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Amy was a middle child. I specify this because it’s integral to what happens in this story. You see, Amy, like most middle children, had the habit of getting herself in unlikely situations, then hoping that some family member or random do-gooder would intervene and save her life. All princesses caught in towers or imprisoned…
Please do forgive me,I’m a worm in space,caught amongst the stars,the void is my place.I do therefore say,with much sad regret,it was by mistake,your ship, I digest.
Mixology for the Meandering Magician My Fantasy Comedy novel, “The Reluctant Mentor”, is a satire about the heroes’ journey from the perspective of a failed mentor named Athragast. I’m currently querying agents for the project, but I wanted to share a taste (ha, get it? Because I’m sharing recipes?) of the story. Want to see…
I am the Ruler of the day and night. In the darkness, I creep. I find my prey: Little pink, hairless paws.
Apocalypses didn’t happen every day, but once they got started, they had this annoying habit of going about their business.
Those who exercised reasoning were the first to go, followed by fans of survival shows (they believed they understood the wilderness, having never left the confines of their paved-and-plastered twenty-fourth-floor apartments and most ended up eating the wrong type of mushroom in the first week). The hoarders did all right, at least for the first while. And the jerks? They made it all the way to the end, because nature loved adding a thorn to a rose bush. It turned out that at the end of the world, those CEOs who couldn’t convert a Word document into a PDF did just fine in a dog-eat-dog-eat-rat-eat-human society.
A Shel Silverstein-inspired poem about a weird creature who likes to wear crocs.
“You’re a strange creature!”
The alien said
as he dropped from the sky
to land on my head.
Verdant greens that smell so sweet,
in summer air ‘neath cloudless heat…
Banana peels and pumpkin guts,
And rotted eggs that smell like butts;
Mushy mushrooms and moldy bread,
A hairy, slimy, lettuce head.
Melted trash in a noonday sun,
Microwave tuna overdone;
Steamed spinach and expired stew,
That’s what you smell like through and through.
Sometimes I Feel Bad About: a poem about little mistakes.