Don’t Get Me Wrong


Last time:

Silas scanned the dirty garage for any sign of the wayward Finn Brother and his large, violent cousin Kenny. He stood thirty feet away while Zola’s wooden heels clicked on the concrete as she sidled next to Archie and leaned into his nervous energy. Archie’s narrow blue eyes glanced at Silas but Zola kept his attention.

As seconds built into minutes, Silas walked backward to the side door and leaned outside to search for anyone coming. By the time he resumed his post, Archie was handing over cash to Zola. His voice cracked and Silas heard his cry.

“Please, I have a family, okay!”

Zola pulled him close to her face and kissed both of his cheeks then whispered in his right ear. Archie slumped  to the counter and Zola walked toward Silas with a impish grin. Silas bit his bottom lip and struggled to swallow the bile forming in the back of his mouth. Zola pulled him to the door and said.

“Three-hundred dollars was all he had but we can get more this afternoon. Come on, we have someone else to see.”

The heaviness of the gun slipped from the small of his back to the top of his rear end. He pulled it out held it against his jeans as they got back inside the car. Zola laughed, pushed her heels off into the floorboard and put her toes against the dash.

“Three clients in Tampa is all I have Silas, but I might get a thousand dollars, hell, two thousand if we hit them up at their jobs at the right time. You know, this seems crazy to you, but what if we just forgot about going back to the strip club for Olive?”

Silas rubbed his sore throat then exploded, punching the steering wheel and slapping Zola’s feet off the car’s interior. He scooted within inches of Zola and grit his teeth.

“Shut up, Zola, shut the hell up, you hear me? Let’s get one thing straight! I don’t want you or your disgusting whore ass, ever! Get the money, then get away from us. We split the cash fifty-fifty because that’s what I agreed to with my girlfriend! You hear that word? Girlfriend! Now, you tell me where to drive next and don’t mention anything else!”

Silas cranked the Cutlass backed it out and swerved into traffic, almost hitting a station wagon in the closest lane. The gun dropped between his feet. He caught Zola’s eyes on it, then mumbled.

“Don’t even think of picking it up, Zola.”

He found the highway but with no direction coming from a shocked Zola he drove to the shoulder and let the car idle. Zola’s whimper became more noticeable. It was different than Olive’s. with more vulnerability and less focus. She seemed to be upset not emotional for effect. He closed his eyes and felt guilt poking his chest.

“I’m sorry Zo. Nothing is going the way it’s supposed to, at least not for the past two days, and I’m just trying to hold on to me and Olive, you know, that’s my normal.”

She sank in the seat and tears formed around her eye makeup. Silas put his hand on her shoulder. She leaned her head against it.

“Two exits down, Boggs Street, next to the strip mall is where you need to drive. The guy’s a stockbroker type, you know, master of the universe Wall Street wannabe asshole. Maybe you’ll hate him more than me when we’re done.”

Silas put the car into drive and found the on ramp.

“I don’t hate you, Zola. I barely know you. I just really love Olive. And I never thought I’d kill somebody.”

After a minute of silence, he leaned over and turned on the radio. The Pretenders played from a rock station. Silas and Zola exchanged smiles.

“You want me to turn it, you like dance music, right?”

She shook her head and answered.

“No, leave it, The Pretenders are just fine.”

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 for your kindles, and in paperback from




The Best Day


He’d often say “son, man’s worst day fishing’s better than his best day not”. I never asked where he stole the phrase. The biggest hand I’ve ever known was always on my arm when he said it, then we’d cast our rods at the same time.

Country music was on the radio we brought along as southern summer sun beat down on our Atlanta Braves baseball caps. Whether we caught enough for dinner or got enough tugs on our lines to exaggerate about how big the fish was that got away, it was our place, and always our best day.


*****blogger’s note*****

Eight years ago, today, my grandfather, the best fisherman, Atlanta Braves fan, and country music aficionado I’ve ever met, joined my grandmother (she passed 7 months earlier), his wife, up there.

This 100 words is linked to my friend Velvet from’s one word prompt “place”.

Here’s a song he and I listened too, together, George Strait’s The Best Day.

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 for your kindles, and in paperback from





100 Word Song – Can’t Keep


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,, 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  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


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 partner in crime Linda aka @modmomellroy was 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:

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


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.



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


So 100 word song is a little late today with work and an unexpected morning post 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 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:

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 for your kindles, and in paperback from


The Same Deep Water As You


Last time:

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:

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 for your kindles, and in paperback from


If I Had A Gun


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 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..


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.


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.


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.


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


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 and her own award winning blog, a real writer’s paradise . 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:

Last time:

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.