Two Authors, One Night
Thurs., August 23 ~ 8pm – 10pm ~ Wayward Coffeehouse
I’m doing a reading on Thursday, getting up in front of onlookers and sharing one of my tenderly nurtured stories. Please come by and cheer me on, so I don’t feel do nervous! It would be great to see lots of smiling, friendly faces in the audience. And, the Wayward is a haven for Firefly and Whedon fans. 🙂
I will read “Miss Winterdove and the Erupting Eulogist.”
I have many voices in my head, ranging from dark to light. Occasionally, there’s an adventuress named Josephine Winterdove who rises to the surface and whispers me a tale of time travel, terror, and contraptions. —Angel Leigh McCoy (www.angelmccoy.com)
Miss Josephine Winterdove gazed down at Ernesto Aperador in his coffin. He looked peaceful, and that did nothing to assuage her wish that he burn in Hell.
She dabbed her handkerchief at the corner of her eye, as did several of the women in the church. Señor Aperador had left behind many broken hearts, including Josephine’s.
Unlike the others, she hadn’t craved his romantic attentions. Rather, she coveted the cravat pin positioned in the middle of his chest. It broke her heart that the powerful carnelian cameo would be buried with him, despite her unrequited efforts to purchase it.
She couldn’t stand by the coffin for long, or she would draw attention, but she had to find out how the cameo was attached. Already, she had spotted a strange joint on the base of the pin. She assumed it was connected to a tripwire. Leave it to ol’ Ernesto to booby trap it, out of spite. He had to have known she would make an attempt.
Mark Tullius will read from his latest novel BRIGHTSIDE.
Writing is my heavy bag, the sparring partner that doesn’t punch back. It’s where I shed my armor and cast off the blindfold, take a look at myself and the world around me. The writing takes me wherever it wants. Dark alley or dinner table, classroom or morgue—I go along for the ride and try to capture the moment, show life like it is.—Mark Tullius (www.marktullius.com)
They call us Thought Thieves, but it’s not like we have a choice. All the sick, twisted things rolling around in people’s heads, we can’t help but hear. God knows I’ve tried to turn it off. The sexual perversions, the violent fantasies about your boss, that annoying neighbor you want dead, even those unfortunate thoughts about your kids. I’ve had to stand there and listen.
I’d never wish this upon anyone, not even my mom, the woman who’s been over-sharing since I slid from her womb.
You wouldn’t believe the awful shit I’ve heard.