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Sunday, December 23, 2012

Friday Fright/Santa Has a Brand New Bag?





Snow falling outside,  like bits of fluff, thick and fat.   Children throwing snowballs with screams of delight.  Horses off in the distance looking so regal as puffs of steam emitted from their nostrils.  So peaceful…
“Damn this tree!”
…and so it begins.
“Willodean what’s wrong now?”  I was so exasperated with her.
“It’s has no good side.”
Oh here we go again.  “Good side?”
“Yes Charlese.  Everything and everybody has a good side, and this tree has no good side whatsoever.”
“Oh sweet Jesus, just put the tree up and decorate the damn thing.  This is supposed to be fun, so…have fun!”
I left her to do her business and got myself a soothing cup of coffee, the elixir of life.
I started to pour the rich, dark brown…ooze?  The blood began to boil as my cheeks turned a nice, bright scarlet red.
“Willodean!”
She came in, lights entangled her body with tinsel in her hair.  “What…” in a low register of disgust.
“What or better yet, how did you make the coffee?”
Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and said, “Oh, I thought I’d make something special for today.
“You mean ‘mud’…”
“No, not mud, latte’”
“…Latte’?”  I poured her a cup of glop.  It came out of the pot thick and brown and oozing with pure disgust.
“Yeah, latte’!”  She beamed.
I just stood there, mouth gaping wide, then I shook it at her.
“This is not latte’, this is crap in a cup!”
A tear started to run down her cheek and I knew I had gone too far.
“Willodean I’m sorry, it’s just that I had a bad night and that doesn’t excuse me, but I’m a tad on the bitchy side.”
“Ya think?”  Then she walked out, tinsel trailing behind her, and continued her decorating.
I have to say, she’s a true friend.  Most would have walked out, but not Willodean.
After fifteen minutes of cleaning my pot, I had fresh coffee brewing and the smell put a smile on my face…I finally thought my day was not totally ruined, but I spoke too soon.
I don’t remember how long I was in the kitchen, but I thought it had been too quiet in the living room,  Putting my cup in the sink, I went in to check.
“Willodean?”  The room was empty.  Damn I really did it now, she left and it’s my fault.
I quickly changed my clothes and put on my Arizona jeans and big woolen sweater.  I was heading for the great outdoors…then a thought entered my head.  I should call, see if she got home alright before coming over. Being upset as she was , she may not want to see me at all.
I picked the receiver up, punched in her number…one ring, two rings…three rings…then her answering machine came on…
“Hi!  Ya all reached the Ferris residence, but I can’t come to the phone.  Please leave a message and I’ll call ya right back when I can!”
Now normally if someone wasn’t home I wouldn’t worry, but I was worrying.
“Where could she have gone too?”  I wondered out loud.
Scanning the area I didn’t see anything out of place, except for a pine tree that was decorated for Christmas and something squirming around half out of their mind…
“Willodean!”
I ran as fast as my legs could carry me and the closer I got the more horrific Willodean looked.  She was a tangled mess of branches, sap, lights and her hair looked like she had stuck her finger in a light socket.
“Oh, Willodean what has happened to you?”  I tried to untangle her, but with great difficulty.  Just when I thought I got the jest of the sordid mess, the more it got knotted.  It wasn’t until much screaming and swearing that I finally got her out of her mess.  I wasn’t the one screaming Willodean was.  I was the one swearing.
“S-some nut job must have thought I was a Christmas ornament and tried to hang me, but I was victorious!”  The poor girl was serious.  How she thought she was victorious I have no idea, but she was glowing with pride that much I could tell.
“Ah, hunny, how you think you was victorious and all, because you were in a tree looking like a sock with static.”
Willodean organized herself and proudly said, “Look under the tree and see for yourself!”
I was a bit leery as to what I’d find, but I did as she ask and got the shock of my life.  There on the ground was…Santa!  He was all in his glory, red suit, with gold buttons, black leather boots and the whitest beard I have ever seen and the creepiest eyes that were wide open with fright. 
“Willodean do you know who that is?”  I was astounded.
“Of course I do, that’s Santa Claus!” 
“He’s a human tree stand!  I mean, how did you ever manage to shove the butt end of this here tree into his mouth?”  I quickly stopped her from telling me all the gory details.  Christmas will never be the same again…Christmas will never be ever!
“I put it there myself…”  She was so proud of herself.
I looked at her incredulously.  “But…”
“Oh that, yeah well, you see after I used him as my tree stand, I thought I should decorate it, you know, to draw peoples attention away from seeing him.”
I must have still looked puzzled because she continued.  
“Isn’t it obvious?”  Willodean is not the best at explanations.  It literally takes her several tries before she gets it right…god love her.
“Not really…you still…”
She huffed, took a deep breath and began again.
“While decorating I got snagged by a branch and then when I had that all fixed the lights got all funky, so I was trying to fix them, but I guess I just made things worse.”
“But you killed Father Christmas, you know...Santa Claus the man who goes around giving gifts to all good girls and boys?”   I was so confused my head hurt.
She paused in mid-mouth opening, and then shut it up tight.  I could tell the wheels were whirling around in that empty head of hers and then they too got all tangled.
“Never mind explaining, it’s too painful watching you try to tell me.”  It really was.   I felt her pain, I literally did.  My head was aching and all I wanted to do is get back home and hoped that all this was truly a bad nightmare.
Later that night, as the stars filled the sky, I sat on my couch, bundled in my Grans afghan and stared at my Christmas tree.  Chester came in; it was our date night, and sat next to me.
“Charlese, why does your tree look like it’s giving birth to a string of lights?”  His head was tilted to one side.
I just smiled at his big ole face and told him that Willodean had done my tree…that’s all that was needed to be said and it was.







Friday, December 7, 2012

Birthright Series, Volume II The Legacy

I know I haven't been around much, busy trying very hard to finish the second book to the Birthright series and every time that I had set a goal to finish...I don't, however, it will be out the beginning of the new year.  I am almost done with it and I am finding that in doing so it has been one brick wall after another.  Who'd of thought that writing a sequel would be difficult!

Plus, I've had some serious health issues which has me resting a lot, but I'm more than ready to finish this book yet and when I do, I will be taking a much needed break from writing.  I plan on going back to school, even though I have my degree and take some more art classes.  I haven't been able to do much artwork because of book signings and writing, so the only art I have been able to achieve is my photography, http://suesart.wix.com/dreamphotography.

It amazes even me, how far I have come to my picture taking technique.  Every year it has gotten better and better and I'm so fortunate to have this gift.  I love my art, it's very relaxing, and photography is the next best thing to my drawing.

I will try to be more diligent on posting the updates of when my second book comes up and I wish all of you Happy Holidays.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Women Writers'

Women writers' are a class all unto themselves.  The hardships that they had to endure to make their creative juices flowing to being publish was in itself a troublesome task to put it mildly.  They had no rights!  Virginia Woolf said it best in her book, A Room of One's Own, 1929.  The complexities  of  women of that time period to get the recognition they deserved, not to mention the time and space to write one's creative dreams was truly stressful.  Even if they did complete their dream of a book, just getting it published was yet another fiasco waiting to happen.  We were not on the same level as male writer's.

To start...money plays a key issue with A Room of One's Own.  In order to get money you needed to work and back then the bread winner was the male, husband, whatever you want to call them.  Women were looked upon as a child and was kept so by their husband.  They didn't want them to be worldly as they were, it wouldn't be proper.  So they had no power and so their creativity was silenced so to speak.

 The narrator speaks, “Intellectual freedom depends upon material things. Poetry depends upon intellectual freedom. And women have always been poor, not for two hundred years merely, but from the beginning of time . . .”

 " She uses this quotation to explain why so few women have written successful poetry. She believes that the writing of novels lends itself more easily to frequent starts and stops, so women are more likely to write novels than poetry: women must contend with frequent interruptions because they are so often deprived of a room of their own in which to write. Without money, the narrator implies, women will remain in second place to their creative male counterparts. The financial discrepancy between men and women at the time of Woolf’s writing perpetuated the myth that women were less successful writers."

I'd like to talk now about the interruptions of women writers, because even today it continues to hamper our creative juices.  Women of that time period, who didn't have a 'private' space of their own were doomed to fail.  What with the constant interruptions her train of thought was being stopped and any writer knows that once the train of thought is interrupted it's hard to get it going again.   So their work is doomed from the get go and it even continues to this day!  I being a wife, mother (my kids are grown up now), would and still am getting interrupted for various reasons!  Feed the dog, let the dog out, youngest son (23) wanting something of me, hubby needing me for whatever, while I sit in my, excuse me, 'our' computer room trying hard to write my sequel.   I would like to be able to put a sign on my door saying, "working, do not interrupt!"  But my family is important to me.

To end this conversation of women's private room, Virginia goes on to write, "The central point of A Room of One’s Own is that every woman needs a room of her own—something men are able to enjoy without question. A room of her own would provide a woman with the time and the space to engage in uninterrupted writing time. During Woolf’s time, women rarely enjoyed these luxuries. They remained elusive to women, and, as a result, their art suffered. But Woolf is concerned with more than just the room itself. She uses the room as a symbol for many larger issues, such as privacy, leisure time, and financial independence, each of which is an essential component of the countless inequalities between men and women. Woolf predicts that until these inequalities are rectified, women will remain second-class citizens and their literary achievements will also be branded as such."



Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Confused


I want this day to go away
I want this day to fly
I want to smile and greet the day
But all I do is cry.

That's all I'll say...for now...I can't say much else...maybe time will heal all wounds...

Monday, September 3, 2012

Autograph online!

There are times when I really hate technology.  For example, when I'm trying to format a manuscript and it doesn't work out or trying to save my photoshop brushes I've created and it doesn't work out, but one thing that I will say about technology is this new site, Kindlegraph.  Let me post what they say about the site...

Kindlegraph lets authors send personalized inscriptions and signatures ("kindlegraphs") directly to the electronic reading devices of their fans.


It is truly amazing.  Now your fans can receive an autograph from you without having to go to a book signing!  It's all done online now!  So if your fans are all over the US they now can get a signed copy of your book.

Here is the link to all my books...you have to try it.

http://www.kindlegraph.com/authors/suemidlock

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Mist on the Morn

Another great take on one of my photographs by Lisa.  A must read for those who love mysteries, which I do!
Thank you Lisa!

Mist on the Morn (link)

Distorted Beauty

I haven't been around much and for that I do apologize.  I've started back at work and I'm also trying to get my sequel done, but I had to come on and post this awesome story that a dear friend has written about one of my photographs.  It was a unique picture in that its originally suppose to be a street with a lighted oak tree on the left side at night, but that's not how it turned out.  What turned out was a completely different picture that was so beautiful, so you could almost say, "The true beauty of the scene was hidden from the naked eye."  Thank you Lisa, it is a lovely story.

Distorted Beauty (story link)

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Bloody Good Vampires: Author Sue Mydliak Guest Post!

Bloody Good Vampires: Author Sue Mydliak Guest Post!: Born and raised in Flint, Michigan, Sue Mydliak has finally found her niche, writing.   Even though her talents don’t stop at just writing, ...

Punking Southern Style




Have you ever wondered what it would be like to see someone achieve greatness?  I have, and it was…great. 
I live in Dry Prong, Louisiana, have all my life.   No one I know gets the newspaper because our population is about 421, at least that’s what is was back in 2000 and I can’t imagine that it’s gotten any higher than that.  You see, when you live in a town that small, everyone knows what everyone’s up too.  Gosh, keeping secrets around here is like trying to keep Herbert’s cows from straying off the pasture and into Mrs.  Laradell’s garden, lord have mercy!     It just can’t be done! 
Anyway, Chester Bertie is my boss at Chubby Weiners and even though Chester has no college degree, he is smarter than a bullwhip.  The things he comes up with just blows my mind and I have to think, there’s a story to be told there.  Chester and me go a long way.  I’ve been working for him for ten years now and there have been times where our friendship has been, well, let’s just say we have benefits, not the work kind either.  
One day I came in early because I had some things to do before my shift began and I was putting my purse away in my locker when Chester came in.
“Hey Charlese I was wondering if you could stop by after work, I’ve got something to show ya.” 
I turned to look at him all tired like.   “Oh Chester not tonight, I’m really not up to it.  I haven’t been sleeping very…”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that!  Shoot if I wanted you to see my, well, you know, I would have just come out with it!  No, I created something that’s really cool and I wanted your opinion.  So, would you?”  He seemed scared and bashful, which wasn’t Chester at all.  Lord, the man was an animal in bed, so this was surprising to me.
“Why sure Chester I’d be glad to see what you made!”  And I smiled at him as I went out into the restaurant.
Thank goodness the night went fast.   The usual crowd came in, you know the kind, the boisterous men who’d come in after work and orders a pitcher of beer... try to pinch my rear.   I swear the next one who tries isn’t going to be standing straight, nor is his voice gonna sound husky.  Then there’s Lydia Hankshaw, the towns “lady of the Evening”.  She always comes in around six-ish, looking like someone tried to put a square peg into a cylinder and call it “sexy” and I don’t know who told her that red lipstick looks great against yellow teeth, but it really doesn’t.
“Hey Charlese how about my usual?”  She parked her big red caboose at the bar stool and placed a cigarette between her two fingers…and held it there.   I just rolled my eyes and shook my head.  She does this every night expecting some pitiful bystander, namely a male, to light it for her, but as usual, no one did.  They know too much about her, that and they all want children someday, I don’t blame them for staying away, but I have to give her credit, she does try.
“Hey Lydia, you need a light?”  Chester, always the man to come to her aid.
“Well, I ain’t holding it for my health now am I?” 
“Um no, but smoking them things ain’t for your health either.”  He took out his lighter and lit it and got back to work.
I got her “usual” which was water with a lemon twist.  Ain’t she the exciting type. 
“Is there anything else I can get you?”  I kept my voice as perky as I could get without showing my annoyance.   Gran always told me that a person can go a long way with politeness and she was usually right.
Lydia looked at me as if I were a fly ready to be swatted. 
“Do I look like I need anything else?”   She blew her cigarette smoke in my face and turned to face the other way.
Well, I could come up with a hundred things that she could need, like personality for one.   Damn, my apple tree has more personality than she does.  I swiftly turned on my heels and walked away.   One of these days, just one...
Finally, at midnight the restaurant closed and Chester and I locked up for the night.   He only lived down the block from the restaurant so we walked.  It was a beautiful night, the moon was out and the frogs were singing their love songs to one another.  I wonder what they were saying.  We arrived and walked around back to his garage.  Chester had an enormous garage, two car, but he didn’t have a vehicle, so it was his workshop.  
“Ok, now I don’t want you to laugh when you see it ok?”  His hand was on the door knob and I could see he was tense.
“Chester, I wouldn’t do that to you, come on now, show me what you got!”  I put some emphasis on the “show me what you got” line and he smiled right back.  He has the whitest teeth.
He opened the door a tiny bit, stuck his hand in and turned on the light.  This was getting exciting.  Then, he opened it fully and motioned for me to enter and I did.  There it was, it was huge and…and…I’m not quite sure how to explain it.  It looked like a dinosaur with armor.  It had so many rivets, dials and thingamajigs on it I wasn’t sure if I should say, “Oh great!” or in a scary tone, “Oh…great.”
“Chester, this is… this is really great…what is it?”  As I slowly made my rounds, eyeing it up and down, but not touching it.  Nope, that I would not do, darn thing might come alive and then I’d have to scream.
“Shoot Charlese, this here is…well, it’s my…Tyransmafoghicle, it takes me where I need to go.”  Then his smile got big as a Cheshire Cat.
I just looked at him, admired his innovation and then got dead serious.
“Chester you go anywhere and I mean “anywhere” with this thing and you’re gonna scare the living daylights out of everyone.   Why if you came across Mrs. Dewanna on her way to the Ladies Auxiliary driving that thing, she’d drop dead right on the spot.  You know she has a condition, not to mention the police and Jermane Bumfree has been itching to haul someone in.  He was our man of the hour on the police force, always doing his job even when it didn’t call for it and nine times out of ten they didn’t call for it.  Then it hit me.
“Chester I do believe it has a purpose.”    
The restaurant was busier than a bee hive when right on the money Lydia Hankshaw came walking in.  She was all dolled up with a bright green, skin tight skirt that would make a sausage wince, a black, low cut top that showed way too much for my liking and pumps, those where the only thing on her that I thought were cute, in a slutty way, but cute nevertheless.   I tried to maintain composure, but I had been waiting for this night for a long, long time.  My “just desert” was about to be had.
“Well, hello Lydia, can I get you your usual?”  I purposely made sure I was extra perky, annoyingly so and it worked.
“What do you think?   Do I have to spell it out to you every time I come in this dump?”  She crossed her leg, or tried, the darn thing was heavier than a cheesecake sliced thin.
“Why of course not silly, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”   That was my cue.
Now Lydia had a pink Cadillac because she was a MaryKay consultant, although I don’t know, usually that stuff works really well on other people, but on her, it just messed her up something awful.  As I was saying, she has this car and parks it right under the street light in front of our restaurant, which was perfect, because I had a plan.
“Lydia! Come quick someone hit your car and sped off.  I couldn’t get the license plate number though!”  Then I went back outside…and waited.
“What?”   She charged out the front door and came face to face with “Mr. Tyransmafoghicle”.  His mouth was wide opened as steam poured out and all them thingamajigs twinkling like stars.  It was horrific and Lydia was the star of the show.   She screamed so loud that everyone that was in the restaurant came out to see and they got a load full.   There she was arms up as if she were up against a wall, mouth gapping, eyes bugging and water puddled around her feet…she pee’d, then fainted.
“Shows over, time to go back in folks, beer is on the house!” I said.  We all hooped and hollered our praises and no one bothered Lydia, she just laid there like a dead skunk on the road.  It was a sight to behold.
Chester got out of his vehicle, stepped over Lydia and into his establishment where he cranked out beer all night long.  The one other thing that made this night memorable, other than scaring the bageeus  out of Lydia was the fun I had with Chester in it.  It was a tad cramped inside, but we made it work out just fine.


Monday, June 18, 2012

5 Star Review on my book Tortured Minds!



Reading Tortured Minds by Sue Mydliak reminds me how fortunate I am to watch this author progress from the beginning of her writing career. And progress she has. She has made great strides writing stories, a novella, a sequel in progress, and now this collection of twisted tales - amoong others. Reading her work from the beginning shows me that she diligently practices her craft, but she has had writing ability from the beginning.

Usually when reading a collection, it's tempting to try to choose one favorite among them all. I could not do that with Tortured Minds. Each story has its own unexpected ending that creeps up, sometimes slowly and unsuspecting, sometimes hard and fast. Each ending left me with a Wow! feeling; made me stop and think, and then want more.

Tortured Minds by Sue Mydliak contains short and quick stories and I couldn't help moving right into reading the next one to learn what else this author might produce. I was never disappointed. I look forward to more from Sue Mydliak and recommend this quick read.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Got Your Back Jack


Summer had come with a vengeance.  I woke in the morning with the sheets clinging to my legs.

“Great.”

Normally I love summer, but when it gets hotter than a pancake grilling on the pan, I just melt, literally.  I was sitting at my table drinking my morning coffee and reading the newspaper when someone knocked at my back door.  I peeked around the corner as I walked and saw that it was my neighbor Willodean Farris.

“Hey girl, what brings you here this hot morning?  Come on in, can I get you anything to drink?”

Willodean was my closest and dearest friend.   Her hair was strawberry blonde, blue eyes and a body that was pleasing to the eye.  She was a beaut.   My brother Dean always wanted to go out with her, but being the chicken that he was, he’d drool from a distance and dream.  I can imagine what they were like, but that would be a little bit disgusting, not to mention creepy.

“If you got lemonade I’d love some, if not, I’ll be just fine, parched, but fine nevertheless.”  She sat down just as neat as a pin with her cut off shorts and pink tank top…and bare feet?

“Willodean where are your sandals or any shoes for that matter?”  This really struck a chord with me, because Willodean is the Queen of fashion, the girl who thinks that feet without shoes is naked…
I handed her a glass of pink lemonade.

"I know this is so out of the norm for me, but I had to rush right over and show you…um, you have sandals I could borrow for a smidge?”

I looked at her quizzically.  “Ah, yay sure, hang on a sec.”  I ran and got my shocking, hot pink flip flops with rhinestones and brought them out to her.  “They’re a might big for you, I want them back…”
“Hush, I’m not going anywhere with your sandals, just gonna use them.”

She placed them on the floor in front of her and stared at them.  I mean, “really” stared at them.  It was an odd moment for us.  I wasn’t sure if I should sit next to her and stare along or say a prayer, although I don’t think she was praying ‘cause her eyes were opened and all.

“Willodean?  What are you doing hunny?”  I whispered.

“Shhhh…” Her eyes never looked at me, she just kept on staring.  Damn if this wasn’t boring. I mean I've done some boring stuff in my time, but this made it to the top of my list.

There we sat, like two peas in a pod, staring at my shocking, hot pink flip flops with rhinestones…could we get more stranger than that?  After about five minutes had passed, I was starting to get sleepy, and then it happened, one of the sandals moved.

“Oh my gosh, how did you do that?”  I yelled.

“It’s called telekinesis; I’ve been practicing every night.”  She beamed as if she just made cheese come out of a cow.

“Well, what for?  I mean, it’s cool and all, but does it have a purpose?”  It was a neat trick.

“Well, it would come in handy if I’m attacked, especially if the weapon is not in reach.”  Poor thing was dead serious.  Got to hand it to her though, Willodean always thinking of ways of protecting herself, I admired that.

“Hunny, if it took you this long to make one sandal move a centimeter…you best call the undertaker first.”

“Charlese, aren’t you the tiniest bit excited about this?”  She was truly hurt.

“Oh, I’am, but I’m looking at it realistically too. If you want to really protect yourself, you need to start locking your doors, because you don’t.  This little trick of yours is all that it is, a trick; cool one at that, but nothing more.”

I got up and started to wash the few dishes I had in the sink.  Willodean was down in the dumps and got up herself to leave.

“Well, I guess I’ll go.  Thanks for…well, thanks.”   The door creaked and slammed shut before I could get a word in edgewise.  Put an apology on my list of “to do’s”.   I heaved a heavy sigh.

I was about to go outside and do some gardening when I thought I saw a man.  He was lurking in the back yard.  I checked again and sure enough there he was.  He just stood there looking at me.  Creepy.  I kept my eyes glued to him until he vanished in thin air, right before my eyes.

“Whoa, now that was incredible and a might scary at that.”  I wandered outside and had myself a look about.  I scoured the back yard, the sides and the front, but he wasn’t in sight.  As I turned to go toward the backyard he was right in front of me.  Tall, dark and…and really creepy, but in a good way.  Have you ever read those stories about meeting a tall, dark and handsome man?  Well, this was him.  He wore dark pants, shoes, dark shirt and had dark eyes.  His hair was dark too.   This man was dark all over and lord if I didn’t want to jump his bones, but I composed myself and looked frightened…in a sexy way, which didn’t come across as that.  More like a bee had stung me.

“Haven’t you ever heard of approaching people without showing up completely by surprise and right in front of them?  Haven’t you ever heard of personal space?”

“Personal space?  What is this personal space?”  His voice was soft like butter and it glided so smoothly into my ear.   I wished I was toasted bread just then.

I saw my hoola hoop and fetched it, placed it on the ground next to him.

“Step in.”  I pointed.

“Why?  Are you imprisoning me?”  His face was so fine, something right out of Renaissance time.  He was sure pretty.

I snorted.  He’s dumber than a box of rocks. “It’s a hoola hoop!  You know you put it around your waist and wiggle your hips.”  He seemed to like that idea.

“I like hips.  I like your hips.”  Ok, now he was creepy again.

“You want to know about personal space or don’t you?”  I was truly annoyed.

“Actually I came by to visit you.  You are…so…so beautiful, so breath-taking that I had to see you.  Make love to me.”

Well, that’s a fine howdy do if you ask me.  As much as I would love to accept his invitation to jump his bones, I thought it might be a bit on the fast side, seeing how I didn’t even know his name.

“Hunny, as much as I would love to accept your so called invitation, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”   I wondered what he looked like without his clothes.  I bet he’s got a six pack under that shirt and I can’t begin to image what’s in his pants, but I have a pretty good idea.  I grinned.

“Why not?  Am I not presentable enough for you?”   He displayed himself very nicely and I have to admit, I wanted to change my mind, but didn’t.

“Oh you’re hunky enough that’s for sure, but you’re also a bit creepy.  Sorry, don’t mean to be rude.”  I started for my door when I found myself in the clutches of his strong masculine arms.

“I want you and I will.  Kiss me.”  He leaned his head down just as I was about to scream, then something hit me in the head.  I looked, a pink flip flop with rhinestones…my sandal!  Who in the hell is throwing my shoes at my head?

“You let her go, you, you monster you!”

Well, what do you know, it’s my knight and shining armor, Willodean and she’s come to save me…with sandals.  How courageous of her.

My monster of a man let me fall to the ground and I scooched  back.  He looked at Willodean, then me, then back to her and smiled.   Oh, oh, this wasn’t good; it was Willodeans turn to have a go with Mr. Hunkiness.  Willodean, upon seeing his intentions stared at the nearest weapon…the hose.  Oh good lord, this was not going to turn out in her favor, his yes, hers…no.  She stared with all her might and she gave it a real good try.  Her eyes got all serious and sweat beaded off her head, all of a sudden the hose started to wiggle and then, it spurted out some water.  That was it.   Yay for the bit of grass that got some water.  Next thing you know, Better Homes and Gardens will be coming out to take a picture of my lawn.

“Willodean did ya...?”  Nope she didn’t.

I was not going to have my day ruined by some man who couldn’t take no for an answer.   I saw my Granddaddy’s ax up against the tool shed and I stared.  Then I thought to hell with that and went to pick it up.   As soon as I did, I marched over to him and connected right into Mr. Hunkiness’s head, down he went.  Willodean looked at me with total awe.

“Charlese, you did it!”

“Willodean, people say, “practice makes perfect”, but my Gran always told me to practice is a waste of time, just do it, so I did!   You want some more lemonade?”

Sue Mydliak is the Vamplit published author of Birthright. Candra Rosewood returns to Utica, but she's already missed her parents funeral and everything she thought about her life turns out to be a lie. When Kane turns up unannounced on her doorstep, Candra, fights her strange need for him.Is he somehow involved in her parents’death? Is the mysterious Mr Bennet a friend or foe, and can she trust him when he says she's descended from powerful vampires.
Genre: Fantasy, Romance--Words: 44664--Published: Apr. 17, 2011--Purchase on Smashwords
These thirteen tales of terror prove that nothing is ever what it seems. You’ll find twisted stories of dangerous love, hungry predators, and tortured souls. Enter the mind of author Sue Mydliak, and find out just what lurks in the dark.
Genre: Horror -Words: 13282-Published: June 9, 2012-Purchase on Smashwords

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Request an autograph copy of Tortured Minds for your Kindle!!

Autograph copy of Tortured Minds

Autographs are hard to come by, especially when it comes in Kindle Format.  Well, not anymore, if you buy my book, Tortured Minds, you can also request an autograph copy of it by clicking on the link above.  That's right!!
Amazing right?  Finally, authors whose books are on Kindle through Amazon can send autograph copies.

So give it a go and get your copy today!

My Short Story Book Is Out!!!


Cover for 'Tortured Minds'After much work, edits, and all that other great stuff we authors go through, my book, Tortured Minds is published!!!   I couldn't of done this accomplishment if it wasn't for Stacey Turner and Rebecca Treadway they were awesome to work with.  Thank you ladies! It is available on Kindle onTortured Minds through Amazon and Smashwords Tortured Minds.  These are 13 of my best horror stories that I have written, published now to share with you.  The neat thing about these horror stories is that they don't start out scary, in fact, even in the middle the story still seems docile. What happens is that what you read isn't at all what it seems, its the way I end the stories that'll be your surprise.
So, buy your copy today, you will be surprised in more ways than one.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Things a new writer should look-out for

I found this article written by Victoria, who I sought help when I got into big issues with Trestle Press.  Do not do any kind of business with them or DIP Publishing.  Here is what she had to say and it rings so true.

Posted by Victoria Strauss for Writer Beware


When Writer Beware was founded in 1998, it was vanishingly rare for publishers (or agents) to contact aspiring writers to express interest in their work--so rare, in fact, that any sort of unsolicited publisher or agent contact was almost certain to be a scam or a pay-to-play arrangement. For instance, Dorrance Publishing Company--a venerable vanity publisher--regularly solicited writers using copyright registration information (a practice it still follows). 


The march of technology has changed things to some degree. With blogs and online writing venues and social media, it's no longer so unlikely that a reputable editor or agent might get a glimpse of an aspiring writer's work and contact them directly. However, while you can no longer automatically dismiss such a contact, it's still not the norm--and there are still plenty of not-necessarily-desirable enterprises that rely on spam-style solicitation to maintain their businesses. Direct contact from a publisher or agent should always be treated with caution, until research can determine whether the company or individual is reputable.



BEWARE!!!!!

A friend of mine, author, whose book was published by DIP Publishing has cancelled her contract with them because of no royalties forth with.  So, naturally being sad for her, and having been through this with Trestle Press (grrrr), I did some of my own research.   Seems that some people have been receiving invitations from them, just out of the blue  (red flag).  Goes like this:

"Greetings to you,

My name is Sophia and I represent DIP Publishing House. I would like to discuss a potential publishing opportunity with you. This opportunity is not for Self-Publishing, although our company currently offers those services...


This is an aggressive marketing strategy targeting anyone.   If you, yourself, did not seek them firstly I would be a bit leary.  To me that is a big red flag.  Always, always, research, I say this out of experience.


http://accrispin.blogspot.com/2011/08/solicitation-alerts-justfiction-edition.html  (Article on DIP  BEWARE)

So any of you that receive such an invite...ignore.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Taking Submissions Now!


It's finally here!  A brand new Ezine that'll blow you away.  We are looking for creative short stories in any genre, as well as, Flash Fiction, poetry, art work and photography.  We are on the verge of creating the most superb ezine that is out there today and we want you to be a part of it.

Submissions are being taken right now.  Click on: Visionary Ezine Submission and carefully read the guidelines and submit!  It's that easy!   The theme for this 1st Edition is Summer.

So think warm, hot, outrageous pieces of work and send them in.   I'm looking forward to seeing the many creative faces there are!

Monday, May 28, 2012

Foreign "Exchange" Student



You’d think that a small town down south would have nothing interesting happening in it…you’re dead wrong.
Tommy and I were best friends, had been for years and years, only now things were changing, we were changing.   It was Freshman year at Richmond Valley High and being eighth graders were King of the crop, or so we thought. 
First period was swimming, nothing like going through the rest of the day with wet, stringy hair, black eyes from the mascara that wasn’t water proof, and smelling like clorine.  That’ll attract any boy that comes your way.
I hurried down the stairs to the locker room I slipped.  Down on my butt I went and slid to the landing.  Laughter from those around me, upperclassmen who started throwing pennies on my head.   So, this is how it’s gonna be, you make a fool out of yourself, not on purpose mind you and you get pennies thrown at you. 
Charming.
I got up with what little dignity I had left and marched into the locker room and put on my swim suit.  God, how many others had worn this exact same suit?  I didn’t want to know, because if I did, I’d go naked into class.  The boys don’t wear swim suits, it’s true, but don’t you dare try to sneak a peek, because if you do, it’s a walk to the principals office and a call home.  How I lived for dangerous episodes, those came with high expectations of a good time!
Jenna was shivering next to the edge of the pool when I stood next to her.  Jenna was my BFF, we’d been through thick and thin.  Today was one of those thin days.
“Hey Jenna, what’s up?”  I was curious, she looked sort of pale and not all too well.  Period most likely.
She looked at me in her mousey but warm way.  “I’m not feeling too well and frankly the thought of swimming makes me want to throw up.”  She looked back into the blue water and shivered some more.
“Period huh?”
“No.”
“Well, then maybe you should go home and take it easy a bit.  I mean, heck if you’re sick you need to get well.   You’re not going to miss much in swimming today anyway and the rest of the day isn’t that big of a deal.  I mean, nothing special is going on.  Go to the nurses, I’ll tell Mrs. Michael’s.”
Jenna nodded and turned toward the locker room.  I was concerned now, Jenna is hardly ever sick and it made my heart ache to see her like that.  Pitiful it was. 
Swim class was as usual very high in the dramatic expectations.   I am not a fish, I’m more like an anchor.   Do you know how embarrassing it is for your teacher to jump in and save you…continually?  It’s down right mortifying.
The rest of the day was pretty messed up, must be a full moon tonight, because I swear nothing was going right.  I got on the bus and sat in the very back, I didn’t want to be by anyone, I might jinx them.  As it was, a new kid got on and I could not take my eyes off of him.   He was drop dead gorgeous  with eyes that seemed so…hard to describe because I’ve never seen anything like em.   Sort of on the green side, but not quite green.  It was a weird color, but hey who’s to complain when the rest of him is so GQ. 
I was hoping he didn’t see me because I didn’t look at all presentable, so slouching down into my seat was my best approach to being incognito.  Didn’t work.   Next thing I knew he was standing by me.
“May I sit here?”
May you sit here?  Do you really need to ask that?  God you can sit there, on my lap for all I care, “God , yes!  I mean, of course. “   oops.
The things that come out of my mouth make me wonder why I even exist at all.   I mean seriously?
“My name is Quintin.  What’s yours?”
“Oh, my name is Hallie, Hallie Bernstein.”  I shook his hand and smiled, somewhat, then Tommy came aboard looking not at all pleased with the vision he just encountered.  I swallowed hard and waved to him excitingly.  I had hoped that would change  his pensive mood…it didn’t.  I don't know why, but  lately he has had to sit next to me on the bus...everyday!  What is up with him I wonder?
“Hey Tommy how was your day?”  I spoke as sweet as sugar to him and smiled – big.
“Who’s your friend? And why is he sitting in my spot?”  God could you be more blunt?
“Tommy where are your manners?  This here is Quintin, he’s new and he asked if he could sit here.  So, I said yes.  You know, being neighborly and all.  That’s the “polite” thing to do.”   I over emphasized polite so that he’d know I wanted him to “cool it!”  Especially when we weren’t  really going out.
"?"
“I’m sorry, is this your seat?”  Quintin asked.
“Yeah, it is.  Move.”  Well, hush my mouth if Tommy ain’t the bug that bit my dog.  I’ve never seen him like this, nor did I like it.
“Excuse me Quintin, but I’m sorry for Tommy’s behavior.  Tommy, why don’t you sit back there, and maybe chill out a bit.”  I glared at him.  How rude?   Words will be spoken when we get to my house.  Sigh.  Just what I needed to end my day with…words and they weren’t going to be pleasant ones either.
The bus ride was noisey as usual, but at our end it was silent, cold and very tense.  Quintin got off and said his goodbyes and hoped to meet again, to which I assured him we probably would, then Tommy rushed over and sat down next to me.  God he was annoying.
“You like him?”
“Excuse me?  But I don’t think that’s any of your business now.  Besides, since when did I need your permission to have someone else sit next to me?  We’re not an item or are we?”
He didn’t say anything, just looked straight ahead, but  when I started to open my mouth in retaliation he cut in.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, we are an item.”
“Since when?    How about the next time you specially count me in as your girl share it!   I’d kinda like to know who I’m going out with.”
“I thought you knew.”  He just gave me the dumbest look, like I’m suppose to know this.
“How?  Telepathically?  Jesus Christ Shepard of Judea what the heck is wrong with you?”
“Hallie, I’ve always liked you and I thought you liked me.  I can see that I was wrong, but…”  Stopping mid-sentence he turned and walked away.  
I wanted to run after him, but I thought to hell with him.  He’s nuttier than a fruit cake on Christmas.  The day could not end any sooner and the quicker I got home and into bed the better I’d be for it.  This was just a nightmare come true.  Hopefully tomorrow things will be back to normal.
Things were not back to normal.
I got on the bus, sat in my usual seat and waited for the next re-run of yesterday to happen, but it didn’t.  Instead  the doors closed and we were off to school.  Where was Tommy?  Quintin?  This was odd, Tommy never missed school as for Quintin, I had no idea what his case was, but it didn’t matter.  Maybe today would be better.  Maybe.
Things I guess were normal, I mean classes went on in their boring way, lunch was gross as usual, but something about the day just didn’t feel right.  It was an odd sensation, like something was out of whack.  I tried to figure it out, but the more I did, the more I came up with nothing and just decided to pass it off as Tommy not being around.
The day had finally ended and I got on the bus.  I looked out my window to just pass the time until we started to move when I felt the bus dip on one side and looked toward the door.  It was Quintin.  He walked over to me and sat down.  Something was different about him.  I couldn’t quite place it, but I didn’t want to stare.  Odd.
“Where were you this morning?”  I wasn’t sure if I should ask such a question, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say, I mean he wasn’t there this morning!
“You are curious aren’t you?”  He smiled which had such an odd calming effect on me, but something else was telling me that he wasn't all that he presented himself to be.  I moved closer to the wall of the bus.
“What the hell is that suppose to mean?  It was a simple question, you weren’t on the bus this morning and now you’re here.  It’s not curious, just a normal question.  So?”
“So…what?” 
God, this beautiful person who was melting me to tiny pieces, who made me feel so weirded out, was being so thick.
“Where were you?”
“Oh that again.  If you must know I was taking care of some business.”
Business?  What kind of business does a sixteen year old have to do?
“Did you miss me?”  His finger lightly pulled back a strand of hair that swept passed my ear.
That was in my terms  invading my personal space, so I pushed his hand away.
“I don’t even know you, so how could I have missed you?  You're strange and somewhat forward.  Where are you from?”  I couldn’t get any farther away from him.  As it was, I was already hugging the windows for dear life.
“Doesn’t matter does it?  But Hallie, you do know me and quite well.  Years in fact.”
A chill just then snaked up my spine and I shuddered.   Those words, that’s what was wrong, the feel of him.  The tone in how he spoke them rang a bell and then there it was.  I looked at him, I mean “really” looked at him and I gasped.
I grabbed his right arm and shoved his sleeve up and there it was, Tommy’s tatoo, the space ship he had Inkers do on his birthday.
“How…but…it can’t be?”   I looked up at him and as he smiled  something darted out of his mouth, forked and red.
As the bus made it’s way down the rode, screams echoed and faded with the distance.