Friday, January 4, 2013

Hum Into the Kazoo a Tiny Bit, Softly

Last night I retired to my comfortable basement recliner after a hard day back at work preparing today's youth to be the future of tomorrow. I cranked my chair a few notches to restore blood flow to my feet, and picked up an unusual periodical that I had received in the mail. I can barely remember getting it before. More accurately, it might be termed a yeariodical. It was Tiny Lights. A Journal of Personal Narrative, you know. I think I subscribed to it last year.

Personal essays are like crack for Val. Not that she's a crackhead, mind you. That fiction stuff doesn't light a fire under her like a true-life tale or opinion piece. I started reading various winners from last year's contest. It was a pleasant way to while away what was left of my evening. Around about 11:00, I must have nodded off. I woke up at 1:00 with my bifocals still on, the TV off, and Tiny Lights on my chest. Well. By that time I was wide awake. I picked up Tiny Lights and proceeded to pore over the pages. Check out a couple of ads. And there was my own name! Now, before you jump to the conclusion that somebody signed me up as a hooker soliciting customers or serial killers (c'mon, my hair isn't even parted in the middle!), let me set the record straight.

It is with a modicum of motivation that I mumble out the following lackadaisical divulgence:

I was an Entry of Note in the FLASHPOINT Category of the Tiny Lights Annual Essay Contest 2012.

I hope I don't lightly strain my arm while smoothing out a wrinkle on the back of my comfortable house-shirt. Should you decide to follow the link for verification, doubting that one so fraught with writing talent as Val could possible be awarded such an careful not to damage your vision. Like that squirrel-headed b@stard advised LaBoef at the dinner table of the Monarch Boarding House in True Grit, "Watch out. They'll hurt your eyes." Of course,the SHB was talking about the chicken-and-dumplings straining LaBoef's peepers while looking for the chicken. Not the list of contest credits straining your eyes while looking for Val's real name.

Attempt to read it and weep. I am setting the writing world on fire with my damp kindling and hollowed-out board and spindle. Look out for that smoke. One of these days, it's going to result in a tendril of flame that will grow into a respectable blaze suitable for warming a can of hobo stew.

I just know it.


  1. Well, I'll be ding, dang, donged! I rec'd my copy in the mail the other day, and hadn't had the chance to even look at it yet! How wonderful, Ms Victorian!! I'm so happy for you. Congratulations! You are on your way! Get those stories entered into other contests, and into calls for submissions!

  2. Well now, if that doesn't inspire you to let your light shine...write on, sister! I have sent out four submissions and it is Jan 4th. Tag, you're it.

  3. I scoured and scoured the names on that link, and never saw Val T. Victorian. What a cruel ruse this was.

    Yeah, follow Linda's advice. Get carpal tunnel syndrome (spelling?) sending out a gross of submissions every week. However, you certainly have the talent. What was the name of that gun that John Wayne came upon/used/dodged in Rooster Cogburn--a pepper gun?

    The more submissions you send out---all willy-nilly--the more acceptances you'll receive...

  4. Becky,
    You are catching onto this back country lingo like a champ! Thank you for your encouragement. In fact, I think it was you who tipped me off to the Tiny Lights. Thanks so much! I had completely forgotten about my submission. That's because I don't keep good records. Or need to.

    No need to throw down the gauntlet like that while I'm basking beside the warmth of my underdesk space heater, enjoying the pleasant fog of a lunch of gas station chicken. Perhaps I shall lick my fingers clean and commence to submitting, after a few more sips of my 44 oz. Diet Coke.

    I hope you didn't hurt your eyes. If not, then I've got a tureen of chicken and dumplings for you to try. Thank you for the kind comment concerning talent. I was not fishing. I swear.

    Please tell me that you are not so lacking in True Grit lore that you are unfamiliar with the Colt Dragoon! Or that you have confused it with Senator Bibbs-/Senator Bibbs's bird dog-/Mattie Ross's father- killer Lucky Ned Pepper!

    Sadly, I am not well-versed in the escapades of Rooster Cogburn after he ran Little Blackie to death and hand-carried Baby Sister to safety after her unfortunate rattlesnake bite that led to the amputation of her left arm. However...your mention of a pepper gun makes me assume you mean one the opposite in firepower. So I will take that bait and choose the most formidable firearm of the time, and say, "A Gatling gun?"

    I'm sure this is just a ruse to get me outraged and typing, Madam. You may make a note-to-self: it worked.