Dani Stone

I Hear Laugh Tracks


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Patreon is like Kickstarter and Comics are Way Better Than Potato Salad

I have a pal, his name is Joshua Unruh, and he’s such a talented writer that I’m letting him take over my blog for a day. He writes stories about superheroes. I’ve read them. So has my young daughter. I never thought Katie and I would be superhero lovin’ chicks, but we totally are. We’re fan girls for these stories anyway because he empowers his characters instead of diminishing them, and the best part, he has plans to make a whole host of characters that people can relate to.

Y’all know how chatty I am, so I’m just going to let Joshua have the floor and tell you about his latest venture.

catfight and hellkitten

Catfight and Hell Kitten!

If I were going to compare imagination to real estate, I am a guy with great tracts of land in my head. But even among the seemingly endless rows of knights, dragons, barbarian kings, Doctors in TARDISes, Jedi, starships, action scientists, and a whole host of other things, you can pick out the superheroes. Because if imagination is land, they’re taking up all the prime real estate in my head.

They’ve been there since before I could read. I love superheroes. They have informed who I am as a grown up person in ways that make it hard for anybody who knows me to imagine a Josh without superheroes. It isn’t just t-shirts and comics, it’s who I am.

pulp diction pressAnother big part of who I am is an independent author. I have small-press published four short stories, a few magazines with other authors, and two novels. I’ve just recently started my own publishing imprint, Pulp Diction Press, to self publish my future offerings. I’m on the forefront of what it means to be an author in the modern world.

And that’s where Patreon comes in. Patreon allows me to set up a project where people are able to pledge money that is only paid when I send out an update for the project. If you are familiar with Kickstarter, think of it as a Kickstarter with ongoing, small payments to support a creator rather than one big payment to support a single project.

I’ve recently combined these two things into a Patreon project that will allow me to tell serialized, ongoing prose superhero stories. This is literally the marriage of my two favorite things in the world that aren’t actual human people.

This is truly a dream come true for me. Or it will be when I hit my first goal and can start sending out stories. But I also felt it was important to make some other dreams come true, even for some people who may not realize this is their dream.

You see, as much as I love superheroes, they have some problems. Nearly all the ones you can name are probably straight, white dudes. And that’s great for me. All my heroes look like me. But it’s not so great for all the other people out there who aren’t straight white dudes.

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Old Cat Lady Chronicles – Episode One

Our 100-year-old cat (who has cataracts) decided to join us in bed at 2:30 this morning. She proceeded to use my face chest and hands as stepping stones (claws out). I tried to help her over to her designated sleeping spot, but instead, I accidentally placed her on Dougie’s sleeping face (claws out).

Following this cat-assist fail, there was so much spicy language exchanged that the old cat lady decided she should bed down somewhere else, so she fled the flannel and her bloody victims immediately fell back to sleep.

End scene

Also, never leave your water unattended because she will stick her face in it. Centenarian cats have no shame.

Lucy water


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Worst. Air Freshener. Ever. Taco Bell’s 20 Year Assault On My Senses

WHY DOES MY CAR SMELL LIKE A TRASH DUMPSTER, is something I may have asked in my outside voice this morning when I slid into the van to take the kids to school.

To clarify, I would describe the status of my housekeeping skills as, “comfortably lived-in, but never a pig stye.” We keep our cars the same way. You might find a stray backpack or gum wrapper, but that’s about it. Trust me, The Colonel wouldn’t have it any other way.

Immediately I turned to my son, because unless I had mistakenly purchased milk, tuna, eggs and meat from the store, then unwrapped them and left them in the back cargo bay of the van under a grow light for three days, I had a feeling the smell could be traced back to him.

He’s 13. He’s a slob. God love him. He’s always on my smells-radar.

Me –  Jacob – Why does my van smell like death?

Jacob – *looks around wildly* *mumbles* It’s probably the taco wrapper in my bag.

Me – What? Seriously? Get it. Now. *eyes of irritation*

Jacob – *Opens his backpack, retrieves wrapper without commentary, gets out of car, proceeds to trash can*

Jacob – *Starts to put on seat belt, stops* – Oh, wait. I think I have one in my other bag too. And I don’t think I finished that one.

Me – Tacos? From where?

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How I Write

This week I was invited to participate in the How I Write blog hop. I hesitated briefly because what I have to work on far outweighs what I’d like to be working on, so I wasn’t sure which type of writing to discuss, but when a blogger asks you to hold her hand and come hop, you don’t say no. It’s like saying no to a slice of homemade cake. That would just be rude.

I was invited by Lisa Allen, who is also affectionately known as my Ginger Bestie. We met last year at the inaugural Listen To Your Mother show in Kansas City. We were thrown into a unique situation where moments after saying hello, we immediately bared our souls with other cast members during the first read-through of the show. I was struck by her eloquence and poise as she read her emotional piece. I have since come to admire her for being a single mother and phenom writer. This year she’s part of a production team bringing Listen To Your Mother back to KC for the second year. I can’t wait to see it – this time from the audience.

book signing pic 1

First Book Signing! Weee! *clap clap*

How I Write

What Am I Working On? Currently I’m a freelance writer contributing weekly to Diets In Review and Health Bubble. I also write dating profiles for a prominent matchmaking site (never a dull moment there.) And I’m always tackling miscellaneous one-and-done projects for editing, web content and marketing material.

I also have a super secret project on the horizon that I’m beyond excited about, but until I’ve signed the contract, I can’t reveal. When there’s a lawyer involved, you know it’s a big deal.

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Only My Father Would Have a Heart Attack on April Fool’s Day!

dad jakie 2001 blog

Dad and Jacob – Both of these fellas had a big week!

Over the years I’ve heard a handful of phrases that have rocked me to my core:

~Your Grandma Gordon has stomach cancer

~Your baby’s head is right THERE, do not push (This was said to me during a routine checkup for my firstborn who wasn’t due for another 6 weeks. Surprise!)

~Your daughter has a rare brain disorder

~Your father has cancer

and last week:

~We think Dad had a mild heart attack.

The message was delivered by my sister, Melissa, via voicemail. As I sat in a Girl Scout meeting and listened to her explain the situation on my cell phone, the shrieks of my daughter and her fellow scouts faded away. Missie’s voice was deliberately calm because apparently even though I am the oldest of five children I also have a reputation for overreacting. It’s not uncommon for my brother to tell me, “settle your crazy ass down.”

My sister swears she left everyone the same kind of slow gentle voice mail message, but I’m betting she’s a liar-face. She could just as easily have been talking to a child, small animal, or someone who was heavily medicated. I mean, it’s not like I fall out on the floor and start shouting, “Help me, Jesus,” like a guest on Jerry Springer, but I am prone to bouts of uncontrollable sobbing at the mention of illness or accident so in hindsight, that was probably a smart move on her part.

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I’d Rather Talk About the Cardigan-Wearing Chicken

jake headshot 2

There are two times during the day I can count on having the undivided attention of my children, and they can have mine, those would be at the dinner table and on the drive to school. Sure, there are other mealtimes and drive times but on average, these are the two occasions where the most chatter occurs.

Conversations run the gamut from current events to homework, chores and family matters. Nothing is off-limits, which my son reminds me is not always a good thing. Of course he’s referring to the day I broached the subject of artificial insemination over lunch. I don’t even remember the segue but it was knowledge I felt I needed to drop at that moment while he was simply trying to enjoy a mindless TV program, and eat his Chicken Jalapeno Lean Pocket.

AnyHOO -

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Kansas, We Need To Talk

kansas wheatfield

Kansas. You’re killing me.

As a lifelong resident I’ve played on your prairie land, attended your schools, hidden from your tornadoes and always maintained a sense of pride about hailing from the boxiest  state on the map. Over the years, I’ve cringed when the media called you, “backward,” “slow” “unhealthy” and that time you were named the worst city to live in for allergy sufferers. *reaches for another Kleenex* Even though I think that one is. . . *sniff*. . . totally true.

I’ve endured countless jokes about the Wizard of Oz connection and when I’ve traveled beyond these flat plains, I’ve laughed politely when people in other states reminded me, “You’re not in Kansas anymore, are ya?” Ahhh, that never gets old. *whisper* It totally does. Hell, I’ve even paid tribute to and capitalized on Kansas’ kitsch by making it a central theme in my short story, “No Place Like Home,” as well as, my novelette, “Next Left.” *ahem* Shameless plug.

But now, Kansas, you and I have a problem. Lately your lawmakers have been drinking the crazy Koolaid and once again, the world is taking notice. Last night I saw this tweet from The Daily Show:

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