Who else is glad it’s Friday?
Not sure what it has been with this week. I thought I’d been sleeping well enough, but never seemed to rest. And then today, everyone in town was acting like they were drugged.
Maybe it’s this crazy weather. A friend of mine in Southern California said it was 37F there this morning, while we had 80F here today.
Mother Nature, get it together, would you? A week ago, out temperatures at night were in teh 20’s. Last night in the 60’s. I can’t work with this.
Or the fact that Dirck and Holly are trying to push their story forward in a new Gambler’s Folly book from Mellie Miller.
Bugt don’t worry! Whiskey Jug Genie is in the works with the editor.
How about a brief excerpt?
Whiskey Jug Genie Excerpt
Eyes watering and trying to hold his breath, Martin finally got the front windows and the back door opened to let the stench out of his dwelling.
“Whew-wee!” he heard from the figure before him. “That was a good one. Been holding it for a long time.”
“What the hell are you?” he demanded.
The figure looked him over for a moment and then answered him with the strongest southern accent he’d ever heard.
“You can call me Bubba,” it said.
“I didn’t ask who you were. I asked what you were,” Martin demanded again.
The figure was about as tall as he was, around six feet, with dark curly hair, dark eyes, and a crooked smile.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I am a djinn.”
“Gin? I’m a Scotch man myself.”
“Yeah, gin. I’ve got it.”
“Were you born slow, son? D-j-i-n-n. Djinn.”
“A genie? I thought you guys lived in bottles. Not whiskey jugs.”
“I prefer djinn. Not genie. No, we usually live peacefully in cave dwellings around an oasis, places like that. But we sometimes get trapped in things like bottles or jugs. And I’ll be tellin’ ya, it ain’t pleasant.”
“Why are you here?” Martin asked, reaching for his Scotch.
“You bought my jug.”
“But if you’re free of the jug, why are you still here?”
All he needed was a magical roommate. Now how did he get rid of this guy–Bubba. What sort of name was Bubba?
“That’s where the curse comes in. Unless you can take off the curse, I’m bound to this dad-blamed thing forever. I don’t suppose you’re a wizard?”
“I dabble in white magic, but curses? Don’t know a thing about reversing them.”
“It figures. Somebody finally comes along, buys the darned thing, but can’t help a fella out. Story of my life.
So sit back, grab something delicious to drink, and check out Master of the Fleet while you wait for Whiskey Jug Genie.
Always look for the magic around you
Leave a Reply