99Cent Book Sale!

 

Stories to Wrap Your Mind Around: Volume 5 is on sale today through October 15,2024. 

Here is the link to all the stores where you can buy. Buy Here!

Explore tales of the unusual, the peculiar, and the mysterious. Enter a realm where logic defies reason yet somehow feels entirely sensible. Stories that will intrigue and captivate your imagination. These truly are stories to wrap your mind around.

Stories include:

Existence: Dr. Pence sees his patients daily, but is he the only one?

The Stalker: Emily's stalker is not your ordinary psycho.

Time: Does fate control our lives, or do we have some control?

Come Back, Doug: Doug gets lost in dry desert for alcoholics only

Deja Vu: Alicia learns it's not so much what you wish for, but how you word it.

I'd appreciate it if you read it and would like to leave a review! 

Happy Reading!

Where'd You Come Up With That? Wednesdays! ~ One Man's Trash

 I'm back! And feeling a bit better. 💪

Today's story is "One Man's Trash." The story is in my Ebook, Stories to Wrap Your Mind Around: Volume 3

You can also find the book at this link

The stories in this volume include:

Grandma's Scrapbook: Grandma’s bags are packed, and she is ready for a death vacation.

Destination...3009: Jim finishes building his time machine and is ready to see what advances the future has to offer, but he is stunned by what he doesn't find.

My Friend, Clarence: Jeremy knows intimate details about the murders of several young girls. He claims his friend, Clarence, is the perp. The only problem--Clarence is Jeremy’s imaginary friend,

The Weed Whisperer: Simon is a gardening guru. Weeds never dare to grow in his garden or flowerbeds, but Simon learns that weeds will attack if provoked.

One Man's Trash: Sometimes a good deal isn't always what it seems.

I wrote this for a contest on Writing.com. The prompt was a horror story involving a hat. So, I'm not great at straight-out, scary, spine-chilling horror, but If I can sprinkle in a little dark humor, I'm in. ❤😊

The story revolves around two friends, Ryan and Dan, who find an interesting old hat left behind in their new rental apartment. The duo soon find out the hat is evil, and once it's on your head... Well, you have to read the story to find out!

Sometimes, people leave things behind or throw them out for a reason. So, the old adage about one man's trash being someone else's treasure may not always be true! And that's where the idea for this story originated in the interworking of my brain.

The story is light horror, sprinkled with some dark comedy. 

Here's an excerpt: 

“The last tenants left some stuff. Mr. Lang said he’d come by and get it later this week,” Ryan yelled from the bedroom.

“It’s got little pieces of masking tape on everything. Twenty-five cents...a dime...this stuff came from a garage sale or something.” Dan rummaged through the boxes.

Ryan came running back down the hall. “Don’t touch that stuff. It’s not ours.”

“Look at this cool hat. Twenty- five cents.” Dan put it on his head. “Look at me, I'm Frosty the snowman.”

“Cut it out, Dan. Put that stuff back.”

 “Abracadabra, alakazaam!”

“You’re not funny, put it back.”

 “I can’t, it won’t come off my head.” Dan pulled at the hat. “I said cut it out.”

“Ryan, dude, I’m not joking, and it’s squeezing my head.”

Ryan turned when he heard Dan screaming in pain. He sprinted over to Dan and tried pulling on the hat, but it had formed a strong seal around his head.

Dan fell to the floor writhing in pain. “GET...IT...OFF!”

Ryan pulled at the hat again. A dusty, cloud of steam began to rise from under the hat. He backed up, gagging as the stench of burnt hair and flesh filled his nostrils

####

Happy Reading!

Gardening Articles ~Freelancing Life

 Before I started working for  Bazaarvoice, I was a full-time freelancer. My favorite niche was, and is, gardening. I wrote for Demand Studies and SF Gate for a few years. It was not the greatest company to work for, and I quickly found out I was not alone dissatisfied with it.

However, other writers have taken over my old articles from 10+ years ago. I do still have a few lingering online. 

Like this one, and it's now on a site called Week&. I found I have a handful left on the site. I do miss the gardening articles! 

I did some ghostwriting about yachts a few years back, too. I have no idea where they ended up! 😃

Freelancing is okay, but I'd rather spend my time writing fiction. And, as a freelancer you work on a project basis or for a content mill that underpays, so the money is not great unless you have a good gig lined up at all times.

 The freelance life isn't for everyone, I guess. I'd rather have the job I have now. I just jump online and do my work with no hassles. 

I'd like to eventually make enough money from my fiction books to do that full-time, but who knows if that will ever come to fruition. 

So for now, I read my product reviews for my day job and work on my books as much as possible. I still sometimes pick up some ghostwriting, but not as often as I used to. 

I leave you today with this little humorous little poem I wrote about eating holiday meals at the in-laws!

Prehistoric turkey

covered in an iceberg

of freezer burn. Who knows how

long it's been in that freezer? I'm frightened.

I don't want food poisoning again!

I pray for a

way out.

Slimy pie

Smells like baked beans

Oh, dear God! What is it?

What in the heck is mincemeat anyway?

Can I have some water, please?

My stomach is calling

Alka Seltzer!

Happy Reading!

Home Again~ A Short Story

 Death can turn your life upside down. It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to my parents, and then it was time to let go of my childhood home. I was driving to meet a couple who might want to buy it.

 On the car ride, my mind was spilling over with childhood memories of past holidays: the chaos of a house full of cousins, people laughing, sharing stories, and enjoying their time together. My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes. How could I say goodbye to it all? My entire childhood—my past?

 When I arrived, I hurried up the sidewalk to the house, twisted the key in the lock, and flung the door open. I was home.

 I stood gazing at the staircase my brother and I used to race down every Christmas morning. I stared into the living room. In the corner of that room, there were indentions on the carpet where my dad’s recliner sat for as long as I could remember. I could still see him leaning back with a book on his chest and his glasses pulled down on his nose, snoring.

 I went into the kitchen where Mom spent many Sunday afternoons baking cookies. I don’t think I could put a number on the peanut butter sandwiches, glasses of Kool-Aid, and warm fresh cookies my friends and I enjoyed in that kitchen. Oh, and the aroma of fresh rolls and a turkey baking on Thanksgiving that wafted out of that kitchen still made my stomach growl.

 I walked over to the sink and gazed out the window at the backyard. Outback sat an old rusty swing set. My brother and I tried to see who could swing the highest. Of course, it wasn’t so run down back then. It was green with white stripes at one time. I smiled as I thought back to the time I fell off the slide and bloodied my knees. My dad rushed out to me, wiped away my tears, took me inside, and put bandages on my wounds.

 As I stood there reminiscing, a quote came to mind from one of my favorite authors, Thomas Wolfe. He said, “You can’t go home again.” I always thought that quote was correct, but the more I thought about it, I had to disagree. While another family will own this home, and I’ll never be able to walk through those doors again, this house is only a structure. I’ll always be able to return home as long as I have my memories. Time spent with my family is what made that house a home.

 I can close my eyes and go home to my memories anytime.

Flashlight Soldiers~ Poem

  

They are the flashlight soldiers,

And always come prepared

With pockets bulging with batteries

And the vow to “not be scared.”

 

They hunt beneath a moonlit sky

 Shadows lurking in the dark

Neutralizing them with their light beams

To banish them from the park.

 

The hunt continues for many hours

Until the night air carries their name

Halfheartedly, they say their good-byes

Agreeing tomorrow, they'll continue the game.

 

Once inside, they brush their teeth,

While protesting their bedtime, they yawn.

The cicadas sing in the cool night air

As night shadows creep across the lawn.

J. Jenks~ A Flash Fiction Story

Detective Jeremy Jenkins had spent forty years solving some of the police department's most difficult cases, but the company forced him to retire. He probably would have had ten more good years if it wasn't for the car accident that left him paralyzed. The sixty-seven-year-old man now lived in a three-room apartment with his companion, Chumpy, his pet monkey.

 Some say that old J. Jenks, a name his coworkers gave him, had gone a little crazy. He stayed cooped up in that small apartment with a monkey. But J. Jenks continued to work cases from his apartment window.

 "That wraps up the case of Lady in Yellow. She is not cheating on the gentlemen in 425. I've discovered the other gentleman caller is her brother." Jeremy closed his tattered old briefcase, rubbing his thumb across the gold engraving of his initials J.J. just like he had done when closing a case years ago. "Chumpy, it's time to find a new case." Jeremy wheeled over to the window and watched the apartment building across the street.

 "Chumpy, my binoculars!" He snapped his fingers.

 Chumpy leaped over to Jeremy with what he demanded and perched on Jeremy's shoulder. "You see that boy? That man just threw a mysterious package in the dumpster. I think I found our next case: The Dumpster Delinquent. It may have been drugs."

 Startled by the microwave beeping, Jeremy dropped his binoculars. "Chumpy, my pasta dinner," He ordered, snapping his fingers. Chumpy rushed to the microwave, retrieved the bowl of pasta, and took it to Jeremy.

 As Jeremy ate, he watched the alley to see if anyone came to pick up the package, but no one showed. The trash truck came and emptied the dumpster. "Another case closed, Chumpy. The package was ordinary trash."

 Jeremy jotted a few notes and closed his briefcase. He stared out the window. Tears filled his old, tired eyes. "I was one of the best back in the day," he muttered.

Where'd You Come Up With That?!~ Wednesdays - Give It a Few Days

Image from Bewilderingstories.com

It's almost the first anniversary of my short story "Give It A Few Days" at Bewildering Stories. This story is one of my favorites because of the subject. It deals with how well our minds try to protect us from the things that scare us, make us sad, or a reality we just don't want to face. 

I've suffered from anxiety my entire life, so I know first-hand how well our brains can control our thoughts, feelings and just general well-being. And, my family has suffered a great deal of over the past few years, and dealing with grief is a personal journey, and no two people grieve in the same way. 

That's where I came up with this story. I lost my mother and father in 2013 and 2014, respectively. In my mind I picture my parents still alive and well, sitting on their front porch. My dad with his cigar and my mom relaxing on the porch swing. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, I know this isn't true, but it helps me so much to deal with the loss. If I sat down every day and thought about how much I miss them—their voice, laughter and hugs, and just a simple conversation, I'd breakdown and drown in my grief. I do the same with other loved ones I've lost and miss. I picture them alive and happy. 

The main character in this short story, Cheryl, has to deal with an unexpected event in her life she can't accept. So, she processes and deals with it the only way she can. Her mind protects her from reality. 

I hope this story resonates with anyone who has been forced to face an unexpected and tragic life event. 

Here is the link to "Give It A Few Days" at Bewildering Stories.

I welcome any feedback, so if you'd like to contact feel free! Contact Me

Happy Reading!

Where'd You Come Up With That?! Wednesdays~ Murder of the Future

freeimages.com/JeanScheijen

Do life-like robots creep you out? I have to admit, I find them creepy, but also sort of fascinating. I wanted to write a sci-fi, speculative fiction story about AI, so I searched for some information about them. That's when I can across uncanny valley. If you've never heard of it Google it! 

Uncanny valley is when a human-like robot or even a computer generated human makes a  person feel uncomfortable or uneasy. This was the jumping off point for my story, "Murder of the Future." 

Instead of being revolted by them, what if most of society embraced these human-like specimens? How far could these robots evolve if humans allowed them to be part of ordinary everyday life? The AIs in my story have rights and laws. They are treated as equal to humans and most have embraced these robots as human.

So, if robots have rights, this means it would be against the law to harm them or treat them harshly. In this story, Henry Radcliff was a lonely man who decided to turn to an AI family for companionship, until he met a real woman to love. He decided to take these robots apart and store them in a box in his basement. 

Because the AIs have become a regular part of everyday life, neighbors had come to know Henry's AI family and alerted police when the AIs went missing. This leads police to the "body parts" in Henry's basement and he is put on trial for murder.

Henry's defense if that you can't murder a robot, but in the future, these life-like robots have evolved considerably, and they have rights. Society at this point is caught between acceptance of AIs and uncanny valley. 

You can read Murder of the Future to go through Henry's trial and see if he's indeed convicted of murder. 

You can also read this and four other short stories in Flashes of Fiction: Volume 4 on Kindle.

Murder of the Future: Artificial intelligence has evolved, and Henry is on trial for the murder of an
AI.
Yesterday's Children: Richard discovers he's only as old as he feels.
Azure: Dr. Stanton and Dr. Kline's patient seems crazy until he leaves the hospital in a
beam of light
Inside His Mind: A wife is given the opportunity to go inside her husband's mind and do some rewiring.
Reflections of the Past: Tina's parents were killed in a house fire, but that doesn't stop them from sharing her special day





Happy Reading!

Where'd You Come Up With That?! Wednesdays~ The Guardian

The Guardian started out as a short story for a contest on Writing.com. It didn't win, but it gave me a starting point to create a new story. I wrote it several years ago, so I don't remember what words were part of the prompt for the story. 

The story is about a young man who steps in to save a little boy during a robbery, and he gets the bullet instead. He wakes up in a strange place and quickly realizes, he's no longer alive. He is greeted by an angel who sends him on a mission which he carries out without question. 

In reality, he's being duped by a shady character that we've all heard of at some point in our lives. And how is he so easily tricked into doing this "angel's" dirty work? He's just following the crowd and the beliefs of those around him--again without question. 

Religious beliefs vary and most often times these beliefs are handed down through generations with little or no question to their validity. Personally, I believe people should question their beliefs, especially if they don't make sense or are not in line with how they feel. Just because something is believed by a majority, it doesn't make correct. 

Just something to think about while you read. 

And, this story and other stories I've written do not reflect my own religious beliefs. When I write, I explore different ideas. I believe each person's relationship with God should be an intimate journey. 

 Also, you'll always find a little humor sprinkled into my work. 

You can read The Guardian and other stories by visiting my Hubpages account. 

Happy Reading!

Hello! It's Been A Long Time

Wow! It's been a while since I've visited and updated my own blog. Well, I'm back. (I think hehe)

I've had some recent publications on the Short Humour Site. You can read them here.

I've also been busy writing and submitting some short stories, so fingers crossed that there is more publication news in my future.

I am planning a new Where'd You'd Come Up With That Wednesday on the 9th. I'll be writing about how I come up with my short story "The Guardian" You can read it by visiting my stories on Letterpile. 

I'd like to keep Classic Movie Mondays. I do love old movies and DVR them and watch them when I get time, so for now, I'll probably only do one post a month.

Flashes of Fiction volumes 1 through 5 are still available on Kindle. I do believe there will only be five because I'm moving on to other projects. I do plan to combine them all into one paperback book by the end of the year.

Feel free to stop by the Short Humour Site and Letterpile to read some of my stories. Leave a comment if you like. And come back Wednesday for a new post!

Happy Reading!

Where'd You Come Up With That?! Wednesdays~ Home Again

So far, I've written about stories that are sort of on the bazaar side, but today, I'll go over where I can up with the idea of "Home Again." This is a flash fiction piece I wrote a few years ago, but just recently published on Hubpages.

This short story is about a woman coming to terms with losing her parents and her childhood home. She is upset and disheartened by the thought of losing the home she and her family made happy memories in together. In the story, she walks through the home replaying some her fondest memories in her head. After going through the house, she thinks about the quote, "You can't go home again."

Is this true? Can you really never go home again. I thought about this same quote when my childhood home was demolished a few years ago. It was sad to see a big empty space where my home once stood, and I thought about all the memories made in that home.

That is the only home I remember growing up, and there were an endless amount of memories made there with my family. After feeling sad for a while, I realized those memories are kept within in me--in my heart, where they can never be torn down or taken away. So, while you can't go home again, you can always revisit the precious memories made in your childhood home.

In the story, the main character also comes to the same conclusion, which helps her comes to terms with selling the home and allowing a new family to live in the home and begin making their own precious memories.

If you'd like to read the story you can find here on Hubpages.

Happy Reading!

Where'd You Come Up With That?! Wednesdays "The Crayon Box"

The Crayon Box is a very short horror story about a little boy who looks innocent, but he's not. He's evil. 

I wrote this story for a flash fiction contest on Writing.com. One of the words to use in the prompt was crayon box, so I tried to think a little outside the (crayon) box. Kids are usually what comes to mind when I think of crayons, and so does just about everyone I'd guess. But not everyone thinks of a little boy who uses his crayons to illustrate his victims. Do they?

Why no! So that's where I took it--to the dark side. I also wrote it in second person because I had recently read a story that Ray Bradbury wrote in second person,"The Night," and I loved it. So, I tried it. 

Anyway, it won the contest, and you can find it now at MicroHorror.

Happy Reading!

Flashes of Fiction: Volume 5 Excerpt "Time"

Enjoy this excerpt from the short story "Time" from Flashes of Fiction: Volume 5

Time

When I was young and naive, I saw myself as indestructible. I didn’t count every minute. I wasted precious moments every day without realizing that once they were gone, there was no going back.

Why was I so naive to think it was a good idea to know the age I would die? It’d been hell watching the years fly by taking me closer to the end. My brother Tom warned me not to play with the Ouija board. Convincing myself it was just a harmless game, I sat there on the last day of my life thinking back to that night, wishing I could change the past— wishing I didn’t know my fate.

I was fifteen, and it was Halloween. The guys and I were too old for trick-or-treat, so we came up with the bright idea of summoning a spirit through that wicked board. It was a unanimous vote to ask the spirit how long each of us would live. Placing our fingers on the planchette, it began to move around the board. I remember the words yes and no in the top corner, the alphabet written in two rows in the middle, and a row of numbers beneath them.

Jim went first. “At what age will I die?” The planchette glided across the board, showing us the number one and nine.

I was next. “What age will I be when I die?” The spirit moved our fingers to the number two and nine.

I remember thinking our little game was ridiculous. We all laughed as each took their turn. Ron would die at twenty-five, and Leon at forty.

The next few years, I never gave the board another thought, until Jim was in a car accident and died at the age of nineteen. I told myself it was a coincidence. An eerie one, but it didn’t prove anything.

Then Ron died at twenty-five. He committed suicide, probably because of all the strange voices he heard in his head. Tom told me that once you got involved with the demon spirits, not even God Himself could save your soul. That’s what he believed happened to Ron; he was possessed by demons.

So, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, I waited. I didn't know how I would die, only that by midnight my soul would be taken. I wrote goodbye letters to my son, my ex-wife, and Tom, the three most important people in my life.

Read the rest in FOF Volume 5!

Happy Reading!

Excerpt of "Existence" From Flashes of Fiction: Volume 5

Flashes of Fiction: Volume 5 will be released on Amazon Kindle July 15th. 

Today I'm sharing an excerpt from one of the 5 short stories in this book--"Existence"

Anyone who has read my short stories in this series knows they can be a little bizarre, but that's what makes them fun to read, right?

Of course!

Existence is a bit bizarre, too. It's a story about a psychiatrist who is working with a married couple. They seem to see their lives differently. 

The wife thinks they husband is seeing an imaginary dog, but the husband thinks the wife sees an imaginary child. So, who's right and who's wrong? And in the end, you'll end wondering if the psychiatrist himself needs a little help. 

When I told my husband about his story, he said I was insane. What do you think?

Here's a sample of Existence:

Janet barged into Dr. Pence’s office. “Doctor, sorry for just walking in, but I saw your patient leave, and it’s imperative that I talk to you before Mark arrives. I want you to know this appointment is really about Mark. I only told him it was about me, so he’d come.” Janet said breathlessly.

Dr. Pence glanced at this watch. “We have a few minutes before your scheduled appointment, so what’s on your mind?”

“Mark doesn’t acknowledge the existence of our six-month-old son Jacob. He ignores the poor child. He thinks I’m crazy because I get up in the  middle  of  the  night,  make  bottles,  and  change  diapers.  It’s  so upsetting to be told I’ve had a breakdown when it’s so obvious he’s the one losing it.” Janet clutched her purse and leaned forward in her chair. “He thinks we have a dog, a Golden Retriever named Duncan. He puts a bowl of food out for it every day and takes it for walks. It’s embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t he realize the food isn’t eaten?”

“To tell the truth,” Janet’s top lip curled up as she spoke, “I think

Mark eats it. I know, disgusting isn’t it?”

Dr. Pence started to respond, but a knock at the door interrupted him. “Yes?”

The door opened and Mark peeked in. “Hi, I’m Mark, Janet’s husband.”

“Come in and have a seat, join us.” He motioned for Mark to come inside.

Janet stood and wrapped her arms around her husband. “I’m so happy you actually showed.”

“I wanted to be here to support you, Dear.”

             “Why don’t we all have a seat and begin.” Dr. Pence said.

“Actually doctor, I was wondering if I could have few moments alone with you?” Mark said.

Janet winked at Dr. Pence. “That’s sounds like a good idea, right Dr. Pence? I’ll be right outside.”

Mark scooted his chair closer to Dr. Pence’s desk. “I don’t want

Janet to hear me, it might send her over the edge.”

Dr. Pence raised his right eyebrow. “How so…?”

“Well, first Janet thinks we have a baby in the house and we’ve never been able to have children. I think her maternal instincts, womanly hormones or whatever is messing with her mind.”

“Has she suffered a loss?”

“No, no. We’ve been unable to conceive. That’s why I adopted Duncan. He’s a great companion, but she won’t even acknowledge him.” He looked toward the door and lowered his voice. “She thinks I’m the one who’s crazy, and she even accuses me of eating dog food.”

“That is quite strange. I think we should have Janet join us.”

Mark sprang up. “I’ll tell her.” He opened the door. “The doctor would like you to join us again.”

Janet slinked in and sat beside her husband. The two held hands and smiled at each other.

Dr. Pence rose from his chair leaned on the front of his desk in front of the couple. “This is quite a strange situation. Janet, you say there’s a baby in the house.” He looked and Mark. “And your husband tells me you’ve been unable to conceive, so he got you a dog. I think there is an easy way to see who needs help in this situation.”

Janet jumped up. “What do you mean who?” She pointed to her husband. “He’s the nutcase is this whole situation.”

Mark pulled her down into her chair. “Quiet, dear. Let the doctor speak.”

“Do either of you have a photo of the baby or the dog, maybe a

family photo?” Dr. Pence waited while they both searched for a photo.

Janet rummaged through her purse. “Yes, I’ve got it right here. This is a picture my sister took at Thanksgiving.” She handed the picture to Dr. Pence. “There I am and Mark, and Jacob is on my lap.”

Dr. Pence studied the picture. “Janet, there is a baby in this picture, but look by Mark’s feet. Don’t you see the dog?”

“What?” Janet snatched the photo from his hand. “There is no dog in this picture. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mark leaned over to have a look. “Right there...” He pointed. “That large brown hairy entity lying next my feet is Duncan.

***

You can read the rest in Flashes of Fiction: Volume 5

;)

Happy Reading! (And Listening)