There once was a woman in scatology /
who proceeded to take a class in tautology./
“$h!t, $h!t, $h!t,” she said./
She said shaking her head./
She passed the final test without apology.
There once was a woman in scatology /
who proceeded to take a class in tautology./
“$h!t, $h!t, $h!t,” she said./
She said shaking her head./
She passed the final test without apology.
Filed under poetry by author
Submitted for your approval, one used paperback found in one used book stall in one place specializing in the bizarre, zany, supernatural. Such a book stall may be miles away or it may be just around the corner from your where you live or it may be even closer, as close as your imagination, for you have just crossed over into… The Twilight Zone.
Act I: One More Pallbearer
A prop woman readied the coffin. At the behest of the director, she walked up and down the length of the three-foot deep grave, adjusting the bier’s position beside the hole and trying not to knock free any of the flat-black paint sprayed on the soil to give it depth.
“No, no. A little more to the right, babe. There you go, that’s it.” T. Xavier Gabriel glanced through the camera’s viewfinder and clapped his hands.
“Okay, people, places everybody. Time is on the short.” He checked the filter on one of the cameras as four banks of Klieg lights were turned on and three separate lights repositioned.
“Hey, dim the lights,” Gabriel said. “This is supposed to be a night scene: Night scene. See the stars.” He pointed skyward, but saw instead that it was overcast with lightning dancing among the clouds.
“Damn,” he muttered.
Several of the crew laughed lowly.
He shook his head. Another snafu in the making. “Damn. Goddamn.”
Gabriel glanced at his watch: 11:47 p.m. Post mortem. Pre migraine. Petty and mundane. He stomped his foot. It was a child-like gesture, but nothing adult-like was working now or for any part of 1985 that he’d directly had a hand in.
“Places everybody. Places. We shoot in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes. Places.” The assistant director loped around waving a flashlight and a clipboard. “Time is on the short.”
Gabriel smiled. It was a stiff, brittle, unsure smile: a guest at the funeral home smile. “Time is on the short” was his personal euphemism for running into overtime, something he had been crucified for more than once. He rubbed his forehead and wondered if he’d ever get back to Hollywood, or if he’d spend the rest of his life in commercials, talking to semi trained mammals and now mimics of a dead man.
He glanced at the crumpled note still wadded in his hand. His ex-wife could find him anywhere. Two hours earlier he’d made the mistake of answering the phone.
Filed under Photo by author, Photo Finish Friday
Thank you. The sweet smell /
of your perfume brightens my /
days behind the fence.
Filed under Haiku to You Thursday, poetry by author
HOW TO MAP OUT YOUR HERO’S ADVENTURE IN YOUR MANUSCRIPT
How do the most successful authors of our time construct their stories? If you read them, and if you also read some ancient myths, you will begin to see parallels. You will feel smacked upside the head with parallels. You’ll realize that the top authors of today use storytelling techniques that writers used back when plans were being drawn up for the pyramids.
An excellent book about ancient myths is The Hero With a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell. The title says it all. Across cultures and generations, some variation of a hero figures into every beloved story. And the typical story is about an individual who goes on a quest or a journey. By the end, the individual becomes a hero. This is called the Hero’s Adventure.
The Hero’s Adventure is the most archetypal story of all because it’s the basis for more novels than any other kind of story. Novels of all different genres, from romances to thrillers to sci-fi, are based on the Hero’s Adventure.
So what is the Hero’s Adventure? You know it already, and you may even have elements of it in the story you’re working on. But I suspect you haven’t yet methodically and thoroughly appropriated it for yourself.
The Hero’s Adventure Basic Recipe
The person who accepts the challenge and prevails is elevated to a special position, somewhere above human, somewhere below god. She is the hero.
For examples of this in literature: http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/how-to-map-out-your-heros-adventure-in-your-manuscript?et_mid=688770&rid=239626420
Filed under writing tip, Writing Tip Wednesday, writing tips
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
Q.: What do you call a dog that does magic tricks?
A.: Labracadabrador.
Filed under Monday morning writing joke
Little by little, like evolution in reverse, the things that make your world start to fall away.
I was waiting for the Don Pardo obit like a horror-film audience member peeking through hisser fingers, but when it finally came it was still a shock. “A light just went out,” as they say when somebody important to you passes away. Well, one just did last Monday, an announcer so strong and true that he was still strappin’ on the cans at age 96.
Don Pardo had been active since the heyday of radio, but he was best known to those of a certain age for his work on tv game shows, especially THE PRICE IS RIGHT and the original JEOPARDY!, the network version hosted by Art Fleming. (The Alex Trebek JEOPARDY! is syndicated.) We knew his voice because it was rock-solid, and we knew his name because the hosts of those shows would often call out to him on the air: “Don Pardo, tell her what she’s won!”…
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Filed under Uncategorized
Recently, in my hometown of Knoxville, TN, a 23-year-old woman by the name of Evelyn Grace Radford, supposedly fortified by wine and fit of limb and wind, swam not the English Channel, but the more modest Fort Loudoun Lake (sometimes referred to as Fort Loudoun Embayment. Named for an Englishman of noble lineage who never saw it and probably cared not a whit about it).
To add daring to her do, she did so in the dark of night and in no more than her bra and panties. If you do not believe me, you can read the article below or follow the link for the full story, assuming you are not stopped by some pay wall. She successfully swam the Lake, Embayment (sometimes also called the Tennessee River because this were the River starts), but was greeted by police and rescue squad personnel who had been called to the scene for fear that she had fallen in and might be drowning.
The event inspired the following modest poetic verse:
There once was a lady named Grace /
Who did the breast stroke all out-of-place. /
She swam the river with flair /
Scantily in her underwear. /
Alas, the newspaper showed only her face.
KNOXVILLE — A 23-year-old Knoxville woman told police late Monday night she “just wanted to swim” after making her way across Fort Loudoun Lake wearing only a bra and panties.
Evelyn Grace Radford’s near-midnight jump into the water at Volunteer Landing, however, prompted calls of a drowning to authorities who launched boats to rescue the scantily clad woman.
Her actions also prompted charges of disorderly conduct and public intoxication, records show.
Authorities were alerted at 11:54 p.m. that an intoxicated woman had stripped down to her basic clothing and jumped into the water and was swimming to the south shore, according to Knoxville Police Department Sgt. Scott Coffey.
“She left her clothing with her boyfriend at Volunteer Landing and he abruptly left the area,” Coffey said. “The witnesses indicated they believed the couple were in an argument prior to her jumping in the water.”
For the rest of the story: http://www.knoxnews.com/news/watchful-eye/midnight-swim-nets-charges-against-scantily-clad-woman_69968857
Filed under poetry by author, true story
The preacher and the creature
were creeping around the wilds.
The preacher and the creature
were a contrast in styles.
The preacher had a squint;
the creature had a smirk.
The preacher gave out hints;
the creature walked herkyjerk.
They roamed the wilds together,
though rarely arm in arm
for the creature’s hide of leather
could do the preacher harm.
Yet one day he tried a saddle
upon the creature’s back
and with a little paddle
he gave a gentle whack.
Now, let this be a tale of care
for all who go astray:
the preacher had a full head of hair
until that fateful day.
That little whack, it came back
with a much bigger response.
The creature went on the attack
and sent out a fiery launch.
And when the smoke had cleared
upon that faith filled day
the preacher had a beard,
but no hair to comb away.
///
photo by Chris Buice
poem by David E. Booker
Filed under Photo Finish Friday, poetry by author
Your echo lives large /
a river rushed canyon /
surging through my life.
Filed under Haiku to You Thursday, poetry by author