Moving Forward

When I Was Twelve…

My parents are here to visit for the holidays and my mom brought a folder with some my writing from when I was a kid.

This was a poem I wrote in 1988, so I would have been eleven or twelve.

Not long after this, I stopped writing, except for what I was required to do for school. I will tell you all about why I stopped writing someday, but today is not that day.

In the meantime, read a poem written by 12-year-old me. IMG_7891

She Works Hard for the Money

A while back, I entered another contest from This time it was a Flash Fiction contest, so less than 1,000 words, but the rest of the structure remained the same: they would assign a genre, location, and object/person, and I would have 72 hours to write and submit a story. In this contest, each writer was guaranteed two rounds and our final score would determine if we moved on to the third round. My particular heat had over thirty entrants in it.

For the first round, my heat was instructed to write a crime caper and it had to include a counting room and a mirror.

I’d never written a crime caper before. They’re not really my thing. Still, I was please with my result: I placed 6th out of more than thirty stories and was awarded 10 points.

Here is that story. Disclaimer: I did some slight editing, so it is now over 1,000 words. Oh, well.

I will post about Round 2 later today or tomorrow. Happy reading!



My high heels clacked down the long hallway as the ringing casino faded behind me. Don’t trip, Sandy. Whatever happens, do not fall. For the first time in years, I felt alive.

“Can I help you with something, Miss?” A lone guard stood up, a copy of Playboy falling to the floor.

“I don’t know. Can you?” I slipped into a sultry purr as I slid close to him, my new neon dress whispering seduction.

A smile spread below his mustache. He was handsome, very Magnum PI, but was that a . . . perm? Damn, his hair was nicer than mine. “Guests aren’t allowed back here, Miss.”

“I’m so sorry. I was looking for the ladies’ room.” I reached into my purse, past the gun, pulling out a mirrored compact. Instead of looking at my reflection, I peered over my shoulder down the hall. There were Steve and Larry, their big dumb faces peeking around the corner.

If I hadn’t overheard them talking about their plans to rob the casino, I’d still be at the slots, drinking yet another Kamikaze, and wishing I was anywhere else while Alan, no-longer-love-of-my-pathetic-life, was in a conference room learning the latest marketing techniques as part of the 1985 Pocket Calculator Synposium. Roberta, the Princess Di twin with bigger boobs, was probably nearby. Everyone knew about them.

Larry supplied the guns. Steve, a former employee, was the “brains” of the operation. They’d planned to run in, guns blazing, demanding money from the dealers. I talked them out of that.

Another glance in the mirror. Steve was holding something up. Good. The other key. The counting room door needed two to open. The first was always with the floor manager, but somehow Steve had managed to get it.

The second key was here with Mr. Perm. Yeah, it didn’t seem like the most fool-proof security system to me, either. No wonder the Moonburst Hotel and Casino was so rundown. They probably got robbed every other week.

The guard’s key was my responsibility. I put the mirror back into my purse, my fingers curling around the gun Larry had given me. Would the lace gloves I wore obscure my fingerprints? If they were good enough for Madonna . . . .

“The bathrooms are by the craps tables. Let me show you.” Mr. Perm’s hand slithered down my back as he moved me away from the door. Smile, Sandy. He has to think you like him. I faked a giggle.

“I could use a drink.” Yes. Yes, I could use a drink, actually. “Why don’t you come with me?” I put one hand on his chest while the other slowly drew the gun.

His grin grew wider as he cupped my ass. “My shift ends at six. Think you can wait until then?”

I heard footsteps. Larry and Steve, I hoped.

“No, I don’t think I can wait that long.” The gun was heavy, slippery. Don’t drop it, don’t drop it.

I didn’t drop it. The press of hard metal against his ribs made him blink. “What?”

I held a finger to his lips, laughing at his bewildered look. “Shhh.”

Steve appeared next to me, his gun against Mr. Perm’s temple. Larry danced around behind us, a suitcase on the floor next to him. “Hurry up. Hurry up.”

My fingers didn’t tremble as I unhooked the key ring from the guard’s belt and found the key that matched the Steve’s. “Is anyone in there right now?”

The guard gaped at me, but started frantically shaking his head as I cocked the gun.

A nod to Steve and we put our keys in the lock. Larry burst in, waving his gun like Nick Nolte in “48 Hours”. There was a yelp and a thud, but thankfully no gunshot. What the hell?

“Larry, are we clear?” There was no answer. Mr. Perm flinched as I slapped him. “You lie to me, Ponch?”

Larry appeared at the door, his eyes wide, blood trickling from his nose. “Oh, yeah. We’re clear.”

Steve pushed Mr. Perm into the room and I followed. Holy shit. We had made it in.

Steve bound and gagged the guard, who seemed resigned to his fate. On the floor lay the crumpled form of . . . someone in a red blazer. An open metal door led to what I assumed was the vault. On the table, racks of chips. A window overlooked the casino floor. I bet the mirror I had checked my lipstick in had been a one-way mirror.

Moving with a swiftness that surprised me, Larry pulled several bags out of the suitcase and began dumping chips into them, the clatter of the plastic echoing off the plain white walls.

I didn’t want chips. I wanted cash. And I could smell it.

My purse held stacks of 100-dollar bills. I patted the guard on his curly head and strutted out of the counting room, leaving Larry and Steve fighting over the chips. I was done with them.

The casino floor was full of people, laughter, lights, and the sounds of Donna Summer. No one noticed me, not even Alan who was getting off the elevator, Roberta draped over his arm. I looked into the counting-room mirror and adjusted my sunglasses.

Another guard lounged near the exit.

“Excuse me, sir, do you work here?” I kept my voice meek, polite. I would never use that voice again. “I just thought you should know, I saw some strange men going down that hallway over there.” I pointed to where I had just come from. “I think I saw a gun.” The guard took off at a run, yelling into his walkie-talkie. I was already forgotten.

Hot sunlight wrapped around me as I stepped onto Las Vegas Boulevard and hailed a taxi. In mere hours, I’d be on a plane to somewhere tropical. Alone. Alan would just have to deal.

I would miss the kids, though.


Sebastian the Safety Squirrel

Early in 2017, I entered a short story contest through They hold multiple contests throughout the year. In fact, I’m currently awaiting results from Round 2 of their most recent Flash Fiction contest.

Anyway, with NYCMidnight fiction contests, they give you a series of prompts: genre, setting, and a person/object. It can be really trick and intimidating, especially if you’re assigned a genre you’ve never written before and you’re only given a short amount of time to write the story.

This is what happened in this particular round of the short story contest. I had already made it through the first round (horror/surprise party/substitute teacher) and I was pleased enough with that. Then came Round Two.

For this one, I was tasked to write a 2,000 word maximum story in 48 hours, which is daunting under the best of circumstances. The assignment made it even more so.

I had to write a comedy. A COMEDY, mind you, that included a foot race and a rookie police officer.

Now, I’m a funny lady, but I had never set out to write a comedy before. In 48 hours. Well, shit.

SEBASTIAN THE SAFETY SQUIRREL was the result. I did not advance past this round, but the feedback was mostly positive. It’s unlikely I’ll ever try to have this published, so I thought I would share it here.

I hope it makes you laugh. I certainly laughed while writing it.


Sebastian the Safety Squirrel

When my shift started I was excited, eager for the chance to prove myself. By the time it ended, death would have been preferable.

Feedback from a microphone echoed through the large purple head I wore. Through the nylon eyes that tinted everything blue, I watched as a thin blonde sashayed across a rickety platform that lurched with each step she took.

“Welcome to the Wenley Elementary School Jump-Into-Summer Fair.” She beamed as if she were Miss America as meager applause and half-hearted wolf-whistles rose from the group of bored parents and hyper children. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Marcie Harrelson, Wenley PTA President. There’s lots of fun activities today for everyone, including the Pre-K Olympics on the far side of the field past the tug-of-war station. Be safe and be sure to wear your sunscreen!” She blew a loud whistle and the crowd scattered.

I glanced at Captain “Just call me Lou” Dowsett as he stood at attention, his badge gleaming like a beacon against his dress uniform. I had only met him once before, briefly, during my five-week tenure at the Wenley Police Department, and now I had to work with him all day. While dressed as Sebastian the Safety Squirrel.

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. Still, this was my chance to impress him. To make a difference.

Lou’s voice was muffled as he tapped me on my shoulder. I struggled to pull off my purple head, wincing as it caught on my long, red ponytail.

“You okay in that thing?” He sounded smug, the bastard.

“Yeah.” Sweat was pouring down my face. Day-Glo head included, the outfit had to weigh 50 pounds, which wouldn’t have been so bad, except it was fucking June. Do you have any idea how bad it smelled inside that head? Remember when you left your workout clothes in your trunk and forgot about them for a few months? “It’s a little hard to hear you in here.”

“Don’t I know it. Look, we all have to pull our weight on these Officer Friendly gigs. Soon enough, you’ll get to be Friendly while some other noob gets to be the Squirrel.”

“I don’t mind.” I did mind. I minded a fucking lot, but I kept that to myself. I had wanted to be a police detective ever since I had first seen Lennie Briscoe on Law and Order. I would hold Barbie weddings for Stabler and Benson, officiated by Ice-T himself. I had aced my associate’s degree in Criminal Justice. I speak three languages. I graduated at the top of my class in the Academy. I was born to be a cop.

I was also a giant purple squirrel.

The Officer Friendly booth was set up between tables full of baked goods, watered-down drinks, and lukewarm pizza—all proceeds benefiting the almighty PTA—and the field where frantic teachers tried to wrangle sugar-addled kids from one activity to another. A bounce house stood forlornly empty, its teenage assistant apathetically hosing it down. Again. A young boy sat and wailed for his mom, mourning either his lost chance in the bounce house or his piece of pizza that was now oozing out through the mesh walls. Groups of moms clustered around the fringes, shooting poisoned darts of judgement at each other and occasionally shouting out to a random Ethan or Emma, always causing at least one quarter of the kids within earshot to turn and scream, “What?”

“Put your head back on, Berger. Gotta stay in character.”

“Yes, Sir.” Fuck you, Lou. I forced the shaggy head back on.

“That’s the attitude I like to see. Willingness to do what it takes.” Damn, he was a prick. I wondered what it would take to kick his balls up through the roof of his mouth.

And so began our routine of Officer Friendly and his sidekick, Sebastian the Safety Squirrel. I’d dance around and pantomime in response to his lecture on the horrors of drugs, strangers, and not looking before crossing the street.

As a squirrel, even an oversized one with purple fur, I took that last admonishment as a personal criticism. But it was our schtick: we use crosswalks and hold hands, or people die. Rodents, too.

Lou kept taking breaks, hustling off to have a smoke in the shady corner by the gym or to grab a piece of pizza, leaving me alone to fend off kids who kept throwing balls at my head and running away. He’d come back and we’d do another round of safety lectures. He’d leave again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Then, as if the day wasn’t absurd enough, Lou suddenly bent over double, clutching his stomach. “I’ll be back.” He lurched off towards the bathrooms and I was, once again, on my own.

No kids were nearby, so I tidied up the D.A.R.E. pamphlets and put out a new box of Sebastian stickers. They said, “Police officers are SAFE friends,” and I wondered if I was, in fact, a trademarked character.

I was watching a tug-o-war game between some older kids and a clown, when I felt someone tugging on my arm. I looked down to see a little boy, maybe six or so, bawling. His face was bright red and a green pendulum of snot dripped from his nose. He was pointing frantically toward the other side of the field. What’s that, Lassie? Timmy’s in the well?

I crouched down, tilting as the weight of my head threatened to pull me over. “What’s up, kiddo?” Now, technically, Sebastian wasn’t supposed to talk, but what the hell else was I going to do?

Gasp, gasp, wail. “My mommy. She’s hurt.”

“Where is she?” I looked around, searching for some poor woman writhing on the ground or carrying around her newly amputated arm. Or something.

“She didn’t feel good. She went to rest in the car while I played. I’m tired and want to leave, but the car door was locked and I could hear her inside. She’s hurt! Please, Sebastian, you have to help!”

A hot flame of purpose flared in my chest. Lou wasn’t back. And the asshole had taken the radio with him. I was on my own.

“Which car is she in?”

“It’s a gray minivan.” Of course it was. “Over there.” He pointed vaguely toward the parking lot riddled with, you guessed it, gray minivans.

“Can you tell me anything else? Bumper stickers?”

He howled in response. People walking by stopped to stare, but do you think they offered to help? Of course not. Fuckers.

“Okay. What’s your name?”

“Ethan.” Of course it was. “Please, you have to help my mom!”

“I will, I will.” I looked around, hoping to see Lou heading back, but no such luck. “Ethan, I need you to go find Officer Friendly. He went to the bathroom. Tell him what you told me, okay? Go on, now.” I gave him a little push on the shoulder and turned towards the field. As I ran, an awkward task in squirrel feet, I tried to pull off my head, but it caught again on my hair. I had an easier time with one of my squirrel hands, sending it flying like some gruesome taxidermy exhibition. I stabbed at my cell phone. 9-1-1. Dispatch picked up right away.

“This is Officer Berger. I’m at the Wenley Elementary School Fair. Reports of a woman injured and in need of assistance. I need a bus.” I had to shout to make sure I was heard through the damned squirrel head. My breaths came in gasps as I lumbered across the field. Then it happened. In no uncertain terms, Sebastian the Safety Squirrel was fucked.

I sensed it coming. My peripheral vision was completely…furry.  I turned my head to see what could only be described as a herd of four-year-olds stampeding towards me. A whistle blew frantically in the background but, like lust-crazed buffalo, the sound only made them charge faster. I never stood a chance.

Time slowed as my internal expletives flowed to the tune of ‘Chariots of Fire’. It added the necessary solemnity to the occasion, I thought.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit.

I went down hard as the first tiny body collided with mine. Then a Stride-Rite light-up sneaker made contact with my clavicle, a blow only slightly cushioned by my purple pelt. Then another. And another. Shoes flashed all around me. I imagined it was like being at a rave, but without the good drugs. Not that I would know.

Then a well-timed sneaker caught its toe under the edge of my fiberglass head. My neck wrenched to the side as the squirrel cranium went flying, taking with it streamers of my red hair, and I could see Queen Elsa’s bland smile looming as a shoe conked me in the forehead. Screams erupted all around me as Sebastian’s head bounced away. Kids scrambled over me and then they were gone, leaving me staring up at the sky with a lump between my eyes and wondering what the hell just happened. In the distance, I could hear cheering and laughter and a little voice screaming, “I won, I won, Daddy! Did you see me? I won.”

Lou’s face swam into focus. “Holy shit, Berger. What’s going on?” He pulled me to my feet, looking disgusted, as a megaphoned voice announced the winner of the Pre-K 50 Yard Dash to be one Emma “Fuck You, Sebastian” Reynolds.

“Sir, we’ve got an injured woman in the parking lot. Her kid told me. I’ve already called it in on my phone. We need to go, sir, now.” I lumbered away, amazed at how much easier it was to run without that damned head on.

“Officer Berger, wait!”

I didn’t wait. I charged into the parking lot, peering inside every gray minivan I could find. I could hear sirens approaching. Good, the ambulance was here. Everything was going to be fine. I was going to save Ethan’s mom.

There it was. A gray minivan, engine running with no one behind the wheel. I peered into the side windows, but all I could see through the baby sun shades was shadowy movement in the optional third-row seating.

“Open up! This is Officer Berger with the Wenley Police! Is everything okay in there?” I pounded on the side of the minivan. Behind me, a crowd had gathered. Lou was pushing his way through, speaking quickly into his radio.

The minivan’s side door slid open silently, suddenly, as if by magic. Blinking, a woman climbed out, clutching a crumpled yellow Wenley Elementary t-shirt to her bare chest. The crowd burst into laughter, which grew even louder when she was followed by a slightly flabby middle-aged man who hadn’t yet remembered to zip up his fly.

“Mommy? Are you okay?” Ethan threw his arms around her, bursting into tears. He hugged her furiously for a long moment, then looked up in surprise. “What are you doing with Coach Seaver?”

Silently, but with her face so red it was incandescent, Marcie Harrelson, President of the Wenley Elementary PTA, loaded a confused but relieved Ethan into the gray minivan. Tiny bits of gravel peppered us as she accelerated away from the fair. The tug-o-war clown grabbed Coach Seaver by the arm and started yelling.

“But Principal Mitchell, you don’t understand…” was all I could hear as the men walked away.

The crowd roared with laughter and then melted back into the mundaneness of the School Fair. Although this would be my first, and last, turn as Sebastian, I knew this day would become a Wenley Elementary legend.

Officer Friendly and Sebastian the Safety Squirrel. These are their stories.


It’s always a great feeling to wake up to a notification that one of my stories has been published!

I first started writing Genesis in December of 2015. I had just read a short story by the fabulous Maria Dahvana Headley, And the Winners Will Be Swept Out to Sea, and I was entranced by the style she used to tell the story. I wanted to see if I could do something similar.

The result was a rough draft of a story I titled Goodnight Nobody. After having some Beta readers take a look at it and a couple rounds of revisions, I started sending it out to various magazines. And it got rejected. A lot.

I finally enlisted the help of an editor, Kat Howard, and she gave me some really wonderful, insightful suggestions. Another few revisions later and I was still getting rejected. I submitted it for an apocalypse anthology, but it was going to be six months or more before they would make a decision. So, I waited and moved on to other projects.

Then I heard of Twisted Sister Lit Mag and thought I’d give it a shot. And they liked it! They really liked it! They weren’t thrilled with the title, though, so after a lot of thinking and brainstorming, I renamed the piece Genesis, which is actually a lot more fitting anyway.

Genesis was published today in Twisted Sister’s SURVIVAL issue. This is my first publication for this year, because I’ve been so focused on the book, I haven’t really been doing smaller pieces. I need to remedy that.

Happy reading!

It’s May Already

I can’t believe it’s May!

As I previously mentioned, I had entered the NYCMidnight 2017 Short Story Challenge earlier this years, making it into the second heat where I was tasked with writing a 2,000 word maximum story in 72 hours with assignment of comedy/rookie police officer/foot race. Those results came out last night and, unfortunately, my story ‘Sebastian the Safety Squirrel’ did not make it through to the final round. I admit that I’m bummed by this as I thought it was a really strong story, but it’s probably better this way as the next round of the contest happens this weekend while I’m going to be attending my first writing conference.

I’ll be at the Seattle Writing Workshop and I am nervously excited. Excitedly nervous? Something like that. I had originally planned to pitch BAD RIVER to a couple of agents, but . . . After getting feedback from my Beta readers and doing additional research on the time and setting of the book, I have decided to completely restructure it. Complete overhaul. From the beginning. All the changes. ALL. THE. CHANGES.

So, yeah, I won’t be pitching the book in, oh, three days time. Instead, I’m hoping to use my time with the agents to discuss the path I’m planning on taking with the book, to see if they think it’s a viable option, or if I just need to scrap the entire damn thing. *sob*

In other news, a short story of mine that I’ve been trying to get placed for over a year now has been accepted by an online literary magazine and will be published. I don’t know when it will be up yet, so I’m going to stay vague on those details until I know more. However, this is one of my favorite pieces, so I’m very thrilled to finally find it a home.

Have a good May, y’all!


It’s been a busy year so far.

I entered the NYCMidnight Short Story Challenge which began in January. It consists of three rounds: in the first round, I was given a genre, character, and setting prompt, and had a week to write a 2,500 word story; in the second round, it’s a 2,000 word story in 72 hours, and the third round is a 1,500 word story in just 24 hours.

My first round assignment was horror genre with a substitute teacher and a surprise party. To my delight, my story, “I Haven’t Forgotten” placed fourth in my heat and have advanced on to the second round. I don’t know if it’s going to be published as part of the contest, so I don’t have a link for it yet.

My second round assignment was a comedy with a rookie police officer and a running race. I am very pleased with how “Sebastian the Safety Squirrel” came out. I’ll have the results of the round in early May.

Also in early May, I will be attending my first ever writing conference. I am very excited about it, not to mention completely stressing about what I’m going to wear.

In preparation for the conference, I have been working very hard at getting BAD RIVER to my Beta readers and making the needed changes.

Time to get back to work! I’ll see you all again sometime in May.

This Judging Thing I Did

Last year, I entered a short story contest sponsored by Short Fiction Break and The Writing Practice. My story, The Cicatrix, was awarded 4th Place out of more than 200 entries. I was pretty stoked.

A few months ago, one of the editors for Short Fiction Break approached me and asked if I would be interested in being a judge for their Winter Writing Contest. Of course I said ‘yes’.

Judging took place over several week and three rounds of reading and discussion with my fellow judges. It also involved writing critiques for the stories if it was requested by the author.

I learned so much by judging this contest. On a basic level, if I saw repetitive grammar or punctuation errors that bugged me, I would research them to make sure I was correct, and on more than one occasion, I learned that, actually, I was the one in error. Also, in collaboration with my fellow judges, I learned to see stories from others’ point of view and to listen to what they felt a story’s strength or weaknesses were.

The winners of the contest were announced earlier today and I wanted to share them with you. The required them was ‘Two Worlds’, so the stories all had to show or connect somehow to that theme. There are some excellent stories and you can read them here:

I have a contest of my own starting later this week, as well as continuing to work on BAD RIVER. I’m hoping to send BAD RIVER out to Beta readers next month in preparation for a writing workshop I’m attending in May (more on that later).

I hope the New Year is treating you well!

Moving Forward

**I originally posted this weeks ago, but it got lost earlier today when I was trying to fix something else. So here it is again. The formatting is all wonky now. Fun times.**

I think many of us can agree that 2016 was an utterly terrifying year for a lot of reasons, and we’ll likely be glad to be done with it. However, 2016 was also a fairly active year for my writing and I hope that continues into the new year.

I have been asked to help judge the Short Fiction Break/The Writing Practice Winter Writing Contest starting in December 2016. Additionally, I am entering a writing contest myself starting in January. In between all of this, I will also be continuing to revise my novel, BAD RIVER, in preparation for beta readers and professional editing later in 2017. And, of course, any other projects that come my way.