Audiophiles, Listen Here: The target’s name was Sheila Hamspelter, codename “SHELIA.” We let Brian come up with the codename, and you get what you get with Brian. My plan for infiltration was simple. We would ride in on flowers and disperse from there, achieving maximum coverage over several days. Brian fell on his flat face […]
Audiophiles, Listen Here: Everyone sat stiffly in their seats, facing the fully open coffin and large portrait wreathed by pink lilies at the front of the church. Nothing would start without her, and the pianist was on the fourth round of the first song, dragging a little more each time until the tune itself seemed […]
Rejoice, Audiophiles! Listen here: I was trying to change the world in my own small way. When I say that, I’m not being modest. I was trying to change the world with my patented nano-exploration technology. It’s small, and I own it. I do love precision. The ocean floor trip wasn’t my idea. The spaceheads […]
Welcome to Story McStoryface! This is an online story project for 2019–a story project YOU can be part of. About twice a month, I will publish a short story on the project’s website, https://storymcstoryface.com/. These stories will be (for the most part) based on requests from readers! Nothing is too outlandish or weird, but no porn or fanfiction, please. Check out the “How It Works” page for more info if you’re into that sort of thing.
My work tends toward dark comedy and speculative horror, so if you ask for butterflies and rainbows, don’t be mad when the rainbows are radioactive and the butterflies turn into vampires.
While all of the stories will be available in electronic text, I plan to record most on audio as well for the reading with your ears crowd. I’m excited to get this started! The first story, a sci-fi about a sea cucumber I…
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Sometimes, you’re sittin’ on a stump, trying to get your thoughts collected, and Life decides that you will not being doing that right now. Life does the Dance of Distraction all around you, and, well, you fall for it.
I’m finishing up the last leg of a road trip. I have poems. I have limited connectivity, and I had no plan to deal with that.
There will be poems. Probably even tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you. In the meantime, I’ll be riding all night, watching Montana and Idaho and Oregon go by until we are enveloped by our little neighborhood. Then–a shower. After that, poems.
I watch from inside
as mortal becomes remains
finally, cede control
I am 44, and my multi-hued hair is turning from primarily dark brown to a sort of salt and cayenne mix. Someday I imagine I’ll have some pinkish fluff on my head that matches the ill-mannered apricot poodle I also intend to have. I don’t mean to dye my hair, unless I find some shockingly bright color appeals to me. I suppose then I’ll have to dye my poodle to match.
Why such a morbid poem about gray hair? Well, it’s not about gray hair. It’s about realizing that I can’t control any of this, the riotous hormones, my once luxurious hair, the fluid shape of my middle. I can only be kind to myself. I can eat something because it makes me feel well. I can take a walk because the outdoors sustains me. I can see people, and write words, and spend several hours hand knitting a dishcloth, though my dishcloths have lives that are nasty, brutish, and short. I can let go of the frustration of being stuck on the worst amusement park ride ever (Ride the MenoCoaster! Money back if you don’t feel like screaming!) and just….slowly….breathe for a few minutes.
Just when that quiet wants to turn to tears, the school bus brings the circus back to town and saves me from a surplus of contemplation. Maybe I should get that poodle soon, and teach it some tricks.
I’m spending this summer’s TV time on Winchesters,
Because most of my friends are hardcore investors.
Season One left me, frankly, shaking my head.
How are these Duke clones not already dead?
I don’t like Impalas, and neither is my “type,”
The things that they hunt are all bogans and snipe.
I mostly wanted them to STOP WITH THE TALKING.
Get on with the hunting and beheading and stalking.
Season Two was slightly better, less earnestly bad.
Eventually they got over their issues with Dad.
By Season Five, I admit I was hooked.
This show’s better than it initially looked.
It turns out, they needed to poke fun at themselves
While salting and burning the goblins and elves.
Plus wondrous Heaven opened, and deposited Cass.
God’s agenda gave the show quite a kick in the ass.
Ambiguous angel, can we trust him or not?
I’m still not sure, with how far I’ve got.
Sam and Dean are a co-dependent mess,
But I like them both and hope for the best.
They can’t get out of their own way, painfully so.
But their charming flaws are the heart of the show.
I’ve been to Hell and back twice, at the halfway point,
I expect to go again, before we blow this joint.
It’s preposterous fun, all wrapped in the boys,
With a side of humanity under the noise.
When the writing is suspect or the plot gets thin,
I excuse it ’til the good stuff starts up again.
Am I Superfan Becky? Don’t be an idjit.
I ain’t seen every little thing they did yet.
I’m watching Supernatural for the first time, and it’s grown on me a lot. The lesson there, in some ways, is that fans will excuse a few less than good episodes if you get the big thing right–main characters you care about and want to see succeed. Bonus points if you read it out loud in your best Bobby Singer.
As for the children in the picture, there’s a month left before school starts and I’ll leave it to you to decide who the salt is protecting.