A New Book

Click to learn more!

Hey, remember me? It’s been a while since I’ve been over here, but with good reason. One is that I finally landed a good job, the kind where you go there, work and they pay you every couple of weeks. I love that kind!

The second reason is that I was busy publishing another collection of short stories and poems. See above or you can click here. I’m also working on a novel, but that’s another story. No pun intended.

See you all again shortly!

Mr. Pitts

SusanWritesPrecise/Susan Marie Shuman

Clowns are people. Real people.

No bullshit.

Believe it or not, our lives don’t begin and end under the big top. We have homes, wives, parents, children, friends, and ups & downs. Just like you, we have lives.

We have names, too. Brace yourselves, but Bozo, Blinky, and Clarabelle are stage names. For example, my name is Samuel Pitts. You may call me Mr. Pitts.

See this hand? Yep, the one holding a cigarette. (I’m a smoker. Oh yeah, and I drink occasionally, too.) It’s not a fake hand. I was born this way. It kept growing long after the other one stopped. It’s not funny, trust me. Sometimes I don’t feel like using it in my act to make people laugh. Sometimes I feel like taking the stupid glove off and making each and every one of you look at it, long and hard. But, I would never do that.

I’d get fired.

We’re not always stupid, crazy, or silly either. News Flash: It’s an act.  Yes, and act. You know, like make-believe? We are educated human beings. Some of us even have degrees and “real” jobs.

True, some of us are full-time clowns/entertainers, but for many of us it’s a side job, a way to earn some extra bucks.

And then, of course, there are a few, like me, who know no other way. We’re clowns because that’s the way things worked out. I grew up in the carny. Mom was a trapeze artist and Dad was a clown. We traveled with whichever carnival or circus would hire us. That was my childhood. When I turned 18, well, what else was I prepared for?

Another thing that might surprise you is that clowns have feelings. Cut us, and we bleed. Hurt us, and we cry. We suffer from depression, anxiety, PTSD, and a host of other conditions, just like other people.

Clown stress is difficult for a civilian to understand. Can you imagine dressing up like this every day and acting like a goofball in order to make people laugh when your life partner/lover just dumped you, or your child is ill, or a parent is in hospice?

It’s no wonder some of us snap. And people wonder where scary clowns come from. Hah!

I’ll tell you where they come from: right here.

Right. Here.

Some Hearts: A Villanelle

Some hearts were meant for breaking

Unluckily born in vain

Thornbird’s song in the making.

Some hearts were meant for taking

Not caring if they cause pain

Some hearts were meant for breaking.

Some hearts go through life faking

It’s their tears that bring the rain

Thornbird’s song in the making.

Some hearts expect forsaking

From love, they vow to abstain

Some hearts were meant for breaking.

Some hearts welcome the aching

And laugh at love’s cruel game

Thornbird’s song in the making.

Some hearts ever mistaking

itchy lust for the germane.

Some hearts were meant for breaking

Thornbird’s song in the making.

They Say: A Villanelle


They say you can’t miss what you never had.

Who are they and how do they know my heart?

I dare them to tell me why I’m not sad.

My heart’s leaking tears; the break is that bad.

“It’s all in your mind; just make a fresh start.”

They say you can’t miss what you never had.

As time goes on life improves not a tad

and I think of you even at K-mart.

I dare them to tell me why I’m not sad.

I profess my love: they think I’ve gone mad

Life’s a movie, I’m just playing a part.

They say you can’t miss what you never had.

They say to forget you; find a new lad.

The very thought broke what’s left of my heart.

I dare them to tell me why I’m not sad.

Alone in a room with stark walls and pads

because my love-addled mind came apart.

They say you can’t miss what you never had.

I dare them to tell me why I’m not sad.

Phoebe’s Feet

It’s that time again, boys & girls: Fandango’s Story Starter! This week, our first line is As soon as she stepped into the room she realized that…

As soon as she walked into the room, she realized it. Every pair of eyes shifted their focus from what they had been looking at to Phoebe’s feet.

Her shoes didn’t match. Not even close.

One was a brand-new black patent leather pump, while the other was an old, scuffed red pump.

Not again! Phoebe felt her face growing hot and her mouth felt as if it were filled with sand.

No good ever came from getting dressed in the dark, but Phoebe did it anyway—her small contribution to energy conservation.

She tried to think quickly: What would J.Lo do? (assuming such a ridiculous thing could happen to someone like her.)

Suddenly, it came to her. Phoebe simply slipped her shoes off and set them in a corner out of the way.

To her amazement, the toes on her left foot were a perfectly lacquered shade of lavender. The toenails on her right foot were naked and in their usual crusty-looking state. Phoebe’s guess was that she must’ve gotten distracted by something (no telling what) and forgotten to finish.

At this point, she was beyond mortified and saw no way out of the embarrassment. No matter what she did would be viewed as funny, stupid, or wrong.

So, she smiled what she hoped was a relaxed smile, as if everything was going as planned, and padded barefoot to the open bar.

“What can I get you, Miss?” the hunky bartender asked, trying to keep a straight face. “Aside from a matching pair of shoes and some nail polish remover?”

Phoebe couldn’t help but smile. “At least my dress isn’t on backward, right?” she joked.

The bartender cocked an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “Well….”

Phoebe looked down to discover the tag was sticking out from what was supposed to be the vee in the back of her dress.

%d bloggers like this: