Ooops!

I got a day ahead of myself. May 1st is on Sunday and in my last post I said Fictitious Magazine issue 2 would be ready today. Sorry, it's almost ready. I have some editing to do today and it will be ready to read, error free *fingers crossed* tomorrow morning. I hope everyone will visit tomorrow and read some funny fiction as well as the author bios and check the links to their websites and other works.

Happy Reading!

Working on Issue 2 of Fictitous Magazine

I have archived all the stories and poems from issue. I am working on issue two and it will be ready to view and read May 1st.  Pleaes come visit Fictitious Magazine on Saturday and read all the funny stories and poems from some talented authors.

Happy Reading!

New domain name for my website

My website is now m-allman.com  A lot easier to remember and shorter. :)


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Lorian Hemingway Short Story Competition

I've been asked to pass the information along about this year's Lorian Hemingway Short Story Competition.  The deadline is approaching quickly--May 1st. Entry fee is $15 and there are some great prizes. Check it out!

Happy Reading!

Winners!

The contest has ended to win a signed copy of Tales From Imagination's Closet. There were four people who entered, so I will give each one of you a signed copy.

They are:
 J Andrew Jansen
Mysti Parker
Natalie Copass
Rusty Dennis

I will be contacting you tomorrow to get addresses. Thank you for entering and for your interest. I hope you enjoy your books. :)

Happy Reading!

Friday! New Excerpt

Friday! This is a last excerpt before the drawing on Sunday. Still time to leave me a message if you'd like a chance to win a signed copy of Tales From Imagination's Closet. Leave me a message here or on my Facebook page.

Today's exerpt is from the book and its about Henry Ratcliff-- a man on trial for the murder of his robot (AI) family.

Happy Reading!

               Murder~ of the Future

The spectators in the courtroom sat silently. The chair legs

screeched against the hard wood floor as Henry pushed

backwards and rose from his seat. He calmly walked to the front

of the room to take the stand in his own defense. He cleared his

throat and raised his right hand. Beads of sweat formed on his

balding scalp and shimmered under the luminous lights.

“Do you swear to tell the truth...” the Bailiff’s voice droned

on, “so help you God?”

“Yes, I do.”

Henry Ratcliff’s attorney, Larry Rice, paced in front of him,

his hands folded in the small of his back. “Mr. Ratcliff, did you

murder your wife and two children?”

Henry cleared his throat. “No, I did not. I only disassembled

them.”

“Mr. Ratcliff, please explain to us why you believe you are

not guilty of murder.” Larry glared at the jurors.

“I didn’t kill anyone. I only disabled and took apart the AI

family that I purchased some twelve years ago. They were only

robots.”

Gasps floated throughout the room.

The judge banged his gavel three times before the room

became silent.

Larry took his seat. “I have no more questions, Your Honor.”

“Your witness, Prosecutor Kamen...” The judge motioned for

him to come forward.

Henry studied the prosecutor. Kamen's hair was perfect.

Each strategically placed strand and his flawless skin, almost

doll-like, told Henry that he was one of them.

Kamen uncovered an easel that sat in front of the courtroom.

A huge crime scene photo showed several sizes of limbs sticking

out of a cardboard box. “Mr. Ratcliff is this what detectives

discovered in your basement after neighbors reported your wife

and children missing?”

“Yes,” Henry whispered.

“Speak up, please.”

“Yes, yes it is,” Henry’s voice escalated.

“So, you dismembered your family, removed their memory

chips rendering them unable to live, and shoved them into a

cardboard box?” Kamen strutted in front of the jury using over

exaggerated hand gestures as he spoke. “Then Sir, did you hide

this box in the basement of your house?”

“No!” Henry jumped up. “They were only robots. I, I didn’t

need them anymore. I met Janice, a real flesh and blood woman,

don’t you see? I wasn’t lonely anymore, I found human

companionship.” Henry sat down and covered his face.

“Mr. Ratcliff, I am an AI. So, if I feel you aren’t needed, can I

murder you because you are different than I?”

“No, or course not. I’m a human being, flesh and blood. I

have feelings… emotions.”

“I’m sure the AI’s here today would agree that we are more

than mere robots. Yes, we have artificial intelligence, but we

have also evolved, and now possess the same emotions as

human beings.” Kamen stopped in front of Henry. “So, I ask you

again, Mr. Ratcliff, are you guilty of murder?”

“No, I did not kill anyone, they can be brought back, but a

human cannot.”

Kamen stood in front of the jury box. “That’s where you’re

wrong. Lucy, Tommy, and little Ellen cannot be brought back. As

our computer specialist explained earlier, once you’ve taken out

their memory chips they can’t be replaced. Yes, some of their

parts can be recycled, but your family will never live again.”

Henry whispered to the judge, “Your Honor, I didn’t kill

anyone. Please, you’ve got understand–”

“That’ll be up the jury, not me.”

Kamen took his seat. “The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

After two more witnesses testified to about the kindness of

Henry and the closing arguments, the judge gave the jury their

instructions and sent them to deliberate.

The officer shackled Henry’s arms and legs before leading

him back to his cell. As he awaited his fate, he asked the guard if

he could have a book on new laws. Henry was unfamiliar with

this Eye for an Eye law they were trying him under.

The guard brought the book and slid it through the cell bars.

“Here ya go.”

“Thank you.” Henry whispered.

Someone Made My Day!

I got up this morning and checked emails as usual. I had a new a friends request for Good Reads from a writer named j.d. Chandler, and he also left me a comment and asked if I was the reincarnation of Rod Serling. Now, I'll be the first to admit, my writing does not even compare with all those wonderful Twillight Zone writers, but still it made my day. And even better, j.d. ask me to contribute a story to his anthology.

Please check out j.d Chandler's profile.

It's also a good day because I've finished two classes early and plan to have two more finished next week. That means more time to work on my writing projects. I'm hoping to get my first in a series of children's picture books out early this summer. I'll have post more about that later.

Tomorrow I will post a new excerpt from, Tales From Imaginations's Closet. This will be the last one, and I will draw names for the three winners of a signed copy on Sunday. So, there is still time to leave me a message here or on Facebook if you'd like the chance to win.

Happy Reading!

Friday! New Excerpt

Contest continues to win a signed copy of Tales From Imagiantion's Closet. This weeks excerpt if from Old Jake, one of the 29 stories included in the anthology. Leave me message here or on my Facebook page if you'd like to be included in the drawing.

Happy Reading!

Old Jake

Old Jake wrapped himself in the comfort of his sleeping bag, while enjoying a tranquil weekend sleeping beneath the stars. He yawned and scratched the gray stubble that had take occupancy on his face in the last day and a half. Gazing into the dark sky, he began counting the glowing stars and remembering how his wife Dorothy enjoyed pointing out constellations.

He could almost hear her soft, sultry voice as if she were right there beside him. “You can make a wish, but only on a shooting star. They’re magical because they don’t happen often.” Jake felt his lips stretch back into a smile as he pictured his love; long black hair, petite, and always smiling. When she passed away, so did his liveliness. His life was lackluster with the absence of her love and infectious laughter. Jake fixed his eyes on the stars, waiting forhis shooting star. He had a wish to make. He would ask to be reunited with is love.

His eyelids were getting heavier with each blink, but he couldn’t doze off. He had to keep watch for his magical star. Suddenly, he saw a bright light streaking across the sky; he closed his eyes so tightly they hid within the deep wrinkles that encircled them. “I wish to be with Dorothy,” he mumbled softly.

A Wonderful Review of Tales From Imagination's Closet by Teresa D. Jones

After reading this lovely review, please click here to stop by and visit Teresa's blog and learn more about her book Hot Days, available now, and Wrangled Hearts, scheduled for release next year.

Happy Reading!

Review of Tales From Imagination’s Closet by M. Allman

         

          When I started reading M. Allman’s Tales From Imagination’s Closet I felt like I had just opened up a box of chocolates. Inside were twenty nine different candies for me to sample, each leaving me with a different pleasure.

          Each of one of Ms. Allman’s short stories leaves you with the feeling of satisfaction. I was actually amazed to find that after each story it left me fulfilled even though they are very short in length. I believe it takes a very skilled writer to be able to take few words and make it a story and still leaving the reader with a certain emotion in the end.  

Ms. Allman proves that her imagination is something that will carry her very far as a writer and we will see a lot more of her stories in the future.

          I have to say I love all the stories but my two favorites are Weed Whisper and Existence. Both of these stories touched me in a personal way. I’m sure as you sample Tales From Imagination’s Closet you too will be able to find your own favorites.

          This book is a must have for all who loves a good read and if like me, you love to sample each chocolate candy in the box.

Review by Teresa D. Jones

4-10-11

This review is posted on Melange-books yahoo. Group and Melange-books facebook page  and on Writingonthego.blogspot.com

New Link

I've added a link. If you'd like to purchase a copy of Tales From Imagination's Closet, just click on the book cover here on the blog and it'll take you to the Melange-Books website.

I will post here when the book becomes available at Amazon.com and in kindle format.

Two more weeks until the drawing for three people to win a signed copy. Leave me a message if you'd like to be entered in the contest.

Happy Reading!

Friday! New Exerpt

The contest continues until April 24th. If you'd like to win a signed copy of Tales From Imagination's Closet, leave me a message here or on my Facebook page. I'm posting two excerpts today. The first is from the book a short story entitled, "The Weed Whisperer," and the second is from Spectacular Speculations, the short story, "Operation Onion."

The Weed Whisperer

Simon Parker kept the most beautifully tended gardens in all of Jamestown. It was as if weeds

were afraid to enter his humble grounds. Simon refused to tell anyone his secrets and became known around the neighborhood as a gardening guru. The town’s admiration of Simon and his magnificent grounds would change if they only knew his secret. Simon had built a privacy fence around his entire yard.

Neighbors failed to see a portion of his property behind the fence in his backyard. There were no houses behind Simon’s place, only a wooded area, so the neighbors had no idea his yard extended past the fence. This is where his green, prickly secret hid. Directly behind the fence and extending to the edge of the wooded area lay Simon’s ultimate disgrace. Weeds of all varieties grew rampantly. Crab grass stretched the entire length of the area, poison ivy twisted and climbed and yellow dandelion heads poked up between the cloverleaves. Simon’s secret remained hidden until the day a young couple, Bill and Susie Danforth, decided to buy the wooded area behind his home.

The couple came to Simon one warm summer morning to request he kill the patch of weeds growing behind the fence.

Simon looked the young man in the eyes and said, “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

“Sir, we’re building a new house, we don’t want to look out our lovely bay window and see your ugly weed patch.”

Simon shook his head. “That weed patch is not even on my property.”

Bill pulled out a map. “Look, your fence is not even on the property line.” He pointed out the difference in distance. “You can move your fence back a good six yards, and then you can keep weeds on your side.”

Simon looked over the map. He knew his property line extended beyond the fence, but he had his reasons for it. “I see what you mean, young man.” Simon scratched this prickly chin.  “I will see what I can do.”

Bill offered his hand. “Thank you, sir. And by the way, you have lovely gardens. You’ll have to give Susie some tips.”

Simon glanced at the fence. “I don’t give away my secrets.”

Simon lumbered up to his house and went inside. He climbed the stairs to the attic and took out his the book of gardening secrets that had been handed down through generations of the Parker family. “Let’s see, how do I reason with these earth loving creatures.” He thumbed through page after page describing the personality of each weed. “Ah, yes, we have something. He scrunched his nose and squinted, trying to read the worn passage. “Ground ivy is the most rational of the weeds. If a problem arises, explain the problem to the ivy and ask them to help in reasoning with the other species.” Simon placed the book back in its hiding place. That was the answer, after dinner, he would go visit the weed patch and find the ground ivy.

“Simon, dinner…” Claire called from downstairs.

Simon closed and locked the attic door and went down to dinner.

“I saw the nice young man outside earlier, what did he want?” Claire set Simons dinner plate in front of him.

“He bought the property behind the fence, gonna build ‘em a house there.”

“New neighbors, must be the Danforths.” Claire smiled. “I can’t wait to meet them. I wonder what type of house they’re buildin’ back there.”

“Don’t know, but he did mention a bay window.” Simon continued eating.

“I wish we had a bay window, looking out over the rose garden. Wouldn’t that be lovely, Simon.”

“Yes Dear.”

“Is something wrong? You seem to be distracted.”

“No, just trying to figure out a little problem is all.” Simon pushed his plate away. “Very good, my dear…” He laid his napkin on the table and gave Claire a peck on the forehead. “

Operation Onion

My mother named me Samuel Clemens, but later gave me the nickname Stinker. She also told me that God doesn’t make mistakes, and we all have a purpose on this earth. However, I was convinced that in my case, He did make a mistake, or at the very least expressed His unique sense of humor.

My affliction began the day I was born. My mother delivered a beautiful baby boy, but there was a problem, the baby emitted an odor; unfortunately, that baby was me. As the story goes, it was a normal delivery except for the smell that permeated the room after my birth. At first, the doctor and nurses believed my mother had had a bowel movement while pushing to deliver me, but they soon discovered I was the source of the odor.

A nurse washed me and wrapped in a blanket, and the odor soon subsided, so no one gave it another thought—until Mother took me home. She soon discovered that I smelled differently depending on my mood. If I was scared, I emitted a sulfuric odor that smelled as if someone had passed gas. When I get angry, my body produced a horrific stench; some described it as a cross between a dumpster and rotten meat.

Countless doctors and specialists examined me, but none could explain my condition. My family and I learned to live with my peculiar condition, and I must say, everyone went out of their way to ensure my happiness—the majority of the time.

School went well at first, I loved going and I felt at ease there. This all changed as I matured and discovered how judgmental and mean other children can be. At age eleven, my teacher instructed me to go up to the chalkboard and demonstrate a multiplication problem. I knew everyone’s eyes were on me. I thought of how embarrassing it would be to make a mistake. I slowly slid from behind my desk and shuffled up to the blackboard, and as I did, fear took over and my body emitted that sulfuric odor.

“Shew! Who farted?” I hear someone yell.

“No it smells like someone has poopy pants,” called out another.

I heard a girl’s voice call out, “May I go to the restroom. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Yes, you may,” the teacher replied. “Why don’t the rest of you go out into the hall, and I’ll open all the windows.

My classmates pushed through the door like a stampede of animals trying to escape the horrific scent.

I stayed right there in front of the class and worked on my multiplication. I knew if I went out into the hall the smell would follow. I turned to the teacher and admitted, “It’s me.”

“Excuse me, Sam.” Mrs. Parker turned away from the window.

“It’s me, Mrs. Parker. I got scared, and when I do, I stink.”

 

Fictitious Magazine: Issue 2

I have chosen wonderfully funny short stories and poems for the second issue of Fictitious Magazine.  I will begin archiving stories from the first issue on April 23rd, so I can get the second issue ready to go live on May 1st.

I am still reading for both August and October issues. Keep in mind October issues if horror/scary themed. August is not themed and open to any genre of fiction or poetry.

Contest continues to win a signed copy of Tales From Imagination's Closet. I will have a new excerpt up tomorrow.

Happy Reading!

Friday! Contest Continues and New Excerpt

The constest to win a signed copy of Tales From Imagination's Closet continues unitl April 24th. If you'd like to win a copy just leave me a note here or on my Facebook, and I will enter you into the drawing.

This weeks excerpt is from the short story, "Yesterday's Children."

Yesterday’s Children

Lynette was on all fours scouring the kitchen linoleum when Will arrived home from work.

After scrutinizing Lynette’s excessive scrubbing he asked,“So, what did the doctor say, it’s not good news is it?”

Lynette shook her head.

Will held Lynette’s arms and helped her to her feet. She laid her head against Will’s chest as he massaged her back. “There’s nothing more they can do. It’s just a matter of making him comfortable.”

Will held Lynette’s shoulders and moved her back, so he could look into her eyes. “Baby, I am so sorry, but I’m sure the Hospice Center will see to it that he doesn’t suffer.”

“He’s not in the Hospice. He’s right in there.” She pointed to the guest room down the hall.

Will lowered his voice to a whisper. “I know how much you love your father, but you can’t possibly take care of him here. What are you thinking?”

“I wanted him to be somewhere familiar and comfortable. He grew up in this house, in this neighborhood. Isn’t it fitting that he spends what time he has left here?”

Will kissed Lynette on the forehead. “I suppose you’re right, but promise me you won’t take on more than you can handle.”

“I promise.”

The next morning Lynette went in to check on her father. She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. He’s not going to see me cry. “Good morning, Dad.” He didn’t respond, but she kept talking. “I bet you'd like some fresh air, huh? I know how much you enjoy spring.” She opened the window beside his bed. The white sheer curtains fluttered in the breeze.

“Lilacs,” Richard mumbled.

Lynette walked over to his bedside, stroked his thin, gray hair, and managed a smile “Yes,there is a hint of lilac in the air this morning. I’ll be right back with some breakfast.”

She raised the head of his bed and left the room, gently pulling the door shut behind her.
Richard closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet aroma of his childhood. He heard someone outside calling his name. Straining to see out, he caught a glimpse of a little boy.

The little boy sneezed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Darn lilacs always make me sneeze.”

“Ronnie, is that you?”

Lynette pushed the door open with the tray in her hands.“Dad, were you talking to someone?”

His lumpy arthritic finger trembled as he pointed out the window. “Ronnie . . . he was right out there.”

“Uncle Ronnie died three years ago. Remember?” She placed the tray in front of her father. “You were probably having a dream. When I left the room, you were a still a bit groggy.”

Richard stared out the window. “He sneezed. He was allergic to lilacs.”

“Okay Dad. Have some breakfast, take your medicine, and maybe you should try getting some
more sleep.”

Richard’s wrinkled hands trembled. He dropped his spoon, so Lynette fed him and gave him his pills. “Get some rest. I’ll come back and check on you in a little while.” After taking the pills,
Richard dozed off. A few moments later, music from an ice cream truck woke him. Again, he heard his brother outside.

“Richie, you missed the ice-cream truck and the baseball game. Come out and play.” Richard glanced out the window. Ronnie sat in the old tire swing, eating a fudge bar. As it melted, it ran down his soiled hands.

“Ronnie, I want to come out and play.” Tears filled Richard’s eyes.” How’d you get to be a kid again?

“Remember what Dad always said? You’re only as young as you feel.”

Lynette rushed into the room. “Are you all right? I thought I heard you yell.”

“Ronnie was out there again.” Richard struggled to sit upright, but didn’t have the strength.