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Archive for the ‘dcr Writes’ Category

Lisa’s Hair is Falling Out Because Leslie is Awesome

Sunday, February 3rd, 2013

Lisa ran the school like a duck commands a wolf pack, assuming ducks would want to command wolf packs and assuming said ducks carried AR-15 semi-automatic rifles or comparable weaponry and had the dexterity to be able to use them, as well as hold them high enough to shoot something other than a misbehaving wolf’s foot.

She was only a sophomore, but already the teachers and upperclass students had learned she was not one to be trifled with. She hadn’t actually ever done anything to anyone–unless you count a teacher by the name of Bo who had not been seen again after having scolded her one day about her science homework–but she had an aura about her that gave everyone the clear impression that she would hurt them so badly their great grandchildren who had yet to be born would feel it.

She strolled down the hallway with her gang of sycophants in tow. They did her homework, they polished her shoes, and they even wiped for her after she used the restroom. She had them wrapped around her fingers like ivy around the ivy on a fencepost, intertwining so tightly that nothing short of setting fire to the pole would ever clear the ivy.

That or a hot summer where the ivy withered and died.

She sat down in her English class during fourth period. Her assigned English class was second period, but she spent second period in the lunchroom, long before anyone else had lunch, giving her the choice of the best stuff before anyone else, sans the lunch ladies, had a chance to even breathe on it. And the lunch ladies wore face masks. They didn’t used to do so, not until Lisa was a freshman there.

She never formally requested that her lunch periods and English periods be swapped. She just switched them on her own, and the school administration and teachers were too timid to object.

However, everything was subject to change when Leslie moved into town and started going to Lisa’s school.

Leslie was from a tough city and students like Lisa were nothing to her. She ate them for breakfast–not literally, of course, since the nation’s schools did still have some standards.

When Lisa walked down the hall, she was used to students jumping out of her way, sometimes even falling down stairwells or out windows, which were both deemed as more acceptable injuries than to mess with Lisa.

Leslie, however, did not get out of the way.

Consequently, Lisa walked right into Leslie. Without a single “Hey!” or “Watch out!”, she just stopped and glared at Leslie. Usually, that was enough to intimidate a fellow student into submission.

Leslie just stared back, not saying a word.

Other students stopped, flabbergasted. How could someone not know to stay away from Lisa?

Four minutes passed and the class period bells rang, yet they stood and stared. A crowd of students and teachers had grown around them. No one headed to class.

Ten minutes passed and nothing had changed.

After thirty minutes, the school principal charged down the hall, angry that so few students and teachers had returned to class. He wondered what was going on. He almost started yelling until he saw Lisa and Leslie locked in a never-blinking eyelock. He too stopped to watch, fearful of interfering yet also curious as to what would happen. He worried about Leslie’s safety, but not so much as to risk his own by interrupting.

Forty-five minutes passed with Lisa and Leslie locked in their staredown. No one had said a word. No one had moved. No one dared.

An hour. Two hours. Three.

The school buses came and went, sparsely filled with students not privy to what was going on in one small hallway in the school. Either that, or they wanted to get as far away as possible from whatever might occur.

No one had seen anyone not bend to Lisa’s will. No one had ever challenged her. No one had stood up to her.

They became bored with the endless staring, but no one dared leave. No one dared say anything. They simply watched.

Then something strange happened. Everyone was so still and so quiet that they could have literally heard a pin drop. But no pin dropped. Instead, they saw a hair just ping off of Lisa’s head and fall on her shoulder. For a moment, everyone’s attention, including that of Lisa and Leslie, was drawn away from their staring eyes to the hair curled up on Lisa’s left shoulder.

Then–ping!–another fell. And another.

Dozens began pinging off her head and onto her shoulders, her back, her chest and the floor. In a short time, the floor was covered with hundreds of her hairs.

At last, someone broke the silence. “O. M. G.!” they exclaimed. “Lisa’s hair is falling out because Leslie is awesome!”

Tears began to well in Lisa’s eyes. She grabbed her books and ran off.

The crowd applauded Leslie for Lisa’s reign of terror had finally come to an end.

Story Updates

Sunday, December 2nd, 2012

Since I still don’t know what Sundays will be for, I guess I can still post whatever I want here. So, I’ll post a little update.

In mid-November, I posted that my short story collection was complete. Well, I did finish the Dedication, Acknowledgments and About the Author sections and send the thing off to my editor.

Got it back today–yes, today, a Sunday; can you believe she was working on a Sunday? Oh, maybe she doesn’t want people knowing she works on Sundays, so, in that case, nevermind, I didn’t get it today, I got it Friday or maybe I’ll get it tomorrow; either way, totally not today–and I just have to make a few minor changes and it’s done.

Except for the cover, that is, which I’ll be doing myself this time. My illustrator does good work, but the design I have in mind for this one is a simple enough one that I can manage myself with my camera and Photoshop.

Oh, and then all the formatting too.

At any rate, that shouldn’t take too long, so it should be available for purchase soon.

Also, I should mention that my latest novel, Dan’s Lame Novel, went on sale yesterday. I’ll have to add it to the sidebar soon. Also, I need to add it to my author’s website.

I should have done that already, but I’m lame. So is the novel. You should buy a copy. It’s only 99¢, unless you’re reading this post at some point in the future where I’ve changed the price and it’s no longer 99¢, but, if that’s the case, you can still check it out and buy it. It might be lower or it might be higher. You’ll never know until you click the link. Those of you reading it in the here and now can buy it for 99¢, or whatever that works out to be in your currency. This is 99¢ in USD.

Here’s the link again in case you don’t feel like scrolling back up: Dan’s Lame Novel.

Short Story Collection Complete

Monday, November 19th, 2012

Last night, er, early this morning, I finished the last story in a collection of four short stories that will be published in a single volume.

One story has been published before (on one of my own sites, mind you) but the other three have not. Obviously the one I finished last night hasn’t been published anywhere.

Now I just need to finish the Dedication, Acknowledgments and About the Author sections so I can send this off to my editor.

My editor sent my latest novel to me last month but I still haven’t finished going through it. Once I fire off this short story collection to her, then I’ll try to wrap that up.

I’ll post a note when they’re published.

The Interview of the Century

Wednesday, June 27th, 2012

Well, maybe not, but my interview with Ty Johnston is live on his blog today.

That is, he interviewed me, not the other way around, but you probably knew that because, while answering interview questions is hard, coming up with them is harder, so the likelihood of me doing the interviewing is pretty slim.

Here’s the link: “Dan C. Rinnert novel has everything: assassins, zombies, conspiracies and … baseball?

It was a fun interview and I’m glad it went live today, because that means that this suffices as a blog post today, so I can scratch blogging off my “To Do” list for the day.


Anyway, please drop by, check out the interview and leave a comment or two. Comment early and comment often. Even the dead can comment. Or undead. There are no laws against that yet.

They Said Not to Write Fiction for a Blog Post

Monday, June 4th, 2012

So, while skimming through the blogosphere yesterday, I read that writers who blog should have blog posts that are non-fiction, not fiction. Well, you know I hate rules, so this blog post, outside of this introductory paragraph, is going to be completely fictional.

We start on a cool summer’s day. Where are we? I’m not sure yet. Um, let’s say it’s a cool summer’s day on the outskirts of a small town, which is basically a rural area, and the town is so small it doesn’t even have its own post office. So, the nearest big city is where people have to collect their mail, which means they only go there about once a week, to save on gas, because it’s a long drive.

So, our main character, let’s call him Fred. No, not Fred, because he’s a woman. Sure, Fred could be short for Fredericka or something, but let’s go with a more girly name. How about Hank, which can be a pet name for Henry but, in this case, shall be for Henrietta.

Anyway, Hank is out in the field. She’s wearing a pretty white dress and blue jeans. Yes, she has jeans under the dress. Why? Don’t know. We’re not going to find out either, because I’m not going to go there.

Oh? You want to know? Okay, we’ll ask her.

“Hey, Hank,” I say. “Behind me is the reader of this blog post who would like to know why you are wearing blue jeans and a dress. Care to explain?”

She looks up at me, and then past me right at you. She’s walking towards us. Still walking. Okay, she’s right in front of me now. She has green eyes. Brown hair. Oh, I could see her hair before, but I forget to mention it. I couldn’t see her eyes until now. Anyway, she’s giving you a dirty look and, oh, okay, she just punched you in the nose. Sorry about that.

You have a nosebleed now. Okay, I’ll wait while you go grab a tissue…

Come back anytime now…

I don’t know how to type out whistling but that’s what I’m doing.

Okay. You’re back? Good. You ought to have that nose looked at later. I think Hank may have broken it.

While you were gone, Hank went back into the field where we started on this cool summer’s day.

She’s sitting on a tree trunk. It’s a downed tree. I don’t think it was chopped down. Looks like it snapped or something. Possibly due to a windstorm, as I don’t see any sign of lightning. Also looks like it’s been dead for a while. There are no living branches, leaves are long gone, and the wood has that cracked and aged look. Looks dry too.

So, that’s where she is. Looks like she’s waiting for someone… or something. Ooh. You just assumed she’d be waiting for a boy or a girlfriend, didn’t you? Maybe her dog? Well, I don’t know what she’s waiting for because I haven’t thought that up yet, but, oh, it just came to me as I’m typing this.

From the woods near the field—the tree trunk she’s sitting on is just outside the woods perhaps fifty feet away—there is a rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs. It’s like something big is coming.

Oh, look. It’s bigfoot.

You’d think the girl would be scared, but that would make you kind of sexist, wouldn’t it? Anyway, she’s not scared. She’s waving to him.

He waves back and walks over to her. He sits on the tree trunk too, a couple feet from her.

“How’s it hanging, Lou?” she asks bigfoot, whose name is apparently Lou.

“Some hunters caught me on camera,” Lou replies. “The fools weren’t wearing any orange, so I never even saw them.”

“Oh, no,” says Hank.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Lou says. “As soon as I saw them filming me, I made sure to drop some of that fake fur you gave me. I watched them pick it up later, so once they have that tested, no one will believe them.”

“I told you that would come in handy,” says Hank.

“Yeah,” bigfoot replies.

Hank scoots closer to bigfoot. Looking down at her feet while swinging her legs, she asks, “So, what else you been doing?”

“Well,” says bigfoot. “I spend my nights in the big city hunting down zombies.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Hank replies.

“Look,” says bigfoot, all serious like. “Your government doesn’t want you to know what’s going down, but zombies are spreading like wildfire. You’re lucky to live out in the middle of nowhere. No zombies here yet.”

“And they hire you to go round up zombies?” she asks. “What if you get infected? Surely, they wouldn’t want a zombified bigfoot on the rampage.”

“Oh, we’re immune,” bigfoot says. “Only humans and pigs can be infected by the zombie virus.”

“Uh, huh,” says Hank. I don’t think she believes him. “And how do you not get spotted by people while you hunt zombies at night?”

Bigfoot, er, Lou looks around and then whispers to Hank, “I’m Batman!”

She giggles. “You are not!”

He laughs. Was he kidding or not? Hmm.

“So,” Hank says. “You must be hungry after hunting down all those zombies.”

“A half dozen last night,” bigfoot replies. He pauses for a moment. “But, I could eat.”

Hank puts her hand on his hairy knee. “You want to go back to my place,” she asks, blinking a little more than normal, “and order a pizza?”

Bigfoot raises an eyebrow and gives Hank a look-over. “Alright,” he says. “But, you’re sure your parents won’t mind?”

“Oh, this is the weekend they head into the city to get groceries and mail and stuff,” she says. “They won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

Lou knew they wouldn’t be coming back the next night, or any other night. He gently puts his hand on her shoulder. “I want anchovies on mine.”

Hank puts her hand over Lou’s hairy hand. “No onions though.”

Bigfoot smiles. “No onions.”

They both giggle. Then, they get off the tree trunk and start walking across the field, toward Hank’s house which, conveniently, is toward the sunset. They hold hands as they walk.