Later and later and later. This 100 word song thing is starting to tick me off as well as you. Thanks for the great song last week and the amazing responses. With coming back from vacation in Washington D.C. and then going to a rock show, The Whigs in Atlanta, time has been tight.
Earlier today I addressed the “mental problems” as my wife calls them and the diagnosis was as sobering as I was expecting. This made Wednesday, time-wise, even tighter. Being busy and crazy is hard work. We’re almost at the end of this story. Soul To Body will get double duty this week. I will put all the posts together, update the page, and see what everyone thinks of the serialized tale as a while story.
Donetta Sifford aka @donettasifford on the Twitter, picked today’s song. For a good ole girl from West Virginia, she has excellent taste. Leeroy asked her to pick something and she chose The Beatles’ Don’t Let Me Down.
Violet held her phone in her right hand, checking text messages. Her angry stare through Mallory worried Jake. He tried moving between them to use his 5’11″ frame to block his daughter from Mallory.
“Mallory, now’s not a good time. Vi and I were talking and I don’t want to let you down, but I just can’t……”
Violet ducked under her father’s left arm. Her long blonde ponytail bounced in front of Jake’s face, interrupting him. Violet emerged across the threshold.
“Mallory, my dad’s not available! And that that married guy in Ohio you got in trouble answered my Aunt Augusta’s email!”
You have seven days from today to write 100 words for Donetta's pick, The Beatles Don't Let Me Down. Then email, tweet, book o face, smoke signal, pony express, carrier pigeon, and standard mail your responses to as many people as possible. Don't forget to use Mr. Linky below.
The icepack wrapped around Chad’s shoulder was so tight that lifting his right arm was impossible. After the plane reached thirty-five-thousand feet, all of his teammates and coaches came by his seat to shake his free hand and say good luck. Chad smiled at each one, concealing his fear about what to do when the plane’s wheels touched the ground now that he couldn’t play baseball.
Trifecta Writing Challenge http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ asked me to write a story in 3 sentences. I was inspired by something I’d never seen before, last October 3rd, when Ben Sheets, completing his tenth season in the majors, pitched a scoreless first inning against the Pirates, striking out 2 of the 3 hitters he face (that’s really good), came out of the game and retired. Sheets had come back twice from injured and his arm was shot. But he went out in a great way. That rarely happens. Here’s the video of it.
I fictionalized it with “Chad” so I could use today’s song, Wheels by Foo Fighters. But I imagine Ben’s plane ride home was similar. Have a great weekend.
If it seems 100 word song is getting later and leter each week, it’s because Leeroy’s been sick sick and I’ve been sick busy. Fifty something bucks later, Leeroy’s batteries were recharged and I think he’s going to be okay. Thank you to Tracy aka @crazyasnormal for the Indie rock last week and the excellent six entries we had. The cool thing about six who played last week is we all seem to share the same tastes in music, for the most part. I would like to spotlight Bridget aka @twinisms from http://www.twinisms.com. She succumbed to peer pressure from Tracy and I and wrote for the first time. It was terrific. I suspected she might try to pick New Kids On The Block or something so I let her off the hook and asked our actual musician writer friend, Linda, aka @modmomelleroy to pick this week.
Linda is a Tom Petty fanatic. She saw him in concert a few days ago. So she chose his song “Down South”.
For my 100, we go back to Jake and Violet and my soon to be over, short story Soul To Body.
Violet muttered “taking a shower” as they arrived home. Then father and daughter escaped to different rooms.
Camille had encouraged him to keep playing guitar after Boxer Ego broke up and Violet was born.
Jake walked barefoot across the hardwoods and retrieved his acoustic from a closet. The front door was open but the screen was closed. He sat cross-legged inches from the threshold, as he’d done with Camille strumming Tom Petty. As Jake imagined Camille across from him, Mallory’s voice invaded the screen.
“I know Violet’s home but I need to tell you why I moved back down south!”
As always you have 7 days from NOW to write 100 words inspired by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers “Down South”. Don’t forget to use the Mr. Linky below to post your 100 then book o face, the twitterz, google +. smoke signal, pony express, morse code, and email your response to everyone you know. Tell a friend or 50. Let’s get at least 10 this week.
Also, buy the book. The Ballad of Helene Troy is available, digitally, on amazon.kindle, smashwords and good reads and in paperback from Lulu.com or a signed copy from Pound Publishing headquarters- inquire within.
Jake forked through cold hashbrowns, waiting for Violet to finish her call. A waitress in her early twenties clad in a pedantic yellow and brown uniform approached their booth. Jake removed a twenty-dollar bill from his jeans left front pocket.
Jake nodded his head then moved his teen-aged daughter’s plate toward the waitress.
“Yes ma’am and keep the change. Sorry about my kid. Her phone’s her best friend.”
Violet rolled her eyes and hung up after saying “love you” into the phone’s receiver. Jake glared at her. Violet didn’t back down.
“What, dad? I just met you at mom’s grave after you left your stalker’s house without a shirt on. Really? Davey says he loves me. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
Jake rubbed his temples and scooted out of the booth.
“C’mon, Vi, I’ll follow you to the gas station across the street and fill up your car.”
Violet sighed then followed her father into the parking lot.
“Dad, why are you mad at me? I’m not mad at you anymore about this Mallory situation and I should be!”
Jake took in a deep breath, grimacing from the pain of broken ribs. Violet was right. Why should he judge her for her fleeting teen relationship when he was being careless with an adult one. But he steeled his nerve and faced his petulant daughter.
“I don’t have to justify myself to you, Vi. But you know what, it’s really hard to explain why I brought Mallory into the picture the way I did, but I’ll fix the problem, soon. I promise. But you should never tell someone, especially a guy so into you the way Davey is that you love them.”
Violet’s blue eyes teared. She stomped past her father and unlocked her volkswagon’s driver’s side door, then turned toward him.
“Mom told me y’all said “L” words after knowing each other only three days.
Jake’s eyes watered, too. He opened his car, got inside then slammed the door.
I think I made it under the deadline for Trifecta Writing Challenge’s 333 word fiction piece with the prompt of “pedantic”. This is a new story episode of my short story about a grieving husband and father called Soul To Body.
For today’s song we go to the first thing ever heard from The Strokes, Hard To Explain.
This has been the weirdest, in a good way, week for me and my second favorite thing, music. If you’ve followed the last few posts, the loss of my favorite record store and the wave of nostalgia via cover songs and my old college radio DJ days has made me really appreciate the responses this week. I love the new people like Tracy from Crazy and Normal and the return of my wife, Deana, and Laura Day. We made double digits in reponses which is awesome. Linda aka @modmomelleroy is an actual musican. Her Americana band, Jehova Waitresses has great influences and talking music with her is a lot of fun. She writes athttp://modmombeyondindiedom.blogspot.com/ . Leeroy asked her to pick his week’s song and she followed my weird week’s lead and went late 1980s alternative rock with Camper Van Beethoven’s Sweethearts. This was a challenge so I had to get crafty. Oh and don’t forget to get a head start on your Father’s Day gift giving with my first book, The Ballad fo Helene Troy, a tale of rock n roll underdog with a lot of music inside the pages. You can find it on amazon/kindle, smashwords, Good Reads or paperback from Lulu.com http://www.amazon.com/The-Ballad-Of-Helene-Troy/dp/1300800216/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1368577780&sr=8-1&keywords=the+ballad+of+helene+troy
Here’s my 100, going back to Jake, Violet, their late Camille and the short story, Soul To Body.
Sweat glistened on Jake’s hands as he released the steering wheel and closed his eyes.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
Camille’s voice released him from a trance.
“I just heard that Ronald Reagan died. Bizarre. I used to hate him, you know, teenage and early twenties being a musician. My band wrote songs about him and George Bush. Yet, I feel sad.”
Camille leaned in and kissed him.
“Jake Hanna, you’re a grown up now, with a little girl in the bathroom with her aunt in that five and dime across the street. Having sweethearts like us around softens the edges.”
AS always, you have 7 days from NOW, to write 100 words inspired by Sweethearts by Camper Van Beethoven. Then tweetm book o face, google +, email, smoke signal, pony express, carrier pigeon your response. Don’t forget to use the Mr. Linky, Leeroy’s buddy, below, then tell a friend or fifty.
Millicent Stingley rapped her peach-colored nails on the private plane’s arm rests. Craning her neck around the seat, she saw her friend, Pauley, stumble from the bathroom. The plane’s flight attendant was ignoring her so Millicent swallowed her anger, removed a twenty-dollar bill from the left cup of her bra, then displayed it to catch the woman’s attention. The petite redhead of about thirty-years-old rose and walked toward Millicent. She faked a grin, which infuriated Millicent more. She remembered the woman’s name was Cassandra.
“Cassie, can you be a dear and bring my friend and I two extra pillows, her a ginger ale with lime, some crackers, and me an whiskey sour, stiff, on the rocks.”
Cassandra snatched the twenty from Millicent and sighed like a teenaged girl as she passed by Pauley in the aisle. Pauley chuckled to herself as she squeezed past Millicent and retook her window seat after turning on the air fan above her.
“Making a new best friend, Millie?”
Millicent closed her eyes and tasted the bile in her throat. She exhaled from a deep breath and drawled.
“I only need one, Paulette. And you will do. So, how far along are you?”
Pauley frowned and knew her third trip to the plane’s bathroom since takeoff, flush cheeks and pale countenance made her look stupid for not talking more about her pregnancy news to Millicent.
“Not long, maybe 8 weeks, 9 at the most.”
Millicent leaned forward, grabbed the black ink pen and notepad in the seat pocket and jotted down information.
“When we get to Morocco, I’ll put together a remedy for the nausea, and a sleeping pill. Then we’ll go shopping for baby things. This child has to look good at all times in public.”
Pauley laughed and touched Millicent’s right arm. She knew arguing with her was pointless.
“I’ll be fine, Millie. I know you’re probably pissed I didn’t tell you right away. We had a lot to do in Brazil and I had to tell the father first. Oh and Lenore, I think. Shit, sorry about that.”
Millicent rolled her eyes and finished writing her materials list and formulas. Cassandra returned with Millicent’s order. Pauley shook her head and dropped her tray to hold the ginger ale and crackers. Millicent sipped her whiskey.
“Pauley, there’s a handwritten letter in your carry on bag. It’s for Arthur. Make sure he gets it. It’s the last time I’m making contact with him. I’ve got all the family I need in this plane. Also, I’ll have a list of proper baby names done before we land.”
Pauley smiled and felt her stomach settle.
The plane landed in Casablanca, Morocco several hours later. Millicent tracked down a cab while Pauley checked in with Stan by cell phone. Digging in her handbag for extra cash, Millicent felt a couple of the cyanide pills she’d created in Brazil. A wave of paranoia washed over her. Was this the last she’d see of her only true friend? Swallowing the off-white capsule was an option. She shook off the thought and paid the driver. Using the French Pauley had told her would work in Morocco, she cooed the instructions.
“Portez-nous à Alfirdaouss et utilisez l’itinéraire de centre-ville.”
Millicent was still staring at the pill when Pauley showed up.
“You okay, Auntie Millie?”
Millicent slid into the backseat of the cab.
“Yes, but that’s isn’t going to do. I like Aunt M, like James Bond’s boss, but cuter.”
Pauley laughed as the cab away from the airport into traffic.
The women reached their desired apartment district. As they shopped a nearby open market, Pauley saw a familiar cafe.
“Come on, let’s get some Moroccan blend!”
The sun beamed over their shoulders as Millicent prepared to pay for their cups. The cyanide pill from earlier dropped from her handbag as she removed money. Millicent handed the cash to the merchant.
“Merci, gardez le changement.”
Pauley sipped her coffee and glared at Millicent who stared at the cyanide. Without saying anything, Millicent took her three-inch heel and stomped the capsule until it was dust on the pavement. The women looked away from each other in silence. Millicent sidled up to her friend.
“Don’t worry, Paulette. When you need me, I’ll make more.”
The women turned and walked side by side into the Casablanca sun.
This is the season finale of mine and Tara aka @Tara_R ‘s Brazilian sequel to Dead Money, our serialized story about female killers Millicent and Pauley.
Please go see Tara’s chapter first at http://www.thinspiralnotebook.com
Today’s song belongs to Weezer. They’re all about irony and weirdness, just like MIllicent and Pauley. Thank you for reading. Tara and I have so much fun writing these stories. Here’s Best Friend.
Millicent’s deep-set chocolate eyes accentuated by natural long eyelashes surveyed the one and a half-acre estate. If there was anything she’d miss, it would be the garden. She and Lenore had dedicated one day per week over the past eight months to rehabilitating its beauty. But the limestone blocks and brick flower beds would need to be turned into a fire pit to incinerate the evidence of the day inside the house. She let go of Pauley’s arm and walked a few feet in front of her friend.
She strode through the side yard and saw the doors of the rental car open, but Danela was not inside. Pauley shouted over Millicent’s shoulders.
“It doesn’t surprise me she took off, Millicent. Danela was scared of her own shadow. She probably thought we’d kill her.”
Millicent shook head and turned her attention to the garden, after murmuring a confession.
“She was right.”
Pauley didn’t respond, but joined her friend in front of a brick bed of rhododendrons. Millicent leaned over and grab a brick in each of her hands.
“Forgive me, Paulette, but our manicures must be sacrificed.”
Pauley figured out Millicent’s plan without asking for specifics.
“When we get to Morocco, you can make our hands presentable, again. Let’s get to work.”
The women dispersed to opposite ends of the garden and assembled a square pit within minutes. Pauley stared at Millicent several times, wondering if Millicent’s unusual silence was tied to killing a man in front of everyone, or leaving behind an idyllic second life. Millicent put the last two bricks into place and positioned her hands on her hips in satisfaction.
“I’m just fine, Pauley. Regret is for losers and the weak. But I made mistakes in this country because I was trying to be someone else. If you see me toss a leopard print Zuzu Angel dress into this blaze, shoot me if I try to jump in after it.”
Pauley laughed and after several seconds of wiping sweat from her forehead, Millicent did too. Their inappropriate senses of humor belied what they were about to do, burn three bodies, a house, and walk away from it all without remorse.
Millicent’s mind was days into the future.
“You have my word. I’ll stay in Morocco and do it the right way if you and Stan can help me make that happen. There’s $24,000 or so dollars in cash and bank notes in the little gray safe at the dress shop and about $1500 in a jewelry box in the main bathroom inside the house.”
Pauley hauled her third limestone block into place and sighed.
“Money’s not a problem, Millie. But this time, I’m going with you and help you get settled. don’t give me that ice queen independent woman bullshit. I’ve earned this “I told you so.” Plus, you need to learn some Arabic to go with your French. I can’t wait to look smarter than you for a few weeks.”
They exchanged laughs and finished the fire pit. Pauley and Millicent clasped hands then let go as they reached the house. Pauley walked inside while Millicent turned and looked at what was about to shake out of her life.
Two new chapters of Millicent and Pauley, your favorite female killers currently hanging in Brazil. Please go check out the stunning installment from my writing partner and friend, Tara aka @Tara_R http://thinspiralnotebook.wordpress.com/2013/04/27/a-game-we-play/ it’s amazing.
Have you read my book? The Ballad of Helene Troy is available on Amazon/Kindle, smashwords, or in paperback on Lulu.com or a signed copy from my kitchen table.
Today’s song is perfect lyrically and thematically from Florence and The Machine. Other than the murdering, Florence and Millicent would get along great. Here’s Shake It Out.
Last time with Soul To Body: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2013/04/24/100-word-song-ho-hey/
Jake’s sudden outburst caused Mallory to deaden her stare until it seemed an indescribable state of ecstasy. He extended his left hand and waited for her to accept it. But the wall he’d created between them with his unstable emotions seemed in place, for now.
Realizing any more conversation after ending their intimate moment with awkwardness would be brutal, Jake left her and located his keys and headed to the door. Mallory ran toward him.
“Jake, no, please!”
He hesitating turning the knob, which allowed her next sentence.
“I’ll wait for your heart to be ready, just don’t reject me!”
This is new story episode of my novella, Soul To Body, about a man with a teen daughter who loses his wife to cancer three months earlier. This is linked to 2 prompts, http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ ’s “ecstasy” and http://www.velvetverbosity.com/ ’s “wall”. Please visit them. There are excellent writers there as well as fine human beings, or so they say they’re human.
Have you bought my first book, The Ballad of Helene Troy? It’s available on Amazon/kindle, smashwords, and in paperback from Lulu.com or a signed copy from my kitchen table. http://www.amazon.com/The-Ballad-Of-Helene-Troy/dp/1300800216/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366912113&sr=8-1&keywords=lance+burson
For today’s song we head back to 1985 Dream of The Blue Turtles’ album from Mr. Arrogant, Sting and Fortress Around Your Heart.
He lived the entire 20th century, the last quarter lost in his mind. I felt guilty for the money I’d charge to sit with him. His stories were priceless, though he called me the wrong name.
I took a break from the ongoing stories and personal to try something different for Trifecta Writing’s Trifextra Weekend Challenge exactly 33 of your own words plus the following three words:
I considered canceling this week’s 100 word song because of yesterday’s tragedy at Patriots Day Marathon in Boston. For all of my sarcastic nonsense and dark musings, both fictional and non, I try to be respectful of hurt, sorrow, and well, what happened . Today over at my newsy journalistic hangout, SprocketInk.com, I dropped a few hundred words for Boston and even played some Dropkick Murphys. http://sprocketink.com/it-happens-here/
Then I realized that living your life is how you show respect. I write. I write every damn day. Some of you dig 100 word song as much as I do. We have some new writers. One of them is Jen aka @jenkehl over at www.breaktheparentingmold.com Like Kath, Linda, Dawn, and others who play 100 word song, she’s a music freak who provides videos and writes stuff inspired by tunes. Like, me she got all worked up about picking a song. She chose Lucretia Macevil by Blood, Sweat & Tears. I used to listen to them riding in the car with my parents as a kid. There were like 37 people in their group, sort of like Wu Tang Clan, but with lots of horns.
For my 100 we go back to Jake in Mallory’s bathroom in my short story Soul To Body.
Mallory’s pushed her hands flat on Jake’s bare chest, caressing the chill bumps on his collar bones. Still weak from nausea, Jake’s cottonmouth swallow tried to form the word “no”. Mallory blocked it from happening. She pulled her blouse over her head, revealing a red bra and wicked grin.
“This is my house, Jake. If you’re shirtless, so am I.”
His stillness gave her permission. Mallory draped her arms around his neck. Trouble arrived at his lips as she kissed him. Jake tried to pull away, but Mallory’s long, slender fingers pulled his mouth to hers.
The kiss felt evil.
As always, you have 7 days from NOW, to write 100 words inspired by Blood, Sweat, & Tears Lucretia Macevil. Please use Mr. Linky below to post your 100 then tweet, book o face, google +, smoke signal, pony express, or standard mail your 100 word song to everyone you know.