Looking for a fun Christmas short story?

Like small town mysteries? How about ghosts?

If so, try my "Holly, Hemlock & Mistletoe." Available on Amazon for only $1.29.

http://www.amazon.com/Holly-Hemlock-Mistletoe---Texas-Ghost-ebook/dp/B00R6H9XT4

Miss Essie and the Green-Glittered Tiara--A New Story!

A new story written just for my readers for St. Patrick's Day 2015. I suppose you can call it "magical realism." Introducing a new character to the Nameless, Texas family--Miss Esmeralda Wofford, AKA "Miss Essie."

Hope you enjoy the story, and feel free to share it with friends, Romans, countrymen and the gardeners you know and love--you know the drill.  After a few weeks, it will be removed and published on Amazon for the Kindle.

For more "Nameless, Texas" stories, please check my Amazon Author Page. 

Miss Essie and the Green-Glittered Tiara

A "Nameless, Texas" story

by Bobbi A. Chukran

http://bobbichukran.com      

Copyright ©2015

Miss Esmeralda Wofford loved holidays—holidays of all kinds. She didn't care whether it was one of the big ones, like Christmas, or the smaller ones—she saw them all as an excuse to carry on and have some fun.  At her age, which was between 59-years old and dead, she was just old enough not to worry about what her neighbors thought about her anymore.  She'd quit doing that back in her 40s.  According to her daughter Lee-Ann, that was one of her failings.  Miss Essie liked to think it was one of her strengths, one of her better traits.  "Too many folks think they have to act like the Pope," Miss Essie said to Lee-Ann.  Although, being a Southern Baptist, Miss Essie wasn't quite sure what the Pope did, but she was sure he was a devout man who would never wear things that embarrassed his children. Although, she did wonder about that pointy hat.

"There goes Miss Essie," her neighbor Beulah Sproule, said, snurling up her nose like she'd smelled a skunk. "Carryin' on like a blamed fool, swannin' all about town in that damned tiara."  Beulah always spoke in a loud voice to make sure the object of her ire overheard her.

Beulah Sproule wouldn't know a bit of fun if it bit her on the ass, Miss Essie thought then tittered behind her hand.  She loved saying word like "ass" because she knew that in general, old people weren't supposed to say words like that. She got a small thrill out of doing things that old people weren't supposed to do.  Although, she wasn't quite sure who made up those rules.  She'd like to meet them someday, and give them a piece of her mind.  She made a mental note to use several cuss words when she did.

Miss Essie had been overjoyed when she saw the St. Patrick's Day tiaras the weekend before at the Wal-Marts.  Nameless, Texas didn't have very many places to shop, and the Wal-Marts was where everyone went to buy their necessary evils like Fleet enemas and glass measuring cups. And optional decorative pieces of ornamentation like tiaras.

The tiaras were bright green, fashioned with three giant cardboard shamrocks all across the top, and were covered with green glitter.  If Essie's sister Myrtle had seen it, she would have called it gaudy.  Essie just thought it was lovely.  Sparkles always caught her eye. And green was her favorite color.

Miss Essie was especially fond of anything with glitter on it, and if it was a bright color, even better.  She'd picked up the tiara in the store, glanced around to see if any of the clerks were watching (they never were at that place) and she slipped the tiara over her short cap of white hair, to make sure it fit.  It did, so she wore that tiara all around the store, just to gauge the reactions she might get.  After shopping for a few other needed items like spring Oreos with blue centers and Little Debbie cakes with sprinkles, she quickly made her way to the check-out counter.

"Why, isn't that pretty?" the checker girl asked.  "I'll bet your little granddaughter is going to love wearing that."  Miss Essie frowned then said, "I'm sure she will."  She knew how to pick her battles.  And the checker girl at the Wal-Marts was not the place to wax eloquently on how adults should learn to have a bit of fun.  After the checker girl scanned it, she slipped the tiara back on her head, the price tag flapping in the wind, and walked out of the store, her head held high.

Although it was only the day before Saint Patrick's Day, that didn't stop Miss Essie from showing off her new tiara on her jaunts about town.  The ladies at the Nameless Public Library smiled when she walked in, because they were used to Miss Essie's weekly Monday afternoon visits.  She always checked out an old romance novel to occupy herself during the upcoming week.  This week, she chose a frontier story named LEATHER AND LACE.  She hoped it had some juicy bits in it.  She couldn't stand to read a boring romance unless it had some juicy bits. Otherwise, why bother, she thought?

"Don't you look fine today!" librarian Laura Belle said, smiling and wishing that she had the guts to wear something like a glittery green tiara to work. She knew the kids she worked with at Story Hour would love it if she did.

The teen-aged volunteer, Sally Dorrell, stared and her jaw dropped when Miss Essie walked in.  She couldn't think of a word to say.

Poor child, Miss Essie thought. She's still of the age where she wouldn't be caught dead in public with something like this on her head.  I'll bet she's afraid one of her friends would see her, twitter about it and it would be all over school in ten seconds flat.

Miss Essie liked to walk from her home to the library and back, to get some exercise and fresh air.  She didn't take her old 1956 Chevrolet out unless it was absolutely necessary.  No need wasting gas while her two legs were still working. Week after week, except when it was too cold or too hot, Miss Essie made the almost one-mile walk to the library.

Occasionally, afterwards, she'd stop off at Do-Lolly's Diner, at the edge of downtown, for a bowl of soup, saltine crackers and a small bowl of banana pudding for dessert.  She loved Do-Lollys because it was normally a friendly, warm kind of place. And their food was like her mama used to cook back home in Ft. Worth. She thought the coffee tasted like coffin-varnish, but she needed a jolt of caffeine that late in the day.

This Monday, as she walked in, the dull roar ceased for a moment, and all went still.  Essie looked around, found an empty booth and slid in, smiling at everyone as they stared at her tiara. "How y'all doin' today?" she chirped.  "It's a wonderful day out, isn't it?"  A few of the regulars murmured their howdys.

Miss Essie smiled again and pointed to her head. "If anybody else is interested, and from the attention I’m getting, it looks like you might be, they had more of these tiaras down at the Wal-marts.  Only $3.99, too.  I thought it was quite the bargain, considerin' how much glitter they put on it."

Embarrassed, the diners looked down at their plates, and pretty soon the clack and ping of cutlery on old china plates commenced.

Over in the back booth, a few ladies of the Nameless Garden Club clucked their tongues and shook their heads. "What is that old fool up to NOW?" Mrs. Pepper Smythe, president of the club, asked.

"Good lord, would you look at that!" Her sister exclaimed.  After a bit of tsking and clucking, they turned their attention back to their garden salads with fried chicken strips on top.  With low-fat ranch dressing, of course.

Miss Essie finished her soup, smacked her lips loudly, paid her bill, leaving exactly 25-cents tip for her server like she always did, and tottled back out into the sunshine.

Usually nothing much happened on Miss Essie's jaunts into town, but since this was early spring and many things were changing. It had been a long, cold, wet horrible winter and Miss Essie turned her face up to the sun, like a sunflower.  She hadn't gone too far before she noticed something buzzing around her ear.  She flicked her hand at it, shooing it away.  Probably an old fly, she thought.  "Shoo!" she cried. "Get away from me, you nasty thing!"  Miss Essie never could abide flies since she learned that they regurgitate the last bite they ate before taking a bite of something new.  She kept an old cat, Mr. Bodiddles, inside her house because that cat was a goin' Jessee when it came to catching flies.  That cat would sit quietly for hours, watching the flies in Miss Essie's kitchen window, then SWOOP! he was up on the windowsill snappin' that fly up in his mouth and gobbling it down.

She was always amazed how fast that cat would snatch up those flies.  "He's a fly snatcher, all right," she remarked to the postman once when he witnessed the cat snatching up two flies at once.  "That's why I keep him around, nasty old cat," she explained, giving him a well-deserved pat on the head.

Essie walked a few more blocks, and before long, there was more buzzing and whirring near her ears.  She flapped her wrist at it, knocking her tiara to the ground.  "Well, would you look at that!" Miss Essie exclaimed.  That green glittery tiara was covered with bees! Being a gardener, Miss Essie knew that bees were her friends.  She had never killed a one of them.  She was even loath to kill other flying things like wasps--other than flies, that is.  Even the yellow jackets that everybody else hated, Miss Essie let be.  She could never be sure if one of those flying creatures would be the ONE that would end up pollinating her heirloom Mr. Stripey tomato.  She had grown one from seeds over the winter and it was just starting to bloom when she planted it in her garden. She just didn't want to take the chance.  She'd had a problem with pollination the year before.  Miss Essie had read about the whole bee collapse THING, and was worried. So she tried to co-exist peacefully with the winged creatures in her garden.

Using her foot and flapping her hands, she shooed the bees off the tiara, picked it up and replaced it back on her head.  All the flapping was to no avail. She picked up her pace, and by the time she got home, the sound of the buzzing and tiny whirring wings was about to make her dizzy.

Seeing the writing on the wall, Miss Essie carefully removed the tiara, thought for a moment then planted it in the dirt right beside her Mr. Stripey.  The bees, seeing they had it much better in the garden than they'd had on an old cardboard tiara (even one covered with green glitter), finally flew off and busied themselves in the rosemary and nectarine tree that had just started blooming the week before.  And as Miss Essie watched, one fat one buzzed over and bumped at her Mr. Stripey.

Miss Essie stood for a minute in the garden, and watched. "Welcome to your new home," she said, her cheeks flushed.  She felt a bit embarrassed whenever she watched any pollination actually happening, and finally turned away.  She wondered if she could bring more bees home the next week.  Perhaps if the tiara was red, she could gather more of them?  No, she decided, she'd attract hummingbirds that way.  The bees definitely liked the green glitter. Perhaps if she covered the tiara with a bit of plant pollen, or honey?

Miss Essie slowly climbed up into the big old white rocking chair on her back porch, in the shade, and slowly started rocking.  Rocking and thinking about the miraculous power of green glitter.

END

 Copyright ©2015 by Bobbi A. Chukran

The Catalyst -- An Original Poem by Bobbi A. Chukran

 For Freebie Friday, I offer for your entertainment an original poem reprinted from my first collection HALLOWEEN THIRTEEN--A Collection of Mysteriously Macabre Tales. Enjoy! Bobbi C.

Catalyst – A Poem

Anyone who lives with cats has observed this strange behavior.

The olde folks say that when the silvery light of the harvest moon

strikes the edge of the oak grove at just the right angle

Something from the roots of the pin oaks

slithers out and comes to life.

They say that when that Something from the roots

comes alive, it snakes its way into the

local feline population and bewitches them

like some primal bizarre fairy tale,

and their eyes gleam like rubies

and they go insane for about four hours in the

middle of the bright moonstruck night.

Their backs arch and their rat-thin tails bush up

as big as evergreen trees and this frightens them

so that they bush up even larger.

They go seeking fresh meat dripping with warm blood,

even those who usually turn up their

nose at anything but their everyday kibble,

their eyes big and dark and luminous

in the moonlight their howls will

raise the hair on the back of your neck.

The males seek females

and the young and frisky chase the old

until they fall down in a heap from exhaustion.

Hissing (oh, you've never heard such a noise!)

and growling and general caterwauling

can be heard all the way to the far side of the village

during those nights when the harvest moon

alights the edge of the grove.

At dawn the Thing slithers back

to its womb of roots and soil and stones

to await the next emergence

and the cats skulk back home,

blink their dilated eyes in surprise

at the sunlight,

curl up,  and ease their heads down

on their paws and wait…

wary and watchful,

for the next harvest moon.

Reprinted from HALLOWEEN THIRTEEN--A Collection of Mysteriously Macabre Tales
Copyright ©2014 Bobbi A. Chukran

FREEBIE FRIDAY! A Dark Southern Gothic Folktale

A free dark fantasy folktale for your weekend reading pleasure. Inspired by a Cherokee legend and first published in The Clockwise Cat and reprinted in HALLOWEEN THIRTEEN, my collection of macabre/strange short stories.

Enjoy!


Revenge of the Ulagu 

by Bobbi A. Chukran 

"Hon, I wish you wouldn't use chemicals around the house. It's not good for the kids, or for us," Coralee complained.

"You've read too many of those tree hugger magazines," Herbert said, wagging his head back and forth, squinting his little beady eyes and aiming an aerosol can of wasp spray towards a huge nest of yellow jackets up under the eaves of the farmhouse. "That's just a load of horse-shit, you ask me. Now you get back, you don't wanna get stung. You know how yeller jackets are. When I spray 'em, they're gonna go crazy! Remember last time you got stung you swole up like a melon."

Coralee stepped back inside the safety of the screen door where she cast a wary eye on Herbert. He sprayed the nest full of yellow jackets, and sure enough, they went insane, flying straight for him. He dropped the can and ran, almost escaping. One of them, however, was faster than he was. It landed on the side of his face and stung.

"Damn!" he yelled, slapping at the wasp and knocking it to the ground.

He ran back into the house and into the kitchen. Coralee frowned and cursed under her breath, hating the fact that the nest had been destroyed and hating the fact that her husband was so ignorant when it came to using toxic chemicals around the children and her garden. She knew there were better ways. Her native ancestors believed in living in harmony with the insects, birds and wildlife, and she believed the same thing. She shook her head, but made up an ice pack and applied it to the side of Herbert's face, feeling sorry for him because he was such an idiot.

That night, Herbert's head throbbed, and his jaw was swollen to the size of a baseball. "I think the stinger's still in it," Coralee said.  "We need to get the stinger out. My grandma says if you don't get that stinger out, other wasps will come back for it later."

Herbert was mule-stubborn and wouldn't let her look at it. "That's just an old wife's tale. Something your grandmother said just to vex me," he grumbled, took a few allergy capsules and went to bed. He tossed and turned for a while. The pain was almost unbearable but finally Herbert fell asleep.

About 2 a.m., Herbert was awakened by a strange thumping vibration at the bedroom window. There was a small tree beside the house, so he assumed it was a branch tapping against the windowpane. He turned over and tried to go back to sleep. Then he heard a buzzing sound, so loud that it reverberated in his head and filled his brain with nothing but the loud buzzzzz. He got up and walked to the picture window. He saw a large shadow, thought he was dreaming, but it became obvious that he was not. Herbert, not being terribly smart (and proving Coralee right about that), opened the window to get a better look. At that moment an enormous yellow jacket, the size of a large dog, flew in and attacked him, its huge stinger pressing itself into the side of his neck over and over until he was paralyzed from the venom.

His wife lay asleep in their bed, not twenty feet from the window, but she didn't hear a thing.

The yellow jacket wrapped its legs around Herbert like he was a dead fly and flew out the window, carrying him with it.

The next morning, Coralee called the county sheriff and reported Herbert missing. She told them that he had disappeared during the night, and as far as she knew, he had. The only other thing missing besides Herbert was his ugly plaid pajamas, which she said he'd worn to bed that night. She figured he'd been kidnapped since he would have certainly changed clothes had he run away from home on his own. For the life of Coralee, though, she couldn't figure out who would want to kidnap Herbert.

Three days later, while searching for Herbert, the sheriff found a cave filled with hundreds of man-sized cells, in a network of tissue paper thin walls, each holding the white grub-like larvae of oversized yellow jackets.

In the back corner was a human skeleton, wearing Herbert's ugly plaid pajamas. The body was identified by dental records (and the pajamas). His bones had been picked clean. No obvious cause for Herbert's death was ever found. As for the large larvae, entomologists were called in, but their only theory was that a few wasps had mutated because of something in the local environment. They'd never seen anything like it! The cave was sealed tight and a warning sign was erected over the entrance.

After Herbert's funeral, Coralee sat on the front porch rocking and sipping sweet tea, watching the yellow jackets hover around the door. She remembered her Cherokee grandmother telling her the story of Ulagu, a giant yellow jacket that would snatch small children and take them back to its nest to feed to its young. She remembered the story about the stinger and how they'd always come back to reclaim those they'd lost. She believed that the old stories had basic truths at their very roots.

Coralee didn't know what had really happened to poor Herbert, but she had a good idea.

In no time at all, the yellow jackets rebuilt their nest beside the front door, and as far as Coralee was concerned, it would stay there. She vowed that a wasp nest would never again be destroyed on her property.

She smiled and rocked and rocked as the yellow jackets gently buzzed around her head.

END

-------------

Bobbi A. Chukran writes gothic small-town tales and is the author of the "Nameless, Texas" story series. She lives near Austin, TX in a tiny town full of characters that are fodder for her fiction. She gardens like a fool, herds rescue cats, blogs and carries on at http://bobbichukran.blogspot.com.

Five Things I Learned from Patricia Highsmith

by Bobbi A. Chukran

Last week, while re-arranging my book hoard, I came across Patricia Highsmith's book, PLOTTING AND WRITING SUSPENSE FICTION. Then a member of my Sisters-in-Crime group mentioned it, so I decided to re-read it. 

 

Last time I read the book, it didn't "resonate" with me but I decided to give it another try. It's a short volume and easy to get through in a Sunday evening when there isn't much else on PBS besides the Boisterous Boy's Bell Choir from Belgravia or some such.

Patricia Highsmith was a suspense author from Ft. Worth, Texas (my birth town) who wrote THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY and STRANGERS ON A TRAIN, her debut novel that was adapted by Alfred Hitchcock into one of my favorite movies.

Ms. Highsmith admitted that the book is NOT a "how-to write" but a series of things she learned throughout her career. Throughout my re-reading of the book, I learned things about my own writing and had a few mini-epiphanies that will definitely change the way I think about my work.

1. I learned that "who-dunnits" might not be the best thing for me to write.

Ms. Highsmith admitted that she was "not an inventor of puzzles" and that the "mystery who-dunnit" story was "definitely not my forte." She goes on to say that her worst book (A GAME FOR THE LIVING) was of that type. 

This made me think about the types of stories I'm writing. I've been reading lots of cozies and traditional locked room (puzzle) mysteries, and increasingly I have to admit that they aren't my favorite, either. I've actually been trying to write some and have that unsettled "queasy" feeling that comes when I go off track.

Turns out, my favorite short stories I've written have not been the traditional "who-dunnits,"—they've been SUSPENSE. Even my literary short stories have an element of suspense in them (see "Sadie and the Museum Lady" -- free to read on The Dead Mule).  My first mystery novel, LONE STAR DEATH is a sort of hybrid of suspense and traditional who-dunnit. I'm not sure why I never noticed this before.

The stories I like to read the most aren't traditional "who-dunnits" or cozies. Or should I call them "dozies"? Just kidding, sort of.

The ones I like the most are the more suspenseful types with lots of action and  little twists at the end. Stories like you might have seen on the Alfred Hitchcock TV show, or The Twilight Zone. So if I don't like those other types, why write them? Good question!

 I think one of my best stories is "Dewey Laudermilk & the Peckerwood Tree." I consider it more of a suspense story than anything else. And the one that sells the most is my "Aunt Jewel and the Purloined Pork Loin" story. It's a comedy caper with suspense and not a who-dunnit at all.

2. I learned that it's OK not to like all of my characters.

I recently admitted to some writer friends that I don't like many of my characters, and I wondered why this was so. In her book, Highsmith also talked a lot about liking characters and the importance of the reader caring about them. Her amoral, warped characters are actually sympathetic. Highsmith invented characters like Tom Ripley, a con man who became a rich sociopath. Her admiration for the character came through as she talked about him. And, according to Highsmith, it's valid for the author to actually like characters like these—even the bad ones--but we don't have to in order to write a good story.

After reading that, I realized that I DO like some of mine, but I was thinking about my protagonist when I should have been looking in the other direction. I DO like my villains and those like the poor luckless slob in "Dead Dames Don't Wear Diamonds," published recently in THE ANTHOLOGY OF COZY-NOIR (Darkhouse Books).

Now, I need to figure what it is about the characters I DO like and about the ones I do NOT like. Maybe I can apply some of that knowledge to new characters to make them more sympathetic to my readers.

3.  I learned that my main recurring theme seems to be REVENGE and that's OK.

 Ms. Highsmith claims that every author has a "theme" that will eventually emerge and that they should pay attention to it. Her theme, she said, was the relationship between people (especially men) and those sometimes life-changing or threatening encounters. This is certainly illustrated in her first novel, STRANGERS ON A TRAIN.

Knowing a theme is useful for an author because it helps with plotting and coming up with ideas for new stories. Sure enough, when I flipped through my files, I found that six stories have "revenge" as the theme. Instead of cringing and feeling like I'm a bad person, I'm running with it.

4.  I learned where that "really sour feeling about the whole project" comes from.

I've been calling it that "queasy feeling" and am glad to know that it's not just me and it's not the stomach flu. The feeling that a story is "forced, self-conscious and utterly without life" comes about when an author doesn't identify with her character and isn't feeling the emotions of the character. Now that I know where it comes from, perhaps I can pay more attention to it and take steps to alleviate it. Without Pepto-Bismol.

5.   I learned that authors have always struggled with some of the same things.

Ms. Highsmith stated, "I have scarcely a morning that doesn't bring something in the post that could be called psychically disturbing" and brings about "anguish and muted screams." She mentioned taxes, not being able to go on four hours' sleep any more like we used to and the feeling that "the aim of society is to put us all out of business." She ends the book with this advice: "…remember that artists have existed and persisted, like the snail and the coelacanth and other unchanging forms of organic life, since long before governments were dreamed of."

Good to know. And to remember.

-----

About the Author

Bobbi A. Chukran writes short tales of mystery & suspense from "Nameless, Texas" featuring mirth & murder, holidays & homicide.

A complete list of Bobbi's stories and books can be found here:

http://amazon.com/author/bobbichukran

http://bobbichukran.weebly.com/published-storiesreviews-online.html

CATTYWAMPUS CHRISTMAS now available in paperback!

 

Yes, the paperback has snowflakes! Now available in trade paperback. Order today in plenty of time for Christmas!

https://www.createspace.com/5116715

The New ANTHOLOGY OF COZY-NOIR -- Review and a giveaway!

Dear reader-friends,

Please check out the new (great) review of THE ANTHOLOGY OF COZY-NOIR by Cynthia Chow in the Kings River Life magazine.

AND...enter their giveaway and you might win a free copy!

http://kingsriverlife.com/11/22/the-anthology-of-cozy-noir-edited-by-andrew-macrae/

Cynthia gets it right, and saw exactly what Andrew MacRae, the editor/publisher (Darkhouse Books) and authors were trying to do with this unique new genre.

This is my first anthology publication (my story, Dead Dames Don't Wear Diamonds, is a sort of spoof), and I'm so proud to be in the company of these other fine authors!

Happy trails from wet and warm Texas!

bobbi c.

How to Cook Greens in the Crock Pot--A Recipe from Aunt Jewel--Slow Cooker Turnip Greens with Potlikker

Aunt Jewel is one of the spunky main characters in my "Nameless, Texas" fiction series. She's "somewhere between 50 and ancient," she says, and she loves to cook. And she loves to cook things she grew in her own garden. For Thanksgiving, she often makes a mess of greens to go alongside all the other traditional foods. I asked her if she'd share her family recipe for Crock-Pot greens here, and she said "OK, as long as you make sure those folks do 'em right."

So folks--do 'em right, OK? I'd hate for Aunt Jewel to get after me with her rolling pin.

Aunt Jewel’s Slow Cooker Turnip Greens with Potlikker 

(Published in Aunt Jewel & the Poisoned Potlikker)

 Like any good Southern recipe, this healthy one pot meal doesn't include precise measurements.  You make enough for your family, and have extras for leftovers.  Here are the ingredients I use to make a "mess" of greens.  I use a Corning Ware slow cooker, 10-quart size.  If you want to use a smaller size,just use less greens.

Greens 'n cornbread! The way it's meant to be

Fill the cooker with one large bag of pre-washed greens from the store OR enough fresh greens from your garden—well washed, of course. Get those snails out of there! Don't worry if they won't all fit.  Cram them on in. The lid will hold them down, and the greens will shrink and cook down over the course of the day.

Add 3 cups of organic chicken broth, either canned/boxed from the store (I use organic) or homemade. This is not a precise measurement; if you don't have enough, substitute water.

Pour in a big splash of good olive oil, and some chopped garlic cloves—as many as you can stand.  If desired, add some leftover ham or a small ham bone, bacon or pork fatback cut into small pieces.  This is not required, but does make a traditional "mess" of greens and really adds a lot of flavor and protein to the dish without using a lot of meat.

Add enough water so that the greens are moist. Gently toss the greens so that they're coated with the liquids. 

Replace the lid on the cooker. Have a glass of wine. (optional)

Cook the greens on HIGH for the first four hours, stirring occasionally, then reduce the temperature to LOW and let them cook until they are done—the longer the better. Traditionally, this means that they are cooked down into a very concentrated dish, with lots of lovely potlikker on the bottom.  Serve the greens in a bowl with plenty of the potlikker and serve with homemade cornbread.  Drink the remaining potlikker—that's where all the vitamins are hiding, and it's good for you!

Enjoy!

Aunt Jewel

Available now! New Christmas Comedy. Warning! This is NOT a Children's Book

New Christmas Comedy Available Now! 

Part of my "Nameless, Texas" series, a new Christmas parody/satire/spoof novella loosely based on The Wizard of Oz (and other things). 

CATTYWAMPUS CHRISTMAS

Just to whet your appetite, here's a short quote from the book: 

"I don't know how to fix this thing! I can fly around the world in one night. I can wink and go up a chimney in a split second. I can be in 500 shopping malls on the same weekend. I can even fit enough gifts for the entire world into one tiny sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer, but I CANNOT FIX THIS CONFOUNDED COMPUTER!"

"Oh my goodness, Santa," Dot said. "That is bad."

-->
Available on Amazon.com as an e-book.

Happy trails,

bobbi c.

Readers love DYE, DYEING, DEAD

Two great 5-Star Amazon reviews for my new "Nameless, Texas" novella, DYE, DYEING, DEAD:

A Delightful Mystery, August 27, 2014
 

"A great read, perfect for summer reading, or a cool, rainy fall day. As a native Texan, I found much of the dialogue familiar and fun. The characters are broadly drawn, but definitely true to the Lone Star mystique. If you're hankering for an engaging mystery with an entertaining cast of characters, this will more than fill the bill. Dying to see what Chukran has up her sleeve next for the folks in Nameless, Texas."

A Romp, October 5, 2014
 

"What a romp! With quirky characters, secrets large and small, a town with a personality all its own, and a solid plot, I found myself smiling more often than not when reading Dye, Dyeing, Dead. I hope more books about Kendra, Aunt Jewel, and Nameless, Texas are coming soon."

 

Thanks, y'all!

 

bobbi c.

Where do you get your short story ideas, anyway?

Most authors are asked that question at least once in their career, if not many times. I get the same question, although sometimes it's worded differently. Like, "Why do you write such strange stories?" or "Where on earth do you get such strange ideas?" LOL. People are surprised when I tell them that most of my stories come from simple things that happen in real life. Or they come from something I wonder about.

For example, in my first short story collection that was just released, HALLOWEEN THIRTEEN--A Collection of Mysteriously Macabre Tales, all of the stories were inspired by everyday occurrences.

Breakfast du Jour, my tale of comedic West Texas zombies, was inspired by a long-ago memory of driving down an inky black highway and seeing an old neon sign in the distance. Out there, in the dark, the road turns into a shimmery snake-like mirage and you see all sorts of things. Or you THINK you do. :-)

Phone Calls from Dead People was inspired by something my grandmother used to say.

One of only two poems in the collection, Catalyst, was inspired by watching how crazy my cats get sometimes in the middle of the night. I wondered, are they affected by phases of the moon? The other poem, Phantom Lover,  was triggered by a dog barking in the night.

My tale of the Poes, Edgar Allan and Virginia, Forevermore, was inspired by thinking how hard it must be sometimes to live with a famous author.

A reader's favorite, Best Halloween Ever, 1965, was inspired by a childhood memory.

Vampire Fever (or Hairum-Scarum Vampire), started out as a spoof of the classic DRACULA novel I wrote titled THE JOURNAL OF MINA HARKER. I wanted a shorter version with an alternative ending. And I'll admit it's a bit of a fun poke at all the vampire stories that have been swooping around the last few years.

Of course, I just can't help myself, I have to put a bit of black humor into my stories. Believe me, I've tried to write them otherwise and it just doesn't work.

For me, coming up with the ideas is the easy part. I love writing holiday stories and although most of these are not Halloween stories per se, they can be enjoyed at Halloween, read-aloud (most are rated PG-13) and shared with others who like their short fiction a little, how shall we say, straaaange?

If you're a fan of strange stories, please check out my collection.

Available on Amazon.com as an e-book; paperback to come

Happy trails from Texas!

bobbi c.

Announcing, a new Halloween Short Story Collection!

My new short story collection, HALLOWEEN THIRTEEN--A Collection of Mysteriously Macabre Tales, is now available as an e-book on Amazon for only $2.99.

http://amzn.to/1t3yTFv

It features thirteen stories written over a period of 25-years, most of them within the last five years. The stories are quirky, strange, a bit macabre and mysterious with my signature strange sense of humor.  These are some of the most fun stories I've written, so I really hope you're enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them.

And yes, that's Louie Eduardo on the cover, taken a few years ago.

The book is over 12,000 words in thirteen short stories and two poems and has a linked Table of Contents. PLUS a bonus excerpt from my new novella, DYE, DYEING, DEAD.

Stories included are:

Best Halloween Ever, 1965

Little Window in the Door

Phantom Lover, a Poem

Breakfast du Jour

Catalyst, a Poem

Edgar Allan and Virginia, Forevermore

Phone Calls from Dead People

Revenge of the Ulagu

The Winged Crusader

Think of the Snakes

Mistaken Identity

Vampire Fever

Good Neighbors

Several of the short stories included in this collection have been published online in places like Mysterical-E, Kings River Life and The Clockwise Cat.

Best Halloween Ever,1965 is still available as a single short story for the Kindle on Amazon.com. Vampire Fever is excerpted from THE JOURNAL OF MINA HARKER (my DRACULA adaptation novella) and published with an alternate ending.

All of the other stories and poems are original to this collection, never before seen.

Everything you Need to Know about Me - LOL

Dear friends,

This morning, I was interviewed over on Lois Winston's Book Club Friday blog where I talk about my writing history, where I get my inspiration, how small towns and quirky individuals have influenced my work---you might even learn some stuff my mama doesn't  know! LOL

http://anastasiapollack.blogspot.com/2014/08/book-club-friday-author-bobbi-chukran.html

Happy trails!

bobbi c.

THREE Amazon Bestsellers!

Dear friends!
 
--> My new mystery novella, DYE, DYEING, DEAD is #64 in the Amazon Top Selling 100 books in the GARDENING & HORTICULTURE HERBS category! 

Missy says, "Say what?"

AND....my Cooking with Herbs and Spices booklet is #52 in the same category! Woohooo!

One of my short stories is also considered an Amazon bestseller.

Happy trails,

bobbi c.

How my Photography Inspires my Stories

Dear friends and readers,

Today over on Lois Winston's Anastasia Pollack's blog, I'm doing a guest post about how my original photography spawns story ideas, and how I use the photos to illustrate my self-published stories.

http://www.amazon.com/Bobbi-A.-Chukran/e/B005UK1P7M

http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com/2014/07/crafts-with-anastasia-guest-author-and_28.html

Take a look, and leave a comment!  Thanks.

bobbi c.
DYE, DYEING, DEAD—A Texas Garden Craft Novella now available
at Amazon: http://amzn.to/1nU5y7q
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/459882
Apple bookstore http://bit.ly/1jZwZ4v

Setting writing goals and a progress report

Dear friends,

I don't usually do a whole "what did I accomplish last year?" thing, but I was prompted by that insanity over on Facebook, where they do a Timeline thing for you. And one of my playwriting groups posts numbers of items subbed and accepted. This is not meant as a brag; I hope it's encouraging for some of you who don't think you have time to write. :-)

Make your own list; you might be surprised. And it might spur you on to doing more in 2014.

I've been a bit down because it feels like I did nothing last year.  Well, other than remodeling the Old House from Hell, participating in the local Art Guild, and tending the garden, that is. I mean, WRITING stuff.  I'm VERY scattered and indecisive. I think I would have done better if I'd been focused. And maybe if I'd set some real goals--that's one thing I didn't really do.

Progress report: last year, I submitted 10 stories/plays/poems and had 3 accepted, including one new play that will be published (ongoing income).  One story is still out. I also had my first mystery story accepted to a "mystery" publication.

I published two novellas (illustrating one of them) and four short stories, launching my "Nameless, Texas" mystery story series. Both of the novellas started out as plays that were written a few years ago.

I finished another new play, it premiered and an older one had four productions.

I wrote over 65 blog posts/articles (most with original photos), thousands of e-mails and several blog interviews for other authors.

It just shows what you can accomplish when you just basically KEEP AT IT. Unfortunately, it also shows how much stuff you actually have to submit to get anywhere.  This doesn't include the bits and pieces of stories, plays and ongoing novels that aren't finished yet. And it doesn't include all the PR stuff.

This year, I'm setting goals, and we'll see if it gets me farther.

Onward, and Happy Trails!

bobbi c.

Free Halloween treat for my friends!

A free Halloween treat for my friends!

A nostalgic, heartwarming small town Texas short story, Best Halloween Ever, 1965.  Free on Amazon from today through the 24th. 3,900 words. Based on true events.

http://amzn.to/16oh2c6

Annabelle, Jupie and Little Sister LOVE Halloween!  Nine-year-old Annabelle is a fiend for Halloween and spins fantasies of parties, costumes and food. Back in 1965, it was all about the costumes, Trick-or-Treating, and being seen (but not recognized). When Annabelle gets sick and can't get out with her brother and sister, she's miserable.  This is a tale of what happened on that cold, dark, stormy night and how it turned into the Best Halloween Ever.

And remember, if you don't have a Kindle, no problem!  You can download a FREE reading app from Amazon for almost any device, including PDF (to read on any computer). 

Thanks for reading, and please, share this with a friend!

Happy haunting,

bobbi c.
Author of The Journal of Mina Harker
Now a 20,000 word novella e-book;
Lone Star Death & the "Nameless, Texas"
short story series
http://amazon.com/author/bobbichukran

First story published in Mysterical-E mystery magazine!

Dear friends,

I'm honored to announce that one of my new short stories, Good Neighbors, was published yesterday in Mysterical-E, an awesome online mystery magazine.  This is my first publication in a bona-fide mystery magazine.

Mysterical-E is always packed with short stories, book reviews, comments, essays, etc.  And it's FREE to read! Click here to read:

Good Neighbors short story by Bobbi A. Chukran

Take a look, and feel free to Tweet about it, Facebook it and generally spread the word around.  Thank you!

By the way, Good Neighbors was inspired by true-to-life events, but *of course* the ending was changed---a bit. ;-)

Happy trails,

bobbi c.

http://amazon.com/author/bobbichukran