Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2013/12/04/100-word-song-nearly-lost-you/

A sudden afternoon Florida thunder shower engulfed the Cutlass. Silas struggled to roll up all of the windows before rain invaded the car. He worried about why Olive’s interview inside the Gentlemen’s Club was taking so long. The disc jockey on the rock station announced the time. He gripped the steering wheel and muttered.

“Damn it, Liv, it’s been like 45 minutes!”

Condensation formed on the windows. Silas’ shaking, clammy fingers began to melt into the steam as he tried to see Olive emerge from the club. A thump from the passenger side startled him. A muffled female voice competed with the rain and a locked door.

“Silas, it’s me! Unlock this stupid door!”

He unlocked it and she dove inside then pulled it shut. He smiled and leaned in for a kiss. She pecked his nervous lips then pulled away and said.

“They said the rain should last like fifteen minutes. Why don’t we hop in the back and wait it out that way.”

He knew what she meant, but he wanted to know about the interview. He wanted to know what she would have to do to work there. Olive climbed into the back and started unbuttoning her skirt. She stared at him and asked.

“What’s the matter honey? Are you turning virgin or suddenly scared, let’s go!”

He climbed over the seat and fell into her lap. He looked up and met her mischievous smile with his own. Olive pulled her hair back and said sighed. Silas started taking off his pants.

“They wanted me to dance. I said hell no. One of the girls knows Zola and Bart. Her name’s Gigi. Fake, right? Whatever, but she took up for me, wouldn’t let the guy bully me. So you’re looking at the new day shift waitress and shot girl. I start tomorrow. They said I could go by whatever name I wanted. What name should I use?

Silas listened to the storm rap the car, shrugged his shoulders and said.


*****blogger’s note****

This is a 333 word new story episode of Light of Day, my short story about 2 19-year-olds, Silas and Olive, on the run on Florida in 1989. It’s linked to Trifecta Writing Challenge’s “melt” prompt. http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ MELT (transitive verb)

Today’s song is from The Cult’s 1985 Love album, and something they’d be listening to. Here’s Rain.

Stuff your stockings with my books:

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


100 Word Song – I Think It’s Going To Rain Today

We had several triumphant returns to 100 word song this week. Leeroy was excited to welcome Renee http://t.co/bdhe4mbWAH and Troy aka t http://aslongasimsinging.wordpress.com/ back into the fold. If you visit t’s place then you know he’s a Bobby Darin guy. Leeroy and t go back a long time so he asked t to pick a tune for this week and t chose Bobby Darin’s I Think It’s Going To Rain Today.


I was preoccupied this morning with twin rulings in support of marriage equality by The Supreme Court. The bottom line is, the Court decided to make it easier for gay marriage to happen state by state. As of now, there are no federal road blocks preventing LGBT people to marry. My good friend Kelly aka The Debie Hive aka Wonder Woman of the Internet wrote a really good column today breaking down what the rulings mean http://debiehive.blogspot.com/2013/06/what-doma-and-prop-8-rulings-mean-and.html . DOMA and Prop 8 are dead as fried chicken. It will now be up to the states to decide on marriages. I’m sure my Georgia will wait as long as they can to get things right.

If you have LGBT friends or family, congratulate them. If they live in California, they’ll be able to marry legally in a few weeks. If they live in one of the 38 states that still prohibit gay marriage, tell them to hang in there, societal evolution just sped up for them. For the LGBT people reading this, you’re in my heart. I love you all and this day belongs to you. You matter, your marriages matter, and this country is finally “getting you”.

Soul To Body, my short story about a grieving father with a spunky teenage daughter and overprotective sister-in-law is almost over. We go back to the driveway with Jake and Gus.

Last time:


Augusta turned her back to Jake and yelled to the porch.

“Violet, calm down! The neighbors know enough!”

An empty water bottle dropped from Augusta’s full arms and rolled to Jake’s bare feet. Lost in several thoughts, he kicked the bottle into the road. The sound of plastic hitting asphalt focused him.

“Gus, don’t be unkind to Mallory. She’s scolded…..embarrassed…so, enough.”

Augusta offered her right elbow to her brother-in-law. Jake took it and whispered.

“Remember how Camille bragged her boobs could predicting the weather?”

Augusta rolled her eyes.

“Well, I think she just told me it’s going to rain today.”

My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog

You have 7 days from NOW, to write 100 word inspired by t and Bobby Darin’s I Think It’s Going To Rain Today. Tweet, book o face, smoke signal, pony express, google +, osmosis, and standard U.S. mail your response to as many people as you can. Make sure you use Mr. Linky at the bottom.

Love kicked Hate’s ugly ass today. Celebrate.


I spent months wishing that her blue eyes would to look at me with want.  I’d been the shoulder that held her hurt from every boy.  I longed to have her long blonde hair and always tanned skin against me.This time was different. We were single at the same moment. She called with wonderful news. She wanted me to help her move back home.
It was a five hour drive in pouring rain across two states. She asked me if it was too much trouble. I said I didn’t mind. Overhwhelmed by romantic thoughts, I chose to skirt the truth. It was her. The possibilities of where we could go played in my mind like Casablanca. This time, Bogie would get Ilsa, I thought.
I pulled into the driveway, behind an unfamiliar blue Toyota Corolla. Its hatchback was packed full of her things. Her car, a yellow Honda Accord, sat untouched near the entrance of the house.
An odd wave of anxiety came over me. I always felt comfortable when I was about to see her. This time, it was like walking into a dark room on Halloween. She had said that I would be the only guy around. As I jogged along the stone walkway, in a steady downpour, I tried to convince myself it was me, not my truck, she wanted.
The large, wooden green door was locked. I could see through a small diamond shaped window. A woman with short black hair and tattooed arms embraced who I wanted. They kissed, passionately, the way I wanted her to kiss me. Their lips engulfed as their hands explored one another. I didn’t knock. I was defeated by an opponent who was more skilled. I would remain forever unrequited.
Frightened, confused, and pissed off, I left my truck keys on top of the welcome mat. My tears were indistinguishable from the rain that poured down my face as I crossed my arms and walked away. The storm bathed me in regret.
****blogger’s note****

This is a response to the week seven prompt of Trifecta Challenge http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ 

skirt (verb)
1 to form or run along the border or edge of
to provide a skirt for

3 to go or pass around or about; specifically : to go around or keep away from in order to avoid danger or discovery

My friend Marian, aka @runaway_tweets helped with editing of this piece. Please visit her on twitter or www.runawaysentence.com

Today’s song has always been my interpretation of heartbreak but in a sarcastic form. This is from The Cult. I’m in a mid 80s mood this week, apparently. Here’s Love Removal Machine. Play it really really loud…

This Wicked Tongue

Helene picked up her guitar and other things from the bar. Chelsea, wounded and sullen from Helene’s poisonous tirade toward her earlier, clumsily filled beer mugs.  Helene opened her mouth to apologize when Ramona yelled from the door.

“Taxi’s here, Leney!”

The rain had stopped. There were several inches of water pooled in the street. Helene lost the grip on her guitar case. In catching it from hitting the wet pavement, she fell on her back. Ramona saved her backpack and guitar. Soaked and embarrassed, Helene laughed. Ramona laughed with her. The taxi driver shouted.

“You want a ride or not?”

Helene slowly got up and looked into Ramona’s wide smile. The lines around her middle-aged eyes and mouth told stories that Helene desperately wanted to hear. They climbed in the backseat and the cab pulled away from Mickey’s bar. Helene was terrified to speak. Ramona put her at ease.

“My place is closer to the studio. You’re going to be playing and writing songs til dawn. We don’t have time to dry anything but you can have some shirts. I still have clothes from my skinny bitch days.”

Helene alternated thoughts between seeing Ramona’s brownstone with a customized studio that she read about in Spin magazine, and amazed anyone thought she was skinny.

“Oh Ramona, I’m not skinny! I’m 129 lbs on a 5’5″ frame. If I wasn’t so poor, I’d eat enough to be a cow.”

Ramona rolled her eyes and grinned awkwardly while barking to the driver.

“Take your next right! “

She stared into the New York darkness and lowered her voice to a hurting cadence.

“Leney, this vicious bitch in People magazine said, reviewing my last CD,  that my songs were a departure from my salad days and bumpy ride into my macaroni and cheese times. I’m 20 pounds heavier than I was 20 years ago when I stuck my finger down my throat, daily.”

Helene reached her left hand around the cumbersome guitar case separating them, and touched Ramona’s right hand.

****blogger’s note****

This is not only a new story episode of The Ballad of Helene Troy, the rest of which you can find here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/ but also a 333 word response to the boys and girls at Trifecta Writing: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ The challenge:


1: destructive, harmful

2: having the properties or effects of poison : venomous

3: spiteful, malicious

I’m proud of today’s song. It’s something Helene and Ramona would have in their CD collections and play on stage. Here’s PJ Harvey’s This Wicked Tongue….