Hi there, shieks and shebas. Welcome to Jazz Age Wednesdays. Horsefeathers! Look at that date… June is more than half over, and I still haven’t gotten back to work on finalizing my third Roaring Twenties novel about Pip and Granny.
Magazine cover, circa 1920
Maybe it’s hard to have my head in two different eras at once (meaning the Brother Love serial is set in the late 1950s). Maybe it’s that I’ve had “issues” (I’ve blogged about some) in my new location. Maybe it’s a lot of work for one person to move across the country, and do all the work of settling into an older home. (At this rate it will take me two years.)
Anyhow, I’ll stop beating my gums and get to the point. While I try to get back to the Jazz Age and finalize A Ghost in the Kitchen, I thought it might be fun to go back to the beginning. Here’s a link to the moment on August 3,2013 when the 1920s setting for these stories was conceived.
Three Things Serial
1 — Oscillating Fan, Scent, Cowboy
Oscillating Fan, by Dan Antion
Tic, tic, tic, grunt. Tic, tic, tic, grunt. The noise chipped away at her preoccupied mind while she absently gazed at the quiet street below. It was Sunday, so hardly anyone was out. A little boy in a cowboy costume came around the corner.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
It’s still May and #GetCaughtReading Month! Chris Graham, the Story Reading Ape, and I got together to support this initiative that promotes the fun of reading for all ages.
I meant our short story last week to be a single episode. However, with an ongoing (and itchy) allergy problem distracting me, I’m having trouble getting my head into the Pip-verse so that I can finish preparing A Ghost in the Kitchen for launch. So, I hoped writing a little more on this story would help.
Artie, the genius time traveling chimpanzee is back today. If you missed Pip and Artie Aghast at a Ghost, click the link. I hope you Get Caught Reading this! All right then, let’s get a wiggle on and head to the Jazz Age!
Pip and Artie — Aghast at a Ghost
Part 2 — Epilogue
Artie, courtesy of Chris Graham
Nothing ever kept my grandmother down for long. Arty looked brooksy in his time-travel uniform. That and his kind eyes won Granny Phanny over pretty quick. Although she persisted in a profound denial about the prankish poltergeist.
“A bird got in the kitchen,” she insisted. “I chased it outside with my broom, but I slipped and hit my head when I fell. What? I beg your pardon! Why of all the gall, Paisley. I have never swooned in all my days.”
Phanny Irene Peabody was determined to introduce Artie to southern cooking. Granny was so caught up in showing off that she barely let me help her, suspending my cooking lessons for the day.
She limited the meat in her dishes when Artie admitted that it wasn’t his favorite thing. However, Granny laid out a mouthwatering spread with cornbread-dressing, collard greens, light-as-air biscuits, chicken and dumplings (easy on the chicken), mashed potatoes, and some fried chicken for Andy and me.
Even though it didn’t fit with the rest of the meal, she made some hushpuppies. You see, Artie had asked about them, wanting to know if they really included puppies. Andy and I were too surprised to completely hide our laughter. Granny, however, was downright professorial as she explained that hushpuppies were only bread, with no meat of any sort.
When Granny had us all move to the parlor for dessert, Andy and I saw the ghost sneak back into the kitchen, but we kept our lips buttoned. I knew the spirit wouldn’t beat it for long.
Then my grandmother ensured future visits from Artie by producing one of his favorite desserts – a Mississippi mud pie.
When he laid eyes on the chocolaty confection, Artie couldn’t help showing a big toothy grin. Granny’s smile faded for a second when she saw the length of his teeth, but a look at the genius ape’s delighted eyes put her at ease.
Artie offered Granny Phanny one quick time travel adventure. At first, she protested that it was too great a gift. Yet an imploring gaze from Artie caused her to relent. However, Granny swore him to secrecy about where and when she wanted to go.
Phanny Irene Peabody hopped onto the back of the motorcycle-looking time machine. She moved as if she was an old hand with motorcycles. Then I remembered the time she and Dr. Vincent Vale (and everybody else I knew in Savannah) went looking for me on his vintage vehicle.
The traveling duo returned about twenty seconds after they left. Granny was misty eyed. She gave Artie a tight hug as he bade us farewell.
The end.
Heartfelt thanks to Chris Graham for being such a willing participant in these shenanigans. Our Story Reading Ape is a marvelous storyteller. If you want to get caught reading another treat, check out his mom’s book.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
May is #GetCaughtReading Month! Chris Graham, the Story Reading Ape himself, and I are together again to support this initiative that promotes the fun of reading for all ages.
Chris and I have collaborated on several short stories that include his character, a genius ape named Artie and my first flapper, Pip. It all started with Time Travel Esc-Ape. Then there was Pip in the Corn Maze, followed by the three-part Pip and Artie Meet Again.
I hope you Get Caught Reading our new story! It is set during the time-line of my upcoming novel A Ghost in the Kitchen. All right then, let’s get a wiggle on and head to the Jazz Age!
Pip and Artie — Aghast at a Ghost
Ghost Stories Magazine circa 1926
“Hello,” I answered the telephone. “Andy, tha―”
“Paisley Idelle Peabody, where are your manners. That’s no proper way to answer the telephone. Give me that,” Granny Phanny demanded as she took the receiver away from me.
“TREmont 3332, Peabody residence,” my grandmother spoke into the receiver as I turned my head so she wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. “Why yes Andy, you may. One moment please. Paisley, Andy is calling for you.”
Granny gave me a stern look and handed me the card she kept beside the telephone. It was titled The Telephone Pledge.
“I believe in the Golden Rule and will try to be as Courteous and Considerate over the Telephone as if Face to Face.”
It continued with such advise as telephone manners are as important for voice-to-voice courtesy, as face-to-face politeness. Instructions to speak directly into the mouthpiece with lips a half inch away, and keep mustache out of opening were included.
I got caught reading it aloud to my pal Andy. It wasn’t the reading that annoyed Granny, but my laughter.
Young Lucille Ball as Pip
“You’d best take that seriously or they might discontinue our service,” she warned.
“Oh Granny! They wouldn’t really do that,” I defended as she walked away with her best bluenose attitude.
My grandmother had distracted me to the extent that I forgot to put the finishing touches on my glad rags before Andy came to pick me up in his old jalopy. I had a special pendant with a beautiful labradorite crystal that I meant to show him. I had recently told him the story behind that gem and he was keen to see it in person.
Andy and I weren’t gone long before we went back for the pendant. However, during that short time a lot happened. I only wish I could have seen it firsthand.
You see, my friend Aristotle, also known as Artie, dropped in at Granny’s cottage. That wouldn’t have mattered if Artie was an ordinary guy. Unfortunately for my grandmother’s state of mind, Artie was a time traveler. Not only that, he was an ape! He was very polite, and a genius to boot, but an ape nonetheless. He was also the one who gave me the labradorite pendant.
This is how Artie described what transpired.
***
Artie, courtesy of Chris Graham
When she went into town with Andy, Pip carelessly left the labradorite crystal pendant laying out on her dressing table, instead of in her jewelry box. That wouldn’t have mattered with an ordinary necklace, but the pendant acted as a transponder which allowed Artie to find Pip when he went back in time.
As fate would have it, Granny found the labradorite crystal while tidying up.
She was strangely drawn to the pendant. Phanny Irene Peabody picked up the crystal and held it, soaking in its gentle glowing warmth.
A loud “pots and pans” type of crash startled her. The commotion was followed by a shouted string of words that sounded oddly foreign, but were obviously from someone who needed their mouth washed out with soap.
Granny, still gripping the pendant, hurried angrily towards her kitchen.
Meanwhile, as Granny ran toward the ruckus in her kitchen, Aristotle, the genius ape was summoned to his time machine by the labradorite crystal that Granny Phanny had unknowingly activated.
The pendant had sent a distress call. So, he dropped what he was doing, hastily donned his time travelling gear and activated his portable time machine motorcycle.
Artie’s portable time machine, image courtesy Chris Graham
Artie arrived in Savannah, Georgia of the Roaring Twenties.
Artie took off his helmet and gave a huge pointy fanged grin of satisfaction. He was excited at the prospect of seeing his friend Pip again, but of course he was also worried because of the distress signal.
The labradorite crystal pendant locator had worked a treat, bringing him just outside the cottage where Pip lived with her grandmother.
The link between pendant and locator had brought him within 30 seconds of the time when the pendant had sent the alarm.
As Artie hurried over to the cottage, the kitchen door burst open and what at first glance appeared to be a rotund man in Renaissance garb rushed out, ducking and weaving in an attempt to avoid the pots and pans flying behind him.
Artie bounded over and brought down what he presumed was an intruder in Pip’s home.
Granny appeared at the kitchen door and clapped her hands, applauding Artie’s heroics.
“Why thank you so very much! That strange looking man was in my kitchen. Bring him over here, so I can give him a piece of my mind.”
Dangling the figure by the scruff of his neck, Artie obliged.
Granny was so engrossed in seeing who had spilled her kitchenware, she didn’t notice that Artie wasn’t a man, until she looked up to thank him again.
Artie was careful not to grin, it showed his fangs too much for many humans and frightened them, so he gave a broad, but closed-lip smile instead.
Granny sank down to the ground in a fit of the vapors.
As she recovered, responding to the cool compress on her forehead and the muttered entreaties from two male voices, Granny slowly opened her eyes – and wished she hadn’t.
The man in the clothes of a Renaissance Era chef winked at her flirtatiously. Then with the sound of a fizzing pop, he disappeared into thin air!
The huge leather clad ape was still there.
Granny swooned again.
The end.
Heartfelt thanks to Chris Graham for being such a willing participant in these shenanigans. Our Story Reading Ape is a marvelous storyteller. If you want to get caught reading another treat, check out his mom’s book.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
Electric guitars on a highway sign marks the crossroads where legend claims musician Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil for the ability to play the blues. (Wikimedia)
It’s almost here! Brother Love — an all new “interactive,” three things, pantser serial. The story is driven by random things left by readers.
The idea for this story started nearly a year ago. It is partly inspired by a Neil Diamond song that has always caught my imagination. I didn’t have time to write a new serial back then, but it now it’s coming up! I enjoy Diamond’s description of how the song came to be in this video, preceding the song.
Many of you are familiar with my “three things” way of writing serials. don’t know what the story is going to do until I look at the “things” supplied by readers — that’s how it’s “interactive.”
I can tell you that the setting is rural Mississippi in the late 1950s to early 60s. I’m collaborating with blogger Dan Antion. He sends me photos to fuel my imagination. Dan and you readers send my random “things” that drive the story.
Along with the song “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show,” another inspiration is the blues legend of the devil at the crossroads and Robert Johnson.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
Lulu’s clumsiness sends the train to 1 million years BC. Art by Rob Goldstein
It’s finally time! I’ve been promising you a short story with illustrations by Rob Goldstein. Lulu, Gramps, and Valentino are joined by a couple of unexpected characters in this one episode story. I call it “One Million Years B-Lulu.” It’s a little riff on “One Million Years BC,” which featured Raquel Welsh. Don’t ask me why that particular scenario popped into my head. I’ve told you that I’m just not wired right. The three random things Rob gave me to drive the story are velociraptor, stone axe, and capacitors.
Rob is featuring the story as a guest post today at Sue Vincent‘s blog, so I hope you’ll click over and visit them. I’m posting it here as well. Without further ado…
All aboard!
One Million Years B-Lulu
Lulu, Gramps, and Valentino in the control room of the diesel-punk train. Art by Rob Goldstein
Soft clicking noises took on a familiar rhythm. I looked over at the blue-gold angel-bot as he worked at a control station of Valentino’s amazing train. The bot started humming to match the beat of his clicks and whirrs. The sound reminded me of a music box.
Most of the train’s angel-bots were gold. This clockwork creature was the only blue hued one. Of all the bots, he was the savviest to the workings of the mysterious train. I had named him Moon, after the song “Cuban Moon,” because of the subtle Spanish accent of his deep voice. That’s the tune he hummed.
I loved to dance, so I did a few steps of the Brazilian Samba to his humming. One turn caused me to bump into a table. Exotic, futuristic looking instruments wobbled dangerously. Fortunately, nothing fell ― that time. I admit that I’m known for my clumsiness. They didn’t sing “Don’t Bring Lulu” when they talked about me for nothin’.
Lulu by Rob Goldstein
“Lulu, how many times have I told you ― don’t touch anything,” Valentino complained as he walked into the control room.
I stopped dancing. Moon gave me a sheepish look, as if he felt partly responsible. Valentino raised one eyebrow suspiciously at the angel-bot’s reaction.
“Don’t mind him, Moon. He’s just grumpy because those pointy-toed dog kennels hurt his feet,” I told my clockwork friend. “Go ahead and hum.”
The enigmatic Valentino looked from me to the bot in surprise.
“You’ve taught him to hum? I wasn’t aware that they could,” Valentino commented.
An odd device I hadn’t noticed sat on one of the train’s control tables. It resembled an hourglass, but rather than sand, it contained a gooey glowing substance. Fascinated, I extended one finger toward the slowly moving molten goo.
“Lulu, don’t touch anything,” Gramps spoke by rote as he strode into the room.
“Especially not the time delineator!” Valentino added.
Valentino and the angel-bots. Art by Rob Goldstein
Startled, I jerked my finger back so hard that the feather in my headband wobbled and the fringe of my short skirt swayed. I wasn’t expecting my grandfather.
“Ah! Sir. Good. I have finished the adjustments to your pocket watch,” Moon called to Gramps from across the room.
The angel-bot extended his mechanical arm to twice its usual length to hand me the pocket watch, since I was closest to my grandfather. I was in a playful mood, so I decided to toss it to Gramps, rather than walk around the control tables and across the room to hand the timepiece to him.
I drew back my arm to make the toss. The watch went into the air, rotating as it flew. When my arm came back down, I knocked over the goo-filled hourglass thingy Valentino called the time delineator.
The glass cracked. In midair, a drop of glowing goo splashed against the engraved pocket-watch my grandfather cherished. It had been a gift from my late grandmother.
Abruptly I felt like a heavy weight sat on my head. My feet tingled like they were asleep. My stomach was up where my throat was supposed to be. Plus, I felt like I had sneezed ― but in reverse.
The pocket-watch slowed until time really did stand still. The glow of the goo grew until it became spherical, surrounding the pocket-watch. Abruptly, both disappeared in a sphere of sparks.
When I opened my eyes after the inverse sneeze, everything around me looked like a Slavador Dali painting. Then the world went black.
***
Lulu’s clumsiness sent the diesel-punk train to 1 million years BC. Art by Rob Goldstein
I’m not sure how much time passed, but as consciousness returned to my aching head, I realized that I was face down on the ground. And I do mean ground. It wasn’t the floor of the control room against my face.
Warm breath snuffled against my face, sniffing. My nose wrinkled. The sniffer had bad breath. I cracked open one peeper for a discrete look, and found a human eye locked on mine. He grunted and sniffed some more. When his nose headed where it had no business going, I scrambled backward.
“Hey! Watch it!” I exclaimed. “I’m not some easy biscuit. Mind your manners.”
The train sat all catawampus nearby. Amid the enormous leaves of strange plants, it looked as out of place as a wallflower at a speakeasy.
I sprawled on rocky terrain with scraggly bushes and gnarled trees. Behind me was the mouth of a cave. Leaning curiously over me was the smelly, fur clad man who woke me with his sniffing.
I remembered the goo-filled hourglass falling. I gulped. Hard.
Art by Rob Goldstein
A rapid rhythm of clicks and whirrs emanated from Moon, the angel-bot. Valentino’s head was down. He murmured in low worried tones as the angel-bot clicked.
Gramps stooped to pick up his sunglasses. He blew the dust off them and tucked the spectacles into the breast pocket inside his jacket. Reflexively he reached to the watch pocket of his vest. He patted the empty pocket.
His pocket-watch was gone.
“Bushwa!” he muttered, though he looked heartbroken.
I gasped as fire singed my eyebrows. The caveman waved a flaming stick, jabbing it toward my bobbed hair.
“Yes, her hair is the color of fire,” Valentino spoke in placating tones that one might use with a frightened animal.
The smelly sniffer appeared to take Valentino’s word for it that the fiery hue was normal for my hair, however unusual it must have been to him.
“Lulu!” Gramps hissed in a cautionary way, and I knew he thought the caveman was dangerous.
Laying my hand against my chest, I spoke slowly.
“I’m Lulu. Who are you?” I pointed to him as I asked.
“Loana. Fair one,” his gravelly voice pronounced and reached toward my bubs.
Lulu meets Tumac. Art by Rob Goldstein
“Hey! Watch yourself. I’m a nice girl,” I cautioned him as I jumped backward.
Valentino snorted and I shot him a glare.
“No,” I continued from three feet away. “Lulu. I’m Lu-lu.”
He nodded and clapped his hand against his chest.
“Tumac. Tumac strong! Tumac be Lulu’s daddy,” he added with a leer.
“Where did you learn that language,” Valentino raised an eyebrow and asked suspiciously.
“Nupondi,” Tumac replied. “Nupondi look like you,” he added with a sweeping motion that indicated Valentino head to toe.
“Someone dressed like me?” Valentino asked, though Tumac clearly didn’t understand the words.
Gramps had a worried expression on his face.
“Nupondi come back when he smells grub.”
Tumac motioned toward a fire-pit where a large carcass of something roasted on a spit. I didn’t know what it was, but the aroma made my stomach growl. The cave man chortled at the sound. He gave me a companionable shove toward the fire and I stumbled. Tumac really was strong, that was no boast.
What’s Cookin’? by Rob Goldstein
Soon I held the biggest crispy drumstick I had ever seen. Juice ran down my arm as I hungrily sunk my teeth into it.
“Where does she get her appetite?” Valentino asked my grandfather in a tone that combined revulsion and stunned admiration.
My grand father shrugged. He had been more interested in poking around in the bushes, looking for his pocket-watch than eating. However, when Tumac acted offended that he wouldn’t eat, Gramps finally sat down at the fire.
“It really isn’t bad,” Gramps commented and pointedly made a yummy sound to gratify Tumac. “I wonder what it is.”
“V’locy. Mama v’locy,” Tumac mumbled around a mouthful. “Find eggs too. Big breakfast at sunup.”
Near the entrance of a cave I spotted the clutch of eggs. Each one was about the size of a pigskin football. I couldn’t imagine what kind of chicken could lay eggs so big.
“V’locy?” Valentino repeated and his face blanched. “Velociraptor?” he exclaimed. “Lulu, leave those eggs alone. Even a hatchling could be deadly.”
“Oh, don’t give me that phonus balonus!” I told him and inspected the eggs.
The bushes rustled. Tumac sniffed the air. Gramps quickly grabbed the burning stick the caveman had waved around earlier. He held it defensively.
Gramps by Rob Goldstein
The caveman didn’t seem concerned. He grunted and muttered “Nupondi.”
Gramps jabbed the flaming stick toward the bushes.
“Horsefeathers! Have a care or you’ll set the whole place on fire!” an unexpectedly familiar voice protested.
“Tom?” I exclaimed as he nonchalantly tucked something into his pocket. “Tom Driberg! You were on the lamb from those hooligans. So, this is where you wound up?”
Tom had betrayed us all, particularly my pal Rose. We weren’t the only ones he quatched. It turned out he had been a spy for both the Americans and the Russians.
That small motion of his hand to his pocket didn’t escape my notice. Gramps squinted. He had seen it too. Tom was being a little too smooth, even for Tom. He gave a guilty glance at Gramps. Tom looked like a man who knew he had been caught.
“Well, Lulu. Aren’t you just the cat’s particulars,” Tom said, stepping toward me.
Suddenly, Tom grabbed me and a surprisingly sharp stone axe was pressed against my throat.
“Give me that pocket-watch, Driberg,” Gramps demanded. “It’s meaningless to you.”
“Quite the contrary old man,” Tom replied with a smirk. “There aren’t any capacitors here. Your beloved watch isn’t special just because it came from your wife, you know. It can be modified to work as a time delineator, and I can finally go home!”
Tom’s sentence ended with an oof! Tumac snuck up behind him and grabbed both of us, lifting us off the ground. I heard Tom make a strangled noise and he dropped the axe. With a hefty toss, Tumac sent Tom and me tumbling.
I saw the pocket-watch fall. In the same instant I heard a shrill cry from above.
“Your sheba has found you,” Tumac chortled at Tom.
Pterodactyl swoops & gets Tom as Gramps retrieves his pocket watch. Art by Rob Goldstein
Huge wings darkened the sky. Dust and ashes from the fire-pit clouded the air as gusts buffeted us. Gramps put on his sunglasses as if they were goggles.
Blinking, I gaped speechlessly. A pterodactyl settled to the ground.
Sunlight glinted off the pocket-watch. The dinosaur’s eyes darted to the watch.
“Sheba like shiny,” Tumac muttered to Tom. “Maybe she take it, not you.”
“What?” I couldn’t help asking, even it that circumstance.
“The damn dyno. I was there when she hatched. She imprinted on me. Thinks I’m her chick or something,” Tom said as he cowered behind Valentino.
“You realize it’s not a bird, don’t you?” Valentino told him, as if that mattered at such a time.
Abruptly, Gramps darted and grabbed his watch. The pterodactyl screeched. Her sharp beak jutted dangerously toward him.
The sun flashed off his spectacles. The dinosaur tilted her head as Gramps spoke.
“There, there now. You don’t want this. It’s not good to eat,” my grandfather cajoled.
The pterodactyl took another huge step toward him. Surprised, I realized she saw her reflection in his sunglasses. I whispered the fact to Gramps. He slowly removed the shades and held them toward her.
“Careful,” Valentino cautioned. “She could take your entire arm if she grabs the spectacles.”
Then a fierce look glinted in Valentino’s eyes. I had always thought he had a ruthless streak, hidden under all that smoldering brooding.
Valentino by Rob Goldstein
Valentino reached behind himself, where Tom cowered. He grabbed the spy’s arm and shoved him into the open.
“This is what you really want, isn’t it,” Valentino called to the pterodactyl.
The dinosaur made a pained noise, followed by a series of croaks that sounded like a mother chastising her offspring. Tom ran as fast as he could.
With a blast of air that knocked me to the ground, the pterodactyl flapped her wings and took flight. In a moment she had Tom in her clutches. She flew with him toward a rocky outcropping.
Tumac laughed so hard that he rolled on the ground.
I stood gobsmacked.
“She take Nupondi to nest. She love Nupondi,” Tumac explained between chortles. Nupondi not go hungry. His sheba vomit breakfast for him. Haha! All over his head.”
***
Art by Rob Goldstein
In no time Moon had modified the pocket-watch to work as a time delineator for Valentino’s train. Through a hand-held telescope, I saw Tom gingerly climbing down from the pterodactyl’s nest. He was drenched in something, presumably regurgitated dinner, but seemed unharmed. We bade a fond farewell to Tumac, our host.
When I walked past Tumac, he laughed, because he saw that I was hiding something behind my back. I winked and hoped he knew to keep quiet.
The big Orthophonic Victrola in the train’s control room blared out “Toot, Toot, Tootsie! Good-bye,” and I knew we would be leaving in a moment.
“Are you alright, Lulu?” Gramps asked me. “You look like something isn’t sitting well on your stomach.”
“Maybe some under-cooked dinosaur,” I replied weakly and mustered up a belch.
Delicately I put one hand to my lips, while the other was firmly behind my back.
“If not for that decidedly unladylike burp, I would go back and count all those velociraptor eggs,” Valentino told me with narrowed eyes as he climbed aboard the train.
“Well, I never…” I protested even though he hit the nail on the head.
Then I felt the egg move. I twitched at the surprise, and nearly dropped it. Valentino turned back at my abrupt movement. I put my free hand to my stomach and groaned dramatically. Clara Bow couldn’t have given a better performance.
A shining gold angel-bot leaned from the train. It was Dynamite.
“All aboard!” Dynamite called.
I made sure Gramps and Valentino were both all the way inside the train before I let Dynamite help me aboard. By then, the egg was practically dancing the Charleston.
The train’s Orthophonic Victrola always seemed to know more than it should be able to understand. Not to mention that it had a mean disposition. As the dinosaur egg lurched, the device started playing “Don’t Bring Lulu.”
Lulu back on the train, by Rob Goldstein
***
The end.
Update: Rob has just finished a fabulous video of this story. Do check it out and pay him a visit as well. http://robertmgoldstein.com/
You’re the cat’s pajamas!
And don’t forget!
Coming in Spring
Another Roaring Twenties Pantser Tale
Continuing the adventures of Pip and Granny, it’s…
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
Happy weekend, everyone! I’m still settling in at my new digs in the Land of Enchantment, painting the walls, putting furniture together, and generally keeping every muscle in my body sore.
Crystal the cat seems to have made the adjustment. A few nights I’ve heard her making a midnight romp, and this morning, she wanted to play with her collection of bouncy and fuzzy balls! She also insists on approving any decorating.
Crystal with one of Rob Goldstein’s images.
Coming Right Up
I’ve mentioned that San Francisco artist, poet, and activist, Rob Goldstein and I got back together with a short story for Lulu, Gramps, and the enigmatic Valentino. I call it “One Million Years B-Lulu.” It’s a little riff on the old movie “One Million Years BC.”
Rob has made terrific illustrations for it. He really got into the spirit of the story. Rob will feature this short story at Sue Vincent‘s blog, but I’ll run it here as well.
That’s Not All
Brother Love
Brother Love collage by Teagan Geneviene
Hang on — that’s not all! I’ve started work on a mini series with blogger Dan Antion. The core of the story was inspired by a Neil Diamond song “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show,” along with the blues legend of the devil at the crossroads and Robert Johnson.
If you will watch the video trailer, you will have some idea of the core components of the story. It’s a pantser tale (spontaneously written), so I don’t know too much more about it yet.
Dan was kind enough to invite me to his fictional bar for a drink at his SoCS post this weekend. I hope you’ll click over and share some conversation with us.
Dan’s photos will help guide my pantser pen. He’ll also give me some random “things” to drive the story. (Most of you are familiar with my “three things” way of writing serials.) I can tell you that the setting is rural Mississippi in the late 1950s to early 60s. My narrator is named Birdie Devovo. Which brings me to your invitation…
Come out to play!
It seems like a long time since I’ve been able to involve you, the reader, in my stories. That actually makes a lot more work for me. However, I love including you. Dan will be giving me photos and two random things. So I invite you to leave onerandom thing in the comments. That will make the total of three things.
The first episode will post a week from today. All three things will be from Dan on that chapter, but after that I will start including reader “things.”
A rather old blues song has been running around in my head. It helped me write the mystical prologue for the story, so I’ll go ahead and share it. Be sure to leave a random “thing” in the comments. Happy weekend!
And don’t forget!
Coming up, another Roaring Twenties pantser tale
Continuing the adventures of Pip and Granny, it’s…
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
I’ve had my hands full trying to put my cottage in order, now that I’m feeling better from the ordeal of moving, not sleeping, and being as freaked out as anybody can be. There was one other thing I worked on this week. Here’s a hint.
An image for One Million Years B-Lulu. Art by Rob Goldstein
That said, I didn’t have a post for this weekend. However, I did want to stop and wish you a happy weekend, from me, Lulu and all the crew of the #dieselpunk train! You’re the bee’s knees!
Update! I forgot to link to Rob’s blog — it’s here.
And don’t forget!
Coming in Spring
Another Roaring Twenties Pantser Tale
Continuing the adventures of Pip and Granny, it’s…
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
