Blog
This is where I take to rambling.
The Shoe Fashionista in 101 Words
Yes, this is Jo Anna’s actual foot. Jo Anna Guerra: shoe fashionista by day, writer by night. You can find her at http://saiaandchago.blogspot.com/. Go check her out. Wonderful mom and a great writer.And If you’re looking for “Hardcore Jo Anna,” visit her hilarious blog: Digressions of a Mad Lesbian. She contributed the most to my 101-Word Daily Stupor. And instead of digging through the comments, I thought I’d share her lovelies here. Every story is 101 words, and she used all three keywords in each one. Enjoy! YOU SHOULDN’T BE PARADING AROUND LIKE THAT (Keywords: Clarinet, Wrestling, Eskimo) They sat on the curb, arm in arm. Pinky toes wrestling on the asphalt. The sun warmed their glistening summer skin like the sugar-toasted top on a perfect crème brulee. They could hear the music blaring. Just around the corner the crowd began to stand. They leaned in at exactly the same moment to take a bite of the Eskimo Pie. Their eyes met. Their foreheads bumped. The flag girls swept by, followed swiftly by the flutes and clarinets, humming and buzzing right into their moment. The world stopped spinning. The ice cream puddled at their feet. And then they kissed. PRETTY PRANCING PONIES (Keywords: Umbrella, Inebriated, Carousel) When she asked me to dance, I immediately refused. My eyes shifted towards the floor. I stared at my gorgeous Manolos. Ooh, is that a scuffmark? I shuffled my feet. Admired my new pedicure. Then tossed my hair in that open invitation way that all girly-girls seem to know from birth…or three, when your locks are actually tossable. But when I looked up again, she was already walking away, making her way to the next pretty pony on the carousel. And they glided onto the dancefloor, circling the room in inebriated waves and swirls, like Chinatown umbrellas. And I couldn’t breathe. AUGUST IS AWARE THAT IT’S NOT SEPTEMBER (Keywords: Gobble, Milk, September) August is National Breastfeeding Awareness Month, which really has nothing to do with September, except that it happens to be the month prior. But August is also Cataract Awareness, Children’s Eye Health & Safety, Eye Injury Prevention, Immunization Awareness, Medic Alert, Pain Awareness, Psoriasis Awareness, and Spinal Muscular Atrophy Awareness Month. Who the hell knew? And does anyone really care? Because for 30 days we can all feign enough interest, gobble up the mass distribution of regurgitated info, and allow La Leche League to preach from their breast-vs-bottled milk soapbox, but then it’s another month. And what was the point? EATS SHOOTS AND LEAVES FOR THE GOLDEN COAST (Keywords: Ink, Hamburger, Koala) Driving up El Camino Real through San Mateo County, you can’t help but notice an inordinate number of eucalyptus trees majestically lining the sides of the road. Their trunks stretching up through the soft, wet blanket of fog, branches reaching, leaves pleading, trying desperately to find their way back home. And you wonder, how the hell did you get here, in this place with no koalas without zoo parking? You with your fibrous shedding bark. Your fragrant healing oils that flow like ink and smell like rain. Australia is worlds away from California. Oooh, look, an In-and-Out, who wants a hamburger? O-S-C-A-R M-A-Y-E-R (Keywords: Bologna, Crater, Abstain) He stood before the bathroom mirror. His mother’s make-up lights glaring at him unflatteringly, making...
read moreRogue’s Curse – Now With Longer Excerpt!
For those of you who still haven’t purchased Rogue’s Curse, here’s a longer excerpt to entice you into buying it. You can get it at Amazon, or at Lyrical Press, and lots of other online distributers (a Google search shows a bunch). If you have any questions about the format, how to purchase or anything else please ask me: jason@beerandtv.com. EXCERPT: Doban scavenged the dead bodies for a replacement leather tunic. Oompus hadn’t shown much restraint with his claws, leaving the flayed flesh of his victims indistinguishable from their leather apparel. But since Doban didn’t mind the blood, his choices were numerous. He discovered the perfect tunic, one slathered with innards and clovort drool. “Your fashion sense hasn’t changed much,” Mona said, stepping off the table. She threw the fallen cloak around her shoulders. Doban gave Mona a stern look. “I guess we can leave now. Tag’s horse is around back. We could take mine, but he probably starved to death by the hitching post.” Mona folded her arms. “I brought my own horse.” Doban stirred a bloody puddle on the floor with his boot. “Oh. Well, I thought we could share. But I guess if you want to do it that way–” Mona slapped him. It wasn’t the first time, as evidenced by a large permanent callus on his left cheek. Her palm contained a matching callus. “Did you actually think I would share a horse with you?” she asked. “Well, sort of.” “Could you be any more presumptuous? Stop staring at me like that. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I want you to rip off my clothes and have sex with me.” Doban cocked his head. “What does sharing a horse have to do with sex? Did an off-color metaphor suddenly whizz past my head?” “I’m not sharing a horse with you. Stop being a baby.” “I’m not being a baby. Besides, you’re not supposed to be alive.” “Would you prefer I wasn’t?” He didn’t answer. “I’m not sharing a horse with you,” Mona said. “Would you stop saying that? I get it already.” “Good.” She thrust out her chin. “Because I’m not.” “So…” “What?” “Does that mean you’re sharing a horse with somebody else?” She slapped him again. “Wow, your aim is a lot better.” “You have no right to ask me that question.” “At least tell me why you’re here. Why would you help me after what I…I mean, after what happened?” She took a while to answer. “I have my reasons.” “Can you share those–” A gut-rumbling belch cut him off. Oompus opened his mouth and expunged a finger. It bounced on the floor and rolled. The clovort grinned, then wiped his mouth. “Yum.” He lifted the ankle chains. “You take these off?” “Conference time,” Doban said. He summoned Mona to the corner of the bar. “What?” “Conference. Get your supposed-to-be-dead ass away from the toothy monster. I want to discuss him without getting eaten.” Mona joined Doban in the corner. “Do we really want to unchain him?” he whispered. “We can’t just leave him like that. You should ask him to come with us.” “Us?” Doban said. “You’re serious about helping me, aren’t you?” “I haven’t decided yet. Go free Oompus so we can get out of this tavern.” “What if he...
read moreRogue’s Curse Release Day is Here!
FINALLY! I am now a published author, though I don’t feel any different. Meh. Please purchase and read the book. I spent mucho time on it and injected all my heart and soul into every sentence. And please let me know what you think. My email is always open: jason@beerandtv.com The book is available for download from several different distributers (Diesel, Borders, MobiPocket, and many more). You can get it delivered straight to your Kindle by purchasing through Amazon, or you can buy directly from my publisher, Lyrical Press, Inc. If you buy it, let me know so I can give you a big...
read moreEmbarrassed and Honored
Adrien, my editor, decided to embarrass the hell out of me today. I read this in public and turned three shades of red. I also got choked up. Crap, I’m getting choked up right now, too. ~Ahem~ Please enjoy:...
read more101-Word Stupor — “Out of the Sea”
Keywords: Brie, Cadence, Metallic “Oh, hell, I’ll tell ya,” he says in a quick cadence, “Ain’t never caught a fish this big. A-yup, it’ll feed the little-uns for weeks. That fish come up singing. Singing. I spat out the brie Mary packed me soon as it smiled and winked. It had this long red hair, see? Long ass metallic-green flippers. Sang ’bout walkin’ where people go, seein’ things out of the sea. I just a’ smiled and dumped it inside mah boat. When I got home, Mary slathered it with sweet butter. Damn thing squealed the whole time I deboned it. Here, have a bite.” The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — Can I Stay the Night?
Keywords: Sweatshirt, Cowboy, Vitriol The old farmer smells turpentine and sex: like bologna and mayo sandwiches warmed in the sun. He tilts his straw hat, pulls a pickle from his pocket and munches. “A-yup,” he says with vitriol. “They been diddlin’ in my shed.” The stained mattress tells the story. A soiled sweatshirt sits near the tractor, likely used to mop up. Old Joe loads the shotgun. It’s always the same. He’s filled three ditches with traveling salesmen, lawyers, cowboys. He’s filled the barn with cars that “broke down” or “ran out of gas.” Thinking of his three beautiful daughters, Farmer Joe whistles. It’s time. Preview for tomorrow: Brie, Cadence, Metallic The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — Grocery Store Torture
Keywords: Scone, Linebacker, Aphrodisiac Helen stops setting groceries on the conveyer belt. She stares at the magazine cover. That’s me, she thinks. Well, not anymore. She glances down at her own 45-year old linebacker body, sniffs, and returns her gaze to the airbrushed blond with the high-arched cheeks. Helen grabs the bag of scones from the checker’s hand. “Not those,” she says, trying to exude the same Aphrodisiac Charm as the girl on the cover. I used to look like that, she thinks. I used to— “Paper or plastic, ma’am.” Ma’am. Ma’am. When did people start calling me— “Do you need help to your car?” Keyword Preview for Tomorrow: Sweatshirt, Cowboy, Vitriol The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — Free Range
Keywords: Boisterous, Abracadabra, Golf George’s wife and her lover rotate on the rotisserie pole, bare asses dipping into the fire with every turn of the spit: hers, his, hers, his… The metal growls with each rotation. Abracadabra! his friend’s body disappears into the flames, then reappears. They’re screaming, but not like they were when George caught them. Now his wife rasps unintelligibly. And his friend sounds like the pig they roasted after playing golf last weekend. The spit grinds, rotates, and drags his wife through the fire. Something’s missing. With a boisterous “Ah-hah!”, George enters the trailer and emerges with two shiny apples. Much better. Keyword Preview for tomorrow: Scone, Linebacker, Aphrodisiac The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read more101-Word Stupor — Frog Love
Keywords: Counterfeit, Frog, Dirigible “I ain’t no good, Clara,” one frog says to the other. “I only got one leg, and the other’s all busted up. That chef in Louisiana… he almost got me. I watched my own leg get beer-battered. Christ. I’m drunk on tree sap most the time, lettin’ teenage humans lick my back so they’ll get higher than a… whatcha call it? Di-rig-ible? I sell counterfeit fireflies to tourist frogs, sprinklin’ glitter on houseflies’ wings to make them sparkle. Hell, Clara. I gotta make a livin’. Go find yourself a nice frog. I’m— Oh, come here. Give an old frog a kiss.” Preview: Boisterous, Abracadabra, Golf The 101-Word Daily Stupor...
read moreMy Author Interview at Writing Insight
I was interviewed at Writing Insight! Come see! Come...
read more
Recent Comments