I’m a writer. Oh yes indeedy. So I got to thinking that to many it must seem like I’m ‘claiming’ to be one. I have work published such as Paradox through a collaborative event at Libboo for charity where I was one of the two authors, I have a top secret uberly hidden-under-the-covers erotic chapter in an anthology, (which in my defense paid pretty darn well), and am part of the upcoming Grim5next anthology. I also have won a few free baubles that I look at the SHINY on from time-to-time. But my independent work, well that’s still cooking on the burners waiting for everyone to leave me be for a bit.
So today, something different. I’m going to post an example of my work. This one is the book that I’m currently writing and hoping to have done by the end of the year. (That’s if I ever quit chauffeuring the youngest around, lol.)
Let me know what you think but if you’re mean, I’m a pretty good with barbs myself and am adept at finding addresses (ever see the Jay and Silent Bob scene? Start at mark 1:21), so keep it nice.
The Way the Marble Bounces
By: Zencherry (Maureen Hovermale)
This book was written in 2012. (See how optimistic I can be?)
This is copyrighted material. To copy/fiddle/or otherwise tinker with it (without express permission from me), releases the zombie in my basement. Please respect copyright and the zombie’s right to play video games without interruption. Reviewers or promoters of this text may use short excerpts, naturally. They may even get an ugly (but tasty), cake.
Any person living or dead, referred to within this text is done so in a purely historical and/or comedic sense. No disrespect or other litigious and/or basement wielding-zombie intent is involved. As Craig Ferguson would say: “It’s a joke, people.”
The marble (which we call our world), bounced.
This caused all sorts of things to suddenly jiggle, twirl, and go kablooey. The biggest of the whim wham jibbery results was the uncommonly known (other than in the realms of the know-it-alls), Belljarred Clock Effect. Or in simpler terms and quite easier to read: Time got a little mixed up.
It was an accident and though it was blamed on a Herculean itch, it was actually because time was fed up with all the good-for-it things and wanted something different even if it would cause heartburn and what-not. So time skipped a beat and there we were, and would be, and are all at once.
The inhabitors thought immediately that the mathematical-scrunched-up-faces sorts of equations would come to be, forcing down to be up and vice versa. Some were even seen practicing handstands and selling gloves with soles, but that idea fell flat when what really happened turned out not to be quite so severe. (Unless you’re a history buff and then all hell broke loose for you, sorry to say.) Suddenly, all those paths of all those people that had ever been or would be: Twisted. The Milky Way got murky making it hard to see anything much and George Washington found himself in the Battle of Burma. Richard the Third was seen in a Hawaiian shirt sporting a ukulele with a much better hat and Jack didn’t fall down that hill though he did trip Jill to try to keep things proper-like.
Cries of the many would have deafened Old Man Time if he hadn’t been taking his bath at that moment and completely submerged. He heard a roaring but figured it was the water and so blew bubbles to accompany the sound. This, of course, caused panic in the populace, who could only discern odd popping noises. A too-skinny brunette named Zoey Efferton of Trenton, New Jersey checked to see if her popcorn were done while the rest of the world ran for cover sure that the end had come.
Once the all-clear sounded, the low and high brows plucked their thoughts together. Unified for the first time outside of Frida Kahlo’s thorny necklace, they decided that something had to be done before time ran amuck.
At about the same time the Old Man was washing behind his ears, a decision had been made to kill time. The one opposing vote being the headless horseman as he had tired of vested interests and liked the hooded sweatshirt he now fit with aplomb.
Zoey was at the bus stop at one o’clock sharp (as every Tuesday found her), and completely oblivious to the fact that it was the George Stephenson that stood beside her in the red Zulu headdress. She did however, hold the opinion that he was full of hot air and so made the noncommittal noises that people do when they really wish you’d just go away.
Once Mr. Stephenson rocketed away after catching a headwind and left Zoey alone to wait for her connecting bus, our story finally had the chance to truly begin.
So there you have it. The first of the book that is starting to pan out pretty nicely. There’s a hydra with arguing heads, a grammar Nazi gets pushed off an iceberg, and Jimmy Hoffa goes missing yet again. And that’s in the first few chapters before the spaceship.
Hope you all had a great weekend.