Tuesday Teaser

This week's teaser is from an author I've not yet read. I like the writing style, and even like the way the story is meandering about...but I still have no idea what to think of it, lol. Anyway...

Let's get right to it!

"The startle came into Steve's eyes and he jumped up from the table and cracked his head on the crossbeam, heading for the door behind Sess even as she dashed into the new room to look out the window above the bed, where she could get a view of the garden and this strange white element beating against the green of the leaves and the black nullity of the plastic. She had a moment, only that--seconds--to register the hulking dark form grazing there in the midst of the windowblown vegetable garden like an overfed cow, and there was the report of the rifle and the thing went down without a fuss, without a whimper, three hundred fifty pounds of meat, fur and fat delivered right up to them, right in their own garden, and she hardly had time to register the joy and triumph of it when she spotted the cub."  Drop City, by T.C. Boyle

Belated WIP: Definition Of

 Yes, it's not quite finished, and yes, it's missing a title. All in good time, my pretties. All in good time.

*cackle--I mean, cough*

Definition Of

Every part of my body hurt.

I tried to move. Couldn’t. Wasn’t even sure I should if I could. Gave up. Blinked. Let the room come into focus. I’d gotten flowers—not a lot, but enough I felt kind of stupid. Flowers are for sweet girls, not for guys in the hospital hit by drunk drivers. Oh well. The blinds were pulled partially and a thick chunk of light fell across my bed, where my two legs—were they broken? Apparently they were—lay awkwardly. Oh. If I let my eyes loosely follow the chunk of light I could see where it finally pooled: on the girl. Her head was lowered to her chest, asleep and hanging by a string of light it looked like from over here, and the sun warmed her brass colored hair so that it shined like some kind of spun metal as it fell down over her shoulders. So familiar.

It took me a few tries, but I finally got it:

“Hello.”

Her head whipped up and she peered at me, bleary and full of sun, eyes opening and closing frantically. Then she smiled, widened her eyes, and pressed the red button on the alert wand that her hand had been clamped around.

B is for Beans! B is for Brain, and the way mine hops around!

So I just made this fantastic batch of spicy black beans with cilantro and lime for lunch, and, well, I'm one of those people. One of the hummers. (*laugh*)

Image courtesy of
 http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

So there I am, humming "Beans, beans, the magical fruit..." because, as you know, this is an absolute requirement for bean-eating experiences, and then my brain picks up on the word "fruit" and somehow ties it inexplicably to Kumquats, as of course I had just read Michael's latest Ermingard installment over at Hypothetically Writing (formerly Writer with a Slinky; see link in side-bar).

And, well, you know. Kumquats.

Does anyone actually eat those blasted things for enjoyment? I mean this question in earnest.

Long, long ago, in a city far, far away, I, my boyfriend and my roommate would have wine nights. Pretty self explanatory. To accompany the wine we usually did platters of cheese, chocolate and fruit, and would spend the evening focused on the diehard task of getting incredibly, irrevocably wine-smashed. Tough life, right? Anyhow, we tried to incorporate new flavors. Enter Kumquats.

Tuesday Teaser

I know, I know. I've partially fallen off the blogging bandwagon. But I'm back now! Promise! Woot!

And so we come to the Tuesday Teaser: today's random-page tease is.....


"I voted for Dick Gregory in '68, and for "No" in '64 ... but this one is different, and since McGovern is so goddamn maddeningly inept with the kind of words he needs to make people understand what he's up to,  it will save a lot of time here--and strain on my weary head--to remember Bobby Kennedy's ultimate characterization of Richard Nixon, in  a speech at Vanderbilt University in the spring of 1968, not long before he was murdered.

'Richard Nixon,' he said, 'represents the dark side of the American spirit.'" --The Great Shark Hunt, by Hunter S. Thompson


Hmmm....well now! What are you folks reading?

Hmmm, what to call it?

Yet another work in progress...--> Hope to finish soon!

Untitled

She'd been driving for hours, zig zagging so much as she stole down the highways that she wasn't really sure what state she was in any more. In any way. The bloody fishing line rolled loosely on the passenger seat. Have to clean that up eventually. The cell beside her rang. Shit. She hadn't even thought to get rid of the phone; she really wasn't thinking clearly. Oh well. Too late now; might as well answer it.

"Hello?"

Sunflower fields slipped by her in the darkness; she could smell the rich earth through her window, cracked so she would be able to smell something else than the blood. Sunflowers...What, that would be Kansas, maybe? Sure, Kansas.

"Tara? What the hell happened?"

Jensen.  Glad to know someone on her side was calling, even if he did work for the sherriff. Even if... she swallowed, touched her swollen skull automatically, right where the hair had matted and dried in a mess of sticky, crusted blood, then shifted the phone on her shoulder. The movement made her blink slow and hard.

"Hey Jensen. Driving right now; sorry I can't talk."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Don't hang up. Tara?...Tara?! Tara!"

Tara grimaced.

"I'm here."

"Good. I've got to be quick." His voice was mumbly, quiet. "It's all over that Trey's dead. Heard this evening. It true?"

"I--I've got to go, Jensen."

There came a solid moment of held breath through the line.

"Alright, alright. Hey listen, just, uh, you know. Take care. Get rid of the phone. Dye your hair, pay for everything in cash. You got cash? Shit, I shouldn't be calling you. Yeah, get rid of the phone. Remember, we love you."

"Yeah. You too, Jensie. Tell Anna and the girls I send my love. And that I'm sorry."

"Will do. Get rid of the phone."

As soon as the call ended, Tara rolled the window down and chucked the phone out of the truck and into the darkness. It landed in one of the sunflower fields, the heavy-headed stalks silhouetted like rows of old and dying men as the first bit of gray predawn seeped over the horizon. Jensen was right about the phone. For a brother in law, especially to the man she just murdered, Jensen was alright.
###

Tuesday Teaser

I just finished a book this evening and loved it. Without further ado.....


"'Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings...even the birds stop to listen.'"--The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins

That's all you get, folks! Get reading~!