Yup, that's my name

In print. In a real, live, hold-in-your-hands book.

Brain Stew

This week's F3 prompt is all about music. It reminded me of a super-short piece I wrote early one morning--before coffee--that I never really fleshed out. But I figure I'll share it here anyway.

Brain Stew

            “Mmm, that smells good. What it is?” Jenny entered the office kitchen on a Monday morning, dreading the day ahead, stomach grumbling. A Lonesome Cup of Coffee just wasn't enough in the morning.

            “Banana Pancakes. Maybe it'll help me feel like it's the weekend.” Marsha used her fingers to spoon the jumble of words into her mouth, crunching the letters with gusto. “Oh my god.” She moaned. “Jack Johnson is a genius.”

            Jenny was jealous. She scrounged around the refrigerator, but all she found was Cherry Pie in the back. She was not in the mood for a mini-skirt wearing, roller-skating kind of day. She stood up and sighed as Frank walked in.

            “Good morning, ladies.” He used his deep radio announcer's voice and waggled his eyebrows, looking over the top of his plastic frame sunglasses. His suit sleeves were rolled three-quarters of the way up his forearms, and his collar was flipped up. Jenny ignored his white pants and turned away, guessing he probably ate Buttermilk Biscuits for breakfast again.

            The day sped by in a craze, with clients and meetings and bosses wanting more, more, more. She didn't even get to stop at lunch for Peanut Butter and Jelly, although she was slightly thankful for that, as the refrain—Jelly, Jelly—usually stuck in her throat for the afternoon, coming up unannounced during a meeting, causing embarrassment while she tried to turn it into a cough.

            On the drive home after work, she stopped by a fast food restaurant. While she didn't hold out any hope her Milkshake would bring all the boys to her yard, it at least made her stomach stop grumbling. She supposed it was the most she could ask for.

"Fireworks" Is Published!

Part of an anthology: Off the Rocks, Vol. 15.

WOO HOOOOO!!!!

In search of a book...and finding more...

Needed to return stuff to Target, checked their book section (where I found the first in the series). Not there.

Decided I needed to stop by Victoria's Secret to see if they had my favorite sports bra back in stock, checked the bookstore on my way. Going out of business. (And VS didn't have the the bra.)

Discouraged.

Figured I should check B&N before actually going in, they had it in stock. Success!

After I paid for the book, I realized B&N is now offering a second part to their receipts: a "B&N Recommends" list. If you like this book, you may also like...[list five titles here]

Very cool. :thumbs up:

University, here I come!

First day of school! First day of school!

Need. Help. (Or just drop the idea altogether?)

It seems apropos that while I'm trying to figure out how the hell to write something longer than 100 to 5,000 words, Chuck Wendig over at terribleminds put together a post on creating a novel. Unfortunately, I'm stuck between numbers one and two...and it goes all the way to 25. Gulp.

Mulling over the possibilities: Unrest

This week's F3 challenge deals with the theme of "Unrest." I am surprised to discover I am having difficulty with this. Isn't "Unrest" pretty much the underlying theme of every story? Every life? There's always unrest, fear, tension, anxiety. Shouldn't I be able to translate the general anxiety of my everyday life into this? (Is my anxiety the reason for this "writer's block"? I fear I'm worrying too much about it...oh, the irony....)

I did manage to craft this, though. At least the imagery made me laugh (before I discovered that many, many others came to the same conclusion; damn you, Google, for popping my bubble).

I don’t watch the news anymore. Murders. Mayhem. Wars that don’t cease. That, or the fake-pretty anchors—robots?—talk about debt ceilings and S&P and recession 2.0, all stuff I can’t quite grasp. They are telling me I need to be afraid, but afraid of what? What does it mean for me if the government raises some ceiling? You're telling me I need to about the bureaucrats jumping around in Congress, raising the roof to some gansta-wannabe beat with their hands in the air, like they just don’t care?