book covers

Smoke Free (Tuesday’s Tell All)

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Smoke Free is a weird little story conceived in the smoke of a brush fire. I was out in the woods snapping pictures one day, the images forming in the smoke combined with a twisted imagination and tada! The rest is history. 

The photos below show the cover; from the first photograph to the finished cover.

Smoke Free is probably the only book cover we have not changed at least a dozen times. The truth is I have never wanted to change it. I love this cover and the image of that little pumpkin smoking a cigar never fails to amuse me. (I have the husband to thank for that.)

I had never heard of Irwin Smutter before that day and he (like the cigar smoking pumpkin) still amuses me with his absolute weirdness; him and the bizarre world he resides in.

And here’s a bite sized sample of the lunch break tale …

The room appeared empty other than an oversized sofa. Irwin reposed himself against the frigid vinyl, crossed his feet and sighed. A lively timbered scene covered the wall opposite the door, designed in such a way it almost looked like a window. Beyond the dull sheen of the pretend window was a forest where rays of sunshine cut through a smoky haze. The remaining walls were un-textured, pale and bare. The room smelled of sandalwood and acetone, a bizarre sweetness that sickened and comforted him at the same time. Irwin shifted nervously on the stiff upholstery in search of a warm spot. There was none.

The faux leather, the lifeless walls, the fake window – it was all too unsettling. Nothing is real, he thought, stretching his arms until his hands met above his head. Fads! The world has been reduced to kooks, phonies, and fads. Reassured by his own summation, Irwin interlaced his fingers and stretched further. When the joints in his entwined hands refused to pop, he rested them at the base of his neck.

Smoking cessation. Yeah, right. It was not Irwin’s idea. Irwin enjoyed smoking. The pungent smell of a fresh-lit cigarette made bitter coffee sweet. Smoking was one of the few things he looked forward to each day. A good smoke, a little booze, a lot of caffeine and Evie. 

_________________________

These type short shorts were written at a time I was really into the flash fiction form of writing.

Oh. Oh. Oh. I can’t wait until you reach the end. 

Famine & Fortune — Where Truth & Fiction Collide

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“ All eyes were on Wall Street, but truth be told, the market crash paled in comparison to the Navarro County drought.”

“The news of Black Tuesday came and went as little more than dry morsels between flapjacks and red-eyed gravy.”

Black Thursday was no different. Margin calls and ticker-talk; it was all a foreign language to the average man of Navarro county. New York, Chicago and any place not adjacent to the dying province could have just as well been another country – another planet.
Suicides headlined newspapers across the globe. Although desperate men (and women) chose gas or bullets; poison or tablets to avoid poverty the stories of men leaping from windows sold more papers and it seemed to pacify the masses, at least for a while.


EIGHT MORE TAKE THE PLUNGE.


The headlines went on and on. Tales of a brutal bearish market where stock prices were plummeting and fortunes were being dissolved. The days grew long and the soup lines grew longer…

From Famine & Fortune (the Sharecropper’s Son) Available on sale at your favorite retailer. 

And psssst Google still has it listed at 98¢

Happy Friday Y’all. 🍻

Short Story Month (Door Number Four)

/ Janna Hill / 1 Comment

Door Number Four was possibly one of the funnest short stories I’ve ever written.

It was originally written as a paid assignment but blew through the word count.

They weren’t budging on the number of words they wanted and I could not imagine what more I could cut from the story and make it readable.

We were at a stalemate so the deal was abolished. Oh well Que Será, Será.  

I admit I may have become too attached to the story — and too detached from the individual $pecs. So all there was left to do was publish Door Number Four my damn self.
This book (like most) has undergone at least one cover change.

I’m not in love with the current cover but I can change it whenever I want. That’s always fun too.

Here’s the intro.

Donald S. Crowley was a CPA by day; a bean counter; a number cruncher and a certified bore. By night he was as stimulating as the hero in his latest read with all the social skills of a brick. To make matters worse he was in love with a door. Not just any door, number four was special. Donald had become enamored with her when he was just a boy and he believed that she called him by name. Now he would risk his life to see her again and to finally know what lay behind Door Number IIII.

I hope you have endeavored to read a short story, or two, this month. And if you are a writer, I hope that you have written at least one short story.

I think that’s all I shall ever from here forward. 

Right on? Write on!

Short Story Month (In the Beginning)

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OK, I was today years old when I learned that May is International Short Story Month.

Did the rest of you already know that?

I should have known. After all it has been a real thing since 2010!

I love short stories. Reading or writing — I love `em !!

I feel like such a detached recluse for not knowing this? And now May is on its last leg; breathing her last dying breath.

Maybe that’s a tad exaggerated; but there’s less than two weeks left.

Oh well, there’s no time like the present. Right? Right!

So I thought I would start at the beginning and elaborate on a piece (or two) that I wrote.

The bait that hooked me on short stories so to speak. 

I think Perpetual Darkness might be the first short story published under Janna Hill and then I believe Perpetual Spring immediately followed. And then they were brought together in the Perpetual Series.

To the best of my recollection, it went something like this.

I was sitting at the typewriter in my office late one night with the window open, enjoying the sweet smells and familiar sounds drifting in on the breeze and all of the sudden my imagination just shifted gears — like it’s prone to do.

I imagined someone, a man, might be outside the window watching me as I typed.

I quickly found myself inside the stranger’s mind, looking from the outside in and perhaps judging each word I pecked out of the dull story I was working on. 

Once I finished that twisted little short story I, of course, had to give the female at the typewriter a voice.

That is how Max and Abigail were brought to life. 

I quite enjoyed developing the characters and then condensing them into short stories.

After a few short stories under my belt I gravitated to flash fiction which awakened a new passion that I never knew existed inside myself.

But keep in mind flash fiction is a different animal than the short story. The short story allows much leeway where the flash fiction genre often times comes in at 1000 words or less, but that’s for another time.

Now go enjoy some short stories my friend.

If you’re not writing a short story I hope you’re at least reading one and let’s celebrate what’s left of May and the month of short stories.

NPM 2025 (The End of the Priest)

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Well &#¥+ !

Between the garden and the grandkids I have completely neglected NPM. tsk tsk tsk

I must somehow set aside a bit of quality time for National Poetry Month in days remaining. I just must! Maybe I’ll set an alarm for that too. I only have fifty-gillion to five-gazillion alarms already.

So today I said to myself, “self you need to read one and post one.” Of course that won’t catch me up. So I read Too Much Pain by Donna Ashworth. And for a post I went willy-nilly and typed “22” into one of my files and this is what popped up.

Some people do the same thing when looking for a bible verse to inspire/guide/comfort and swear that fate will always give you an appropriate response.

I’m just over here going hmmm.

Taken from Getting Me Back (the voices within)
Getting Me Back

Happy reading & writing. Now y’all go read or write something poetic.

Write on!

NPM 2025 (Why Poetry)

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Welcome to April. Welcome to NPM (National Poetry Month) and welcome to my home.

Well, my blog home. Feel free to hang out, have a drink & peruse the smorgasbord.

Heck, feel free to shoot me a line and/or a link to your favorite poem or poet. Old or new- I love `em all.

I don’t know if I should feel bad that I’m a week behind in getting started with NPM.

Shoot I run behind on a lot of things in my old age.

And since being electrocuted a year and a half ago… well I ain’t been quite right.

I’m laughing at myself a little. Not because of electrocuting myself but because I use it as an excuse sometimes.

The truth is I have never been quite right. 🤣

Anywho, I digress.

As I was saying, it is National Poetry Month. To kick it off I’ll share a tiny poem and the cover reveal for Getting Me Back.

The new cover has only updated on the ebook. We’re running into delays on the print.

New cover reveal. Ta-da!

Why Poetry?

Because It hurts deeper, tastes sweeter, laughs louder, and lets me know I’m alive.

Winter Solstice (The Long Long Night)

/ Janna Hill / 2 Comments

Here in the northern hemisphere today is the winter solstice, the first day of winter, aka midwinter. It is reportedly the shortest day of the year hence the longest night.

It is also that time of year I routinely share this bit of poetry with you all.

Torn from the pages of Getting Me Back ( The Voices Within)

Keep your hearts warm my friends. Brighter days await.

Greed

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

This page is from the story of August Wolf which is also found in the short story compilation Greed.

You know what? I just love the cover of August Wolf.

My fondness is not because I designed it; I also designed the different covers of Greed. I just never really loved any of the Greed covers. 🤷🏼‍♀️

And another little tell-all this fine Tuesday…. drum roll please…

The main character in August Wolf, Jason Carroll, was named after my parents. After all I couldn’t reveal the orderly’s true identity. Putting one of us in danger was enough.

What does A Face in the Falls, August Wolf and The Sharecropper’s Son have in common?

These stories reveal the perplexities, the strengths and the weakness of people that are true to life and like life these stories expose the innate greed present in mankind.

“There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

It Started with a Photograph …

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It all started with a simple photograph of an old dilapidated door. Throw in an ounce of imagination & tada!

Happy Friday Y’all.