Hi, friends! I forgot to mention last week, but I am now on vacation! I won’t be posting again until June 18th, but I promise some fun goodies when I get back. Until then, happy writing!
Hey, look! It’s been another year and I still haven’t managed to get thrown off the internet! *flings confetti*
To celebrate, I’ll be posting three times this week (today, Wednesday, and Friday). Since I haven’t put up any new short stories in a long while, I’ll put up a fresh short on each of those days. So don’t forget to check back again Wednesday and Friday! Happy writing!
Story one: This was written with many regrets at the prompting of my husband, although I have to say, he was very confused with the direction I went with his prompt. I’ve never actually smuggled chihuahuas across the US-Canada border, but I once crossed the border with an apple core in my garbage bag that had actual seeds still in it, so I figure that’s close enough. I can handle myself.
But seriously, everything about this story is so stupid, including the title. I’m sorry, internet.
A Very Poor Career Choice
I know, I know. Of all the things to sneak across a border, chihuahuas are not topping anyone’s Most Smuggled list. But where there’s a demand, there’s a market, and where there’s a stiff tariff, there’s a black market.
A smarter guy would have told his friend no. A smarter guy would have found real work, preferably in front of an air conditioner. But I’ve never been known for my smarts.
I’d run the smelly little yappers across the border a few times already, under the watchful guidance of my buddy Steve, who’s been in this sort of business since our sophomore year of college. They’d been perfectly simple jobs. After all, we were skipping the border between Smallville, USA and Tiny Town, Canada. Not exactly tight security. We picked the little guys up mid-nap, crated them, stacked a few duffle bags on top and, voila! Fifty pooches and five thousand dollars later, we were on our way home. No sweat.
So maybe that’s why it came as such a surprise when, on the first run I attempted without Steve, I showed up ready to crate the dogs, only to find them all wide awake, yapping like maniacs to see me.
I glared at them, imaging what a beautiful arc one would make if I punted it across the warehouse. Then I turned my glare back up to the supplier. “Why are they awake?”
He shrugged, not-my-problem just oozing out of his pores. “Ran out of the stuff.”
I was pretty sure it was a lie. I shook my head. “I can’t take fifty noisy little rats across the border like this.”
He shrugged again.
I whipped out my cell phone and dialed Steve. But Steve wouldn’t answer, probably working his way through an entire paycheck at a skeezy bar. And since he still hadn’t told me anything about who he worked for, I was officially out of options.
To read the full story, go here!
FINALLY got my all art stuff set up on my new laptop, so I can get back into practice with the drawing tablet. So have some stick figures, whee! And in case you’re wondering, yes, this is the same guy from Trope Fail: YA Love Interest. The guy’s got issues. (By the way, things didn’t work out with Katie.)
Not sure why I thought my handwriting font would be on the new computer, but I was deeply disappointed when it wasn’t. *sulks*
Well, this last week kind of kicked me in the patootie! There was my birthday, and work, and an important deadline, and a tragedy within my husband’s high school community, and a sick kiddo, and just life in general. So instead of the more thoughtful birthday blog post I had planned to share about some writing swag (hooray presents! happy birthday, me!), I’m gonna give myself a pass and simply post a terrible and unedited and kind of sappy poem that I wrote while rocking said sick child to sleep. I haven’t posted any of my writing for a while (which is maybe something of a relief?), but I’ll post this now with the promise of something a little more substantial next week.
You guys are lovely. Happy writing!
Cheeks red with fever, hair damp with sweat,
Panting like a puppy in the sun.
I am pinned beneath you to this rocking chair,
Thinking of when you were tiny,
Thinking of when you fit in my belly,
And listening worriedly to your breaths.
You fuss and struggle and whine,
And I whisper and sing all the lullabies you liked best
When our days were tallied by diapers and feedings.
Finally, you settle with your hot cheek
Against my left breast
And you quiet and you drift to sleep.
Your ear over my heart, I wonder
If you hear it and you think
Of peace and warmth and water,
And of when you were tiny,
And of when you fit in my belly,
My pulse thrumming through the walls,
My breaths rising and falling like a tide.
How could a child stay awake
When revisiting that place
On a fevered night, like a dream?
Your breaths smooth, and your cheeks cool,
And even though I am tired, and should go to bed,
I stay with you curled close to my heart,
Knowing the spell will break like the fever,
And only I will remember this moment.
Holidays, man. They’s be busy times.
I just imagine Christmas music blasting from an old ’90s CD player the whole time: “Sleigh bells riiiiiiing! Are you listenin’?”
After a week and a half of couch surfing across Anchorage, I am SO HAPPY to be home.