The last month has been a blur of fiction and food and precious little else. As you may know, the Fall Fiction Frenzy (31 stories in 31 days) is going on at Dark Valentine. Coming up we have stories by Brian Trent, Cormac Brown, Christine Pope, and Barbara Emrys, among others. Stories already posted include my own "Animal Lover," and "In the Red Room," John Donald Carlucci's "I Love You to Pieces," A. H. Sargeant's "Lost in Transit" and many many more.
I've also been finalizing the order of stories in my upcoming fiction collection "Just Another Day in Paradise." Due out this month.
As for food, I've been getting up close and personal with it all month. In September I worked with Word of Mouth Catering on a film shoot. (Birds of a Feather. You can see a trailer for the original short film here.) It was 113 one of the days we shot. No AC because of sound. Good times. Actually, I had a blast but it was pretty labor intensive.
This weekend I worked on an emergency gig involving 250 wedding guests and a caterer who simply ... decided he wasn't feeling it and bailed out. The day before the wedding. Let's just say I never want to bake another pita chip in my life but a good time was had by all. The biggest hit, chicken salad on the aforementioned pita chips. Couldn't be simpler:
2 large cans chicken (or three of the smaller cans)
Shred the chicken with a fork.
Add lemon-pepper to taste. (I like a lot of it.)
Add only enough mayonnaise to make everything bind together. (This is important. I normally loathe mayonnaise, but in this recipe, it's not intrusive at all.)
Eat with crackers or chips. Also good with plain pita bread. Enjoy.
Except for the one person who said, "This tuna fish tastes funny," the guests snarfed it.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
9/11/10
In 2001, the population of the United States was 285,669,915, which sounds like a lot of people. But on September 11, 2001, we found out just how small our part of the world really is. Because everyone in America suddenly seemed to know someone who had died in one of those planes or in the Towers or in the Pentagon or in that field in Pennsylvania.
And if they didn't know someone personally, they knew someone who knew someon and it felt personal. My sister knew a college friend. My roommate knew a favorite teacher.
My brother knew Mohammad Atta--the man who became the face of hate. There were 19 hijackers but Atta always got top billing and today, his is the only name anyone really remembers.
My brother represented Atta on some sort of traffic matter. The case was dismissed. And my brother and the most notorious hijacker in the history of America went their separate ways. Until September 11th when Rob suddenly saw a face he knew flashing up on CNN.
Its' a big country but we're all family. In the words of the 17th century poet John Donne:
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
And if they didn't know someone personally, they knew someone who knew someon and it felt personal. My sister knew a college friend. My roommate knew a favorite teacher.
My brother knew Mohammad Atta--the man who became the face of hate. There were 19 hijackers but Atta always got top billing and today, his is the only name anyone really remembers.
My brother represented Atta on some sort of traffic matter. The case was dismissed. And my brother and the most notorious hijacker in the history of America went their separate ways. Until September 11th when Rob suddenly saw a face he knew flashing up on CNN.
Its' a big country but we're all family. In the words of the 17th century poet John Donne:
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
Less is More
I have been thinking about word count as I write the introduction to my short story collection (Just Another Day in Paradise, coming next month). I'm titling the essay "Long Story Short" and I have been thinking about how you only hear that phrase when it's way too late to make a long story short and the speaker has tried the patience of his or her listeners.
At Dark Valentine, we capped the word count at 5000 and promptly made several exceptions for stories we thought were exceptional. Beginning with the winter issue, though, we're going to be sticklers. I know, I know, I know. A story takes as long as it takes, but very, very few stories justify a word length of more than 5000 words. For example, Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery" is only 3773 words. Frank Stockton's classic tale, "The Lady or the Tiger?" is 2747 words long. Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart" comes in at 2811. Two of O. Henry's best-loved stories, "The Gift of the Magi" (2163) and "The Ransom of Red Chief" (4372) were comfortably under 5000 words.
Virginia Woolf's "A Haunted House" is only 710 words long. James Joyce's short story "Araby" is only 2399 words long. Come on, if James Joyce--the most wordstruck writer in English can write a short story that comes in at under 3000 words, there's no excuse to not write economically.
Of course, there are exceptions. Richard Connell's "The Most Dangerous Game" is worth every single word of its 8426 length. D.H. Lawrence's "The Rocking Horse Winner" (6015) and Jack London's "To Build a Fire" (7176) are masterpieces.
If you're curious about the word count of the best short stories ever, there's a site that breaks it down for you: Classic Short Stories Bibliography. Worth spending a little time there because they have clickable links to the stories themselves.
At Dark Valentine, we capped the word count at 5000 and promptly made several exceptions for stories we thought were exceptional. Beginning with the winter issue, though, we're going to be sticklers. I know, I know, I know. A story takes as long as it takes, but very, very few stories justify a word length of more than 5000 words. For example, Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery" is only 3773 words. Frank Stockton's classic tale, "The Lady or the Tiger?" is 2747 words long. Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart" comes in at 2811. Two of O. Henry's best-loved stories, "The Gift of the Magi" (2163) and "The Ransom of Red Chief" (4372) were comfortably under 5000 words.
Virginia Woolf's "A Haunted House" is only 710 words long. James Joyce's short story "Araby" is only 2399 words long. Come on, if James Joyce--the most wordstruck writer in English can write a short story that comes in at under 3000 words, there's no excuse to not write economically.
Of course, there are exceptions. Richard Connell's "The Most Dangerous Game" is worth every single word of its 8426 length. D.H. Lawrence's "The Rocking Horse Winner" (6015) and Jack London's "To Build a Fire" (7176) are masterpieces.
If you're curious about the word count of the best short stories ever, there's a site that breaks it down for you: Classic Short Stories Bibliography. Worth spending a little time there because they have clickable links to the stories themselves.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Not Another Self-Promotion Post
Not that I don't like talking about myself, but enough is enough. Today it's all about the food and the freelancing.
Artist Susan Burghart shared a link from Tuesday's post on Chuck Wendig's Terrible Minds blog "Want to Be a Freelancer? Just Punch Yourself in the Face Instead."
It's both true and hilarious and was followed up by yesterday's "Why You Should Freelance Despite All that Face-punching Business."
All in all, he comes out pretty solidly on the idea of freelancing.
While I was looking for his link, I ran across another post in Freelance: UK that had a couple of rules for freelancers that included the advice: Don't Work With People You Don't Like. Amen to that one. I have, in the lean times, convinced myself that I could deal with certain people, despite their well-known tendencies to be (let's put it nicely) jerks. It never ends well, even if they do finally pay you after whining that your agreed-upon fee was outrageously high. (This from a man who drives a car that cost him what a three-bedroom house in San Antonio would go for.)
Meanwhile, a link from a CNN story took me to Kendra Bailey Morris' blog. She writes for the Richmond Times Dispatch, which is published in the heart of southern cooking territory, so there's none of this business about fusion food or fussy. One of her blogs is called Flapjacks and Foie Gras, which gives you an idea of her sense of humor. Imagine her as Paula Deen without all the butter.
I also stumbled across the Edgy Veggie, The author doesn't post that often, but when she does, you get a lot more than a recipe, you get a meditation on food and culture that leaves you feeling satisfied intellectually as well as wanting to go out and get the ingredients for whatever she's cooking. Currently the post is about "Harira," a traditional Moroccan soup that is served to break the Ramadan fast. It's one of those dishes that's endlessly customizable.
Artist Susan Burghart shared a link from Tuesday's post on Chuck Wendig's Terrible Minds blog "Want to Be a Freelancer? Just Punch Yourself in the Face Instead."
It's both true and hilarious and was followed up by yesterday's "Why You Should Freelance Despite All that Face-punching Business."
All in all, he comes out pretty solidly on the idea of freelancing.
While I was looking for his link, I ran across another post in Freelance: UK that had a couple of rules for freelancers that included the advice: Don't Work With People You Don't Like. Amen to that one. I have, in the lean times, convinced myself that I could deal with certain people, despite their well-known tendencies to be (let's put it nicely) jerks. It never ends well, even if they do finally pay you after whining that your agreed-upon fee was outrageously high. (This from a man who drives a car that cost him what a three-bedroom house in San Antonio would go for.)
Meanwhile, a link from a CNN story took me to Kendra Bailey Morris' blog. She writes for the Richmond Times Dispatch, which is published in the heart of southern cooking territory, so there's none of this business about fusion food or fussy. One of her blogs is called Flapjacks and Foie Gras, which gives you an idea of her sense of humor. Imagine her as Paula Deen without all the butter.
I also stumbled across the Edgy Veggie, The author doesn't post that often, but when she does, you get a lot more than a recipe, you get a meditation on food and culture that leaves you feeling satisfied intellectually as well as wanting to go out and get the ingredients for whatever she's cooking. Currently the post is about "Harira," a traditional Moroccan soup that is served to break the Ramadan fast. It's one of those dishes that's endlessly customizable.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Blatant Brother Promotion
I come from a family of artists and lawyers and my brother Robert is both. He's always "done art" but a few years ago he got a digital camera and now he sees the world through its lens. He carries the camera everywhere and gets some great shots.
I created a Red Bubble account for him because I really like his work and think others might like it too. There are only three pictures up right now--one of his best, a portrait of two owls from his backyard--is currently hiding somewhere in my files, but there will be more to come. Check him out here if you like pretty pictures...
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Shameless Self-Promotion Saturday
If you haven't already heard about Nigel Bird's "Dancing With Myself" series of self-interviews with writers and publishers, head over to Sea Minor and take a look. The current subject is writer R. J. Ellory, my turn was on Thursday. (See my interview here.) The interviews are a blast to read and Nigel has got some really interesting people lined up for the future.
Speaking of Nigel, his story "Silver Street" is in the Autumn issue of Dark Valentine, which is available now on the site. The story was inspired by a photo prompt Cormac Brown put up over at Cormac Writes. And speaking of Cormac, congratulations to him for being included in the new flash fiction anthology from Untreed Reads.
Dark Valentine will be publishing one of Cormac's stories in our October Fiction Frenzy--31 days of dark tales to celebrate our favorite holiday, Halloween. (Well, okay, we actually like Christmas a lot too.)
DV is looking for more stories to fill out the frenzy, especially if they're ghost stories or Halloweenie tales. (And I would love, love, love to see some dark SF come our way.)
And speaking of Dark Valentine (and I seem to be doing that a lot today), on Monday (Labor Day), a serial story by writer Scott J Laurange will begin in 11 parts. (And by the way, the missing period after his initial is not a typo--he prefers it that way.) Called "A Knight's Tale," it is a modern take on Canterbury Tales.
Pamela Jaworska, the incredibly talented artist who has been contributing to DV (and before that, to Astonishing Adventures Magazine) has done original illustrations for each of the 11 chapters. It's a great story and I think you'll like it, so check it out, beginning Monday.
And speaking of incredibly talented artists, Jane Burson has created the cover for DV's Winter issue. It connects to a story by Christine Pope, a gorgeous, Russian-flavored take on The Snow Queen. You can see the cover here.
And speaking of Dark Valentine still--writer Jim Harrington has a creepy little tale, "Sharing a Rise on a Rainy Morning" in the Autumn issue. He invited me to participate in his "Six Questions" series. You can see that here. I highly recommend you check the series out because editors tell people EXACTLY what they want.
I think that's about it. Even I am sick of hearing about Dark Valentine Magazine.
Speaking of Nigel, his story "Silver Street" is in the Autumn issue of Dark Valentine, which is available now on the site. The story was inspired by a photo prompt Cormac Brown put up over at Cormac Writes. And speaking of Cormac, congratulations to him for being included in the new flash fiction anthology from Untreed Reads.
Dark Valentine will be publishing one of Cormac's stories in our October Fiction Frenzy--31 days of dark tales to celebrate our favorite holiday, Halloween. (Well, okay, we actually like Christmas a lot too.)
DV is looking for more stories to fill out the frenzy, especially if they're ghost stories or Halloweenie tales. (And I would love, love, love to see some dark SF come our way.)
And speaking of Dark Valentine (and I seem to be doing that a lot today), on Monday (Labor Day), a serial story by writer Scott J Laurange will begin in 11 parts. (And by the way, the missing period after his initial is not a typo--he prefers it that way.) Called "A Knight's Tale," it is a modern take on Canterbury Tales.
Pamela Jaworska, the incredibly talented artist who has been contributing to DV (and before that, to Astonishing Adventures Magazine) has done original illustrations for each of the 11 chapters. It's a great story and I think you'll like it, so check it out, beginning Monday.
And speaking of incredibly talented artists, Jane Burson has created the cover for DV's Winter issue. It connects to a story by Christine Pope, a gorgeous, Russian-flavored take on The Snow Queen. You can see the cover here.
And speaking of Dark Valentine still--writer Jim Harrington has a creepy little tale, "Sharing a Rise on a Rainy Morning" in the Autumn issue. He invited me to participate in his "Six Questions" series. You can see that here. I highly recommend you check the series out because editors tell people EXACTLY what they want.
I think that's about it. Even I am sick of hearing about Dark Valentine Magazine.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Murder Served Cold
Even if you don't normally buy hardback books, you might want to put The Murder Room on your list. Or buy it, read it gently and then give it to someone you love for a Christmas present. (What, you've never done that?) This book about the founding of the Vidocq Society and the work they do reads like a piece of historical fiction and the characters are wonderful. (Richard Walter, one of the world's greatest profilers, is a sardonic atheist whose encounter with a pedophile priest opens the book, has a great sense of sound-bite. Asked how sure he is that he's closing in on a killer he says, "If I were the killer, I wouldn't buy any green bananas.")Read the excerpt from Esquire to whet your appetite.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Needle Magazine Summer Issue
The summer issue of Needle Magazine is out and I feel like an honorary editor because several of the writers who contributed are in the Autumn issue of Dark Valentine.
Nigel Bird has a piece of flash up at Dark Valentine right now--"For the Love of God." If you haven't read it yet, for God's sake click on the link. It won't take you but a minute to read it. His story in the Autumn issue of DV was inspired by a photograph friend of Dark Valentine Cormac Brown posted on his site.
Allen Leverone's story in Dark Valentine is called "Dance Hall Drug" and it's a nasty piece of work. (I mean that in a good way.) You'll want to read it as soon as it's available, which will be Friday, September 3rd.
Shout-out to David Cranmer too. He hasn't submitted to Dark Valentine yet but I'm sure that's just an oversight!
It is such a pleasure reading the well-crafted stories in Needle. I want to steal all of their writers.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
I know a lot of people who get a little ... nonlinear over the subject of fan fiction. (Yes, Lee, I'm talking about you!) My attitude is more laissez-faire. Where's the harm? Writing fan fiction can be a great way to prime the pump of a writing career, a way to gain a following or even just a way to play with some of your favorite characters.My friend Susan Garrett parlayed her love for the cult vampire show Forever Knight into an opportunity to write one of the three novel tie-ins. The book is still available at Amazon.com and if you're a fan of all things vampire, you should order here. you can buy it used for $6.66 (ooh, spooky).
Susan hadn't done a lot of writing in the past few years but she was planning to get back to it this year. She was one of the first people I contacted when Joy Sillesen and Joanne Renaud and I came up with the idea for Dark Valentine Magazine. I told her I wanted a story from her. She told me as soon as she felt better she'd put something together. That was in January. She never felt better. And she died today.
And I am so sad. She had so many more stories to write. And I will never get to read them. (Because of course, this is all about me and how I feel because Susan is beyond such mundane feelings now.) I want a cosmic do-over. I want Susan to live out a life surrounded by family and friends and her silly, overweight pug Belle. Surely there's someone on the planet we could do without (the BTK killer? Joseph Kony?)
If there's one lesson to be taken from this it is--don't wait to write your stories. Don't put off your dreams...
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
All Due Respect...Check it out
I am the Queen of Craig's List. Since 2007 when I realized the impending Writer's Guild strike was going to impact my income, I've been cruising the writing/editing listings on a daily (sometimes more frequent) basis. (Last year half my income came from jobs sourced on CL. Which amazes me.) Even when I don't have time to keep up with all the blogs I monitor, I'm on CL day in and day out. It's a lot like panning for gold. You have to sift through a lot of dross but sometimes you hit paydirt.
Yesterday there was a call for submissions from All Due Respect, where David Cranmer's story, "The Great Whydini" is up. All Due Respect (ADR) is looking for "old-fashioned pulp crime fiction" and their submission guidelines say it best: We are interested in crime fiction. That means fiction about crime. Not solving crime. Not bemoaning crime. Fiction about people who are criminals and maybe a little bit about why they are criminals, so long as you don't go Dr. Phil on it.
In this case, crime doesn't pay. They apologize for that. But ADR looks like a handsome showcase for a good story about bad people.
Yesterday there was a call for submissions from All Due Respect, where David Cranmer's story, "The Great Whydini" is up. All Due Respect (ADR) is looking for "old-fashioned pulp crime fiction" and their submission guidelines say it best: We are interested in crime fiction. That means fiction about crime. Not solving crime. Not bemoaning crime. Fiction about people who are criminals and maybe a little bit about why they are criminals, so long as you don't go Dr. Phil on it.
In this case, crime doesn't pay. They apologize for that. But ADR looks like a handsome showcase for a good story about bad people.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
ThugLit is Taking a Break
Todd Robinson over at ThugLit.com has made it official. The current issue is going to be the last for a long while, maybe even forever. He's been at it for five years and now, he says, the crew (Johnny Kneecaps, Lady Detroit, and Big Baby Thug) is taking a break.
The archives will stay live, so you can always browse through the pulptastic stories that were chosen for each issue.
I always admired the site's slogan: Writing about Wrongs.
I guess this is one time when it's more appropriate to say Adieu instead of Au Revoir.
The archives will stay live, so you can always browse through the pulptastic stories that were chosen for each issue.
I always admired the site's slogan: Writing about Wrongs.
I guess this is one time when it's more appropriate to say Adieu instead of Au Revoir.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Weekend Read
iBoy is one of the best books I've read in a long time and it seems to be completely under the radar. It's a coming-of-age story and a super-hero origin story and it's not like anything you've read.One minute Tommy Hawkins was a normal 16-year-old boy heading off to a friend’s house to talk to her about something and the next thing he knows, someone has called his name and thrown a cell phone from a great height—shattering his skull. The book is set in a gang-infested council flat in England and it is as gritty as, say, the movie Dirty Pretty Things. Bad things happen in this story and the "big bad," a gangster called Howard Ellman, is one of the scariest villains in the YA fiction world.
As Tommy transforms into something not altogether human, the writer does something subtle with point of view that really elevates it above the genre. He doesn't pull punches, but his main character is such a good-hearted kid that we come along for his ride willingly.
If you don't have time to read a novel this weekend, check out Chris Dabnor's flash fiction "The Folly" over at Dark Valentine.
You should also head over to Clarity of Night where a new flash fiction contest is in progress. I have a story up there and so does my good friend John Donald Carlucci. At last count, there were 40-some stories, but they're only 250 words max, so you can gobble them up like chocolates.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Blog Weirdness
I'm the one who oversees the blog comments on Dark Valentine, so I've now experienced the phenomenon of people linking to our site just to get their link juice up. More power to people who want their fame to grow but dudes, could you at least be coherent?
Here are a couple of my favorite comments:
I just want to post kindly hi and want to say thanks for enlightened I keep trying to find through the web for some kind of goodpost. like this, or at least a website. That coveredwhat i want to Thank you.
Intimately, the post is in reality the greatest on this valuable topic. I agree with your conclusions and will thirstily look forward to your incoming updates. Just saying thanks will not just be enough, for the fantasti c lucidity in your writing. I will instantly grab your rss feed to stay informed of any updates. Admirable work and much success in your business enterprise!
Thank you very much..that is a very helpful informations for me.I had a trouble in sleeeping few months ago and at the moment I can have a good night sleep.hahaha.I tried so many things to cure it and I did solve my problem.Happy sleeping..just sharing dude.
Are we all speaking English here?
Here are a couple of my favorite comments:
I just want to post kindly hi and want to say thanks for enlightened I keep trying to find through the web for some kind of goodpost. like this, or at least a website. That coveredwhat i want to Thank you.
Intimately, the post is in reality the greatest on this valuable topic. I agree with your conclusions and will thirstily look forward to your incoming updates. Just saying thanks will not just be enough, for the fantasti c lucidity in your writing. I will instantly grab your rss feed to stay informed of any updates. Admirable work and much success in your business enterprise!
Thank you very much..that is a very helpful informations for me.I had a trouble in sleeeping few months ago and at the moment I can have a good night sleep.hahaha.I tried so many things to cure it and I did solve my problem.Happy sleeping..just sharing dude.
Are we all speaking English here?
Thursday, June 24, 2010
My Favorite color is ... RED
One of the things I do for a living is read scripts. In the last year I've read more remakes and reboots than any person should have to read. It's like seeing my childhood in rewind and I didn't expect that to happen until the last moments of my life when the highlight reel unspools.
I also read a lot of comic book adaptations. Most of them are pretty dreadful. (Seriously, what were they thinking with Jonah Hex?) Every once in awhile, though, I read something that tickles my fancy. Like RED.
I enjoyed reading the script a lot more than I expected to, and when I read a second draft, I got even more excited. Then today I saw the trailer and discovered Helen Mirren (that's Dame Helen Mirren, Oscar-winner) had been cast in one of the best roles in the movie.
Check her out. Helen Mirren kicks ass in the trailer for RED.
I also read a lot of comic book adaptations. Most of them are pretty dreadful. (Seriously, what were they thinking with Jonah Hex?) Every once in awhile, though, I read something that tickles my fancy. Like RED.
I enjoyed reading the script a lot more than I expected to, and when I read a second draft, I got even more excited. Then today I saw the trailer and discovered Helen Mirren (that's Dame Helen Mirren, Oscar-winner) had been cast in one of the best roles in the movie.
Check her out. Helen Mirren kicks ass in the trailer for RED.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Bread Pudding is Food of the Gods
My friend Berkeley has never tasted bread pudding. For someone born in the south, that is practically incomprehensible. (Once, on a visit to New Orleans, I ate my weight in bread pudding, beginning with the signature souffle bread pudding at Commander's Palace and Ending with the classic dessert at Bon Ton Cafe, which was the overwhelming pick of the cabbies I consulted. New Orleans cabbies know food like Chicago cabbies know sports so I wasn't about to miss what Bon Ton Cafe had to offer.) Recipes for both versions are readily available online, so you can easily try both.
Berkeley's birthday is next Tuesday, so I'll be taking her to a restaurant here in Los Angeles, Les Sisters, that is the closest thing to honest-to-God Southern food you can get. In addition to bread pudding, they also serve sweet potato pie, peach cobbler and buttermilk pie. I had to explain buttermilk pie to Berkeley too. Poor, poor deprived child.
If you haven't had bread pudding in awhile, or never, here's the recipe I learned from my grandmother.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Enough bread to fill a baking dish—torn into small pieces
2 cups milk
¼ cup butter
2/3 cup light brown sugar
3 eggs
¾ cup chocolate chips
2 ½ tsp. ground cinnamon
½ tsp. ground nutmeg
1 tsp. vanilla extract
Combine the milk and butter in a saucepan, stirring until the butter is melted. Cool slightly.
Beat the sugar and spices into the eggs until frothy. Add the vanilla extract.
Combine the egg mixture and the milk mixture slowly. (Make sure the milk isn’t too hot or the raw eggs will curdle.)
Mix in the bread and turn everything into a baking dish that has been greased or treated with non-stick spray.
Don’t pack the bread down too tightly or the “pudding” will compact and get really dense instead of staying moist and fluffy with those delicious buttery, crunchy bits.
Bake for 45-55 minutes until the “pudding” is set. Serve warm as is or add a few spoonfuls of whipped cream.
Berkeley's birthday is next Tuesday, so I'll be taking her to a restaurant here in Los Angeles, Les Sisters, that is the closest thing to honest-to-God Southern food you can get. In addition to bread pudding, they also serve sweet potato pie, peach cobbler and buttermilk pie. I had to explain buttermilk pie to Berkeley too. Poor, poor deprived child.
If you haven't had bread pudding in awhile, or never, here's the recipe I learned from my grandmother.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Enough bread to fill a baking dish—torn into small pieces
2 cups milk
¼ cup butter
2/3 cup light brown sugar
3 eggs
¾ cup chocolate chips
2 ½ tsp. ground cinnamon
½ tsp. ground nutmeg
1 tsp. vanilla extract
Combine the milk and butter in a saucepan, stirring until the butter is melted. Cool slightly.
Beat the sugar and spices into the eggs until frothy. Add the vanilla extract.
Combine the egg mixture and the milk mixture slowly. (Make sure the milk isn’t too hot or the raw eggs will curdle.)
Mix in the bread and turn everything into a baking dish that has been greased or treated with non-stick spray.
Don’t pack the bread down too tightly or the “pudding” will compact and get really dense instead of staying moist and fluffy with those delicious buttery, crunchy bits.
Bake for 45-55 minutes until the “pudding” is set. Serve warm as is or add a few spoonfuls of whipped cream.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
A Blast From the Past!
I was trying to find a link to a story I wrote in InSide Look magazine and one of the things that popped up was a scan of a story I wrote when I was editor of Orange Coast Magazine. It's from 1985. Yikes. The story's about my trip on the Goodyear Blimp, which was one of those events that was just too cool for words. I rode on the Goodyear Blimp. And they actually let me fly it. You can read it here.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Scared Stiff the web horror series
I live in L.A. where there are a lot of people who bemoan the lack of creative opportunities and talk about the great work they'd do if they only had access to money. I know some of these people and they really are creative but even if they won the lottery tomorrow, they probably wouldn't do what they say they're going to do.
And then there are the talented people at Scared Stiff TV who just decided they were going to do it. Working from a budget that is probably lunch money for a week, they've relied on creativity not cash to get their episodes done.
Some of those episodes, like "The Camera" are extremely inventive. They're working on a whole new set of stories right now, but check out what's up there already.
And then there are the talented people at Scared Stiff TV who just decided they were going to do it. Working from a budget that is probably lunch money for a week, they've relied on creativity not cash to get their episodes done.
Some of those episodes, like "The Camera" are extremely inventive. They're working on a whole new set of stories right now, but check out what's up there already.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Mystery Lovers' Kitchen
Is this a blog tailor-made for me or what? Crime and recipes. Food and fiction. Check it out here.
And while we're on the subject of food--if you like brownies and you like coffee, you might want to check out the double chocolate mocha brownies over at bellaonline.com's chocolate site. They're really fast to make, use one bowl and combine two addictive substances in one sweet treat. (Hmmm. Can you tell I've been working on my cookbook ghost-writing project this morning? Everything is all about the yummy when you're writing about food.)
And while we're on the subject of food--if you like brownies and you like coffee, you might want to check out the double chocolate mocha brownies over at bellaonline.com's chocolate site. They're really fast to make, use one bowl and combine two addictive substances in one sweet treat. (Hmmm. Can you tell I've been working on my cookbook ghost-writing project this morning? Everything is all about the yummy when you're writing about food.)
A WTH Moment
Certain kinds of repression have been well-documented in the press--the crackdown on internet use in Iran in the aftermath of the last presidential election, for example. But did you know...
right now, if you live in Russia your paypal account only goes one way? You can use it to pay someone but someone cannot use it to pay YOU. What's the logic behind this, do yo suppose? To keep foreigners from financing a coup?
right now, if you live in Russia your paypal account only goes one way? You can use it to pay someone but someone cannot use it to pay YOU. What's the logic behind this, do yo suppose? To keep foreigners from financing a coup?
Friday, June 11, 2010
Dark Valentine is Here!
You can download it free here.
Comments welcome, suggestions and constructive criticism as well. And most of all--we want your submissions! Remember, DV also serializes stories on the site so if you have something that's more than 5000 words, we'd still like to talk to you about it. (We've got Scott Laurange's gothic take on the Canterbury Tales coming up in serial form as well as a dark, French take on Arthurian legend, The Chanson of Dagonet.)
Please QUERY about serializing.
Also, we'll be having more THROUGH A LENS DARKLY story prompts, so I hope you'll consider submitting something for one of those.
Comments welcome, suggestions and constructive criticism as well. And most of all--we want your submissions! Remember, DV also serializes stories on the site so if you have something that's more than 5000 words, we'd still like to talk to you about it. (We've got Scott Laurange's gothic take on the Canterbury Tales coming up in serial form as well as a dark, French take on Arthurian legend, The Chanson of Dagonet.)
Please QUERY about serializing.
Also, we'll be having more THROUGH A LENS DARKLY story prompts, so I hope you'll consider submitting something for one of those.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Dark Valentine is coming
The premiere issue of Dark Valentine Magazine publishes tomorrow. A quarterly magazine of dark fiction, the project is a collaboration born over a meal of pear cider and Cornish pasties at an Irish pub in Pasadena. Editor Joy Sillesen and Art Director Joanne Renaud and I liked working with each other at Astonishing Adventures Magazine so much that we decided we didn't want the fun to end.The first issue is stuffed with dark tales and wicked words, all illustrated by artists like Joanne, Pamela Jaworska, Larry Nadolsky, Rena Ez, Jane Burson, Eleni Trigatz, Michael Lauritano, Jennifer Caro and Molly Brewer and more.... The cover image, created by Joanne Renaud, was inspired by Stephanie Dray's story, "The Threshing Floor."
The table of contents is stuffed with goodies--flash fiction from Cormac Brown, Sandra Seamans, Carol Kilgore, and Blue Jackson. There's a paranormal noir from Agatha-nominated novelist Elizabeth Zelvin and Paul D. Brazill's innovative twist on an old monster. (Paul:s "Drunk on the Moon" is one of two stories from Poland-based writers in this issue, with Frank Duffy's evocative "The Fog House" being the other.)
There's a definite international feel to the fiction which comes from the UK (Peter Mark May's "Lurkers"), Canada (Julia Madeine's "Smashed")and points west. The artists hail from all over--Poland, Thailand, Greece, the UK.
And last but certainly not least, the premiere issue contains stories by Chad Rohrbacher, C.M. Saunders, Christine Pope, Sidney Harrison, James Hartley, Gerry Johnson and me. There's something for everyone in the first issue. (And if there's not, we'll be back in the fall with issue #2.)
Available on Friday, June 11 at Dark Valentine.
Foodspotting
Check out the foodspotting link if you find yourself craving a particular dish. It's like Yelp, only focused.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Vote and then Go Buy a Book!
If you're like me, you have a "to buy" wish list that's at least as long as your "to be read" pile. Here are two books you really need to check out. Alexandra Sokoloff's Book of Shadows and Lori Handeland's Shakespeare Undead.
I read Book of Shadows for a client some time ago and loved it. It's a really smart take on a genre that's often kind of dumbed down and a really fast read. (Sokoloff is a screenwriter as well as a novelist, so as you might expect, her books have a cinematic pace.)
The other book is one I haven't read yet myself. I'm a longtime fan of Lori Handeland and her new book Shakespeare Undead just sounds like a lot of fun. She's over at bittenbybooks today and tomorrow and the q and a makes her sound like someone you'd love to take to lunch. I do judge a book by its cover and Shakespeare Undead has a great one.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Thaumatrope--Bite-Size Fiction for Hungry Readers
For those times when flash fiction just takes too long to read, check out Thaumatrope, which features Twitter fiction (140 characters or less) for readers of sf, fantasy and horror. The stories are like potato chips--you really can't sample just one.
The site publishes serial fiction too, and it's even fun reading the bios of the writers and seeing what they have in the pipeline. My favorite is Robert T. Jeschonek, whose upcoming Clarion YA novel is called My Favorite Band Does Not Exist.
Thaumatrope is now one of my favorite sites for dropping in for a few minutes of entertainment (along with Fark).
The site publishes serial fiction too, and it's even fun reading the bios of the writers and seeing what they have in the pipeline. My favorite is Robert T. Jeschonek, whose upcoming Clarion YA novel is called My Favorite Band Does Not Exist.
Thaumatrope is now one of my favorite sites for dropping in for a few minutes of entertainment (along with Fark).
Saturday, May 29, 2010
It's not just about the sales
This is Memorial Day weekend and as usual, CNN is running lots of stories about the men and women who have fallen n the service of our country. This video of soldiers decorating the graves at Arlington with small American flags--as is done several times a year--really got to me.
The video shows what a beautiful and peaceful place Arlington Cemetery is. It overlooks the Potomac. It is covered in green. Trees grow among the graves. When I was little, people could picnic there and ride bikes along its broad boulevards. That was before the Viet Nam war started filling up the "Garden of Stone" and forced the opening of new sections to accommodate the newly dead.
Now the cemetery is stressed not only by the casualties of Iraq and Afghanistan (they're buried in "Section 60") but also by the deaths of World War II veterans who are now in their ninth decade. It won't be long efore burial in Arlington, the nation's most famous military cemetery, will be a matter of "by invitation only."
John F. Kennedy is buried in Arlington Cemetery, where an eternal flame flickers in his memory. Nearby is the grave of Patrick Bouvier Kennedy, the premature son born to the Kennedys and rarely mentioned. Also nearby is the grave of the stillborn Kennedy girl who never even had a name and whose existence is still a secret to all but the most avid Kennedy-philes.
Robert Kennedy is buried there too; as is Ted Kennedy and surprisingly, perhaps, so is Jacqueline Onassis. The Kennedys were known for their compound in New England, in Arlington they have claimed their own corner of national real estate. The area is one of the "must-see" spots on a tour of the cemetery, along with the statue that replicates the famous photo of the flag-raising over Iwo Jima, the Tomb of the Unknowns (Formerly the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier) and Custis-Lee Mansion, where the cemetery began during the Civil War when Union soldiers buried their dead in what had been the front yard of a gracious Southern mansion.
There is a cairn of 270 stones to commemorate the 270 souls aboard the plane that exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland. There are memorials to the Challenger and Columbus space shuttle crews. Many famous military men and women are buried there, as you might expect, but so are Dashiell Hammett,writer Charles Willeford and actor Lee Marvin. Pierre Charles L'Enfant, the French engineer who designed the city of Washington DC, is also there along with a mission's worth of astronauts, including Gus Grissom and Roger Chaffee.
The second most-visited grave (after JFK) is that of Audie Murphy, the most decorated soldier in WWII. (Define irony: Murphy was killed in a plane crash on Memorial Day weekend nearly 40 years ago.)
Here's a sobering fact: More than 100 graveside ceremonies are conducted each week at Arlington. Each week. There are more than 300,000 people buried there already, including my parents. They're just up the hill from the Kennedy memorial.
The video shows what a beautiful and peaceful place Arlington Cemetery is. It overlooks the Potomac. It is covered in green. Trees grow among the graves. When I was little, people could picnic there and ride bikes along its broad boulevards. That was before the Viet Nam war started filling up the "Garden of Stone" and forced the opening of new sections to accommodate the newly dead.
Now the cemetery is stressed not only by the casualties of Iraq and Afghanistan (they're buried in "Section 60") but also by the deaths of World War II veterans who are now in their ninth decade. It won't be long efore burial in Arlington, the nation's most famous military cemetery, will be a matter of "by invitation only."
John F. Kennedy is buried in Arlington Cemetery, where an eternal flame flickers in his memory. Nearby is the grave of Patrick Bouvier Kennedy, the premature son born to the Kennedys and rarely mentioned. Also nearby is the grave of the stillborn Kennedy girl who never even had a name and whose existence is still a secret to all but the most avid Kennedy-philes.
Robert Kennedy is buried there too; as is Ted Kennedy and surprisingly, perhaps, so is Jacqueline Onassis. The Kennedys were known for their compound in New England, in Arlington they have claimed their own corner of national real estate. The area is one of the "must-see" spots on a tour of the cemetery, along with the statue that replicates the famous photo of the flag-raising over Iwo Jima, the Tomb of the Unknowns (Formerly the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier) and Custis-Lee Mansion, where the cemetery began during the Civil War when Union soldiers buried their dead in what had been the front yard of a gracious Southern mansion.
There is a cairn of 270 stones to commemorate the 270 souls aboard the plane that exploded over Lockerbie, Scotland. There are memorials to the Challenger and Columbus space shuttle crews. Many famous military men and women are buried there, as you might expect, but so are Dashiell Hammett,writer Charles Willeford and actor Lee Marvin. Pierre Charles L'Enfant, the French engineer who designed the city of Washington DC, is also there along with a mission's worth of astronauts, including Gus Grissom and Roger Chaffee.
The second most-visited grave (after JFK) is that of Audie Murphy, the most decorated soldier in WWII. (Define irony: Murphy was killed in a plane crash on Memorial Day weekend nearly 40 years ago.)
Here's a sobering fact: More than 100 graveside ceremonies are conducted each week at Arlington. Each week. There are more than 300,000 people buried there already, including my parents. They're just up the hill from the Kennedy memorial.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Fitzgerald was wrong...
Back in the day, my sister hung with a wannabe rocker who would occasionally loan equipment to the band Poison when they had a local gig. The wannabe didn't have much good to say about Bret Michaels, but then, he didn't have much good to say about anyone, really, being the poster boy for schadenfreude.
I knew of the band, of course, you couldn't escape them unless your radio was permanently tuned to NPR or your subscription to People had run out. (He was going out with Pamela Anderson at the time, so they were a couple made in paparazzi heaven.) Michaels was handsome--actually beautiful--with his sky-blue eyes and his long blond hair. If urban fiction had been a genre back then, he'd have been the model for many a cover. If I thought about him at all, it was mostly in terms of being a second-string Van Halen's David Lee Roth whose athletic stage moves he seemed to have borrowed. (The self-styled "Diamond Dave" is one of the smartest guys ever to sling a microphone and his interviews were always a delight to read.) But that was 20 years ago.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, here's Bret Michaels back in the spotlight. One minute he's in the hospital fighting for his life and the next week he's on American Idol, sporting a hat that would make Dwight Yoakam jealous and doing his guitar slinger thing. And he won Celebrity Apprentice. Without watching an hour of reality TV, it's been possible to chart his amazing renaissance and it's been hard not to get caught up in it.
When you live in Los Angeles, you really have to fight the onslaught of celebrity culture or drown in it. When you overhear women at the grocery store discussing Sandra Bullock's love life like they're next-door neighbors or a guy in line at the bank bagging on some movie like he is a disappointed investor, you just want to buy a farm in Nebraska and hide out. Part of the problem is that so much of celebrity culture is about the bad things--Lindsay Lohan's downward spiral, the break-up of a marriage, the replacement of an actor. In a time when a lot of people are struggling, it's clearly comforting to know that the rich and famous and beautiful have problems too. Big problems.
And then there's a story like the one Bret Michaels is living out. And even the most jaded Angeleno has to sit back and go "whoah." When an Idol-loving friend called to tell me I had to turn on the TV, I had something else to do so I didn't. But then I went to YouTube to check out the clip of Bret doing a duet of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" with contestant Casey James. And I found myself getting caught up in the whole thing. Michaels was clearly having a great time. He's not the beautiful boy he was and the voice has weathered too, but cheesy as the song is (I've always liked it, sue me), it rocked.
See it for yourself here.
Rock on Bret. Enjoy your second act.
I knew of the band, of course, you couldn't escape them unless your radio was permanently tuned to NPR or your subscription to People had run out. (He was going out with Pamela Anderson at the time, so they were a couple made in paparazzi heaven.) Michaels was handsome--actually beautiful--with his sky-blue eyes and his long blond hair. If urban fiction had been a genre back then, he'd have been the model for many a cover. If I thought about him at all, it was mostly in terms of being a second-string Van Halen's David Lee Roth whose athletic stage moves he seemed to have borrowed. (The self-styled "Diamond Dave" is one of the smartest guys ever to sling a microphone and his interviews were always a delight to read.) But that was 20 years ago.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, here's Bret Michaels back in the spotlight. One minute he's in the hospital fighting for his life and the next week he's on American Idol, sporting a hat that would make Dwight Yoakam jealous and doing his guitar slinger thing. And he won Celebrity Apprentice. Without watching an hour of reality TV, it's been possible to chart his amazing renaissance and it's been hard not to get caught up in it.
When you live in Los Angeles, you really have to fight the onslaught of celebrity culture or drown in it. When you overhear women at the grocery store discussing Sandra Bullock's love life like they're next-door neighbors or a guy in line at the bank bagging on some movie like he is a disappointed investor, you just want to buy a farm in Nebraska and hide out. Part of the problem is that so much of celebrity culture is about the bad things--Lindsay Lohan's downward spiral, the break-up of a marriage, the replacement of an actor. In a time when a lot of people are struggling, it's clearly comforting to know that the rich and famous and beautiful have problems too. Big problems.
And then there's a story like the one Bret Michaels is living out. And even the most jaded Angeleno has to sit back and go "whoah." When an Idol-loving friend called to tell me I had to turn on the TV, I had something else to do so I didn't. But then I went to YouTube to check out the clip of Bret doing a duet of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" with contestant Casey James. And I found myself getting caught up in the whole thing. Michaels was clearly having a great time. He's not the beautiful boy he was and the voice has weathered too, but cheesy as the song is (I've always liked it, sue me), it rocked.
See it for yourself here.
Rock on Bret. Enjoy your second act.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Wish me luck!
I'm entering the fifth annual Guide to Literary Agents' "Dear Lucky Agent" contest with the first 200 words of my YA sf book Frontier Town. The 200-word cut-off is kind of unnerving. I found myself wanting to add just a few more sentences from that all-important first chapter.
The contest is for completed manuscripts in the sci fi or fantasy genres, so if you have a ms sitting around, why not enter? The contest closes on Wednesday, the 26th, so you still have a little more time. The top three winners snag a critique of their opening pages and the attention of the agent judge!
The contest is for completed manuscripts in the sci fi or fantasy genres, so if you have a ms sitting around, why not enter? The contest closes on Wednesday, the 26th, so you still have a little more time. The top three winners snag a critique of their opening pages and the attention of the agent judge!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Needle Magazine is Here
And it looks fabulous.
They bill themselves as a "magazine of noir," so that's right up my alley. It's a print magazine, available here.
Long-time supporter and friend Cormac Brown is among the authors in the premiere issue which makes me happy.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Through a Lens Darkly
I always enjoy photo story prompts, so we've put another one up at Dark Valentine. We're looking for flash (under 1000 words) inspired by the photo. Here's all the info.
We don't pay for the stories published on the site but Dark Valentine is a paying market for stories published in the magazine. Our first issue will be available in mere weeks, but we're open for submissions to issue #2 now. Here's a link to our guidelines. Dark Valentine is looking for any sort of dark fiction--you pick the genre.
We don't pay for the stories published on the site but Dark Valentine is a paying market for stories published in the magazine. Our first issue will be available in mere weeks, but we're open for submissions to issue #2 now. Here's a link to our guidelines. Dark Valentine is looking for any sort of dark fiction--you pick the genre.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Surf's Up
Aloha
As you may know, CBS is about to launch a remake of the classic television series Hawaii 5-0. This was the show that launched "5-0" into the lexicon as well as making a catch phrase of "Book 'em Danno." As catch phrases go, it's not that cool (coming in somewhere behind Kojak's "Who loves ya baby?" and "Where's the beef?") but turning a television title into an urban slang term--that's pop culture immortality.
The show had a long run (from 1968 to 1980) and during some of that time, I lived in Honolulu. My apartment overlooked both the Punchbowl cemetery and Iolani Palace (with the statue of King Kamehameha in front). Both locations are seen in the iconic credit sequence. (Possibly the best television credit sequence ever with that shot of Jack Lord turning around on the balcony and gazing steely-eyed into the camera as the Hawaiian breezes tugged at a strand of his perfectly coiffed hair.)
James MacArthur used to wander around the grounds of the Palace on his lunch breaks, being charming to the tourists and signing autographs and posing for pictures. Everybody loved him. And being a resident of Honolulu, I always felt somewhat proprietary about the show.
Here's the credit sequence for the new show.
Here's the credit sequence for the classic show.
What do you think? And what television show would you like to see updated?
As you may know, CBS is about to launch a remake of the classic television series Hawaii 5-0. This was the show that launched "5-0" into the lexicon as well as making a catch phrase of "Book 'em Danno." As catch phrases go, it's not that cool (coming in somewhere behind Kojak's "Who loves ya baby?" and "Where's the beef?") but turning a television title into an urban slang term--that's pop culture immortality.
The show had a long run (from 1968 to 1980) and during some of that time, I lived in Honolulu. My apartment overlooked both the Punchbowl cemetery and Iolani Palace (with the statue of King Kamehameha in front). Both locations are seen in the iconic credit sequence. (Possibly the best television credit sequence ever with that shot of Jack Lord turning around on the balcony and gazing steely-eyed into the camera as the Hawaiian breezes tugged at a strand of his perfectly coiffed hair.)
James MacArthur used to wander around the grounds of the Palace on his lunch breaks, being charming to the tourists and signing autographs and posing for pictures. Everybody loved him. And being a resident of Honolulu, I always felt somewhat proprietary about the show.
Here's the credit sequence for the new show.
Here's the credit sequence for the classic show.
What do you think? And what television show would you like to see updated?
Friday, May 7, 2010
Love Your Mother
I got lucky in the parent lottery. My mother was an artist and a dreamer; my father was an Army lawyer and practical. I inherited the best of both of their personalities, along with my mother's blue eyes and my father's crack memory. My parents gave me the kind of love that sustains you your whole life and that's good because I was still young when they died and I miss them still.
Two things I inhereited from my parents have significantly shaped my adult life. They both loved to read and they both loved good food. I grew up in a house surrounded by books--my mother loved mysteries; my father mostly read history and other non-fiction.
They encouraged me to read anything and everything. Once, when I was 13, I loaned a book I'd read, something by Max Schulman, to a school friend. Her mother showed up at our door, furious that I had loaned her daughter such trash, demanding to talk to my mother, who didn't censor what I read and didn't really understand the other woman's outrage. Max Schulman was the man who invented Dobie Gillis and though I no longer remember what the offensive book in question was, even at 12 I thought the woman was making a mountain out of a molehill.
My mother taught me to cook and when I moved to Los Angeles, I continued to use the recipes she'd taught me--Southern comfort foods like mac and cheese, exotic meals she'd picked up in her reading, like the Pakistani kima (curried meat and peas), favorites from friends, like a pizza sauce recipe that has won me raves at parties over the years.
It's Mother's Day this weekend. To celebrate, I offer you the recipe for my mother's favorite chocolate cake.
Happy Mother's Day.
Two things I inhereited from my parents have significantly shaped my adult life. They both loved to read and they both loved good food. I grew up in a house surrounded by books--my mother loved mysteries; my father mostly read history and other non-fiction.
They encouraged me to read anything and everything. Once, when I was 13, I loaned a book I'd read, something by Max Schulman, to a school friend. Her mother showed up at our door, furious that I had loaned her daughter such trash, demanding to talk to my mother, who didn't censor what I read and didn't really understand the other woman's outrage. Max Schulman was the man who invented Dobie Gillis and though I no longer remember what the offensive book in question was, even at 12 I thought the woman was making a mountain out of a molehill.
My mother taught me to cook and when I moved to Los Angeles, I continued to use the recipes she'd taught me--Southern comfort foods like mac and cheese, exotic meals she'd picked up in her reading, like the Pakistani kima (curried meat and peas), favorites from friends, like a pizza sauce recipe that has won me raves at parties over the years.
It's Mother's Day this weekend. To celebrate, I offer you the recipe for my mother's favorite chocolate cake.
Happy Mother's Day.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Food for Thought
Did you ever read the book Stone Soup? It's about a hungry village that combines their resources to make a soup to feed everyone when all they thought they had was stones for the cooking pot. I always think of that book when the annual NALC Food Drive comes around.
The NALC (National Association of Letter Carriers) makes it painless to participate. All you have to do is leave out a non-perishable food item--it's nice if you put it in a bag--and it'll get picked up and combined with donations from people all along your mail route. Even if all you can spare is a can of tuna (68 cents at my local supermarket and I live in an expensive city), it adds up.
The Food Drive will take place this Saturday, May 8th. Last year the Drive collected a record 73.4 million pounds of food. The Food Drive is a real world example of the power of community. This economy has left a lot of people hungry. Some of them are our neighbors. For more information about this year's drive, go here.
The NALC (National Association of Letter Carriers) makes it painless to participate. All you have to do is leave out a non-perishable food item--it's nice if you put it in a bag--and it'll get picked up and combined with donations from people all along your mail route. Even if all you can spare is a can of tuna (68 cents at my local supermarket and I live in an expensive city), it adds up.
The Food Drive will take place this Saturday, May 8th. Last year the Drive collected a record 73.4 million pounds of food. The Food Drive is a real world example of the power of community. This economy has left a lot of people hungry. Some of them are our neighbors. For more information about this year's drive, go here.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Dude Looks like a Lady
Here's my entry into Patti Abbott's Sweet Dreams Challenge. Here's what we were given--Eurythmics Sweet Dreams is playing in a restaurant of some kind when a red-headed woman wearing an electric blue dress walks in. Under 1000 words.
Check out her blog to see the other entries which will be posted Monday, May 3, 2010. If you don't know her blog, you should.
Let me know what you think of Dude--
Dude Looks Like a Lady
I was deep into my second plate of Chilaquiles Verdes, hoping the cheese and fried tortillas would soak up some of the alcohol in my stomach before I had to go on duty. I hadn’t had much sleep and I’d been up early to run some errands and I was in a foul mood to start with so the 80s music pumping at ear-bleed levels didn’t help.
I wasn’t the only one who winced when Sweet Dreams replaced Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car. With its throbbing backbeat and Annie Lennox’s orgiastic wailing, the song was a musical root canal exposing every nerve in my head. I signaled Yadira to refill my coffee as Annie whispered, “Hold your head up” and drained it almost before she’d turned away.
The headache was kicking my ass. I was thinking about getting a Red Bull to go when Zelda came through the door.
Staggered was more like it. Her long red wig was askew, revealing about three inches of smooth, shaven skull. It looked like she’d been scalped. “Oh my god,” shouted the assclown in the corner booth, shrinking back as far away as possible. Frozen by the sight of the blood soaking her electric blue dress.
Blue was Zelda’s favorite color because it brought out the color of her eyes. “I’m a Technicolor woman in a black and white world,” she’d told me once, and it just about broke my heart.
I keyed my radio and called for a bus but by the looks of her, Zelda would be dead before the ambulance arrived. As I moved toward her I saw the busboy take a picture with his phone. I grabbed the phone and stomped on it. Crushed that plastic clamshell like an oversized roach. The kid said something to me in Spanish that made Yadira gasp. I told him in English to get back in the kitchen or I’d do the same thing to his scrawny illegal ass. He understood that and stood aside, pouting. I’d spoiled his chance to make points with his FaceBook friends by posting the picture.
Yadira gave me her apron and I balled it up and stuffed it into the hole in Zelda’s gut, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding. “You’re hurting her,” the guy in the corner booth said. “You’re making it worse.”
What is it with civilians? Seriously. This guy hadn’t even bothered to dial 911 and now he’s telling me what to do? Like he’s a doctor and not a bottom-feeder lawyer who has to scrounge for court-appointed cases. I’ve seen him hanging around the court house in Van Nuys, mooching cigarettes from pissed-off potential jurors taking a smoke break after hours of waiting around to see if they’re going to get called.
“You’re hurting her,” the guy said again because lawyers never know when to keep their mouths shut. I stood up and walked over to his booth. Crowded him a little as I leaned in to him. “Shut up,” I suggested.
I’m a big guy and in uniform, I rarely have to ask twice. The guy looked like he was going to make me ask twice, so I knocked everything off his table—dishes, napkins, paper placemats, the little pitcher of maple syrup for his pancakes. He got wide-eyed then and he shut up quick. Yadira moved to clean it all up. “Leave it,” I growled and she backed away. I could tell I was scaring her.
I went back to see how Zelda was doing. Not good. She was barely conscious. I could hear the siren of the approaching ambulance but knew it would arrive too late. I told Zelda to hold on. I’m not sure she heard me.
Zelda.
She was a sweet lost soul wobbling through life in size 14 four-inch heels. She’d been born Bobby Zelda but reversed the order of her name as she worked on reversing her gender. She was in the final stages of pre-op, trying to raise money for her last operation one blow job at a time. If she’d gone to Vegas she could have been pulling down $200 a pop minus whatever cut her pimp took, but she didn’t want to leave her mother.
I gave her money sometimes and we both pretended it wasn’t charity. A girl like Zelda can be an asset to a cop. These street girls see everything. I told her to be careful. Some things you see can get you killed.
Zelda was a good girl but she should never have been in that alley this morning. She never should have seen me taking that money. I’d warned her what could happen if she saw the wrong thing. I’d told her. But she hadn’t listened. She had just laughed, with no concern for self-preservation at all. It was a self-esteem thing. She didn’t have much.
I had thought she was dead in the alley. I made sure she was by the time the ambulance arrived. Yadira was weeping as the EMTs took Zelda away.
Everyone was starting to mill around when the detectives arrived. They found the murder weapon wrapped in a napkin on the floor by the corner booth. Right where I’d left it when I’d swept everything off the table.
The lawyer was wide-eyed as he saw the knife and said the first thing that came into his head, which was… “I didn’t kill it.” Everyone in the room gasped. He fumbled around for something more PC to say but the damage was done.
That’s lawyers for you. Never know when to keep their mouths shut.
I gave my statement to the detective and managed to make it to work in time for roll call, the chilaquiles sitting in my stomach like a ticking cheese bomb. After work, I’d go by and say hello to Zelda’s mother. See if she needed anything. It was the least I could do.
Check out her blog to see the other entries which will be posted Monday, May 3, 2010. If you don't know her blog, you should.
Let me know what you think of Dude--
Dude Looks Like a Lady
I was deep into my second plate of Chilaquiles Verdes, hoping the cheese and fried tortillas would soak up some of the alcohol in my stomach before I had to go on duty. I hadn’t had much sleep and I’d been up early to run some errands and I was in a foul mood to start with so the 80s music pumping at ear-bleed levels didn’t help.
I wasn’t the only one who winced when Sweet Dreams replaced Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car. With its throbbing backbeat and Annie Lennox’s orgiastic wailing, the song was a musical root canal exposing every nerve in my head. I signaled Yadira to refill my coffee as Annie whispered, “Hold your head up” and drained it almost before she’d turned away.
The headache was kicking my ass. I was thinking about getting a Red Bull to go when Zelda came through the door.
Staggered was more like it. Her long red wig was askew, revealing about three inches of smooth, shaven skull. It looked like she’d been scalped. “Oh my god,” shouted the assclown in the corner booth, shrinking back as far away as possible. Frozen by the sight of the blood soaking her electric blue dress.
Blue was Zelda’s favorite color because it brought out the color of her eyes. “I’m a Technicolor woman in a black and white world,” she’d told me once, and it just about broke my heart.
I keyed my radio and called for a bus but by the looks of her, Zelda would be dead before the ambulance arrived. As I moved toward her I saw the busboy take a picture with his phone. I grabbed the phone and stomped on it. Crushed that plastic clamshell like an oversized roach. The kid said something to me in Spanish that made Yadira gasp. I told him in English to get back in the kitchen or I’d do the same thing to his scrawny illegal ass. He understood that and stood aside, pouting. I’d spoiled his chance to make points with his FaceBook friends by posting the picture.
Yadira gave me her apron and I balled it up and stuffed it into the hole in Zelda’s gut, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding. “You’re hurting her,” the guy in the corner booth said. “You’re making it worse.”
What is it with civilians? Seriously. This guy hadn’t even bothered to dial 911 and now he’s telling me what to do? Like he’s a doctor and not a bottom-feeder lawyer who has to scrounge for court-appointed cases. I’ve seen him hanging around the court house in Van Nuys, mooching cigarettes from pissed-off potential jurors taking a smoke break after hours of waiting around to see if they’re going to get called.
“You’re hurting her,” the guy said again because lawyers never know when to keep their mouths shut. I stood up and walked over to his booth. Crowded him a little as I leaned in to him. “Shut up,” I suggested.
I’m a big guy and in uniform, I rarely have to ask twice. The guy looked like he was going to make me ask twice, so I knocked everything off his table—dishes, napkins, paper placemats, the little pitcher of maple syrup for his pancakes. He got wide-eyed then and he shut up quick. Yadira moved to clean it all up. “Leave it,” I growled and she backed away. I could tell I was scaring her.
I went back to see how Zelda was doing. Not good. She was barely conscious. I could hear the siren of the approaching ambulance but knew it would arrive too late. I told Zelda to hold on. I’m not sure she heard me.
Zelda.
She was a sweet lost soul wobbling through life in size 14 four-inch heels. She’d been born Bobby Zelda but reversed the order of her name as she worked on reversing her gender. She was in the final stages of pre-op, trying to raise money for her last operation one blow job at a time. If she’d gone to Vegas she could have been pulling down $200 a pop minus whatever cut her pimp took, but she didn’t want to leave her mother.
I gave her money sometimes and we both pretended it wasn’t charity. A girl like Zelda can be an asset to a cop. These street girls see everything. I told her to be careful. Some things you see can get you killed.
Zelda was a good girl but she should never have been in that alley this morning. She never should have seen me taking that money. I’d warned her what could happen if she saw the wrong thing. I’d told her. But she hadn’t listened. She had just laughed, with no concern for self-preservation at all. It was a self-esteem thing. She didn’t have much.
I had thought she was dead in the alley. I made sure she was by the time the ambulance arrived. Yadira was weeping as the EMTs took Zelda away.
Everyone was starting to mill around when the detectives arrived. They found the murder weapon wrapped in a napkin on the floor by the corner booth. Right where I’d left it when I’d swept everything off the table.
The lawyer was wide-eyed as he saw the knife and said the first thing that came into his head, which was… “I didn’t kill it.” Everyone in the room gasped. He fumbled around for something more PC to say but the damage was done.
That’s lawyers for you. Never know when to keep their mouths shut.
I gave my statement to the detective and managed to make it to work in time for roll call, the chilaquiles sitting in my stomach like a ticking cheese bomb. After work, I’d go by and say hello to Zelda’s mother. See if she needed anything. It was the least I could do.
The Blog is Back
Yes, April is the cruelest month. And March wasn't much better. But it is May now and that's enough said about that.
If you have an Amazon wishlist, I suggest you put Kevin Brook's iBoy on it. It won't be published until July but it's worth the wait. It's a gritty story that manages to be completely credible while basically giving us the origin story of a modern superhero. Brook's writing is smart and gritty and surprising and the book itself is something special.
I got an advance look at the book because one of my clients was looking at it as a potential film property. I love my job.
Submissions for the first issue of Dark Valentine have closed. I am very, very happy with the range and quality of stories submitted. Our art director, Joanne Renaud, has found some superb artists and the artwork will be fantastic.
If you have an Amazon wishlist, I suggest you put Kevin Brook's iBoy on it. It won't be published until July but it's worth the wait. It's a gritty story that manages to be completely credible while basically giving us the origin story of a modern superhero. Brook's writing is smart and gritty and surprising and the book itself is something special.
I got an advance look at the book because one of my clients was looking at it as a potential film property. I love my job.
Submissions for the first issue of Dark Valentine have closed. I am very, very happy with the range and quality of stories submitted. Our art director, Joanne Renaud, has found some superb artists and the artwork will be fantastic.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Spellcheck is our friend!
Is it just me? Am I really the only person who thinks it matters if you spell words correctly as well as use them correctly? Is it too much to ask that when a screenwriter sets his story in Iran, he knows how to spell "Ayatollah Khomeini?" Apparently, the answer is yes, it is too much to ask. And apparently, I am the only person on my creative team who thinks it's odd that someone who expects to be paid for his work would approximate the spelling thus: "Iatola Komani."
In truth, I've long since given up hope that people will use "its" and "it's" correctly. I no longer cringe when people spell automobile brakes as "breaks." I don't flinch when I see "gauge" written as "gage." Those silent letters are tricky. (Although no one ever seems to spell "knife" as "nif.")
Sometimes it's enough to e-mail my fellow grammar-snarkers with examples of egregious spelling and other errors: pre-Madonna for "primadonna," for example, or my current favorite, "They were pail as ghost's." It's not often you see that many mistakes in just five words.
It's not as if I'm a perfect speller. I cannot spell "inaugural" to save my life. I used to misspell millennium until the millennium when I finally got it through my head that it was 2 Ls and 2 Ms.
But that is what Spellcheck is for.
Am I the only one who thinks this matters?
In truth, I've long since given up hope that people will use "its" and "it's" correctly. I no longer cringe when people spell automobile brakes as "breaks." I don't flinch when I see "gauge" written as "gage." Those silent letters are tricky. (Although no one ever seems to spell "knife" as "nif.")
Sometimes it's enough to e-mail my fellow grammar-snarkers with examples of egregious spelling and other errors: pre-Madonna for "primadonna," for example, or my current favorite, "They were pail as ghost's." It's not often you see that many mistakes in just five words.
It's not as if I'm a perfect speller. I cannot spell "inaugural" to save my life. I used to misspell millennium until the millennium when I finally got it through my head that it was 2 Ls and 2 Ms.
But that is what Spellcheck is for.
Am I the only one who thinks this matters?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Gone, Baby Gone
I live in a small part of Los Angeles called Valley Village. It's not Beverly Hills, but it's not a slum either. On the east we're bounded by Studio City, home of CBS TV, a number of upscale super markets and a lot of actors and screenwriters. Roddy McDowall was a neighbor when I lived in Studio City; so was Earl Holliman of Police Woman and many Disney movies. (Earl loves animals and knew the name of every dog in the 'hood, including mine, but he couldn't remember a human's name to save his life.)
On the east side of Valley Village is North Hollywood, which is styling itself NoHo these days. It's an area that's coming back, as they say. It's where you'll find Universal Studios and the best Pakistani restaurant in town. It's also where you'll find the police station that handles crime in Valley Village, which is too small to have its own PD.
Three cars are stolen every day in Valley Village, which is one of 29 different cities that make up the patchwork quilt that is Los Angeles County. If your car is stolen, you have to go to the NHPD to make your report; they won't take it over the phone. I know this because my car was stolen in June of last year.
My car was stolen out of a security parking lot accessible with a clicker and through a locked door. After my car was stolen, my landlords installed security cameras, which made everyone feel a bit more ssecure.
Until this morning, when we discovered the car I bought to replace the one that was stolen was itself stolen at 3:42 in the morning. The thieves were caught on camera. A man and a woman. I'd say they were husband and wife or otherwise together because of body language. It was weird watching the security tapes. Their faces were very clear on the tapes. They either didn't know or didn't care that they were being recorded. How many times have we seen that scene on television or in a movie? How many times have I written that scene myself? It's not the same.
What makes it worse is knowing the thieves came in the front door of the apartment building. Where did they get the key? What makes it worse is finding out that another car was stolen from the lot last month but no one told the tenants. What makes it worse is knowing that car is gone, baby gone.
Sigh.
On the east side of Valley Village is North Hollywood, which is styling itself NoHo these days. It's an area that's coming back, as they say. It's where you'll find Universal Studios and the best Pakistani restaurant in town. It's also where you'll find the police station that handles crime in Valley Village, which is too small to have its own PD.
Three cars are stolen every day in Valley Village, which is one of 29 different cities that make up the patchwork quilt that is Los Angeles County. If your car is stolen, you have to go to the NHPD to make your report; they won't take it over the phone. I know this because my car was stolen in June of last year.
My car was stolen out of a security parking lot accessible with a clicker and through a locked door. After my car was stolen, my landlords installed security cameras, which made everyone feel a bit more ssecure.
Until this morning, when we discovered the car I bought to replace the one that was stolen was itself stolen at 3:42 in the morning. The thieves were caught on camera. A man and a woman. I'd say they were husband and wife or otherwise together because of body language. It was weird watching the security tapes. Their faces were very clear on the tapes. They either didn't know or didn't care that they were being recorded. How many times have we seen that scene on television or in a movie? How many times have I written that scene myself? It's not the same.
What makes it worse is knowing the thieves came in the front door of the apartment building. Where did they get the key? What makes it worse is finding out that another car was stolen from the lot last month but no one told the tenants. What makes it worse is knowing that car is gone, baby gone.
Sigh.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
So Many Books, So Few Credits
I discovered paperback book swap last year and think it's the best invention since movable type. My original idea was that using pbs would be a way to attain book stasis in my house--for every book purchased, one would be posted on the site and the number of books crowding my shelves would not increase. It was a good idea and it's mostly worked. The problem is that whenever I log on to the site to post new books or to claim a credit for a book I've sent someone else, the welcome page automatically throws up a selection of books I might be interested in.
I am always interested in these books. Old books by authors I know, new books by authors I've never heard of, translations of foreign thrillers...the list is pretty long. So long in fact that I now have 23 books on my "wish" list (one of which hasn't been posted since 2005) and 1525 on my "reminder" list. I have one available credit. Somehow the math does NOT add up.
I highly recommend pbs for anyone who wants to trade books. You get several free credits just for signing up. Yes, you have to pay postage on the books you ship out, but it's almost always less than you'd pay for a used book unless you buy all your books from yard sales. Most of the books I've gotten are in pristine condition--even re-giftable. They also have hardbacks.
They also have the review and social networking features you get on Good Reads. Some of my friends swear by Book Mooch, which is optimized for several different languages.
Right now there are four books on their way to me and five I've sent on their way. I have that one credit. And thousands and thousands of books I can "spend" it on. I feel rich.
I am always interested in these books. Old books by authors I know, new books by authors I've never heard of, translations of foreign thrillers...the list is pretty long. So long in fact that I now have 23 books on my "wish" list (one of which hasn't been posted since 2005) and 1525 on my "reminder" list. I have one available credit. Somehow the math does NOT add up.
I highly recommend pbs for anyone who wants to trade books. You get several free credits just for signing up. Yes, you have to pay postage on the books you ship out, but it's almost always less than you'd pay for a used book unless you buy all your books from yard sales. Most of the books I've gotten are in pristine condition--even re-giftable. They also have hardbacks.
They also have the review and social networking features you get on Good Reads. Some of my friends swear by Book Mooch, which is optimized for several different languages.
Right now there are four books on their way to me and five I've sent on their way. I have that one credit. And thousands and thousands of books I can "spend" it on. I feel rich.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
How I Know I'm a Real Writer
I am not ashamed to say I have a "Google Alert" set for my name. Not only does that allow me to keep up with the activities of Katherine Tomlinson of Manchester, England (pediatric nurse and music lover) and the Katherine Tomlinson who works in Vermont politics, but it also lets me know when I am mentioned somewhere.
The nature of the Internet being what it is, these mentions are sometimes very far away from their original source and like messages in the kids' game of telephone, sometimes you're surprised at what the final result is.
Tonight an alert showed up that sent me to a site that was offering a free e-book download of my story "Proof of Life," originally published on ThugLit. The story link was in with a bunch of links to articles about bathroom drains. My story had somehow come to their attention because of the phrase "bathroom drain" in my narrative.
Two years after the story appeared in ThugLit and a month after it was reprinted on A Twist of Noir, some unknown entity liked it enough to scoop it up and ... pass it around. They're not charging a fee for the download, so I'm inclined to view it as free publicity.
You're no one 'til somebody steals your work.
The nature of the Internet being what it is, these mentions are sometimes very far away from their original source and like messages in the kids' game of telephone, sometimes you're surprised at what the final result is.
Tonight an alert showed up that sent me to a site that was offering a free e-book download of my story "Proof of Life," originally published on ThugLit. The story link was in with a bunch of links to articles about bathroom drains. My story had somehow come to their attention because of the phrase "bathroom drain" in my narrative.
Two years after the story appeared in ThugLit and a month after it was reprinted on A Twist of Noir, some unknown entity liked it enough to scoop it up and ... pass it around. They're not charging a fee for the download, so I'm inclined to view it as free publicity.
You're no one 'til somebody steals your work.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Earthquake Thoughts
I live on the edge of apocalypse. Floods. Fires. Plagues. Earthquakes. We get them all in Southern California.
In 1994 when the Northridge Quake struck, I was living on the third floor of an apartment facing west toward the Pacific Ocean. My living room had a floor-to-ceiling window that took up most of the wall. In the evening, I could watch the pollution-fueled sunsets and revel in the beauty.
The quake struck at 4:31 a.m. California time. I sleep like the dead, but at 4:29 that morning, I'd suddenly sat up in my bed, awakened by my two cats who were racing around my bedroom in what I thought was an unusually exuberant example of normal nocturnal cat craziness.
It was cold in my bedroom. I always sleep with the window open, even in chill January.
The quake struck the blink of a sleepy eye later. It lasted 20 seconds. You have no idea how long 20 seconds can be until you've counted it off in the dark in a room with the floor shaking under you. And if my window hadn't been open, the stress of the building flexing in a 6.7 quake would have shattered it.
In the kitchen, cabinets were shaking open and cans of dried spices were launching themselves across the room. A cut-glass vase that had belonged to my great-aunt shattered as it hit the floor. So did a ruby red punch bowl I'd inherited from my mother.
My roommate, a native Californian, freaked out and came running out of her room in her bare feet, just as a heavy framed poster swung free of the wall. It clipped her on the forehead. There was a LOT of blood. I didn't hear her scream, though, because of the thundering roar that drowned out everything. I'd been through earthquakes before but I had never heard the grinding noise the earth makes as it shears on a fault. It's been described as sounding like a massive freight train roaring down a track. That description does not do it justice.
The Northridge quake was 6.7. It lasted for 20 seconds. Seventy-two people died, nine thousand were injured. Damages ran into the double-digit billions. There was no water for several days. There was no electricity for a couple of hours. My phone never stopped working. When the lights came back on, my roommate washed her face and bandaged the small cuts. We found blood spatter on the walls for months, along with chunks of red glass embedded inthe floor from the destroyed red punch bowl. A friend who didn't want to sleep alone came over and stayed on our couch for almost a month. It got so we could predict the magnitude of aftershocks with precision. What people forget is that if you have an earthquake that massive, the aftershocks are huge too.
The closest I've ever been to Haiti was editing a cookbook for Haitian caterer Nadege Fleurimond. It hit bookstores late last month. She's in the middle of a celebratory round of reviews and interviews. I have not talked to her yet. I do not know if her people are safe. So many are not. The death toll is being projected in the hundreds of thousands.
Yesterday's quake in Haiti was a 7.0. Port au Prince has been flattened. The magnitude of the disaster is off the human scale. The American Red Cross is already running out of supplies to send to the victims. There's a donation program in place that makes it easy and quick to help. Text "Haiti" to 90999. The $10 donation to the American Red Cross will appear on your next phone bill.
Or click on the button above to donate to Doctors Without Borders.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Audible Pulp Available
The first Kattomic Energy Podcast is here!
This is Canadian actress Nika Farahani reading my story "Pulp Christmas." It was recorded by Trent Radio CFFF 92.7 in Peterborough, Ontario. It was scheduled for broadcast on Christmas Day but program director James Kerr decided it didn't really fit in with Dylan Thomas' "A Child's Christmas in Wales." He is however, planning on recording a companion piece with the story being read in a male voice. It'll be fun to compare.
I'm thrilled because it's always exciting to hear your words come alive off the page. Listen and tell me what you think.
Thanks to G. Wells Taylor who fiddled around with the file for me.
This is Canadian actress Nika Farahani reading my story "Pulp Christmas." It was recorded by Trent Radio CFFF 92.7 in Peterborough, Ontario. It was scheduled for broadcast on Christmas Day but program director James Kerr decided it didn't really fit in with Dylan Thomas' "A Child's Christmas in Wales." He is however, planning on recording a companion piece with the story being read in a male voice. It'll be fun to compare.
I'm thrilled because it's always exciting to hear your words come alive off the page. Listen and tell me what you think.
Thanks to G. Wells Taylor who fiddled around with the file for me.
Friday, January 1, 2010
The Sin Eater is Live!
What a fantastic way to start the new decade. I woke up to an email message from the editors of Dark Fire telling me that the new issue was online and that my story "The Sin Eater" was up.
This is a dark story that was inspired by something that really happened. When I was a little girl I was out grocery shopping with my mother. We were in line and a woman behind me just leaned over and blurted out, "My son is gay." My mother, who had gone to art school and known gay men before it was cool, just looked at her and said, "Do you love him?" And the woman nodded and my mother said, "Then that's all right then."
I thought it was weird that a total stranger would just say something like that but my mother said it happened to her all the time. People tell me things.
And here's the weird thing. People tell me things too. They'll confess to things they won't tell thier priest. They'll share secrets they've kept close for years. It's unsettling and can be disturbing. And it's always strangers. My brother has people tell him things too but he's an attorney and they're paying him to listen.
I showed my brother this story and he shook his head and asked me if I ever wrote stories about people who aren't crazy. I think he worries about me.
This is a dark story that was inspired by something that really happened. When I was a little girl I was out grocery shopping with my mother. We were in line and a woman behind me just leaned over and blurted out, "My son is gay." My mother, who had gone to art school and known gay men before it was cool, just looked at her and said, "Do you love him?" And the woman nodded and my mother said, "Then that's all right then."
I thought it was weird that a total stranger would just say something like that but my mother said it happened to her all the time. People tell me things.
And here's the weird thing. People tell me things too. They'll confess to things they won't tell thier priest. They'll share secrets they've kept close for years. It's unsettling and can be disturbing. And it's always strangers. My brother has people tell him things too but he's an attorney and they're paying him to listen.
I showed my brother this story and he shook his head and asked me if I ever wrote stories about people who aren't crazy. I think he worries about me.
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