I hate to be crass and go all commercial, but…
To any publisher or agent in search of talent without representation or references:
Please allow me to introduce my latest project, currently 133 stories strong-
Flash on the Page
Consider this a condensed soup for the soul, only prepared by a solitary chef. A hundred and one short stories for a rainy day; tiny tidbits of water cooler gossip for those that lack the nerve to peek in their neighbor’s windows; each tale with a moral, sigh, or laugh to be had for minimal investment of the reader’s precious time.
To give the editor’s pen ample space for slashing I’ve created and continue to create over 100 stories, each 250 words long. (Half a computer page-hence the title) Each written to be a quick pick-me up; a reminder that love, hope, or faith is never wasted; and/or mind teaser to get those little grey cells moving and debates rolling.
At the very least it would make an intriguing addition to any waiting room. Take once a day or five times an hour as needed, no prescription required.
What follows is a portion for your perusal; just to wet your appetite:
A mundane janitor with the simple ambition of being happy someday had been cleaning the offices of Muldar and Kline for almost a year. One particular desk received his special attention, the one occupied by Jennifer.
What caught his eye were her baby blues. Love at first glance of the portrait framed upon her desktop. A soul captured on film next to her nameplate; lucky pet cuddling with a wide-eyed expression of pure delight.
He worked the night, she the day. Never once met, yet the heart wants what it wants. So he pined away for months as he buffed the halls, she worked her 40 never knowing he was alive.
Until one fine day he decided he just stand by and a man of little consequence became one of action. After dusting her computer he turned it on and left the following message for her eyes to gaze upon: Wanted: A blue-eyed angel. Someone who has a love for animals, who has room in their heart to love one more.
And so it began-a game of cat and mouse; a secret admirer and his curious admiree. He continued to discretely woo her from afar. She toyed with everyone she could get her hands on hunting for him.
Love did conquer all. She stalked out her workstation. He couldn’t resist. The two met, chemistry ensued, and happily ever after followed. You can sit back and watch life pass you by, but you never know until you try.
Beware the Bride
Buffy, the bride to be, had spent nearly a month chewing nails, grinding teeth, and twirling hair as high anxiety drove her crazy. Unfortunately, with the nincompoops and imbeciles she was dealing with, her fairytale come true was proving to be mission impossible.
First off, her monthly visitor was late causing one bastard of a panic attack. Then invitations were returned due to illegible calligraphy. Next the reception hall had to be rebooked due to their coordinator’s failure to read a calendar. The cake’s architecture varied from two tiers to five as everyone invited actually RSVp’d that they’d be there. (Most of the acquaintances invited in hopes of sending gifts in lieu of themselves) Consequently the father of the bride was looking into a second mortgage to finance it all.
The nearer the set date, the more drastic things became and the more dramatic the frantic bride. The bridal Shoppe sent a gown two sizes too small creating a massive hysteria. Her “perfectly” matched set of glass slippers shattered one heel. Her dainty little nose grew a troll’s wart of a zit the very night before leading to a night of tossing and turning resulting in bags under her tear-filled eyes. The minister called in sick as unpredicted rain fell. The “best” man lost the rings until a knee to his groin refreshed his memory.
Ironically one year later, and on every anniversary thereafter, their wedding was consistently referred to as the happiest day of her life.
Bitter Blue Violet
On her front porch, rocking in swing built for two, sits Violet Palmer. Dressed in a powder blue cotillion gown in a fashion of days gone by, initialed handkerchief in hand, she pines for what should have been.
The letters A.B. are the only clue to his secret identity for she had sworn to never speak his name. She’s called him a sinister scoundrel, skunk, snake, sneak, slime ball, schnook, schmuck, scum-sucking slob, and that’s just the “S”’s.
Violet’s stuck in time; at a moment when her world collapsed; when he who she set as her sun, deserted her for another. She’s given up on love; spending a lifetime in the shadows not allowing warmth to ever again brighten her doorstep.
Some call her insane; others think her a true romantic. The youth tend to ridicule her whereas the wise pity her. Reporters have tried to get her story only to be shooed away by broomstick and heel. Bible Thumpers have prayed for her salvation only to be verbally torn to damnation. Those that have attempted to help her have only concluded no good deed goes unpunished. Still, none will deny her broken heart has never mended.
Nobody knows how old she is, and she’s not saying, however she appears as old as the South itself. Many say she witnessed Atlanta burn. Her neighbors claim her withered touch is as cold as her heart. Her frown only adds to her wrinkles; her cantankerous ways to her legend.
Madeline thought her time was up just around the corner. You would think that such a dilemma would ruin her life; instead it had the reverse effect.
Maddy didn’t bother with the niceties. She spoke her mind and put her money exactly where her mouth went. As a result everyone respected her as well as feared her. You see, people rarely like to hear the truth. They prefer to live in denial.
Much to Madeline’s amazement she kept on ticking, much to her fellow citizens’ dismay. The local preacher was reminded of his philandering ways while upon his pulpit. The police chief busted for a few of his misdemeanors amid his reelection campaign. A congressman was reminded that he got elected because of a stand against a bill he just helped pass. Relentless Madeline even uncovered the school principal’s second job as an exotic dancer.
The truth might set some free, but it nearly got Maddy lynched. Up in arms most of the town’s elders made it very difficult for her to get by. Tickets for so much as touching a yellow line, property tax assessments twice what they should be, and the most vicious of glares while in line at the supermarket were only the beginning of her problems.
Yet Madeline persisted in her honest ways. She found the truth too liberating to let go. Today she works at a job she never dreamed possible-a reporter for a renown national publication. She loves every minute of it.
You ever get the feeling that you had no where to turn; as if you were cornered and had no choice but to capitulate? Sometimes you have to admit when you’ve been outsmarted, outmaneuvered, and outclassed. It would be Becky who’d bring Buster down to his knees.
Working as a bouncer at a strip club named The Sweet Box, Buster was a big brawling brute; the type of guy who crushed off-duty professional football players for sport. Becky was the pipsqueak, shy, mousey little thing that worked as cook in back.
Removing unwanted low-tipping mashers from climbing all over the girls translated into his choice of exotic dates after hours; a benefit he took full advantage at every opportunity.
His heroic efforts didn’t go unnoticed in behind the scenes. Becky set her sights on climbing Mt. Buster. But how was she to win him over from all those silicone infested Barbie dolls? It would take some time…and considerable planning.
First off she had to eliminate the competition. A small rumor of a highly contagious sexual embarrassment worked remarkably well. Next she had to get his attention. Since plastic surgery was out of question, she went the more traditional to his heart via his stomach route. Guilting him to call home on Mother’s Day, Becky made sure to note the number. She called and a conspiracy to get grandchildren soon grew. It was short work from then on. A little inside information and home cooking goes a long way.