle, unable to fathom how she had reached the bottom
so quickly. She'd been drinking too much since Lielit had gone to Sleep. She looked at
Marcus and changed the subject away from her drinking. "Same story everywhere.
How big is this church compared to the pacifists?"
Dennis piped up. "The church numbers about four thousand. King's group is
only a few hundred—we aren't sure how many. There are more vampires that aren't on
either side... Maybe a couple hundred." When Marcus raised a skeptical eyebrow,
Dennis shrugged. "Brigitte told me. And let me just say, the seven of us and the two of
you with bodies? That ain't going to make it if we have to fight."
"Other Undying have been called in," Samil said, his sudden words startling
after all his silence. "And we may have other help."
Marcus looked at him aghast, his mouth working and only garbled stuff
coming from the speakers. He finally managed, "They wouldn't."
Anne nodded, her face grim. "They would. The children should know what
kind of help they're getting. Tell them about the Hall of Sleepers—you've been back
more recently than I have." She really wanted another drink before this part, but she
made herself wait. She only had one more bottle, and the store across the street
wouldn't open until mid-morning.
Marcus clenched his teeth hard enough to make a vein pop out on his temple
and cause more gobbledygook from the computer, and then began. "The Sleepers are
Undying who have grown too old and seen too much. Some are nearly sane, others
deeply mad. The Council members are as old as many of the Sleepers, but since they
haven't the sheer trauma of a field agent's life, they remain sane longer. Samil is the
oldest operative still in the field, and they are hesitant to order him into the Hall." The
pride in his voice was unmistakable.
"I'm perfectly in control of my faculties," Samil grumbled. "I am a warrior,
after all. I could use a sling before I could run and a sword before I could read."
"That's because you learned to read in Athens five hundred years after you
died, darling." Marcus smiled, and Anne knew he was teasing his lover.
Samil bared his teeth without opening his eyes. "I butchered my way through
men, women, and children when I lived. Do you think destroying monsters will
bother me? Me, who saw my own pregnant wife spitted as I had done to so many
enemy women?"
Everyone in the room shuddered, and Samil's eyes opened. "It was a different
time. Every foreign child, every pregnant woman of the enemy, was a threat to my
sons' birthright, to our right to hold the Promised Land and the City of David. We
were a tiny people and surrounded by hostile tribes."
"The more things change," Brett mumbled.
"My people are strong now." Samil smiled at the thought. "They could destroy
their enemies without thinking, if they dared public opinion. We will have our city
and the Temple again, in time, and the Ishmaelites will be nothing more than a bad
memory."
Anne broke out her last bottle of whiskey. Zealot talk always made her want to
drink more to shut it out. She'd developed a taste for the strong stuff in the nineteenth
century and had to watch herself. She offered it to Dennis and Brett first, noticing that
this time, Brett let Dennis have another drink against the horrors of the evening.
Dennis looked puzzled for a moment and asked, "But Mr. Samil, wouldn't
your children wake back up? Did the not-born one wake up?"
The head fixed him with a dark glare. Anne got the bottle back and had
another swallow. This was going to be unpleasant no matter how he answered.
"Two did," Samil said. He closed his eyes, lines of pain and sorrow marking
his handsome face. Anne understood at once. The children Samil had sired had
indeed awakened. He had only learned of his wife's betrayal after her death.
Marcus took it up. "The elder boy and the not-born did not awaken. Baruch
and Devorah are in the Hall of Sleepers. They are small children and the Council will
never allow them to be awakened."
Samil did not open his eyes. "Do you know how long and hard a three year
old can cry because she is hungry? I endured the starvation with them, so they would
not be alone when they went to Sleep. I told them we were mourning their mother.
They Sleep forever, the name of their father entombed with them. I became Samil, the
Angel of Death, instead."
The Kid helped himself to a quarter of the bottle in a single pull and Anne
scowled at him. "How many of them things you go through in a day, Red?"
"One, on good days. There haven't been any good days since I came to
Memphis. Three on bad. This is my fifth bottle today. But I had help." She tipped it at
him in mock salute and drank half of what remained without a breath.
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Your pic of the day:
Your video of the day
Your excerpt of the day
This is from Power in the Blood . Oren's boys get a lesson on vampire history. Violence, rough language, ethnic slurs, Zionism, underage drinking, decapitated heads etc
"Now, the vamps here in Memphis. Are they all religious kooks?" The Kid
busied himself cleaning a gun as he asked.
"Not all of them," Brett said. "Dr. King runs the main vampire organization
here in town. He keeps most of the crew nonviolent. This church is a new thing. And
there are always renegade gangs that want to wallow in blood until the streets run with
it. Dad deals with them, if King or the cops don't get them first." Brett shrugged. "Our
cops have an eastward facing holding cell with great big windows just for vampire
prisoners caught killing humans. It doesn't see a lot of use. Neither does the reinforced
windowless one for the non-killing crimes."
"Swell—pacifist vamps, my favorite." The Kid's grin was ugly. He glanced up
as Anne was holding the empty bottle upside down, giving it a puzzled look. She
scowled and set it on the nightstand. "Damn it, woman." The sound in his voice was
half grudging, half admiring.
Anne stared at the bottle, unable to fathom how she had reached the bottom
so quickly. She'd been drinking too much since Lielit had gone to Sleep. She looked at
Marcus and changed the subject away from her drinking. "Same story everywhere.
How big is this church compared to the pacifists?"
Dennis piped up. "The church numbers about four thousand. King's group is
only a few hundred—we aren't sure how many. There are more vampires that aren't on
either side... Maybe a couple hundred." When Marcus raised a skeptical eyebrow,
Dennis shrugged. "Brigitte told me. And let me just say, the seven of us and the two of
you with bodies? That ain't going to make it if we have to fight."
"Other Undying have been called in," Samil said, his sudden words startling
after all his silence. "And we may have other help."
Marcus looked at him aghast, his mouth working and only garbled stuff
coming from the speakers. He finally managed, "They wouldn't."
Anne nodded, her face grim. "They would. The children should know what
kind of help they're getting. Tell them about the Hall of Sleepers—you've been back
more recently than I have." She really wanted another drink before this part, but she
made herself wait. She only had one more bottle, and the store across the street
wouldn't open until mid-morning.
Marcus clenched his teeth hard enough to make a vein pop out on his temple
and cause more gobbledygook from the computer, and then began. "The Sleepers are
Undying who have grown too old and seen too much. Some are nearly sane, others
deeply mad. The Council members are as old as many of the Sleepers, but since they
haven't the sheer trauma of a field agent's life, they remain sane longer. Samil is the
oldest operative still in the field, and they are hesitant to order him into the Hall." The
pride in his voice was unmistakable.
"I'm perfectly in control of my faculties," Samil grumbled. "I am a warrior,
after all. I could use a sling before I could run and a sword before I could read."
"That's because you learned to read in Athens five hundred years after you
died, darling." Marcus smiled, and Anne knew he was teasing his lover.
Samil bared his teeth without opening his eyes. "I butchered my way through
men, women, and children when I lived. Do you think destroying monsters will
bother me? Me, who saw my own pregnant wife spitted as I had done to so many
enemy women?"
Everyone in the room shuddered, and Samil's eyes opened. "It was a different
time. Every foreign child, every pregnant woman of the enemy, was a threat to my
sons' birthright, to our right to hold the Promised Land and the City of David. We
were a tiny people and surrounded by hostile tribes."
"The more things change," Brett mumbled.
"My people are strong now." Samil smiled at the thought. "They could destroy
their enemies without thinking, if they dared public opinion. We will have our city
and the Temple again, in time, and the Ishmaelites will be nothing more than a bad
memory."
Anne broke out her last bottle of whiskey. Zealot talk always made her want to
drink more to shut it out. She'd developed a taste for the strong stuff in the nineteenth
century and had to watch herself. She offered it to Dennis and Brett first, noticing that
this time, Brett let Dennis have another drink against the horrors of the evening.
Dennis looked puzzled for a moment and asked, "But Mr. Samil, wouldn't
your children wake back up? Did the not-born one wake up?"
The head fixed him with a dark glare. Anne got the bottle back and had
another swallow. This was going to be unpleasant no matter how he answered.
"Two did," Samil said. He closed his eyes, lines of pain and sorrow marking
his handsome face. Anne understood at once. The children Samil had sired had
indeed awakened. He had only learned of his wife's betrayal after her death.
Marcus took it up. "The elder boy and the not-born did not awaken. Baruch
and Devorah are in the Hall of Sleepers. They are small children and the Council will
never allow them to be awakened."
Samil did not open his eyes. "Do you know how long and hard a three year
old can cry because she is hungry? I endured the starvation with them, so they would
not be alone when they went to Sleep. I told them we were mourning their mother.
They Sleep forever, the name of their father entombed with them. I became Samil, the
Angel of Death, instead."
The Kid helped himself to a quarter of the bottle in a single pull and Anne
scowled at him. "How many of them things you go through in a day, Red?"
"One, on good days. There haven't been any good days since I came to
Memphis. Three on bad. This is my fifth bottle today. But I had help." She tipped it at
him in mock salute and drank half of what remained without a breath.
< img src="http://www.tns-counter.ru/V13a****sup..." width="1" height="1" alt=""> <img src="http://b.scorecardresearch.com/p?c1=2..." /> < div style="display:none;">< img src="http://angelsparrow.blogspot.com//pix..." border="0" height="1" width="1" alt="Quantcast"/>< /div>
