GR Magazine discussion

52 views
General > Share Your writing

Comments Showing 1-50 of 63 (63 new)    post a comment »
« previous 1

message 1: by M. (last edited Oct 30, 2011 01:12PM) (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Hi everybody. While this group is certainly not exclusively for writers and we love having as many readers as possible, it would be great if all you guys could contribute some of your writing. It could be a blog or an essay or an original story. It could also be an excerpt from a famous author or of your own long work. In short, whatever you want to post. You needn't have ever written anything before. Don't be shy. I look forward to reading your contributions as I am sure the other members are, as well.


message 2: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Hira wrote: "Okay so I've got way too many poems to post one by one so I'm posting the link to all my poems plus some short stories. Hope y'all read and enjoy!

http://www.goodreads.com/story/list/4...

I've just read a few of your poems and really like them. I'll definitely read all 53 before too long. Keep up the good work!


I w..."



message 3: by Mary (new)

Mary Findley | 12 comments I have a couple of short stories on my facebook page. One is an excerpt from my novel Hope and the Knight of the Black Lion, but works as a standalone story, "Diary of a Christian Dog." The other is a civil war-era romantic adventure, "Carrie's Hired Hand."
https://www.facebook.com/note.php?not...
https://www.facebook.com/note.php?not...


message 4: by Adrian (last edited Nov 24, 2011 10:25PM) (new)

Adrian Stephens (adrianstephens) | 14 comments I have one novel, In My Shoes (Rated T), out this year.

My next novel, 31 Days to Life (Rated M), is due out next August.

Both of my novels have free samples available here.

I also post a blog on Goodreads, which you can read here.


message 5: by Junying (new)

Junying | 40 comments Apart from my two books which you can find info on from my author page here on GR, I'd love some of you to pop over to my blog - I post short pieces on my travels and other stuff. I just published a blog on one of my many Discoveries of America, and would love to have comments from my friends across the pond. Thanks! http://www.junyingkirk.com/?p=967


message 6: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Adrian wrote: "I have one novel, In My Shoes (Rated T), out this year.

My next novel, 31 Days to Life (Rated M), is due out next August.

Both of my novels have free samples available here.

I also post a ..."


31 Days to Life seems fascinating.


message 7: by Adrian (new)

Adrian Stephens (adrianstephens) | 14 comments Thanks, M! I'm really pleased with how it's developing.


message 8: by Suki (new)

Suki Michelle (sukimichelle) | 6 comments Here is CHAPTER ONE of The Apocalypse Gene, an urban fantasy.

Thanks for this opportunity to share.


Suki Michelle


message 9: by Cheyenne (new)

Cheyenne (cheylaraine) | 3 comments This is my story: Marcus and The World. Feedback would be really appreciated, thanks!

http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...


message 10: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Cheyla Rayne wrote: "This is my story: Marcus and The World. Feedback would be really appreciated, thanks!

http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2..."


I really enjoyed the two chapters.


message 12: by Veronica (new)

Veronica | 1 comments Hello,
My books are written for the middle grade reader and older: Billy's First Dance and Funny Pages. FUNNY PAGES is now being offered as a Giveaway on Goodreads.

Thanks for allowing us to promote here.

Regards,


Veronica

Funny Pages by Veronica Randolph Batterson Billy's First Dance by Veronica Randolph Batterson


message 13: by E.A. (last edited Dec 04, 2011 02:31AM) (new)

E.A. Bucchianeri | 13 comments Hmm, I wonder if my post can be put here...
I recently finished my English translation of the prophecies of a French mystic approved by the Catholic Church for years, however, she is not that well known in the English-speaking world, not when compared with other mystics. I'm giving it away free as an e-book, here is the link, (best read online, or downloaded in the PDF format):
"We Are Warned: The Prophecies of Marie-Julie Jahenny"

[image error]


message 14: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
E.A. wrote: "Hmm, I wonder if my post can be put here...
I recently finished my English translation of the prophecies of a French mystic approved by the Catholic Church for years, however, she is not that well ..."


The link didn't work. I got a message saying "this page does not exist." Please re-post.


message 15: by E.A. (new)

E.A. Bucchianeri | 13 comments Oops! I've twiddled the html, try the link again! : ) (Sorry about that...)


message 16: by Agent (new)

Agent S.D. | 2 comments Here's a short story I wrote: http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...

I'd really appreciate some criticism!


message 17: by Danny (new)

Danny Fahey (dannybfahey) | 10 comments Here is a poem:

Born without horns

It was fortunate for the Mother -
though in the end it was not,
a King cannot forgive a tryst
with a God Bull, no matter how
hard the full moon presses down
upon the earth, a palm pressed between
willing thighs, stirring desire; hot tea,
blown first then carefully sipped
in a summer stung by the scorpion sun -
that Androgeus was not
born with his horns fully formed.

It did not help him either,
however, for the hooves for feet
gave away the fact that Midas
was not the sower of the seed.

The Mother, still bruised and torn
by the hard heels of her son as he kicked
his way into sunlight, was slain outright.
It may even be that she was glad;
granted relief from the haunting
of that night. Her body ached
with the memory of the Bull’s embrace.

Androgeus was banished down the stairs
to a moonless, sunless cellar,
where water dripped taunting whispers
and the stone drank itself dense
with the indifference of the earth,
there to live out his days chained
to the wall, food fed between thick lips,
and placed upon fat tongue
by young virgins stolen from other lands.

The females served two purposes.
Their theft made other lands fear his Father
and the tips of the girls’ fingers, when
they brushed his flesh, their scent
as they drew close, and the fear that formed
in tiny beads of sweat upon their innocent
brows, tormented Androgeus no end.


message 18: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Danny wrote: "Here is a poem:

Born without horns

It was fortunate for the Mother -
though in the end it was not,
a King cannot forgive a tryst
with a God Bull, no matter how
hard the full moon presses down
u..."


I enjoyed this poem. It is very sensuous.


message 19: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Sarah wrote: "Here's a short story I wrote: http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...

I'd really appreciate some criticism!"


I loved this story! The third eye and the protagonist's dialogues with it are very funny. I like the commentary on the dullness and conformity of suburbia. I look forward to reading further chapters.


message 20: by Agent (new)

Agent S.D. | 2 comments M. wrote: "Sarah wrote: "Here's a short story I wrote: http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...

I'd really appreciate some criticism!"

I loved this story! The third eye and..."


Thank you! I'm not sure if I'll write any more of that story (can't think of where to go with it!) but I was considering submitting it to a few magazines...


message 21: by P. Christopher (new)

P. Christopher Colter (countofbluecars) | 5 comments I have been writing in one form or another for years, but am only now getting my stuff out there for the eyes of the world. My first full-length novel is in the works, but my blog has been up and running for a while now, and gaining steam slowly. I use it as a way to exercise my writing muscles.

My latest post is my first publicly-shared short story: "Adrian McAllister and the Cannibal's Internet Connection". Needless to say, it's light humor. Please visit, read, and share with others if you are so inclined. http://iphoenixblog.blogspot.com/2012...


message 22: by Danny (new)

Danny Fahey (dannybfahey) | 10 comments thank you Carroll and M. - this is one way I get into a story - I write a collection of poems that slowly turn into prose. It defeats my inherent laziness (well maybe not defeat,maybe alleviates...)


message 23: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Chris wrote: "I have been writing in one form or another for years, but am only now getting my stuff out there for the eyes of the world. My first full-length novel is in the works, but my blog has been up and ..."

Great story Chris; lmao!


message 24: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments I am a retired gardener. Please watch my video. It is a performance of a first person story I wrote. It is a true "on the job" story.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qPq3q...


message 25: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments Here is a very short story:
VANGUARD CITY

We moved to Vanguard City, Calif., in June of 1973. Brooklyn had turned toxic. We came to V.C., as we referred to it back then, to be with the other dope smokin’ Godless Commies. We came to have a great time and build a just society.

In Vanguard City, I partied, dealt drugs all through the ’70s. Spring of 1980, I went to rehab, cleaned up. For the next 30 years I labored, rendered anonymous by occupation. I was a beast of burden, an untouchable, pushing a lawnmower over the manicured hills and dales of Alta Vista, California, just to the east of Vanguard City.

Then my wife died. We had been very close. She died a hideous death, a medical malfeasance suit, leaving me more than enough to get by on.

Fifty-five years old, bereft of companionship and short on purpose, I joined a fiction writing group which met in the Vanguard City Senior Center. I’d been in the group two years when Chester Ague showed up. Chester Ague was our resident alien, not that he was from Mexico or Zanzibar or Patagonia, or Mars. Well perhaps Mars. Perhaps he was from the bowels of the earth; maybe that would explain him. At first, I took him under my wing. In a city full of the purposefully weird, Ague stood out as being genuinely odd.

When I inquired about his past, all he’d say was that he lucked out on a “dot com,” getting out just in time. “Not millions but enough to live on while I try to write.” And how that sonuvabitch could write, not the type a’ thing I could write or would wanna’ write. I much preferred my Romantic Comedies to his ….. horror stories, to my way of thinking. The fact that the rest of the group took solace from these tales was what so disturbed me. You didn’t listen to Ague’s stories with your heart and your mind. You listened with your glands. I was immune to his charm. My jealousy inoculated me. In my two years in the group, I had more than established myself. My light comedies were a hit with the ladies in the group. I had been quite the darling. It didn’t take Ague long to beat my time despite his pot belly and his ravaged complexion. I was amusing; he touched baser emotions.

When Ague read one of his stories to the group, it wasn’t unusual for the ladies to sob, or sigh. These were mature and gentle ladies, bear in mind, sophisticated and worldly. The men would hold their breath till the climax of the story when inevitably, an army of the dispossessed or Indonesian pirates or space aliens or a Great Horned Beast would appear in order to smash the thin veneer of civilization, revealing the sensual paradise beneath. Then the men would roar and the women would moan. That was only the beginning; it wasn’t long before Ague had his own little harem. His own praetorian guard.

So I seethed at my computer and wrote a story that savaged Vanguard City and all of its inhabitants, from its larcenous mayor to its nihilistic hordes pining for the beast and the no-nothing bourgeoisie they hid behind.

Sadly, I went word for word with Chester Ague and was humiliated, scorned, finally shunned. If the pen is mightier than the sword, what do you do when the devil is the better wordsmith? That is not a rhetorical question.


message 26: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Nice story. Thanks for posting and welcome to the group.


message 27: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Great post!


message 28: by Danny (new)

Danny Fahey (dannybfahey) | 10 comments Don't care about the rest but The monkey's thing is in infinite time or infinite monkeys or both not finite figures like 100.


message 29: by Danny (new)

Danny Fahey (dannybfahey) | 10 comments you made an infinte idea finite and then used that in the argument as 'the old saw' when in fact what you presented is nothing to do with that 'old saw'.


message 30: by Heather (new)

Heather Albano (heatheralbano) | 3 comments Hey folks!

My first novel, Timepiece, is available for download from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords. Here's a link with links http://www.heatheralbano.com/timepiece/

and here's a sample:

For a moment, Elizabeth thought she was in a thunderstorm, though no rain fell. Lightning lit up the sky in a flash of blue-white, then was gone. It was followed by a crash of thunder, deafening, just overhead. A sudden cold wind sprang up and rushed over her, tugging her breath along with it.

“William—” she gasped.

“Here—” The wind tore the word away from her ears, as it had torn the breath from her throat. She could barely make it out. But he was right beside her, a vague source of warmth, and then a definite one as he pulled her closer. “Right here.”

“What’s happened?” Elizabeth demanded, already trying to think of something likely. An eclipse, or a shooting star hurtling out of the sky, or— But even as she sought some logical explanation for night and storm falling upon the summer orchard, she knew they no longer stood there. The lightning flash had shown her not trees, but high brick walls. And the wind carried with it not leaves, but sheets of paper, tumbling against her skirt and plastering themselves there.

There was no second flash of lightning, but there was a second boom of thunder. It shook the ground under Elizabeth’s feet.

And it shook the ground again.

She couldn’t see, no matter how hard she tried, but she knew that there was something enormous coming towards her. It took another stomping, earsplitting step. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth was too frightened to move. William’s body tensed, and he drew a breath to say what she knew would be “Run!”, preparing to drag her with him—

Something grabbed her arm and tore her from William’s grasp.

Her shoes scrabbled for purchase, but found none on the slick surface beneath her, and she went down, hard, onto bruising cobblestone. She couldn’t catch her breath or find her footing. She couldn’t do anything except fumble in the slippery muck. There was someone above her, looming over her—someone she could sense but not see. Farther away, William called her name in a tone of desperation, while the ground all around them shook, and shook again, as something immense passed them by. The jolts grew fainter and less frequent as the thing, whatever it was, moved away.

A light flared, dazzling in the darkness.

“Get away from her!” William shouted, and flung himself forward. The flame went out. “Unhand her, sir, at once—”

“I’m not trying to hurt her!” a second voice snapped, but William did not wait for explanations. There was a brief scuffle that Elizabeth could feel and hear but could not see. She had just time enough to think again of gathering herself and struggling upright, and then the struggle before her ended in a “oof” of pain—from William, she thought with a jolt of sickness. The flame flared alight again, a blinding glare that set Elizabeth’s eyes tearing before it settled into a larger, duller gleam. A lantern.

“I’m not trying to hurt her!” the voice behind the light repeated. It was an old man’s voice—it had the crotchety, creaking sound of an exasperated old man. “I’m trying to save you both, you young fool! What on earth possessed to go wandering about after curfew? And what the devil were you doing, standing in the middle of the street like that?” The voice and the lantern moved closer to Elizabeth, and the owner of the lantern crouched down beside her. “You could both have been killed!” he continued. “Don’t you know enough to get out of their…” The lantern shone full on her face then, and the words broke off.

“…way,” he finished. “Well. Well, I imagine… I imagine you don’t, in that case. I… presume this is your first foray.”

“What?” was all Elizabeth could manage.

“I have one too,” the man said. He transferred the lantern to his left hand, and withdrew his right into the darkness beyond the spill of light. He motioned in a way that Elizabeth thought was a fumble at his waistcoat—and then the right hand reappeared, holding for her inspection an overly-large golden pocket watch. Lantern light gleamed softly in the crevices of etching and scratches.

From the darkness behind the old man, something screamed.

Elizabeth jerked and kicked and somehow got enough purchase against mud and cobblestones to lurch upright. Her outflung arm struck something warm and solid, and William seized hold of her and pulled her the rest of the way up. The swinging circle of lantern-light told her the old man was on his feet now too. He slammed down the lantern’s shutter, inky blackness dropped over them all, and then his hand met her shoulder with almost the same force.

The brick wall bruised her back and knocked the breath from her lungs for a second time, and between that and his hand over her mouth, she could not possibly scream. “Hush,” he commanded, his lips close to her ear. “Both of you.” Still pressing Elizabeth to the wall with his body, he took his hand off her mouth long enough to reach out and pull William to huddle with them. “It will come back this way, and it mustn’t find us.”

The shriek came out of the darkness again, somewhere in front of Elizabeth and to her right. It was nothing like the thunder: this sound was unmistakably animal, a cross between a man in pain and a bull enraged. There was one moment of awful silence, then from the left came another crash that shook the ground. Elizabeth, pinioned by the old man’s surprising strength, found herself as frozen and helpless as in any nightmare.

Blue lightning seared her eyes again… and this time, did not fade. A white-tinged half-light lit the sky above the buildings—tall buildings; she could see them plainly now; her earlier brief impression had been correct. They were in a city. Around her was a city street—or more precisely a city alleyway, strewn with broken things and filth. Over the old man’s shoulder, she could see the entrance to the proper street and a bit of the street itself, wider and cleaner and more evenly cobblestoned. The sobbing roar had come from there, but she could not see who or what had made the sound. Her view was cut off by the walls that rose all around her, more three stories high with chimneys even higher, their stacks straggling unevenly against the sickly-colored sky.

And above the chimneys—

Above the chimneys, the nightmare came. It came in
the shape of a man, a giant out of a fairytale—except the giant Jack found up a beanstalk had been made of flesh and blood and so could be killed, and this giant’s skin shone copper like a teakettle. It moved with heavy, jerking motions, and each time its foot drove into the cobblestones, a jolt ran through them and Elizabeth’s teeth chattered in her head. This monster would not even feel a tumble down a beanstalk.

It took another step forward, and Elizabeth could see its face. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in horror. It had no mouth or nose, and somehow the blank impassive countenance was worse than the ponderous thundering feet. From its eyes streamed blue-white light, not unlike a lantern in some ways, but so much colder and more remote than lantern-light, and strong enough to light the whole sky.

“Shh,” the old man murmured. His hands trembled as he held her against the wall.

From the street came another howl. Pain, Elizabeth thought, it sounded like pain. She had been nearby when one of the men who worked Mr. Carrington’s estate had broken his leg—a bad break, ugly, the bones poking through the skin. She remembered that two of his fellows had held him down for the apothecary, and she remembered how he had screamed. She remembered how heads had poked out of nearby windows in response to the screams—and the windows of these decrepit buildings were lighting up now, pale yellow squares that could not compete with the giant’s streaming white light.

The wall pressed cold and rough through the thin fabric of her gown. William was a solid source of warmth beside her, and the old man stood before them both, cloak spread out as though he was trying to shelter them under his wings, keeping them out of the monster’s sight or shielding their eyes from whatever horror was playing out in the street. But Elizabeth could see a small piece of the street, over the old man’s shoulder and around a fold of his cloak. She could see the white-lit sky and the giant’s impassive face, and she could not bear to hide her eyes and not know.

And so when the thing that had howled scrambled to its feet and darted forward, she had a clear view of it. It was more like a man than the great copper giant, but it was bigger than any man had a right to be, with limbs mismatched to its height like the drawing of a gorilla Elizabeth had once seen. The yellowy-white flesh of its face drooped as though too large for its bones. The monster was dressed in what looked to Elizabeth like grave-clothes, and long matted hair swung over its shoulders. She thought of a story about werewolves she had heard once long ago, which had frightened her more than she had ever wanted to admit. The thing that was somewhat like a werewolf lurched towards the alleyway, dragging behind it something that might have been an enormous bundle of rags or might have been another creature like itself.

But then the entire sky blazed with a riot of light and noise and fireworks, and the beast jerked and swayed and fell in a heap at the mouth of the alley.

“—now!” the old man hissed, jerking her by the arm, and Elizabeth stumbled after him, ears ringing with horror and the sound of cannon.


message 31: by Heather (new)

Heather Albano (heatheralbano) | 3 comments I also have a blog, available here: http://www.heatheralbano.com/blog/

Nice to meet you all!


message 32: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Heather wrote: "Hey folks!

My first novel, Timepiece, is available for download from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords. Here's a link with links http://www.heatheralbano.com/timepiece/

and here's a sample..."


Nice writing!


message 33: by Heather (new)

Heather Albano (heatheralbano) | 3 comments Why, thank you!


message 34: by Sharon (new)

Sharon Atkinson (darkened_angel) Hi guys. here is my newish blog, I thought I would share my musings with you all. Hopefully I can keep it up to date ;o) http://sharonswordsandwoes.blogspot.com


message 35: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments Busto Horowitz
Maxwell had called up Busto out of desperation that night. Busto Horowitz with his mad eyes, and his clean needles, “if you want me to tie you off, man, I got clean needles,” he always said. Busto claimed to have been a member of The Jewish Defense League. He cruised, according to him, through Crown Heights, Bed-Stuy with a baseball bat looking for the s-----gs who beat up some Yeshiva boy. He said Kahane, himself, had expelled him for lack of discipline, drug use and indiscriminate violence.
But then again he claimed to be a grandnephew of Moe and Curly, his grandfather being the shy brother. Busto had none of the sweetness of his Uncle Curly, rather taking after his Uncle Moe, but without the charm, in fact, Busto was a stone cold prick. Maxwell had seen him in action. They had been sitting in a booth in the Jack-In-The-Box on San Pablo by Alston Way. “M--- f----a!” Busto hissed and bang he was out the door. He grabbed this punk dude’s arm; the punk had a Mohawk, black studded jeans, a black tee-shirt, barbed wire tattoo around his bicep. He didn’t seem happy to see Busto. Busto put his arm around the dude’s shoulder, a real buddy. Maxwell saw Busto’s right arm spasm and then Busto took off, up Alston, leaving the dude staggering, hocking up blood.
Cohen had met Busto when Busto was working security at a rally against terror and Anti-Semitism, held in response to Satan’s reentry into history.


message 36: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments Here is a short poem:
LOVE AND BERRIES
I'd like to find a UFO site,
Click on family tree.
Only an alien ancestor,
explains a freak like me.

I'd like to find the Bermuda Triangle,
Full of lost ways.
I'd repent, a spent, youth,
Lament, those wasted days.

I'd like to find a tribe of Yetis,
Roaming, wild and free.
We'd live on love and berries,
And shun humanity.


message 37: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments LOVE AND BERRIES
I'd like to find a UFO site,
Click on family tree.
Only an alien ancestor,
explains a freak like me.

I'd like to find the Bermuda Triangle,
Full of lost ways.
I'd repent, a spent, youth,
Lament, those wasted days.

I'd like to find a tribe of Yetis,
Roaming, wild and free.
We'd live on love and berries,
And shun humanity.


message 38: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Dana wrote: "LOVE AND BERRIES
I'd like to find a UFO site,
Click on family tree.
Only an alien ancestor,
explains a freak like me.

I'd like to find the Bermuda Triangle,
Full of lost ways.
I'd repent, a spent,..."


cool poem.


message 39: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Dana wrote: "Busto Horowitz
Maxwell had called up Busto out of desperation that night. Busto Horowitz with his mad eyes, and his clean needles, “if you want me to tie you off, man, I got clean needles,” he alw..."


Excellent!
BTW, I live in upstate NY and apparently, Moe Howard's son has a summer home down the road from my house.


message 40: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments YOU LIVE NEAR ROYALTY!


message 41: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments Thank You!


message 42: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments Here is a very short story for Valentines Day:
It was a relief whenever Allen Witzer left Kings Highway. This was what drew him to Coney Island, there was the breeze, the hot dogs, the girls in bathing suits, of course, but mainly the relief from self-consciousness. Poor Witzer!!! Witzer was slow of wit and tongue, and on top of that he dragged his left his left leg behind him wherever he went. Witzer was indeed the lamest cat on Kings Highway.
He would often play hooky taking the subway, all over Brooklyn, and when he was especially adventurous the East Village where one day he picked up a hooker, a white girl from Mobile, Alabama, who called herself Destiny. She had small breasts and a big round behind that she stuffed into a pair of cream colored Lee’s Wranglers. She took him to a small room above a Chinese Apothecary. Unfortunately, Witzer finished before he could really get going. Needless to say he fled in embarrassment. Frustratingly he was again at attention ten minutes later on the Brighton Beach Express, sitting across from three girls in Catholic School uniforms.
Lately Destiny and the Catholic School girls had been replaced in his fantasies by Shelly Slamowitz. Shelly worked with Witzer at Mickey’s luncheonette. Shelly had enormous breasts, but most of all, she was always nice to him, never making fun of him like the slim, fashionable girls who hung around Dubrows 24 hour Cafeteria, next door to Mickey’s Luncheonette on Kings Highway. Shelly was the only person to call him Al, everybody else called him Witzer or Alan. She almost made him feel like a regular guy! Shelly would do all the talking when it was slow and Witzer was making Hamburger patties or sweeping and Shelly was covering the counter while Mickey was upstairs shtupping his wife.
One day at the luncheonette, Witzer had been caught looking down Shelly’s blouse. She had squatted right in front of him, to pick up the key for the utility closet that slipped from her hand. Looking down, Witzer could see forever, such was her cleavage. Shelly looked up and smiled. If Witzer were an older man, he might have shed a tear so moved was he by her fresh, sweet, womanliness, though being only sixteen, he merely came to attention.


message 43: by M. (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
True Brooklyn!


message 44: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments DALE ARDEN ON THE PLANET MONGO!
Episode 1-Dale Arden
Dale Arden spent her first eighteen years at Saint Bartholomews home for girls, the unwanted daughter of a scrub woman and a trolley driver, married of course. “Dale Arden” was a name she took on her eighteenth birthday, she took it by bus all the way to Hollywood, California where she knew fame and fortune awaited her. What awaited her were waitress jobs in all night diners and sleazy bars where the boss and clientele would slobber over her; at least. Proposition her, offer to pay her bills. Dale was tempted; but she saw what happened to girls who took the free apartment, the pregnancies, the heart breaks. In her free time Dale would go to the movies and she would study Jean Arthur and Carole Lombard; that would be her one day on the silver screen. Watched how they moved, how they talked. By the age of twenty two, she had grown into her name. She secured a job at The Tiki Lounge in Beverly Hills as Hat check girl and she was on her way to the first day at work when she stopped to buy that day’s Las Angeles Times,
“EARTH DOOMED!” said the headlines,
“Aw hell! I shall die a virgin!” said Dale Arden as she smacked the startled newsboy upside the head.


message 45: by M. (last edited Feb 16, 2012 06:16PM) (new)

M. Newman | 5185 comments Mod
Dana wrote: "DALE ARDEN ON THE PLANET MONGO!
Episode 1-Dale Arden
Dale Arden spent her first eighteen years at Saint Bartholomews home for girls, the unwanted daughter of a scrub woman and a troll..."


:)


message 46: by Dana (new)

Dana M. Chernack (DanaMChernack) | 34 comments A very short story (208 words)
I’m working The Warrior game a few years back. I’m doing visual surveillance, they all go by me on the way to the ticket taker. Noticing people, are they bulging!
“Can I see what you have in your pocket sir?.....Can you open your coat?” We’re mainly looking for booze or anything that can be used as a weapon or projectile. One major rule, an NBA RULE! NO BACKPACKS!
“What am I going to do with my pack?”
“Bring it back to your car.”
“I came by BART.”
“Try stashin’ it somewhere,”
“Can I leave it with You?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
This one particular guy comes through the gate, backpack on, I step in front of him.
“Sorry, no back packs, NBA rule.”
Dude shows me his ticket, tries to blow by me. I cut him off. I point to his backpack. Obstinate dude, arrogant, blows by me into the arms of the OPD. Dude shows the cop his ticket,is denied entrance again, flings his pack to the ground and lets out a howl, a howl that even Ray Charles couldn’t approach, a howl so loud and anguished that it stopped everyone in their tracks, a howl from a man who spent a lifetime of frustration trying to deal with an uncaring, hearing world.


message 47: by Denise (last edited Feb 27, 2012 03:43AM) (new)

Denise Baer Hello Everyone,

WOW! I have a place to read some works. This is great.

My name is Denise Baer and I was born and raised in Chicago, but I'm currently living in Germany.

Here's a link to my Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/DeniseBaer8?.... If you click on the books, you can read a poem or an excerpt from my book.

Thanks for this group!

Denise Baer
http://www.authordenisebaer.com/


message 48: by Barbara (new)

Barbara Derksen (bderksen) | 5 comments Vanished: A Wilton Strait Murder Mystery I have just had an interview posted at http://www.notesfrominnisfree.blogspo...
I wrote all the answers to her questions. Also if you go to http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_... - you will find the look inside the book feature and you can see what I wwrote there.


message 49: by K.A. (new)

K.A. Krisko (kakrisko) For the next several weekends, several of my short stories will be FREE on a rotating basis on Amazon.com. Collect 'em all! (like Pokemon. Or baseball cards. Or something.) Check my amazon author page to see which one's free when (http://www.amazon.com/K.A.-Krisko/e/B...)- or -
here's a link to the first one:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007AMQXB6
Note: two are fiction, one is non-fiction. Now - to check out everyone else's...


« previous 1
back to top