Mar 14 2016
Cascadia, a humanoid spirit created by First Female, leads a fast paced quest through history, mythology and sex education in this first fantasy in Cascadian Ventures, a series of magical reality novellas. She is trained in the use of lust by the hot goddess Helen of Troy, the art of the knife – and other things – by the eager Jim Bowie, and the nasty nature of humans by her female familiar. Along with the help of a logging crew, a magic blade, a flying bear and a brave horse named Blue, Cascadia takes on a truly bad dude in her debut attempt to craft a better kind of human. Buckle up for this trip through human emotion and behavior set in the Pacific Northwest and realms beyond.
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/jim-bowie-goddess-lust/
Mar 01 2016
I’m trying to remember how long it’s been since I dusted.
Jim Bowie and the Goddess of Lust is now online here. Let me know how you like it.
Seven deer are camping out in a nearby meadow waiting for our roses to bloom. They cross the street one at a time to take a look at the budding process. This goes on all day long. And so does Dotty’s yapping. Ah, spring.
Spending: You must have more income than outgo. Calories: You must have more outgo than income. Somehow, I have reversed the two.
With the news the way it is, it’s getting very hard for us fiction writers to rival reality. Ghouls and vampires and zombies seem pretty damn tame.
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/snippets/
Jan 30 2016
I came across this the other day, written by the Mister in a nursing home many years ago. He died seven years ago come this March. My life has gone on and blossomed in ways I never thought it would. But I miss his sense of the absurd. I miss him.
Where everyone once was somebody dear.
Come down the hallway that leads to no place;
Inside every room, see yesterday’s face.
Meet soldiers who have no wars to fight.
Judges who don’t know wrong from right.
Grandmothers unaware they ever gave birth.
Accountants unable to calculate worth.
Teachers who’ve forgotten their ABCs.
Psychologists suffering mental disease.
This is the House for holding onto the past.
And questioning how it went by so fast.
Spend some time learning how the House feels.
Pull up a chair, they mostly have wheels.
Welcome to the House of Nobody Here
Where nobody has anything left to fear.
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/the-house-of-nobody-here/
Jan 20 2016
Enter for your chance to win your very own collector edition of a PI Bear Jacobs mug. This is an eleven-ounce mug with graphics from all of the Bear books in the series by Linda B. Myers. WOW WHAT A BOFFO PRIZE!!!
If you’d like a chance to win your own Bear mug, send an email to MUG ME PLEASE at firstname.lastname@example.org.
If you are the winner of the drawing, I’ll contact you for your snail mail address so I can send your prize. And so creepy Uncle Damien can pay you a visit in the middle of the night.
Act now … the contest ends at my discretion, and I’ll soon lose patience with the whole damn thing.
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/let-me-mug-you-for-free/
Jan 13 2016
I see him every Wednesday when I go to my writers group. He is pastured a field of lavender away from where I stand, so he is not close to me. I do not speak to him. But he intrigues me.
He is not magnificent with his Roman nose and swayed back. But he does have a flowing whip of a tail and a graceful arch to his neck.
I believe he is sad, a herd animal all on his own. He stands at the fence, facing across the fields, staring at the dairy cows acres away. He whinnies to them, but they ignore him because they have milk to make.
Some god of lonely horses took pity on him a few days ago, and I noticed a neat little bay had been released in the pasture with him. They galloped from fence to fence, lashing at each other with hooves and teeth. I am no horse whisperer, but it appeared the white horse was the aggressor nation. Before long he was alone again, looking over the fence with sorrow, or so it seemed to me.
This week, the horse god devised another plan. A goat was in the pasture. It was eating. And the white horse was calmly grazing as well, close to the little animal’s side.
If I were a god, I’d find some moral here. Maybe that opposites attract, or loners like to be alone, or that everyone who looks like a friend might not be. As it is, I just feel better because the white horse seems content with his goat.
As for now, this ending is a happy one.
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/white-horse/
Jan 08 2016
- The Quality Inn in Fort Lauderdale has hit upon a neat marketing ploy aimed at people flying into the area to get on a cruise. They call themselves an airport/seaport motel. They pick you up at the airport, take you to the motel, feed you breakfast the next day, then take you to the right ship. They organize the whole thing, all for one price. I think this is a dandy package that can add life to older motels in port cities around the country.
- No matter how they try to dress it up, a coach seat on an international flight is as comfy as an Iron Maiden. But look up there to what’s happened in business class. They call it the flatbed seat. I call it a miracle. When you want to snooze you push a button and slide forward into a prone position. You are given a fluffy blanket and pillow. You’re given slippers and a sleep mask. The ‘bed’ cradles you, its sides coming up around you as though you were in a drawer. This few hours of horizontal position will cost you every frequent flyer mile you have ever earned. And it is absolutely worth it.
- If you are an unemployed gospel singer, I know where you can find work. Try the customs department at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. If you have one of those big boomy voices that can belt out “How Great Thou Art” chances are you can get a bunch of exhausted
cattletourists to follow the order, “American passports to the right. THE RIGHT, PILGRIM.”
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/international-travel-tidbits/
Dec 29 2015
Customer: And I’d like fries with that.
Employee: What size fries?
Customer: Um, I guess about four or five inches.
To marketers sending me emails with subject lines like “You brake walls with your boner” or “Take love gun out n shoot” or “Forge huge love sword” be advised: I do not suffer from erectile dysfunction because I do not have an erectile to dysfunct. Please quit it.
My significant-other-in-law is working on an old car. He is using a product that says this on the label:
Contains: Xylene & Toluene. Vapor harmful. May affect the brain or nervous system. Causes eye, skin, nose, throat irritation. Vapors may ignite explosively. May cause birth defects or other reproductive harm.
Anyone care to drop by and help him with the project?
I studied art in college, then switched to English when it became clear I had no art talent whatsoever. Decades later, I wrote my first book. Now I am starting my sixth. At last I know what I am: I am a writer.
Overheard on a Delta flight out of Atlanta: A woman on the aisle turn to a man in uniform who was wedged into a center seat next to her. “Thank you for your service,” she said, then galloped on down the aisle, not allowing him the opportunity to get out.
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/odds-and-ends/
Dec 24 2015
I like paper books. But I also like ebooks. They each have their place.
An ebook weighs less, has variable type size, is backlit. You can store hundreds of them in a space no bigger than a piece of toast. But I have just discovered one thing that ebooks really suck at. You can’t wing them off the nearest wall.
Roger Ebert called it the idiot plot. You know the type. For instance, a young woman decides to change into her nightie before going to the woods, alone at midnight, to investigate that demonic noise she just heard.
In the case of the ebook I was reading, the plot involved a graduate instructor inviting a female student (whom he didn’t much like) into his apartment not once, but three times, without thinking that there might be repercussions. Come on. I rarely criticize other writers, but come on. I’m supposed to care about this guy after that unforgivable brain fart? Burn him at the stake, I say.
A paper book could have been drop kicked across the room in a fit of irritation. But you really don’t want to do that with an ebook. So now I have to find something else to toss, pitch, kick or slap. I may be my own idiot plot today depending on who or what crosses me.
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/idiot-plot/
Dec 18 2015
It’s something that happens to you with age, like fallen arches or colonoscopies. You no longer seek anyone else’s approval in what you wear. Fuck Fashion becomes your motto. Maybe it’s getting back in touch with your inner child who is a damn sight more fun than you’ve been for decades.
For me, the big change has been most visible in my socks. It began when things like nylons and garters and high heels went by the wayside. Peeping out from my pant legs now is a menagerie of animals or swirls or stripes, many adorned with metallic threads or puff balls. I actually have three pairs of socks with chili peppers, each in a different hue.
North of my feet, I still manage to be somewhat in control. Even I know a woman who wears Size Big Butt Baby shouldn’t prance around in the yellow spandex capris and explosions of sparkles across my chest. But oh, the socks.That’s just a shitload of adorable happening down there.
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/sock-it-to-me/
Dec 09 2015
I believe in Multiple Personality Disorder. For a lot of people, this is akin to believing in the Tooth Fairy or deer with red noses. To make it more palatable, the behavior was renamed a while back to Associative Identity Disorder. Not that that helps things much.
Believers by and large stay deep in the closet on this one if they don’t want people to laugh and call them names. Psychologists and social workers who have toiled among society’s more fragile folks have often been spooked by it. They think they can even see physical changes as a ‘personality system’ moves from identity to identity. A person might be a diabetic in one personality but not in others. A scar might grow fainter in the identities that didn’t experience the actual wound. An aggressive man might take on the look and voice of a terrified child.
Weird science. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.
Take a look at this article from the Washington Post that reports a new study of a blind woman, saying : It was while seeking treatment for her dissociative identity disorder that the ability to see suddenly returned.
And in case you are of the liar-liar-pants-on-fire school, the article goes on to say: One explanation, that B.T. was “malingering,” or lying about her disability, was disproved by an EEG test. When B.T. was in her two blind states, her brain showed none of the electrical responses to visual stimuli that sighted people would display — even though B.T.’s eyes were open and she was looking right at them.
How do I react to this article? Vindication? No, not that so much as a deepened belief that the brain is too big a mystery for people to count things out. Besides, this sort of blindness in some of our identities may be the only explanation for American politics these days.
Permanent link to this article: http://lindabmyers.com/the-mysterious-brain/