Tag: short story

Apples and Oranges Are Both Fruit

Hey stranger! How are ya?

I have disappeared off the face of the internet for quite some time, focused on my family and getting through the darkness of the pandemic, if I’m being honest. It’s been busy. And difficult.

But I haven’t ever stopped writing.

I’m currently chugging away–ever so slowly, but chugging nonetheless– on the rewrite of Super Us.

YES! I’m still working on it. And YES it will–at some point– be published. I owe it to the characters that have a story to tell and who have yet to make an appearance–HELLO Destiny, Faye’s spunky daughter. I’m still in love with the story and can’t wait to get it finished so that I can share it with you.

As a little side note, I’ve recently written something that I’d like to share today, called “Apples and Oranges Are Both Fruit,”  a very serious piece about comparing the two. I’m planning on including this in the second volume of “Twenty Five Hundred” my collection of 500 word pieces.

I hope very much that you enjoy this today. And I hope that you — whoever you are, where ever you are, if you are here reading this– I hope are doing well.

<3 Jessica

Apples and Oranges Are Both Fruit

 

You know that expression, “It’s like apples and oranges?” Meaning they’re great in their own ways, but you can’t compare the two because they are way too different.

You can’t compare apples to oranges because one is fruit and the other is… also fruit.

That’s my problem with the expression. Why wouldn’t you compare apples and oranges? They’re actually very similar. They’re types of food. Both from fruit trees. Each are round. And are sweet. A delicious fruit either way.

So why is the expression about comparing apples and oranges? Why not opposite things? Like apples and… sardines? “It’s like apples and sardines” That’s better. They are nothing alike but both are good, in their own right.

Although, that’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it? I happen to like sardines even though I know most do not. The majority would surely say apples are much better than sardines and that there is no comparison between the two. And I might agree, depending on my mood. But maybe I want a little protein. Then I would say sardines are better than apples because apples don’t have any protein. Neither do oranges for that matter. Oranges do have vitamin C though, and apples don’t. But apples do supply other vitamins. Let’s just say there are health benefits to all of these options.

I’ve lost track of my point. Where was I? Apples and oranges and sardines. All types of food and each healthy and also relative to one’s taste. But they’re not exactly opposites, are they?

You’d need to compare things that weren’t types of food. Like apples and… rocks? “It’s like apples and rocks.” Does that work? Well, isn’t the point that they are different but also good– or valuable– in their own way? What’s good about a rock? Not much. Depending on the rock, of course. What kind of rock are we talking about here? Gold? Diamond? “It’s like apples and diamonds.” Well, anyone would choose the diamond–even if you were hungry because the diamond could be sold for many, many apples or sardines or whatever you wanted to eat. No one could say that apples and diamonds are equal but different and that’s the key to fixing the expression.

So what has exactly the same value as an apple but is also the opposite of an apple? An apple represents sustenance. What else is vital to survival? Breathing. Okay. What about, “It’s like apples and air.” Ooh, I like that. Both are essential. Eating and breathing. Apples and air.

Good. Now that I’ve fixed the expression I need to go find something to eat. All this talking about food has worked me up an appetite. Now I need to decide what I should eat for lunch. I’ve got a tin of sardines and some fruit. Wouldn’t you know? Apples and oranges.

Hmmm. Apples or oranges. Apples or oranges? Do I want tangy or crunchy? How do I choose? Looks like I need to make myself a fruit salad.

“Resolutions” a 500 word story

 

Happy New Year!

Today I’m sharing a story that will be published in this month’s issue of Prairie Times. It can also be found in my short story collection, “Twenty-Five Hundred.”

Resolutions

The sun woke me. A stream of light that hit me right in the eyeball. Rude. I yanked the covers over my head, burrowing, but flashes from the night before made it impossible to return to sleep. There’d been a lot of loudness—music . . . laughing . . . clinking of glasses . . . many glasses. Celebrating . . . what were we celebrating? Oh, right. The New Year and crap.

I pulled the blanket off my face. Squinted at the clock. It was way too early to be getting up on a day off. But whatever. I slid my legs off the edge of the bed. Rubbed my eyes. Buster’s collar jingled as he got up, stretched, and plopped his big ol’ head in my lap. I yawned. Scratched him behind the ears. A bright pink sticky notepad on my nightstand caught my eye. ‘BE BETTER,’ it said in my sloppy handwriting. Be better?

As I brushed my teeth to relieve my breath of the ick, I remembered some more from the night before—the later and much less fun part. The part where I’d released my liquid dinner in bursts of heaving and vowed to make changes—to ‘be better.’

Okay, I could do that. I went back and snatched up the notepad. First, breakfast. A healthy one. I scribbled ‘EAT HEALTHY’ and stuck it to my box of pop tarts. Not a bad start. I grabbed myself an energy drink, downed it, then attached a ‘DRINK MORE WATER’ to the can. Then added a ‘RECYCLE’ note as a positive afterthought. So far, so good.

Then it was time to take Buster out. I snapped on his leash. We went downstairs and into the apartment courtyard. After doggie did his business, I went to grab a bag. There were none, as usual. Talk about needing to ‘be better,’ but I knew how to handle this. I stuck a ‘REFILL THESE BAGS’ note on the canister as an expansion of my positivity. You are welcome, apartment management staff. As Buster and I walked on through the neighborhood, I noticed many instances where others could ‘be better’ and was kind enough to leave notes such as ‘WASH YOUR CAR’ and ‘RAKE THESE LEAVES.’ I also left some helpful ‘MOW YOUR LAWN’ and ‘REPAINT YOUR HOUSE’ stickies.

After such a productive walk, I rested at home for the remainder of the day. Later, I ordered pizza. The delivery guy seemed surprised by my ‘CUT YOUR HAIR’ which I attached to his ugly jacket. I then generously handed him a ‘BUY A NEW JACKET’ and wished him a Happy New Year as I closed the door.

That night, I reflected on all the bettering I had done. It was a lot of work but it was worth it. Before I switched out the light I had one last note to write. On my last sticky I wrote, ‘BUY MORE STICKY NOTES.’

It was going to be a great year.

“Changes” a 500 word story

A short story I wrote a couple of years ago called “Changes” was published this month in the Colorado magazine, “Prairie Times.”

I thought it would be fun to share it here as well.

Changes

Flying down the path, sneakers skimming over the pavement as my favorite running playlist blasted in my ears. I was high on adrenaline. Riding the rush of endorphins. It was always the best part of my day. I’d run that trail a thousand times. Wasn’t paying attention. Wasn’t watching where my feet landed as I took the free-feeling for granted. That’s when I tripped.

One second, I was speeding along the trail, wind rushing past me, and the next I was skidding to a halt. Slamming into the pavement, knee first. It burned immediately and I cried out, yanking my headphones from my ears and rolling to a stop on the grass on the side of the trail. The ground was wet from the recent rain. Cold seeped through the seat of my shorts. And my ankle—oh my ankle hurt bad. It must have twisted on my way down. Maybe it was sprained. Or broken.

Blood was beading up fast from the gash on my knee. I covered it with my hand, pressing, as I looked wildly around me. I was in the middle of nowhere. Hadn’t seen anyone on the way up. Was miles from my car. The sun was low in the sky and sinking fast. I’d skipped lunch and my post-run power bar was in my car along with my water bottle, which I’d left at the last minute.

No food. No water. And no one knew I was even here. I didn’t even tell my cat—though a lot of good that would have done anyway. Silly. Cats can’t call 911. Even clever ones like my Chloe. It could be hours before anyone found me. Days even.

All I could do was sit there. Think about my life. All the crappy parts of it. The way I always joked about that awkward girl at the office, what’s-her-name. The way I was rude to the girls that did my nails the other day.

But I could be a better person. Volunteer or something. Go to church.

Eat fewer doughnuts.

I could do that. I would, if I were only to be rescued. All I needed right then was a tall, dark, and handsome someone to come running up the trail. Someone to swoop me into his arms and carry me down the hill to safety. If only my hero would show up. Well, I would change my life. I would.

And then—footsteps! The thud of shoes hitting pavement. Coming my way! I fixed my pony tail and scooted, turning, to see a group of girls running up the path.

“You okay?” the tall one asked, judge-y eyes looking me up and down.

I stood. “Fine,” I answered to her back. The herd of them had already bounced past.

I looked down at my unbroken ankle that didn’t even hurt anymore. At my knee that was no longer bleeding. I plodded down the hill to my car.

Oh well, looked like a doughnuts-for-dinner kind of night.

“Changes” is one of 20 short stories in my book Twenty-Five Hundred (available here!)

Leo and the Carrot

I started writing full-time in 2009.  My first publication was a short, true story about my dog Leo called, “Leo and the Carrot.” At the time,  I was pregnant with my oldest and working on the first draft of Super Me. While Mike was at work, it was just me and the pup home during the day.

Leo was the best dog ever. (No, really, the very best!)

I met Leo at the Larimer County Humane Society in 2001. He was just a spunky pup back then. Full-grown, but young–maybe a year or so old, when I found him. Leo was BOUNCY.

I fell in love with Leo right away and took him home with me.

He was a happy, sweet, cuddly dog and also very patient, allowing my daughter to crawl all over him and even dress him up.

One morning, while I was working on the newest chapter or Super Me, Leo and I got into a little battle over a carrot.  That battle lasted all day long.

Later I wrote down the tale and submitted the story to a magazine called “Dog Living.” This was the piece that made a published author.

Recently, feeling reminiscent, I submitted the story to the local magazine Prairie Times, who has published a few of my short stories in the past. “Leo and the Carrot” was published in their March2020  issue.

Without further ado, here is the story of my carrot battle with my sweet pup.

 

Leo and the Carrot

I consider myself to be a pretty stubborn but would have to say that my dog, Leo, is perhaps just as stubborn.

At lunch today, I offered Leo a baby carrot. He sniffed it and decided it smelled good enough to eat and took it from me. I wasn’t sure if he would want the carrot. Some days he likes them and some days he doesn’t. But today I hadn’t just thrown it on the floor for him to find out if he would eat it or if it would end up in the trash. I offered it to him. I let him choose. And he took it.

At this point he announced it wasn’t one of the days that he liked carrots by promptly dropping it on the floor.

I was annoyed. If he didn’t want it, then he shouldn’t have taken it. Since he took it, he was going to eat it, I resolved.

So I played the “I’m gonna get it” game with him for a few minutes. This is a very exciting game in case you haven’t played it. Saying “I’m gonna get it” (the more excitement the better) and “faking out” a snatch, instantly makes the object irresistible.

The game was somewhat successful, resulting in exactly half the baby carrot being eaten by Leo.

A few minutes later, I discovered the half-eaten carrot on the bedroom floor. I acknowledged the carrot piece with a dramatic “Oh no!” for Leo’s sake.

He looked sadly at me, but made no move towards the carrot.

“Leo,” I said, pointing at the orange bit on the floor, “get your carrot.”

He stared at me.

“Leo. Go eat your carrot.”

Nothing.

I decided he was not going to win this one. My husband always says I am way too easy on him and that I should be more authoritative with him. I have to admit he is a bit spoiled. So, I picked up that carrot and pushed it into his mouth.

He spat it out and looked at me.

I picked it up and put it back into his mouth.

He spat it out and looked at me.

I picked it up and put it into his mouth and held his mouth closed. Please keep in mind that I am repeating, “Leo, eat your carrot,” repeatedly, in vain.

He waited until I released his mouth then spat it out and sighed.

I sighed.

We repeated the process again and again until finally he stopped spitting it out. He even flopped over on his side. But as soon as I started to get up, he spat it out again. He would just hold that carrot in his mouth until he thought that I would go away or give up.

But I didn’t give up.

Every time he spat the darn thing out, I put it back in his mouth. We may have done this for perhaps 10 minutes.  Until finally I got up and he didn’t spit it out. He followed me out of the room. I was glad that he had finally given in and rewarded him with an enthusiastic, “Good boy!” to which he replied with dropping the carrot piece on the floor again. And looking at me.

I put it back in his mouth, went back to my desk, and proceeded to do some work.

Leo lay down next to me on the floor.

Whenever I left the room, he followed me.

He’d give me looks that, I swear, said, “You’ve got to be kidding me with this,” but he kept his mouth closed.

It had been several hours and Leo still stubbornly held that carrot in his mouth.

I honestly didn’t know how it would turn out. Who will ultimately win the battle.

After a while, I walked into the bedroom, certain I’d find a half-eaten carrot in the middle of the floor. Leo was on my bed. He looked at me and stretched.

I checked his mouth.

And there it was.

I went back to work, but kept checking on him. Each time I found that he was still keeping that stinkin’ carrot in his mouth. All. Afternoon.

Finally, late in the day, I went in to check once again. I opened his mouth. It was empty.

“YAY LEO!” I exclaimed.

But, he just looked up at me. No tail wag or anything. So I knew something was up. He had to have hidden it somewhere. Or something.

I checked his doggy bed. Sure enough. “Ah-ha! I knew it!”

And so we went right back to same thing, only taking a momentary truce when I took him out to go potty. We went right back to it when we came back in.

We were still at it when my husband got home that evening. Mike jumped in to help. He tried playing with him. He tried making him eat it. He tried tricking him.

Nothing worked.

Leo would not eat the carrot.

So, finally, we threw that bit of carrot into the trash.

After a seven-hour battle… Leo had won.

I think at this point, it’s safe to say that while I may be somewhat stubborn, my dog Leo is by far, more stubborn than I am. I had no idea he had that in him but I suppose it’s a good trait to have. I like to think that he gets it from me.

I hope that during these isolating days at home,  everyone is staying healthy and safe and finding little ways to enjoy these days.

 

 

 

Writing Update: Current Projects

I’m working on the first draft of a new novel.

Caroline’s Baby

This is an idea that has been kicking around in my head for years now. Caroline’s Baby is a contemporary drama about a couple suffering from infertility, something I have firsthand experience with. I decided to give myself the month of November to explore the idea and see if there’s something to this that’s worth pursuing further.

So far, it’s going really well! I wrote an unheard of (for me) five thousand words in one day last weekend and the story is progressing nicely. Every time I sit down to work on this draft, I feel like the story flows out and it becomes more real.

A promising start!

Twenty-Five Hundred

In other news, the short story collection I’ve been working on is getting close to publication. Twenty-Five Hundred needs a description and a couple of final touches and then it will be good to go. I’m so excited to share these stories!

In case you missed it, here’s a sneak peek at the cover.

Date Night

I completed another 500 word piece this week. “Date Night” is about a teen whose life is turned upside down with an unexpected pregnancy. I’m planning to include this story in Twenty-Five Hundred, volume two.

Prairie Times

A couple more of my short stores have been accepted for the local magazine, Prairie Times.  “Scrambled” is a fun little piece that will be printed in the January issue. This story will also make an appearance in Twenty-Five Hundred, Volume I.

“Leo and the Carrot” was accepted for the March issue. It’s actually a true story about our sweet Australian Sheppard Mix from about 11 years ago, when Leo and I had a battle of the wills over a baby carrot. I’ll be posting the story here as well.

The Prairie Times also has a page up for books written by authors who have contributed to the magazine and “Super Me” is now included.

 

Baby

Yes, there’s kind of a theme here today. Pregnancy and babies are on the brain as I’m due with my baby #3 in February. I’m getting close to the third trimester and my two girls are looking forward to meeting their baby brother in a few short months!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

During this month of gratitude, I am thankful for my busy and fulfilling days, creating stories in-between and around caring for, nurturing, and enjoying my family. I’m grateful for the opportunity to share my words with you and so happy that you are here to read them.

Thank you, always, for your support.

Oh, and if you’re on instagram, you can now find me there for the latest writing updates @jessica_dazzo_author

Wishing you a wonderful and joyous Thanksgiving filled with love and abundance <3

“High Tea” accepted for Colorado Magazine, “Prairie Times”

For the last several years, I’ve been a member of a writing group that meets once a month, The Longmont Writers Club. I’m currently the secretary, which is a position I’ve been enjoying.  (I’ve also been the vice president, but I like the secretary position more. Reminiscent to my days as an admin, I guess.)

Anyway, the club has been in existence since the early 1930’s. The premise of the club is that the members are given a topic to write on ahead of time. On the day of the meeting, we bring our pieces to read to the club for feedback. The rule is that the writing pieces cannot exceed 500 words.

As you may know, I LOVE the exercise of writing from prompts. When I heard about the club, I knew it was going to be a good fit for me. I have taken the 500 word limit as a personal challenge, and always bring a piece that is exactly 500 words. I love this because it forces you to really hone in on which words are going to tell the story best.

When I set out to write a 500 word piece, I start with an overabundance of words. Then I trim  until I have a more reasonable amount. And then I pick and choose. Replace and rephrase. Until I have exactly 500 words in the end. To me, this feels like really digging into the writing piece. Like I’m sifting and molding as I sort through the words. And the process is highly satisfying.

“High Tea” a short story

The first piece I took to the club was titled, “High Tea”. Fun fact, I was told about the writing club over the phone and misheard the prompt topic. The prompt was actually “The Key” but I heard “The Tea” .

…eh, I guess that’s not a very interesting fact.

Anyway, “High Tea” is a sweet little piece about seeing yourself through the eyes of your child and, ultimately, self acceptance.

I recently sent the story to the Byers, Colorado based magazine, “Prairie Times,”  and it was immediately accepted for the August 2019 issue.  They loved it and encouraged me to submit other stories.  Exciting!

 Read the story online here: http://www.prairietimes.com/Aug2019.pdf

They also sent me a copy of the August issue.

“High Tea” is on page 9

 

New Publication in the Works

I’ve been working on a compilation of short stories from some of these  prompt pieces, from various writing exercises, and from my other works. The book will be entitled “2500” and will include 20 short pieces, all 500 words each.  Look for this soon! I’ve finished putting the manuscript together and will be sending it off to my editor to get all polished up and ready for publication. I’m pretty excited to share these stories. Some may be familiar, such as Faye’s unfortunate coffee shop scene from the beginning of “Super Me”, or short stories posted on this site. Others will be brand new.

Oh, and hey,

Just for fun, this post contains…

EXACTLY 500 words

Boom.

500 Word Story: A Roll of the Dice

Please note: this story is a stand alone piece and has nothing to do with the young adult novel, Super Me, or A Super Series whatsoever. Just a little piece written from a writing prompt.

The prompt: Rolling the Dice. Sticking to my 500 word challenge, it is exactly 500 words.

 

-A Roll of the Dice-

It was a routine call…. nothing to be nervous about tonight. I cracked my knuckles looking, again, at the clock.

Five more minutes until midnight. Four.

How much longer would he make me wait? The dice had gone warm in my hands. I rolled them around, careful not to drop them. They clicked together in the otherwise silent house. I moved my shoulders, trying to loosen the grasp tension had on my neck. Two minutes until midnight. Maybe he wasn’t coming. No, he would.

The room was dark. Blinds closed. The room empty. I heard his steps before seeing his face. “You’re here,” he said, sounding almost surprised. Like he didn’t think I would show up. As if I had ever let him down.

“You’re late,” I answered.

“Made it before the bell.” He took this too lightly. If they knew how much he joked…

But he knew I’d never say anything. Anyway, we had a job to do and best get to it.

“Let’s just get this done,” I said, grabbing his gloved hand. Of course he would wear gloves. He was so dramatic. Probably had his cape on as well. I smiled to myself but made sure he didn’t see.

“Do you have the dice?” he asked me.

“What do you take me for, an amateur?” I snapped. Then took a breath. “Sorry, just a stressful week. Here.” I set one of the dice in his gloved palm. “Please don’t drop it.”

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, set his free hand over his die and closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. Feeling the moment.

I rolled my shoulders again. Blew out a breath and copied his stance, cupping my own die in my hands. I’d never wear gloves. Loved the feel of the dice heating up too much.

The clock struck. Then again. Again. I counted in my head along with the chimes, like I knew Grenaldo was. Ten. Eleven.

Following the twelfth bell, he cleared his throat.

I felt the die glowing in my palm. Yearned to peek but didn’t dare.

“Zanafran,” he said. “Aralduous. Abibulous. Braticine.”

“Zinique Cayan,” I said with him. I couldn’t help it. Almost felt his glare, but I ignored it.

The tingle up and down my forearms told me the spell had worked.

I silently counted to three then opened my eyes to meet his.

Together, we tossed the dice into the air.

When I flipped the light switch, I saw he’d worn not only his cape, but also a mask. I grinned to myself.

He blew out a breath. Brushed his hands together. “Let’s go before we’re found.”

“Agreed,” I answered.

I always stole a glance before leaving. Mine read six. His, a four. “We’ve an interesting year to look forward to,” I mused aloud.

“Ciara, you know it’s bad luck to peek.”

I laughed as we exited, slipping into the shadows of the alley and on to the next location.

A Fortune Keepers’ work is never done.

 

500 Word Story: Trouble

Please note: this story is a stand alone piece and has nothing to do with the young adult novel, Super Me, or A Super Series whatsoever. Just a little piece written from a writing prompt. The prompt: A Police Encounter. Sticking to my 500 word challenge, is exactly 500 words. Here’s what I came up with:

 

-Trouble-

 

I was driving my Chevy on the county road, stuck behind a beater puttering along slow as can be. It was kicking up clouds of dust at me and I was grinding my teeth and gripping that wheel so tight my knuckles went white. My head was already in a spin and that was the last thing I needed.

 

The first time I saw her… when she walked in the bar the night before, I knew I was in trouble. Me and Alicia played some pool, had some fun, and she stayed over. Thought everything was fine ‘til morning when everything changed. It happened just like that, over nothing.

I guess I shouldn’t have laughed at her, but she looked so cute when she got angry. Guess I shouldn’t have told her that either ‘cause that’s when she grabbed her stuff. Said she was leaving. I’d tried to pull her back to talk about it, but she gave me that look that said she weren’t playing.

I thought the whole thing was funny ‘til it wasn’t. Left me scratching my head, watching her drive off down the road and out of my life. It was like a punch to the gut.

 

So, being stuck on that dang road behind that dang idiot that afternoon was the last thing I needed. Felt like he was doing it on purpose just to get a rise out of me, trying to make me later than I already was. That’s how I saw it anyhow. And that cigarette butt he threw out the window… when that landed on my windshield? That was the end of it, far as I was concerned. My left eye started twitching and all I was seeing was red.

Ten years I’ve been driving down that road. Never once before saw a cop on it, not ever. Not until the one time I lose my cool. I’m a decent guy. Not a single tick on my record. Turns out, that don’t matter too much when it comes right down to it.

I guess I shouldn’t have raced up next to that car. Guess I shouldn’t have rammed into it with the side of my truck. And I know I should have pulled over quicker when the trooper’s lights flashed at me.

But, I was too busy thinking about how hard dating was. That I might just give it all up ‘cause women are crazy. When we woke up that morning, I told her to get her makeup on to cover her morning face and to go make us some breakfast quick. Thought we could spend the day together.

 

I was ready to tell that officer off soon as he got to my car. I guess Alicia never did tell me what she did for a living and last thing I expected was for her to be the one to get out of that cop car.

Turns out, I was right from the beginning. ‘Cause I was in trouble, all right.

© 2024 Jessica Dazzo

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