My Visit With The Amazon Warrior Women

Today, I will be guest posting for Debi over at The Truth About Motherhood. Now don’t all freak out at once. I am not with child. (Someone get my mother an oxygen tank, would you?)

In honor of her blog’s two-year anniversary, Debi is featuring some of her favorite writers, and I am honored to be one of them. Debi is a social media mom or, mommy blogger. If you are unfamiliar with these terms let me try to explain.

Thousands of years ago an Amazonian tribe of women came to prominence. They were known for their extraordinary feats of multitasking such as juggling screaming children while doing seven hours of hunting and gathering; after which they’d spend a relaxing evening hacking open coconuts with their machetes and whipping up Ngbotu-The-Warrior-God’s favorite meal while simultaneously getting kukui nut stains out of silk. Social media moms are the descendents of this extraordinary tribe. Only now, instead of slingshots and arrows, they are armed with laptops and mobile apps. The end result might best be described as the largest unrecognized union of blogging women across the globe.

Suffice it to say I’m nervous as hell to write anything for these powerhouse mamas (some of whom are men, incidentally). So if you’d be so kind as to click here and read my guest post, I’d really appreciate the support.

If you are stopping by from The Truth About Motherhood, welcome. For samples of my fiction take a look at my page of Bedtime Stories. Or, for some popular non-fiction posts, click the pictures below:

I DON'T EAT SPOTTED DICK BUT I COULD TRY

SENSITIVE SKIN, ONE REASON I'M NOT A PRIMA BALLERINA

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If Darla From The Little Rascals Can Do It, Why Can’t I?

Spot Jane Dick ©Addison Wesley

Dear Mr. and Mrs. David:

Heidi is a bright child, imaginative and enthusiastic. She’s read every story in the reading corner, some of them twice. It’s our understanding she’s not a big fan of Fun With Dick And Jane as she has concerns about its lack of multiculturalism. Additionally, Heidi has some doubts about the intellect of Jane, funny funny Jane, and wonders if the ASPCA shouldn’t be alerted to the family’s gross negligence of their dog, Spot. Also, in his most recent episode, “Look,” said Dick. “See it go. See it go up.” Heidi feels the boy has developed a rather unnatural obsession with things that go up. One that is likely to put Dick in therapy for the better part of his adulthood.

Continue reading

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Do Not Operate Heavy Machinery While Under the Influence Of This Writing Career

I have this malady I fear is terminal, a creeping fungus that refuses to recede. I am a writer you see, and despite all my best efforts, I can deny this disease no longer. I mean no one in their right mind would want to be a writer unless they had to, right? And yet I have to.

I imagine many people with a creative impulse know what I’m talking about. You develop a passion for something and suddenly it’s like that box of Mallomars you swore you weren’t going to finish, but it’s marshmallow and cookies and chocolate, and you just can’t help yourself, dammit. So yeah, writing, it’s like that. I spent most of Sunday writing and it was the first time in a few days that I finally felt like I was in my own skin. That’s what happens with those sneaky damn passions. Once they’ve taken root, ya just can’t shake ‘em loose. Continue reading

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Bacon, A Cautionary Tale

I’m warning you right now this is a ridiculous post. But I’ve been remiss with my blogging so I thought I’d leave you a wicked little short.

Note: This flash fiction was inspired by a contest I missed on the blog of prolific novelist and screenwriter, Ryne Douglas Pearson. The assignment was to tell a story in four sentences about how bacon saved someone. You had to mention the word bacon and the word pneumothorax at least once. As you can see, I cheated on the length. And you’ll have to decide for yourself if bacon saved Athena, or not.  Continue reading

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The Apocalypse Is Nigh, In Other News…

The bad news is wearing me down people. Seriously grinding me away. At this rate I will be a mere tablespoon of bitter cocoa powder by May.  (What? Did you expect my essence to consist of buttercups and lollipops? Yeesh.)

I have decided to combat my overwhelmed-by-the-woes-in-the-world feeling by writing a short list of utterly irrational fears. Let me recommend you give it a go as well. In fact, leave me some suggestions in the comments. I don’t really have all that much to do as I’ve decided in order to avoid any more blisteringly apocalyptic news nuggets I must stop watching TV, or reading the paper, or listening to the radio, or going online, or reading my email, or answering the phone, or… Continue reading

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Dr. Freud, We Have A Problem

There are few things that warm the cockles more than watching a young child play with her dollies.

Unless of course she’s me.

A dolly placed in my hot little hands was immediately stripped of her worldly possessions. That’s right, you read correctly, I removed her clothing. I can’t tell you exactly why I insisted on carrying around a pack of bare assed dolls in my stroller. Perhaps, even in my youth, I had little patience for bullshit. Wanting instead to delve beneath the surface and find out what made those plastic wonders tick. Continue reading

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In War There Is No Substitute For Cleavage

Some talented writer friends of mine, Jason C. McIntyre and Julie C. Gardner (that’s correct, I’m only friends with writers whose middle names begin with a C) cajoled me into posting this story. Quite the departure from my dark tale Edwina, Pretty Edwina, but hopefully good for a laugh. And I just couldn’t resist including a couple of fun vintage ads with it. Enjoy.

For those who choose to recount my story later, the name is Helena. Never been to Troy, so please don’t ask, or use it as a pickup line because I mean really, are you under the impression you’re the first guy to come up with it?

The afternoon started out harmlessly enough. I left home to run some errands. First stop, passport photos. I don’t want to blow my own horn or anything, but there are few people in the country let alone the planet who take as lousy a photo as I do. Sure, you might say someone like Gorbachev in his day took a worse snap shot, but I beg to differ my friend, I beg to differ.  On a bad day Gorbachev was forty times more photogenic than I will ever be.  Continue reading

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Edwina, Pretty Edwina

A dark and creepy tale inspired by a rather unusual photo.


Edwina, pretty Edwina sits in the window. See her shoes, those shiny shoes, the finely tanned leather, and the smart buckles? A fine custom shoe the cobbler sells, yes indeed, at very reasonable prices. It was his son’s idea to place sweet Edwina in the window, and the people flocked, lord knows they flocked to see the young woman model his wares.

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Valentine’s Day Madame Paradox Style

How it is that a pseudo holiday with all sorts of bloody origins ended up being the official gushy lovetastic extravaganza that is Valentine’s Day, only Hallmark really knows. Be that as it may, I shall honor the day with a few words of wisdom:

Remember fellas, giving a woman a firearm on Valentine’s Day is ill advised. Especially if you are the forgetful-cad-type. Continue reading

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Beware Supervillains, My Nose Will Defeat You

By day, she is the mild mannered Madame Paradox, aspiring author. But at night, oh at night Ladies and Gentleman, a beast is unleashed. One with powers heretofore unheard of on this planet. For you see, deep in the superhero bunker that I share with the two guitar-playing stoners next door, and the couple with the power tools upstairs, I am known simply as…The Sniffer. Feel free to insert whatever dramatic theme music you feel is fitting here. I’m partial to Underdog myself, but use your imagination.  Continue reading

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