Scottie's Dog

   When I was ten years old my family and I were living in Collierville, TN. Our next-door neighbors had a dog named Bandit. An Australian shepherd I think. These were the neighbors that insisted that I babysit their two small children (I think Scottie was four and they had a baby that the woman was constantly breast feeding in public), even though I wasn't old enough yet and had no idea how to take care of a kid. I wasn't the only candidate for the job either. There were two other girls on the block who were often recruited to help out. And of course wherever we went our younger siblings were also welcome. My little sister almost always tagged along. 

Bears!

Who Let You in Here?

I entered this paragraph into a contest for the worst opening paragraph for a detective novel:

Seven straight hours of tequila shots and slapping the hooker I found outside the video rental store had left me feeling like I needed to visit my mother and slap her around too. I wasn't sure how I managed to find my way to the office, but there I was. An old lady was sitting there waiting for me. Either I forgot to lock up last night or my secretary needs to be slapped some more. The old lady's talking and crying about something. Something about a missing family heirloom and a granddaughter who ran away. I don't care but I need money to hire a secretary. I just remembered she quit because I slapped her. Smile and nod. Don't forget to look sympathetic and give the old bag a tissue so she doesn't stain the couch with her old-lady eye fluid.