Posts Tagged ‘Writing’

Best of… One Act Play Depot

September 28, 2017 Leave a comment

My first play that I every had published back in 2002 “A Pill By Any Other Name is the Wrong Dosage.” Is part of the publisher, One Act Play Depot’s Best Of Volume One collection. A 776 page book, with 21 One Act Plays, that I honored to be part of.



Glad my book is still entertaining people.

August 24, 2017 Leave a comment

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My play Legends of Little Lump is now available

August 10, 2017 Leave a comment

The play I wrote THE LEGENDS OF LITTLE LUMP that was based on my first book “Tales from Little Lump – Alien Season” is now available to be produced through Norman Maine  Plays. An edited down version that is safe for younger audience is available through their sister company Big Dog Plays.

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Proof Copies of my Play

Got proof copies of my play THE LEGEND OF LITTLE LUMP from my publisher Big Dog/Norman Maine Play Publishing.


100 Word Challenge: Bibliomancy — Eclectic Voices

April 12, 2016 Leave a comment

Challenge of the Month: Bibliomancy–open a random book from your shelf, turn to any random page, and find the third word in the first sentence on that page. That is the title of your next 100-word story. __________________________________ Clean by Jeff Folschinsky Clean is not how I would have chosen the describe the situation. It was […]

via 100 Word Challenge: Bibliomancy — Eclectic Voices

Musings of a Drunken @#$hole #7

February 6, 2016 3 comments

Glass of whiskeyI’ve been thinking about death lately. Mostly because of what happened to my Aunt Jenny. I think it’s because the randomness of it just blows my mind, but I guess death just has that kind of effect on people. Making the randomness of life seem, well, you know, random.

I mean I always heard about snakes coming up through people’s toilets, but I just thought it was like one of those urban legends. Like alligators in the sewers or republican socialism. I mean it’s not supposed to be one of those things that actually happens in real life, but it did.

My cousin Tommy found Aunt Jenny sitting on the toilet, dead as a doornail. Of course at the time he didn’t realize she was dead since it was pretty common to find his mother passed out on the toilet. Especially after she had one of her all nighters dancing along side Mr. Jose Cuervo.

Unfortunately Cousin Tommy’s usual remedy of pouring ice water down her back side. Followed with a tomato juice and Alka-Seltzer chaser didn’t work in reviving her, because she was, well, dead.

Just sitting there on the toilet with a surprised look on her face.

No one was quite sure what had happened until the coroner took her off the toilet and there it was. A dead snake, just floating there.

As strange as it sounds I felt a little sorry for that snake. Apparently Aunt Jenny was on a high fiber diet, so that snake got a face load when it bit her on her back-end. I guess that’s what some would call poetic justice but it still seems like an awful way to go if you ask me.

And while I felt sorry for cousin Tommy’s loss, it was the randomness of it that truly haunted me.

I mean truth be told, Aunt Jenny was a mean old cuss, so there was only so much mourning one could do for her, but the way in which she went really got you thinking. I mean you’re here one minute doing your business on the toilet, and then the next a snake bites you on your back-end, sending you off to the great beyond.

I mean if that doesn’t hurt your mind just thinking about it, I don’t know what will.

I mean she was taken from this plane of existence in a random act of randomness. Which doesn’t seem at all as nice as being taken in a random act of kindness, and not nearly as profound as being taken in a random act of, oh hell, I don’t know, profoundness. If that’s at all possible.

I mean, I have to tell you, this thing has got me looking at life in a whole different light now. Not to mention it has me thoroughly checking the toilet before I do my business, because you never know when the cruel hand of fate is going to come and bite you on the rear; literally.

All I have to say, is that I hope when my random end comes. That I, like Aunt Jenny, sitting on that toilet of ill-fated destiny, will also have the opportunity to slap fates cruel agents of randomness in defiance. Whether it be with my metaphoric hand or like in Aunt Jenny’s case, metaphoric flatulence. Let me go down swinging, because if this has made me realize anything, it’s that life should be more than a random act of randomness. Also it made me realize the city really needs to do a much better job of cleaning the wildlife out of the sewer pipes.

Hey, I’m just sayin’.

Musings of a Drunken @#$hole #6

January 23, 2016 2 comments

Glass of whiskeyHere’s one for you — last week a woman walks into this bar. Skin as white as snow. Like a modern day Snow White; well, if Snow White smelled of cigarettes and self loathing. Her aura permeated the room like a dark and mysterious bouquet that most at the bar were familiar with. A mating call to those daring enough to answer it. A cry in the dark asking, “dear lord, let me feel something, if only for a moment.”

I resisted the urge to answer. Not because I was a good man. But, because I found it more entertaining to watch the first wave of sharks starting to circle. Most moving on, recognizing too complex a meal when they see one. Others trying to go in for an easy kill, only finding themselves the prey. Victims of someone wanting something more than they could every offer her. A smile came across my lips as I watched their bloody escape. Making their way back into the cold and welcoming darkness from where they came. Most likely to lick and recover from their wounds.

It was only then that I decided to approach this fair skin maiden of sorrow. Taking a seat right next to her and nothing more. Sitting there in silence saying nothing, which I figured right off the bat put me in a better position then all others that had sat beside her. Silence had become a friend of mine long ago, so I had nothing to lose by just sitting there. Just indulging in my morbid curiosity in finding out what would happen next when she would finally break.

“I suppose you would like to buy me a drink?” She finally asked.

“No, but if you buy me one, maybe we could start the journey to discovering what ails us both.”

She tried to contain a slight laugh, and a moment later signaled the bartender to fix me up.

Most would consider this a victory but not caring about the outcome either way, I just accepted it for what it was.  A free drink and distraction from the normal monotony of my nightly visits to this particular watering hole. Communication with another person can be nice but when you’re not use to it, it can be awkward as hell. The urge to try and escape into the darkness like the others was almost too hard to resist.

Instead, I just accepted the drink and continued to just sit there with her, in a comfortable silence. Letting each other know on some basic level that, yes, we do indeed exist, and it matters.

I often think of my fair skin maiden and the quiet drink we shared together, and when I do, I raise my glass in a silent toast. “To my modern day Snow White, may she be feeling something, if only for a moment.”