Archive for October, 2011

My Aunt Sophie was the hip, single aunt my parents were always lecturing. What I remember most was when Aunt Sophie would stop by at night and come into my room to tell a bedtime story, usually a twisted version of a fairy tale.

She would perch on the bench by the open window. Cigarette in one hand, blowing smoke outside. My parents, non-smokers would have kicked her bleached blond, mini skirt wearing butt if they had known.

Cinderella went to the ball alright, but wound up making out with Prince Charming in some closet somewhere. Aunt Sophie would toss her hair and stare out into the night, smiling.

I imagine now most of the “fairy tales” she told were actually taken from her single dating life. It was after all the 70’s.

Looking back on Aunt Sophie’s stories there’s one thing I find mildly disturbing, the story she told me about Snow White seducing the dwarfs? I try not to think about that one too much. If she was Cinderella, she was probably Snow White too.

Images courtesy Rodrigo Lazzarini.


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Whenever my fellow writers and I visit other author organizations, invariably they have us each stand, give our names and our genre. My friends always go first. They’re all sweet and genteel and wouldn’t consider saying anything untoward.

“I write regency.”

“I write inspirational.”

“I write paranormal.”

And then they come to me. You should know this, but I’ll tell you just in case you haven’t realized, I can’t be normal or demure.

“I write …. Prehistoric Erotica. I have two titles out. Once You Go Rhino You Never Go Back to Dino and Is That a Brontosaur Bone Under Your Loin Cloth or Are You Just Glad to See Me?”

This always creates a disruptive moment when cell phones are whipped out to search for the aforementioned titles with no success. So when I saw these images by Rodrigo Lazzarini, I knew it was perfect for my someday project. The Bones of Yesterday Chronicles.

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Ran into Gert again, the 80 year old chain smoking erotica author. I asked her about her work.

“Yea, I was writing erotica back when it came in brown paper bags.” She tossed the lime and salt aside and down a tequila shot straight. The only way I got her to let me interview her was to challenge her to a tequila shot contest.

I drank my shot, wincing. “So you’ve been writing about people in love for a long time?”

“No, I’ve been writing about people having heart stopping sex for a long time. Write what you know and this I know.” She blew a succession of smoke rings. “Ready for another.” She was already two shots¬†ahead.

“Sure.” I gagged on another.

She grabbed my lime and tossed it to the bar tender. “When do you get off handsome?”

“And you’ve been successful.” I tried to draw her back to the conversation.

“It’s no Harry Potter, but I’ve gone ok. Which reminds me my next title is coming out – Gordan and His Little Wizard.”

I don’t remember much after the fifth shot. I woke up on an old sofa with lint stuck to my face.

I don’t know if I learned a lesson, other than don’t try to out drink an 80 year old chain smoking, whiskey¬†drinking, man hunting author.

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To the caller of 8:00 a.m. meeting –

Early and I are rarely in the same meeting. We don’t like each other. We are not friends. Early frequently ridicules me and Morning just eggs him on.

And no you cannot bribe me with Breakfast Food. I know Breakfast Food and I go way back and get along quit well, but I refuse to be bribed…

Pass me Mr. Bagel and his girlfriend Cream Cheese.

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