Fiction

Little Red Riding

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A cute senorita
Followed by a cheetah
Let me count the ways
For issuing tickets pays
A bonus to us cops
And plus, a feel I may cop
To unsuspecting lambs
You know, it’s all a scam
Just doin’ my job, ‘mam
As if I give a damn
Lets hope there’s no camera phone
To catch misbehaving, as we’re prone
But first let me take a bite
For no one can see your plight

Old Mrs. Creet

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Once there was an old lady
Who looked like my grandma maybe

Every night
She’d take a bite

Of children’s toes
And a nose

If it’s past your bedtime
And you hear a chime

It’s old Mrs. Creet
Looking for something to eat

Don’t let her catch you
Awake or she’ll chew

Your toes and maybe your nose
So hurry and doze

Off to deep sleep
And as you count sheep

Out will creep
Old Mrs. Creet

New Facebook Page

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Finally, I created a Facebook page for this site (please “like” and/or “recommend” my page so that I may beef up my online presence!!!).  Part of the reason I did this was because I think some of my friends and family were tired of seeing my (at times) creepy poems on my personal page (which, clearly, are not “family-friendly” and some of my [personal] Facebook friends happen to be children).  And also so that I can post little tidbits that I don’t post on this site (such as articles on writing, etc.).  As you know, I do write children’s poems and stories but, this way (with this new Facebook page), I don’t feel like I need to censor my words.  So, thanks in advance!

New Yorker (Free)

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For those of you who don’t already know this, the New Yorker is giving the public three months (about two months as of today) of free content.  So read to your heart’s content, folks.  And don’t forget about the love story collection.

Fun

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I love writing because it allows me to live a double life (or several lives).  When it comes to real life, I believe in love, justice, honesty, loyalty, integrity, and dependability.  And, to a certain extent, that is what non-fiction writing ought to be, as well.  However, when it comes to fiction writing, there are no rules.  And that’s what I love most about it–the freedom to do what ever the hell you want to do with any one and/or any thing with zero consequences.  Also, the manipulation of readers’ emotions (just when you think it’s safe, the killer is standing right behind you).  Readers (myself included) want to be manipulated, transported, and weaved into fiction works.  That’s the whole point in reading the stuff.  It’s a form of escape.  Not just for the reader but for the writer, as well.

My three big goals for this year (other than having a healthy pregnancy and carrying this baby to term) is to write a children’s book, a book of poems (for adults), and (here’s the super ambitious one) a story and/or book modeled after John Milton’s Paradise Lost in that the subject is a villain who is capable of receiving sympathy (and perhaps even empathy) from the audience.  So stay tuned and more shall be revealed…

Naughty or Nice

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“Have you been naughty or nice?”

I wake up to see a smile full of sharp, yellow teeth.  He’s standing at the foot of the bed with an axe covered in blood.  With a gasp, I bolt toward the door.  His long nails claw my hair as I run, almost tripping on the hardwood floor.  My heart pounds as I sprint toward the stairway.  If only I can make it downstairs.

“Have you been naughty or nice?”  His voice is close and I can smell his rotting breath behind me.  SLAM.  The axe crashes into the wall within an inch from my right ear.  The stairs seem a mile long.  Instead of taking one step at a time, I can take two or maybe even three.  I have to.  But would I make it?  I take a deep breath and jump over as many as I can.  I need to fly. 

The monster’s talons grab a hold of my left shoulder.  I fall back on a step and tumble down the remaining flight of stairs.  The back of my head hits the bottom of the staircase.  Lying there with my head throbbing, I see large eyes and a wide bear trap smile.

“Have you been naughty or nice?” he purrs as he raises the axe.