Frederick K. Foote has been a steady contributor to the site for years. He has published more than eighty with us and it is not a matter of if but when he will reach the magic 100 mark.
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Author: ireneallison12
The Saragun Civil War by Leila Allison
Auntie Bellum
Every society must schedule at least one civil war during its existence. It appears to be an unwritten cosmic law. Far be it from Saragun Springs to scoff at unwritten cosmic laws by continuously living in peace when such is considered abnormal.
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Week 557: Magick and Fare Thee Well Sybil Fawlty
As I get deeper into my cronehood, this time of existence in which people either do not see me or pretend they have business elsewhere when the cowl slips, November has become my friend. The mocking young forms who strode about oh so hot to trot last summer are now buried under layers of linen and lycra and are having a hell of a hard time using their phones in the rain.
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Week 555: Controlling Enthusiasm
I have decided to cut down on my use of the exclamation mark. I have often used it as a shortcut to fake a sense of goodwill that I do not usually feel–or at not least up to the degree implied by an exclamation mark. There’s a stink on an exclamation mark, for me it reeks of perkiness and whatever potion lurks in Kathy Lee Gifford’s coffee cup. (You’ll probably have to be an American of a certain age to get that last bit. If not, lucky day: something to google.)
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Literally Reruns – The Assistant by Douglas Hawley
Doug Hawley has been busy publishing work online for the past few years, including, happily with us. We are happy to share his often curmudgeonly POV, which is always tempered with amusement and is never caustic; he also presents his own original point of view that sometimes irks those who demand conventional writing. So it goes with Doug’s The Assistant.
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Week 553: Sunshine Squirrel v. Pulsar
The young lady in the second image is “Peerless Perstephanie the Sunshine Squirrel of Twirl.” Her friends call her Percy. She holds the record for being the “spinniest” living creature known to Rodent-kind, and she is currently in training to break the record of fastest spinning object. (This is why she appears to be “shimmering”; or, perhaps, a shaky hand holding the phone contributed to the effect.)
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Literally Rerun – It Happens Every Other Sunday By Irene Allison (Leila)
Today we open the Crate of Shame and expose the first story published on the site by Irene Leila Allison (there’s a story behind the name change, but it is dull and not worth further mention). Now that it is out there’s little that can be done but deal with it and hope it eventually crawls back into its lair.
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Literally Reruns – Tom Sheehan
Tom Sheehan has written in every possible genre over his seventy year and counting career as a writer. And sometimes, as with today’s story, The Ghosts at Horseshoe Creek, he will blend two together.
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Week 551: The Attack of the MWCM; The Week That Was; A Belated Happy 80th to Debbie
I was riding the bus last week when I was attacked by a MWCM, which stands for “Misty Water Colored Memory” (lifted from that gooey Barb song she sang before she got the perm that made her look like “Arnold Horshack” on Welcome Back Kotter–a dated reference but very true). As you have likely guessed MWCM is a sarcastic term. It defines an elderly concept in my “Ago” that is always attempting to change me into a sniveling old Shrew. We all have something like that inside (or will once fifty or so comes creeping), an ugsome, nettlesome something that (apparently) has invested heavily in old Shrew futures. I cannot kill mine but I can temporarily beat it to atoms by using my hard, old cold heart as a hammer. I often take satisfaction in imaginary acts of violence. They keep me balanced.
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My Fair Wiccan by Leila Allison
1880, Charleston Settlement, Oregon Territory
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Hope was getting old. The thrill was gone, and her wiccan skills were diminishing due to her lack of enthusiasm. Oh, she could still raise a demon, but they were low rent, stereotypical evil and talked too much; most tended to live in the past with little thought given the future. And she could still impress the hell out of the feeble-minded, but public schooling was cutting into the ignorance she had so long depended on. Educated people tend to ask questions. They see a three-headed frog and attribute it to science instead of witchcraft. Bastards.
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