Posts Tagged ‘Tom Joyce’

horrorWell, it’s been a long haul. Been dealing with some stuff. (See last blog entry.) But somewhere in there, the Oct. 31 release date for my short story collection, “The Devil’s Kazoo Band Don’t Take Requests,” crept up on me. So I guess now’s as good a time as any to blow the dust off this blog and post something. A while back, I found some two-sentence horror stories on the web. Here’s an example:

“The last thing I saw was my alarm clock flashing 12:07 before she pushed her long rotting nails through my chest, her other hand muffling my screams. I sat bolt upright, relieved it was only a dream, but as I saw my alarm clock read 12:06, I heard my closet door creak open.”

Here are some more.

Since then, I’ve made kind of a Halloween tradition of posting my own two-sentence horror stories every year. This is the 2016 edition. Be forewarned. Bone-chilling terror awaits:

  • “Don’t apologize to me for your foul mouth,” my new cubicle-mate says. “Apologize to Jesus.”
  • A new congressman is elected in your district. InfoWars endorsed him.
  • “I’ll be here for the next four weeks,” the contractor says. “Have you heard the one about the two blacks and a Jew in the gay bar?”
  • Your daughter says things are getting serious with her boyfriend. He has a “9/11 Was an Inside Job” bumper sticker on his car.
  • “We’ll get started in just a minute,” the woman at the front of the room says. “But first, we have a fun team-building exercise for you.”
  • I hand her my phone to show her the picture I just took. She starts scrolling through the rest of my pictures.
  • “Welcome to ’90s night!” the DJ says. “Who remembers the Macarena?”

 

My Photo Album

Posted: November 30, 2015 in My Photo Album
Tags: ,

Awkward photo suitsFlint and I worked hard at making our private detective agency a success. But we couldn’t cut out the mobilizin’ and socializin’ altogether, could we? The lovely ladies at the Cottontail Lounge might think we were neglecting them. Here, we’ve spotted something at the end of the bar, and we like what we see. Is it hot in here, baby, or is it YOU? Oooooh yeah.

For a while now, I’ve been doing something on my personal Facebook page that a lot of my friends seem to find entertaining. Quite a few of them have suggested that I start including it on my blog, so I’ll give it a shot. You may have seen “Throwback Thursday” on Facebook, where people post old photos of themselves. I started finding random, goofy pictures on the Web — usually from the wonderful “Awkward Family Photos” — and posting them with accompanying captions for Throwback Thursday. At first, I pretended they were old photos of me. As time went on, I discarded that. Some captions I wrote in the first person, and some I didn’t. Anyway, I’m going to start sharing some of them on the blog. Since we’re coming up on Halloween, I guess I might as well start with the Halloween-themed ones. Hope you enjoy them.

In retrospect, Dad’s basic idea wasn’t so bad. New in town. Wanted to let people know about his urology practice. Since it was close to Halloween, thought that a mass-mailed brochure featuring a group picture of us in Mom’s hand-sewn costumes would be quirky and memorable, and show that he’s a family man. I guess his big mistake was trying to save on printing costs by going with a black-and-white reproduction, so people couldn’t see the orange color. Once the complaints started coming in, he went so far as to send out another mass mailing explaining that they were pumpkin costumes. But by then, it was too late. For the next few years, we were widely known throughout our town as The Scrotum Family.

Awkward pumpkins

I’ve got a lot of friends who are A) talented, and B) smart asses. That’s a dangerous combination. It started when a co-worker shot a picture of me working out in the office gym. I thought it was pretty funny, so I posted it as my Facebook picture.

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So my friend Jose decided it should be a meme, and my friend Travis took him up on that suggestion:

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And …

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Then my friend Peg broke out the Photoshop. (For background, my friends give me a hard time about how sappy I get around animals, especially kittens.)

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And then finally, my cousin Mike — the mad genius of Photoshop — produced this composition titled: “Look, I made a Congressman …”

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I had a great time this past weekend at Enigma Bookstore in Astoria, N.Y., at a panel discussion with fellow Codorus Press authors Wayne Lockwood, author of Acid Indigestion Eyes: Collected Essays and Musings on Generation X and Alex Segura, author of Silent City. First off, the bookstore was really cool. They specialize in science fiction, fantasy and mystery. You could just tell by browsing the selection that the owners have a genuine love for — and excellent taste in — the aforementioned genres. It’s the type of bookstore I’d make a roadtrip just to visit. And I really enjoyed sitting on the panel and talking about writing with Wayne and Alex, too. It was funny. We got so engrossed in our talk that somebody had to remind us — hey, you guys might want to sell some books, as long as you’re here.

One element of our discussion that I found particularly interesting was a conversation about how a story comes together. This mainly had to do with fiction. And while “Acid Indigestion Eyes” is nonfiction, Wayne is currently working on a novel so he was able to share some insights as well.

While I’d read and admired “Silent City” (see my review here), Alex and I had never met or discussed the writing process before. So I found it interesting that he also experienced a phenomenon I encountered numerous times when I was writing The Freak Foundation Operative’s Report. It’s the moment when my characters did something I hadn’t expected. And the book took a turn that made me say: “Whoah! Didn’t see THAT coming!” That was kind of unnerving, since I was WRITING the freakin thing! (more…)

Old Mrs. MacNamara used to live down the street where I grew up, and the kids all loved to hear her talk about the superstitions from her native Ireland. Never butter a slice of toast when it’s raining outside, lest you bring bad luck down upon your house. Leave a saucer of milk outside on the night of a new moon as an offering to the wee folk, lest they bedevil your dreams and tie knots in your hair at night. Close your eyes every time you walk past a sewer grate, lest the Screaming Purple Monkey Man climb out, burrow through your eye sockets and eat your brain. Later, we found out those weren’t really Irish superstitions. She just did a lot of acid.

There comes a time in every man’s life when he makes unenlightening, hypothetical generalizations.