Yeah, it’s a straight up shill. But I’ve always wanted to be number one on Amazon and the book has a shot. Your sharing this post on your social media will help me a lot. Not just liking it, but sharing it. I need that help!
We’ve been watching the numbers for a while, and it’s hovering in the top 200-500 most days in it’s categories. We saw it zoom to #120 when we dropped the price – and before we told anyone.
For those of you who just spewed coffee all over the screen, my apologies. That’s why there’s no print version of this blog: too much coffee on paper makes it useless. That and some of you would subscribe just to use it in the outhouse. I quail at that image, but it’s the truth.
Why is my brain pretty? It’s obviously not the content, the picture above should disabuse you from that notion in a flash. I’m told it looks like one belonging to Abby Someone…
As some of you may remember, I’ve been part of an ongoing study at the V.A. Medical Center for several years. They’re studying PTSD and Schizophrenia. They gave me a letter saying that I’m normal and they need me for a baseline. Some of you have suggested that it’s actually because I’m nuttier than a Snicker’s Bar. I’m on the fence.
Anywho, the joy of having long term research subjects is that you can mine that information, stack new tests on the old data, and have a pretty good idea of what’s working and what isn’t. With the testing, not me. I’m an enigma.
Last week I got back from the Athanatos Christian Arts Festival (see this space Thursday for more info) and proceeded to immerse myself in all things V.A. On day two, I was at the University of Minnesota for an M.R.I. study. Again, layered on top of the tests I’d previously taken.
We found out several important things during the study. (I consider myself a part of the research team, versus glorified lab-rat.) The first was that when you cram anything as big as me into the MRI tube, you should probably spray PAM over all the surfaces involved.
I’m not claustrophobic. But I surely understand that a bit better after the test. I was shoved in there so tight that my shoulders scraped the sides as the tray pushed into the tube. I didn’t really care, but I’m sure that’s a panic attack inducer for a lot of people. I was simply warm and cozy. And deaf. The earplugs you wear to protect your hearing block out most everything.
So, there I was, taking tests while they zapped my melon with magnetic waves. Or, so they told me. It could have been any kind of radiation and I’d be none the wiser. I managed to stay awake, think mild thoughts when so instructed. Prayed, actually. Seemed like a good time for it. Then I mashed buttons when that was the gig.
The test resulted in some very spectacular images. All of which were perfect. Active to the max, no tumors, good responses, and very pretty. That’s what the young lady running the machine said. As in, textbook.
Now take a second look at that picture above. Textbook what…
See you Thursday!
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Assault on Saint Agnes is now available. Just click this link to find all the options! (I recommend the autographed copy. It’s cheaper than from the big stores, I scribble in it, and you get it mailed within 5 days. We all win.
When you finish reading any book (especially mine) please review it at www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com, and www.goodreads.com. Your review increases the chances of someone looking for a new book greatly. Authors appreciate your review, even if it is just “I thought this was a good read and will give it to my dog to chew. I especially liked the ending, because it made me feel better when he killed all of the main characters. (no spoilers, please)” Those few words (more than 20, fewer than 1,000 is ideal), and a 1-5 rating, make or break how the search engines find us. Thanks in advance.
Sorry about my being awol, but I’ve been a busy boy. And, I have a pretty brain. I’ll explain that next week.
In the meantime, my friend Brenda is giving away a fully loaded Kindle Fire with a copy of Assault on Saint Agnes preloaded – and some other peoples’ books as a bonus. She’s just passed the 100 review mark on her novel, Chain of Mercy.
First, a reminder that we’ve come a long way around here since this blog started, and I’m immensely thankful for that climb up the mountain. If you’re in the upper reaches of the central part of the country (Wisconsin, Minnesota, Illinois, Michigan) come on out for the festival. It’s only 2 hours from either Milwaukee or Minneapolis (or really, really close to that – sort of.)
Now the graphic. And then the original flash fiction promised in the title today.
The Snap Of The Last Piece Of Tape Broke Her Heart
It had taken five hours to carefully pack the accumulation from 22 years working at that desk. Most people would find a lot of dust bunnies left behind some of the items after that long in place. Some would find dust badgers. She did not.
It wasn’t an obsession, or even a hint toward it: she was just a clean person by nature, and had regularly dusted and vacuumed all of the items in the cube. Where other people might be leaving behind an odd bit of dropped candy, a popcorn kernel, or some missing paper clips in the far reaches of the cube under a countertop, her cube reflected her approach to life: clean as you go.
The small squares of dark material on the fabric walls showed precisely where she’d pinned up sayings that reflected her philosophy. They didn’t change very often, and most were timeless. They were recognitions of her Lord and Savior, small pictures imbued with deeper meaning, and the occasional award certificate. Nothing flashy, but their absence from the cube wall was remembered with a dark patch that reflected the mood in the building.
23 years had passed in this space, and she’d been there for most of it. Today the carts filled with cardboard boxes of personal treasures trundled by her cube, the gentle rumble of the irregular wheels brining forth audible reminders of rough trips across parking lots and long-forgotten concrete ridges and floor plates encountered in other trips on other days.
She carefully wrapped her chair in plastic, bubble wrapped the tea cup, and stored the picture in protective folds of her lap throw. None of it was going to be stored longer than over night: the new office space would be waiting for her in the morning.
But tonight, the 64 square feet that she’d thought of as home for the last 22 years were pulling her deeper in a well of memorial gravity that those outside it’s event horizon couldn’t fathom. Coworkers had stood in that opening in the fiber walls and talked of new children, then grandchildren. Promotions had been celebrated with balloons and cake just forty-six feet away in the conference room. Deaths had been whispered about in the passage between cubes, coworkers who had gone home the night before never to return.
It felt like death tonight. A loss of years, youth, and friends. A life spent in service that was now shifting to a final location on that long trail that led to retirement.
The snap of the clear packing tape as she applied it to the last box took her composure with it. She choked back tears as she said goodnight to a friend who was working the late shift, looking on her world for one last time. For it was her world. For better, or worse, we all become creatures of our jobs to some degree.
Tonight that cube will be gone. The new tenants were already working their way down the aisle as each business unit moved out and onward. Tonight, that cube will just another 64 square feet of carpet that are much neater than the rest.
It’s all that remains to show a good person tended the space for 22 years.
