100 Word Song – Can’t Keep

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I know many of you are into my serialized short story, Light of Day, about my two 19-year-old lovers, Silas and Olive, on the run in 1989 Florida. We’re in the final third of it, so closer to the end. I’m taking another post break from it because my personal life seems to be slightly, and only slightly, more interesting than my fictional one, right now. I’ll run 3 straight episodes the rest of the week.

I hate money. I know my personal politics, evident in posts here and over at my politics and pop culture site, Lefty Pop, http://www.leftypop.com, espouse this. But money has been the root of most of the evil in my life.

Today, I took steps to free myself from most of the debt accumulated from my first marriage and subsequent divorce. Let’s just say I slipped some checks into some mailboxes.

Renee from Rendezvous With Renee http://rendezvouswithrenee.com/  has been doing great, sexy  entries for 100 word song and Leeroy asked her to pick this week. She chose Eddie Vedder’s Can’t Keep. Check her out. She will make your collar quite warm.

The past few years have been a polluted ocean in disguise. Wrapped around my dreams have been the vile plastic six pack rings of debt.

 I closed the metal door to the box, then smiled. It wasn’t a grin, but a wide expression of satisfaction that extended beyond the bad feelings and into happiness.

Money can’t keep me down any longer. I’ve done all the hard work. I won’t wait around for answers to questions I can’t afford to answer.

Now, I have the freedom to not be bound by dollars, and the ability to make sense of it all.

My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog

You have 7 days from now to write 100 inspired words from Renee’s pick of Eddie Vedder’s Can’t Keep. Use the media that are social to advertise your magic. Have a great week.

100 Word Song – Passionate Kisses

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Happy day after Memorial Day. Thanks to Renee’ for the great Jackson Browne song last week. Despite the holiday, we had some terrific entries. Leeroy asked my @lefty_pop http://www.leftypop.com partner in crime Linda aka @modmomellroy was http://www.elleroywashere.com to pick this week’s song. We share a deep admiration for Lucinda Williams, maybe the greatest alt-country artist ever. Between us, we’ve seen her live a half-dozen times. She picked her late 1980s classic, Passionate Kisses, which fits my story well.

Here’s my 100, back to Silas, Olive and Zola, in 1989 Florida, killing and blackmailing their way into more trouble.

Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2014/05/17/backstreetgirl/

Finn Brothers garage was different that the day before. It still smelled like grease and tobacco, but female sung country music filled the space. Silas saw neither Roscoe or Kenny but a smiling middle-aged man whose shirt tag read “Archie”. It was Roscoe’s straight-laced brother.

“Zola, this isn’t the guy to …..”

She turned around, grit her teeth and scolded.

“Silas, you want your happy ending with Olive and us out of this mess? Let me get to the guy who has that kind of life while screwing me on the side. He should pay.”

She leaned in and kissed Silas.

My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog
As always, you have 7 days from now to write 100 words inspired by the great Lucinda Williams’ Passionate Kisses. Use the green Mr. Linky button to show your work then the media that social to tell he world about your masterpiece. Have a great week.

No New Tale To Tell

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I got my ass kicked today and I knew my attacker. It was me.

I don’t give myself enough credit. I’m good at more things than just writing. I’m also proficient in taking on too many projects, being overwhelmed, and suffering in silence. Perhaps my finest talent is self-pity. I’m kind of a big deal at that one.

Sitting in traffic on the way to my middle daughter’s judo class, I scribbled two ideas for editing the ending of my soon to be released third book, Woman Of Troy, in a yellow spiral notebook I keep in my car. Then, I advertised on social media a new post on another website I co-run for politics and pop culture, while texting my wife about important details regarding my oldest daughter’s high school graduation, tomorrow. Then a phone call came in for work, I took it, it was bad news, and my hands began to shake.

I was having a panic attack.

After the light turned green, I tried like hell to concentrate on driving. I felt tears well and began to cough from a bad cold I’d woken up with. The breakdown was on, and I just rode the rambling wreck until it collapsed in a heap inside of me a few blocks before the community center. I took small solace in it ending before I got to my daughter.

Trying to balance a real job, family and a writing career that’s more show than ShowTime has left me beaten down. The stress of losing my daughter to maturity as she goes from high school to college is what I should’ve given sole concentration, but I took on many other things.

I don’t believe in overachievement, just the regular kind. How I go about accomplishing goals is the problem. I’m 100 mile an hour, hair on fire, juggling chain saws and kittens while being prisoner to mental illness. At least I don’t have to worry about sleep. I’m averaging about 4 hours a night.

I wish I could tell you that I’ve learned to balance my life. Yet, I can not. Despite new challenges, different days, and unexpected, well, everything, there’s no new tale to tell.

Now, I have to find same metaphorical band aids and sniffing salts because life starts all over again, bright and early, tomorrow.

Crawling

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It’s an equation I solve daily, figuring an answer from constant pressure by measured reaction. I calculate the love, the light, the good in my life and subtract my self-destructiveness by ignoring what’s crawling all over me. It’s maturity, or dumb luck.

This week’s ultimate question comes from the yeah write #42 crowd favorite, Panic at the Starbucks by Jennifer at kvetchmom.

Is something crawling on me?

At first glance this looks like an easy yes-or-no question. It seems to demand that we turn immediately to bugs and other horrible things.

100 Word Song Everything Is Awesome

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So 100 word song is a little late today with work and an unexpected morning post http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2014/05/06/im-the-man-inthewomensworldofblogging/ that I couldn’t finish last night. Let’s get right to the song so you all can write.

Long-time 100 word song player, Carrie, from Canada, over at The Muse Unleashed http://museunleashed.com/ had a fantastic 100 this week so Leeroy asked her to pick. He lets her choose anything and she went with Everything Is Awesome from former indie rock girls, Tegan and Sara, now pop singers for the Lego Movie soundtrack. I went with ironic for my 100, because Silas, Olive and I are like that.

Here’s my 100.

Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2014/05/04/the-same-deep-water-as-you/

The balance of the hour ride into Tampa was silent until the final mile. Olive climbed into the backseat of the Cutlass and tried to whisper to Zola. Silas heard every word.

“Don’t let him freak out. Talk him through it and keep him calm. We need this money, Zo. but we need Silas more.”

He stopped at the entrance of The Jade Gentlemen’s Club, staring at the broad-shouldered, t-shirted bouncer.

Olive rolled her eyes and leaned in for a kiss.

“Are you okay, honey?”

Silas pulled away and looked out the windshield.

“Everything is awesome. I’m a team player.”

My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog
As always you 7 days from NOW, to write 100 inspired words from Everything is Awesome by Tegan and Sara. Use the medias that are social to tell everyone about your 100 word song magic then link up to the green button below.

 

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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The Same Deep Water As You

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Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2014/04/29/crash/

Through separating ripples of shower spray, Silas saw Olive step into the shower and move toward him for a kiss. Her lithe body wrapped around him but the peace was short-lived as she whispered violence into his ear.

“Zola found Bart’s pill stash and client list. You and Zola can finish the job and get us out of town in a few days.”

He pushed her against the tile then stared at her until too much water ran into his mouth and be began to choke. He stepped away from the stream, turning his back on her. She cooed over his shoulder.

“You can do this, Silas. Sell the drugs, get the money, and we’ll go wherever you want.”

He stepped back under the water and rinsed shampoo from his hair.  Olive moved behind him wrapping her arms around his chest. He answered.

“Three days. Even if we don’t get everything we need, we get out of Florida. But Zola is your responsibility. I signed up for you, and just you.”

Silas pulled away, opened the shower door, and grabbed a black towel off the toilet lid. After drying off, he wrapped it around his waist and walked into the bedroom. Zola was laying on the bed with four bags of pills, a small black and white notebook, and .38 pistol.

He walked past her then pulled boxers, jeans, and tube socks from the duffle bag they’d brought from Atlanta. He turned to Zola and said.

“Do you ever knock? Seriously, you grew in the same place I did and I don’t recall hanging in people’s rooms when they’re naked a proper southern thing.”

Zola smiled then looked at a nude Olive, who leaned against the bathroom door’s frame with her arms crossed as droplets of water fell to the hardwood. Olive answered for Zola.

“First of all, you took the towel we’re supposed to be sharing and two,  Zola and I have the same attitude when it comes to stuff. Seeing each other naked is the least of our worries. Now, throw me the towel and get dressed wherever you want. I have to be at work in an hour and you two have drugs to sell and clients to blackmail.”

Silas traded glares with both women. He sighed, turned his back then pulled the towel from around his waist and tossed it to Olive. He pulled his boxers and jeans in quick fashion then turned and watched them laugh at him.

He put on the socks and his sneakers then walked over to the bed, grabbed the gun, holstering it in the back band of his jeans. He leaned into Zola and snarled.

“I’m putting up with this shit for 3 days then I’m taking over, got it?”

As he walked out of the room, a t-shirt landed on his right shoulder and Olive’s voice bounced off his back.

“We’re in this together, honey.”

****blogger’s note****

This is a new episode of my short story, Light of Day, about two 19-year-old lovers on the run in 1989 Florida. You can read the majority of the story, from the beginning, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/light-of-day-silas-olive/

It’s the 25th anniversary of The Cure’s Disintegration album. The title of today’s post comes from one of the best tracks, The Same Deep Water As You. Here’s The Cure.

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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If I Had A Gun

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I’m an emotional person. Through years of therapy, medication, behavioral changes and hard work, I’ve learned to not apologize for it. This blog, like my life, is honest. I don’t lie or portray a character.

As a writer and journalist for Lefty Pop http://www.leftypop.com I react to the news of the day, trying to make sense of it. When the state in which I reside, Georgia, signed House Bill HB 60 into law yesterday (taking effect July 1st), aka the “guns anywhere” bill, I did my usual and ripped my state on the medias that are social for being a laughingstock.  I wish I could say that I slept on it and realized I overreacted or as one of my wise friends said “hid behind the hyperbole machine”. But, no. And I didn’t sleep, much, because I kept seeing visions of heat-strapped people at the store of groceries..

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I have two jobs I like even more than writing; husband and father. Keeping my wife and three daughters safe stays on my mind and heart. I abhor guns and don’t feel qualified or have the want for one, so now, life just got harder because my community’s full of gun toting Constitution misinterpreting NRA bullying yahoos. Forget about my chances of getting shot, increased by this horrible law, the 4 women I live with just became Targets, at Target.

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The new law allows concealed weapons into many government buildings. This strips local officials of the ability to make their own rules. I thought gun folks liked local government, just not the federal one?

It bars law enforcement from stopping an armed person and asking to see their permit to carry that weapon. Yes, because making the police’s job harder is smart and prudent.

It allows weapons into bars unless the owner explicitly and publicly bans them. Booze and Berettas are always the perfect mix.

It allows gun owners whose concealed-carry permits that have been yanked for cause to reapply after just three years. Because bad bullet barristers have feelings too.

If concealed-carry permit holders try to bring their weapons past airport security systems, it allows them to get off, scot-free, without legal consequence. So, what was the Patriot Act for, again? And why do I have to take my shoes off?

It allows school personnel to carry concealed weapons with significantly less training than that required of law enforcement. Oh, great. Because my kids’ science teacher should be packing a pistol not test tubes.

It allows those convicted of pointing a weapon at another person illegally to still receive a concealed-carry permit. This nullifies the “gun people are people, too” argument. Apparently they’re more than that.

Gun nuts, forgive me, supporters of this law point out that the law only allows weapons to be carried into places of worship or college campuses if approved by the owners. Sweet,  so I won’t get shot at church or my emerging college freshman won’t get blasted after Western Civ unless the pastors and provosts allow it.

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The thing about living in Georgia the past 9 years is we’ve been able to say “hey, we’re not Florida!”, until now. Since 2005, when Florida’s Stand Your Ground travesty went into effect, “justifiable” homicides rose by 300%, peaking in 2009 with 105. Folk heroism was granted to wife-beater George Zimmerman after he killed Travon Martin last year over wearing a hoodie and carrying skittles. Going to the movies became more adventurous than what was onscreen when earlier this year a retired cop put a hole in the chest of a guy for throwing popcorn. Now, Georgia’s Stand Your Ground law is worse than Florida’s. Netflix just became my BFF.

I don’t care about statistics. I care about people. I really freaking care about my family and my friends. I’m going to be brutally honest. I think the gun lobby, extreme right-wing republicans and myopic gun owners care more about their cold steel and it just made all of us less safe. People will die and I don’t think any of them give a damn because they never take responsibility for gun deaths, ever. If they cared about people more than guns, then they wouldn’t let this law exist.

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This bill has nothing to do with the Second Amendment. Every part of Bill HB 60 changes what was already constitutional under the Second Amendment. This is extremism that perpetuates every redneck, hillbilly, backwoods, confederate stereotype ever put forth about us. This is no different than my left-wing ideal of gun control being thrust upon them. But at least my perfect world doesn’t kill anyone.

I’m living day one of southern dystopia, GA; Guns Anywhere. I made it to work safe. I’ve checked on the kids and wife, they’re good. I hope day two is the same. Then again, we usually eat out on the weekends. I can’t wait to get shot at Applebee’s.

 

100 Word Song – Deep As You Go

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I like to blame the Easter Bunny for a lot of things. But this year he didn’t make me pack on pounds with Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs, because I didn’t have any. But he did leave us, here at 100 word song, with only 4 entries. Maybe with all of you back home and in a writing mood, we’ll at least double that, this week. We had a new participant, Christine aka @hanolsy from the fantastic writing community Yeah Write http://yeahwrite.me/ and her own award winning blog, a real writer’s paradise http://trudgingthroughfog.wordpress.com/ . If you’re not following, friending, and reading her, you’re missing out. She chose indie pop act October Project. If Peter Paul and Mary had a baby with the Mamas and the Papas and that baby grew up and to have a baby with The Tragically Hip, you’d have October Project. The harmonies are excellent and the lyrics are, too. So, this week’s 100 word song is Deep As You Go by October Project.

Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2014/03/29/the-twilight-zone/

Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2014/04/19/bizarre-love-triangle/

Silas slid spread out crumbled bills across the counter. He pulled his baseball cap down and  stared out the glass door, watching Olive and Zola dance around the Cutlass.

“Son, a good woman doesn’t take you down, she builds you up. And two of them? That’s drowning in the ocean.”

Silas looked up at the middle-aged man. His scruffy face and deep brown eyes framed a content grin. Silas responded.

“That nice lady that checked me in was your wife?”

The man nodded his head and handed Silas his receipt. Silas smiled then said, walking away.

“That’s good advice, sir.”

My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog

As always you have 7 days from NOW, to write 100 words inspired by Christine’s pick of Deep As You Go by October Project. Use the medias that are social to advertise you brilliance and tell a friend or 50. The writing prompts community is drying up but we continue to go strong here at 100 word song. And we rhyme, occasionally.

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Pour Some Sugar On Me

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I don’t understand people who care so much about food. I know this puts me in a sick, twisted, whatthehellisthematterwithyoufreak minority but the amount of time my wife, daughters, other family members and friends spend talking about and dealing with what they eat astounds me. If I could manufacture a utopia it would look like this scene from the 1930 movie, Just Imagine.

For the video impaired, Just Imagine is a science fiction musical (an underrated genre) where a man with a weird European accent wakes up in 1980 New York City and two dudes in spiffy hates lead him by the arm to a “café” that dispenses a full meal, roast beef, clam chowder, beets asparagus and pie a la mode in a capsule. The joke is “the roast beef is a little bit tough” and his catch phrase “give me the good ole days” is employed twice. Yes! I less than two minutes I could take care of lunch and have my very own tag line. THAT is the life.

But let’s deal with now. Raise your hand if you or your loved ones spend an inordinate amount of time and energy with food. I’m not talking about the competitive kind or some disorder where people are garbage disposals. But Does your significant other ask you about dinner at 6am when you wake up? Are all of your social gatherings around a meal? These are rhetorical questions. Of course they do.

My wife graduated from Le Cordon Bleu. She can make a meal from baking soda, stale crackers, and sardines. If you ever come over to my house, don’t say “there’s nothing to eat”. She will slay that dragon in less than five minutes. She’s a foodie and so are my three daughters. The Food Network, which I wasn’t aware existed before meeting my wife in 2008, is on all of the time. My 18-year-old daughter can bake anything. My 10-year-old daughter loves making cupcakes and has now started following her mom’s lead in the kitchen. My 9-year-old will too. It’s like living with the cast of Ratatouille.

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Everyone I know talks about what they eat. In my social circle, family and friends, there are people who are modifying what they consume. Gluten Free and Paleo diets are discussed as much as the weather and whoever won or lost the big game. I don’t begrudge any of them. I know they’re all technically healthier than I am but Gluten Free Club and Paleo Club are nothing like the Fight one on my blog because apparently the first rules of each are to never stop talking about them. I think if they ever get in a room with Crossfit people, they’ll all eat each other after they row ten miles.

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As much as I romance the idea of what the Vicious Circle of The Algonquin Round Table was like the 1920s, writers including Dorothy Parker sitting around riffing on poetry, politics, gossip, and intellectualism, they were eating and drinking, mostly drinking, but eating too. It’s not that I’m anti-food as social outlet because I love my dinner conversations with my family and friends, it’s that I don’t care about food. And since I don’t drink, much, anymore, this leaves me out, kind of, when it comes to enjoying the experience dining. I don’t have a favorite food and I could live without it, if I had to.

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Maybe one day we’ll have the option of eating meals like George Jetson. This will free up time for me to get more things done and finally have an ab. But until then, I’m going to have to learn to get along better with the majority of society, especially the part close to me, that thinks we are what we eat, literally, figuratively, and culturally. I’m headed out after this post to have lunch with my foodie wife. She’ll ask me where we’re going and I’ll say “I don’t care” and she’ll grumble at me like I’m a clueless fool. I am, but also, I really just don’t care.

Until I get my pills, pour some sugar on me. Because I’m not dealing with foodies without having a good time.

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

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Bizarre Love Triangle

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This is a new story episode of my short story, Light of Day, about Silas and Olive, 2 19-year-old Georgia lovers on the run in 1989 Florida.

Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2014/04/15/lips-like-sugar/

Broken sleep and a morning beer buzz greeted Silas as he rose from the floor the Sarasota, Florida Beacon Motel, room 37. He pushed himself up to a standing position and located the Atlanta Braves baseball cap and dollar store sunglasses Olive brought him from Ft. Myers. He stepped over a snoring Zola and whispered into the ear of Olive who’d commandeered the bed for herself.

“Going out for a few minutes. I love you.”

She didn’t move but a muffled “love you, too” came from her.

Silas walked outside, let the door close behind him in a ginger manner to avoid waking the women, then looked for police. He spied a newspaper stand then dug into the pockets of his jeans until he found a quarter and a dime. Anxiety rolled over him so he pulled the cap down close to his eyes and donned the sunglasses. He paid for the newspaper then found a shaded alley behind the motel’s laundry service. Pulling the sunglasses off with his right hand, the left searched for a story of a body of a man named Bart found in an industrial section of Sarasota, Florida, shot in the neck.

The newspaper article never appeared. Silas ran through scenarios in his head just like Olive had taught him. When he stumbled upon one that made the most sense, he took off the baseball cap and sunglasses and walked back to the room. Olive opened the door as he arrived. She shook her head and pulled him inside, letting the door slam.

“Silas,  what the hell are you doing? Are you trying to screw things up?”

He pulled his arm away and watched the newspaper splay across the floor. He furrowed his brow, then pulled her mouth to his. The kiss was long, deep, and purposeful. Olive smiled when he let her go.

“Not anymore, Liv.  Get your stuff and Zola together then meet me at the car. I’m going to check out of the room. We’re driving to Tampa to deliver you to your first day of work at The Jade. I’ll find a job or some way to earn quick money and we’ll follow our six month plan to run away, together.”

Behind Olive, a groggy Zola pulled herself onto the bed, wrapped her shoulder-length dark red hair into a pony-tail, lit a cigarette and announced.

“I know where we can get money, a lot of it. It’ll take a few days and some planning. But once we get our hands on it, you have to take me with you.”

Silas and Olive stared at each other. He let out a large, audible sigh but before he could respond, Olive jumped on the bed with Zola, hugged her and said.

“Silas, I told you that you’d love Zola.”

I wrote two books. They got good reviews. The third one, a sequel to the first, Woman Of Troy, is on the way, very soon.

The Ballad of Helene Troy, an underdog story about a female musician in New York City, and Soul To Body, about an ex-1990s guitar player trying to raise his teenage daughter after the death of his wife, her mother, are available, digitally, on Amazon.com for your kindles, and in paperback from Lulu.com

bookcoverpicajjhkasfpaperbackpicturesad