Author Archives: Select Stories
‘Grumpy Old Menopause’ Wins People’s Book Prize
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We at Select Stories are thrilled that “Grumpy Old Menopause” by Carol E. Wyer won The People’s Book Prize for nonfiction. Congratulations to Carol, whose “How Not to Murder Your Grumpy” was runner-up in last year’s balloting for the prestigious honor.
You can find Carol’s unique brand of humor in “Milly’s Magical Moment,” one of her early short stories posted here on Select Stories.
The First Lesson of Reading
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The Barefoot Boy
A cautionary tale…
By Bill Fullerton
Over on a web site for the blind I often infest, someone said the first day of May, in addition to being May Day and Beltane, had also been something called ‘Barefoot Day’. To this I felt compelled to reply as follows, sort of:
As for that info about May 1st also being ‘Barefoot Day’, well, let’s just say I’ve been there, done that, stepped in sticker beds, into piles of chicken shit (being three at the time I reportedly called it “chicky doo-doo”), and onto sweet gum balls (like small mace heads) plus the occasional bit of hot paving tar, broken glass shards, the odd rusty can or nail, not to mention a sharp, pointed rock or two hiding in some weeds.
That’s why, having somehow managed to reach the prime of my mid-dotage, except for my bed and bath, I always wear shoes.
Of course, I’m sure none of the cultured, sophisticated Select Stories readers ever had any similar childhood/hippie/absent-minded barefooting experiences, right?
Now here’s what Paul Harvey would call, “The rest of the story,” about a close encounter of the worst kind between my bare foot and a pile of chicken manure. Continue reading
Forever Free
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Storybook Lovers
By Steffanie
So few words, for so much passion ….
My storybook lover is romantic, he would never hurry his sweetheart in a love scene, but tonight I want him to…
“Make love to me, darling. In one hundred words or less.”
“Micro fiction?”
“Yes.”
“Get your skirt off then.”
I begin slowly undoing the buttons on my…
“Just do it, don’t describe it.”
“It has to be sexy.”
“But you’re using all the words up!”
“Don’t shout at me.”
“Sorry, sweetie.”
Silence.
More silence.
“We’ve still got twenty words left.”
“We could have a…”
“Sssh, no dialogue, no description.”
“OK. Shall we?”
“Oh yes.”
Mmm… one hundred words.
Perfect.
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© 2013 by Steffanie • All rights reserved
Reader Today, Leader Tomorrow
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The More You Read…
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Book Brief: ‘Lost and Found’
“Lost and Found” (the second installment of the Short Tales series launched with “Writer’s Block“) is published in ebook format by Select Stories. The story is an affectionate look at a few of the pitfalls and mishaps faced by Jane and Martin, a couple navigating a new romance. Both have past histories: love, loss and unforeseen changes, but through everything, they’ve been bolstered by their dog and cat, companions as devoted to each other as they are to their people. The appearance of a vindictive ex serves to catapult the two-legged protagonists into action, spurred on by an unexpected development.
Title: Lost and Found: A Short Tale of Dogged Determination
Author: M.P. Witwer
Length: Approximately 2,300 words
Available at Amazon.com Kindle Store (as well as all international Amazon sites) and for free at Barnes & Noble Nook Books, Kobo, iBooks and Smashwords, and with subscription at Scribd.
Sweet Things
As the author herself puts it, this is a sinister little tale. Consider yourself warned.
It was Halloween night, so of course…razor blades. Also needles and wood splinters and rat poison. But just a dash. He didn’t want to kill anybody. He just wanted them to cry. Maybe they would never eat candy again. Maybe they wouldn’t turn into fat little slobs. Maybe they would live longer and have better teeth.
Maybe he was saving humanity.
Parents were crafty little inspectors, so he’d honed his skills over the years, each little candy bar a painstaking operation that would make a surgeon weep with envy. A singular puncture hole, a slightly imperfect seal, and all his hard work would be so much refuse for rats or other garbage bin carrion, and that would not do.
The right tools were essential. Fine tweezers for opening the ends of each package, a commercial heat sealer for closing them back up again so they looked fresh from the factory. A pair of tin snips for making the bits of needles and razor blades into devious silver confetti to be sprinkled carefully throughout each confection. A mortar and pestle to grind the rat poison into a fine powder so that he could combine it with a viscous mixture to be inserted with a hypodermic needle, undetectable particularly amid the caramel varieties.
He found a soldering iron to be useful for melting the chocolate back over the places he’d inserted his special ingredients. No one would detect his trickery—until it was too late. After his treatment, the candy looked just as it did before. Perhaps even better.
He was a maestro of the subtle. Continue reading