The 10 Best Stories in the Universe

Laughing. Crying. Sharing.


Don't the best stories make you feel all of those? Don't they reflect life and make us connect as people and give us something to feel, something to share, inspire us, make us marvel at life itself?


If that doesn't move you, how about imagining yourself helping a starving writer, struggling to be published, to earn a living?


This is your chance to own your very own copy of my new ebook and be a part of my little experiment about the possibilities for writers to publish via this media.


Right now, you can download The 10 Best Stories in the Universe Written by Me (Plus Two Awful Poems) and be a part of my experiment. These are short stories, so you can read them on your break, while on hold on the phone, or even print them out. The entire ebook is 49 pages long.

Need more persuading?

• If you order, I'll send you free gifts! (No, they aren't more stories by me)
• If you order, I'll forever be appreciative!
• If you order, you can send me your comments. Tell me how great my stories are. Tell me how rotten my poetry is. Show me how you can do better. Maybe you too could be a part of The 10 Best Stories in the Universe Written by US (the sequel, of course).

This collection has something for everyone! Adoption stories, funeral stories, peacock stories. Some have even been published for real!

What, you want a sample before you buy? Ok, you can see an excerpt from my in-progress novel here , and even though I haven't maintained this blog in I can't believe how long, there has to be something else worth reading somewhere on it.


If you decide to share one of the stories with your cousin in Omaha, that's fine, please just give me credit and keep my contact info intact. If you decide to help it go viral (I think Night of the Living Tooth has a chance) or DIGG it or think it is De.li.ci.ous, Thanks a Million (not dollars, but huge gratitude). If you are a friend of mine who just wanted to give me $7.95, I love you too!

Ordering is easy. Just click on the PayPal button on the top of the right sidebar. When PayPal notifies me, I'll email you the pdf file and the aforementioned free gifts. That's it!

Any questions, email me at info@pegasuswriter.com.

Thanks!

E.T. Go Home - For Now

The other night, E.T The Extraterretial was on television, and I DVR'd it thinking it would be wonderful to watch with my 5-year-old. We snuggled in on the couch and all was going ok until the spacesuited guys came into the house where the little kids were watching over E.T. It was a pretty scary scene, through Sara's eyes. We fast forwarded and saw E.T go home safely, tearing up a little at the long goodbye. Later that night she went to bed without any problems.

But in the middle of the night, she called out for me.

"Mama, I'm scared," and I rushed over, heart thumping, guilt starting to build. Had it really been too much for her? Was I wrong to have her watch it?

"What is it baby? Those men in the suits?"

"No Mama. I saw E.T.'s finger, in my room. It's scary."

The finger? That beautiful, glowing tip, I'll be right here finger that made everyone feel better was the stuff of nightmares for my Sara?

I remember when E.T. first came out, and he taught all of us that beauty really is in the eye, or maybe the heart, of the beholder. Some looked at the squat little big-eyed alien and beheld a magical being. For me, he opened the door to the Universe at large, and I couldn't wait to ride in a spaceship. For my little one, he is the stuff of nightmares.

The lessons of parenting are half for the child and half (or more) for the parent. Sara has taught me all her life. When she started out as the neighborhood bully, I had to delay my dreams of being the social mom who hosted playdates and tea parties until I understood that social situations overwhelmed her with excitement that she was too young to control. When the Emilia Reggio system of education didn't work for her, I had to quit thinking it was such a wonderful gift that would have been perfect for me and start the search for what would work for her.

So maybe Sara won't be the one who stays up nights with me at the telescope looking for star clusters and nebulae and UFOs. I can't make her fit my mold; it is my honor to help her be her own person in the world. Maybe it won't be baby Mia either, and that is fine. Maybe one of my lessons is to find out how to carve out time for me to be my own person too and not feel guilty about it.

But hey, E.T., if you're listening, I'm still here.

Little Miss Screams in the New Year

I've decided to rename the baby. I'm going for something more descriptive of her personality, rather than the somewhat refined given name that she currently uses. Henceforth she will be known by her Indian name, Into Everything All The Time.

This morning she opened the dishwasher again, for like the 1000th time. Yes, I do know that they make a dishwasher door latch that you can stick on to keep this from happening, and I even went to the Safety Store and purchased one, but it ended up somewhere, probably the same place where everything that gets purchased to start a project ends up before the project actully happens, wherever that is, and now I can't find it. And of course I refuse to go and buy another one because there is one that I already paid for here in my house. I know, cutting off my nose to spite my face, but still it makes sense to me somehow.

So miss IEATT (not such a good acronym though) opend the dishwasher, while it was operating, so that she could stand on the door in the down position, which allows her to reach the countertop. Yes, a serious hazard and I really should install that latch.

I picked her up and said, NO Mia, NO. And I guess it was a little stronger than usual, but after like the 1000th time I'm a little sick of the whole game. She stuck out her bottom lip and started to get all watery, and then, being fully in the terrible twos now behaviorwise even though she hasn't had her birthday, she let out this high pitched, horrendous, evil screech that unnerves anyone in hearing radius, a sound that has become her favorite noise to make. I told her, "No screaming. You go time out." She only knows what time out is because big sister gets put in time out fairly often, but it seemed to work. She closed up her little mouth, stuck out her lip, got all huffy puffy and stormed her whole 24-pound-self off to the play room, but no more screaming.

About 30 seconds later I started hearing a scream that sounded like Mia's screech, but very low volume, and I thought I'm going to kill whoever gave us a screaming doll for Christmas. I marched to the playroom, ready to throw a toy away, when I see Mia face down on the sofa screaming for all she's worth, but muffling the sound in the pillows. I think I'm in for a long year.

Many Worlds, One Planet

I read a book once that changed my perspective on life, as great books are bound to do. An old, very geeky text, Maps of the Ancient Sea Kings started as a class project to retrofit ancient map fragments to actual geographical landmarks and features and determine the system of coordinates used to make the maps. It was an unlikely place to derive spiritual wisdom. But as they say, when the student is ready, the teacher will come.

While the premise of the book itself was rattling enough, that these ancient maps proved the existence of an advanced civilation who could navigate the seas with mathematical precision during the Ice Age, the part that has remained with me was the general givenness of the conclusion. Of Course They Existed, Why Wouldn't They Have?

We consider ourselves, the First World inhabitants of planet Earth in 2007, as the humans that evolved in intelligence through a building block process that eliminates the possibility of more highly advanced civilizations before us. We write off the existence of the Pyramids for example as some forgotten trick of balancing and moving heavy objects, or as something anyone could do with a large enough forced work team.

But Sea Kings pointed out that at any time in the history of the planet, there have co-existed civilizations of vastly different technological ability. Even right now, at this very moment, there exist Aborigines, Amish, tribes who know nothing of electricity, indigenous cultures who live as they have for hundreds of years, religious sects who follow beliefs that set them far apart from what is considered mainstream.

If you are reading this, you are probably comfortable with technology. But imagine, you could be alive right now, your same age, and be in an entirely different world. You could be driving a horse drawn carriage to your neighbor's house for the barn raising. You could be sleeping on a grass mat under the jungle canopy. You could never have seen television or a light bulb. You could be hunting your dinner with a spear, and not for sport.

Is it so far removed to consider the circular, rather than linear, nature of time? That history repeats itself not because we are unable to learn from our mistakes, but because another group of students is ready to enter the classroom. The lesser advanced civilizations need their opportunity to develop themselves.

Is it so hard to imagine a civilization that existed, with an apparently recorded history, that was wiped out by a geological catastrophe? Do you think they knew it was coming too?


Thanks to Andrew Edgington, this week's winner of Wildcard Wednesday photo carnival and the administrator of the excellent blog Edit Your Digital Photos, for submitting the photo at top. Andrew's blog teaches how to use Photoshop to give your photos an Old-time look, and many other tips.

Guest Post: A Child By Any Other Name

Thanks to Patti for answering my call for guest posts! Enjoy.

A Child by Any Other Name…
By P.I. Barrington

Finding the right name for someone whether it’s a fictional character or your own newborn can seem like a daunting task. Some people pick favorite names from before the time they can even think about having children. I used to do the same thing. That is, until I became a writer. That’s when any dreams I might have had about my beloved favorite names coming to life shattered like so many crystal champagne glasses unfortunate enough to be located within the vicinity of a toddler.
My characters many times leap right off the page screaming their names at me and waving what look like dangerous rolling pins. They will have the names they want no matter what I, their creator, decide. Sometimes I’ll be pounding away at a story and suddenly realize the name I’ve typed over and over is what that character wanted to be called instead of the name I wanted to use. Many times, my characters will surprise me by using ethnically oriented names that leave no doubt as to what race they are. And, yes, I describe these characters in present tense. They won’t allow anything else.
Names are important in human life, obviously, and for obvious reasons. That is the single most important identifying reference to you not only by yourself but by everyone else. It also is one of the oldest practices in human communications. Have you ever watched those old movies where two people of differing cultures or languages try to communicate? The first thing they do is point to themselves and say their name. Names are the beginning form of communications.
So, it’s no wonder parents go through a similar type of experience that writers do. Some parents will go to sometimes ridiculously extreme measures to find the appropriate name for their child. And this is no joke, my readers.
Here in Southern California, (and only in California) there is a new type of job that has been developed to “help” new parents or parents-to-be choose exactly the name that will portent success, fame, or character of their coming child. “Nameology” and “Nameologists” have now cropped up in this very lucrative trade.
For $300 an hour, the Nameologist will come to your home, office, or other meeting place of your choice and explain or suggest baby names to you.
Personally, I find this rather insulting. To me, this indicates that one is incapable of going out and buying an actual book of baby names for under $5 and choosing for oneself or with much more ease, search the Internet which has virtually an unlimited amount of free baby names sites with every conceivable name, its meaning, and country of origin. Not only that, but there are no apparent requirements to become a Nameologist other than being able to read any of the above name-helping suggestions. Oh, and the gall to charge $300.
The only thing more disturbing than that is the fact that there are parents who have actually paid the $300!
So, how does one pick out the perfect name? Well, rhythm and rhyme have a lot to do with it. The names have to sound good and have a natural cadence. “Annie Ralph Curmudgeon” may have a rhythm to it but you have to admit it’s not the prettiest or most portentous of names. And please, I beg you all future parents, resist the urge to give ridiculous names to your children! This not only makes life miserable for the child who has to deal with playground mockery and derision but it makes everyone else uncomfortable when having to use it in serious situations. I know you probably are rolling your eyes at this age-old warning, but I’ve still met enough people whose parents gave them the worst, corniest names in an effort to be witty.
“Hello? Yes, may I speak with Iva Payne?” Imagine yourself having to explain to the irritated operator that no, it’s not a joke. In fact, please imagine yourself saying your child’s future name over the phone just to make sure. My sister once had a friend who thought it was funny when giving a name for the waiting list in restaurants to use the last name of Krayzee. So when the host or hostess called out the name of the party, it would sound something like this:
“Krayzee party of four, Krayzee, party of four, your table is ready!” (Sound it out if you must!)
This is the type of thing that should be avoided. At all costs.
What I have done over the long, long years of working at being a writer, is to search thrift stores and used book stores for the rare “Unusual Names for Baby” type books, just to have on-hand should I ever be without the Web while scratching out character descriptions by hand. Some of us do still practice longhand. And sometimes, not only is it just nice to have a hard copy reference of names to look at while curled up in bed, but also to be a little more green about it. Why use up paper printing all those name lists, when you can find for pennies, already printed copies of the same basic lists? Save a tree if you can!
You can devise any system of naming you want. Go ahead and be creative! Come up with your own original plan of choosing names. However you do it, just make sure it’s a name you and your child will like if not downright love!

Check out P.I Barrington's funny urban fantasy story: Urban Elf coming in BewilderingStories.com Issue #268. If you like cities and Elves, this is for you!

Don't Despair Panda Bear

Sorry, this post moved to my ebook The 10 Best Stories in the Universe Written by Me. See the right sidebar to order.

Thanks!

Photo Credit: Gary M. Stolz, Washington DC Library, United States Fish and Wildlife Service Digital Library System (http://images.fws.gov, WO8465-002), United States Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS, http://www.fws.gov), United States Department of the Interior (http://www.doi.gov), Government of the United States of America (USA)

At Least It Wasn't On A Holiday

My 21-month-old daughter scratched my cornea. That's a part of the eye in case you are wondering. I've had a scratched cornea before, and I never ever wanted to repeat the experience. But Mia has the habit of reaching up and snatching my eyeglasses off of my face as often as possible, and her hand motion is unbelievably fast - she's destined to be a magician, or else a pickpocket.

She was sitting on my lap watching TV, not my best parenting moment as most pediatricians will tell you TV should be off-limits for those under two. She did her slight of hand maneuver, and I thought I was going to catch her that time. But all I did was trap her little hand as she slid her thumb up under the bottom of my glasses and - if you are squeamish, stop here - shoved her thumbnail under my eyelid, taking off a layer of my eyeball.

I screamed.

"Everything ok?" Jo called from the kitchen.

"No, not really." The pain was intense, kind of like when you get brainfreeze from drinking an ICEE too quick, but more like if you soaked your brain in ICEEs.

"Well I'm kind of in the middle of cooking dinner."

"It can burn this time. Mia took off part of my eye." My eye was watering, and I was blinded by the searing pain, but I still had Mia on my lap, afraid to let her go and have her wander off where I couldn't find her. This was a feat, because very sharp pieces of glass were stabbing my eyeball every time my other eye blinked, or my eye moved, or my pupil constricted. All those things that happen automatically and you take for granted until a time like that.

Did I mention it was dinnertime, so of course the doctor's office was closed. I couldn't drive myself to the urgent care center, and sitting in the waiting area with Joey and the two kids seemed much worse than just taking ibuprofen and putting a compress on my eye. I regretted this decision at about 2 am, then even more around 3 am, and then every second until daybreak. But finally the sitter arrived, we found an opthalmologist who would see me right away, and we made an eye patch out of a kid's washcloth held on by a bandana tied around my head.

Luckily, this fasion statement fit in at the eye doctor's waiting room.

By seeing me right away, the eye doctor meant that I could come over immediately and wait in the long line of people who needed urgent attention. They also needed me to fill out forms; you'd think they would realize that people with eye injuries can't see to fill out forms, but I've filled out so many lately because the kids always seem to get sick on holidays or weekends when the pediatrician is closed. I was pretty close to being able to fill medical forms out in my sleep.

After about an hour in the waiting room, I finally got called in to have a vision exam. I couldn't open the injured eye without welling up in tears, so my vision in that one was zero, but they still wanted me to try. Then they dilated the pupil and put me in another waiting room.

Finally the doctor, who shall only be referred to as doctor because I couldn't read his name on the door and he didn't introduce himself, called me in and put drops in my eye that numbed it and took all of the pain away. I wondered why they didn't have a policy in the office that if they saw someone come in with a bandana holding her eye closed, they would administer these pain relieving drops at the entrance, rather than two hours later.

The doctor examined my eye. "Hmph," he said, and not anything else. He was a dry guy; besides not introducing himself, he didn't elaborate on the grunt for several minutes, keeping me in suspense. He finally finished the exam.

"Your baby did this?"

"Yes."

"She got you right across the part of the pupil that affects vision. Took off a good layer."

I glared one-eyed at Joey, who hadn't believed me when I'd said that.

The treatment involved either putting a contact lens in or patching the eye to prevent the blinking from causing damage. I opted for the contact, and the doctor's hands shook when he tried to open the contact case. They shook a lot. I preferred to think Parkinsons rather than the DTs, but both did occur to me. His hands kept shaking the whole time he was putting the contact on my eye. It took three tries. I can tell you that those numbing drops are worth every penny my insurance company will be paying.

I also had to dilate my eye for almost three days until I came back for a follow-up appointment, so I needed a cover for it. When I came home with a pirate patch, 5-year-old Sara was thrilled. She wanted to touch it. I cringed.

A friend of mine called and I told her about my ordeal. "Oh what we mothers give of ourselves," she said. Followed by, "what, you don't trim your daughter's nails?" I hung up the phone on her.

The followup visit with the shaky hands doctor showed that the eye should heal without permanent damage. I'm very thankful. Thankful for finally getting to watch the new Battlestar Galactica episode that has been on the DVR. Thankful for being able to read and blog and see the stars. And for vision that can be corrected by my regular glasses. But I think I'll keep the patch on until Mia grows out of this phase.

Ten Reasons Why I Love High School Musical

I admit it, I was going to be one of those moms - the ones who don't use the television. My kids would never even know what that big box was for, at least until they were old enough to go to other kids' houses.

Obviously, that was before I had kids. Now there are just some times, like when I'm cooking dinner - and I know you know what I mean - when it is either put on the television or hire someone to come help. I still try to show a movie or something from the DVR so that I can control the commercials, because we all know that commercials are the root of all evil, especially during the holiday season.

But now I am absolutely, positively a huge fan of the High School Musical movies. I know, corny, bad singing, couldn't get any more commercial than Disney. But I can't help it. Even when my daughter doesn't bring it up, I'm likely to suggest it because...

1 - The girls are all wearing clothes. Clothes that provide coverage and looks like girls clothes, not twenty-something going to a club wear.
2 - The girls are not horrifyingly thin. Some are even chubby. Can I please start a fan club for the hip hop loving heavy set girl?
3 - Clean, clean, squeaky clean. They even make a joke of it how the main couple can't ever seem to kiss, and that is just a kiss. No dirty dancing, no nudity, no suggestive language.
4 - Diversity!!!!! Even a (hinted at) interracial couple.
5 - My daughter is finally wearing something other than jeans now that the girls all wear dresses and a variety of clothes on the show.
6 - We get family exercise dancing to all of those catchy : ) tunes.
7 - The baseball scene from HSM2. I really do like it. If I'm not in the room, my daughter will come get me, and I'll drop everything to go watch.
8 - My daughter will do anything - clean her room, be nice to her sister, eat dinner with the family - if the reward of the week involves HSM. This may be even worse than becoming a TV watching mom, but we're on the reward system with this kid as timeout is a joke for her. Subject of another post.
9 - Moral to the story. HSM 1- Don't be afraid to try something new HSM 2 - Don't lose yourself while getting what you want. Pretty good stuff.
10 - Can you say an hour without whining to cook dinner!!!

Bonus reason - The movies were free! (or at least included with my cable package)

Mis Abuelas (My Grandmothers)

Sorry, this post moved to my ebook, The 10 Best Stories in the Universe Written by Me. Please see the right sidebar to order.
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Careless Angel

Sorry, this post moved to my ebook, The 10 Best Stories in the Universe Written by Me. Please see right sidebar to order.
Thanks!

Funky Mom Blouse

Today I was trying to decide what to wear, and I passed over the scorned shirt without really considering it.

I had always liked that blouse, particularly because it went great with jeans and covered up slight, and not so slight, fluctuations in weight.

But one day I was putting it on to take 4-year-old Sara to school, and she asked me, “Why are you wearing that shirt Mama?”

“Don’t you like it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s funky,” she said, confident in her fashion sense.

I had no idea she knew the word funky or what exactly it meant in this context, but I was relieved that her pronunciation was good; that's a tricky word. We’ve been striving for a bilingual upbringing – we do live in Miami after all, and it is a global economy. Better to take advantage of the opportunity to learn another language. But it does lead to bizarre words that I’m not sure are in either language.

I agreed to change, of course; no mom wants to embarrass her preschooler by wearing a funky shirt in front of the whole class and the teacher, and now the poor, previously favored blouse remains in the closet, never getting out to see the world.

Was that overindulgent parenting, I wondered, letting my child’s tastes influence my own clothing style?

Or was I wrong? Was the blouse that I chose on my own indeed out of step with what was usually considered well dressed?

I tried to remember if any adult had ever pointed and laughed while I was wearing the blouse and didn’t come up with any instances, but I couldn’t remember receiving compliments either.

The only sure way to decide will be to pull it back out in say six months to see if it is still funky in Sara’s eyes, or if her phase has passed and I can wear it again in public.

Night of the Living Tooth

Sorry, this post moved to my ebook, The 10 Best Stories in the Universe Written by Me. Please see the right sidebar to order.
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How long is too long in the bathroom?

My partner had the nerve to tell me not to take long using the bathroom one morning. “I mean, don’t make a vacation of it,” she said.

Normally, using the bathroom takes as long as it takes. But life changes after having kids, and with a toddler and a 4-year-old in the house, I’m willing to stretch any chance for some alone time as long as possible. I’m a woman, but I finally understand the stereotype of a man taking the newspaper into the bathroom. It is the one room with a locking door, and it gives you an undisputable excuse to scream for the other parent when there is a commonplace emergency.

In fact, now that I think of it, having kids has explained a lot of mundane mysteries for me.

For instance, all my life, I rigorously walked the grocery cart back up to the store after emptying my purchases in my car. Carts littering the parking lot were a puzzlement to me, and I must confess to unkind thoughts about lazy grocery shoppers. But the first time I shopped with a baby, I unloaded the bags into the car, strapped the baby in her car seat, and stood staring at the grocery cart as if I had never seen one before. Really, was I supposed to disembark the baby, walk us both back to the store, and then both back to the car again? That wasn’t going to happen after an hour trying to make meal decisions with a screaming, wriggling, unhappy infant annoying shoppers throughout the store. I didn’t think the store personnel would enjoy seeing us back at the entrance again so soon anyway. That’s why bag boys walk people out to the car, so they can bring the cart back, I thought. But I really didn’t want to make small talk with a bag person (no offense, small talk with anyone is taxing under the circumstances) either. So right there, I got lazy and hurried away from the evidence.

The grocery store seemed to hold a concentration of mysteries. The pile of unwanted items at the register baffled me before kids. Did people really put stuff in their carts and then decide against them at the last minute? Marshmallows, fruit bars, and the occasional beauty item sat unclaimed and unbought, crowding the tiny space before the conveyor belt. It took awhile, until my first child had a sufficiently long reach and quick grab to pull random brightly colored packages off the shelf and into the cart before I had to stand at the check out wondering why on earth I, a vegetarian, had canned ham among the contents. Then I saw Sara swipe a Milky Way off of the display and had to sneak the unwanted ham onto the People magazine display, whistling innocently.

Kids are wonderful; I love my two little precious ones, wouldn’t trade them for the world. But I have to admit that I never could have imagined the many revelations, both grand and minute, that they would bring to my life.

Dreaming of Sara

Sorry, this story moved to my ebook, The 10 Best Stories in the Universe Written by Me. Please see the right sidebar to order.
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