Science, fiction, and the generally fantastical
Be professional. Don’t give people your time or money who do not deserve it.
All my rejected <FACEBOOKBOOK FRIENDLY NOW> that’s fit to blog! Based on an awkwardly true story of me sitting in the corner of a writer’s workshop dominated by women and attended by one very young man. Take what you will about the relationships and interactions between the artistically inclined sexes in this unapologetic, objective set…
Click below for your chance to get a signed copy of Time to Burn! A piece of trivia about the book will be included with each copy, if you’re the curious type. Goodreads Book Giveaway Time to Burn by M.L. McIntosh Giveaway ends March 01, 2017. See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter Giveaway
Piece of incredibly short writing that didn’t make the finals of a contest. Hope you enjoy it, or don’t, more than they did. I thought it was rather clever. Everyone dies in the blink of an eye. My mother died in a typical way. The method of murder, you see, was me.
“Have you seen your evaluations?” Margaret’s boss sat across the desk from her. Margaret had a lot of bosses. Attendings, nurses, the professors, then the directors, program coordinators, this guy. Lots of bosses. Lots of advice. So much advice Margaret almost didn’t know what to do with it. Margaret hadn’t read the type-outs, the attendings…
I lowered the glass. “I guess I’m just not a wine or blood enthusiast. And I’m sorry, what are your names, again?” “Bad, worse and worst,” Brad’s voice interrupted from behind me. He knocked into my hand, threatening to spill the wine. It’s Brad vs. Bad. “Now that would be a loss, wouldn’t it?” he…
the struggle bus. This song was written for a friend of mine who uses this phrase as frequently as the struggle bus itself stops. We’re both waiting to get off the struggle bus, in fact. Right now she’s sick at home, and we have a charity show to do tonight. Bleh. The struggle bus continues….
The phone rang. Margaret started to get up only to realize if she let go of her string the bead work she just did might fall apart. “Oh, tits,” she said aloud. It was probably just telemarketers or Mom calling to make sure Margaret hadn’t gone out. The answering machine clicked on, but not in…
Something moved below the bandaging, pressing out against the cotton. Could he be bleeding that much? Was it a rib bone, sticking out with his breathing? No. A broad headed, orange snake burrowed out of the bandaging. The binding stretched and broke apart, revealing a wound in Alestender’s side. Snakes, orange and yellow, writhed inside…
Mindy watched with deadpan silence as Mom piled a tray with salisbury steak carefully heated in the microwave and pr-emade mashed potatoes before her. Mindy shook her head. “The slink said if I eat the steak, he’ll tip me over and if I don’t get up fast enough, he’ll eat me.” “Tell your friend to…
There was a man in the doorway wearing antennae, large, faux TV antennae. “Are those antennae?” I asked, staring above the other party goer’s head. I mean, I’m drunk but I’m not that drunk. “What?” He turned to look behind him, his antennae swerving through the air. “Does Marli have a vintage TV?” “No, I…
I met you at an ugly Christmas sweater party You wore a black dress in protest, I don’t recall what I wore at all. But I’m not cool enough to protest Christmas I bet youre the kind who leaves their christmas lights up Hey you, do you? Some people think that’s lazy But I prefer…