Back Seat

I tried to write some “flash fiction” on the train today while limiting myself to less than 200 words but still telling a tidbit of a story story. {alright, actual count 202}
I’m posting it but still not sure if I actually like it.
You be the judge.
At any rate, it did make me write.
And sorry, it doesn’t end well.
***************

Fingers of moonlight caressed the deserted roof parking lot as she hurried to her car, the clip-clop of her stiletto heels blending seamlessly with the hum of the city below.
She’d stayed late, perhaps too late; a vain attempt to alter her nightly routine.
He was mean and jealous these days and she had the cigarette burns and bruises
to prove it.
After he first saw her dance, he immediately called her over.

I want you, was all he said.
He always got what he wanted.

She fumbled with her keys, hands shaking and out of breath, the tip-off call to the police still fresh on her mind.
He would be looking for her soon . . .

Once inside the safety of her car she pushed the ‘lock‘ button and let out a brief sigh of relief.
Turning the key she heard the incessant whirr of an engine that would never start.

God damn it, she thought, what the fuck do I do now?

The last thing she heard was the metallic click of a Zippo lighter from the back seat.
And people on the street looked up . . . listening to the steady sound of some distant car horn.

~m

Alive and . . .

Just to let you know I’m alive and well.
There just hasn’t been enough time to put together anything worthwhile
for you to read.
I spent all last night trying (unsuccessfully) to install Norton Systemworks on Sarah’s laptop.
I “chatted” online with several analysts in India before finally reaching someone named Arun who solved my problem.
I found that chatting is a hell of a lot easier than trying to talk with these guys on the phone.
The ‘puter problem is now solved and I’m going to try and get back to normal soon.
This post is a confession of sorts (yes, I know, another one)
The warm summer nights mean two basic things to me: cigars and beer.
Sorry to say blogging has taken a back seat.
In a few short months the weather will change and I’ll find myself back inside looking for a pen and my journal.
I changed my header so that you’d know I was still alive.
But I’m still something of a suckbag because I’ve replied to no comments and visited virtually no one.
I do apologize. If only there were 36 hours in a day . . .
One last note, my left thumb was infected.
I went to Urgent Care Sunday night after getting back from Boston.
The doc got out a scalpel and went to town on my digit before squeezing out
a bunch of disgusting spooge.
I’m currently on antibiotics and I think I’m going to make it.
Don’t give up on me just yet.
I may even surprise you all with a comment or two tonight. Maybe. :0)
Oh, and a bit on the picture above?
I thought it was strange.
Just like me . . .
~m

Violation!

Had a nice post for tonight but I never got around to writing it.
Maybe tomorrow.
I have some funky stuff going on with my left thumb.
It hurts like hell.
I think I have a sliver in it or something.
I would never put up an asshat post like this without at least giving you a cool link for your time.
I hate people that have no frickin’ clue about how to park in a big city, don’t you?
Click the pic above for one radical solution.
Nighty-night, folks.
Check back sometime tomorow . . . please?

~m

Sheesh . . .

Wow, three frickin’ posts in one day and not one damn comment.
WTF?
And I broke the 100K barrier for hits.
Oh, well. There’s always tomorrow, right?
Click on the pic above.
Maybe you’ll have some fun . . . or not.
I’m going to bed.
Talk amongst yourselves. . .

~m

ps.
“Returning after her mysterious disappearance, she sheepishly admitted she had been
salting the nether coconut-cream badger.”

Secrets?

These aren’t really dirty little secrets just stuff you may not know about me.
I was tagged by Kim a few days ago and owed her for not getting on my ass about the poetry tag I blew off a while ago.
Please pay her a visit and tell her I’m honestly trying to do right here.
(Aside from the fact she has an awesome blog and is one hell of a great writer)
Here then, are my 8 (11) “secrets

  • Purple is my favorite color.
  • I would take a bullet for my wife and daughters any day of the week.
  • I can tell the difference between a Cuban cigar and a counterfeit.
  • Dated two women on the same night in the same place.
    (Yeah, I’m a humdinger. Just ask my wife.)
  • Eaten 12+ pickled eggs on a dare.
    (I think the actual count was @18 but that’s another story)
  • I wear a purple “MindStrong” bracelet on my right wrist for Alzheimer’s research and may wear it for the rest of my life. (obviously in memory of my mom and dad)
  • I have a dark side that no one will ever know about.
    (Unless I start writing fiction.
    😎
  • I make really amazing homefries. (once again, ask my wife)
  • I’ve never once made a disparaging comment about my wife in conversation. Ever.
  • I hate squirrels and try hard to flatten any grey furry-tailed creature brave enough to run in front of my truck. I’m still waiting for my first kill.
    (And the little bastards still owe me for about 500 bucks in birdseed)
  • I love shaving my coconut. The feeling of putting moisturizer on my skull afterwards is very close to absolute nirvana. Just ask my buddy Evyl.

That’s about it folks.
I have more secrets but I’ll hold you in suspense for now.
And yes, I drink directly from the milk carton at 3:15 A.M. after a trip to the bathroom.
Feel free to add a secret of your own in your comments.

~m

Walking on Alligators

It is vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility; they must have action, and they will make it if they cannot find it.
~Charlotte Bronte

 

 

I got on the train and began writing when my pen decided to go postal and ink itself to death while taking my right hand hostage.
I wanted to write because I ransacked my leather satchel like a madman looking for another pen which I didn’t have.
(One pen in my bag and I call myself a writer. What is up with that? Sheesh)
I cleaned off the suicidal gel point and opened my journal to write, black fingers and all.

I’d just read a thoughtful little piece in a book called Walking on Alligators – a book of Meditations for Writers
The uber short chapter focused on something we creative types can all agree on.
I think.

How many of you have put off your writing in hopes of waiting for that ‘perfect’ moment? That time when the stresses of your lives are at their lowest level?
If you’ve never found yourself in that situation, I’m jealous.

I’ve done it many times but try hard to tell myself that writing itself, be it good or bad, happens in the midst of our hectic and stressful lives.

Ideas show up unannounced, sometimes in the mid-bite of a ham sandwich, while waiting for your oil to be changed, or driving an altogether too familiar fifty mile stretch of highway when your subconscious thoughts come out to play.
I’ve even had words come to me sitting in the dentist’s electric chair.

Always have a pen and paper.
If your pen explodes, clean it off and continue.
This is writing.
And this is life.

The author, Susan Shaughnessy, explains that “. . . books, poems, and screenplays are written while household appliances are breaking down, rebellious kids are trying your patience, and family and friends are quarreling and making up again.”

I thought about how brilliant that thought truly was and wanted to share it with you.
Write today.
Don’t wait until the morning sun rises and your life will supposedly be settled and less hectic.
Class dismissed.

 

~m