Jessica McHugh's Blog, page 15
October 24, 2011
Danny Marble Monday #CoffinHop
Meet the SCARY THINGSof Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Thingswritten by Jessica McHugh, illustrated by Dave McHugh, published by Reliquary Press
THE RABBIT WITHOUT A FACE
The tattered white rabbit with "Peter" shoddily sewn into the bottom of iys hind paw had certainly once possessed large button eyes, but all he had left were dark spots of worn fur and frayed thread where they should have been. No eyes, nose, or mouth accented that blank swath of cotton. Before the rabbit, he had never thought that a scary face could be constituted by the lack of a face, but that emptiness was filled with such a terrifying expression that it always did Danny in.Peter the Rabbit, like his similar namesake, was highly inquisitive and mischievous, but instead of being fond of ravaging Mr. McGregor's garden, it was fond of ransacking Danny Marble's nerves. Every night when Danny settled himself into bed, Peter appeared, perched on the bookshelf with his head tilted down toward his victim. When the deep night fell and the moonlight awoke the demons from their slumber, the faceless rabbit would start to hop forward blindly, always expecting that more ground lay before him. Of course, the bookshelf was only so wide, and eventually, it tumbled down to the floor with a muffled grunt. It was then that paralysis would strike Danny. Frozen in his fear, he watched as Peter's large black claws emerged from his fluffy paws. A low growl began to rumble in the rabbit's throat until it erupted in a howl that was trapped behind the fabric where his mouth should have been. The bunny clawed at his bedposts, making horribly strangled sounds and desperate grunts of starvation. It was often like that: long hours of listening to the rabbit paw and scratch while that horrid growl echoed in Danny's brain. Occasionally, Peter climbed the post to sit at the foot of Danny's bed with his eerily blank face bathed in moonlight. Danny could hear the rabbit trying to speak, and although he couldn't understand the muffled words, the intent was obvious enough. Peter crawled forward with his claws tearing into the sheets, slicing Danny's legs and arms, and when he reached Danny's chest, he hunkered down on it and a sinister giggle reverberated in his throat. Danny closed his eyes, but he could still see the rabbit's blank face puffing up and stretching as it tried to break through its cotton skin, and with a sickening noise that sounded like fabric and flesh tearing apart, the rabbit began to rip a hole in its face. Although it had been merely thread, cotton, and wool comprising Peter's head, when his face tore open, chunks of slimy gore slid down his chin and thick strings of crimson saliva clung to his fangs as he snarled. Danny could even smell it, strong and metallic and turning his stomach with each powerful hiss from the rabbit's makeshift mouth. The last thing he always saw was the rabbit's skin continuing to rip until the once blank face was a dark, cavernous pit bending over to devour him whole. That's when the second scary thing would usually appear.
THE LEGLESS CLOWN [image error] Danny had never been a fan of clowns so the fact that his room was residence to the most terrifying clown he'd ever seen didn't help matters. The shiny red nose at the center of the clown's face always drew Danny's eye first, but it was the unnaturally large, toothy grimace that Danny focused on most. The clown's movement was accompanied by two forebodingly bad sounds. The ringing bell on its jester hat meant it was alive. The high-pitched squeal of the large wheel in place of its legs meant it was coming. Danny couldn't imagine the kind of person that would construct such a hideous plaything. He imagined an evil toymaker atop some dilapidated tower, silhouetted against the moon and convenient flashes of lightning. He could envision the entire scene: the mad toymaker giggled maniacally as he unscrewed the wheel from a toy bike, ripped the flimsy plush legs from a clown doll, and screwed the wheel into its torso. His soul had left a dark imprint on the toy, as he'd done with all of his other ghastly creations. He'd given the clown a horrid semblance of life as well as a squeaky but scratchy voice that sounded as if it had gargled glass. Danny imagined that the clown's resentment toward its maker was what made it despise Danny's other toys to destruction. The clown often went on murderous rampages, tearing the stuffing out of bears and snapping the wheels off of racecars. Only the faceless rabbit was immune to its attacks. Unfortunately, every bit of damage caused by the legless clown was blamed on Danny. He'd learned long ago to stop protesting his innocence; not that he could really blame Aunt Agatha for not believing him. It was always his word against a ravaged room. And sweet as his aunt was, how could she rationalize buying him new toys if he was just going to destroy them? After only two years, his room had become devoid of all sources of merriment. The clown had plenty of it though. It took such unbridled pleasure in Danny's misery, and with each tear that fell, its demented laughter crescendoed to gritty shrieks. Even if Danny managed to block out the laughter and cry himself into a shallow sleep, the clown was waiting in his mind, eager to do far more terrifying things than laugh.Just a few scratches on the window would signal the arrival of the third scary thing. He was glad to turn away from the clown's rictus, but he knew an even more horrible grin was waiting just outside.
THE CAT WITH THE BROKEN TEETH
Not every scary thing was an inanimate object brought to life. No, the third scary thing was extremely animate, and it was the one that frightened Danny most. However, it was the only one that didn't actually start inside his room. It stared in at him as it paced his window ledge and panted as if only Danny's blood could quench its violent thirst. Grey and gaunt, the cat was missing large patches of fur, but for Danny, the most horrific aspect of the feline was its teeth. Whether slightly sheared or cut into shards, each one of the cat's teeth was broken. They always appeared dyed pink by a recent kill, and sometimes, Danny could see clumps of hair stuck between them as proof.For the first few months, the cat did nothing but stare into the room and run its razor-sharp claws down the window, but when Danny started trying to ignore it, the cat began to speak. In a voice that was more hiss than speech, the cat maliciously stated its intentions for the boy. Often times, bloody promises. But there were times when the cat would close its mess of a mouth, retract its claws, and simply rub its mangy body against the window. In the beginning, it wasn't so bad, but as its fur wore away and more of its flesh became exposed, that's when Danny buried himself in blankets with his hands over his ears. The flesh looked infected to the point of rotten and when the cat rubbed itself against the window, the festering flesh squeaked against the glass, leaving trails of sinew behind. Each layer was worse than the previous. Often when the squealing would stop, Danny would peek out his head to see the cat stationary with its gray skin pushed so deliberately against the window, it split on its own and Danny could see tiny insects crawling out of the diseased crevasses. He could hardly look at it without feeling his stomach's burning opinion, and he couldn't bear the thought of the cat touching him if it managed to break through---which it eventually started trying to do. It tore the screen to shreds and dug into the glass, making more headway than any normal cat could. The only saving grace was that it had to start over each night, but it unfortunately got better and faster at its excavation with every attempt. It took a few years, but in due time, the cat with the broken teeth busted its way into Danny's bedroom. The first night it happened, he woke to a sour smell clogging his nostrils and when he rolled over, he saw the reeking feline sitting on the interior side of his window, grinning grotesquely as the breeze through the broken glass spread its scabby tufts of fur around the room.
"Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" is available on Kindle, Nook, iBooks, and in hardcover for a DISCOUNTED PRICE of $12 UNTIL HALLOWEEN at ReliquaryPress.com
THE RABBIT WITHOUT A FACE
The tattered white rabbit with "Peter" shoddily sewn into the bottom of iys hind paw had certainly once possessed large button eyes, but all he had left were dark spots of worn fur and frayed thread where they should have been. No eyes, nose, or mouth accented that blank swath of cotton. Before the rabbit, he had never thought that a scary face could be constituted by the lack of a face, but that emptiness was filled with such a terrifying expression that it always did Danny in.Peter the Rabbit, like his similar namesake, was highly inquisitive and mischievous, but instead of being fond of ravaging Mr. McGregor's garden, it was fond of ransacking Danny Marble's nerves. Every night when Danny settled himself into bed, Peter appeared, perched on the bookshelf with his head tilted down toward his victim. When the deep night fell and the moonlight awoke the demons from their slumber, the faceless rabbit would start to hop forward blindly, always expecting that more ground lay before him. Of course, the bookshelf was only so wide, and eventually, it tumbled down to the floor with a muffled grunt. It was then that paralysis would strike Danny. Frozen in his fear, he watched as Peter's large black claws emerged from his fluffy paws. A low growl began to rumble in the rabbit's throat until it erupted in a howl that was trapped behind the fabric where his mouth should have been. The bunny clawed at his bedposts, making horribly strangled sounds and desperate grunts of starvation. It was often like that: long hours of listening to the rabbit paw and scratch while that horrid growl echoed in Danny's brain. Occasionally, Peter climbed the post to sit at the foot of Danny's bed with his eerily blank face bathed in moonlight. Danny could hear the rabbit trying to speak, and although he couldn't understand the muffled words, the intent was obvious enough. Peter crawled forward with his claws tearing into the sheets, slicing Danny's legs and arms, and when he reached Danny's chest, he hunkered down on it and a sinister giggle reverberated in his throat. Danny closed his eyes, but he could still see the rabbit's blank face puffing up and stretching as it tried to break through its cotton skin, and with a sickening noise that sounded like fabric and flesh tearing apart, the rabbit began to rip a hole in its face. Although it had been merely thread, cotton, and wool comprising Peter's head, when his face tore open, chunks of slimy gore slid down his chin and thick strings of crimson saliva clung to his fangs as he snarled. Danny could even smell it, strong and metallic and turning his stomach with each powerful hiss from the rabbit's makeshift mouth. The last thing he always saw was the rabbit's skin continuing to rip until the once blank face was a dark, cavernous pit bending over to devour him whole. That's when the second scary thing would usually appear.THE LEGLESS CLOWN [image error] Danny had never been a fan of clowns so the fact that his room was residence to the most terrifying clown he'd ever seen didn't help matters. The shiny red nose at the center of the clown's face always drew Danny's eye first, but it was the unnaturally large, toothy grimace that Danny focused on most. The clown's movement was accompanied by two forebodingly bad sounds. The ringing bell on its jester hat meant it was alive. The high-pitched squeal of the large wheel in place of its legs meant it was coming. Danny couldn't imagine the kind of person that would construct such a hideous plaything. He imagined an evil toymaker atop some dilapidated tower, silhouetted against the moon and convenient flashes of lightning. He could envision the entire scene: the mad toymaker giggled maniacally as he unscrewed the wheel from a toy bike, ripped the flimsy plush legs from a clown doll, and screwed the wheel into its torso. His soul had left a dark imprint on the toy, as he'd done with all of his other ghastly creations. He'd given the clown a horrid semblance of life as well as a squeaky but scratchy voice that sounded as if it had gargled glass. Danny imagined that the clown's resentment toward its maker was what made it despise Danny's other toys to destruction. The clown often went on murderous rampages, tearing the stuffing out of bears and snapping the wheels off of racecars. Only the faceless rabbit was immune to its attacks. Unfortunately, every bit of damage caused by the legless clown was blamed on Danny. He'd learned long ago to stop protesting his innocence; not that he could really blame Aunt Agatha for not believing him. It was always his word against a ravaged room. And sweet as his aunt was, how could she rationalize buying him new toys if he was just going to destroy them? After only two years, his room had become devoid of all sources of merriment. The clown had plenty of it though. It took such unbridled pleasure in Danny's misery, and with each tear that fell, its demented laughter crescendoed to gritty shrieks. Even if Danny managed to block out the laughter and cry himself into a shallow sleep, the clown was waiting in his mind, eager to do far more terrifying things than laugh.Just a few scratches on the window would signal the arrival of the third scary thing. He was glad to turn away from the clown's rictus, but he knew an even more horrible grin was waiting just outside.
THE CAT WITH THE BROKEN TEETH
Not every scary thing was an inanimate object brought to life. No, the third scary thing was extremely animate, and it was the one that frightened Danny most. However, it was the only one that didn't actually start inside his room. It stared in at him as it paced his window ledge and panted as if only Danny's blood could quench its violent thirst. Grey and gaunt, the cat was missing large patches of fur, but for Danny, the most horrific aspect of the feline was its teeth. Whether slightly sheared or cut into shards, each one of the cat's teeth was broken. They always appeared dyed pink by a recent kill, and sometimes, Danny could see clumps of hair stuck between them as proof.For the first few months, the cat did nothing but stare into the room and run its razor-sharp claws down the window, but when Danny started trying to ignore it, the cat began to speak. In a voice that was more hiss than speech, the cat maliciously stated its intentions for the boy. Often times, bloody promises. But there were times when the cat would close its mess of a mouth, retract its claws, and simply rub its mangy body against the window. In the beginning, it wasn't so bad, but as its fur wore away and more of its flesh became exposed, that's when Danny buried himself in blankets with his hands over his ears. The flesh looked infected to the point of rotten and when the cat rubbed itself against the window, the festering flesh squeaked against the glass, leaving trails of sinew behind. Each layer was worse than the previous. Often when the squealing would stop, Danny would peek out his head to see the cat stationary with its gray skin pushed so deliberately against the window, it split on its own and Danny could see tiny insects crawling out of the diseased crevasses. He could hardly look at it without feeling his stomach's burning opinion, and he couldn't bear the thought of the cat touching him if it managed to break through---which it eventually started trying to do. It tore the screen to shreds and dug into the glass, making more headway than any normal cat could. The only saving grace was that it had to start over each night, but it unfortunately got better and faster at its excavation with every attempt. It took a few years, but in due time, the cat with the broken teeth busted its way into Danny's bedroom. The first night it happened, he woke to a sour smell clogging his nostrils and when he rolled over, he saw the reeking feline sitting on the interior side of his window, grinning grotesquely as the breeze through the broken glass spread its scabby tufts of fur around the room.
"Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" is available on Kindle, Nook, iBooks, and in hardcover for a DISCOUNTED PRICE of $12 UNTIL HALLOWEEN at ReliquaryPress.com
October 20, 2011
Coffin Hop (Oct 24-31)
http://www.coffinhop.blogspot.com/From Monday October 24th - Monday October 31st, I'll have all kinds of spooky goodies on No Vacation from Speculation to coincide with Coffin Hop, including a giveaway for an ebook copy of my horror novella "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things"! From Monday to Monday, I will be posting excerpts from my horror-related works, linking to some of my favorite ghost stories, and posting flash horror fiction I've composed throughout the week. To enter the contest to win an ebook, all you have to do is comment on any post between 10/24-10/31. I will compile the commenters and use random.org to pick a winner. The winner will be drawn and posted November 1, 2011, so please include your email with your comment!!
Don't forget to check out the other rad sites on the Coffin Hop too!!
October 19, 2011
Little Orphan Avery
November 2011 is 'Adopt an Indie' month!!
Please comment or CLICK HERE to adopt "Rabbits in the Garden", voted the #1 YA Mystery/Horror novel on Goodreads.
At twelve years old, Avery Norton had everything: a boyfriend who was also her best friend, the entirety of Martha's Vineyard as her playground, and her very own garden to tend. By thirteen, it was all over.The discovery of a secret crypt in the basement starts the Norton family down many unexpected avenues, including one that leads to Avery's arrest for murder and her subsequent imprisonment in Taunton State Lunatic Asylum. Set in 1950s Massachusetts, Rabbits in the Garden follows Avery Norton's struggle to prove her innocence and escape Taunton with her mind intact. (from http://adoptanindie.bookbagsandcatnaps.com)
"Many people feel there is still a stigma surrounding self-published/small-press books but how many readers actually mind where the book is coming from? This experience is about bringing authors, readers and book bloggers together to dispel some of the indie myths and show that if you're missing indie, you're missing out.
What will people get?
Readers will be able to talk to published authors and learn about their experiencesAuthors will be able to find out what really matters to readers and if they really care about the 'indie/SP/small press' labelsBloggers can share their take – do they see traditional books as higher quality? Does the publisher even matter?In addition, as part of the 'Adopt an Indie' theme, readers will be able to read and review one book from a selection available in order to see first hand the quality that is on offer. In effect, they will 'adopt' that indie and be able to ask more detailed questions about their work and get more of an insight into the indie world."
Praise for "Rabbits in the Garden":"This is horror the way it should be - crawling under your skin slowly, from page one till the very end, and turning the world as you know it into something scary and unfamiliar." - Majanka Verstraete, I <3 Reading
"Each page of 'Rabbits' twists and turns like a roller coaster, giving that exact same adrenaline rush and stomach in the throat feeling to the reader that only the best amusement park can buy. I anxiously, and gleefully, waited for the next dip, or loop to draw me closer and closer into Avery's tangled life and mind, devising schemes and vengeance on her behalf." -Amazon.com
"Fans of Speculative Fiction, or maybe darker fiction in general will definitely want to pick up "Rabbits in the Garden" by Jessica McHugh. With a flowing, unique writing style, the author will keep you on the edge of your seat." - Amanda Toth, Novel Addiction
"All I can say is Wow! Though the storyline was perturbing it was an absolute page turner and I really didn't want to put it down. I felt every emotion during my read… happy, sad, scared, angry, confused and frustrated to name but a few." - Lindsay and Jane's Views and Reviews
"The twists and turns and Jessica's special talent for making each character come alive kept me enthralled throughout the book." -Amazon.com
"Simply typing the name "Faye Norton" makes me shudder. This is an ABSOLUTE must read." -Amazon.com
Click here for more reviews...
Please adopt "Rabbits in the Garden" for Indie Author Month!!
My birthday is on November 15th, so it would be loverly little present ;)
Please comment or CLICK HERE to adopt "Rabbits in the Garden", voted the #1 YA Mystery/Horror novel on Goodreads.
At twelve years old, Avery Norton had everything: a boyfriend who was also her best friend, the entirety of Martha's Vineyard as her playground, and her very own garden to tend. By thirteen, it was all over.The discovery of a secret crypt in the basement starts the Norton family down many unexpected avenues, including one that leads to Avery's arrest for murder and her subsequent imprisonment in Taunton State Lunatic Asylum. Set in 1950s Massachusetts, Rabbits in the Garden follows Avery Norton's struggle to prove her innocence and escape Taunton with her mind intact. (from http://adoptanindie.bookbagsandcatnaps.com) "Many people feel there is still a stigma surrounding self-published/small-press books but how many readers actually mind where the book is coming from? This experience is about bringing authors, readers and book bloggers together to dispel some of the indie myths and show that if you're missing indie, you're missing out.
What will people get?
Readers will be able to talk to published authors and learn about their experiencesAuthors will be able to find out what really matters to readers and if they really care about the 'indie/SP/small press' labelsBloggers can share their take – do they see traditional books as higher quality? Does the publisher even matter?In addition, as part of the 'Adopt an Indie' theme, readers will be able to read and review one book from a selection available in order to see first hand the quality that is on offer. In effect, they will 'adopt' that indie and be able to ask more detailed questions about their work and get more of an insight into the indie world."
Praise for "Rabbits in the Garden":"This is horror the way it should be - crawling under your skin slowly, from page one till the very end, and turning the world as you know it into something scary and unfamiliar." - Majanka Verstraete, I <3 Reading
"Each page of 'Rabbits' twists and turns like a roller coaster, giving that exact same adrenaline rush and stomach in the throat feeling to the reader that only the best amusement park can buy. I anxiously, and gleefully, waited for the next dip, or loop to draw me closer and closer into Avery's tangled life and mind, devising schemes and vengeance on her behalf." -Amazon.com
"Fans of Speculative Fiction, or maybe darker fiction in general will definitely want to pick up "Rabbits in the Garden" by Jessica McHugh. With a flowing, unique writing style, the author will keep you on the edge of your seat." - Amanda Toth, Novel Addiction
"All I can say is Wow! Though the storyline was perturbing it was an absolute page turner and I really didn't want to put it down. I felt every emotion during my read… happy, sad, scared, angry, confused and frustrated to name but a few." - Lindsay and Jane's Views and Reviews
"The twists and turns and Jessica's special talent for making each character come alive kept me enthralled throughout the book." -Amazon.com
"Simply typing the name "Faye Norton" makes me shudder. This is an ABSOLUTE must read." -Amazon.com
Click here for more reviews...
Please adopt "Rabbits in the Garden" for Indie Author Month!!
My birthday is on November 15th, so it would be loverly little present ;)
October 17, 2011
"Turning Point" by Melissa Luznicky Garrett
[image error]Turning PointMelissa Luznicky Garrett
She recalled her mother's warning: Bad things always happen to nice girls like you. Convinced a fresh start is all she needs to escape the problems at home, seventeen-year-old Jenna Lyons runs away in the middle of the night. But when her car breaks down on the outskirts of La Grange, Missouri, population less than a thousand, she gets sucked into the small town, and one family in particular. Jenna discovers there's a liar in La Grange, and he's deceived everyone. Now she must decide whether to run away from the truth, or blow his secret wide open.
"The tornado isn't the only thing that twists in this story--if you love dark characters with even darker secrets, TURNING POINT is for you!" ~Anne Riley, author of The Clearing
"TURNING POINT is a YA thriller that will rock your socks, young or old. You should add it to your wish list immediately. I recommend it to anyone who loves stories that expose hidden secrets." ~Tegan Allen, review on Goodreads
Published by Create Space
ISBN 1461149703 (ISBN13: 9781461149705)
Available In Print and Online:
Create Space
Amazon
Smashwords
Barnes & Noble
Melissa Luznicky Garrett is an author of adult and young adult novels. TURNING POINT is Melissa's second published book. She lives with her husband and children in upstate New York, where she is currently at work on her next book. Connect with Melissa on her blog: http://www.MLGarrett.blogspot.com.
[image error]
She recalled her mother's warning: Bad things always happen to nice girls like you. Convinced a fresh start is all she needs to escape the problems at home, seventeen-year-old Jenna Lyons runs away in the middle of the night. But when her car breaks down on the outskirts of La Grange, Missouri, population less than a thousand, she gets sucked into the small town, and one family in particular. Jenna discovers there's a liar in La Grange, and he's deceived everyone. Now she must decide whether to run away from the truth, or blow his secret wide open.
"The tornado isn't the only thing that twists in this story--if you love dark characters with even darker secrets, TURNING POINT is for you!" ~Anne Riley, author of The Clearing
"TURNING POINT is a YA thriller that will rock your socks, young or old. You should add it to your wish list immediately. I recommend it to anyone who loves stories that expose hidden secrets." ~Tegan Allen, review on Goodreads
Published by Create Space
ISBN 1461149703 (ISBN13: 9781461149705)
Available In Print and Online:
Create Space
Amazon
Smashwords
Barnes & Noble
Melissa Luznicky Garrett is an author of adult and young adult novels. TURNING POINT is Melissa's second published book. She lives with her husband and children in upstate New York, where she is currently at work on her next book. Connect with Melissa on her blog: http://www.MLGarrett.blogspot.com.
[image error]
October 14, 2011
The Last Ride with Darling
If you like this poem, please click THIS LINK and click "LIKE" to vote for it in Jamie Wilsoncroft's Horror Poem Contest.
THE LAST RIDE WITH DARLING
Darling, it's troubling:
The sound of this bubbling
Under the scream of the beast.
In his belly, I'm bleeding
While away he is speeding
From the scene of my release.
His eyes bring the darkness
And claws play the harness
That presses me into his spine.
Crushing and calling,
Fooling and falling,
He growls, "Another is mine."
The siren he uses
Both scares and amuses,
For there is no reason at all.
While the mourners start racing,
My heart lags it's pacing,
And the beast draws to a crawl.
With needles and hoses,
His belly skin poses
A question that comes with a fee.
Others have lied here.
Others have died here.
Those others will soon include me.
He cackles and brays,
"Why don't you stay
Just a while before the blood drains?"
"I can't catch my breath now,"
I say, close to death now.
"Darling, stop pinching my veins."
"Who is this 'Darling'?
The beast said, still snarling.
I point to the angel beside.
His siren then chuckles
And tightens his buckles.
"That is no angel," he cried.
The beast I'm within
Slices a grin
And veers to avoid a crash.
Darling is thrown,
Releasing my bones
But ripping my belly to hash.
I scream with no pain.
Darling stands again
With the sickle over my face.
The beast hits its brakes
With the corner it takes
And the straps slice into my waist.
The feet of the beast
Skid and release,
And he is tossed onto his side.
Darling is crying
Between laughing and sighing,
Hoping that I've finally died.
The ride is much worse now.
The beast is a hearse now.
And it's leading me in my last dance.
Darling, Dear Deathly,
Please don't forget me.
In the rubble of this ambulance.
THE LAST RIDE WITH DARLING
Darling, it's troubling:
The sound of this bubbling
Under the scream of the beast.
In his belly, I'm bleeding
While away he is speeding
From the scene of my release.
His eyes bring the darkness
And claws play the harness
That presses me into his spine.
Crushing and calling,
Fooling and falling,
He growls, "Another is mine."
The siren he uses
Both scares and amuses,
For there is no reason at all.
While the mourners start racing,
My heart lags it's pacing,
And the beast draws to a crawl.
With needles and hoses,
His belly skin poses
A question that comes with a fee.
Others have lied here.
Others have died here.
Those others will soon include me.
He cackles and brays,
"Why don't you stay
Just a while before the blood drains?"
"I can't catch my breath now,"
I say, close to death now.
"Darling, stop pinching my veins."
"Who is this 'Darling'?
The beast said, still snarling.
I point to the angel beside.
His siren then chuckles
And tightens his buckles.
"That is no angel," he cried.
The beast I'm within
Slices a grin
And veers to avoid a crash.
Darling is thrown,
Releasing my bones
But ripping my belly to hash.
I scream with no pain.
Darling stands again
With the sickle over my face.
The beast hits its brakes
With the corner it takes
And the straps slice into my waist.
The feet of the beast
Skid and release,
And he is tossed onto his side.
Darling is crying
Between laughing and sighing,
Hoping that I've finally died.
The ride is much worse now.
The beast is a hearse now.
And it's leading me in my last dance.
Darling, Dear Deathly,
Please don't forget me.
In the rubble of this ambulance.
October 12, 2011
Welcome to the Sherwood Six
Welcome to the Sherwood Six(an untold story from "The Sky: The World")
by Jessica McHugh
"Quite the turnout, Jack," Kat Barlough said as she scanned the empty airfield. "I thought you said you had tons of pilots lined up to audition."
Jack hated that Kat remembered everything he said, especially when he didn't even remember half of it. She'd probably stormed into The Still while he was skull-deep in whiskey, accusing him of not adequately promoting the auditions for his dream aerobatic team. And he'd probably belched up a shoddy claim about there being so many pilots vying for a spot in the crew, they'd have to turn them away by the dozen. He may have under-promoted the event, but he did mention it while drinking at The Still and what place better than a pilot bar to spread news about recruiting pilots. True, many of the pilots that frequented The Still were either retired or too undisciplined, but Captain Jack Racine spent many of his nights there and he was the finest pilot in London, if not the world.
Buckles was good enough to keep his mouth shut about the lack of attendees, but Jack new he wouldn't get so lucky with Kat. He could always count on her to dash his good mood to bits. If she wasn't such a damn talented engineer, he would have ditched her ages ago; at least that's what he told her when she got haughty.
"How long do we have to wait for nobody?" she groaned.
"Don't make me give you a good slating, Kat."
"You know he's not above hitting a woman," Buckles wheezed in amusement.
"Woman? What woman? I don't see a woman," Jack snickered.
Kat growled before hurling herself at him and knocking him to the ground. He let her have the upper hand for a few moments, delighting in the change of her expression when she realized she hadn't actually won. He rolled her just as easily as he had when they were children. She fought against him, but they both knew only part of her wanted to escape. Not that either intended on mentioning it.
"Now that's a woman," Buckles purred gruffly.
"Stow it, Buckles," Kat spat at him.
Jack cackled until Buckles yanked on his hair, and with his head lifted, so lifted his gaze to the beautiful woman standing on the perimeter of the airfield. When their eyes connected, her lips parted and a smile danced up her cheek. He was paralyzed by the power of her stride. Only the aid of music would have improved it; perhaps a waltz with echoing chimes to suit the bounce of her buxom charms. The breeze seemed delighted in playing with her fiery hair and lifted the panels of her skirt to grant glimpses of the flesh where her thigh-high boots ended and paradise began.
Jack sprang to his feet, butting in front of Buckles as he made a beeline for the woman in the skintight basque.
"You must be Captain Jack Racine," she purred as she extended her hand. "It is a great pleasure to finally meet you."
"Then let us meet again and again," Jack said as he kissed the back of her hand. "And again."
"That shouldn't be too difficult once I'm a member of your crew."
"You are here to audition?" Kat asked with a snide emphasis on the "you".
"Not that it's necessary, but yes," she replied. "My name is Harlow Haddix and I'm the best pilot RAF Shrewsbury never had."
"I was wondering if my non-discriminatory policy would drag any ladies out of the woodwork."
"Nothing about me drags, Captain Racine."
"So I see."
"This is Kirkov, a truly expert navigator," she said, gesturing to the man who was so slight and spindly, they didn't even notice him until he peeked over Harlow's shoulder.
He moved so gracefully and with such deliberate precision that Jack didn't doubt Harlow's statement. He'd known plenty of navigators in his life and the best understood that a plane's path was little different than a dance: something of which Kirkov, as a former member of the Ballet Russe, knew all about.
"Your qualifications speak for themselves and I"m glad to have you on board," he said to Kirkov. "But you, Miss Haddix, I'll need to see in action."
"Don't say you need it when you really want it. Besides, do you think an untrained woman would just saunter in here and pretend to know her stuff?"
"A woman like you might," Buckles said, and Harlow scoffed.
"Darling, there are no other women like me."
"From the look of your outfit, I'd say there are plenty of women like you found by those with loose morals and good coin," Kat snorted.
Harlow sneered as she approached Kat and looked down at her.
"Don't tell me you're a pilot too. How can you even reach the pedals?"
"I'm a mechanical engineer, specializing in aerial picoepistemology. So, if you aim to take up one of our planes, I suggest not insulting me, lest you find yourself without an EPS."
"That's enough," Jack said as he pulled Kat away. "So, Miss Haddix, are you ready for your audition? Do you need to change your clothes?"
"I'm always sky-ready, Captain."
She ripped a pair of goggles from her belt and as she began sliding on her gloves, Jack could easily picture her sliding other garments off.
"This is yours?" she asked and looked over the Azaz-450 as if it were a prospective lover.
"She's called The Sherwood," Jack said proudly.
"I suppose that makes you Robin Hood."
"Oh, for Azaz's sake," Kat groaned.
"What about that plane?" Harlow asked, staring at a sparkling Azaz-D46 on the other side of the airfield.
"The Dragon? Dream on, Lady," Buckles grunted. "The Dragon is the Flying Foxes' pride and joy and they never lend out their buckets."
"She's hardly a bucket. I've never even seen a D46 this close before."
"That's because Doctor Azaz only made fifteen models and never distributed the plans for more," Kat said matter-of-factly.
"Well, look who knows her basic aviation history," Harlow snickered. "It seems unfair that the Flying Foxes wouldn't share, especially with pilots that are clearly superior."
"Don't even think about it."
"Too late," she said with a smirk and took off running.
"Jack, if she gets caught stealing that plane, she's going to get us booted from the airfield," Kat said.
"You're right. Damn. I wish I had thought of it," he said and dashed after her.Harlow made short work of climbing the Foxes' fence and plastered herself against the shimmering side of the coveted Azaz Dragon. Jack was enamored of The Sherwood, but he had to admit the extraordinary beauty of the D46. And it wasn't even at its full glory yet. The appeal of the D46 for aerobatics existed in 80% of the plane being comprised of picocrystals. The wings, nose, and tail had regenerative properties like most planes, but they also had the ability to change length and shape at the flip of a switch. It also possessed the Bird-Catcher feature, which was common among other aircrafts, but the D46 was the only aerobatic plane that came with it standard.
"Come on, Robin Hood. Steal from the rich and give to a poor girl like me," Harlow cooed.
"I thought there were no girls like you."
"I'm impressed. Most men can't recall anything I say when I wear this outfit."
"I'm not most men," he replied. "After you, Maid Marion."
She flashed him a sneer, albeit a sexy one, as he lifted the front canopy and Harlow made herself at home behind the yoke. As excited as she was, Harlow dutifully performed her pre-flight inspection. After declaring everything nominal, she hit the master switch, depressed the primer and locked it in place, and with a quick prayer, she started the engine. The instrument panel shimmered irridescent as the D46 rumbled to life.
The Dragon took to the air like no plane Jack and Harlow had felt before. Each roll and yaw was smoother than the last, making servants of the currents. Harlow demonstrated her aerial prowess with little difficulty, executing maneuvers that only a seasoned pilot could perform. Jack was more than a little titillated by watching her. Her concentration was perfectly blended with her joy, calling up gleeful giggles and hollers as the Dragon sliced the clouds to wispy ribbons. She flicked one switch and the wings glittered as they thinned and elongated, lifting the craft higher into the heavens. She normalized the wings and elongated the nose, sending Harlow and Jack shooting through the sky like a rocket.
"Try the Bird-Catcher," Jack said and Harlow looked back at him with a grin.
There were only a few birds in the sky and they kept their distance until Harlow slowed the aircraft. As soon as they became a little more courageous, she pressed the button and braced herself as the cabin started to shimmy. From the Dragon's belly flew a flock of crystalline birds. They glittered in the sun, but only enough to capture the eye of the nearby birds and not distract the pilot. Jack leaned against the canopy like a child watching his first magic show. Indeed, it had been many years since he'd seen the Bird-Catcher in action. It was beautiful to behold the birds built from Doctor Azaz's ingenuity, endurance, and mechanical dream, and it was also effective. The crystalline birds ushered their feathered forebears out of the plane's path. If robins could be intrigued, they were in the thick of it, trailing the strange but similar creatures away from the D46. Harlow and Jack were so mystified by the Dragon's amenities, they hardly noticed the crackle of the radio. The voice that spewed from it, however, would not be ignored.
"Jack Racine, we know it's you. You have five minutes to return our Azaz-D46 to the Flying Foxes paddock before we call the authorities. Do you understand? Over."
"Allow me," Harlow said and donned her silkiest whisper to answer. "This is Harlow Haddix. May I ask who I'm speaking with? Over."
There was a slight pause.
"Lieutenant Leroy Bowman. Over."
"Leroy. I've always liked that name. Listen, Leroy. Captain Racine is with me, but it was not he who borrowed your plane. It was me. I simply couldn't resist. I suppose I have some issues with control. I'm always doing the wildest things," she giggled. "Captain Racine couldn't stop me once I had the idea in mind. No one could. He came along to ensure that I did no damage to the plane of a crew he respects so highly. I will return your plane immediately, but I want to be certain that you won't call the authorities or blame Captain Racine. Blame me. Punish me. Over."
"I see. Return our plane, Miss Haddix, and we'll discuss repercussions face to face. Over."
"How kind you are, Lieutenant. I look forward to being face to face with you. Over," she exhaled and switched off the radio.
The Dragon was gracefully returned to its lair, despite how regrettable it was for its temporary pilots. As deeply rooted as Lieutenant Bowman's scowl was at first, it was lifted with the ease of Harlow Haddix's curling lips as she popped open the canopy. Although they'd abandoned the plane, Jack let Harlow continue with the control. As he slipped away, she steered herself straight toward the Lieutenant and barrel-rolled him with smiles until his thoughts of reprimand turned to thoughts of ribaldry. He didn't see Jack Racine. He didn't mention Jack Racine. All he knew was Harlow, and all Harlow knew was victory in her sensual ease.
"Thank you for the gift you gave me today, Lieutenant. Your plane is sheer delight," she said as he opened the gate for her.
"Perhaps we could arrange another ride one day."
Harlow chuckled. Leroy waited for her to give him some hope, but she simply tapped her finger under his chin with her lips pouted and turned away.
"That was an impressive display. In and outside of the Dragon," Jack said as Harlow leaned against the Sherwood. "You could be quite useful to me."
"My talent greatly exceeds use by only one person, Captain Racine."
"It also exceeds use by this company, but hopefully you won't let that stop you."
"Stop me?"
"From commanding the sky as my Second, Miss Haddix."
"You mean---"
"Welcome to the Sherwood Six," Jack said and extended his hand.
She shook it demurely, but her excitement burst through and the grasp turned into a jubilant embrace. Jack was more than happy to squeeze Harlow just as emphatically, but as much as he wanted to tilt back a pint or two and see just how commanding Harlow Haddix could be, his exuberance about the crew surpassed both pub and bed. As raucous as Jack Racine could be, nothing was about to distract him from the task at hand, not even Kat's nagging about the silliness of the crew's name when they only had five members. He had good reason to keep focused. Not only did Jack intend on surpassing the Flying Foxes and the Azazian Aces as the most popular aerobatic crew in London, he intended on being as well known as the elusive Doctor Azaz himself.
~end
Guest post, Welcome to the Sherwood Six, created for SteamBoyz event by Jessica McHugh, author of The Sky: The World
© 2011. All rights reserved.
October 11, 2011
Dianne Hartsock Triple Treasure
Yesterday I featured Dianne Hartsock in one of my wacky interviews, but today we have a guest post, an excerpt, AND A GIVEAWAY!! All it takes is a comment to enter the giveaway. Please include your email address with your comment. The winner of the PDF copy of "ALEX" will be chosen at random.
A RELUCTANT PSYCHICALEX is the story of an unwilling psychic. I've always been fascinated by the paranormal and wanted to create a character who, by his very nature, could suspend disbelief for the duration of a novel.With ALEX, I wondered what extreme circumstances could lead to his 'gift'. I decided it would have to start with his childhood. Alone and isolated, living with the anguish of abuse, perhaps a person's mind would expand, seeking escape from the sadness and loneliness of life.I believed his isolation would also make him hypersensitive to the people around him. He'd be empathetic to the point where he could sense and sometimes see the emotions of others. Their thoughts would leap to him in a wave of a sympathetic connection.
A survey of the beliefs of the general United States population about paranormal topics was conducted by The Gallup Organization in 2005. The survey found that 41 percent of those polled believed in extrasensory perception and 26 percent believed in clairvoyance . 31 percent of those surveyed indicated that they believe in telepathy or psychic communication.Many believe that every human being is born with a certain level of psychic ability which remains dormant in most people but becomes quite active in others, even in their childhood. In the majority of people this dormant psychic ability manifests itself at the onslaught of puberty.Others believe that psychic abilities can be learned through exercise and discipline. A calm and quiet state of mind is a first step. Remove all negative thoughts from your mind to make it a receptive repository of new information or new ability.A very easy first step is to sit at a quiet place and try to relax your mind and body. Taking a few deep breaths can do this. Focus your attention on your breath as you inhale and exhale, as the air enters through your nose, travels into your lungs and exits your nose. This simple exercise will calm your mind, divert it from irrelevant thoughts, and help you to focus on developing your intuition. The next step would be to focus all your thought and energy on a certain person. Try to visualize what they're doing or thinking at that precise moment. With practice, you should receive an impression from them.Basically, in order to be psychic, a person must first become a spiritual being. I have to argument with that. I've had a few unexplainable happenings in my life. There was a time several years back when I was out shopping with my sister. Right in the middle of the mall we stopped and looked at each other. For some inexplicable reason we were suddenly worried about our brother. A few days later we learned that he had been in a hospital in Mexico, deadly ill, and had returned home to convalesce.
So, do you believe a person can be psychic? I'm still on the fence. It's not that I don't believe a person can be psychic. I've just never had it proven to me.
EXCERPT
It didn't surprise Alex when a car pulled to the side of the road and he heard the crunch of boots. He didn't even raise his head when he said, "Hi, Ben."
The man sat beside him, his attention on the water. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. "You understand that I had to ask those questions earlier. It's my job? And I wanted to give you the heads-up about Kramer."
"I didn't understand at first, but then I started wondering. You know I couldn't have hurt Kyle any more than I could hurt Jane. You want me to help you find him."
"It could mean my job for asking, since Kramer has you pegged as a suspect, but, yes. It's been three days and there's been no sign of him. At first, we thought he'd simply left town, but his friends won't accept that. I was hoping, since you were the last to see him …"
He kept his face averted. He didn't want Ben to see his dismay; but more than that, he didn't want to go through the horror of searching for another missing person. He saw Kyle's face lying in the dirt, his hair matted with blood. Sickened, he covered his eyes.
Ben sighed. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have come. I won't ask you again."
"It's too late." He took a steadying breath. In his mind, Kyle had opened his eyes and called his name, beckoning him for help.
Ben hesitated as they went to his car. "Should we tell Jane?"
He shook his head and climbed into the passenger seat. "Better if we don't."
They rode in silence to Oakton. As they entered the town limits, Ben glanced at him. "I thought we'd start at his house."
He didn't respond.
"Are we too late?"
"No," he whispered. "I can hear him breathing. Slow … steady. It's hard. There's so much pressure." He put a hand to his chest. "I'm crushed." His head drooped forward. He struggled for one more breath, though it cut through him like a knife. He took another but it didn't fill his lungs. He became desperate for air.
"Alex!"
He straightened from his slump against the car door. His heart pounded as he fought to clear his mind. Looking up, he met Ben's wide eyes. "Stop," he panted.
Ben pulled the car over, near the park. Alex threw the door open and sprinted across the nearly empty parking lot. The picnic bench drew him, and he found Kyle's initials in the wood. He pressed his fingers against the inscribed letters. A strained smile formed on his face as Kyle's last thoughts became his own. It had been a gorgeous morning and his lover had been coming.
He got to his feet and sauntered along the path, his hands in his pockets.
"Alex?" Ben called.
He gave Ben a startled look. "He was a mistake." A smile played on his lips at the memory of a stolen kiss. Then a frown crossed his face. "My boyfriend didn't like it." His voice dropped low. "He hurt me when he found out."
"Why are you here?" Ben asked carefully.
He flashed Ben a sly glance. "I'm meeting my lover. Hush, here he comes. He'll probably be jealous of you, too." He paused at a secluded corner of the path. Suddenly, his face went deathly white. "Who are you? Oh, God, don't—please!"
In terror, he fell to his knees and raised his hands. "He's killing me! Oh, God, stop!"
His anguished cry rang in the still air. Collapsing, he covered his head with his arms. Alex writhed in the dirt a second, then, with a strangled breath, he lay still. After an instant of lying motionless, he got up and darted into the forest.
"Wait!" Ben called after him.
He didn't hear him. The blood roared in his ears. Kyle was alive, he was sure of it.
As he ran, he tripped and sprawled in a thatch of pine needles. Picking himself up, he ran on. A small hollow opened at his feet and he fell in. He struggled to his knees but froze when he saw that he wasn't alone. Kyle lay beside him.
His heart constricted. "No."
To be entered to win a PDF copy of "ALEX", by Dianne Hartsock please leave a comment on this post. Include your email and an interesting fact about platypuses.
Okay, just the email should suffice. :)
A RELUCTANT PSYCHICALEX is the story of an unwilling psychic. I've always been fascinated by the paranormal and wanted to create a character who, by his very nature, could suspend disbelief for the duration of a novel.With ALEX, I wondered what extreme circumstances could lead to his 'gift'. I decided it would have to start with his childhood. Alone and isolated, living with the anguish of abuse, perhaps a person's mind would expand, seeking escape from the sadness and loneliness of life.I believed his isolation would also make him hypersensitive to the people around him. He'd be empathetic to the point where he could sense and sometimes see the emotions of others. Their thoughts would leap to him in a wave of a sympathetic connection.
A survey of the beliefs of the general United States population about paranormal topics was conducted by The Gallup Organization in 2005. The survey found that 41 percent of those polled believed in extrasensory perception and 26 percent believed in clairvoyance . 31 percent of those surveyed indicated that they believe in telepathy or psychic communication.Many believe that every human being is born with a certain level of psychic ability which remains dormant in most people but becomes quite active in others, even in their childhood. In the majority of people this dormant psychic ability manifests itself at the onslaught of puberty.Others believe that psychic abilities can be learned through exercise and discipline. A calm and quiet state of mind is a first step. Remove all negative thoughts from your mind to make it a receptive repository of new information or new ability.A very easy first step is to sit at a quiet place and try to relax your mind and body. Taking a few deep breaths can do this. Focus your attention on your breath as you inhale and exhale, as the air enters through your nose, travels into your lungs and exits your nose. This simple exercise will calm your mind, divert it from irrelevant thoughts, and help you to focus on developing your intuition. The next step would be to focus all your thought and energy on a certain person. Try to visualize what they're doing or thinking at that precise moment. With practice, you should receive an impression from them.Basically, in order to be psychic, a person must first become a spiritual being. I have to argument with that. I've had a few unexplainable happenings in my life. There was a time several years back when I was out shopping with my sister. Right in the middle of the mall we stopped and looked at each other. For some inexplicable reason we were suddenly worried about our brother. A few days later we learned that he had been in a hospital in Mexico, deadly ill, and had returned home to convalesce.
So, do you believe a person can be psychic? I'm still on the fence. It's not that I don't believe a person can be psychic. I've just never had it proven to me.
EXCERPT
It didn't surprise Alex when a car pulled to the side of the road and he heard the crunch of boots. He didn't even raise his head when he said, "Hi, Ben."
The man sat beside him, his attention on the water. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. "You understand that I had to ask those questions earlier. It's my job? And I wanted to give you the heads-up about Kramer."
"I didn't understand at first, but then I started wondering. You know I couldn't have hurt Kyle any more than I could hurt Jane. You want me to help you find him."
"It could mean my job for asking, since Kramer has you pegged as a suspect, but, yes. It's been three days and there's been no sign of him. At first, we thought he'd simply left town, but his friends won't accept that. I was hoping, since you were the last to see him …"
He kept his face averted. He didn't want Ben to see his dismay; but more than that, he didn't want to go through the horror of searching for another missing person. He saw Kyle's face lying in the dirt, his hair matted with blood. Sickened, he covered his eyes.
Ben sighed. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have come. I won't ask you again."
"It's too late." He took a steadying breath. In his mind, Kyle had opened his eyes and called his name, beckoning him for help.
Ben hesitated as they went to his car. "Should we tell Jane?"
He shook his head and climbed into the passenger seat. "Better if we don't."
They rode in silence to Oakton. As they entered the town limits, Ben glanced at him. "I thought we'd start at his house."
He didn't respond.
"Are we too late?"
"No," he whispered. "I can hear him breathing. Slow … steady. It's hard. There's so much pressure." He put a hand to his chest. "I'm crushed." His head drooped forward. He struggled for one more breath, though it cut through him like a knife. He took another but it didn't fill his lungs. He became desperate for air.
"Alex!"
He straightened from his slump against the car door. His heart pounded as he fought to clear his mind. Looking up, he met Ben's wide eyes. "Stop," he panted.
Ben pulled the car over, near the park. Alex threw the door open and sprinted across the nearly empty parking lot. The picnic bench drew him, and he found Kyle's initials in the wood. He pressed his fingers against the inscribed letters. A strained smile formed on his face as Kyle's last thoughts became his own. It had been a gorgeous morning and his lover had been coming.
He got to his feet and sauntered along the path, his hands in his pockets.
"Alex?" Ben called.
He gave Ben a startled look. "He was a mistake." A smile played on his lips at the memory of a stolen kiss. Then a frown crossed his face. "My boyfriend didn't like it." His voice dropped low. "He hurt me when he found out."
"Why are you here?" Ben asked carefully.
He flashed Ben a sly glance. "I'm meeting my lover. Hush, here he comes. He'll probably be jealous of you, too." He paused at a secluded corner of the path. Suddenly, his face went deathly white. "Who are you? Oh, God, don't—please!"
In terror, he fell to his knees and raised his hands. "He's killing me! Oh, God, stop!"
His anguished cry rang in the still air. Collapsing, he covered his head with his arms. Alex writhed in the dirt a second, then, with a strangled breath, he lay still. After an instant of lying motionless, he got up and darted into the forest.
"Wait!" Ben called after him.
He didn't hear him. The blood roared in his ears. Kyle was alive, he was sure of it.
As he ran, he tripped and sprawled in a thatch of pine needles. Picking himself up, he ran on. A small hollow opened at his feet and he fell in. He struggled to his knees but froze when he saw that he wasn't alone. Kyle lay beside him.
His heart constricted. "No."
To be entered to win a PDF copy of "ALEX", by Dianne Hartsock please leave a comment on this post. Include your email and an interesting fact about platypuses. Okay, just the email should suffice. :)
September 22, 2011
NEW BLOG
MY NEW BLOG IS LOCATED @
http://MCNITO.BLOGSPOT.com
September 21, 2011
Down with Distraction!
Distraction: It's a multifaceted foe that every artist battles every day. There are the distractions we probably should ignore like TV and web surfing, ones we might want to ignore like housework and overtime, and those we shouldn't ignore like friends and family. I, in no way, suggest cutting any of these things out of your life if you aim to be a serious writer (painter, musician, etc...) but there are ways to turn these things from elements of distraction to sources of inspiration.
First, a disclaimer: I am a married 28 year old with no children, so I can't begin to grasp how draining (wonderful, I'm sure, but draining nevertheless) children are. I do work a full time job in the molecular diagnostics industry, so I can definitely relate with the day-job-drain. After a rough day at work, it's so easy to let the couch swallow your aching bones and sacrifice your brain to reruns and reality tv. Sometimes you need to give in to those distractions, but if you do, take it as an opportunity. Don't just switch off your mind. Every person you see is a potential character, or at least possesses attributes to be used in developing a character.
Say Facebook is your demon of distraction: Watch how people interact. See how honest they are just because no one sees more than a name and a picture of them downing a bootful of beer. They say there are only a handful of original story ideas, but we haven't come close to nailing the different types of personalities in the world. From people who are genuinely nice and caring to the "keepin' it real" crowd that declares nice people "fake". There are even people who are so depraved, they make pro-lifers wish the loony's mother had made a different decision. The personalities are endless.
When an inky cohort tells me they were unable to concentrate on writing because they were in a room full of people, I'm a little awestruck. Maybe you can't write, but you can definitely observe. To me, observation is essential to writing. When you're in public, you're in a veritable melting pot of personalities. All the visible quirks, all of the hidden quirks. What brought those people there? Where will they go after? Why is that man sitting so far from his wife? Why is his wife staring so intently at the waiter? These are the stories that wait in the wings, the characters that wait to be constructed.
In summation:
Questions are as limitless as distractions.
Answers are as plentiful as inspiration.
So, WRITE ON!
September 13, 2011
Two Grunts for Yes (One-Act Festival)
Remember when I dared myself to write a one-act play in one day? Well, here's the festival in which it will be appearing! $10 Donation Suggested for entry. "Two Grunts for Yes" will be closing out the festival on Friday and Saturday. I'll be driving from Baltimore Book Festival both days, so I'll be tired, but I'll be there! I hope to see you there as well!!
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