Stories That Need More Work

It's exciting to start a new story, a lot more exciting than it is to work hard for long hours and finish the darn thing! So I usually only write the beginning. Then I pretend that I finished it. Voila! Another story "written"! Yes, I know... I'm only fooling myself... *sigh*

Skunkle Poofer

"Now don't you be gettin' your snout wet today," called Mama Poofer in her raspy voice as Skunkle trudged down the lane to Betty Lou's Persimmon Boutique.

"I won't, Mama. You knows I'm always careful with my snout."

Skunkle worked part-time at the boutique sorting persimmons and deworming any stray cats that happened by. Betty Lou paid him with fresh persimmon cookies, which he didn't like all that much, but he knew people who did like them and he could trade the cookies for things he wanted, like cigarettes and beer and sex.

Girls Who Like Pillows

Marie stumbled into the bedroom, the smell of cheap liquor and tax-free cigarettes forming a cloud of reek with her at the exact center of it.

Demi turned up her perky little nose. "Oooh! You stink, Marie!"

Marie's glazed eyes could barely focus on her roommate, but she managed to mumble, "Yeah? So what?" before she collapsed onto the huge feather bed that the two girls shared.

Time Waits For Pam

Was this the day? Pam was trembling with excitement. At last! After days of waiting, days of suffering the agony of anticipation, it was finally going to happen! She leapt from the bed, threw off her nightgown, and stepped naked into the hot spray of the shower.

I Married A Log

Heidi hummed a little tune as she washed the last of the dishes. Through the window she could see the last rays of the setting sun setting the fir-studded slopes of the hills on fire with a golden beauty evocative of the last days of Ancient Greece. She selected a large butcher knife from the drain rack and crept stealthily into the living room where her lumberjack husband was stretched out on the sofa snoring like a buzz saw.

On A Dark Night

The graveyard was quiet, except for the occasional hoot of an owl or the leathery flapping of batwings or the slow grating of stone against stone. Stone against stone? Yes, a gravestone was sliding slowly aside. And what would lie beneath such a stone? Whatever it was, it had hands which gripped the edge of the stone and pulled up the rest of itself. Vaguely human, it managed to stand up and stumble around.

Watching Paint Dry

Hermione bit her lip. Not accidently, but on purpose. It was one of her many odd little quirks. This particular quirk was good for reducing stress.

The source of the stress was a long living room wall that had just been coated with Wild Autumn Wheat. Not straight from the can, but mixed with a few drops of November Sage. Hermione had been aiming for an Octoberish tone. Did she achieve the desired shade? She wouldn't know for sure until the wall dried completely. And it wasn't drying fast.

She thought about taking her eyes off the wall and fixing a snack, but whenever she tried to avert her gaze, the wall drew her back. She didn't know what was so fascinating about watching paint dry, but she could not deny it's hold on her. She knew she would be there all night if necessary.

Saved By The FDA

This is the little-known story of Tiny Tim Whitmoss, one of the last of the old-time "Arkansas Fiddlers" who traveled the roads of rural America just after the dawn of the twentieth cantury. In those unregulated times of backyard gin, snake oil, and Cocaine Cola, it was easy to find death in a bottle. The fact that Tiny Tim escaped the Drink of Death is a tribute to the watchfulness of what was then a little-known agency with a staff of merely three people. Yet that tiny microcosm of a bureaucracy was to grow into the lumbering giant that today we call the FDA.

Hail, Glorious Lemmings!

The tramp of thousands of feet lulled him into a dreamy reverie of belonging and acquiescence. It was so comforting to be part of a very large group, a group with a purpose and a direction.

Sugar In The Morning

Sugar in the morning, sugar in the evening, sugar at suppertime. Jack liked sugar. Fructose, glucose, or sucrose -- if it was sweet he ate it. He drank bottles of corn syrup to wash down the granulated sugar. Sometimes he spiced things up with honey or molasses. On Saturday morning he treated himself to a bottle of authentic maple syrup from Maine and on Sunday evening he had his favorite desert -- brown sugar pie.

Of course, he ate other things besides sugar -- things like marshmallows, jelly beans, gummy bears, sugar daddies -- and sometimes he would even eat cakes and cookies, although only if they were made with as little flour as possible. He didn't like the way the flour smothered the taste of the sugar.

Sleep Like A Baby

Margaret reached groggily for her pacifier. Where was the damn thing? She thought about bawling, but her diaper was dry and no one would know what the hell she wanted. Better to wait until she needed changing. Then maybe someone would notice the dropped pacifier.

She sighed and looked at her toes again. Were they really attached to her? It was beginning to seem as though they were. They kept popping into view everytime she kicked her leg.

She muttered a long stream of meaningless syllables. Damn! That was beginning to sound about right! Oh for the day when I can tell these friggin b-holes what I think of them! She smiled. And what was that smell? Yes! A loaded diaper! Time to sound the alarm. She took a deep breath and began to howl.

King of the Hill

Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't. A simple truism perhaps, but one that was destined to turn Robert McKey's hard-earned lifestyle of wealth and priveledge into a nightmare of murder accusations and stockholder lawsuits.

Born into a middle-class family (his father managed a WalMart) in Aggressive, Ohio, Robert "Bob" McKey attended a state college (Ohio State) and seemed destined for a career much like his father's. But Fate, following whims of its own, decided that Bob McKey would lead a very different life from that of his father.

Shady Lane

Earl pushed his hat back. It was hot. Damn hot. The dame in number 33 hadn't budged. Earl looked at his watch. Sam would take over for him soon and he could get a cold beer at Charlie's.

Uh-oh. The blonde was on the move. She stood at the entrance while the doorman hailed a cab. When her taxi started off, Earl waited until a gray Studebaker got behind the cab, then he pulled his big Hudson out into the traffic and followed them.

Why Flip-Flaps Flopped

Many people are unaware that twenty years before Kiyogi Hanamushi invented the wonderful casual shoe known as Flip-Flops, there was another man, equally inventive, but unfortunately born too soon.

That man was Kelvin Perk of Corn Hollow, Tennessee.

Because of an unfortunate accident with an exploding corn mash whiskey still, Kelvin was left with a deformed foot. Finding no shoes to fit, he managed to cut pieces out of an old pickup truck tire and fashion an odd-looking pair of sandals for himself. He called them Flip-Flaps.

Soon all of Kelvin's neighbors were requesting a pair of the comfortable shoes and by the end of three months, everyone in Corn Hollow, Tennessee was wearing Flip-Flaps. What Kelvin did next wrote a new chapter in the history of footwear.

Last Days of Flipper

Tracking down Flipper was not easy, since he lives in water and leaves no footprints, but I suppose first you want to know WHY.

So many fans of the old "Flipper" TV series have written me to ask "Whatever became of Flipper? Where is he now? Did they set him loose in the ocean?" that I decided to take a month off from my wholesale fish businesss and do a little research. This article is the result of that research.

Mission to Aldebran IV

Flames burst from the bottom of the long silver needle. Slowly, gracefully, on a roiling cloud of thick smoke, the Space Survey craft Dauntless lifted from the Earth.

Two previous missions to Aldebran IV had met with mysterious disasters, so a third spaceship had been built and launched. This time extreme caution would be used in the approach to Aldebran IV. The ship would remain in orbit. There would be no loud talking and the captain was empowered to confiscate any audio entertainment devices that were operating at a high volume.

The Wakening

Deep in the bowels of the Mountain of Fortitude a being of magnificent proportions stirred. The mountain trembled. Peasants in villages a hundred miles away fell to their knees and asked their gods to protect them and their wives and small children and the goats and the chickens and the house. But He Who Stirred was not one of the beneficient gods of the peasants -- he was an Evil god, a god who could not be appeased by mere prayers. He Who Stirred could only be satisfied by pain and suffering and the screams of his victims.

Time Will Tell

Donna Jean Wannamaker received a healthy dose of reality one morning when she found herself in the unenviable position of being the bearer of bad news.

Why had they selected her to be the bearer? This was her regular washday and now a week's worth of dirty laundry was lying in an untidy, disheveled mass of unsorted colors and fabrics on her otherwise spotless bathroom floor, for that was the room in which the washer and dryer resided.

But the washer and dryer stood idle now, despite it being their scheduled hour of operation, because Donna Jean Wannamaker, instead of performing her regular household chores, was off on a fool's errand for the mysterious 'they' - delivering their unwanted message to some poor unsuspecting recipient, a recipient who would undoubtedly break down in sobs and tears and further delay Donna Jean from her normal routine.

Gone With the Rain

Emerald O'Reilly stood in the pouring rain, watching her beloved city fall into ruins. Rhett, her butler, stood close by holding a huge beach umbrella over her head.

Her old Nanny called from the condominium's patio, "Emerald! Emerald, honey! You come in out of that rain right now! You know you don't know nothin' about building no sand castles, much less a whole city with a lake and a dam."

Emerald rose to her feet and looked at the stormy ocean. Her face was etched with grim determination as she murmured, "Tomorrow is another day." Then she whirled around and marched back to the condo.

She glared at Nanny as she passed her on the patio. "The rain spoiled everything before I could finish my city. And frankly, Nanny, I didn't build a dam."

In Case of Fire

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Johnny Ray leaped from his bunk, instantly alert and looking for his pants. A professional fireman doesn't need coffee to get going -- it's his job to get going. And Johnny got.

After pulling on his thick fireproof pants, he stepped into his black boots, grabbed his protective coat, and slid down the long chrome pole to the garage below where the truck was waiting, its engine already idling because driver Ernie was even quicker than Johnny.

Seeing Johnny aboard, Ernie revved the engine, turned on the mournful wail of the siren, and the big red firetruck rumbled out into the night.

They Rode At Brunch

Breakfast was late that morning. Old Charlie had trouble with the propane tank and it exploded. Luckily no great harm was done, but I had to send Luke into town for a replacement tank and by the time he returned the sun had risen halfway to the zenith, not a fit time for a man to chow down, yet it seemed unreasonable to ask those lanky cowboys to wait until lunchtime for their beans and bacon.