Happy Friday, y’all!
You know, each and every Friday (pretty much) I give out some free fiction. Sure, it’s only 100 words, but it’s free. I tell a little story, perhaps just a snippet of a story, or maybe only a glimpse into a world that might have more to offer. It’s 100 words, so time is limited.
The thing is, not everyone knows about the Party. I know, I know! How can some folks be completely ignorant of the Friday Night Drabble Party? There is a way to remedy that! A way to help spread the news!
How do you help spread the news? Where does the news come from?
I have a newsletter! (Okay, okay, yeah, that was possibly the WORST segue ever in the history of segues. It’s early when I’m writing this. I’ve only had one cup of coffee.)
How does one sign up for this newsletter? —>BY CLICKING THIS LINK HERE!<—-
That’s all ya gotta do! Click on the link, sign up, get all the news about what’s up with Jake Bible Fiction, including links to the latest Friday Night Drabble Party, then tell all of your friends! ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS! ALL OF THEM! NOW!
Now, on to the 100 words of lovety-love!
The sun bore down on her like a big brother forcing an unwanted piggyback ride. She took the pressure and dealt with it. The sun didn’t mean any harm, it was just being the sun. She could complain all she wanted, but the sun would still just be the sun the next day.
Michelle wasn’t like the others. She didn’t scatter and run screaming, hoping the guards wouldn’t shoot her in the back. She wasn’t one to panic or overreact. Michelle was clam and cool.
So, when the wall came down, she walked. Straight out into the desert. She walked.
Disclaimer: Don’t look back.
I’m finishing edits on Mega 5, but I still have time to get y’all your weekly fix of micro-fiction!
YOU! ARE! WELCOME!
And, since I’m never one to stand between a person and his or her fix, how’s about we get this show started?
Crushed beneath ten tons of cement, Horace was seriously rethinking his career choice.
“Golem needed,” the ad had read. “Exciting work environment. Pay DOE.”
Horace hadn’t ever been a golem. He was a rock troll by birth, a creature of the dirt and mud by nature, and an opportunistic worker by personality, so the gig intrigued him. But he wasn’t jewish.
“No problem,” the manager said. “We’re open-minded.”
He wondered if “open-minded” was actually code for “goes through a lot of golems”.
As Horace lay there under ten tons of heavy cement, he thought he knew the answer.
Disclaimer: Read the contract!
Another Friday is upon us and it is HEAVY! Get it off! GET IT OFF!
Hey, guess what? BookRiot listed the top 30 best writing podcasts and Writing In Suburbia is in the top ten! Nice!
You can click the pic and check it out! Free to listen to, free to subscribe to, worth its weight in gold.
Now, how about some of that tasty, tasty micro-fiction?
Norris set the flame to low and let the pot simmer. The smell was intensely delicious and he had to restrain himself from ladling out a bowl right then and there.
But he needed to be patient. It wasn’t ready. To eat it before the meat was tender and the flesh was broken down would be such a waste of a good kill. Norris was not one that tolerated waste.
He set the table and poured himself a drink. One drink, one table setting. Norris hadn’t seen another living soul in months.
Norris sipped his drink and waited.
Disclaimer: Don’t eat the brown.
Each and every week you get free micro-fiction from my brainpan to yours! 100 words that are all yours to do with as you wish! [Not as you wish. Copyright and all that, ya know. I was just being silly. Shut up.]
Hey! You! Haven’t read Salvage Merc One yet? WHAT THE WHAT? Well, now’s your chance! $.99 for only a few hours more! HURRY!
Oh, and if you like the first one then you can now get the second one, Salvage Merc One: The Daedalus System, AS AN AUDIOBOOK! CRAZY! [Heads up that Audible goofed and hasn’t posted the cover yet.]
Click the pics, yo. Get some SM1 in your life!
Now, on with the show!
Natives Not Friendly
The beach was covered in crabs. Three, four inches wide. Nasty looking claws. Or one was nasty looking. The other was kind of feeble and sad. It must have had claw envy.
“Why are there so many crabs?” I asked Doug. “Is this called Crab Beach?”
“Shut up, Mike,” Doug snapped. He tried to look at me, but both of us being buried up to our necks in sand, it made it difficult.
“You think they’ll try to eat us?” I asked.
We really should have heeded the warning sign. Literal warning sign.
“Natives not friendly!”
Happy Friday, y’all!
If it is Friday then it must be Drabble time! Yep, I have 100 words of goodness waiting for you.
But, first, how about some announcements?
Click them pics and get ALL THE DEALS!
Now, on to the drabble!
Only Two Names
Three names. Always three names. First, middle, last. That was how history remembered the killers.
Tony didn’t have three names. His parents were hippie dippy types, forever going against societal convention.
“Tony is the only name you need,” his mother had said. Not even Anthony or Antonio, but just Tony.
“More than you need,” his father had added. “The Universe knows us by our souls, man, not by our names.”
“So true,” his mother had agreed.
Tony sat there, the rifle across his legs, weeping. When it was all done he’d be laughed at, he knew it.
Only two names.
Disclaimer: What is in a name?