The 101 Word Raccoon Chronicles–Chapter Four
If you missed Chapter 1-3, here they are Today’s Random Keywords: intestine, umbilical, loopy Chapter Four Creak went the panel above me. Something scratched: nails on wood. I kept ascending the rungs, holding the flashlight like an umbilical cord. I slid the panel and expected a loopy face-hugger to fall on my head, hump my throat and impregnate my large intestine. Instead I saw darkness. Silence–the muffled sounds of nothing. I poked my head through. Click went my flashlight. The first thing the shaky beam caught was the torn vent, metal tangled and punched inward, as...
Read MoreThe 101 Word Raccoon Chronicles–Chapter Three
If you missed Chapter One or Two, here they are Today’s Random Keywords: linen, abracadabra, Tolkien Chapter Three Gaining access to my attic is like a Tolkien quest. After opening ye olde closet door, where creatures nest in piles of denim and cotton, venture through ancient t-shirts, XFL jerseys and the sweet Z Cavariccis I could never throw away. Position the ladder talisman–rusted, sure to collapse. Ascend the rungs, remove the access panel and, Abracadabra! Through insulation piled like billowy clouds, shine your lantern upon darkness, and pray you catch nothing in its...
Read MoreThe 101 Word Raccoon Chronicles — Chapter Two
If you missed Chapter One yesterday, here it is Today’s Random Keywords: shampoo, dragon, peanut Chapter Two I’m not known for my brains, sexiness, personality or hygienic fortitude (a good shampoo only masks so much). I’m not “Pau Gasol” ugly, but I’m no Brad Pitt, either. Still, this chapter is about my peanut brain, so I’ll stay on track. I heard more scratching above my bed. Wife woke saying “Something’s up there.” Really? Now, hindsight is a wonderful thing. I should’ve gone back to sleep and called the exterminator in...
Read MoreThe 101 Word Raccoon Chronicles — Chapter One
I’m thinking of doing another “101 Word Stupor” bonanza to promote Nether. To get things started, I’ll tell you about the raccoon in my attic. And I’ll do it in 101 words. Feel free to play along. Today’s Random Keywords: butter, massacre, Ludwig Chapter One I was having that dream where I’m naked, covered in butter and dancing the tango in a crowded ballroom. I’m the only male there. My beautiful dance partners, hundreds of naked women, can’t get a grip on me because of my slickness–but they keep trying. A pianist plays Ludwig...
Read MoreStory Published in "Dog Days of Summer 2010"
My 101-word story “Woe, Mirror” was published in an E-chapbook. Mine is on page 35. Thanks to Michael Solender for putting this together. Open publication – Free publishing – More flash Embed code provided by Issuu Share...
Read MoreThe Shoe Fashionista in 101 Words
Jo Anna Guerra: shoe fashionista by day, writer by night. You can find her at http://saiaandchago.blogspot.com/. Go check her out. Wonderful mom and a great writer. And If you’re looking for “Hardcore Jo Anna,” visit her hilarious blog: Digressions of a Mad Lesbian. She contributed the most to my 101-Word Daily Stupor. And instead of digging through the comments, I thought I’d share her lovelies here. Every story is 101 words, and she used all three keywords in each one. Enjoy! YOU SHOULDN’T BE PARADING AROUND LIKE THAT (Keywords:...
Read More101-Word Stupor — "Out of the Sea"
Keywords: Brie, Cadence, Metallic “Oh, hell, I’ll tell ya,” he says in a quick cadence, “Ain’t never caught a fish this big. A-yup, it’ll feed the little-uns for weeks. That fish come up singing. Singing. I spat out the brie Mary packed me soon as it smiled and winked. It had this long red hair, see? Long ass metallic-green flippers. Sang ’bout walkin’ where people go, seein’ things out of the sea. I just a’ smiled and dumped it inside mah boat. When I got home, Mary slathered it with sweet butter. Damn thing squealed the whole...
Read More101-Word Stupor — Can I Stay the Night?
Keywords: Sweatshirt, Cowboy, Vitriol The old farmer smells turpentine and sex: like bologna and mayo sandwiches warmed in the sun. He tilts his straw hat, pulls a pickle from his pocket and munches. “A-yup,” he says with vitriol. “They been diddlin’ in my shed.” The stained mattress tells the story. A soiled sweatshirt sits near the tractor, likely used to mop up. Old Joe loads the shotgun. It’s always the same. He’s filled three ditches with traveling salesmen, lawyers, cowboys. He’s filled the barn with cars that “broke down” or...
Read More101-Word Stupor — Grocery Store Torture
Keywords: Scone, Linebacker, Aphrodisiac Helen stops setting groceries on the conveyer belt. She stares at the magazine cover. That’s me, she thinks. Well, not anymore. She glances down at her own 45-year old linebacker body, sniffs, and returns her gaze to the airbrushed blond with the high-arched cheeks. Helen grabs the bag of scones from the checker’s hand. “Not those,” she says, trying to exude the same Aphrodisiac Charm as the girl on the cover. I used to look like that, she thinks. I used to— “Paper or plastic, ma’am.” Ma’am....
Read More101-Word Stupor — Free Range
Keywords: Boisterous, Abracadabra, Golf George’s wife and her lover rotate on the rotisserie pole, bare asses dipping into the fire with every turn of the spit: hers, his, hers, his… The metal growls with each rotation. Abracadabra! his friend’s body disappears into the flames, then reappears. They’re screaming, but not like they were when George caught them. Now his wife rasps unintelligibly. And his friend sounds like the pig they roasted after playing golf last weekend. The spit grinds, rotates, and drags his wife through the fire. Something’s missing. With a...
Read MoreRogue’s Curse Giveaway
Goodreads Book Giveaway
Rogue's Curse
by Jason Beymer
Giveaway ends January 27, 2012.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
About Me
A permanent fixture at his local coffeehouse, Jason Beymer hunches over his laptop in a caffeine-induced frenzy, jowls slick with muse. He injects comedy into the urban and traditional fantasy genres like a squeeze of lemon into ice water: tart, yet refreshing. When not pounding on his keyboard, Jason worships at the feet of Ray Bradbury, and engages in an unhealthy obsession with Grace Park and Tricia Helfer.
