Writers' Notes
  • MIZZ PAW'S BLOBs and excerpts
    • Blog - THE PLOT IS in the BEAT
    • Mother's Day - Good Riddance
    • Response to me sister's response about I'm WalkingHere Blob
    • I'M WALKING HERE!
    • 2/26 Blog HIATUS, extinction, parents
    • Blob 2/16/13
    • Happy Valentine's Day GRANDMA You're going to Jail
    • 5/6/12 Writing in my sleep
    • 5/1/12 Baby Vilho found a home
    • 4/11/12 excerpt:Letter to my Therapist
    • 2/25/12 Writing baby
    • 2/22/12 to barbara BOMBED REINDEER >
      • Another email from Barbara
    • 2/18/12 the BEATS
    • 2/12/12 Genrecast. What genre are you?
    • 2/13/12 DO NOT WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW!
    • 2/9/12 Raw footage protection
    • 2/8/12 So, what's it about?
    • 2/7/12 Ewwww!
    • 2/4/12 Writers block and Shooting Apples
  • excerpts from 17 preface
  • Excerpts from 17
    • His Head Was Found at the Driver's Wheel
    • GRANDMA'S NIGHT OUT
    • Excerpt 2 His Head Was Found at the Driver's Wheel
    • Vilho Continues his Story at the Golden Spike Snippet
    • Does the Boy Miss His Mother?
    • THE LITTLE INSURGENTS THEY CALLED US
    • scare all the girls
    • Deb de la Rosa Is Too Ladylike for This
    • ANA AND TUNNELMAN
    • Tunnelman and the Moonletts Amerika East
  • uh...about me, sort of
  • Croatia, Home war
  • GRANDMA'S NIGHT OUT

Picture
Head at the Driver’s Wheel excerpt 2

                  On the anniversary of the Great Socialist Revolution, 1952 brought in a big heat that set up headache stories, like Lola’s most days or Wilhelm Geo’s flash back, to the war five minutes ago, before he dismissed his lab students Thank you Yewah for summer vacation. Lola lingered as usual. He busied himself.

                          Lola had just sliced open the belly of a formaldehyded toad and was reading it, as sanctum, in the way you would a Book of Revelations:  Let’s see, in four years Cheryl Turner will stab her mother’s boyfriend dead the same week Ronald Harrison a chauffeur will be driving Miss Jayne Mansfield, the Blond Bomb Shell of the Proletariat. The air is clear and the night starry. Maybe her Electra crashes head on into the back of a tractor trailer spraying mosquito fogger on a two lane road three thousand miles east of  Miss Mansfield’s pink colored palace on Sunset Boulevard. That way she’ll be even more famous dead. Her hair or head will be found in the driver’s side windshield by a crack reporter who might lease or own a big spread with a stunning view of a pine studded Hollywood canyon that always catches a devastating forest fire in late August and is the scene of natural disasters as well.

                “This is where I want to live!”  

                 “I certainly hope not, Miss Lola. The school board would kill me. Let’s pack up and go.”


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