My short story collection, Savage Fire, will be released on May 31st as an eBook. Two days ago, I included an excerpt of a bizarro story. Yesterday, I added another for my noir fans. So, what can I think of for a Friday? How about a bit of dark comedy? (I have something special for tomorrow in honor of the Rapture, so stay tuned. Unless, of course, you plan to be whisked away, in which case have a good trip!)
Remember to watch on Twitter for the hash tag #savagefire, which I am using for tweets and hints about the collection. When the eBook is available for pre-order, I'll tweet about it. When the book is available, I'll tweet about it. I think it is safe to say that I'll tweet too damn much about it, but twitter is a stream rushing away, so close your eyes and wait a moment, and my useless tweets will have floated away.
An excerpt from So Pretty, a mythological treat from Savage Fire:
Empty wooden steps, except for the small package addressed to her, Betty Fea. But where was the mailman? She ran down the steps in time to see his back disappearing around the hedge at the end of the drive. "Yoo hoo, Mr. Mailman," she called. "I have a lovely batch of cookies if you would like to stop and visit."
The mailman didn't answer, and Betty couldn't tell whether he had heard and ignored her, or simply not heard. She stamped her foot in frustration, although it was perhaps a good thing, since she had not really made any cookies after all.
Looking around, Betty sighed and walked over to Mrs. Kendall, the Welcome Wagon lady. A plastic bag had gotten stuck on Mrs. Kendall's arm, probably blown by the wind. After two years, Mrs. Kendall had never blown away. One day, Betty was going to have to bring the wheelbarrow around and lug the stone figure away. To think that Mrs. Kendall had never even had a chance to admire Betty's hair, or the way her figure looked so svelte and attractive even after three thousand years.
"Hello, Mr. Johnson," she cooed to the attorney who had come to finalize her mortgage papers. "Oh, you like my dress. I wore it just for you." Conversations with Mr. Johnson were always one sided, but she did fancy that his obsidian eyes glinted when he watched her sashay by him at the edge of the garden.
Hiss. Betty's serpents coiled and twisted on her head at the sound of a car pulling into the drive. It jerked to a halt, no doubt because the driver was squeezing his or her eyes closed.