The Adventures of Detective Kitty
Age: 9 years old
Inspired by my formative years on a dairy farm and my love of cats, this was my first serious foray into fiction.
Excerpt: "Watson the Dachshund was sure that Clarabelle Cow was the culprit, but Detective Kitty was not convinced. Chewing on a rat tail, the Detective breathed deeply. ‘This manure is not cow poo, you dumb mutt,’ Detective Kitty purred, choking. ‘My eyes are watering and my whiskers just fell out. The only critter with poo that powerful … is none other than Carlsbad Chicken!’ Watson hung his head down in shame, his tail between his legs. Once again, the Detective had proven that cats are way smarter than dogs."
Kim and Stacey Meet Duran Duran
Age: 13 years old
What happens when a ‘tween falls in love with her first pop band? She writes one of the most nauseating and embarrassing stories of her life.
Excerpt: "Nick Rhodes smiled at her, his mascara and spiky red hair shining in the moonlight. ‘You look so beautiful tonight,’ he sighed, and Stacey giggled in reply. ‘And I believe we’re wearing matching lipstick. Clearly, we are soul mates.’"
The Truth Hurts
As I matured, I began to experiment with other styles of writing. I’m still pretty proud of the following poetic attempt:
"Beth is a slut bag
As I wrote on bathroom wall
I hate detention."
The Oppression of Women in Disney Schematics
Genre: College Essay
I began finding my feminist voice, and asserted my position every chance I could get. Here, I attack that sexist tyrant Walt Disney.
Excerpt: "Ariel doesn’t care if Prince Eric has a good sense of humor, or an upstanding reputation, or high-earning job potential. This twit is willing to give up her voice for this schmuck simply because he’s cute. Someone should tell this airhead that Ted Bundy was pretty good-looking, too."
Don’t You Hate That?
Genre: Humor Column
My first paid writing job was as a humor columnist for the Block Island Times. Here, I would opine on such matters as cat vomit, hard water stains on my dishes, and tourists who didn’t know how to turn off the signal light on their mopeds.
Excerpt: "Honestly! It’s the switch on the left, people! And don’t honk your stupid @!!$! moped horns when you’re driving by my house!"
Terror in the Hills
I couldn’t have gotten where I am today if I didn’t experiment with all these other genres in the past. Clearly, each story’s influence has played a part in making me the writer I am today.
Excerpt: "Nick Rhodes ran from the stage, the zombie hordes still groaning along to the final strains of "Save a Prayer." He needed to get home to his cat. He was sure the dog was already dead, too stupid to not to play fetch with decaying zombie limbs.
Nick tripped over the corpse of Beth, one of the slut bag groupies who had been waiting for him offstage. He kicked her in the head for good measure – it’s not like she was interested in his mind, after all. He wished for a moment that she was still alive so he could remind her that Ted Bundy had been pretty good-looking, too.
Nick jumped into his black Ford F-250 and floored it. He accidentally ran over a tourist on the way out. Beneath the tourist's crumpled body, the moped's left blinker still flashed, slowly signaling left. Nick backed up and ran over him again."