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 calm 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!
It has arrived!
The second novel in everyone’s favorite far-future mech western is now available!
Check out Fighting Iron 2: Perdition Plains! Clay and Gibbons are in way over their heads in this one!
Barred from crossing the NorthAm border, Clay McAulay, his AI co-pilot Gibbons, and their battle mech, are forced to flee into the warped and twisted territory of the Midlands. A desolate, dreary landscape filled with denizens of questionable character, the Midlands has the reputation of a place folks want to avoid on their travels.
Few ever enter, almost none ever leave.
Clay is quickly embroiled in a conflict between the townsfolk of Perdition Plains and a mad scientist that may have discovered the secrets to immortality. Clay tries to extricate himself from the volatile situation, but as always, trouble keeps its grip on him and he is soon fighting against a foe he’d never thought possible: a mech made entirely of dead flesh!
Bam diggity! The FNDP is back, y’all!
Had to take a week off because of ConCarolinas. It was a great weekend, but I am glad to be back in the writing chair so I can give y’all some free micro-fiction.
No schilling this week. Just give a click on any of the categories above if you want some more Jake Bible goodness.
One woman held the man to the pavement while another reared her foot back for the blow.
The man tried to protest, but the layers of duct tape that covered his mouth easily prevented that.
The foot found its target. The duct tape crumpled. The man screamed for thirty seconds then passed out, choking on his own teeth.
The two women walked off. A block away there was the inevitable catcall.
“Sounds like someone needs duct tape,” the holder said, grabbing for the roll on her hip.
“Yeah, it does,” the kicker said, bouncing up and down on her toes.
Disclaimer: Duct tape. Say no more.
Friday! Night! Drabble! Party!
How y’all doin’ tonight?
Hey, guess what? Salvage Merc One: The Daedalus System is available! Get it! DO IT NOW!
There’s also some micro-fiction!
They could not run. Not fast enough, at least. The tiny simian nightmares were everywhere. In the trees, on the roofs, jumping out from behind bushes, driving cars.
“Carl! Wake up!” Stan shouted.
Carl’s eyes popped open in time for him to swerve the VW bus to the right, avoiding the oncoming traffic he’d drifted into.
“Whoa,” Carl said. “I had the craziest dream…”
“MONKEYS! LOOK OUT!” Stan yelled as a wave of the little buggers overtook a Cadillac and swept across the road. “THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!”
“Huh,” Carl said. “I hope I wake up.”
Disclaimer: Never sleep again…