My Cardboard Balcony

"A reading from the Prophet Marcus," he began, and already Alison was shaking her head. "Nope. I'm out. Thanks, bye." She downed her gin and tonic and began to walk out of the room. "Oh, c'mon, don't be blasphemous!" Marcus chuckled from his makeshift podium made out of a stack of college biology textbooks. "Everyone is here for the sermon." "I'm here for the beer," Shawn corrected him, but Marcus waved at him dismissively.

by Belinda Rodd ie "Nice cockroach earrings." "They're not cockroaches," Ivy scowled. "They're scarabs. Can't you tell the difference?" The man shrugged with a slight chuckle and returned to his friends at the bar, and Ivy resisted the urge to throw her beer at him. However, because the pint had cost a good four dollars, she knew it was better to drink it than waste it. Still, though, it was like no one cared about history anymore, let alone interesting Egyptian history. Did no one get the significance of golden scarabs anymore? She was about to leave a dollar tip at the bar when "What Do You Want From Me?" rattled on the speakers. Ivy was intrigued. It wasn't typical for bars to play prog rock, but she was a big Floyd fan and she certainly wasn't complaining. As she turned her head toward the sound, she spotted a young woman sitting in the corner alone, drinking a cider and playing with her silver watch as she s...

I was familiar with her personality type. People like her were unintentionally manipulative - still caring, but more inclined to look out for one's own needs. They were good with emotions, and that way they could discover new outlets to cultivate success or profit out of someone else's pity. But again, they did it all unintentionally. They were ignorant of their own trickery.

So, after heartily enjoying Pi Day with my sister and my girlfriend, here is the scattered shrapnel of my week. Mainly, similar stuff to what I talked about last week. I went to the orientation for SSU's teaching credential program, and again, my going into this program heavily relies on what potential financial assistance I get. I may possibly be going back into an education job, albeit a temporary one, to supplement my income from the bookstore - interview's on Monday. Of course, I'm still working and writing - I'm on Chapter Five in my sci-fi novel, so I'm excited about that. And really, that's about it. This is just the way introspections fluctuate, my dear few readers. Some weeks are more interesting than others. Writer's Quotation of the Night: I never asked Tolstoy to write for me, a little colored girl in Lorain, Ohio. I never asked [James] Joyce not to mention Catholicism or the world of Dublin. Never. And I don't know why I should be as...

"Caramel Kisses" is an unfinished novel I began to write back in 2009 and stopped working on in 2010. The two main characters - Adriana Maguire Reynard and Emma Burking - would ultimately be revised for my later completed novella, "The Liffey Is Half-Asleep," in 2011. Several elements of "Liffey" can be found in their original forms in "Caramel Kisses," such as the characters' names, the haiku scene, and Adriana's penchant for writing. Because of its influence on my later writing, I figured that this story, though incomplete, was worth sharing. Caramel Kisses: Chapter Seventeen by Belinda Roddie “They want to bring it to the Orpheum,” announced Hudd as he swooped me into a hug that lifted me off my feet and overlooked his tiny stature. “Really?” I gasped, as he set me down and my feet shook noticeably on the plush carpet. I was worried my ankles would give out; I felt completely disjointed from the whole experience. ...

We had the chance to compete in the high school Jeopardy! match that year, an honor that usually only juniors and seniors got. Randall and I, on the contrary, were freshmen. Sure, the upper classmen certainly raised a stink, but Missus Suthers put a cork in that very quickly. "They get better grades than most of you in the school," she commented, "and now you're complaining that they're being given the same opportunity as you as a result?"

The Barrels Leaked by Belinda Roddie The barrels leaked, and wine belched from the cracks onto the cellar floor, staining it red. I watched with puzzlement as pinot splashed across the wood, then called for Mister Zedd, the manager of the winery. He said, "grab a couple glasses. We'll make due." I filled six cups with spraying burgundy, then thirteen more with Zinfandel that spewed from the corner barrel, the splits revealed in the oak. I couldn't believe my eyes. How badly had old, worn Mister Zedd sealed away the wine? I now stood ankle-high in the stuff. The spill never slowed itself, so I grabbed more jugs from the cupboard shelf.