“My Boogie Man” at Cast of Wonders
February 24th, 2012 § 4 Comments
The good people over at Cast of Wonders - A Ya Sci-fi and Fantasy audio magazine - have accepted a story of mine and read it aloud for a PodCast. All their narrators have delicious accents. If you’d like to read it, please go here.
It’s about a Boogie Man, but isn’t scary at all. The idea came to me as I was cleaning out the closet before my family moved from Florida this summer. Things that are fun, comfortable, and familiar are hard to quit.
Here is a small excerpt:
Boogie Men weren’t supposed to be so mopey. Or at least that’s what I’d heard. David wasn’t exactly the typical Boogie Man and I don’t suppose I was the typical scare, either. He sat cross-legged on the floor of my closet, underneath what was left of my hanging clothes, folding shirts that fell off the hangers.
I Wooed Nathan Fillion
February 20th, 2012 § 6 Comments
You are welcome.
That isn’t exactly true, but I wrote an advice column for the Ermas discussing how one shouldn’t woo him.
Jen asked, “How do I make Nathan Fillion come to his senses and love me?”
Timmy asked, “Where do Fairies come from? And why does mom call dad that?”
And lastly, my husband asked, “Why do you always sigh and roll your eyes when we watch Tango and Cash?”
If you’d like to read my responses and see pretty pictures, please go here for Advice from the Unqualified.
You’re all beautiful and deserve cake. Cake like this.
I would give Nathan Fillion cake.
An Ordinary Broken Heart by Jules Archer
February 9th, 2012 § 5 Comments
Friends, I have the formidable and brilliant Jules Archer as a guest today. If you aren’t familiar with her work I have two things to say. 1) You absolutely should be and 2) you inevitably will be (she’s kind of a big deal). She initially contacted me to write a post for her. I swooned. We then decided to both write a bit of flash fiction for Valentines Day with the following prompts - hospital, regret, beef jerky, and candy hearts. I’ll cut the fanfare and let her writing speak for itself.
An Ordinary Broken Heart
by Jules Archer
It’s always the same thing this time of year.
That ol’ ache in my chest. I rub the tightening. Ask the nurse to refill my prescription but she tells me to wait for the doctor.
So I sit on a hard plastic chair, under fluorescent lights. I smell the familiar antiseptic and watch the scenery.
It’s a busy night at the hospital. Token injuries like a broken leg or third degree burns pass me by on stretchers. Things get interesting when a man’s wheeled in, frowning girlfriend at his side. The nurses’ conversation at the front desk tells me he choked on a candy heart, just one of the many inconveniences of “Be Mine” Valentine’s.
Eventually, the room fills up. I stretch my legs, nearly tripping a doctor, and pick up a newspaper. I scan headlines. Riots in San Francisco, Outbreak of Chinese food poisoning downtown, state budget passed…
The nurse calls my name and I look up.
I approach the desk. “Busy night.”
She bristles. “Yes, it is.” I lean against the counter. Gives me the stink eye over the rims of her spectacles. “I remember you from last year.”
“I had better luck then.”
“Two—maybe three years back even…” Eyes narrow. “Tell me again…what’re you here for?”
I press a hand against my chest. “Broken heart of course.”
“Get out of here,” she snaps, handing me the pile of documents. “Sit down and fill these out. It’s against policy to loiter in the hallways.”
I go, stopping by the vending machine on my way back. I drop a few coins in the slot and punch random numbers to see what I get. Vending machine roulette.
I mosey back. Survey my night.
There’s a brunette sitting in the corner, knees pressed together, head in her hands. She came in, holding the hand of a guy with third degree burns. The tears in her eyes tell me not a chance.
Slumping into the nearest chair, I peel the plastic away from my meal and take a wolfish bite. The nub of meat is rubbery in my mouth as I chew.
It’s a contemplative chew. But not for long. Feeling eyes on me, I glance up. “Want a bite?” I wave the jerky stick.
The Candy Heart girl laughs. It’s coarse, telling me she smokes and drinks too much. She’s lounging across three chairs like Cleopatra, chin propped in her elbow, cigarette pack out, resting on her thigh.
Candy Heart shakes her head. “It’s all yours, man.” Sighing, she rolls her eyes. “What a way to spend Saturday night.” Regret lingers in her voice. “Hope you’re here for something better.”
I shrug. “Just filling a prescription.” I finish the beef jerky, wad up the plastic wrap and leave it underneath my chair. Gauge the situation.
“You know, I’m kind of in the mood for dessert. You have any of those…oh I don’t know…candy hearts on you?”
“Oh, go to hell,” Candy Heart says, but she laughs and holds up her middle finger. Chipped black nail polish greets me. But her smile tells me all I need to know.
“Say, I have an idea…” I stand, walk over to the girl and extend my hand. “You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”
“But what about your prescription?”
“Don’t think I’ll be needing it tonight.”
Candy Heart looks up, looks down the hall to her boyfriend’s room. Barely hesitates before taking my hand.
I smile at the scowling nurse as we wait for the elevator.
Mouth see-you-next-year.
*
Jules’s work has appeared in Metazen, Monkeybicycle, Negative Suck, >kill author, PANK, and Northville Review. She’s currently editing a zombie novella and received a sweet ride for Christmas.
*
I heart Jules and all her work so hard. Please visit her website and check it out. She also does the twitter at @julesjustwrite. You can read my Valentines post with the same prompts here - A Contender Lost.
My Night of Mud Wrestling Orcs and John Green
January 18th, 2012 § 8 Comments
- Our meeting. Re: my hair. Keep in mind I’d just battled Orcs in the rain.
Last night, I attended a reading and speaking by the author with musical and comic relief by his brother Hank Green. To clarify, I didn’t mud wrestle John Green. Maybe I wrestled with Orcs, but more on that later. The event was brilliant. He read from his new book, The Fault in Our Stars. It’s about two teenage cancer patients. I don’t say muchabout John Green on the blog here, but am huge fan and kind of have a brain crush on him, which is probably why I don’t talk about him. It’s best to not mention author crushes too often, talk to them, look them directly in the eyes, or try and hug them. Especially if you’re a woman and they’re a man. I mean…unless they just happen to be huggers and they want you to hug them. BECAUSE I COULD TOTALLY DO THAT. Ahem.
Leaving my husband by himself with our three children for the evening takes a lot of orchestrating with homework/dinner/bath time rituals, so I starved off getting ready until the last possible moment. I was in our closet getting dressed when my husband came in. I showed him my outfit.
Me: This look okay?
Husband: Um…it’s kind of…short…maybe.
Me: I wore it to church Sunday. You didn’t say anything then.
Husband: It looks different tonight.
Me: The leggings I wore Sunday are dirty so I just have to wear regular tights with the dress. I can’t wear dirty leggings.
(For those of you uninformed on women’s leg ware, tights are panty hose and pretty sheer. Leggings are more substantial – a pair of tight pants to wear underneath the dress. I’ll go over cinching and at least three different types of scarf knots in the next blog post. You are welcome.)
Husband: Who are you wearing all this for?
Me: DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY JOHN GREEN? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?
Husband: ….
Me: Look, if Salma Hayek ever comes into town, you can totally wear whatever you want. I wish she were here in town right now, but I don’t have any control over Salma Hayek. I’m sorry. John Green is here. Now.
Husband: ….
I started digging around in the dirty hamper, because marriage is about putting your spouses comfort before your own, kids. Please don’t feel bad for me. I can dish out the stare that conveys a thousand words just as well as he can. I pull it out of my arsenal after the second hour of Skyrim playing has begun.
Me: I’ll never impress John Green with dirty leggings.
Husband: (from the other room) I heard that.
Me: This is a ridiculous conversation. John Green is married.
Husband: So are you.
Anyway. I got to the event very late, and it started pouring as I walked in. Great. I’d never dazzle John Green from afar with very wet hair, looking like I’d just battled Orcs in the mud. I got there, found my friend Crystal (who provided the picture. THANKS, CRYSTAL!) and we sat down in the back of the auditorium just as it all began. All silly thoughts of leggings and Orc wrestling melted away and I just got quiet. It’s hard to explain seeing someone you admire in person (even if it is on a stage).
When I went to the Decatur Book Festival and saw Libba Bray speak, she was beautiful, hilarious, and brilliant. Everything her books are, she was in person. John Green was exactly the same: intelligent, sharp, serious, but hysterical. While the crowd screamed around me, I sunk into my chair, ready to soak all the words in. One thing that stands out in my mind is what he said about writing our heroic experiences. This is paraphrasing, and he sounded a lot more intelligent, but he said that through the course of our life, our adventures will be on a much smaller scale. We’ll live these small acts of heroism in the ways that we take care of others and ourselves. It was wonderful.
At Libba Bray’s book signing this summer, I was oh-so-eloquent with, “Flarm… Hamina… Thanks.” I learned my lesson and actually shared the Salma Hayek story, thinking any man would enjoy being likened to Salma Hayek. He certainly laughed and said to tell my husband he thought my outfit appropriate and thanked me for coming to his reading looking so nice. That’s when I made my exit, stage right, with a stammering ”harka…yarm…gotta go.”
If you haven’t read any of John Green’s books, please check them out. This particular book tour is also raising money for Look to the Stars, a children’s cancer research fund.
HAND CHECK
January 9th, 2012 § 9 Comments
A few things for all you fine people and then you can get back to your finery. I have a post up at An Army of Ermas: How To Feel More Like Indiana Jones In Your Everyday Life. You may read it here. Maybe the following photo is involved in some capacity.
Updates on My Year of Scary Living because I’m very serious about living scary.
1. I started researching venues in my area where I might be able to do standup. There’s a whole world and process I’m ignorant to so educating myself on how to get a foot in the door is important.
2. I am writing the standup material and say it/work it out in my mind ALL THE TIME. This results in varying questions and thoughts: Will my parents care if I talk about them? Will my parents even come? Should I tell my parents I’m doing this? No, they really don’t need to know. I won’t tell them. This is a great idea. Maybe no one I know in real life should come? I’ll keep it a secret. No, if I bomb I’ll want someone to hold me afterward and that shouldn’t be some rando at the bar. Preferably. Well, if I’m crying hard enough I won’t care who’s holding me.
3. The guitar playing is still pretty scary and painful. My pinky finger SUCKS. It totally needs to shape up or I will WHOOP on it. I don’t know what the ring finger is laughing at. It’s right there behind the pinky finger. The entire hand cramps up and that’s just inconvenient. STUPID HANDS. I’m kidding. I love you, hands. Don’t leave me.
4. My 3yo went to school just fine. He didn’t cry and his teachers said he did great. Go him! I spent two glorious hours “at the office.”
5. I bought a navy peacoat. The buttons are shiny and fabulous. I’d like for everyone to call me “Sailor” from here on out. For those of you who don’t care that I’ve replaced my granny cardigan with a peacoat, I’m very sorry BUT THESE ARE MY FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS.
6. To add to my Year of Scary Living, the Stud and I are going Vegan for a while. He has a history of heart disease, high blood pressure and bad cholesterol in his (very immediate) family. He’s on medication for it some of the issues, but we’d like to achieve the healthiest of livings possible. We’ve done a lot of research and are planning on doing a 30 day challenge and see what we think afterward. It will be a food adventure of sorts. I say all this, but just last night while watching a documentary on ancient Rome, we shared a bag of chips and cheese dip.
Me: We’ll go Vegan tomorrow.
Him: Totally.
6. I think I’m done now.
7. I love you all.
8. Bye.
