What's Been Happing with Strange Roses

I've been working hard at working hard. I set some goals, namely to write a minimum of 5 pages a day and to read a minimum of 5 pages a day. Most days I exceed this by a bit and every once in a while I don't get much of anything done. When I get an idea I usually write until I have it finished. If I haven't missed anything it looks like I have written 6 flash fictions, 5 non-fictions, 5 children's stories, 17 short stories and am working on 1 sci-fi novel.

One of the children's stories I wrote is at a friends who is an artist. She is working on the illustrations to go with it and together we will try to get it published. I have sent over a half dozen stories off either to publishers or to contests. So far I have had one rejection on a children's story I wrote with Highlights Magazine in mind. I wrote it from my Chihuahua's point of view. I thought it was rather clever. I did have one of my little flash fiction stories win a little contest in fanstory.com. That was my first win. Yeah!

I plan to just keep writing. Even if I never get published, I love the process of writing. It is truly exhilarating. If I can learn enough about it, I might try self-publishing and e-books. From what I've read on the web-sites of such people as Amanda Hocking and others, it really seems like the way to go. She has recently made quite a bit selling e-books. I bought one of hers at a whopping 99 cents. It was extremely good. It was written for young adults (YA), so I guess that makes me a young adult. It could happen ... I'm only 61. Turn it around and I'm a mere child. The ladies in my water aerobics class think I'm a mere child. Of course most of them are in their 80's.

I'll try to keep everyone posted. I go into FB at least once a week to post my current status and now I've started tweeting. Love you all and God bless.

Here's a bit of an update. 9/30/2013 Wow! Time has really passed. I've had a lull in my writing and it was good to go in and re-read the goals that I set. I haven't met these goals much lately but I can always start over again. I know that God has given me a gift to write. I wonder about some of the strange things I write. Anyway, God made me uniquely who I am. I've written a new story, extra strange one for me and with some sex and language I don't normally use. I have it posted for one week only. Enjoy.

Sorry I haven't been posting any stories here in a while. I learned that if you post a story on a blog, like this, it is considered "published", and most magazines will not accept anything that has been previously published. For this reason I will post nothing here that I plan to send to a magazine. If I write it with intentions of publishing in a book, only, then I will post it here.

I have one that I plan to put in a book called Tales from the Blue Dog Cafe. It will be a collection of weird stories told at a cafe in West Texas. We'll see how well I do with that. Anyway -- here is The Store. I hope you enjoy.

The Store

By: MJ Henry

            As I sat having some lunch and going through my notes, and older gentleman came and sat down at my table.

            “You seem pretty interested in all the strange stories people have to tell around here.”

            “It’s what I write.”

            “Would you like to hear one about our old grocery store and what happened to one woman there?”

            “Sure.”

“OK … Well, back in the late 50’s, there was a six year old, blond haired, blue eyed girl named Betsy, who had quite a fright in our old store. They say she was picture of sweetness. Everyone loved her and remarked about what a pretty little thing she was. She was her mother’s only child and went everywhere her mother went. When Betsy’s mother decided to go to the store to purchase some groceries for the evening’s meal, Betsy was right there.

They lived in a small town with only one store. The store was an old frame, two story building. The upstairs was where the store owners and Mother Agnes lived. The store itself was comprised of four aisles and one checkout counter. Off to one corner in the front of the store were the magazine and candy racks. This was always the first place Betsy would visit, while her mother would visit with Mrs. Smith, the owner’s wife.

            Betsy sat looking at the most recent issue of McCall Magazine, searching for the Betsy McCall paper doll. She loved that she had the same name as Betsy McCall. Usually, if there was a new issue, her mother would purchase it. Then Betsy could have the paper doll and her mother could enjoy the articles and recipes contained within.

            ‘Betsy?’ Her mother called after she and Mrs. Smith were finished visiting. ‘Do they have a new issue yet?’

‘Not yet, mommy.’ Betsy put the magazine back in the rack and went to her mother’s side.

As they were shopping, this particular day, Betsy was self-absorbed and lost track of which way her mother turned. To her the store with its four aisles was enormous. She became frantic when she didn’t see her mother and ran to the next aisle. She turned the wrong direction, however, and went down an aisle where she saw an old woman standing with her back to Betsy.

The old woman turned and Betsy could see that she was eating some raw meat, blood dripping down her chin. ‘Hello, Betsy,’ the old woman said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

Thirty years later, Betsy was still a picture of sweetness, with her blond hair and blue eyes. She was still a pretty woman, even in her late thirties – yet, she was so full of fear. It seemed she was never quite able to get over that fateful day when she met Mother Agnes -- face to face.

Now, as she visited her home town, and old friends, she decided it was time to face her fears at the old grocery store. She had been in therapy for years, but could never bring herself to re-enter that store. The store was long since deserted and stood in ruin. The windows were gone. The doors were gone. The people were gone.

            Betsy stepped through the threshold, into what once was a grocery store. It had been a number of years since the town began to die. The Smith’s out retired and moved out of their upstairs apartment. They now lived in a small house on Front Street. Everything in the old store was covered with dust; the shelves were all empty. In the corner where Betsy once poured through McCall’s, she saw a stack of old magazines on the floor.

            “Hmm, they’re McCall’s.” She looked at the pages of paper dolls littering the floor. ‘How funny.’

            Betsy turned her attention to the aisle where she once met “Mother Agnes”. Agnes was Mrs. Smith’s mother. She had lived with them for years – every since she lost Mrs. Smith’s father in an accident. They always tried to keep her upstairs, away from people, but with just the two of them it wasn’t always possible to watch her.

‘Seems OK,’ Betsy told herself as she continued down the aisle.

There was nothing but dust and cobwebs on the shelves – once in a while she would see a stray can of some ancient food stuff. Suddenly she heard a slight rustling behind her.

“Probably a rat -- or something.”

She ignored the sound at first, but it continued. Then it began to sound like a slurp, or a smack – like someone or something noisily eating their food. She turned to see what was making the sounds. There she stood, with her back to Betsy. Betsy gasped.

Mother Agnes turned to reveal a piece of meat that had been ripped from the carcass of some animal. She hungrily devoured the meat with blood dripping down her chin.

‘Hello,’ the old woman said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

They say that poor Betsy has been in the state mental hospital every since. You want to know something really funny about all this?”

“What would that be?”

“Well, they ended up sending Mother Agnes to the same hospital.”

The gentleman stood and walked away, chuckling to himself. I couldn’t help but muse over how odd this place and these people all were.

Sabbath Day Devotion

April 9, 2011

I’m sure some of you have already read the following inspirational message. Over the years, I have read it at least four times – and each time it moved me to tears. I shared this devotion in March of 2009. By request, I am sharing it again today.

Don’t Leave It On The Desk –

There was a certain Professor of Religion named Dr. Christianson, a studious man who taught at a small college in the western United States. Dr. Christianson taught the required survey course in Christianity at this particular institution. Every student was required to take this course their freshman year, regardless of his or her major.

Although Dr. Christianson tried hard to communicate the essence of the gospel in his class, he found that most of his students looked upon the course as nothing but required drudgery.. Despite his best efforts, most students refused to take Christianity seriously.

This year, Dr. Christianson had a special student named Steve. Steve was only a freshman, but was studying with the intent of going onto seminary for the ministry. Steve was popular, he was well liked, and he was an imposing physical specimen. He was now the starting center on the school football team and was the best student in the professor's class.

One day, Dr. Christianson asked Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him.. “How many push-ups can you do?”

Steve said, “I do about 200 every night.”

“200? That's pretty good, Steve,” Dr. Christianson said. “Do you think you could do 300?”

Steve replied, “I don't know... I've never done 300 at a time.”

“Do you think you could?” again asked Dr. Christianson.

“Well, I can try,” said Steve.

“Can you do 300 in sets of 10? I have a class project in mind and I need you to do about 300 push-ups in sets of ten for this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can do it,” said the professor.

Steve said, “Well... I think I can... yeah, I can do it.”

Dr. Christianson said, “Good! I need you to do this on Friday. Let me explain what I have in mind.”

Friday came and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the room. When class started, the professor pulled out a big box of donuts. These weren't the normal kinds of donuts. They were the extra fancy BIG kind, with cream centers and frosting swirls. Everyone was pretty excited it was Friday, the last class of the day and they were going to get an early start on the weekend with a party in Dr. Christianson's class.

Dr. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked, “Cynthia, do you want to have one of these donuts?”

Cynthia said, “Yes.”

Dr.. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, “Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Cynthia can have a donut?”

“Sure!” Steve jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten. Then Steve again sat in his desk. Dr. Christianson put a donut on Cynthia's desk.

Dr. Christianson then went to Joe, the next person, and asked, “Joe, do you want a donut?”

Joe said, “Yes.”

Dr. Christianson asked, “Steve would you do ten push-ups so Joe can have a donut?”

Steve did ten push-ups, Joe got a donut. And so it went, down the first aisle, Steve did ten push-ups for every person before they got their donut.

Walking down the second aisle, Dr. Christianson came to Scott. Scott was on the basketball team and in as good condition as Steve. He was very popular and never lacking for female companionship. The professor asked, “Scott do you want a donut?”

Scott's reply was, “Well, can I do my own push-ups?”

Dr. Christianson said, “No, Steve has to do them.”

Then Scott said, “Well, I don't want one then.”

Dr.. Christianson shrugged and then turned to Steve and asked, “Steve, would you do ten push-ups so Scott can have a donut he doesn't want?”

With perfect obedience Steve started to do ten push-ups.

Scott said, “HEY! I said I didn't want one!”

Dr. Christianson said, “Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks and these are my donuts. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it.” And he put a donut on Scott's desk.

By this time, Steve had begun to slow down a little. He just stayed on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to be getting up and down. You could start to see a little perspiration coming out around his brow.

Dr. Christianson started down the third row. Now the students were beginning to get a little angry. Dr. Christianson asked Jenny, “Jenny, do you want a donut?”

Sternly, Jenny said, “No.”

Then Dr. Christianson asked Steve, “Steve, would you do ten more push-ups so Jenny can have a donut that she doesn't want?”

Steve did ten. Jenny got a donut.

By now, a growing sense of uneasiness filled the room. The students were beginning to say, “No!” and there were all these uneaten donuts on the desks.

Steve had to really put forth a lot of extra effort to get these push-ups done for each donut. There began to be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face, his arms and brow were beginning to get red because of the physical effort involved.

Dr. Christianson asked Robert, who was the most vocal unbeliever in the class, to watch Steve do each push up to make sure he did the full ten push-ups in a set because he couldn't bear to watch all of Steve's work for all of those uneaten donuts. He sent Robert over to where Steve was so Robert could count the set and watch Steve closely.

Dr. Christianson started down the fourth row. During his class, however, some students from other classes had wandered in and sat down on the steps along the radiators that ran down the sides of the room. When the professor realized this, he did a quick count and saw that now there were 34 students in the room. He started to worry if Steve would be able to make it.

Dr. Christianson went on to the next person and the next and the next. Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was taking a lot more time to complete each set.

Steve asked Dr. Christianson, “Do I have to make my nose touch on each one?”

Dr. Christianson thought for a moment, “Well, they're your push-ups. You can do them any way that you want.” And Dr. Christianson went on.

A few moments later, Jason, a recent transfer student, came to the room and was about to come in when all the students yelled in one voice, “NO! Don't come in! Stay out!”

Jason didn't know what was going on. Steve picked up his head and said, “No, let him come.”

Dr. Christianson said, “You realize that if Jason comes in you will have to do ten push-ups for him?”

Steve said, “Yes, let him come in. Give him a donut.”

Dr. Christianson said, “Okay, Steve, I'll let you get Jason's out of the way right now. Jason, do you want a donut?”

Jason, new to the room, hardly knew what was going on. “Yes,” he said, “give me a donut.”

“Steve, will you do ten push-ups so that Jason can have a donut?”

Steve did ten push-ups very slowly and with great effort. Jason, bewildered, was handed a donut and sat down. Dr Christianson finished the fourth row, and then started on those visitors seated by the heaters. Steve's arms were now shaking with each push-up in a struggle to lift himself against the force of gravity. By this time sweat was profusely dropping off of his face, there was no sound except his heavy breathing. There was not a dry eye in the room.

The very last two students in the room were two young women, both cheerleaders and very popular. Dr. Christianson went to Linda, the second to last, and asked, “Linda, do you want a doughnut?”

Linda said, very sadly, “No, thank you.”

Professor Christianson quietly asked, “Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Linda can have a donut she doesn't want?”

Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow push-ups for Linda.

Then Dr. Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan and said, “'Susan, do you want a donut?”

Susan, with tears flowing down her face, began to cry. “Dr. Christianson, can I help him?”

Dr Christianson, with tears of his own, said, “No, Steve has to do it alone. I have given him this task and he is in charge of seeing that everyone has an opportunity for a donut whether they want it or not. When I decided to have a party this last day of class, I looked at my grade book. Steve here is the only student with a perfect grade. Everyone else has failed a test, skipped class or offered me inferior work. Steve told me that in football practice, when a player messes up he must do push-ups. I told Steve that none of you could come to my party unless he paid the price by doing your push-ups. He and I made a deal for your sakes.”

“Steve, would you do ten push-ups so Susan can have a donut?”

As Steve very slowly finished his last push-up, with the understanding that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350 push-ups, his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Dr. Christianson turned to the room and said, “And so it was, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, on the cross, said to the Father, 'Into thy hands I commend my spirit.’ With the understanding that Jesus had done everything that was required of him, he yielded up his life. And like some of those in this room, many of us leave the gift on the desk, uneaten.”

Two students helped Steve up off the floor and to a seat, physically exhausted, but wearing a thin smile. “Well done, good and faithful servant,” said the professor, adding, “Not all sermons are preached in words.”

Turning to his class, the professor said, “My wish is that you might understand and fully comprehend all the riches of grace and mercy that have been given to you through the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. God spared not his only begotten son, but gave him up for us all, for the whole Church, now and forever. Whether or not we choose to accept God’s gift to us, the price has been paid.”

Wouldn't you be foolish and ungrateful to leave it lying on the desk?

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only

Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have

eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world

to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.

John 3:16-17

Did You Hear The Sunrise?

The following isn't one of my strange stories. I was going through some stuff from back in college and found a couple of copies of the Balorian. That was the college literary magazine that I worked on, as an editor. Among the things that I had published in the Baylorian, was this poem. I read it ... and I still like it. So, here it is ... I hope you like it too.

        
                 By: MJ Henry

Did you hear the sunrise this morning?
Such a lovely sound.
One must truly listen,
To hear the sun expound.

Were you quiet and reverent,
As the day it did unfold?
Did you pay close attention
To the story that was told?

Come, sit on the hillside
Early in the morn.
Wait and listen as the sun comes up.
One can hear the growing corn.

The spider sitting on the rock,
Waits and listens too.
He listens to the morning songs
And drinks the morning dew.

The humming bird stops his flight
To wait so very still,
As the sun begins to peek
From over yonder hill.

The morning sun reaches out
With all his shining rays,
Gently nudging all who sleep
To rejoice in this day of days.

One can hear the joyous sound
In this special sunrise,
For the news that shall unfold
Of this day and what it shall comprise.

As you look upon all things,
Listen close to the sunrise song.
Take joy in the song that it sings
Of the One to whom we belong.

And if you listen very well
I'm sure that you shall see,
In the brightness of His light,
The One who died for me.

Did you hear the sunrise this morning?
Did you hear every sound?
Just listen to the songs of nature,
To hear what God expounds.

WOW! I have been really busy. I have been writing so much lately that my hands are beginning to cramp up on me way too much. I now wear my braces day and night. They do help. I take them off when I go to the pool. The water is so good for all my achey body parts. The hot tub is the best.

Well, it's time to get to work now. These stories won't write themselves.

MJ

P.S. BTW, I was thinking about posting one that needs a lot of work to see if anyone would like to give some suggestions. I haven't made up my mind about that yet. We'll see.

I am currently working on new materials. I will post again as soon as possible.