Tag Archives: historical fiction

Shameless, Underhanded Self-Promotion

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Case in point – As a teenager, I got my first job as a telephone solicitor. I sat at a table with a phone and a script of what to say to random strangers. The script included a section for “what to say if they resist your sales pitch and could care less about buying a subscription of the Austin Citizen Newspaper. ” I never got that far. If they said “no,” that was that. I had bothered them enough and wanted no part in wasting their time any further. Needless to say, I was fired after three days. As the saying goes, I couldn’t sell a Bible to a Baptist preacher. And now, many, many year later, still can’t.

So, I have a new book coming out this May. “They” say I need to promote it. Ha! And, oh no.

Now, to change the subject without changing the subject.

Who doesn’t like cute animals? So, without further ado, here are a few to ooh and ahh over.

Aren’t they adorable?

Shameless!

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Disclaimer: No child or pet were harmed during the making of this photo. All are available on Amazon, well, not the kids or the dog. 🙂

One of “my” kids, who just turned three, had NO desire to be part of my shenanigans (smart fella). So “Cole,” my 13 year-old mini Aussie stepped in on the fly. He might be licking his chops but no, he didn’t eat Ten.

The Truth Bites Like a Ratt’ler

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Dad’s ignoring me as usual, but I guess that’s better than a slap on my face. Mother dries off the breakfast skillet, picks up a fussy Delma, and says, “Cono, yer goin’ te town this weekend te sleep over at Mamaw’s.”

“How come?” I ask.

“Aunt Marguerite and Aunt Eva are there. They wanna see ye.”

Well, I can see all the way down to the truth, and it feels like I’ve swallered a ratt’ler. Dad’s still mad that I’d bitten that toothbrush in two and doesn’t want me around. I don’t want to be around him either.

Still, I don’t want to go. I like Dad’s sisters well enough, but I want to stay here with baby Delma.

Mamaw, Dad’s mother, is the toughest grandma I know. It would be a whole lot easier if I just ran away and caught a train to somewhere else. As I sit on that idea like a chicken warming her eggs. I decide against it. Everybody says that the trains are filled with starving hobos on their way to California. They say they like to eat children under the age of twelve. I’m afraid they’d eat me too even though I’m little and skinny.

I guess I have to go.

 

Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper

 

via Age

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UNHINGED

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There she was, the unbuttoned girl who didn’t know right from wrong, who always took the path over thorny ground. Demented in heart and void of conscious. Squeezing the life out of my bordello one person at a time until she did it to herself.

And I never saw it coming. Never saw her falling into the depths of insanity. I did what needed doing. I protected my business. I had her transported to Southwestern Insane Asylum and never told a soul except Reba. And not once did I visit her.

I made a pact with myself. No regrets for what I was about to do.

 

Excerpt from The Last Bordello

 

Daily word prompt: Thorny

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Flawed or Innocent?

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Why couldn’t wives see the similarities between themselves and a whore?

“He’s a client,” Sofie continued. “But watch, when he sees me, he’ll turn away. So will his wife.”

The man looked away, just as she thought.

“You can’t speak to him?”

Innocent Meta. “Never.” “Speaking to them in public would only break Miss Fannie’s Code of Silence. It goes with the territory. Besides, if we broke Fannie’s trust? We’d be out on the street nothing flat. Folks have tried to buy her black book of customer names but nothing doing. When the Wild Bunch stayed with us, she wouldn’t even give them up to the great Mr. Pinkerton.”

“I’m sorry, what does she call it again? A code of…”

“Silence. A code of silence.” Curious how Meta seemed more fascinated by Miss Fannie’s code than with the Wild Bunch. The bank robbers were the guests of honor at the going-away party Miss Fannie gave them two years after she arrived. The wrongdoers, pleasant and entertaining, the lavish event stood out in her memory with fondness. Perhaps she had a penchant for those who could smile at their criminal endeavors when they never  get caught.

Excerpt from Naked, She Lies by C. Dennis-Willingham

Daily word prompt: Penchant

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A loving parable

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Painting by  C. Dennis-Willingham

In the past when Papa was healthy,  I learned of this parable in the Bible. I was so Enamored by that kind of love that I would ask if he or Mama would like for me to wash their feet. Only a few times did Mama succumb to my request. Even at night, her feet were  too busy moving, rarely still enough for me to wash.

Papa, on the other hand, would sit in his favorite chair in the parlor and lay down the newspaper he had been reading. He would smile and laugh as I placed the soaped cloth between his toes. Our conversations would move from one subject to the next as quickly as a hummingbird searches for nectar. The ritual seemed to both invigorate and relaxed him. 

            Yet, when Papa had lain in his bed with a pneumonia-fed bad heart, it was not the same. Nothing was the same.

            Nor will it be again.

Excerpt from Naked, She Lies, by C. Dennis-Willingham

daily word prompt: Enamored

The Smart One in the Bunch

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“You think Miss Primrose has the end of the year party planned out,” I say, changing the subject like I wish my teacher would when we’re studying mathematics.

Scooter stops blowing his harmonica. “Crowns,” Scooter says. “Stupid crowns.”

Last March, when Scooter turned fourteen, the handmade crown Miss Primrose gave Scooter never stayed on his head. I’m not so sure it was the crown’s fault.

“I agree, Scoot, ol’ Buddy,” Frank says. “We should wait until we’re real kings to wear crowns.”

“King Scooter Hutchings.” Scooter chuckles. “King Scooter Hutchings doesn’t walk on crutches.”

“Frank,” I say. “Are you teaching Scoot to Rhyme now?”

Frank shrugs and smiles.

“All the time,” Scooter squeals.

We laugh our way to the final steps of the schoolhouse. “Scooter, remember about tonight. We can’t tell Bernie about our plans. It’s a secret,” I tell him. “I want our plans to come to fruition.”

Scooter crinkles his nose.

“You know—”

“Work as planned,” Scooter says, pulling out his pocketknife.

Scooter is the smart crust around the apple pie that holds everything together.

 

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket by C. Dennis-Willingham

 

Daily word prompt: Rhyme

The Madam

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Never, ever, will I regret saving that woman from the hangman’s noose eleven years ago. That good-for-nothing she killed deserved being plugged. Even so, a Negro woman who murdered a white man might as well start braiding her own rope.

“’Nough mess … ” Parts of her newest grumble bounced from the parlor into the kitchen. I muzzled my laughter then I heard the thwack, thwack of a dishtowel slapping the velvet settees–Reba’s version of dusting.

Without Reba Mae Tyler, I wouldn’t be grinning at the cash stacked on my desk and organized by denominations. Who better than me, and my five-foot-three-of-nothing-but-glory best friend, to earn this kind of money?

Madam Volvino down the road would have scammed the Wild Bunch. I pictured that dollymop charging a lesser fee for her bawdyhouse services then afterward, jiggling her fat rump straight to the law to collect the one grand in bounty—one grand for Butch alone.

Excerpt from The Last Bordello by C. Dennis-Willingham

 

Organize– daily word prompt