My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Why does it smell like curry in here?" "What's that, dear?" " Ugh. I said why does it smell like curry in here, Granny! Gawd!" "Oh, sorry, Branson, sweetie. My hearing's not what it used to be." "Course it isn't. Jesus." "I don't smell anything. Are you sure you've had enough sleep?" "Uh. Yes. I slept for twelve fucking hours today." "Well. I haven't smelled curry since the day I smuggled it into the country, forty-five years ago." "...You smuggled curry?" "Oh, not just curry, dear! That was the ruse. There was cocaine hidden in the curry!" "...What." "Rock cocaine, specifically. In little baggies. Course, airport security's sure gotten tighter since, but we still wanted to be sneaky. So we had an Indian friend make a whoooole batch of curry, and we hid the baggies right in there!" "How the ...

Folks, I know I say this a lot in my introspections, but it's been one hell of a week. Not only did I finish up my second week at my new school site, but I also self-published...drum roll, please...my debut novel! Yes, [Insert Self-Discovery Here] is out and available for purchase on Amazon, as well as available to order from your local bookstore through IngramSpark. Here's a link to Amazon so you can get your copy! None of this would have been possible without my incredible wife, Arden, who not only illustrated the book, but also orchestrated the entire publishing process. She edited, formatted, and submitted the entire manuscript so it wound up being something beautiful. I am so fortunate to have such an amazingly talented, hard-working, dedicated, and very, very patient spouse. We'll be hosting a small release party with a handful of lovely family and friends at my parents' residence tomorrow. Nothing fancy - just a little celebration of the book. I'll be s...

Sorry, New Yorkers by Belinda Roddie When I burped, America's Eastern seaboard collapsed. Still, no regrets.

We stayed up until dawn, slept until three, and kissed until our lips were blue until midnight. Then we stayed up again for the sunrise, drinking cold tea mixed with rum and breathing in sour notes of coastal air, exhaling out equally tart words of "wisdom" and "witticisms." We did this for nine days in a row. Then you had to pop down to see your mother on her deathbed, so I stayed up until dawn with the cat.

Too Fast! by Belinda Roddie "Too fast!" they shout. "You talk too fast!" "You drive too fast!" "You're just too fast at everything." I guess I'm just a fool who likes to thrive at moving close to the speed of lightning? I like to think I pace myself enough, and that I'm good behind the steering wheel, yet I know some people have had it rough, and so they take it slow. Me, I can feel when time passes by way too quickly, but I've always been a kid who "gets things done," and if that means I'm sometimes in a rush, that's fine. It doesn't mean that I'm the one who's not enjoying the day. Take your time, but me, I feel good. I feel in my prime.

When we were told the Juggernaut was in town, we locked the doors, latched the shutters, and stayed in our bedrooms for the night. We had all heard the stories, had all been taught the precautions. No dancing. No singing. No sudden movement. The Juggernaut would hear it all, and the Juggernaut would punish you for it. There was one neighbor, Fifae, who did not take on the same fear as we did. And so, when night fell, she stayed outside, perched on a stump, playing her wooden flute.