The Amazing Bee Girl



Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt

When I was growing up I was the kid who fell out of trees, got lost in the airport, rode my bike on the ice during the winter and slid out of control right into traffic.

When I was almost four years old I got bees in my hair and my Mom had to pull them out one at a time with her fingers ( without getting stung) while my Dad ran in and out of the house screaming something about calling the Fire Department.

I watched my Mom flick one of the bees into the bushes.

” What is in your hair?” she asked.

” Bees” I said.

” You know what I mean.”

” Orange Soda Pop”

My Mom slid another bee off the side of my head.

” How did you get Pop in your hair?”

” I wanted my hair to be orange so ” I mimed washing my hair with my hands.

” Well, your hair isn’t orange, it’s full of bees. Are you getting stung?”

I was listening to the buzzing that was floating around my face. ” No.” I said trying not to laugh.

My Mom got the bees out- she said she pulled about eight of them out of my hair and as luck would have it neither one of us got stung.

I’m not clear on how it happened but my Dad got stung.



After the de-beeing was complete and my hair was washed I ran around the house for the rest of the evening buzzing like a bee and when I did as much as look at a bottle of pop I’d crack up and start to laugh.

My Dad watched me running around in circles buzzing like a swarm of killer bees in one tiny little body.

He said to my Mom, ” Maybe we should sell her to the circus.”

” She IS a Circus.” my Mom said lighting up a cigarette as I buzzed my way up over the back the couch she was sitting on.

Somehow I fell and got stuck between the back of the couch and the wall and all you could see was my foot sticking up over the top.

I buzzed until I was freed.

For my own special reasons, I didn’t go near a circus until I was almost 18 years old.

You know, just in case the family made good on the circus threat…and over the years I gave them plenty of reasons to consider that option.

Taken After I Was "de=bee'd"

Taken After I Was “de=bee’d”


May 29, 2016


My Writer’s  Journal

What I learned about writing and myself  today.

It’s one thing to write about the end of the world, to contemplate the many ways it could happen and who could bring it about.

It’s an entire different kettle of fish when you actually want it done for no other reason then you have decided it would be best for all involved if somebody grabbed a roque mallet and went Jack Torrance on the world.

The world is not a perfect place and all of the yelling and screaming and threats and self righteous rants won’t make it so.

I learned that from training my dog.

If you yell all of the time or step on their paws or slap their noses or hit them with water from a spray bottle when they don’t obey you, they get to the point to where they hide every time you raise your voice for any reason at all.


 In my writing none of my antagonists are angry.

They don’t screed and yell and reach down into someone’s throat and rip their tongues out just to shut someone up.

They don’t jab their fingers into anyone eyes and pull their eyeballs out of their sockets and stamp them into a gooey mess because someone doesn’t see the world the way they do.

They don’t wave their boney fingers under someone’s nose and then jam it up into their nostrils and pull their brains out because someone doesn’t think the way they do.

My monsters, the dark and twisted souls in my stories understand they are imperfect creatures living in an imperfect world.

Despite all of their imperfections and the imperfections around them they find a way to thrive.

We should all be so lucky.


Today I ate a bunch of cookies.

I used to hate cookies.


I learned to enjoy sweetness.