Insanity Tales III: Seasons of Shadow is being released June 6 (you can preorder the Kindle version HERE, if you’re so inclined). The Insanity Tales anthologies are a series of collections put out by The Storyside writers’ collaborative, of which I’m proud to be a member along with David Daniel, Rob Smales, Vlad V., and Ursula Wong) but to be honest, it’s not always easy to come up with stories before the deadline for each book. This time around, when the group decided the theme would be seasons, I was stumped. I mean, I jumped on spring, because nobody else wanted it, but then I realized why: there’s not a lot going on, horror-wise, when things are starting to bloom.
I whined to my BWF (best writing friend), about being fresh out of ideas. Our conversation eventually devolved to both of us complaining about how much we weighed, expressing a general aversion to vegetables, and discussing our hidden talents—of which mine is being able to identify, with one sniff, the type of animal that produced the manure I am smelling. It was a fabulous conversation, and from this, a story began to take root.
So with no further fanfare, here’s an excerpt from “Eat Your Vegetables,” one of ten fine tales in Insanity Tales III: Seasons of Shadow.
Eat Your Vegetables
By Stacey Longo
“I’m off to my meeting,” Annie called out.
“Meeting?” Doug was planted in the La-Z-Boy, watching reruns of NCIS.
“Remember, I told you I was joining Weight Watchers? They meet on Thursdays at the senior center. Tonight’s my first weigh-in.”
“You look beautiful,” Doug said as she pulled the front door shut behind her.
Annie didn’t feel beautiful. She felt like a waddling, middle-aged blob with bad knees and no chin. At her last physical, her doctor had announced that her body mass index now officially put her in the obese category. That was six months ago, and she’d tried to be good. Had salads for lunch for almost a week. But then someone’s granddaughter was selling Girl Scout cookies, and shamrock shakes were back at McDonalds . . .
Spring was just around the corner, and bathing suit season would be here soon. She’d caught herself practically wheezing at work when she’d had to lug the donated books to the library basement. She was only fifty-one. Enough was enough. She needed to lose weight.
And Doug was one to talk. In the twenty-five years they’d been married, he’d put on his fair share of weight, too. He liked to joke that he was always ready for the beach—“got the beach ball packed and ready to go,” he’d say, patting his belly. Had she laughed at that? Probably. His growing girth had made it more acceptable that she’d been putting on pounds, too.
She drove the ten miles with butterflies in her stomach. She was afraid of how far the needle would climb when she stepped on the scale. Of what the woman weighing her in would say. Annie hoped the woman wasn’t perky. She didn’t think she could deal with perky tonight.
“Good news: you’re at 181. That’s a great place to launch from!” the perky weigh-in woman announced. Annie wanted to punch her in the face.
“How so? I’m fatter than an entire kindergarten class. That’s twelve five-year-olds, with one to spare.”
“Aren’t you funny? Just think—you’re right around the corner from a lower decade! Seventies, here we come!”
Perkalicious had a point. It would be a nice ego boost to see the 170s again.
Annie scooped up her coat and an armful of materials—recipes, directions on how to download and sign in to the Weight Watchers app, and a free sample of two-point brownie bites. In the room, people had begun to arrive and take seats. Annie sat on an uncomfortable gray folding chair and waited for the meeting to start.
“First time?” A rotund woman with long black hair and Harry Potter glasses settled in next to her.
“First time in years. How’d you know?”
“You look terrified. Most people talk a friend into going. You don’t have any fat friends?”
Annie let out a nervous laugh.
“Well, now you do. Name’s Dee.” She held out a hand, and Annie took it gratefully. “I’ve been doing the program for three months now. Down fifteen pounds. It’s slow, but it works. Slower after menopause, but what the hell. If Oprah’s willing to stick it out, so am I.” A thin woman with curly chestnut hair moved to the front of the room, waving her hands. Dee eyeballed her and kept talking. “If you need tips on low-point sugary snacks, I’m your gal. I can calculate the points value of anything on sight. Here’s Michelle, our group leader. She’s so bubbly I want to stick her in a soda bottle and shake her up ’til she pops, but she’s motivating, I’ll give her that.”
Annie smiled. It felt good to make a new friend.
After congratulating all the audience members who’d hit milestones (including one man who’d hit the 100-pound loss mark—“men always lose faster, the lucky bastards,” Dee whispered), Michelle recapped her story. She’d lost seventy-six pounds of “baby weight” on Weight Watchers after her third child was born, and had kept it off for six years. Tonight’s motivational speech was on incorporating exercise into everyday activities. “You can do aerobics while folding clothes,” Michelle enthused, miming a ridiculous bend-and-stretch with an imaginary towel. “And gardening is a great activity! It’s seed-planting time, people, and when you do all that hard work of tilling and planting and weeding, your garden will reward you with a bounty of zero-point foods. See? It’s win-win!”
“Except for corn,” someone piped up from behind Annie and Dee. “Corn costs points.”
“Killjoy,” Dee hissed, but Annie wasn’t paying attention. Michelle was right. For a couple of years when they were newlyweds, Doug and Annie had put a vegetable garden in the back, just past the shed. She’d had fond memories as a child of picking snap peas with her mother, and had wanted to continue the tradition as an adult. But they’d had no kids of their own for her to share the experience with, and maintaining it was hard work. They’d let the garden fall by the wayside, and over the years, the weeds had taken over as the rototiller sat rusting in the shed. But she’d enjoyed gardening. Hadn’t she?
She exchanged phone numbers with Dee and left the meeting full of hope and energy. She could do this plan. She was ready to commit. And this weekend, she was going to hit Mackey’s for supplies and get her garden in.
That’s it. That’s all you get today. To read more, pick up your copy of Insanity Tales III: Seasons of Shadow on June 6!
I whined to my BWF (best writing friend), about being fresh out of ideas. Our conversation eventually devolved to both of us complaining about how much we weighed, expressing a general aversion to vegetables, and discussing our hidden talents—of which mine is being able to identify, with one sniff, the type of animal that produced the manure I am smelling. It was a fabulous conversation, and from this, a story began to take root.
So with no further fanfare, here’s an excerpt from “Eat Your Vegetables,” one of ten fine tales in Insanity Tales III: Seasons of Shadow.
Eat Your Vegetables
By Stacey Longo
“I’m off to my meeting,” Annie called out.
“Meeting?” Doug was planted in the La-Z-Boy, watching reruns of NCIS.
“Remember, I told you I was joining Weight Watchers? They meet on Thursdays at the senior center. Tonight’s my first weigh-in.”
“You look beautiful,” Doug said as she pulled the front door shut behind her.
Annie didn’t feel beautiful. She felt like a waddling, middle-aged blob with bad knees and no chin. At her last physical, her doctor had announced that her body mass index now officially put her in the obese category. That was six months ago, and she’d tried to be good. Had salads for lunch for almost a week. But then someone’s granddaughter was selling Girl Scout cookies, and shamrock shakes were back at McDonalds . . .
Spring was just around the corner, and bathing suit season would be here soon. She’d caught herself practically wheezing at work when she’d had to lug the donated books to the library basement. She was only fifty-one. Enough was enough. She needed to lose weight.
And Doug was one to talk. In the twenty-five years they’d been married, he’d put on his fair share of weight, too. He liked to joke that he was always ready for the beach—“got the beach ball packed and ready to go,” he’d say, patting his belly. Had she laughed at that? Probably. His growing girth had made it more acceptable that she’d been putting on pounds, too.
She drove the ten miles with butterflies in her stomach. She was afraid of how far the needle would climb when she stepped on the scale. Of what the woman weighing her in would say. Annie hoped the woman wasn’t perky. She didn’t think she could deal with perky tonight.
“Good news: you’re at 181. That’s a great place to launch from!” the perky weigh-in woman announced. Annie wanted to punch her in the face.
“How so? I’m fatter than an entire kindergarten class. That’s twelve five-year-olds, with one to spare.”
“Aren’t you funny? Just think—you’re right around the corner from a lower decade! Seventies, here we come!”
Perkalicious had a point. It would be a nice ego boost to see the 170s again.
Annie scooped up her coat and an armful of materials—recipes, directions on how to download and sign in to the Weight Watchers app, and a free sample of two-point brownie bites. In the room, people had begun to arrive and take seats. Annie sat on an uncomfortable gray folding chair and waited for the meeting to start.
“First time?” A rotund woman with long black hair and Harry Potter glasses settled in next to her.
“First time in years. How’d you know?”
“You look terrified. Most people talk a friend into going. You don’t have any fat friends?”
Annie let out a nervous laugh.
“Well, now you do. Name’s Dee.” She held out a hand, and Annie took it gratefully. “I’ve been doing the program for three months now. Down fifteen pounds. It’s slow, but it works. Slower after menopause, but what the hell. If Oprah’s willing to stick it out, so am I.” A thin woman with curly chestnut hair moved to the front of the room, waving her hands. Dee eyeballed her and kept talking. “If you need tips on low-point sugary snacks, I’m your gal. I can calculate the points value of anything on sight. Here’s Michelle, our group leader. She’s so bubbly I want to stick her in a soda bottle and shake her up ’til she pops, but she’s motivating, I’ll give her that.”
Annie smiled. It felt good to make a new friend.
After congratulating all the audience members who’d hit milestones (including one man who’d hit the 100-pound loss mark—“men always lose faster, the lucky bastards,” Dee whispered), Michelle recapped her story. She’d lost seventy-six pounds of “baby weight” on Weight Watchers after her third child was born, and had kept it off for six years. Tonight’s motivational speech was on incorporating exercise into everyday activities. “You can do aerobics while folding clothes,” Michelle enthused, miming a ridiculous bend-and-stretch with an imaginary towel. “And gardening is a great activity! It’s seed-planting time, people, and when you do all that hard work of tilling and planting and weeding, your garden will reward you with a bounty of zero-point foods. See? It’s win-win!”
“Except for corn,” someone piped up from behind Annie and Dee. “Corn costs points.”
“Killjoy,” Dee hissed, but Annie wasn’t paying attention. Michelle was right. For a couple of years when they were newlyweds, Doug and Annie had put a vegetable garden in the back, just past the shed. She’d had fond memories as a child of picking snap peas with her mother, and had wanted to continue the tradition as an adult. But they’d had no kids of their own for her to share the experience with, and maintaining it was hard work. They’d let the garden fall by the wayside, and over the years, the weeds had taken over as the rototiller sat rusting in the shed. But she’d enjoyed gardening. Hadn’t she?
She exchanged phone numbers with Dee and left the meeting full of hope and energy. She could do this plan. She was ready to commit. And this weekend, she was going to hit Mackey’s for supplies and get her garden in.
That’s it. That’s all you get today. To read more, pick up your copy of Insanity Tales III: Seasons of Shadow on June 6!
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