Thursday, November 16th, 6:00pm
Michael (and Wanda)
Michael sits at the window, reading a book. Wanda takes the seat beside him.
Wanda: Do you mind if I paint my nails?
Michael:(without looking away from his book) Nope.
Wanda:(takes a bottle of nail polish out of her pocket) Nasty outside today.
Michael:(without looking away from his book) Yep.
Wanda:(singing) Oh the weather outside is frightful. (speaking) Shit. (singing) But the fire is so delightful. (speaking, etc.) Shit. But as long as you love me so. Shit. Let …
Michael:(regards her for the first time) Why do you keep saying “shit”?
Wanda: The bus keeps ruining my nail polish when it goes over a bump.
Michael: So don’t paint your nails on the bus.
Wanda: Mind your own business.
Michael goes back to his book.
Wanda:(singing) Let it … Shit. Let it … Shit. Let it … Shit.
Tuesday, November 14th, 5:00pm
Drommen (and Hillary) (and Sean)
Drommen sits at the window. Hillary takes the seat beside him.
Hillary: Hi Jake.
Drommen: Hi there, Jessica.
Hillary: You’ll never guess what I saw on the bus yesterday.
Drommen: What was it?
Hillary: A flasher.
Drommen:(frowning) A flasher? On my bus?
Hillary: Yep.
Drommen: How dare he! Flashing a young lady like you! What did you do?
Hillary: I laughed at him. He got off the bus.
Drommen: Huh.
Hillary: I’d heard about him before. A lady on here told me there’s a habitual flasher on the bus. She said his name is Drummin or something. That must have been him.
Drommen: No it wasn’t.
Hillary:(lifts an eyebrow) How are you so sure?
Drommen: Well … um … You said he just flashed you, right?
Hillary: Yeah.
Drommen: I heard this other guy is much more polite. He asks first.
Hillary: (laughing) A polite flasher? Now I’ve heard everything.
Drommen: It’s possible.
Hillary: Riiight. The day I see a polite flasher is the day I change my name to Hillary.
My novelette, All Good Stories is on sale today! It’s a romantic comedy, complete with pirates, a parrot, and a Viking. What could possibly go wrong? Lighthearted and fun, it’s perfect to enjoy over a lunchtime or two. It’s available for the low cost of 99¢, or the equivalent in whichever country you live, on both Amazon for Kindle here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01JQWMQAE
The Kobo site has a preview of the book. I plan to figure out how to set one up on Amazon soon. In the meantime, here are the first two chapters:
Aarin, The Topless Pirate
Jupiter bounded into my book store with an extraordinary spring in her step.
“I finished it!” she proclaimed, beaming much like the ray of sunshine that fell upon the counter every fair morning at this time of year.
“Finished what?” I asked. As if I didn’t know. She’d spent months bemoaning the grueling process of editing her novel.
“Stop it, Xav.” Jupiter had a peculiar way of shortening my name when she was annoyed at me. Her eyes narrowed and her lip lifted crookedly at the ‘V’ as she elongated it. She was very cute when she did it, which made me want to annoy her all the more.
“Wait, let me guess. Your novel?” I teased.
“YES!”
I wished, not for the first time, as she bounced up and down in her spring jacket that we were more than just friends.
“Does that mean you’re finally going to share it with me?” Leaning forward on the counter, I rested my chin in my hand to affect nonchalance. Deep down, I was as excited as she was.
“Of course I’ll let you read it.” She dug through the suitcase she called a purse. After a moment, she pulled out a bound stack of papers. “Aarin, The Topless Pirate,” she announced as she plopped it down in front of me.
“Sounds promising.” I glanced at the title page, which stated only the title, then back to my best friend. “What’s it about?”
“It’s um… It’s about a pirate who goes to sea.”
“And is the pirate topless?” I sat up straight. Visions volleyed around in my mind of breasts bared to the slightly chilled ocean breeze.
She smiled wickedly. “You’ll have to read it to find out.”
I picked up the manuscript and slid it onto the shelf behind the counter. “I’ll read it later.”
She stared, wide-eyed. “You’re not serious.”
“It doesn’t sound that interesting. It can wait.”
“But…” She didn’t look as though she was going to cry, exactly, but the distress on her face was enough to make me waver.
“Sell it to me,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Make me want to read it. Tell me what it’s about.”
“It’s about a pirate. A topless pirate. Who goes to sea.”
“…and?”
“And what? Isn’t that enough?”
“Is there sex? Is there a sunburn involved?”
“Fine! Don’t read it then.” She turned sharply and stalked out of the store.
Feeling bad about my little April Fool’s Day joke, I watched until she disappeared around the corner before I pulled the manuscript back out. I turned back the title page fully expecting to be properly titillated, only to find a photocopied picture of a crusty old pirate with his back facing the camera. He wore nothing but a three-cornered hat.
That we share the same sense of humor makes it no wonder Jupiter and I have been best friends since elementary school.
Bob The Blogger
Bob was a novelist. He was also a blogger. To round out the combo, to make it a trio (because Bob adored the number three), he referred to himself as a Serial Alliterator, which meant he loved alliterations. His blog profile sported a selfie of a previously pencil-thin Bob in the bathroom mirror, wearing nothing but a wicked grin. Though he stated in his profile that he loved the outdoors, since his foray into blogging he had seldom seen the sun. Secretly, he called himself Blob the Blogger.
Today, Bob is excited because yesterday he met Jupiter online. They met on Bob’s blog after Bob blogged about writing a novel. He and Jupiter spent three hours commenting back and forth. Jupiter was single, and she was writing a novel as well.
Tomorrow, if he wasn’t too tired from using the treadmill, Bob planned to write Jupiter three poems. His poems would employ many uses of alliteration; they would contain the letter ‘J’ as often as Bob could manage. They would not contain the first letter of Jupiter’s best friend’s name. As far as Bob was concerned, he needed no excuse to leave the letter ‘X’ out of Jupiter’s joyous poetry. No justification at all.
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