fbpx

C. Lee McKenzie

Young Adult and Middle Grade Author

October October October First Wednesday

By 113 Comments

Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.

Remember, the question is optional!

October 3 question – How do major life events affect your writing? Has writing ever helped you through something?

I’m skipping the question this time around. I have too much to say about this topic at the moment.

The awesome co-hosts for the October 3 posting of the IWSG are Dolorah @ Book Lover, Christopher D. Votey, Tanya Miranda, and Chemist Ken!

Have you started your story to enter it in the next Anthology Contest? I hope so. Check out this LINK to find out all of the details.

 

My favorite month has just arrived. If it were up to me, we’d have three months of October; then January. I’d make pumpkin pie every four weeks because, of course, I’d have to carve fresh Jack-O-Lanterns and have them at the door for the Trick-or-Treaters that would come at the end of each October.  At last, I could really get some good use out of my witch hat, and I wouldn’t have to do my hair–the messier and witch+ier the better. I love orange and black together, so seeing that theme for ninety days would be just fine by me. I’d have to stock up on more apple cider and cinnamon sticks than usual, but Trader Joe’s has plenty of each. As to the ghosts and gremlins that hang out during this season, I’d use them as writing inspiration. So I think this year, I’m keeping October around until the ball drops in Times Square.

Email Connect by C. Lee McKenzie

Email Connect

In my October Email Connect I tackle Honesty and how Social Media affects our Truthfulness. Do you ever think about telling a fib on, let’s say, Facebook, and then change your mind? Why? Stanford Social Media Lab has some interesting findings about the TWO ONLINE WORLDS AND TRUTH. I’ve shared that this month. I’m also featuring another of my good friends and supporters L. Diane Wolfe. 

If you’re on my list, let me know what you think. If you’re not, JOIN now and get a free short story that only my mailing list will ever see. I only drop into your inbox once a month as long as you want me to.

Now, here’s an added October October October Bonus:

A HALLOWEEN GIVEAWAY

Since we’re in the ghostly-ghastly season, I thought a giveaway with a touch of horror would be in order. I’m in love with Roland Yeoman’s prose, and his amazing journeys with the literary, scientific, and political geniuses of the past. Imagine all time restrictions lifted. Imagine what kind of synergy brilliant minds from from different times can create when allowed to mingle.

I recently REVIEWED  SILHOUETTES IN THE KEY OF SCREAM and Roland has generously agreed to give away 10 eBooks of that short story collection AND 10 of the companion collection, PERCHANCE TO NIGHTMARE. If  you want to shiver and shake this fall, here’s your chance. To enter to win, just jump through three quick social media hoops; and then tell him which book you want when you leave a comment. Good luck.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
Quote of the Month: “Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves, we have had our summer evenings, now for October eves.” Humbert Wolfe

 

The Mysterious Moving Grave

By 60 Comments

What better story to tell this Halloween than one about a grave that moves! Don’t miss out on the Rafflecopter entry. Take it away, Bish

Thanks for letting me haunt your blog, Lee! Today I’m going to share a scene that was removed from my book The Bowl and the Stone: A Haunting Tale from the Virgin Islands. At then end, I’ll tell the “real” story.

Like any writer, I had to revise and edit The Bowl and Stone… a lot. I changed POV and tense more times than I care to admit. Whole chapters and scenes were ripped from the pages, each one tearing at my heart. But when three beta readers say the same thing, one has to take a serious look. This scene, along with others related to it, was removed because ultimately they made Sam and her best friend, Nick, look rather mean and petty, which is not what I intended. Here the friends are explaining about a grave they believe moves from place to place, to two tourist kids.
***
The Mysterious Moving Grave

     The two tourist kids were so annoying we had to tell them the story of the Mysterious Moving Grave. 
     “Once there was this really mean man,” said Nick. “He was so mean nothing grew on his farm.”
     “He was married,” I continued, “and had three kids. He drank a lot and blamed them for his not being able to grow anything.”
     “One night he got really drunk and went into a terrible rage. That’s when he did it.” Nick paused for effect.
     “Did what?” asked the thin, pale boy who looked like an albino salamander.
     “That’s when he killed his wife and kids,” he answered.
     “With a machete,” I said.
     “Hacked all four of ’em to bits.” Nick waved his arm like he was slicing something up. “Scattered their body parts all over his land. He thought it would make things grow.”
     “Gross!” The girl covered her mouth with a hand and turned green as genip.
     “It gets better,” I said. “He was caught and tried and they hung him right here at Gallows Point, which is where they hung all the criminals and pirates back then. Even though he was a bad man his brother wanted to bury him all proper, so he built him a small concrete tomb.”
     Nick continued. “The problem is he’s restless. He keeps getting out of his grave and wandering around Gallows Point with that machete, looking for the people who hanged him. People have heard him scraping his machete along the walls of the cottages, particularly the one you’re staying in. And because he keeps climbing in and out of his grave, it keeps moving. Sometimes it’s up near the road, sometimes closer to the genip tree.”
The Real Story
Since we had to walk by the graveyard on an almost daily basis my best friend Jay and I kept tabs on a grave that appeared to move from the genip tree, up to the road, and back down to the tree. As children with prodigious imaginations, we made up all sorts of stories about it.
The truth is rather mundane. The grave did indeed appear to move, but not because a ghost was climbing in and out of the small concrete tomb. Back in the day the road past the graveyard was dirt and just wide enough for two Jeeps to pass. During the rainy season, usually the summer, the tall Guinea grass grew thickly along the side of the road, making the road appear narrower, making the grave look farther from the road. During the dry season, usually the winter, the grass died back, making the road appear wider, thus making the grave look closer to the road.
I don’t have any pictures of Jay and me as children. But here we are in our 20s in the windmill at Annaberg, a sugar plantation that has small but important role in The Bowl and the Stone.

OOOOooooooOOOOOOoooooo. Happy Halloween, everyone!
Amazon  Smashwords
About the Book:

Pirates. Explorers. And spooky ghost hunters.
It’s 1962. Sam and her best friend, Nick, have the whole island of St. John, in the U. S. Virgin Islands, as their playground. They’ve got 240 year-old sugar plantation ruins to explore, beaches to swim, and trails to hike.
But when a man disappears like a vapor right in front of them, they must confront a scary new reality. They’re being haunted. By whom? And why? He’s even creeping into Nick’s dreams.
They need help, but the one who might be able to give it is Trumps, a reclusive hunchback who doesn’t like people, especially kids. Are Sam and Nick brave enough to face him? And if they do, will he listen to them? 
As carefree summer games turn into eerie hauntings, Sam and Nick learn more about themselves and life than they could ever have imagined.
About the Author
Bish Denham, whose mother’s side of the family has been in the Caribbean for over one hundred years, was raised in the U. S. Virgin Islands. She still has lots of family living there whom she visits regularly.
She says, “Growing up in the islands was like living inside a history book. Columbus named the islands, Sir Francis Drake sailed through the area, and Alexander Hamilton was raised on St. Croix. The ruins of hundreds of sugar plantations, built with the sweat and blood of slave labor, litter the islands. Then there were the pirates who plied the waters. It is within this atmosphere of wonder and mystery, that I grew up. Life for me was magical, and through my writing I hope to pass on some of that magic.”
The Bowl and the Stone: A Haunting Tale from the Virgin Islands, is her third book and second novel. You can find Anansi and Company: Retold Jamaican Tales and A Lizard’s Tail, at Amazon.com.
Learn more about Bish:  Random Thoughts. Facebook. Twitter. Goodreads

ENTER THE RAFFLECOPTER DRAWING FOR THE BOWL AND THE STONE.


Tomorrow is November 1 and that means my Email Connect Message will be going out. I have a new Featured Follower for the month, and some interesting stuff about Amazon algorithms and titles. Don’t miss this one.

Quote of the Week: (In honor of election week!)  “There is nothing further away from Washington than the entire world.” Arthur Miller.

Begonia House Trick or Treats!

By 23 Comments

The Begonia House. Knock on the Door if you DARE!

I kind of left people dangling about Pete’s and Weasel’s predicament in the story. If you visit the BEGONIA HOUSE, you’ll see what I mean. Read the story and decide what’s behind Pete and Weasel on their way past the cemetery?

Why the three cursed witches of Hadleyville, of course.

The question is does Pete save the two of them or does he send them plunging into another disaster like he did in The Great Time Lock Disaster? Want to help Pete out? How does he deal with these three witchy skeletons bent on getting him and Weasel?

Tell me and the best answer wins an eBook of Alligators Overhead!

Storytime Blog Hop October_A Beautiful Night in the Neighborhood

By 23 Comments

Welcome. Do come in. Enjoy. 

Just be sure to wipe your feet before you visit each of our StoryTime Writers. Thanks to Juneta for the sweet bedtimes stories she’s collected for our. . . 

Halloween Pleasure.

Morguefile


A Beautiful Night in the Neighborhood

 

C. Lee McKenzie


 

   

Presley set out the last plate of appetizers and checked the vat to be sure it was full. This group drank a lot. 
      He surveyed the room, and was about to fasten the last Happy Halloween ghost balloon to the back of a chair, when he heard a knock at the door. 
      The first guest. 
      Eagerly, he rubbed his hands together. The party was about to begin. But when he opened the door, no one stood on the porch. He looked across the street, and then left and right at the tidy row of houses with reverse floor plans. No one in sight. 
 

Source

   At a gentle tug on his pant leg, he looked down. Three green and grinning faces with knife-sharp incisors and blunt noses stared up at him. 
      “Of course,” he said “Gremlins! And there are three of you this year. Lovely. Come. Come.” He ushered the short, red-eyed creatures into the living room, where they immediately found the special-sized table and chairs he’d set out just for them. The way they dived into the guacamole with abandon, he knew this party was going to be a huge success. 
     Presley had no sooner closed the door when the bell chimed. This time a dark-robed figure towered over him. “Death! And just look at that scythe. I’m impressed. You’ve outdone yourself this year.” 
     “Yes.” Death’s voice always came in rushed whispers. He glided through the door and into a corner where Presley had placed a coffin with a tall flickering candle. 
      Presley had a moment to admire the ambiance of the room before he heard the sound of feet dragging down the path to the house.  
     “Ah, the Zombies. At last.” 
     They never said anything, so he didn’t take it personally when they shuffled past him in silence and went straight to the vat. Two vampires came right behind them and elbowed their way to the straws Presley had provided. They dipped their straws into the juicy red beverage and the vat level dropped an inch immediately. 
      He loved it when his guests enjoyed what he provided.                             
      There was only one more guest before the guest of honor. And in that moment the door flew open and a golden-haired youth stepped inside. 
      “Tony!” Presley went to the fridge and found two cold beers, opened them and handed Tony one. “Cheers.” 
     “When’s he coming?” Tony took a swig of beer and Presley checked his watch. 
      “In about five.” Presley sipped from the bottle, and then asked, “You’re not changed. Problem?”
     Tony shook his head.  He held up the bottle. “I needed this before going for it, and,” he pulled the curtain aside and peered out, “the moon’s just now right.” He drained his beer and in moments his jacket ripped up the back, his jeans popped at the side seams, and long dark hair erupted from his skin. He lowered onto all fours and howled.  
     “Beautiful. Simply Beautiful,” Presley said, stroking Tony’s thick fur. 
      Another knock at the door silenced the room. No one moved. The guest of honor was here. This was what they’d all waited for. One year. A long time between welcoming new neighbors. The excitement grew palpable. The gremlins slipped from their tiny chairs and bunched together in front of the zombies and vampires. Tony crouched, a low growl deep in his throat. Only Death remained seated on the coffin. Still. Watching. Then yawning with a sigh.
     Presley folded his hands and took three ceremonial strides to the door. “Who is it?” he said, and his voice was as light as the Halloween balloons weaving slowly overhead. 
     “It’s your new neighbor, Raymond. You asked me to come by for a beer. It’s kind of late, but–” 
     “Raymond! Of course, my man. One moment.” 
     Presley looked over his shoulder and surveyed his guests. “Ready?” he whispered. 
     A hushed, expectant “Yes.” came in reply from the company. 
     Presley opened the door and a loud “Welcome to the neighborhood!” blared from behind him. 

      About midnight, the 911 caller said he’d heard a terrible scream coming from the house across the street. He’d gone outside, but everything was as it should be. Most of the houses were dark, even the one he was sure the scream had come from.
 
     Police investigated and found the front door ajar, the house completely empty and spotless. The only sign of life was a long, coarse dog hair. 
      They ran the name of the renter and nothing came up, but in the data, there was another report from a year ago, and it was almost identical. Then they checked further. These very similar calls extended back to when the 911 system had been set up. And each year, a person new to a neighborhood vanished without a trace. 
      The following day, Raymond Miller’s brother filed a missing person’s report.

More Storytime Stories to rock you to sleep this Halloween!

Erica Damon  
J. Q. Rose  
Elise VanCise  
Barbara Lund  
Angela Wooldridge  
Katharina Gerlach  
Karen Lynn  
Sherri Conway  
Elizabeth McCleary
Canis Lupus  
Peg Fisher  
Bill Bush 
Benjamin Thomas  
Crystal Collier 
Voila Fury   
Juneta Key 

Halloween Memories and October’s Featured Follower

By 66 Comments

I went back into my archives to see what I’d posted on this holiday in the past. The first Halloween post was this one! 
Halloween 2007

It just ain’t the same. I mean tonight it will still be light when the tiny ghosts trek to my door. How can a ghost be spooky in daylight? And my witchy costume is so shabby from years of use that I rely on nightfall to conceal all of the patched pieces and cider stains. Sigh.

Well, no matter what, we are having Halloween. It is my absolutely favorite holiday. I don’t have to plan a family gathering, I don’t have to be sure to seat Uncle Pete away from Cousin Sadie, I don’t have to make a vegetarian side dish for Leah Ann who is sixteen and turning Zen on me. All I have to do is buy a few trinkets and candy and have fun. My kind of holiday.

2008 and 2009 Westside Books had me out and about launching my first book, Sliding on the Edge, and I didn’t have time to post about Halloween.  But then 2010 produced this.
 

Halloween 2010
 

Happy Ghostly Halloween

It’s the time of year to pull those pumpkin vines, bundle the corn stalks and put away the outdoor furniture. Fall is for coming to the hearth with a good book and a hot cup of cocoa-a time to look inward and reminisce about spring and summer days that warmed the garden and brought forth the crops for harvest. 

The sudden shift of light, the clouds with hints of a storm bundled inside, the night that comes more quickly . . . all of these are October, and there’s a slight charge in the air as the old myths stir within our memory.
Persephone once again returns to Hades as she was bound to do. Demeter bemoans the loss of her daughter and the earth goes silent and infertile for the months they are separated. 
Now is the time for ghosts to walk among us, while our minds grow quiet in the long chilled nights.
I haven’t written a ghost story in a few years, but I had a couple published a while ago in Crow Toes Quarterly, so I thought to celebrate the season, I’d share this one. It’s written for middle grade readers, so I hope you’ll print it and read it or give it to a young reader who would like to be a tad scared by the THE GHOSTLY DOUBLE. 

This has been fun going back to see what I thinking and writing. Now let’s come up to date.

Some of you know I’ve started Email Connect as one way to organize my support for authors and give 12 of them extra promo during the year. I can’t believe I’m almost ready to announce my Featured Follower for November! But before I do, here’s one more bit about October’s Yvonne Ventresca and her new book, Black Flowers, White Lies. 

FUN FACT:  Near the end of the Black Flowers, White Lies, Ella meets a friend at Sybil’s Cave. As mentioned earlier in the novel, the real-life murder of Mary Rogers near that spot in 1841 inspired Edgar Allan Poe’s 1842 story, “The Mystery of Marie Rogêt.” 
To buy Black Flowers, White Lies: Indiebound | Amazon | B&N | AmazonUK | BAM
Bio: Yvonne Ventresca’s latest young adult novel, Black Flowers, White Lies was recently published by Sky Pony Press (October, 2016). BuzzFeed included it at the top of their new “must read” books: 23 YA Books That, Without a Doubt, You’ll Want to Read This Fall. Her debut YA novel, Pandemic, won a 2015 Crystal Kite Award from the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators for the Atlantic region. 
Facebook | Twitter | Blog | Instagram | Pinterest | Goodreads

My Quote of the Week: “Memory is the way we keep telling ourselves our stories–and telling other people a somewhat different version of our stories.” Alice Munro, short story writer and Nobel Prize winner.
 

The Surprise WEP Entry

By 20 Comments

   

Source
 The Surprise

C. Lee McKenzie
I knew the meeting place was going to be creepy. I didn’t think it would be a moldy crypt guarded by avenging angels, swords drawn.
     The thick door grinds open when I press against it, and a musty air brushes over me and into the October twilight I’m about leave. When I step inside, the door seals behind me with a solid, dull thud. Then silence. I blink until my eyes adjust to the darkness. And there he is perched on stone just as I’d imagined, but smiling. Not as I’d imagined at all.
     “You’re late,” he says, yawning. 
     I wasn’t expecting the yawn anymore than I was expecting the smile. Not pretty. I choke and put my hand over my mouth. “Traffic,” I mumble.
     The silence that follows unsettles me more than I am already.          Then he says, “Shall we begin?” 
     Like I have a choice? I’d say this to him, but I know better. I read the contract. I signed it, but before I understood what this was really about. I was twenty, for chrissakes. I never thought this far ahead. And I still had years before I had to think more about the terms. 
     This early expiration was all Fred’s fault. No. In all honesty, it was mine. I’d let him become a friend and not just my chief communications officer. When the call came, I’d been at his desk chatting, and he didn’t pick up. That call was meant for him, not me, and he knew it. He’d held up his Reese’s Pieces and mimed “Peanut butter fingers. Can you get that?”
     The minute I picked up the receiver, I knew I’d been had. Fred sprinted to the men’s room, and I was left holding the bag–technically, a phone made heavy by the voice and the message it delivered. 
     “Ah, Stephen. It’s you. I expected Fred. Fate has intervened. It’s time we met.” 
     I heard two things after that, the lonely sound of an old digital clock’s second hand and, “Six p.m. tomorrow.”
Photo by Pierre J.
     Now, at just a quarter past six the next day, that voice comes at me again, only up close and with smelly breath. 
     “How do you see all of this playing out?” he asks.
     Again, he’s put me off balance. I wasn’t ready to answer a question like that. 
     “Surely you’ve thought about it.” He adjusts his position only slightly, and I flinch. “Nerves are understandable.”
     When I don’t respond, he says, “Hmm. So you don’t know how you’d like this to happen? Too bad. With contracts like yours I usually give choices. In your case, I guess it will be a surprise.”
     My voice finally returns. “Can I ask when,”–I have to swallow–“to expect the . . . surprise?”
     He seems to consider my question while staring blankly at me. 
     My leg jiggles, an old tick from pre-game jitters. Then for a moment I’m twenty and in my bedroom surrounded with my college baseball trophies. And I’m remembering why I signed that paper. The major league contract. The no hitter games I pitched–one after the other. The baseball hall of fame, only six years after my last game. Baseball Commissioner.  All before I was forty. That’s what came with a stroke of my ballpoint.
     His voice snaps me back to the dank space. “If I told you when it’s going to happen, that would ruin everything. That’s part of a surprise. You know that.”
     “Do I get some kind of warning?”
     “You don’t want a warning. Warnings only make humans edgy.” He strokes his bony chin and the sleeve of the cloak slips back. 
     I don’t want to see under that cloak, but I can’t stop staring at his whiteness. A thin drizzle of cold sweat slides down my spine.
     He rises slowly, almost as if he’s tired. “Bye. Bye,” he says. “See you soon.”
     With a terminal thud, Death’s door swings closed behind him. And I’m alone. 
     Waiting.

    This is the best I can do. I’m totally “hopped” out, and I almost didn’t join the WEP this month. However, common sense didn’t prevail, so here it is–my stab at the macabre. I really need to leave this kind of topic to Lexa and Holli. They know macabre. 

No critique, please. This is as far as The Surprise will ever go into the world. No thanks necessary! 


document.write(”);

A Little Dab of Horror Does It

By 26 Comments

A Little Dab of Horror Does It

“A boy’s best friend is his mother.”

I can’t write horror, but I love to dive into a good scary book or film every once in a while and scare myself. I love it when I can’t wait to turn the page, but dread it at the same time. I love it when the next scene makes the back of my neck staticky. And I’m a real sucker for fangs and claws–in stories. 

There have been a lot of theories about why people buy books guaranteed to keep them awake at night or flock to see films like Psycho or Dracula and Dr. Hannibal Lecter. For me these are places to be scared, but safe. If I had to go mano a mano with a Zombie, you’d better believe I’d beat any sprinter’s time on the planet. 

“I do wish we could chat longer, but I’m having an old friend for dinner.” 



“I never drink … wine.”



How about a little Ghoulash? 



Quotes of the Week (2 in honor of my favorite holiday): “Horror films don’t create fear. They release it,” Wes Craven 

“Where there is no imagination – there is no horror.” Arthur Conan Doyle

Now go out and make something terrifying. It’s October! See you in December. And if I have internet at all, I’ll be around to say hi before then.

My Schedule for October-November

By 40 Comments

Hi Everyone! I have to pull the plug on this blog for a while. Sometime life happens, and so this is when it happens for me.

However, because I have some IMPORTANT PEOPLE and IMPORTANT HOPS  and it my favorite HOLIDAY MONTH that I said yes to, these are the days I’m  here.

The WEP was here on Oct 21, and my contribution is HERE. 
The IWSG will be here on Nov. 4. I’ll be late in my comments, but I’ll be around.
Stephen Tremp will be here managing things on November 9. Hat’s Off to Stephen!

A Little Dab of Horror in Honor of Halloween

If all goes well, I’ll be back December 7. Sooooo if you are launching a new book or want to do a special giveaway in December, email me and I’ll put you in the Hat’s Off Corner.


******

My Quote for the Week: “The difference between successful people and others is how long they spend time feeling sorry for themselves.” Barbara Corcoran, Real Estate Mogul
 

WEP Again! Youthful Frights vs Adult Fears

By 41 Comments

Hi Everyone! I do hope you’ve joined in the Halloween fun and signed up for this month’s WEP. I’ll try to get around to say hi to you if you have, but I may be late because I’m off on some family business, and then another trip. If I’m late, just remember that old saying about “better late than. . .” 

Yolanda Renee and Denise Covey

I’m a “if it goes bump in the night, I’m out of here” kind of person, but because I’m also something of a paradox at times, I adore Halloween. It has always been my favorite holiday. Maybe I’m a Druid at heart? Just a scaredy cat kind of Druid.

So here’s my contribution for this WEP Halloween Challenge.

Unprepared
by 
C. Lee McKenzie

Since childhood, her greatest fear has been this! She’s guarded against it every year. Every year until this one. Well, there was the book to write, the new job. Lots of changes. No time. 

Now huddled in the room, she waits, heart slamming against her chest. And then. . .

A thud, thud, thud of knuckles against the wood summons her, and when she grasps the knob, when she twists it and the latch clicks free, the cautioning voice in her head hisses, “Don’t open that door.” 

Still she knows she must ignore the warning, and she must deal with the consequences. As the door swings in and the fingers of the October night chill her skin, they’re out there. Eyes big and set on her, their demands unwavering. 

There are three this time, but more hovering just out of that cone of yellow light that thwarts the insects, but fails to protect her against these spirits. 

What does she have in her storehouse that might appease them and send them away? 

“Nothing.” That inner voice is talking to her again. 

If she moves fast, slams the door, locks it and turns off all the lights, will they vanish? Will she be able to climb between her sheets, knowing she’s escaped their vengeance? 

“Not on your life.” Damn! That voice won’t shut up.

Then from out of the darkness. . . “Trick or treat,” the first ghost sing-songs. 

Happy Halloween All!




Thanks SA Larsen & Why Flash Fiction?

By 58 Comments

Sequel to Alligators Overhead





I’m a GUEST along with Pete and Weasel from The Great Timelock Disaster! Yes, I’ve successfully cloned myself, and I’m here and HERE today. Thanks, SA Larsen for letting me invade your super site.




******



And now. . . Why Flash Fiction?

It’s short. That’s one reason. 
After writing a novel, it’s a great way to get a piece of writing done in jiffy. Of course, that doesn’t mean you can afford to be sloppy. In fact, the shorter the fiction, the more attention to detail it takes. Each word, the sounds that repeat, those that add to the tone and the meaning of the piece need to be carefully chosen. 
wolfofgowstreet.com
So the second answer to my question, “Why Flash Fiction?” is because it makes you focus and be very selective about what you put down on the page. When you only have a couple hundred words to tell a story, it makes you think differently about your writing, and, for me, that’s a great brain exercise. And it seems to freshen the way I think about my craft.
Photo Credit
A while ago, the Flash Fiction Forum at Works Gallery in San José, CA asked me to sub something. I did, and they invited me read my piece for their audience. I did that Oct. 14 and had a great time. Here’s some of what happened.
The Authors Who Read their Stuff

Me being Italian
Tania Martin (seated right) and Lita Kurth (standing) , Flash Fiction Founders

Ruth Littmann-Ashkenazi, reading “Session 3”
Me Laughing at Myself

******

Quote of the Week: “People who love reading are often called bookworms–but that’s the wrong way around. It’s not you that worms into a book; it’s books that worm into you.” Amanda Craig, Novelist