Jason Beymer's Blog, page 6
August 16, 2010
Rogue's Curse Release Day is Here!
FINALLY!
I am now a published author, though I don't feel any different. Meh. Please purchase and read the book. I spent mucho time on it and injected all my heart and soul into every sentence.
And please let me know what you think. My email is always open: jason@beerandtv.com
The book is available for download from several different distributers (Diesel, Borders, MobiPocket, and many more). You can get it delivered straight to your Kindle by purchasing through Amazon, or you can buy directly...
I am now a published author, though I don't feel any different. Meh. Please purchase and read the book. I spent mucho time on it and injected all my heart and soul into every sentence.
And please let me know what you think. My email is always open: jason@beerandtv.com
The book is available for download from several different distributers (Diesel, Borders, MobiPocket, and many more). You can get it delivered straight to your Kindle by purchasing through Amazon, or you can buy directly...
Embarrassed and Honored
Adrien, my editor, decided to embarrass the hell out of me today. I read this in public and turned three shades of red.I also got choked up. Crap, I'm getting choked up right now, too.
~Ahem~
Please enjoy: http://kowloonbynight.com/2010/08/rog...
~Ahem~
Please enjoy: http://kowloonbynight.com/2010/08/rog...
101-Word Stupor -- "Out of the Sea"
Keywords: Brie, Cadence, Metallic
"Oh, hell, I'll tell ya," he says in a quick cadence, "Ain't never caught a fish this big. A-yup, it'll feed the little-uns for weeks. That fish come up singing. Singing. I spat out the brie Mary packed me soon as it smiled and winked. It had this long red hair, see? Long ass metallic-green flippers. Sang 'bout walkin' where people go, seein' things out of the sea. I just a' smiled and dumped it inside mah boat. When I got home, Mary slathered it with sweet...
"Oh, hell, I'll tell ya," he says in a quick cadence, "Ain't never caught a fish this big. A-yup, it'll feed the little-uns for weeks. That fish come up singing. Singing. I spat out the brie Mary packed me soon as it smiled and winked. It had this long red hair, see? Long ass metallic-green flippers. Sang 'bout walkin' where people go, seein' things out of the sea. I just a' smiled and dumped it inside mah boat. When I got home, Mary slathered it with sweet...
August 15, 2010
101-Word Stupor -- Can I Stay the Night?
Keywords: Sweatshirt, Cowboy, Vitriol
The old farmer smells turpentine and sex: like bologna and mayo sandwiches warmed in the sun. He tilts his straw hat, pulls a pickle from his pocket and munches. "A-yup," he says with vitriol. "They been diddlin' in my shed." The stained mattress tells the story. A soiled sweatshirt sits near the tractor, likely used to mop up. Old Joe loads the shotgun. It's always the same. He's filled three ditches with traveling salesmen, lawyers, cowboys. He's filled...
The old farmer smells turpentine and sex: like bologna and mayo sandwiches warmed in the sun. He tilts his straw hat, pulls a pickle from his pocket and munches. "A-yup," he says with vitriol. "They been diddlin' in my shed." The stained mattress tells the story. A soiled sweatshirt sits near the tractor, likely used to mop up. Old Joe loads the shotgun. It's always the same. He's filled three ditches with traveling salesmen, lawyers, cowboys. He's filled...
August 14, 2010
101-Word Stupor -- Grocery Store Torture
Keywords: Scone, Linebacker, Aphrodisiac
Helen stops setting groceries on the conveyer belt. She stares at the magazine cover. That's me, she thinks. Well, not anymore. She glances down at her own 45-year old linebacker body, sniffs, and returns her gaze to the airbrushed blond with the high-arched cheeks. Helen grabs the bag of scones from the checker's hand. "Not those," she says, trying to exude the same Aphrodisiac Charm as the girl on the cover. I used to look like that, she thinks. I...
Helen stops setting groceries on the conveyer belt. She stares at the magazine cover. That's me, she thinks. Well, not anymore. She glances down at her own 45-year old linebacker body, sniffs, and returns her gaze to the airbrushed blond with the high-arched cheeks. Helen grabs the bag of scones from the checker's hand. "Not those," she says, trying to exude the same Aphrodisiac Charm as the girl on the cover. I used to look like that, she thinks. I...
August 13, 2010
101-Word Stupor -- Free Range
Keywords: Boisterous, Abracadabra, Golf
George's wife and her lover rotate on the rotisserie pole, bare asses dipping into the fire with every turn of the spit: hers, his, hers, his… The metal growls with each rotation. Abracadabra! his friend's body disappears into the flames, then reappears. They're screaming, but not like they were when George caught them. Now his wife rasps unintelligibly. And his friend sounds like the pig they roasted after playing golf last weekend. The spit grinds...
George's wife and her lover rotate on the rotisserie pole, bare asses dipping into the fire with every turn of the spit: hers, his, hers, his… The metal growls with each rotation. Abracadabra! his friend's body disappears into the flames, then reappears. They're screaming, but not like they were when George caught them. Now his wife rasps unintelligibly. And his friend sounds like the pig they roasted after playing golf last weekend. The spit grinds...
August 12, 2010
101-Word Stupor -- Frog Love
Keywords: Counterfeit, Frog, Dirigible
"I ain't no good, Clara," one frog says to the other. "I only got one leg, and the other's all busted up. That chef in Louisiana… he almost got me. I watched my own leg get beer-battered. Christ. I'm drunk on tree sap most the time, lettin' teenage humans lick my back so they'll get higher than a… whatcha call it? Di-rig-ible? I sell counterfeit fireflies to tourist frogs, sprinklin' glitter on houseflies' wings to make them sparkle. Hell, Clara. I...
"I ain't no good, Clara," one frog says to the other. "I only got one leg, and the other's all busted up. That chef in Louisiana… he almost got me. I watched my own leg get beer-battered. Christ. I'm drunk on tree sap most the time, lettin' teenage humans lick my back so they'll get higher than a… whatcha call it? Di-rig-ible? I sell counterfeit fireflies to tourist frogs, sprinklin' glitter on houseflies' wings to make them sparkle. Hell, Clara. I...
August 11, 2010
101-Word Stupor -- The Eskimo Under My Bed
Keywords: Clarinet, Wrestling, Eskimo
There's an Eskimo under my bed. No, don't peek; he hates that. Every night I put on my jammies then lull him to sleep with my clarinet ("Ode to Joy" -- he loves that one). Mommy thinks I'm practicing for music class. Sometimes I hear him sobbing; he misses the taste of baby seal. Well, I've never seen one at school or on my paper route, and my encyclopedia says they're slippery. The idea of wrestling one? Gross. Yesterday I fed him tuna and said it was...
There's an Eskimo under my bed. No, don't peek; he hates that. Every night I put on my jammies then lull him to sleep with my clarinet ("Ode to Joy" -- he loves that one). Mommy thinks I'm practicing for music class. Sometimes I hear him sobbing; he misses the taste of baby seal. Well, I've never seen one at school or on my paper route, and my encyclopedia says they're slippery. The idea of wrestling one? Gross. Yesterday I fed him tuna and said it was...
