Tagged: writer

Storytime Saturday, featuring an excerpt from an unnamed short story.

Here’s a snippet from an upcoming short story. Thanks for reading.

The day that my potato exploded in the microwave was an eye opener. It was a sign…an omen. A message from the powers that be. Maybe I’d nuked that fucker for too long, or maybe I just didn’t give a shit. Either way, that little vegetable bastard decided to commit culinary suicide and blew itself spud first all over the confines of the microwave with a mere five seconds left. I mean, c’mon…it couldn’t have kept its composure for a measly five more seconds? Suck it up, god damn it! I had no money left, I had no lunch, and I was hungry enough to eat the scum out of the bottom of a homeless man’s shoes. It was definitely a sign…an omen…a message from the powers that be.

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Classic Poetry, featuring Henry Howard.

It’s interesting how, despite the passage of centuries, certain sentiments don’t change. Here’s a classic from Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517-1547).

My friend, the things that do attain

The happy life be these, I find:

The riches left, not got with pain,

The fruitful ground; the quiet mind;

The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;

No charge of rule nor governance;

Without disease the healthy life;

The household of continuance;

The mean diet, no dainty fare;

True wisdom joined with simpleness;

The night discharged of all care,

Where wine the wit may not oppress;

The faithful wife, without debate;

Such sleeps as may beguile the night:

Content thyself with thine estate,

Neither wish death, nor fear his might.

Storytime Saturday, featuring an excerpt from The Passing at Highway 10.

Below is a snippet from an unfinished short story…enjoy, and thank you for reading.

As she stood, I hurried behind her to help slip the jacket on that she’d carried over from behind the bar; it was long and red, and had a faint smell of sweet flowers and summertime.  The back of my hand grazed her bare arm, and it felt warm and smooth, and my heart damn near jumped three feet out of my chest.  “You ready?”, she said out of smiling lips.

A blast of thunder exploded outside with a crazy boom, and it sounded like a fucking nuke got detonated.  She jumped at the sound, and I glanced outside into that swirling mess of a storm.  The wind had picked up rapidly, and I thought to myself that it was going to be a slow, careful drive. I couldn’t have been more wrong. “Yeah”, I said, to answer her question, and I jerked my chair in and walked her to the door; we both flashed a wave and a smile to Jack behind the bar, and readied ourselves for the race out to the rig.