A short Rejection from The First Line. (Sorry! Rated V for violence)

Sorry I haven't posted in a while! Life, work and all that suff gets in the way. But here's my latest rejected short story. Enjoy!

ESCAPE
In Pigwell, time is not measured by days or weeks but by the number of eighteen wheelers that drive past my house. When I was five I thought they were kind of neat, like big dinosaurs that would roar past at all hours of the day or night. At ten I found them annoying. They were noisy, imposing giants that encroached upon the peacefulness of our small yard while I sat in the garden reading. By the time I was sixteen I longed to travel with them. I’d stare at them from the front porch and wonder what it would be like to see any place that wasn’t Pigwell.
I was on the front porch that hot July night trying to read as another truck roared past. I sat up to watch, pulling my wilted cotton blouse away from the sweat that covered my chest. New Jersey in August was as close to Hades as anyone could ever get.
The eighteen wheeler was white with long teal stripes down the sides. The word ESCAPE was written in bold pink letters. It looked neat, cool, and in control. Contrary to this hot, putrid sweat box I called home. Here there was no capacity for control or even the illusion of anything cool and neat. Home was a war zone and everyone looked out for themselves. Regardless.
I watched that pristine truck roll past on its mission from heaven. Going to see places that were far away from this pigpen of a town. Away from the bruises and pain that lived in Pigwell.
ESCAPE.
“You Bastard!”
“Stop, just stop.” That was my father. My mother was the one screaming profanities.
ESCAPE.
“It’s after seven. Have you been screwing around on me again?”
“Rosie, no. You know, I never—“
ESCAPE.
“You think I’m stupid?” Mom asked, right before she started throwing things. She broke the sugar bowl last week when I was too slow to do the dishes, she flung the ketchup bottle at daddy when he left his shoes in the living room two nights ago and we were down to three plates and two bowls. What ever she was throwing in there might just be the last of our dishes. I imagined eating straight out of the pots for the rest of my days.
“Son of a Bitch!” More breaking glass.
ESCAPE.
I looked to the sky, then my gaze drifted to the woods beside our shack. The shadows were already filling in between the trees, casting ghosts in their wake. I didn't like the woods at night, but it was my usual hidey place when my folks went at it. Especially when the night was as hot as this one. Sweat rolled off your back like drool off a Rottweiler. The woods had a cool dirt floor with trees to absorb the August heat. Usually I’d find a bower of leaves and lay out with my book until the house noise quieted and it was safe to return. But at night…
Another series of crashes from the kitchen and I thought of the white truck with the teal stripe.
ESCAPE.
“Rosie, stop—“ My father was a small, mousey man and not one to stand up to my mother. His voice was more of a plea then an order. Even though he was my favorite parent, most of the time I hated him for not having a spine. He never defended himself or me from the monster. A definite wimp, but the lesser evil in our home and I knew he loved me. Daddy was the one who tucked me in when I was little and made sure I was well taken care of. He was more of a mother then the woman who gave birth to me.
My mother was strong in every way. Language, body and temper. Most of her days were spent downing bottles of beer and she was usually half in the bag when Daddy got home. The woman struck first and questioned later. She never apologized as no matter whose fault it could have been, she was never wrong.
Suddenly, it was quiet. The screaming stopped and all I could hear was some soft shuffling from somewhere in the house. I went back to hide in my book. Just another night in the land of pigs.
“Darla?”
I chose not to answer. Maybe she didn’t know I was out here. I looked to the woods again and regretted not going when I had the chance. When it was ghosts verses monsters, I’d take the ghosts every time.
“DARLA!”
I counted. If I got over thirty there was a good chance she had forgotten about me or passed out.
“DARLA, DAMN IT!”
With a heavy sigh I closed my book and looked to the road. I thought again about those eighteen wheelers and wondered where they were going. As I got to my feet, I thought, I had to get out of this place.
ESCAPE.
“Get me another beer, will ya?” My mother said as I entered the house. She was sprawled on the couch, remote in hand.
ESCAPE.
My heart stopped as I entered the kitchen. The refrigerator door stood open and every glass jar inside was smashed on the floor, but that wasn’t what scared me. Olives, pickles and artichokes were smooshed in the broken glass along with streaks of dark red...blood? A dark stretch of crimson trailed across the kitchen floor.
A smear, a drag.
“Daddy?”
The beer bottles stood untouched on the bottom shelf. Carefully I tiptoed over the mess and peered out the back door. The yard was empty. I came back and snagged a bottle of beer as I passed.
“Mom? Where’s Daddy?” I approached the couch with caution handing over the beer.
“Bastard! Do you know what he did?”
The image of mess and blood glared bright in my mind’s eye, a vivid picture of food and gore, “Is he okay? I can’t find him.”
My mother’s dark eyes lifted to stare at me. “Your father is a lying cheating bastard and that’s all you have to know.”
Her black eyes held no emotion and immediately I knew it didn’t matter if my father was hurt. All that mattered was what she thought he did to her. They had a name for this kind of crazy.
When I headed out to hide on the front porch again, she called me back.
“Clean up that mess, will ya? Your father is useless.” She cackled, a hysterical laugh that ended in a belch.
At the door I tried again, “Do you know where Daddy went?”
Another cackle as she stared at the TV. I wasn’t sure if she was laughing at my question or the show.
After cleaning up the mess I was sure it was blood. The color, consistency, it had to be blood. I looked all over the house without finding my father. His car was still in the driveway and I seriously doubted he was at the neighbor’s. After all the screaming and violence that went on in our house most of the neighbors kept far away. A short nod and half hearted wave was all we could hope for. I went back into the kitchen with cold dread clutching at my stomach. Sinking into a chair I noticed more blood on the other side of the table, toward the door leading to the basement.
“Daddy?” A nervous descent into the bowels of the house showed nothing. Although the basement was a jumble of boxes and old furniture, there was no sign of my father.
“It wasn’t that much blood.” I whispered as I prowled the basement. “It just looked like a lot because of the juice from the olives and stuff, right?”
I was on my way back up the stairs when I spotted him. Curled up in a ball beneath the stairs.
“Daddy?”
Moving closer to the stairs I knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder. I shook him and his head lagged, flopping off his arm onto the cold concrete with a damp thud.
“Daddy?”
A cold shadow fell over me as my mother came down the stairs, beer in hand, sneer creasing her lips.
“Get the shovel, Darla.”
I was afraid to look up. My eyes were locked on my father, taking in his bloodied head and ashen features. The word “dead” hanging in my brain as my voice cracked. “Daddy…”
At midnight I dug the grave out behind the shed. Daddy was wrapped in the shower curtain, lying just a few feet away. Mom said that all the neighbors should have been in bed by then so it was a good time.
“Make it deep,” she sipped her beer as she sat in a lawn chair just off to the side.
“Is this good?” The muscles across my back ached, one shoulder felt like it was going to pull out of the socket if I lifted one more shovelful of dirt.
Mom stood and peered into the hole. She drained her beer and tossed the bottle in beside me. “No.”
More digging. Another two feet down before Mom decided it was a good and proper grave. When I finally climbed out of the hole Mom was smiling. She had another beer in her hand and her words were slurred as she staggered over to the hole to inspect it.
“Well, I guess dissh is a fitting end for the bash-tard.”
As I sagged back into the lawn chair, rubbing my sore hands together there was a rustle off to my side. Turning I watched my father stagger to his feet. Stunned, his name caught in my throat and I couldn’t move.
“Maybe we need another foot.” My mother swayed drunkenly over the hole.
Daddy blinked, taking in the shovel, the hole and my mother standing over it. One hand went to his head, coming away sticky with blood and rage flared in his eyes. Suddenly, he grabbed my mother by the hair and wretched her backwards. Drunk as she was, my mother had the insanity to bring her beer bottle up over her head and down over Daddy’s right eye. The end broke off leaving ragged red rips across his face. Together they crashed to the ground, mom on top. She flipped over and, straddling my father, she used the broken bottle to slice his throat.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t know I was moving until my shoulder screamed as I lifted the shovel above my head and brought it down as hard as I could across the back of my mother’s skull.
ESCAPE.
The road out of Pigwell had no streetlights, but dawn was breaking when I finally saw the first eighteen wheeler heading my way. I stood on the shoulder, one hand raised into the glaring headlights.
“Where ya heading?” The meek looking man was small of statue and reminded me of my father.
“Out of Pigwell.”
ESCAPE.
THE END.

CELIACS OF THE WORLD UNITE!

Right about now most of you are wondering who are the Celiacs? Some strange political group? A fancy new club? Well, there are an estimated three million Celiacs in the United States alone and half of them don’t even know it! They go about their lives, dealing with Celiac issues, all the while they are oblivious to what is going on in their own bodies.
Celiac Disease is an auto immune disease that causes a person to react to gluten, a protein found in wheat, rye and barley. (Okay sometimes oats too-especially in the USA, but that’s controversial so I won’t go there.) If you have Celiac Disease and eat wheat, rye or barley your immune system goes haywire and the villi in your intestines is destroyed. Flattened! Squashed! (FYI- Villi are the little hair-like fibers in your intestine that move the food along and grab up all your vitamins and good things to feed you and make you healthy.) Now, without these little villi just try to absorb those nutrients!
Symptoms are mostly digestive include bloating, the big D, fatigue, nausea, vomiting and some not so subtle symptoms like anemia, bone pain, headaches, and a wonderful little rash called dermatitis herpetiformis. From “failure to thrive” in infants to any problem associated with vitamin deficiencies Celiac Disease can present it self in many ways. So, how do you diagnose something that hides under so many hats? Celiac disease was once thought to be extremely rare but the times they are a changin’. It starts with a blood test and is confirmed with a biopsy (so they can see those squashed and flattened villi).
When diagnosed Celiac Disease is like this giant monster living in your house. It sits on your shoulder where ever you go and hangs around your neck like a ball and chain. Gone from your life are the cookies, cakes, breads, cereals and pasta you love. No more beer! You go to parties and have to refuse just about everything on the menu because wheat is the cheapest filler known to man. It’s in most of the gravies, soups and sauces (thickened with flour-and yes, four is made from wheat too). Clean out your cupboards and get ready for a change of lifestyle.
Then we learn of cross contamination. Yeesh! Enough already! So, the chef is in the kitchen making your lunch. Cheese burger, no roll please and you think you’re doing good. But the chef is busy and he takes the spatula—YOUR SPATUAL—and leans over and flips a piece of French toast, then he flips your burger. POOF! You’ve been contaminated! Tiny flecks of gluten from the toast have found their way onto your burger and your plate and will work their way into your gut, throw your immune system into chaos and hammer down your villi. All from one careless flip of the spatula. So, beware when you belly up to the buffet because you have to wonder if the people before you moved the spoon from the croutons (wheat) into the olives. Oh, the joy of Celiac!
Now relax. Push the panic aside and know there is hope. It takes time to tame this Celiac beast, but it is possible. You do your research, check out the Celiac organizations for more information and you learn it’s not so bad. Most health food stores now carry every kind of gluten free food you could imagine. Even your mainstream grocers are starting to stock the stuff. So you’ll buy one of the gluten free pastas turn the first few pots in to glue (cooking was never one of my better talents!) and learn to manage this life. Experiment, find the brands you like and maybe even learn to bake a few of your favorites. You either eat before you go to the party or bring a little gluten free dish with you. If you do find food you can eat just serve yourself first so those cross contaminators don’t get you! Day by day it gets easier, you know at a glance what you can and can’t eat and you stock your home with good food again. The beast shrinks in size and now fits in your pocket. He’s still there, but can’t scare you anymore.
Then comes the payoff: you FEEL GOOD! The nausea that’s followed you from sun up to sun down is gone, bloated tummy, aching joints and headaches GONE! The beast has given you back your health.
And I found the best tasting bread up at Whole Foods so I’m going to take some cold cuts, cheese, mayo and chopped up olives and make the best Dagwood you ever saw! Life goes on, it gets better. (There are about four or five kinds of gluten free beer on the market, too.)
-Jeanne -Gluten free since 2003
http://www.celiac.com/
http://www.celiac.org/
Local Celiac support group: http://www.geocities.com/seashoreceliacs/

THE DEVIL'S PITCHFORK

I have to recommend THE DEVIL'S PITCHFORK written by Mark Terry. This fast paced drama will keep you turning pages. (I was actually late for work one day because I had to find out how it ended) The main character, Derek Stillwater, is a hero everyone will love.

What if a bunch of scientists created a super virus with no known cure? And what if it fell into the hands of a crazy man?

Read THE DEVIL'S PITCHFORK!

http://www.markterrybooks.com/books.php

Recommending KISS HER GOODBYE

Find KISS HER GOODBYE at your local book store. You won't regret it. This book keeps you on the edge of your seat and takes you places you could never imagine.

I just finished it and still can't get it out of my mind. Robert Gregory Browne is definately an author I'll buy again ...and again, and again, and again!

Couldn't resist....

RWA totally worth it!

The RWA meeting was wonderfully inspiring! The people were an amazing wealth of knowledge of publishing and the writing process. It was like being among kindred souls! These peeps understood me and I probably could have stayed all day.
The speaker of the day was Marcela Landres, a book doctor. She was an editor at for 7 years and now helps others get published. http://www.marcelalandres.com/
The information she shared with us gave me new perspective on what the agents and publishers look for when a book comes thier way. She gave some great suggestions for shaping the dreaded query letter, too.
Aside from the speakers and other things at the meeting I met the greatest people. Not having a large contingent of fiction writers here in my little burg, it was inspiring to talk to other writers who are in the same boat as me; prepublished, looking for representation and wondering where I'm gonna get the time to write!
I would definately recommend the RWA. I only wish I had joined sooner!

Hi Ho! Hi Ho! Its off to RWA I go!

Tomorrow I'm investigating my first meeting of the Romance Writers of America local NJ chapter. I've been vacilating about attending one of these meetings for a while. Mostly I wonder how much I can get from it. I do write some romantic suspense but I also write sci-fi and paranormal stuff. (With a few serial killers thrown in for good measure) It all kinda depends what falls out of my head. However, after talking with a few people who are members I'm thinking this might be a place to learn a lot of stuff. They have editors, agents and other writer's talking about every aspect of writing.
I'm excited!
But I'm a little nervous about the drive. They discribe it as 20 minutes up the Parkway...but I get lost so often I could end up anywhere. I think some cruel Parkway employee wandered around New Jersey and just stuck Parkway signs all over the place. You could follow those things for miles and never actually see the Parkway. Its kinda like the Jersey Devil. You know it's out there...but no one ever admits to seeing it.
If I actually get there I'll let you know how it goes....