Sharon Joss's Blog, page 16

Fourth Friday Free Fiction (belated): Loretta and the Lizard King

Sharon Joss Writes

Oops! I was out of town and missed posting this on the real fourth Friday of April, so here it is, albeit late.

This is a humorous horror story about Rex, the Lizard King. Unlike his rival, Princess, Rex chooses quality in his diet, over quantity. Coddled and grown now to a size befitting his moniker, the Boss always stays near the door when he introduces his competitors and ex-wives.  Only Loretta knows how to satisfy the King’s savage hunger.

Loretta and the Lizard King

Sharon Joss

It’s dinner time here at Boy Howdy’s Reptile World. The Boss bangs the trays and buckets against the cages as he makes his way down the corridor.  He stops at each cage, and depending on who is inside and what day it is, he opens the feeding grate and plops down food for the residents.  By the time he gets to this end of the corridor, everyone but Princess and me has been fed.  At Boy Howdy’s, the headliners get fed last.

Using a pair of long-handled tongs, he pulls a stiff maggoty-ridden carcass out of the wagon. The aroma is quite compelling.  Even as I feign indifference, I begin to drool.  I have a never-ending bottomless pit of hunger burning inside me.  Across from me, Princess, the ALBINO ALLIGATOR thrashes in her glass-fronted aquarium.  The Boss opens the safety gate and holds the carrion over Princess’ head.

“Come on, Princess,” he coos. “Come and git it.”  He lowers the road kill toward the water surface, but as soon as she makes a grab for it, he jerks it out of reach.  The Boss laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, even though he does it every time he feeds Princess.  He splashes the carcass on the top of the water, trying to rile her up.  The sound echoes across the cement walls.  I don’t like the noise, but there is no avoiding it.

Long threads of saliva drip from my jaws.  This could go on for a longtime. Princess isn’t much smarter than the dead stuff they feed her.  Boss knows better than to try that with me.

I am the Lizard King. I am the STAROFTHESHOW.  I have servants who cater to my every whim, and clean up my shit and scrub my skin and massage my flesh to help me grow bigger.  I have what they call a discriminating palate. I’ve learned not to accept their first offering.  It’s difficult to do, since I am always very hungry, but it was the only way to teach them. Now they give Princess the roadkill and I get the good stuff.

Princess has no dignity.  She will eat anything.

The Boss jerks the meat away from Princess again and chuckles.  She slaps the surface of the water with her chin in frustration.  This happens every time.  After a while, she will get tired and sink to the bottom of her pool. Then the Boss will drop the carcass into the filthy water and it will be my turn.  The Boss never laughs when it’s my turn to be fed.  That’s because I’ve already eaten three of his fingers, and he’s afraid I’ll get the rest.

The floors here are heated. Most days, I bask on my special hot rock and fart gassy lizard farts in the direction of the white freak Princess.  She snorts bubbles at me and sinks below the surface of her pool, leaving me alone with my thoughts.  She knows I’m the real king around here.  She knows I am the STAROFTHESHOW.

I wonder what the Boss is bringing me to eat.  I like fresh TENDERFLESH best.  When I was a hatchling, I lived with Dale.  My cage wasn’t big like it is now, but Dale fed me PINKIEMICE.  They were still warm. Popped soft and juicy and delicious between my teeth with a little squeal of pleasure.  As I grew bigger, I didn’t get PINKIEMICE any more, but I have never forgotten them, and I always keep an eye out for them. Fingers are very similar to PINKIEMICE, and Dale gave me two of his.  After that, Dale said I was too big, and sent me to live with the Boss here at Boy Howdy’s Reptile World in Cape Coral.

I have a lot more room here.  There is even an outdoor area where I can bask in the real sun.  But Boss isn’t very good about regular mealtimes.  In the beginning, the food was dead a long time; or partly frozen, and cold inside.   Hard to swallow.  Lots of bones.  Sometimes, he even brought chickens.    But after I ate the Boss’s fingers, he never fed me chickens again.   I don’t like Boss.  He thinks Princess is more important.  He is wrong.  I am the Lizard King.

I liked it when I bit the Boss’s hand. His fingers exploded in my mouth almost like PINKIEMICE.   The Boss shouted and banged the door shut on my nose.  I didn’t get enough to eat that day, and was very hungry.  When he finally returned, he shoved a pointed stick at me to keep me away from him.  I hissed at him, and told him I didn’t like him poking me with that stick, but he hit me with it and poked me even harder.  I whipped my tail at him, and tried to knock him down. He went very pale.  He left me there with no food for a very long time. When he returned, it was only to feed Princess.

I told him I was very hungry, but he held the chickens just out of my reach.  They were still warm.  The smell made me mad with hunger.  Then he threw them into the water for Princess.  Of course, she doesn’t care that they belonged to me. The Boss should not give Princess my food.  I don’t like the Boss.

But that was before the INSPECTOR came and said I was too skinny.  After that, the RATGIRLS brought me food.  The RATGIRLS always smells good.  Their flesh looks so tender.  Some are so pale; I can see the blood pumping in their veins, just like PINKIEMICE. On some of them, I can hear the panicked beating of their hearts every time they bring me food. And unlike the Boss, the RATGIRLS don’t have much fur.  I sit very close to the food slot, hoping to get a bite of RATGIRL fingers, but they use tongs to shove the dead rats through the feeding tray. I like the RATGIRLS.  They never give my food to Princess.

* * *

One day, the door of my cage wasn’t closed properly.  Of course I noticed it right away, because I check every corner of my cage every day to see if there is a weakness or break in the wire.  When I grabbed the door with my claws, the door opened.  I grew very excited.  I nosed it open and slowly made my way to the glass of Princess’s aquarium.

“See,” I said to her, “I am smarter than you.  I am the Lizard King.  I am going to find me some chickens to eat.”

Princess opened her one eye and pretended not to be interested, but I could hear her cold heart flub a beat.

“In fact, I’m going to eat your chickens. There will be no chickens for you ever again.  I will eat all the chickens in this world and you will be forced to eat dry roadkill and cold dead rats.”

“The Boss will stop you.  Only alligators are worthy of chickens, Rat-eater.”

Before I could answer, the door opened, and RATGIRL Frannie backed into the room with the cart of roadkill for Princess. The roadkill for Princess was stiff and dry.  Standing just a few inches from me, the backs of her bare legs smelled just like PINKIEMICE.  Actually, it had been so long since I’d smelled PINKIEMICE, I wasn’t sure what they smelled like anymore, but I was very hungry.

I took a bite.  RATGIRL Frannie screamed and struggled, and her flesh came away from the bone with a single good shake.  She fell and tried to scramble away, but I held her down with my claws.  Her flesh exploded in my mouth with juicy flavor.  She was so tender!

I rolled her over, and took a big bite out of her abdomen.  And another and another.  A feeble hand reached out to me, and I recognized the PINKIEMICE fingers I so craved.  Her hand was small; I was able to wrest it off her arm easily.  I rolled in her juiciness and ate and ate until I could eat no more.

When Boss showed up sometime later, I could barely move.

He didn’t say anything; he used his stick to poke me back into my cage and closed the door.  He stared at me for quite some time while I settled into my favorite hot spot for a long snooze.  I kept one eye on him as he picked up what was left of PINKIEMICE Frannie and threw her bones into Princess’s aquarium.  Princess was wide awake, and furious that I’d eaten first.  Too bad.

The Boss hosed the rest of the blood and gibbets down the drain.  He didn’t say a word.  He looked at me for a long time after that.  I didn’t care.  My belly was full and now everyone knew I was the one true STAROFTHE SHOW not that fat albino gator, Princess.

A few weeks later, The Boss came in and cleaned my cage himself.  Sometimes he did that when the greenman didn’t show up, but he hadn’t done it since I’d eaten his PINKIEMICE fingers.  This time, he left the cage door open when he left.

I was curious.  Why would he open the door?  Princess was wide awake this time.  She was wondering what was up, too.  My hunger pangs started early this morning.

This time, it was the Boss’s mate, RATGIRL Darlene.  She was more alert, and faster than RATGIRL Frannie, but she tasted even sweeter.  Her skull popped between my jaws with a satisfying crunch. I don’t care for bones much, but the tenderness of her flesh was quite good.   I tried, but couldn’t manage to swallow her leg bones or ribs.  Princess was clawing at the glass to get her share as Boss herded me back into my cage for my nap.

* * *

One day, the Boss’s new mate, RATGIRL Loretta brought me something different to eat.  It wasn’t rats and it wasn’t roadkill. She said they were balls of ground turkey meat, enriched with vitamins and minerals and everything a growing Lizard King like me needed.  Oh oh oh.  It really tasted delicious.  Here at last were the PINKIEMICE I remembered.  Each delicious ball of tenderflavoricious was a bite of savory goodness.  Each bite filled my mouth with ecstasy, and was so satisfying in its babylike texture.  I had never eaten anything so wonderful.

When she held out another, I took it from her eagerly.  And another, and another, until I had eaten eleven of the giant TURKEYPINKIEMICE balls.

“Oh boy, you really like those, don’t you, Rex?”  She rubbed her hand underneath my chin as I closed my eyes in royal satisfaction.  RATGIRL Loretta had just given me the most delicious meal I’d ever eaten. I liked that clever RATGIRL Loretta better than anything.  Better than Dale.  Better than the Boss.  Even better than RATGIRL Darlene.

I sighed with satisfaction, and turned slowly to waddle back to my hot rock.  From that day on, RATGIRL Loretta always brought me TURKEYPINKIEMICE balls. Just for me, she said.  Every time I saw her, I came up to the front of the cage to greet her.  I loved RATGIRL Loretta.

* * *

Once in a while, Boss would leave my cage unlocked and I knew I would be dining on fresh TENDERFLESH that day. He would lead a person into the room as if to show off his STAROFTHESHOW, and then lock him inside with me. Usually, it was another man, but sometimes it was a woman.  Sometimes, Boss would come with his stick and watch me eat from the doorway.  Always, Princess would go mad with jealousy, and eagerness for my leftovers.

Today was different.  The Boss opened the lock on my cage, and I came and waited in front of Princess’s tank, as usual. But when the door opened, it was RATGIRL Loretta. For a moment, I was confused.  I almost forgot what she had in the cart.

I stuck my tongue out to taste the air.  Sure enough, she’d brought plenty of TURKEYPINKIEMICE balls.  I reached around her and grabbed one right from her cart.

She froze.

I threw my head back and swallowed.  So good.  I reached for another, and she slowly edged out of my way.  I was gobbling now, eating TURKEYPINKIEMICE balls as fast as I could.  As fast as Princess gobbled chickens, even.

I paused.  The cart was still half full of TURKEYPINKIEMICE balls.  Princess was scrabbling at the glass walls of her tank, wondering why I hadn’t taken a bite out of RATGIRL Loretta.  I was still hungry, but torn.  Those TURKEYPINKIEMICE balls were my favorite food.  But I was the Lizard King, and here was RATGIRL Loretta standing right in front of me.

I cocked my head and I really looked at her.  She was skinny.  A lot of bones on that one.  I tasted the air with my tongue.  She’d brought those TURKYPINKIEMICE balls just for me, and I didn’t have to share them with Princess.

Slowly, RATGIRL Loretta picked up one of the TURKEYPINKYMICE balls and tossed it into the open door of my cage.  Without hesitation, my decision was made.  I raced toward it and gulped it down in one satisfying gulp.

I turned to the food slot for my next TURKEYPINKYMICE ball, and saw Boss hitting RATGIRL Loretta with the big stick.  I hate the big stick.  I hate Boss.  He would give my TURKEYPINKYMICE balls to Princess, if he could. RATGIRL Loretta fell to the ground, and Boss began beating her with the stick.  If he hurt RATGIRL Loretta with the big stick, I wouldn’t get the rest of my TURKEYPINKIEMICE balls.

I slithered forward and before he could hit me, I bit him high on the thigh.  He grunted and I rolled like I’d seen Princess do, pulling him down and then using my weight to hold him while I took big bites out of his throat and abdomen.

He was juicy and sweet, and I was still hungry.  I heard RATGIRL Loretta crying, and wanted to tell her not to worry, but Boss was much bigger than the others.  But I was bigger too, thanks to Loretta’s TURKYPINKIEMICE balls.

When the Boss stopped moving, RATGIRL Loretta waved a TURKEYPINKIEMICE ball under my nose.  I wasn’t very hungry anymore, but I couldn’t help myself. When she tossed it into my cage, I went after it.  She closed and locked the door behind me, and fed me the rest of the TURKEYPINKIEMICE balls, even though I’d eaten so much I could barely move.

She told me I was her hero, and the one and true Lizard King.  The men came and took what was left of Boss away, and Princess didn’t get to eat anything at all that day.

* * *

This morning, the men from the San Diego Zoo are coming to take Princess and me to California to live. RATGIRL Loretta tells me I’ll be even more famous in San Diego. I’m not just the World’s Largest Nile Monitor Lizard after all, she tells me; I’m a previously undiscovered species.  She’s coming with me as my keeper, and she will feed me TURKEYPINKIEMICE balls every day.   I won’t have to share my throne room with Princess anymore because I am the Lizard King. I am the STAROFTHESHOW.

 

THE END

The post Fourth Friday Free Fiction (belated): Loretta and the Lizard King appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.

‘Twas Thrilling

Sharon Joss Writes

I’m ba-ack…

From another week-long craft writing workshop with my mentors Dean Wesley Smith and Kris Kathryn Rush. This time around, the subject was writing ‘modern thrillers’.

This is the third craft workshop I’ve taken from them, and I’ve got to tell you, these classes aren’t for beginners (or wussies). It’s kinda like boot camp.  You can ask all the questions you want, but at the end of the day, you have to suck it up and write.

The focus was primarily on the unique structural elements of the genre, and we learned how thrillers have evolved over the years, with emphasis thrillers published in the last 10-15 years. I gained a whole new appreciation for the authors  who have evolved with the genre and make it look so effortless: Patterson, Cussler, Koontz, Connelly, Baldacci, and Brown.

We worked on plot threads,cliff hangers, characterization and a whole bunch of other advanced (and new to me) topics. As usual with these craft workshops, there was a lot of writing, which drove home the lessons we learned. As homework, each of us plotted and outlined an entire novel in proposal format (from beginning to end), including five separate character sketches, and the first few opening chapters/scenes. By the time we finished writing all that, we were pretty far down the road toward actually writing the whole novel.

And we had to do a new one every single day.

Yep, that’s right. I came home with 6 complete novel proposals. Impossible, you say?

Nope.

‘Twas thrilling.

The post ‘Twas Thrilling appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.

Feed the Muse

Sharon Joss Writes

Every once in a while (and thankfully, it doesn’t happen often), I start feeling a little like a hamster in a cage– running forward as fast as I can, but not going anywhere. The last few weeks, I’ve been in kind of a slump; not just about writing, but the whole life’s purpose sort of cosmic mis-alignment deal. I’ve got an end-of-the-decade birthday coming up, my dearest old dog has recently become distinctly older and more dear, and I just passed another major milestone, my 5-year anniversary of writing full time.

My malaise has pretty much put the brakes on my usual writing productivity, something I haven’t had much problem with in the past. After an entire week went by without writing a single word, I started to try to figure out the problem. What’s changed in my life?

I finally figured it out; I’ve forgotten to feed the muse.

Until a few weeks ago, my pre-writing morning ritual was to have my coffee while I read the local newspaper, do the crossword and sudoku puzzles, and then read a chapter in the current writing book I was reading. Then I’d walk the dogs and go up to the office and start writing.

But I cancelled my home delivery of the newspaper because they couldn’t seem to deliver it on time, and the format changed to digital (not possible to do the crossword unless I print it hard copy). Since I wasn’t reading the paper any more, I also stopped reading writing books, and just walked the dogs.

But the thing is, as small a ritual as it might have been, the newspaper and those writing books were feeding my muse. The newspaper always brings interesting stories– real world shit (for good or bad) that gets me thinking about characters, places, and conflict. And those writing books. Wow. They feed my writerly soul. I just devoured (for the 4th time) Ray Bradbury’s ZEN IN THE ART OF WRITING and I feel reborn. Last night, it was Steven Pressfield’s THE WAR OF ART. And yesterday morning, I watched Dean Wesley Smith’s video lecture series, HEINLEIN’S RULES.

Aaah. I feel better. Re-fueled.

Life is what it is. You work hard. You get old. Those are the rules.

But if you’re a writer, you’ve got other rules, too. And one of them is to be sure and feed the muse.

The post Feed the Muse appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.

On Accomplishment

Sharon Joss Writes

Winter seemed to drag on a bit this year; we (Portland) broke a record for the most rainfall in March that had stood for more than 50 years: almost 8 inches of rain. But yesterday, the rain stopped, and today the sun came out; a blissful 74 degrees today. I mowed the overly shaggy lawns for the first time since November. I even wore shorts. Even the dogs were diggin’ the sunshine; they napped on the new grass all afternoon.

I also finished the first draft of my latest WIP; a novel I’ve been working on (and off) for more than three years. The feeling of accomplishment is something that never gets old.  Like winter this year, I thought I’d never see the end of this one; then a few days ago, I realized I’d made the final turn for home, and finished it up this morning. I’ll let it sit for a few weeks before I start editing; there’s a lot more work still to be done, but I’ve got some short stories to write and a writing workshop coming up. And World Horror Con is next month; and it’s right here in Portland!

Maybe it’s the sun, or maybe it’s just lawn mowing muscles talkin’; but today was a very good day.

The post On Accomplishment appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.

Word of the day: Mud

Sharon Joss Writes

Mud / məd/

• n. soft, sticky matter resulting from the mixing of earth and water.   Mud is an Old English word that has been with us since at least 1400.  Other words for mud listed in the Oxford English Dictionary include slobber, slabber, slutch, lutulence, sloshiness and slushiness

 

 

GOOD MUD: The real name of blues musician Muddy Waters (1913-1983) was McKinley Morganfield

 

 

 

GOOD MUD: Mud baths are known for the anti-inflammatory properties. Their minerals help alleviate pains and muscle aches. These bathes can also offer a soothing effect resulting from its rich mineral content – sodium, magnesium, and potassium.

 

 

 

GOOD MUD: Mmmm.

 

 

 

BAD MUD:  8-step program to remove a muddy paw prints from a rug:

1. Apply a small amount of mild liquid detergent to the stain.

2. Blot the stain with a dry, white cloth.

3. Flood the area with white vinegar.

4. Blot again with the cloth.

5. Apply a little more liquid detergent to the stain.

6. Blot the stain again.

7. Flood the area with water.

8. Blot one last time.

 

Yeah, right.

 

 

The post Word of the day: Mud appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.

NEW!! Fourth Friday Free Fiction: Liquid Therapy by Sharon Joss

Sharon Joss Writes

I’ve decided to post a bit of free fiction on the last Friday of each month. I’ll leave it up for a day or two, then it’ll be gone. It may be a bit of flash, or a short story, or an except from a novel. Here’s this week’s offering:

LIQUID THERAPY

By Sharon Joss

I needed a drink.

Not for the alcohol so much as for the company. Sometimes the bloody images of my past failures get into a cinematic loop in my brain, and the only way I can disrupt the madness is through therapy. Not that kind. I was never one for lyin’ on some leather couch in a muzac-infused therapod. I’m talkin’ about real therapy. The kind only a good bartender can provide.

But when you work on a resort planet like NIMBUS-V, your choices are pretty much limited to Lovers Discos , Betting Saloons, or Theme Bars, and I’d already been eighty-sixed from every Betting Saloon on Nimbus.

I decided to try the new dive over in the Risqué Sector. From the outside, the Tacky-Tacky Room had a faux-bamboo façade and a talking animatron parrot at the front door to scan the Ident-I-Chip implant on the back of my hand.

“Aloha, sailor! Welcome to the Tacky-Tacky Room! Craawgh!”

I rolled my eyes at the dopy thing as the portal opened, and stepped inside.

The place was even smaller than it looked. The typical, mirror-backed bar ran along the right side of the room with seating for a dozen pleather-topped stools. Opposite the entry portal, through a wall of glass, I could see the girly stage setup in the back. The base of the back beat rumbled through the floor beneath my feet, but I was grateful for the excellence of the soundproofing. This place had real possibilities.

I had my pick of stools, so I picked the one closest to where the bartender was slicing oranges on the bar, and sat down.

He gave me the quick once over. The Ident-I-Chip had already given him everything he needed to know about me, from my credit status, to my occupation as private dick to the balance in my credit account to the color of my shorts.”

He set down the knife he’d been using to slice the oranges and wiped his hands on a pristine white bar towel. Then he selected a watermelon-sized bowl, shaped like a giant clamshell and placed it on the bar in front of me.

“What’ll it be?”

I frowned at the clamshell. “Gimme a beer.”

He shook his head. His black hair was streaked with silver at the sides. The tropical patterns of his pink and orange shirt glowed brilliant beneath the blacklight above the bar. When he smiled, his teeth glowed.

“Sorry, brah. No beeah. Try again.”

His name was embroidered in red on the pocket of his shirt. “Okay Tommy, gimme a scotch, no ice, water back.”

Tommy tapped the plastic clamshell. “This the Tacky-Tacky Room, brah. We don’t serve nonna that shit in heah. I make you something special.” He grabbed a couple bottles of pink liquid and began pouring them into the stainless steel cup of deco-green milkshake blender.

I debated whether to leave. “I don’t like those fu-fu drinks. How ’bout a rum and coke?”

Tommy shook his head, and grabbed two more bottles of juice. “You got something on your minds, bruddah. Wha happen?”

His hands moved so fast, I could hardly follow them. Bottle after bottle of juice went into the mixer; the scent of pineapple and oranges perfumed the stale air. Somewhere in the distance, I thought I caught the distinctive tone of a Hawaiian steel guitar.

I leaned into the padded maroon cushion at the edge of the bar. “I made a mistake.”    Those four little words opened the floodgates.

Tommy’s eyes widened and he held up a bottle of white rum. “White Rum is good for mistakes.”

I grinned. “Works for me. Make it a double.”

Tommy poured a heavy hand of the clear liquid into the mixing cup. “What kinda mistake?”

I took a deep breath. “I got a client, see. Not my client anymore, a real nut job. Tried to tell me somebody was after her, see. I spent three weeks tailin’ her, checkin’ her emails, her communications logs, everything, and came up with nada, so I told her to see a doctor and quit the case.”

Tommy waved a bottle of amber rum in front of me and added a good dollop to the mixture, along with a scoopful of crushed ice.

“She kept callin’ me, and I finally had to reroute all her calls to my spam file. I feel terrible about it, but what can you do? That dame was bat crap crazy!”

He shook his head sympathetically and turned on the mixer. The tinny motor whirred to life. After a moment, he turned it off and poured the golden liquid into the clamshell.

“Crazy wahine, man, whatcha gonna do?”

“My sentiments exactly. This morning the cops came to my office. Told me she’d been murdered.”

Tommy put his hands on his hips and gave me a hard stare. “That’s bad, brah.” From the top shelf, behind the bar, way in the back, he pulled out a black bottle and unscrewed the lid. He poured the dark liquid over the top of the rum mixture. For a moment, the black rum floated like an oil slick, then blossomed into the deep red glow of an Island sunset.

He handed me a two-foot-long white straw and stared at me expectantly.

Tentatively, I slipped the straw into the drink. “What is it?”

“Lapu-lapu, bruddah. Vacation in every sip.”

I took a tentative taste. The thumping base beat of the DJs music in the strip club faded away, replaced by the gentle sounds of waves breaking on the shore. The sweet sounds of a ukulele and a Hawaiian steel guitar loosened the tightness across my shoulders. I could almost see the hula girls.

“Whatcha think brah?”

I smacked my lips. “This is just what the doctor ordered.” I took another sip, and the intoxicating scent of gardenia blossoms filled the air.

END

Copyright  © 2014 by Sharon Joss

The post NEW!! Fourth Friday Free Fiction: Liquid Therapy by Sharon Joss appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.

Spring Break

Sharon Joss Writes

My beloved sister (or one of them, at any rate) came for a visit this weekend from Southern California. Fortunately, the weather was ‘Portland Perfect’ and we had a terrific time prowling the streets downtown, groovin’ on Mimosas, great coffee, and a shirtless unicyclist wearing a darth-vader mask playing a VERY respectable Vader theme on the bagpipes. I dearly wish I’d brought my camera, but it was one of those bits of eye candy which make Portlandia uniquely its own.

We also took in a delightful new movie, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Wes Anderson’s latest film. My sister and I both loved Moonrise Kingdom and thought this movie was even better. Both are films that especially appeal to me as a writer; because even though you have an idea where the plot is going, you have to pay attention to every action and word because there are so many surprises and twists. I loved trying to name all the great actors in cameo performances, too.

Fun fun fun.

The post Spring Break appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.

End of an Era… My New Cup Runneth Over

Sharon Joss Writes

Last week I broke my favorite coffee mug; the one featured in my very FIRST blog post, back on January 7th, 2011. I bought the mug two years earlier (March 27th, 2009), the day I made a resolution to myself to make it as a writer. That written resolution is framed and sitting on my desk where I can see it every day, so breaking that mug has a lot of symbolism associated with it.

I went back to Cafe Press and browsed through literally THOUSANDS of writer-themed mugs looking for the one I’d bought, but couldn’t find it. Okay, I didn’t paw through all 11 thousand designs, but believe me, I spent far more time looking for ‘my’ mug than I should have.

Couldn’t find it, or anything else that appealed to me. I finally found the perfect cup on Zazzle, where you can actually customize your cup! Even the font!

Okay, yeah, there is a capacity problem. I was positive that the 12 ounce size was the same size as the one I’d broken; so obviously, I got that wrong. But that’s okay.

This new cup is REALLY me.

The post End of an Era… My New Cup Runneth Over appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.

Spring Arrives

Sharon Joss Writes

Spring is here.

No, not because the groundhog says so, and not because of the switch to Daylight Savings time.

 

This week, I spotted the first crocus and daffodils in bloom, and although the lawns here in Oregon are soggy beyond words, the grass has started greening up.  It’s growing again.  It’s not lawn-mower weather yet, but it’s on it’s way.

One of the things I absolutely love about Oregon is how quickly everything greens up, once mother nature waves her wand and decides it’s time for Spring.  Four days ago, I spied the first daffodils in the neighborhood.  Today, we’re awash in yellow.

And so it begins.

The post Spring Arrives appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.

The Land of Writers

Sharon Joss Writes

Dean (far left), Kris, Kerrie, John, Rebecca, & Kevin!
Photo by Brenda Carre

I’m back from the Land of Writers, better known as Lincoln City, Oregon, where I spent the last 8 days attending an Anthology Workshop with some of the most amazing writers and editors imaginable.  Hosted by Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch, and their guest editors Kevin J. Anderson, Rebecca Moesta, John Helfers and Kerrie Hughes, and roughly 50 professional writers.

Before the workshop, we were challenged to write short stories for six themed anthologies for upcoming editions of FICTION RIVER.  Each day, the editor for that themed volume and the other five editors would offer brief feedback on the author’s submission, and say whether or not they would buy the story.  While only the editor of that edition had the final ‘buy’ or ‘sorry, but no buy’ decision, the ensuing discussions (and yes, sometimes arguments) between the editors gave us all priceless insight into the minds of the anthology selection process.

The process had all of us on the edge of our seats; not only in anticipation of what the editors would say, but since we had ALL read each other’s stories (about 250 in all) before the workshop we were rooting for our favorites to be included as well.  By the end of the week, we were all exhausted and bonded in friendship to our fellow writers (sort of like camp without the mosquitoes).   I am thrilled to announce that I sold my steampunk story to Kerrie Hughes, and my young adult fantasy story to Rebecca Moesta.  Both will be released in 2015 editions of Fiction River.  And as wonderful as that is, Kevin J. Anderson made a surprise announcement; saying that for the Pulse Pounders edition he’ll be editing in December 2014, there will be a previously unpublished short story by Frank Herbert (author of Dune)!  Very cool.

And it wasn’t all about selling, either.  Dean and Kris worked tirelessly to make sure every author got the opportunity to network with some of the most experienced and successful professionals in the business. We got a chance to sit down with other full-time writers and publishers and talk about business issues, how to approach audio publishing, cover design, and even writing for comics.

I made a lot of new friends and have a much better understanding of what being a part of a writer’s community means. Dean, Kris, Kevin, and Rebecca have been friends since before they sold their first novel.  Their fine example of how they support each other, echoed by John and Kerrie, make me proud to be a writer and determined to support my fellow writers any way I can.

I love writers.

 

The post The Land of Writers appeared first on Sharon Joss Writes.