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People who are reading my Nanaboozhoo stories -- Are you tired of them? I've got another one banging around my head. This one takes place sometime before Stronger than Swift Runner.

I think I want this story to be about redemption.

"Open up! Hey! Come get the door! Police! Open up!"

Abby McGeezhick's eyes sprang open and she staggered out of bed. It had snowed during the night. When she threw open the second floor window and stuck her head out, the snow on the window ledge fell back and plopped on her bare feet.

The officers at the door looked up at her, frowning. The morning sun off the fresh snow made their faces harsh.

"I'm right here! Hold on, I'm coming down!" She pushed the window shut, shoved her wet feet into jeans, and threw on an old sweatshirt. In the living room, Boots and a couple of his buddies were sleeping on the couches and floor. Bags of Doritos and Cheetos and red Solo cups littered the side tables. Abby stomped her bare feet into boots, stepped outside and closed the door quietly behind her.

"We've got a problem, Ms. McGeezhick." Both of the officers towered over her and Abby took a breath to calm herself. One of them was a young guy, and the other was Phillips, who'd been on the force for a handful of years. The younger guy pointed across the street. "The VFW's door has been forced, and somebody took a keg of beer and some other stuff."

They looked stern. Accusingly, even. Abby shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anything about it!"

The officers looked at each other. "Well, that's real funny, Ma'am," Phillips drawled. "Seeing how there's tracks going out your front door right to the VFW, and then tracks leaving, going right to your back door."

Abby closed her eyes and saw the boys inside, passed out in her living room. "Shit."
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Here's the newest story. I'd like to post a little something about writing, but for now I'll just hand you this.

about 2500 words

Bear Moon

The thing is, Leona always hated her name. It was her grandmother’s name, and granny was a mean drunk, no pussyfooting around it. So Leona went by Sunny, the name Arty Bertucci, her Nonno, called her. Nonno was the only person in her life who’d really loved her, so it was his right to name her. And that’s what started the big fight at the casino out by Chocolay, Sunny not liking her name, and Fred Ingalls calling her Leona one time too many.

That, and being nine months, four days pregnant. She just wasn’t in the mood.

So, she threw the first punch and when Fred pushed her, half the place piled on him - there were fists and boots flying - and the other half picked her up and made her sit down and drink a glass of water to cool the fuck down. Then, both she and Fred were kicked out into the snow of the last night of February. Fred’s buddies dragged him off to the emergency room or God knows where. Not to see his baby born, that’s for sure. Whenever that would be. Not tonight. All that hubbub, and not one little contraction. Read more... )
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word count ~2100


Nanaboozhoo is a little god who watches over the Anishinaabeg. Sometimes he is there with them, teaching about fire or the song of the loon. Sometimes he shows them how to do something by how not to do something. Sometimes he becomes angry and tosses around trees or boulders, or turns someone into a chickadee or a snake.

But most of the time, he is not there. The Anishinaabeg greet each other, saying "Boozhoo!" just in case it is Nanaboozhoo they might be greeting. It's been known to happen.

At one time, maybe a thousand years ago or tomorrow, Nanaboozhoo sat on Turtle’s back and laughed. The strings that vibrated between each mote of existence squirmed under his bare butt cheeks, tickling, and the stars tangled in his hair. It was very undignified, but if any god could be happily, joyfully undignified it would be Great Rabbit of the Anishinaabeg. Scratching absently at his behind, letting his fingers then rest within the primordia of Turtle’s shell, Nanaboozhoo closed his eyes and considered the Earth.

There, he could hear a child pray: “You slimy, mother fucking bastard! Come down here and face me, Nanaboozhoo! I’ll rip your freaking head off! I’ll cut your heart out! I’ll run you over with a bulldozer until you’re flat and then I’ll stomp all over you and piss on you and throw you in this God. Damned. LAKE.” There was a pleasant, full throated scream of frustration.

Nanaboozhoo cocked his head and listened hard. No, only silence now. What was that? Ah, a whimper, ever so soft, and a small voice: “Please.”

With a smile, Nanaboozhoo folded in on himself and stepped into a winter afternoon, the dusty taste of sleeping trees on his tongue and all around the smell of winter sky.

He was on the shore of a small lake, snow covered and bare except for a small blotch in the whiteness, a stain on its purity. In the middle of the lake bobbed the upper part of a person, arms outstretched as she tried to pull herself back onto the ice. Nanaboozhoo smiled in recognition and walked out to the struggling figure.

Read more... )
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I actually wrote something. I guess I'll put it up for my International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day offering.

Story: Old Mother Hubbard
Author: LJG
Rating: Teen (for swearing)
Word Count: about 1300
Author's Summary: based on the Mother Goose rhyme
Warnings: f-word, violence
Author's notes: First and last couple of sentences are from the Mother Goose rhyme. Feel free to send me a con-crit in a message. I love crits.

Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard to give her poor dog a bone. When she came there, the cupboard was bare, and so the poor dog had none. )


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