|Where are the Cenobites Daddy?|
|Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/Suzie-Lockhart/e/B00DTIG29I|
When I saw ‘Scary Confessions’ as a possible topic for WiHM, my inner voice prompted me to let her out of the cage I keep her in.
The prospect of letting Inner Voice out was a very frightening one, indeed…the one rattling around inside my skull isn’t akin to the one that prompts Anastasia Steele to explore tawdry sexual encounters with Christian Grey.
Well, not usually.
My inner voice is more likely to encourage me to make the fast food employee, who really pissed me off because she can’t count change without the assistance of the cash register, or the driver who nearly hit my car because he was in such a hurry to get to wonderland, pay. Make them pay, she hisses. (And trust me, my fellow writers, she does not need an ‘S’ word to hiss…)
Make. Them. Pay.
“C’mon,” I argue, “she’s just a kid. I mean, they aren’t even teaching cursive writing in school these days, let alone how to count change!”
Then I feel bad, because I know a few teachers and I know they work hard.
I consider the young guy who cut me off earlier, driving a fancy sports car while talking on an expensive-looking cell phone. I decide to take a new approach.
“It’s the parents!” That is my next argument with Inner Voice. Now, I feel terrible for blaming teachers. I figure the kids can’t be held accountable for things they don’t know. We are still on the topic of the young girl who couldn’t count change. “They are too busy to help kids with their homework. And parents are spoiling kids rotten.”
Take that, Inner Voice.
Well shit. As I’m writing this, I realize I forgot to help my own kid with math homework. Did I remember the spelling test…? My eyes land on my little girl, sitting in the midst of her fancy dollhouse, surrounded by at least a hundred Monster High dolls.
Inner Voice smiles her delinquent smile.
Naching T. Kassa
|Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/Naching-T-Kassa/e/B005ZGHTI0/|
The worst nightmare I ever had, the one that fuels my writing, is about a terrible and demonic creature. Even now, shivers crawl up and down my spine at the mere thought of it.
I was four when I had the dream and my older sister, who slept in the bunk bed above me, heard my cries. I tried to tell her what it was but she didn't quite understand so, she decided to draw a composite picture of it. I described it to her as follows.
"It had vampire teeth."
She drew them.
"And, eyes. Big eyes."
"It had wings."
"Ok. Like this?"
"Yes. It's body was made of bread. There was lettuce in the middle."
"It was a flying sandwich?"
Ok, so the first great fear of my life was a flying sandwich that wished to eat me. It made my heart jack-hammer, my pulse race, made me freeze as I tried not to be seen. It became the nightmare fodder and the mole hill from which my horror mountain grew. I'm grateful if a little confused by it.
It seems trivial compared to the fear out there now.
|Junior Inquisitor Audible|
|Get it free here - Goth Witch of Philly|
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