Freeing the voices in my head

Posts tagged ‘Fiction’

Weird and Wondering

Interaction with the other people in her life was like living in a horror movie.  She knew something very bad was going to happen every hour, day and night.  She wouldn’t be able to stop it, help or escape, and she would be traumatized for the rest of her life.


Good morning, world.  The above paragraph has been rattling around in my head.  I think it might be a good beginning for a story, a dark story, but the words and idea don’t want to advance any further.


Does it grab the reader? What comes next? Want to write the next paragraph or two or twenty? Go ahead and comment! heh…


Well, writing it out and posting it will hopeflly make it stop looping in my head. Have a lovely Sunday! 🙂

Urgent! Read this, please!

There.  Now that I have your attention, I’ll launch into a shameless plug for a book I just read.  When I’m done extolling the virtues of said book, it would be awesome if you would go order it from the author.  You can find her right here on WordPress (and FaceBook).

We’re bloggers, which means we love to write AND read.  I will often stay up all night reading, but I went even further this time.  I read this book at the bar during karaoke in the semi-darkness, I read it while walking the dogs (and walking into a tree), I read until I finished because it is one of those books you just can’t put down.

Within the first pages, I was engaged, enthralled, eager to learn more.  The descriptive power, the word-play, and the characters pulled me in and I gladly submitted.  I didn’t just read this book – I entered the author’s world and lived there.  As any avid reader knows, that is the best kind of book, of Writing – to leave the (supposedly) Real World behind and submerge into a writer’s creation…That, my friends, is the Art of Writing.

Go now, seek out Melissa Crandall and her book, The Weathercock.  Support this author and her excellent word-crafting!  Enjoy!  😀

Hoisted By Her Own Petard

The Tangled Web of B.L.O.G.

Hoisted By Her Own Petard

The jacket thief had been found and normal secret agent business was still in a lull.  Most of the elite agents of B.L.O.G. indulged in a rare morning to sleep late.  A few took the time to catch up on hobbies and more normal pursuits. High above the unsuspecting sleepers, in the attic of the barracks (which was on the third floor of the large building Marvin, the B.L.O.G. boss, had erected within a gigantic warehouse on the outskirts of town, but that’s his secret) , Doctor Guppa was busy in her secret lab.  Her friend and fellow agent, Saber, had been invited in.

Guppa walked the length of her work table, sniffing at the numerous bubbling flasks suspended over Bunsen burners.  “Oh, excellent. It’s ready.”   She poured the contents of one bottle into two cups.  “Saber, I know I don’t even have to ask – you’ll find the cream in the mini-fridge.  Do you take sugar in your tea?”

Saber nodded, “One lump, please.  And if you tell anyone I drink tea…”

Guppa laughed and finished the statement, “…you’ll shoot me.  I know, dear.  Poor Russian Ralph, but, you know, the eye-patch does add an air to him.”

“Nah, that’s just normal for him.  He hasn’t bathed since the Cold War ended.”  Saber leaned over one of the flasks and sniffed.  “Mmm, this smells good.  Coconut, hibiscus, a hint of saltwater – what is this?”

The scientist gave her friend a wink.  “Insta-Tan in a potion.  Drink one teaspoonful every month and you’ll glow like an island beauty.  Of course, the secret ingredient was provided by Island Bronze, so I must be careful with it. She only gave me enough of her sweat for this batch.”

Saber grinned.  “You’ll make millions, as long as no one else knows the secret.  Good thing your concoctions are nature-based ‘supplements’ – no FDA approval needed.” They both cackled wickedly at that.

“Ah, the life of a secret agent; no one questions what you need to do your job.  Fetch Emma for me, would you?  She’s the only one strong enough to carry all those boxes downstairs in one trip.”

“But, Guppa, she’s a remedial agent and a thief.  How can you trust her?”

“I don’t, dear, but part of her discipline for stealing the jackets and infusing them with my Syrup of Truth Serum is to be my go-fer for six months.   Actually, I admire her
gumption.  I think I shall groom her as my new lab assistant for when you’re out in the field.”

Saber’s grin widened.  “That should be interesting.  Someone new to test your products on.”
She left the lab as Guppa called out, “I apologized for that a hundred times!  And your eyebrows DID grow back!”

Guppa was finishing the note when Saber returned with Emma.  The super-strong trainee scowled at the five boxes by the door.  “I gotta post all of these?”

“Yes, indeed.  Here’s the last packing slip, attach it to that top box.”  Guppa turned back to her burbling potions.  Emma glanced at the note inside the packing slip and read, “Mountain King: Syrup antidote still unstable.  Side effects of the hellsbore include copious sweating, dehydration and possibly death.  Use judiciously. Love, D.G.”  The girl shrugged and sealed the slip.  Hefting the stack of boxes, she turned to go and asked, “How much of this truth serum and antidote does he need?”

Guppa chuckled.  “Oh, none of it for his own use.  I’m sending M.K. a little of this, a little of that…Europe…makes an excellent testing ground.  Careful with that bottom box.  The cherry bombs shouldn’t be jostled.”

“You’re sending our double-double-trifecta agent firecrackers?” Saber asked.

The scientist giggled madly.  “Much more than mere firecrackers.  They look like normal brandied cherries, but mix with alcohol and munch them with your drink and moments later, BOOM!  I do hope M.K. can send me a photo of the results.  Off you go, dear, the post office closes soon.”

Emma tromped out and Saber hopped up on a stool.  There was a commotion by the door and Emma’s voice growled, “Hey, watch where you’re going!”  Talon walked backwards into the lab, shouting, “I was Chewie last night, and the Wookie always wins!”

“What the–” Guppa fumed.  “What part of secret lab do you not understand?”

Saber shook her head.  “It’s Talon, ya know.”

“Of course, my bad.”

Falcon’s sidekick whirled around. “Hi!”  Her yellow cape breezed over the burners, catching on fire.  As she leaped away, one flask slipped and spilled into Saber’s lap.  The elite agent was able to rescue most of the contents and then froze, staring down at her legs. “Um, Guppa?”

Busy dousing the inferno of Talon’s costume with the fire extinguisher while holding the teen down with one foot, the scientist said, “One moment, hon, the flame retardant isn’t working right.  Oh, stop screeching, child, your hair will grow back.  There.  Now, what is it, Saber?”

She turned and joined her friend in staring.  “Hmm, well, that is an interesting side effect.  Perhaps I brewed it too long?  Stop fussing, Saber, I’m sure a turpentine sponge bath will remove the problem.”

Talon leaned over and sniffed.  “Hey, Saber, your legs are bronze!  That’s gonna make it hard to pee!  But you sure smell good!”

The growl from the older agent sent chills running down Talon’s spine.  “You are so lucky my gun has been bronzed, kid.”

Guppa kicked one of Saber’s legs.  The metallic thunk confirmed her fears.  “Yes, I brewed it too long.  While I believe this new effect has potential – spray it on a fleeing villain and stop him cold, and,” she rubbed her hands together, “we could make a bundle selling unique bronze statues!”  Another growl sobered her.  “However, I don’t think having metal legs makes you very useful, Saber.”

Saber snarled, “Antidote, Guppa, now.  I gotta pee – thanks for mentioning it, kid.”

Talon smiled vacantly and wandered over to the other side of the table. “You’re welcome!”

“Talon, since you’re here, fill out these labels.  Even you can’t get into trouble writing out a label,” Guppa ordered.  “Just copy my original instructions onto each one: Island Insta-Tan.  Take one teaspoonful every month.  Swallow only, avoid contact with skin.  Got it?”

“It doesn’t all fit,” Talon whined. “Can I abbreviate?”

Guppa swiped at Saber’s legs with a turpentine soaked rag.  “Yes, yes, whatever.  Oh, good, you wiggled your toes, dear!  And you do have a lovely tan!”

Finally able to move, Saber ran from the lab, vowing never to return, and made a beeline for the nearest bathroom.  Guppa sighed and finished bottling her newest potion.  Talon was pressed into service licking the labels and gluing them on the boxes.  Glue on her tongue did little to stop her incessant babbling.  An hour later, Guppa shooed the chattering teen out of the attic to send the box of tanning potion off in the post and removed the earplugs she’d tucked in her ears after Saber had left.

“Goodness, what a day.  I think this calls for a libation.”  The scientist went to her secret compartment in the attic lab and removed the bottle of 100 year old reserve brandy. She mixed an Alexander, plucking a brandied cherry from one of the two bowls on her work table.  Feet up on her newly bronzed stool, she munched and sighed contentedly.  A moment later, she spit out the cherry and watched it explode on the lab’s floor, leaving a human-sized crater in the hardwood.  “Drat, so distracted I was almost hoisted by my own petard!  Hmm, I should send M.K. a note.  The cherry bombs do have a delightfully explosive taste.”

Two weeks later in a small town in the Netherlands…

“King, my new tanning solution arrived!”   The Mountain King glanced up from his newspaper at his lovely dungeon assistant.  “That’s nice, Igora.  The sun is so bad for your skin.”

The woman peered at the label.  “I think a doctor scrawled this.  Well, my cover as a nurse at the insane asylum has made me adept at interpreting the horrible
handwriting of physicians.  Let’s see, that’s the abbreviation for, hmm, ah-ha, got it.  King dear, do we have a tablespoon?”


(Author’s Note:  A petard is an explosive device that harms others.  To be hoisted by your own petard is to be trapped in your own trap.)

For Whom The Hammer Falls

The Tangled Web of B.L.O.G.

For Whom the Hammer Falls

Smoke curled up from his cigarette, drifting between intermittent snowflakes. There was peace to be found in bad habits; they soothed the nerves, calmed the storm–

“Shivering shins and quivering buns, Winged One, it’s freakin’ cold out here!” Shattering the serenity of the night like a discordant lightning bolt, Talon burst out of the door behind him.

Saber smothered a chuckle in her gloved hand. Super-Jay glimpsed something murderous in the Falcon’s glare and dashed behind his partner. The other two agents backed away, still giggling about Falcon’s buns, leaving him to deal with his sidekick.

Ah, he might hope to wipe clean the weeks of this assignment and begin anew, like an author staring at a blank page of possibilities to create. And yet, would he wipe away the memory of meeting this irritating, clueless bit of froth? She failed at whatever she tried – truly remedial in her skills – yet somehow managed to succeed. She had, after all, found Lady O’s jacket last week and was now enabling the team to enter the dormitory. Perhaps she was his blank page – a clean slate to teach and train. He cocked his head and graced her with a warm smile.

“Good evening, Talon.”

He received a puzzled look, most likely because he rarely greeted her so kindly. She reached up and pressed her palm against his forehead. “Hunh, no fever. M’okay, so Kid Jade’s cover got blown, so she can’t sneak you guys into the dorm. That’s me and Emma’s job.”

“Emma and I,” the Falcon absently corrected. Then, her former statement registered. “Who revealed Jade’s status as a fully trained agent to the trainees?”

Talon’s cheeks attained a color close to the shade of her bright red leotard. “I maybe, sorta, kinda, was telling Emma that Jade let me wear her jacket the other night. Kid’s cool that way! And maybe Thing One mighta heard me and he told Thing Two and she told everybody else!”

Falcon swung his fists behind him and clenched them against his back. It wouldn’t help to slap his silly sidekick; he suspected one of her powers was an inability to feel much pain. Between Talon and the Things, he often wondered why B.L.O.G.’s boss continued to believe there were any secrets regarding the agency. Fortunately, the city loved having a branch of super-agents available; it certainly cut costs in the public service venues.

Of course, Falcon had warned Marvin that the Things had the potential to be dangerous. Alien twins with teleportation and shape-shifting powers needed discipline and training in one of the shielded rooms beneath B.L.O.G. HQ. A pity Marvin thought their antics “cute” and housed them in the trainee dorm with the other remedial agents.

Talon tugged timidly on his cape. “Sorry, Falcon, I’ll try better. So, listen, use the password and we’ll go inside. I’m freezing my,” she glanced down at her flat chest, “bitsy toes out here.”


“Yep. I hope you remember it, cause my noodle’s numb! Ya gotta use the password or Emma won’t let us back in!” She peered furtively at the door.

Then again, Falcon thought, perhaps losing his memory of the past weeks would be a boon. He hoped he would have no memory of the remedial agents’ secret password. “You couldn’t just hold the door open?”

Talon blinked. “But we’re on a mission; gotta make it impossible an’ all!” Guilt flashed across her face and she admitted, “It slipped. My fingers are frozen fish sticks!”

Yes, having a blank page in his memory was definitely looking far more desirable. “Fine, we do it your way, impossible child.” He stalked over to the door. Two knocks, rattle the knob, two kicks, and a baleful brown eye glared at him from the peephole.

“Password,” a girl’s growling voice demanded.

With a sigh, Falcon said, “Xerxes the Xenophobe arrives from Xanadu.”

“Yolanda the Yodeling Yenta greets you. Enter.” The door swung open and Falcon motioned for the others to precede him as he held onto it.

Saber giggled softly as she walked past him. “What are they going to do when they finish the alphabet?” she whispered. “Start reciting strings of numbers?”

“Not. Another. Word. Woman.”

She had the audacity to quip, “Are your buns quivering, dear winged one?” as she hurried up the back stairs.

He pinched the bridge of his nose when Super-Jay murmured, “Maybe the Z password will be Zero the Zebra Zings along?”

The speedster then laughed and clapped Falcon on the shoulder. “Relax, man, we’ll find the thief and be gone. You’ll never have to memorize another ridiculous password. How difficult will it be? They’re in the remedial program and we are the elite corps, can’t hide anything from us. In fifteen minutes, we’ll be back at the Mayhem Club tossing down brewskis and laughing through our tears at this little drama of life.”

“All clear!” Talon sang out.

Her roommate shushed her. “Secret, remember? I have duct tape and a hammer and know how to use them.” Falcon studied the girl as she stared out into the snow. A couple of years older than Talon, dressed in black biker’s leathers, she frowned and slammed the door shut. So much for being sneaky.

She turned to him, the hammer in her hand swinging ominously. “Where is he?”

The demand caught him off guard. “That’s everyone. The rest of the elite agents are busy tonight.”

One steel-toed combat boot hit the door and left a deep dent in the metal. Falcon’s eyebrow quirked up at her strength. He had just been witness to this remedial’s super power and he had to admit he was a tiny bit impressed. His frown returned at her next words. “Busy, yeah, right, I know who he’s busy with. Won’t give me the time of day, but he’ll jump anything else with a vag–gack, why do I bother? All dressed up for that no good spy…I hope Lady O or Kid or Island Bitc-Bronze – whoever! – breaks his pelvis.” Falcon hid a smile and followed the infuriated girl upstairs. Perhaps Wayne Bonn had made a mistake by rejecting this female. Super-strength and a hammer boded ill doings for the Brit.

The noise at the top of the stairs startled him. The door to the common room was open and many young voices were lifted in song: “Happy Belated Birthday to you! Happy –”

Doctor Guppa eased the door shut, a grin on her face as she placed a finger against her lips. “Hi, Falcon,” she whispered, “I brought The Things down from my lab and gathered up the rest of the trainees. I have them all in there, throwing an impromptu belated birthday party. Of course, we don’t know exactly when The Things were born; I do believe Marvin mentioned he found them floating over the dark side of the moon…Anyway, the dorm’s bedrooms are empty, you’re free to search without interruption.” A look of worry crossed her sweet face. “They’re all really nice kids. I hope none of them is the culprit.”

“Have no fear, dear lady,” he intoned in his most heroic voice to ease her concern, “we have no intention of harming the young one, merely invoking a bit of discipline. After all, the jacket was returned.”

“It was?” Emma asked. He had forgotten she was beside him in the hall.

“Yes. Talon found it in the ladies room at the Merry Mayhem.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” Emma muttered. “Come on, everyone split up. We’ll check the rooms down this corridor.”

Falcon had no time to wonder at the heated rage in Emma’s tone – perhaps she just found it unbelievable that Talon could have succeeded at something. After searching a few rooms and coming up empty, he asked the brunette, “Why are you in the remedial program? You’ve been very thorough and seem well trained.”

Emma shot him her usual glare. “Anger issues.” She picked up her hammer. “Let’s go find the other agents. We’ve got nothing here.”

It had been much longer than Super-Jay’s optimistic fifteen minutes. Falcon was tired and his friend’s suggestion to interrogate every trainee separately was not a welcome idea. Saber yawned. “Jay, I’m willing to help in any way, but it’s getting late. We’ll interview them tomorrow.”

Talon bounced up on her toes. “No! The trail grows colder every day! Even now, Doc Guppa and Island Bronze are in danger, for they now have jackets, too! We must seize the evil-doer and end the stealing spree!”

Falcon tried to calm his sidekick. “Your hyperbole is unnecessary. It’s only a jacket.”

“Hidey-hole in the necessary is indeed where I found Lady O’s jacket! She was lucky it was stolen, now I can take her off my list of evil-doers!”

Jay started to correct her and Falcon just shook his head. “Never mind. Once she starts, you’ll be at it all night. I agree with Saber – we’ll save the interviews for another day.”

Emma shoved her hammer through her belt. “Fine. Get out now, I’ll lock up behind you.” She stomped back downstairs. Talon nattered at the other two agents as they obediently followed. “Dontcha wanna stay for the rest of The Things’ birthday party?! I know we aren’t allowed alcohol, but some of us like to pretend. We’re gonna do that play – To Beer or Not to Beer!”

Saber laughed. “Trainees butchering Hamlet? Um, no thanks!”

Talon’s face fell into a pout and she flounced back up to the party. As he turned, thinking to reassure her, Falcon glimpsed a torn piece of paper fluttering to the floor from Emma’s back pocket. The tough girl was back to glaring out at the night, watching the older agents leave. She didn’t see him pick the scrap of paper up.

Back at the Merry Mayhem, Jay sprang for the beer, regaling Saber with stories of his travels abroad. Falcon enjoyed a cold beer, drawing faces in the dewy condensation of the glasses. He remembered Emma’s note and pulled it from his pocket. For a second, he was staring at a blank page, and then, with a chuckle and a soft murmur, “Only had a couple of glasses, wake up, old man,” he turned it over.

The page had been torn in half, the letters written in an angry scrawl:

My love is blind and has no hope,
He whom I love is such a dope.
I always get my man,
In any way I can.

He hangs up on all my calls,
Ask not for whom the hammer falls,
My heart bleeds, why can’t he see?
The hammer falls on thee.

For each lover he takes,
My heart further breaks.
Each one will pay, but
Not by the hammer’s way.

“Silly piece of drivel,” Super-Jay drawled, leaning over his shoulder.

Falcon jerked and the paper drifted from his fingers. “Jay, give a man a heart attack, why don’t you?!”

Jay grinned. “Aw, this’ll help you; got more beer.” He left the fresh glass next to the empties and trotted back over to the bar. “Who has the next round?”

A familiar accented voice croaked, “I do, my good man. In fact, I’ll spring for the next three rounds. Keep them coming.” Bonn gingerly sat in the chair opposite the Falcon, and wincing, muttered to himself, “Bad choice of words.”

Saber called out, “Gee, James, you look like you were ridden hard and put away wet! Anything I can do to help?” She laughed when Double-Aught-Naught merely groaned and thumped his head on the table. Falcon chuckled, his spirits rising at the thought of teasing the supposedly unflappable Bonn all night.

Bonn retrieved Emma’s ugly little poem, his eyes widening. “Ah, Falcon? Where did you get this?”

He explained the fruitless trip to the remedial agents’ dorm. Bonn grew more alert when Falcon revealed who the paper belonged to. He tugged the torn matching bottom half from his own pocket. “I found this last week, haven’t had a chance to read it yet, been busy, you see. It fell out of the stolen jacket.”

They leaned forward and read the other half of the poem:

That I reserve only for him.
The women get truth serum.
Guppa’s Syrup of Truth,
Smeared in a spot most uncouth.

Absorbed by their skin,
From the jacket they’re in,
The effect will wear off, I suppose,
But not until they’ve exposed,

Every body he’s ever been in!

“Well, damn, I do believe we’ve found our culprit!” Falcon crowed. “Back to the dorms, team, Emma is our thief!”

Bonn quickly pulled out his trans-cross-receiver phone pen. “Hello, Guppa, my dear? Is there an antidote for your Syrup of Truth Serum?”

Plot Footsie

The Tangled Web of B.L.O.G.

Remedial Agents

She entered the Merry Mayhem Club in a black leather jacket, plain white tee shirt and torn jeans, her walk a confident saunter as she strode up to the mahogany bar.  The effect she had on the men was like a diaphoretic hitting their skin – sweat immediately gleamed on every brow.  He had to admit he could feel it, too.  She was Venus walking barefoot across his senses.
He moved over and offered her his spot; his reward a tight smile and brief nod.  Lifting his martini glass, he said, “Good evening.  My name is Bonn, Wayne Bonn, at your service.”
Her lips lifted in a mocking smile and one eyebrow quirked, catching the pun of his code name.  “I’m Jade, ‘Kid’ Jade, and I’ll have whatever that is.”
Bonn nodded.  “Well, ‘Kid’ Jade, I’m honored.  You’re new here?”  He motioned to the barkeep, Gamester.  “Another martini, shaken, not stirred.”
Jade turned her back to the bar, and him, without answering.  She leaned against the wood, a casual pose her narrowed eyes gave lie to as she watched the entrance to the club.  Bonn gently nudged her, offering her the drink, and asked, “Looking for someone?”
“Meeting a few friends.  Thanks for the drink.”  She left it untouched and strolled over to an empty booth in a dark corner.  Gold letters on the back of her jacket read “Top B.L.O.G.”
Chilly condensation dripped through Bonn’s fingers as his smile slipped awry.  “Ah, one of those,” he murmured, tamping down a hint of envy – someday, he would have an elite B.L.O.G. jacket…and more.  Not one to waste liquor, Bonn placed the glass within easy reach for his next round and surreptitiously spied on Jade from his end of the bar.
She slipped off the jacket as a woman marched in, trailed by a man in a sleek black jumpsuit.  “It was mine, you see, I won it fair and square.  I’m allowed to keep it and wear it in public.  We are, after all, the benevolent guardians of this city,” the lovely lady declared.
Ah-ha, Bonn thought, the plot thickens.  He had seen these two at HQ, before the unfortunate karaoke incident at the Abattoir Bar & Grill last week.
The Falcon swept the wing-like folds of his black cape over his shoulders and tugged the hooded mask off his head.  Since the club’s only patrons were B.L.O.G. agents, he could relax within and reveal his face.  “I’m certain it is merely a misunderstanding, Lady O.  I believe you, we all do at HQ, your work is exemplary and you earned the jacket.  It is unfortunate that you brought it from your vault to wear today, but I assure you, we will–”
“—find it!  We are the Tenacious Two, the Holmes at Home of Headquarters, fired up and good to go!  There’s a plot afoot and criminals best be afraid, be very afraid!”  The interruption was less startling than the person spouting it.  She struggled through the door, having trouble with the weight of it, her outlandish garb more fitting for a nursing home than a swanky club.
She limped along behind the other two, her neon-green fuzzy bunny slippers having seen better days.  The bright red pajamas she was wearing were at least two sizes too large and her tattered, faded yellow bathrobe did little to complement her attire.  A frizzy mane of hair that looked akin to a demented poodle’s unfortunate encounter with a light socket shrouded her face.  Bonn suspected the visage beneath was as unpleasant as the rest of her.
Falcon winced and hurried Lady O away from the entrance.  “There is no escaping her.  I used stealth-mode to come meet you, leaving the accouterments of my Sherlocking trade behind.  Not that I believe a magnifying glass or pipe will aid me in this case–”
“—Aw, you don’t play the accouterment or bagpipes, Falcon!”  The interruption brought another wince.
“That’s an accordion and I meant my marvelous Meerschaum smoking pipe, Talon, and no, I don’t play those instruments, I play the violin.  Will you please do something about your appearance?  You’re an embarrassment to the echelon – Marvin will never award you points to win a Top B.L.O.G. jacket when you step out in public like that.”
The odd-bit limped into Bonn’s vicinity and he shuddered away from the grimy fabric of her bathrobe at her next words.  “I got rid of that embarrassing etch last month with Blue’s Bumbrulee Creme!  And, gosh, Falcon, I’m incontinent, um, you know…”
Again the winged one winced and corrected his ditzy sidekick.  “You’re incognito, in disguise, and I’d spank you for sneaking about after me if I could be sure you weren’t wearing Depends just to be truly authentic.”
Talon’s voice grew happier.  “Gee, thanks, Falcon, and yes, you can depend on me, but my Insta-Change power didn’t make me really old – no twisting of the joints, so I don’t have authentic.”
“Arthritis!”  The hiss contained the leashed rage of a raptor intent on ripping apart his prey.
Bonn thought it best to interject before the club found it necessary to change its name to that of the Abattoir Bar down the street.  Quoting Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, he told Talon, “’You’re not a moron.  You’re a case of arrested development.’  And I do believe a spot more training might clear up your problem.”
Talon’s hands shot up to paw under her hair at her face.  “I don’t have any spots!  I used Emma’s Oxy-moron this morning, honest!  She lemme borrow it and it’s legal, so you don’t have a case and can’t arrest me!”  A tiny sob escaped her.
Bonn’s brow climbed up his forehead, but he didn’t bother mentioning her mangling of the acne product’s name.  She was Falcon’s sidekick and it was the super-hero’s job to mend her misguided mind.  He grinned at his winged friend and offered him Jade’s untouched martini.  “I would say you need this more than I.  Your patience is admirable, my good man.”
Falcon downed the drink in one gulp while Talon shuddered beside him.  Bonn, looking concerned, tried to peek under the mass of tangled tresses without touching her. “Whatever is wrong with the woma-um-child?”
She shook all over, her clothes glowing, her skin decidedly as diaphoretic as the menfolk had been earlier at the sight of Jade.  Rivulets of sweat poured off her body as she cried, “I’m tired of living the lie!  I am not an old woman!  I want to be young and pretty again!”  There was a poof of damp fog, smelling of rancid body odor and rotting celery, and Falcon fanned it away with his cape.
Talon the Teen Terror was revealed in her garishly colored costume — red leotard, yellow cape and neon-green boots — Bonn blinked rapidly to clear his watering eyes.  The girl sighed and checked the bar’s mirror for any stray wrinkles, or perhaps zits, on her face.  “Ah, I’m feeling much better now!  Gotta love that Insta-Change!  Maybe Guppa can mix it up into a new product to go with her Migraine Mix!”
Falcon shook his head.  “I’d like to ignore her, but she’s apt to get into more trouble if I do.”
Talon nodded.  “I’m very adept with bubbles!”
Lady O frowned at the girl.  “Er, Falcon, do you think she might have a hearing problem?  It would explain the shouting and all.”
“Nearing Dublin out in the fall?  No, I haven’t been to Ireland!”  With that, Talon trotted off to the rest room.
“She’s exhausting, how do you do it?” Lady O asked.
“Valium is my friend, no, just kidding, her roommate, Emma, usually keeps her in line with duct tape and a hammer.”
“You don’t say?  By the way, I have spotted a jacket much like yours, Lady O,” Bonn said.  “The lethal lovely in the back booth–”
“Kid!”  Lady O hurried over and the men followed.  “You found my jacket?”
Kid Jade hushed them, her eyes hard.  “No, this one’s mine, but I think I know who took yours, Lau-er-Lady.  Why do you all insist on using your code names all the time?”  No one answered, their eyes darting anywhere but her face.  “Fine, whatever.  I’m glad you agreed to meet me here – away from any curious ears at the compound.  Sit down. I’ve been undercover to scope out a thief among us.  Someone is playing a dangerous game.  We need to be detectives and find out the truth.”
All eyes fastened on Bonn.  “What?  Spy, detective, sometimes light-fingered; that describes every B.L.O.G. agent.  It isn’t me.  I’ve been here all day, Gamester can vouch for me.”
Jade shook her head.  “You’re already an excellent agent, no, this person is in the remedial agent program – poor showing across the board, you see – and jealous of the successful elite agents.”  She absently caressed the soft leather of her award jacket.  “I believe he or she is the one behind the theft.  It’s why I was assigned to go undercover in the trainee dorm.  The remedials didn’t know me.”
Bonn saw a slim opening.  “Ah, so you were transferred here from the East Coast B.L.O.G. HG?”
Lady O spoiled his ploy.  “Who could it be?” she moaned before Jade could reply to Bonn.  “I can’t imagine one of our friends stealing it.”
“Now who’s hard of hearing?  It isn’t someone from your elite branch.  You know the kind of misfits they get in the remedial program…”  Jade trailed off as Talon skipped out of the bathroom, waving a black leather jacket.
“I’m a happy wannabe Holmes, for-sleuth, lookit what I found behind the toilet!”
Falcon whispered to Lady O, “We’ll get it dry-cleaned.”
Talon handed the jacket over.  With a happy sigh, Lady O used napkins to touch it as she bundled it into a to-go bag.  From the corner of his eye, Bonn saw a slip of paper fall from the pocket.  As the group stood up, chattering about how to break into the remedial agents’ dormitory to find evidence of covert operations, the double-secret agent palmed the tiny memo.
No need to share the intel just yet.  If he could solve the case, he just might have a chance at a date with Jade, or, at the very least, a shot of nabbing a jacket of his own.

The Tangled Web of B.L.O.G.

A while ago, I did a series of story-type blogs in a writing group.  They were wacky, fun to write, and very well-received.  So many of the good people in that group encouraged me to expand the stories and look into doing more, or possibly try for publication.  Knowing I’m a procrastinator and would never stay focused enough to work on two manuscripts, I put them aside to concentrate on my novel manuscript.  Shortly after that, our computer’s security had issues with MySpace and blocked me from entering.  The computer then crashed, hard drive fried.  I didn’t have printed copies of those stories and assumed they were gone, never to be accessed or found by me again.

Last night, I was checking downloads and found them.  I had forgotten that our son had transferred them to a flash drive and then onto this computer (at least, I’m assuming that’s what happened.  He did try to save everything he could from the old hard drive; I have no idea what he did or how he did it!).  I still like those stories.  I’m going to share them here and hope you like them, too!  😀



The “Wing” roared through the stormy night, its occupants keeping their eyes peeled for any trouble in the red light district.

“Unholy hot-cross nuns’ buns, O winged one!  Lookit that!”

The blurted cry from the passenger seat startled him and his black-booted foot slipped from the accelerator.  The manual transmission gave an ugly caw as the super-charged car nicknamed the “Wing” lurched to a stop.

With a snarl, the driver glared at his passenger.  “I’m seriously reconsidering taking you on as my sidekick, Tia.  Your penchant for inanity is giving me a migraine.”

The girl wriggled in her seat, trying to claw open her hero-belt.  “Aw, come on, ya gotta call me Talon – it’s an awesome sidekick name!”  She succeeded in fetching a flat tin from her belt, but had torn the Spandex of her bright red costume with the three-inch steel claws on her fingertips.  As she used that hand to hold her leotard together, she handed him the tin and said, “Here, try this: Guppa’s Mega Migraine Mix!  It totally rocks!”

He flinched and the tin fell open in his lap, spilling a pink granular powder all over his sleek black uniform.  “I am not ingesting some headache powder mixed up by B.L.O.G.’s resident mad scientist.   Take those ridiculous claws off before you hurt yourself, and must you always speak in exclamation points?”

Her smile was sunny and clueless.  “I only penchanted this stuff today; I’m sure I haven’t bought any inanity!  But who knows what Doc Guppa puts in that shi-um-stuff!”

He shook his head.  “You mean you purchased this, not penchant, and you can’t buy inanity; I believe you were born with it.”

Her smile grew to a grin.  “Oh, gosh – see, I’m workin’ on not swearin’ so much – dear winged one, you say the sweetest things!”

“Speaking of saying things – and I know I’m going to regret asking – but what brought about this latest outburst of yours?”

She bounced around in her seat, pointing to the bar a block behind them.  “Oh, that!  There’s a bunch of nuns hanging out on the stools, passing time at the Abattoir!  And I’m pretty sure I saw their garters!  Plus, I saw the blue-faced guy, Navish, and his woman, Lady O, hustling our Saber and Kid Jade inside!  What does the ‘O’ stand for?  Is it a dirty word?  The file on her is real thin, so’s the one on Navish!  They didn’t look very happy!”

He rubbed his temples.  “I appreciate your eagle-eyed ability to keep a look-out for nefarious ne’er-do-wells, but just because a man paints his face blue doesn’t mean he is evil.  Their files are thin because they are merely persons of interest who might be suitable for recruitment.   Also, you must learn to be more specific.  Who didn’t look very happy?”

His sidekick shoved open her door.  “The girls, of course!  We have to rescue them!  That blue-faced monster is gonna force them to do something terrifically terrible!”  She slammed the door, ruining her heroic vault to the sidewalk as her canary yellow cape yanked her back against the car.

He wearily exited the driver’s seat and walked around to rescue Tia-er-Talon from the clutches of the cape caught in the passenger door.  “You are making assumptions.  Navish is an old friend.  I know you think he stole the super-speed formula from me because he now has the ability to type out blogs at a phenomenal rate, but we have no evidence.  As for Lady O, you are letting your envy of her cloud your judgment.”

Talon stamped one neon-green clad bootie.  “Nuh-uh!  It’s Tuesday! You know what happens on Tuesdays at that slimy armpit-hole of a bar!  It’ll be a slaughter!  Like a bunch of zombies from Night of the Living Dead!  Or innocent virgins thrown in to be dinner for the Creature from the Black Lagoon!  We have to save them!”

He realized she was right.  “Tuesday?  Those sweet angels must be rescued from such distress!  Onward!”  He took two steps, caught Talon as she bounced off a parking meter, and muttered, “By the way, I’m revoking your television viewing privileges – no more Fright Night Fridays for you.”

They made it into the Abattoir without further mishaps.  By that time, the nuns had sauntered inside, feeling up the crowd and smoking cigars.  “We’re too late!” Talon gasped as they shoved past Island Bronze, Super-Jay and Gamester.  The local agents just shook their heads – their sympathy knotted his stomach; yes, he was trying out yet another side-kick, but it was not his fault that they kept dying on him.  Crime-fighting was a dangerous game and he had yet to convince his superior to stop saddling him with idiots.  “Damn Marvin, I’m sure he hails from another planet.”

The Caftan Cowboy was on the stage, a strangely glowing necklace bouncing against his voluminous caftan.  He stumbled off-stage as Navish and his Lady O urged Saber and Kid Jade into the spotlight.  DJ M’k grinned wickedly as he motioned for them to each grab a microphone, and stroked the beads around his neck.  M’k’s excellent sidekick Boomie began to play.  The karaoke monitor attached to the boombox had a glowing strand of beads draped across the unit’s housing.

The words scrolled across the screen, hypnotizing the innocent girls, their lips forced to move to the beat, their voices rising in off-key harmony.  Our hero thanked his hooded mask for having excellent muffling qualities and leaped forward.  The rest of the crowd slumped in their seats or to the floor, succumbing to the soul-deadening strains of the horrific karaoke standard “Feelings.”   A lone voice – he thought it might have been Ms. Tex – cried, “Freebird!” before fading into a snore.

As he swept the girls beneath the wings of his cape to release them from the siren sleep of the song, Talon plunged onto the stage, tripping over a pick-pocketing nun, and landed on Boomie with a crash.

Silence fell, except for a few snores, and the Singing Nuns Gang dashed away.  DJ M’k blinked off the evil trance as our hero went around tearing glowing rosaries off of the patrons.  Talon shook her finger at him.  “Even I know better than to accept gifts from smokin’ hot nuns who hang out in bars!  You really gotta find a different cover career until we nail this singing nun gang!”

A black-gloved hand patted her shoulder.  “Our work here is done, Talon.  The birds have flown the coop.  Off we go to the next…um, M’k, what are the other bars that have karaoke on Tuesdays?”

And so it goes, the Winged Wonder, our beloved Falcon, and his Teen Talon fly through the night to save our wallets (and souls) from garter-slung nuns!

(With apologies to all comic book creators and fans!  I couldn’t resist!  Some names have been changed to protect not-so-innocent ME!) 😀


(With very few changes, this is the original blog that started the madness.  I may flesh it out or I may not.   As it is, I fear losing them to another computer accident and will probably continue posting them!  *wicked cackling*…)


I don’t know what to write, if I’ll write more, do a real blog post today.

You see, I was proofing and polishing a part of my manuscript, an intense scene where the villain had a woman strapped to a chair.  Now, he had to make sure she could not move her hands or mouth, speak or articulate any words at all.  I used three paragraphs describing this, carefully crafting how he used duct tape around her jaw and over her head, across and around her throat…

I snort at movies  that show a captive gagged with one piece of tape or cloth.  So stupid.  It’s easy to make a lot of loud noises, including articulate words, that way.  Believe me, I know (and you really don’t want to know why I know).  There are so many moving parts, so many ways we express speech and sound, so if you want your captive to be absolutely silent, you have to stop all those parts from moving.

A ball of cloth shoved down the throat, the classic taping of the lips, something tied around the mouth – done?  Nope.  Hold that jaw still by wrapping the head like a mummy.  Now?  Nope, sorry, you’ve got vocal chords to contend with, so you need to wrap something around your captive’s neck, almost to the point of choking him/her.  There…oops, those lungs and diaphragm can still vibrate, sending out sound.  Tape ’em up tight, like you would tape up broken ribs.  Ahhh….

And then, it hit me.  This particular villain wouldn’t bother with all that.  It’s okay for his captive to make sounds, but he cannot let her speak or make words.  So, I trashed all three paragraphs, throwing off the rhythm of the rest of the chapter, and had my villain just eat her tongue.  After all, he IS a cannibal…