The HELPER has never once been seen.
The Fat One is sneaky, but careless.
The wife of the Fat One paid in full
for the snotnos’d and dirty of Gris.

The fourth house on Harkness held Erik,
hyped up on turnips and spiced nuts and
cocoa and loud lies of yuletide and
elfin carousing and courses of

reindeer, darting through the northern lights.
Erik’s eyes sparked when the Fat One flew
reckless and feckless before the clouds.
The HELPER took notice and stretched out

a parlous arm, plucked out Erik’s eyes,
twisted his ears, and wet his bed.
THE END.

--

(Part of Loren Eaton's Advent Ghosts 2011 shared storytelling event.)

Hey there, sportsfans.

My computer cords decided these holiday times are a fantastic opportunity for an electrical short and smellings of melted insulation. (Luckily, no fire). So, I'm running a bit behind on this announcement.

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John Kenyon of TIRBD issued a challenge 12 months back in search of fairy tales re/told as crime fiction. If you've considered it before, you might recognize that many fairy tales already ARE crime fiction. Here are a few of the thieves and the murderers: Aladdin/The Soldier of The Tinderbox, Goldilocks, Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel, Jack.

However, I decided to look at an extra-textual narrative, a repercussion of an event in the tale proper's past: What happens to the caregiver when a child disappears into Fae? Thus was born "Interview with The Pram Driver."

I could tell you what did me to the deep you see, but you wouldn't believe it. Nary a word. There I am, hoping, praying, dressing out and making the rounds, looking for a bit of work to put some money by, what with my Albert blowing his wages down the pub 'fore he gets them. Yes, I tell the darling couple, I know a nursery like the back of my hand. Two of my own blighters at home. No truth there, but my sister had one once. What's to know?

Well, B, we all like to talk about our past triumphs sometimes, but why bring it up now?

Here's why: The collection of 17 stories has been published by Untreed Reads as "Grimm Tales" and is available for purchase at The Untreed Reads Store (direct link). It's also supposed to be on the Apple Bookstore, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

Faithful blogger, co-dictator and friend of the program Loren Eaton (of ISLF) has a story in the book. As do some very talented writers who, until that point, I had never had the pleasure of meeting.

For those of you with a thirst for par-boiled marchen and a spare bit of Christmas jingle in your stocking
-OR- a deep-sadness over the seasonal lack of Grimm, Once Upon a Time or Neverland
-OR- just a desire to test out your dandy new reader/tablet

I think you should check it out.

September 23.

It's a Friday, but that's a day off in my work week.
From 8:30 to 10:00 in the morning, I wait at Youth Court to testify about an incident at the library. The holding area is Courtroom 1. An ancient metal detector and matching deputy guard the stairwell. One of the principals fails to appear. We reschedule.

October 14.

Another Friday.
At Youth Court from 8:30 to noon. A family with 5 children under the age of 9 sit on the front row. All 7 have wracking coughs and raspy breathing. We are all pretty sure the youngest girl needed to be in the hospital. I would swear the pews are from the same batch that's in the First Baptist Church. Obviously, the graffiti is different.

The case I testify in is called at 11:30. I move to the witness room, which I share with the victim and the assailant's brother. We have a good jaw about multi-lingualism in the school systems of Georgia, Mississippi and Jordan. We touch on the price of meat in Jordan (12 dollars for one pound!) and the difference in societies and economies around the world.

One interesting tidbit:
"I am not married at home, but here, I am married."
"Is she Jordanian?"
"No, she is from Alabama. Birmingham."

The brother and I are called in for the judgement and everyone is dismissed.

The incident occurred in June.

--

I've received one rejection and one suspiciously long caesura for William the Goat.

I've abandoned three different approaches to my Variations piece. I still think my piece is strong. But I may not be writing it or revealing it correctly.

We've battled fleas (again), eyeteeth coming in, learning consequences (the play-table goes away if you climb on it after a warning), a rash of exhibitionists in the library (srsly!) and seasonal dissatisfaction.

--

And, to end on a high note and as proof that I am a Mississippian, a few pictures.

Here I am after some amateur tree-removal.
Taddy and I had fun.

This is Baby and I on our neighbor's four wheeler.