Jeffrey Matucha's Blog

Circus Tent is a series of short stories and rock and roll vignettes about Skye Wright’s band The Dynamite Chicks going on a cross-country tour.

In this episode, Miranda makes her way around an airport at the tail end of their cross country tour.

    Airport

     “Fuuuuuuck.”
     Miranda stood up after having tried to relax in a row of plastic seats. She knew there was no point in trying to unfurl herself at the airport gate, and napping was out of the question.
     She resigned herself to looking through the airport minimart, browsing a few magazines before she grabbed some more snacks.
     Standing in line, a thin woman with short gray curls turned around and looked her up and down.
     “Are you some sort of musician?” asked the woman. “Or an artist?”
     “I’m a bass player for a punk band.”
     The woman nodded knowingly. “I had a feeling. I can always pick ‘em out.”
     Miranda wished she had more time to chat with the elder who gave her a much welcome interlude to the pale drudgery of yet another airport.
     Getting back to their gate with her new cache of snacks, she only saw a sleeping Roach and a clearly irritated Colleen who was furiously typing away on her phone.
     “Where is everybody?” asked Miranda.
     “Our plane has been delayed by three hours,” answered Colleen, not looking away from her phone.
     “What the fuck?”
     “That’s what everybody else said,” remarked Colleen as she put her phone down.
     Miranda turned on her heel, not wanting to further harangue an already clearly irritated Colleen. She took out her phone, which she only glanced at for a moment before shoving it back into her pocket.
     She double-checked to see if anyone was watching their luggage. She spotted a texting Annie and a texting Gust on either side of their pile of collected carry-ons and backpacks.
     Miranda felt her skin crawl at the idea of spending an extra three hours killing time in yet another airport. She made a beeline for the nearest bathroom.
     She walked past a couple of gawking grandmas as she walked into the women’s room and stopped at the first sink she found.
     Leaning on the counter, she caught a glance of a short and thin woman with frazzled hair and dark circles under her eyes. She was wearing a frayed blue jean jacket covered with patches, as well as sayings and symbols made with a sharpie. She was wearing a beige wool cap that covered her faded dyed-red frazzle hair.
     She was going through a large purse, rummaging through it with her spindly fingers. She was looking through it with wide and glassy eyes, trying to be methodical, but the sinews of her forearms were tense. Miranda could tell she was made of strings that were too tight.
     Miranda knew her place well. The frazzle hair was there for a flight, but she was trapped in a space where up or down were the only two choices, and it was not a choice that she could make on her own. There were other forces at work on her, pressures that were going to take her one way or another against her will.
     Then Miranda saw it.
     Not just from the look in her eyes, the lines in her face, or the pallor of her skin, but from the shudder.
     It was almost imperceptible… the slightest tremor that split through her body for a half-second, but Miranda’s old junky senses caught it.
     Miranda leaned on the sink and held in her own shudder.
     Frazzle hair turned towards the wall, showing the rest of the bathroom her back as she kept digging around her purse.
     She threw down her purse in frustration.
     Miranda turned away. She didn’t want to nudge someone who might be too close.
     Miranda washed her hands and then ran her damp hands over her face, the water burning against her skin.
     She grabbed a paper towel that was hanging from the dispenser. She waved and kept waving her hands under the automatic towel dispenser, trying to get it to spit out another paper towel.
     After a few moments of gesticulating like a demented magician, she tried another paper towel dispenser and finally got half a piece of paper. She tore it off and finished drying her face.
     “Fuck!” shouted frazzle hair as she kicked her purse.
     Miranda looked over at frazzle hair who shot her a poisonous look from over her shoulder.
     “What the fuck are you looking at?” she spat.
     Miranda said nothing. She just quietly observed her and raised an eyebrow.
     Frazzle hair got down on the floor and collected her purse before quickly walking out of the bathroom.
     Miranda turned to the mirror…
     … and stared.
     She looked at the lines on her face, the furrows that had been deepening. She also looked at how full her cheeks were.
     She saw the bags under her eyes, and the beginnings of crow’s feet.
     She was only in her early thirties, yet when she looked at her round cheeks and full hair that belied the deepening lines in her face and the dark circle under her eyes she saw someone behind all of it who might as well have been a hundred years away.
     She leaned on the bathroom counter and dropped her head.
     She turned on her heel and walked back out into the wide airport corridor.
     Her mind turned to the task of killing time as she eyed the newsstand and contemplated buying a magazine or a book.
     Looking through the newsstand, the science magazines were too much for her tour-fogged mind. The news magazines were too depressing. She kept looking around for a music magazine.
     “Looking for reading material?”
     Sussy had walked up to the magazine stand.
     “Tryin’ to find somethin’ to look at besides my phone,” said Miranda.
     “I think there’s a bookstore farther down the gates.”
     “That’s probably a better shot.”
     Sussy tossed her head. “Let’s go!”
     Sussy led Miranda to a bookstore situated on a corner of the wide airport corridors. It was larger than most of the shops in the airport.
     Miranda felt herself breathing easier, wandering among the bookshelves. She casually eyed the featured table before looking through the biography section, continuing on to the fiction section after her biography browse.
     Her eyes ran through the first few rows of books before she found it.
     “Holy shit!” exclaimed Miranda, loud enough to have several book browsers look in her direction.
     “What?” asked Sussy who was on the other side of the bookcase.
     “They’ve got PR!”
     “What?” asked Sussy as she came around to inspect Miranda’s discovery.
     “PR by Dani Dassler. I had no idea this place was so down with the street.”
     “Right. Gust told me I should read that.”
     Miranda gave Sussy a pointed glance. “You haven’t read it yet?”
     “Nah. Haven’t gotten around to it.”
     Miranda held up a hand in front of Sussy. “I hereby revoke all of your street cred. You are now officially a poser until you’ve read it!”
     “Psh!” said Sussy as she gave Miranda a playful shove.
     “I’m buying this,” said Miranda as she admired the cover.
     “Ain’t you already read it?”
     “Gonna read it again.”
     “Must be a really good book then.”
     Miranda did not spend much more time looking around the bookstore, grabbing two more books off of a bargain table just to make her spontaneous book buying spree worthwhile.
     Miranda left Sussy in the bookstore since Sussy still wanted to browse. Miranda needed to get a large coffee to fuel her new book find.
     Walking back to her gate, she tried to remember where the nearest coffee stand was located.
     As soon as she spotted a Peet’s coffee stand, Miranda’s eye caught her, sitting in a far corner of a nearly empty gate, scrunched up in a seat against a wall, her legs curled against her as if she were trying to shrink into her space.
     Miranda slowly walked up to her, books in hand. The frazzle hair never even glanced at her once as she approached.
     “I know what you’re going through,” stated Miranda in a clear yet quiet voice.
     “What?” asked frazzle hair as if she had only just noticed Miranda.
     “DTs,” said Miranda flatly.
     Frazzle hair scowled and scrunched herself further into her plastic airport seat. “What the fuck would you know about it?”
     Miranda raised her arms, holding them out so that all of her tattoos and scars were on display.
     The young woman’s face softened. “Right.”
     “On meds?”
     The woman’s face twisted up. “Didn’t get my last two shots. Hadda come out here ‘cause my aunt died, an’…”
     She simply stopped talking and turned towards the wide airport windows, looking out to the tarmac.
     “I didn’t kick with any a’ that,” said Miranda.
     “Then how did you?” she asked, slowly turning towards Miranda.
     “I sealed myself up in my bedroom, drew all the shades, and just read, for weeks.”
     The woman winced. “Read? What, books?”
     “Yeah.”
     Frazzle hair looked away and became quiet.
     “Here,” said Miranda as she held out her fresh Dani Dassler book.
     The young woman looked at the book curiously. “What the fuck is that?”
     “Somethin’ to help you deal,” said Miranda.
     Frazzle hair took hold of the book, as if she was suspicious of it, and started looking through it.
     “My name’s Miranda. I’m the bass player for The Dynamite Chicks. You can find me on Facebook.”
     Frazzle hair looked up from the book.
     “Miranda Scholl.” Miranda pointed at the book. “If I can do it, so can you.”
     Frazzle hair looked down into the book and started reading the first page.
     “What’s your name?” asked Miranda.
     “Carla,” she said blankly as she kept reading.
     “Get in touch. Let me know how you’re doing.”
     “Sure,” she said, still not looking up from the book.
     Miranda turned and made her way to the coffee stand.
     Coming back to their gate, Gust walked up to her. “Hey, I heard you found a copy of PR.”
     “I did.”
     “Hand it over! I wanna show Sussy the fucked up club scene with all the jocks.”
     Miranda let out a long sigh. “I gave the book to a friend.”
     “What friend?”
     “Carla.”
     “Who the fuck is Carla? You just happen to run into a friend in this airport?”
     “Yeah.”

Circus Tent is available on Kindle and KU

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book/circus-tent-book-seven-of-the-skye-wright-series/

You can find the entire Skye Wright series below.
Just click on the pic for the series!

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book-series/skye-wright-series/

PR by Dani Dassler is a must read. Check it out!

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B088JK9K1H/

The post Airport – An excerpt from my short story collection Short Songs appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.

Revenge of the Broken Hearts is the eight book in my Skye Wright Rise and Fall series, and is coming out this late June/early July.

Our hero Skye reconnects with an old flame, a man whose reputation permeates so many realms in the Bay Area punk and alt communities, a man who inspires strong emotions in a community of artists, musicians, and scenesters. And those emotions are not always so noble.

This book comes right after book seven of the Skye Wright series, Circus Tent.

Chance

     Skye thought about how her friends had warned her that the singer for Deaf Lark Sensors was smitten with her, and his status as temporary boy toy to help her let off some steam now and then was a precarious one since he was getting ideas that they were a serious couple.
     She was initially attracted to him because of his lyrics. As the main song writer for his band, he put a lot more thought into what he was writing than most musicians she knew. She decided to associate with such a musical scribe even though his band was in a more eclectic genre than the usual barbed-wire-in-a-meat-grinder kind of music her previous partners were usually associated with.
     He did have that one irritating habit.
     “The new offices are going to have a storefront…”
     “Oh! You know what you should do with the store? Def sell lots of accessories, not just music.”
     Skye sat back and sipped her coffee, not having been able to finish her sentence before Huffer interrupted her.
     She wanted to get back to the subject of the new storefront, but after Huffer offered his learned suggestions on how to make the Butt Fork store more effective, he steered the subject to his band and their plans for their new album.
     “More coffee?” asked Skye as she held up her empty coffee cup.
     Huffer paused, as if he was surprised by the abrupt intrusion of his monologue. “Yeah, sure.”
     Skye busied herself with her coffeemaker as she mulled Huffer’s conversational excitability. She didn’t feel they knew each other well enough at the time for her to let him know that she would like to get a word in edgewise now and then, though she knew she would eventually have to bring it up if their association lasted much longer.
     Skye usually had a difficult time with jabberjaws, people who would hold other people or even groups of people hostage with their verbal diarrhea, but Huffer always had something interesting to say, and she silently reacted with nods and subtle hand gestures whenever he made an interesting point about whatever subject he was lecturing about at the time.
     His cute and cerebral factors were his saving grace. Even though she rarely ever went after guys inflicted with the cute curse, there was something refreshing about his bright eyes and young face along with his neatly trimmed beard, as well as his intellectual pursuits, a diversion from the usual kind of men she found herself jumping.
     But she knew in her heart that their coupling was only temporary. Their casual relationship was on a path to doom. She knew it only too well. And she only felt slightly guilty about it.
     “So when can my band score some studio time?” asked Huffer as she came back to the kitchen table with fresh coffee.
     “You’d have to ask Larry,” said Skye as she picked up Dee Dee from her chair and sat down.
     Huffer looked stunned, his bright eyes getting wider. “But you’re the owner of Butt Fork.”
     “Yeah? So?”
     “You can jam us in, right?”
     “Hell no. Larry does alla’ the studio scheduling now.”
     Huffer sat still in his chair, looking indignant.
     “Hey, I got enough on my plate,” said Skye. “I gotta delegate.”
     “But…”
     Skye waved a hand. “Larry knows you’re down with me. He’ll put you guys in a good spot.”
     Huffer decided at that point to launch into the finer details of how he intended to set up his band’s recording sessions.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     Skye slumped in her office chair as she felt her shoulders and eyes become heavy as she engaged in a daily morbid task.
     She reflected on how Tandasil was always hailed as the real boss of the Butt Fork label and studio, and never did she feel that concept more acutely than when she opened the daily sales, financial, and inventory reports that the Vulcan, the unofficial nickname for Tandasil, insisted Skye look over every morning, even if she only did so perfunctorily.
     Skye was not sure why the spreadsheeted burden brought her mood down. With the addition of The Powder Snouts, the sudden and inexplicable viral success of The Jolly Sturms, and the alt-music sensation Gail Burp defecting to their label, they were raking in sales and cash at an alarming rate for a business that was supposed to be a semi-stable underground industry dweller.
     That The Dynamite Chicks were becoming even more popular with their last tour was also making waves.
     Even with all of the eclectic looking punks wandering around the place, Skye could easily spot the multi-colored dreadlocks of her old gutter punk friend Trilly.
     Trilly was waving a stack of papers at Skye. “I gotta touch base with you about the new storefront.”
     “You do?”
     “Tandasil recruited me to help with the new space.”
     “No shit?” blurted Skye in genuine surprise.
     “If Colleen were working on the store instead a’ fuckin’ around with office stuff she’d be doin’ all this… whatever the fuck it is I have to do,” exasperated Trilly as she looked over the papers in her hand.
     “Eh, you’ll be fine,” said Skye.
     “Fuck me,” said Trilly as she continued to stare at the pages. “I keep thinkin’ I’m gonna fuck somethin’ up.”
     Skye stood up and stretched her arms. “At least you’re not acting like some self-righteous douche who thinks she’s got it all under control. Those are the assholes that make the real mistakes.” Skye looked at her laptop. “You goin’ over there? To the new spot?”
     “Should I?’ asked Trilly, looking worried as she looked up from her pages.
     “Let’s go wander to the new headache after I look over all this junk. We can grab a cuppa coffee on the way over.”
     Trilly leaned on the desk. “Hey, you still bangin’ DF Huffer?”
     Skye rolled her eyes in slight surprise. “Now an’ then, yeah. What’s it to you?”
     “Eh. People are jus’ gettin’ worried.”
     “Worried about what?”
     “Y’know, he’s a tweaky type.”
     Skye had to roll her eyes again. “Like I’m ever gonna get together with someone who’s not a whack job.”
     “There’s something about him that bugs me.”
     “I know, he can be kinda twitchy.” Skye leaned on her desk. “Don’t worry. I won’t be with him much longer.”
     Trilly checked her phone. “Okay, Tandasil just texted me with more storefront details.”
     “Are you totes in charge of the store now?”
     Trilly pocketed her phone. “Damn Skye, don’t you even know what’s happening with your own company?”
     “Fuck no. There’s too many goddam details to fuck with.”
     Skye promised to make her way to the new storefront in a few minutes as Trilly ran off. Skye decided to cruise her social media pages before turning to her emails, trying to see how much time she could realistically waste before she had to deal with actual business once again.
     She checked out a few bands on Instagram and then perused the official Butt Fork BlueSky account to see what the social media manager Francine had been up to before making a gratuitous pass on Facebook.
     She was scrolling through her feed when Skye’s eyes suddenly became wide as her heart skipped a beat.
     “Holy fuck!” she said under her breath.
     “Holy fuck?”
     The short spikey black hair and thick rimmed glasses known as Molly had snuck up behind her.
     Skye pointed at her laptop. “My old friend Jules came up on my Facebook suggestions.”
     “Jules?”
     “I knew him from high school. He was the one who shot me up with junk that one time, back in the day when I was a total wastoid.”
     “Holy crap! I didn’t know you did heroin.”
     “I smoked it a couple a’ times before Jules, but I only slammed it once, that one time with him.”
     “Damn! No shit?” asked a still wide-eyed Molly.
     “Why you so surprised? You knew I was an all out speed freak, right? Is it such a leap to think I at least tried heroin?”
     Molly’s face relaxed. “Yeah. I shouldn’t talk. I done plenty a’ drugs myself.”
     “You ever get mixed up with junk?”
     “Fuck no. I mean, I was offered plenty a’ times, but I never touched the stuff.”
     Skye turned back to her laptop. “I wouldna’ blame you if you did.”
     Molly pulled up a chair and sat down. “You ever grind about that?”
     “About him shooting me up?”
     “Yeah. Like, he got you to try some stuff you weren’t into at the time. Coulda been dangerous.”
     “Hell no. I’m glad he did it.”
     “Really?”
     Skye sat back in her chair. “I never got into junk, but a lot a’ my friends did, especially my friends in the program who are tryin’ to stay clean. Even though it wasn’t my gig, I know what the stuff tastes like. I know what my friends are up against.”
     “Makes sense.” Molly looked at Jules’ Facebook profile. “I remember him from his band, that splash they made.”
     “They made that splash because he was in the band.”
     “What? Ladies man?”
     “God, everybody wanted a’ piece a’ him.”
     Molly raised an eyebrow. “I bet more than a few boys wanted to grab that too.”
     “No doubt.”
     Molly leaned in and took a closer look at Jules’ profile. “Wait, I really remember this guy now. He went out with my gal Shay.”
     “Shay, the bass player for Chum Hummer?”
     “She was totally smitten. He ended up cheating on her.”
     Skye crossed her arms. “Lemme guess. With another junky?”
     “Yeah. She was really pissed.”
     “He ticked off a lotta lovers back then.”
     Molly was silent for a moment as she rolled her eyes in thought. “Didn’t he have a gym? Like, he was a fitness instructor?”
     “Boxing gym. He was a boxer.”
     Molly’s eyes brightened. “Yeah! He got like, super clean and sober and started a boxing gym.”
     “I was there.”
     “At the gym?”
     “He taught me a few moves. I learned a few things.”
     “I didn’t know you were a boxer.”
     “I’m not. Not really. My fighting style is still more barroom brawling.”
     Molly got a dour look on her face. “He relapsed though.”
     “Hard. He went straight back to junk.”
     Molly seemed to sink in her chair. “No light beer relapse? I remember a lot of people were really bummed about it.”
     Skye leaned on her desk and gazed at Jules’ Facebook profile. “It was a big deal. It was like, shock waves, everywhere. The punk scene, the drug scene, the recovery scene… He broke a lotta hearts when he went back out.”
     “You gonna hit him up?”
     “Fuck yeah I am. I wanna find out what he’s up to.”
     Molly’s expression became serious. “I mean, some peoples were kinda worried about you hanging out with Huffer. That Jules guy…”
     “What about Jules?”
     “You know, the junk.”
     “Jesus Molly, how many people we know who’ve relapsed? How many junkies do we know? We don’t just write them off when they trip up.”
     “Yeah, sure. But…”
     Molly fumbled with her hands.
     Skye held up a hand. “Don’t worry Mol. I know what I’m doing.”
     “Sure. No big.”
     Molly turned and made her way into the studio as Skye puzzled over Molly’s reaction.
     She decided to chalk the conversation up to random weirdness as she wrote a message to Jules, asking how he was doing.

You can find the entire Skye Wright series below.
Just click on the pic for the series!

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book-series/skye-wright-series/

The post Sneak Peak! An excerpt from my upcoming novel Revenge of the Broken Hearts appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.

Circus Tent is a series of short stories and rock and roll vignettes about Skye Wright’s band The Dynamite Chicks going on a cross-country tour.

In this story, Annie, Skye’s lead guitarist, does her damndest to be a bad influence.

     CEO

     Annie found Skye slumped on a couch in the hotel lobby, looking at her phone with glassy eyes. Annie had just gotten out of the van with her backpack and carry-on.
     Annie thought Skye looked as if she were melting. “What up boss?”
     “Our rooms aren’t ready yet,” said Skye, not looking away from her phone. “We got here too early.”
     “Spacin’ out on TikToks?” asked Annie as she flopped her thin frame down on the couch.
     “Naw. Looking at the Butt Fork admin page.”
     Annie looked around the lobby. She saw Colleen at the registration desk, talking to a desk agent. Annie thought Colleen looked as if she had lost weight, even though they had just started the tour, and Colleen did not have a lot of weight to lose.
     Annie looked through the small crowd of tourists and business suits, trying to see who she could spot, given that the various members of the entourage ran off in different directions once they got there, like school children let loose from a school bus.
     She finally spotted Molly and Roach, standing around and talking to each other just outside of the hotel doors. She spotted Sussy’s bobbed black hair, as she was sitting on another hotel couch, looking through her phone.
     She lost sight of Collen, just when it occurred to her that she had not been looking out for Svenja, or Gitta, or the other member of The Jolly Sturms whose name she had embarrassingly forgotten.
     Annie leaned towards Skye, who was still intently staring at her phone. “What th’ fuck you doin’ now?”
     “There’s a dip in the Sturms overseas sales. Trying to figure out what that’s about.”
     “Jesus Skye, give it a rest. Let the Vulcan handle all that shit. We should go out an’ look aroun’, find out what this town has to offer.”
     Skye did not react as she kept her eyes on her phone. Annie sat back and looked out over the hotel lobby, resuming her people watching.
     She saw tourists wearing khaki shorts and kitschy button up shirts. She saw business suits and pantsuits, sometimes casual, sometimes more buttoned-down and serious. She wondered how people could live such lives, spending all of their time trying to be as ordinary and conventional as possible, where they did everything they could to subvert their minds, their imaginations, and their very souls, in a lifeless and lifelong pursuit of constant conforming.
     Annie nudged Skye.
     “The Broomsticks sales are way up,” said Skye as she kept her eyes glued to her phone. “But that overseas dip with the Sturms…”
     Annie looked to the hotel desk. She caught the eye of one of the agents. Annie held up her hands.
     “Not quite yet,” said the proper looking young woman at the registration desk as she held up a finger to indicate that it would still be a while.
     “Damn. Y’think with the kinda cred we got now our rooms would be ready!” yawped Annie.
     “Shit, we haven’t even released Gail’s new album yet. Then we can get all the hookers we want.”
     “Ooh! I’ve never hired a gigolo before!”
     Skye rolled her eyes as she put down her phone. “You sure about that?”
     “So how much is getting Gail and the Powder Snouts gonna affect us?”
     Skye’s eyes fluttered as she sank deeper into the couch. “We’re gonna need more office space, and soon. Probably a spot not too far from the studio.”
     “No shit? How about a storefront? That way we can sell junk to people who pass by.”
     “That kinda idea has already been floated,” said Skye as she struggled to sit up. “Open a store for the label and have the new office space in the back. I’ve known dinky labels who have done that.”
     “See? You should put me in charge.”
     “Doing gigolos in the backroom?”
     “Sure!” brightened Annie. “Do the rock star thing.”
     “Just boink a buncha groupies.”
     Annie waved a hand at Skye. “Nah. I need someone who knows what they’re doing.”
     Skye picked up her phone again and looked at it with her haggard eyes.
     Annie saw Skye holding onto the phone as if it were a heavy weight.
     Annie flashed back to the early days of The Dynamite Chicks, when they were playing punk dives as a group of drunks and speed freaks, getting loaded before their shows, making sure they were at least slightly tipsy, somewhat stoned, possibly wired, and on occasion all three before they hit the stage. The last thing on their minds were business details. They only worried about money back in those days when they slept in vans, all crowded into one motel room, and became surprised on those rare occasions when they were decently paid for their gigs.
     There was no looking at the big picture back in their club dive days. There was no intense scrutiny of details. They would go on the road without even a bass amp, asking other bands if they could use theirs, and sometimes having to end their sets early because someone broke a string and they didn’t have any spares.
     Not that they didn’t have ideas about attaining some success. They would make flyers and sell their demo tapes in the hopes of attracting bigger crowds, but hopes and thoughts of far-flung success, of going viral, was only a thin concept in the back of their minds, always floating in the background like an afterthought. Annie thought back to those days, wondering if they did ever have any sense of making it out in the world, if they ever thought they would make a real splash like L7, or Bikini Kill, or maybe even reach Ramones level success.
     She glanced at Skye, an old friend who had sworn off drugs and drink, at least as much as she could with her occasional relapses.
     And she could only marvel at how much she had changed.
     Annie swatted at Skye’s phone. “Put that thing away and let’s walk around, see what we can find.”
     “Hang on,” said Skye as she tapped away at her phone.
     Annie stood up. “C’mon, ditch the Tandasil act and stop acting like such a boss.”
     “I’m not acting,” said Skye as she kept looking at her phone. “I am the boss!”
     Annie let out a grunt as she grabbed Skye’s phone. Skye wrestled with Annie for a minute.
     “Knock it off!” hissed Skye between her teeth. “You’re gonna get us kicked outta here!”
     “Come on you lame-o,” groused Annie. “Get offa that couch! Tell the desk we’re gonna go wander aroun’.”
     “Or what?”
     “Or I’ll kick your ass!” smiled Annie.
     Skye put her phone away. “Fine,” she said as she stood up. “Let’s go wander.”
     Skye sent Colleen a quick text after they ditched their luggage with the hotel’s bell service.
     “Gah!” blorped Annie as they walked out onto the sunny street. “Natural light!”
     “Why do I get the feeling we’re gonna get arrested for being drunk in public when we haven’t even been drinking?”
     “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Annie lifted her arm and stuck her nose in her armpit. “Eeyuh!” she winced as she put her arm down. “Man, I am ripe!’
     “Our hair looks like fright wigs, and we’ve been wearing these clothes since last night.”
     “Damn. We gotta find a punk bar and hit on some guys.”
     Skye winced at Annie. “What the fuck are you talking about? We look like a couple of homeless serial killers.”
     “I know! Those guys will be all over us.”
     Skye shook her head around and repeated her wince. “You’re crazy. They’ll run from us.”
     “No way. They love down in the dirt women. We’ll be fighting them off.”
     “I still say you’re crazy.”
     They walked around downtown, finding a lot of typical businesses for a large city center. They detoured down a few promising side streets, passing by liquor stores and a few working class restaurants before finding a casual cafe with artwork on the walls and a lot of patrons who looked like college students.
     “I need to eat something,” said Skye as she detoured into the cafe.
     Annie squinted at the menu board. “I don’t think they have any booze in this place.”
     “Tie one on for the show?” asked Skye as she waited for her onion bagel and cream cheese.
     “Maybe there’s a scrub bar nearby.”
     “Sure. Maybe some of these youngins know where one is.”
     “Psh! You make us sound like a couple a’ old hags.”
     “We are a couple a’ old hags.”
     The short and chubby young woman with dark red dreads behind the counter started to hand Skye her bagel when she stopped. “Hey, aren’t you in a band?”
     “Jug band,” said Skye as she took her bagel.
     “I play the comb harmonica,” said Annie.
     Red dreads pointed at Annie. “You’re in The Dynamite Chicks.”
     “Who, me?”
     “And Screamology!”
     Skye tilted her head at Annie. “She’s got ya there. If she knows the name of your ditchy side gig, she’s down with the street.”
     Annie leaned on the counter and looked right at red dreads. “You wouldn’t happen to know where any punk bars are around here? Like a wannabe dive full of metal an’ punk boys?”
     “Oh. Lessee… There’s Hunton’s on MC Street. That’s where a lotta people like us would be.”
     Annie brightened up. “Awesome! That’s where we’re goin’ then.”
     “Yeah, there’s probably not a lot of people there. They get most of their action at night.”
     Annie waved off red dreads and led Skye out of the cafe.
     Annie took out her phone. “It’s not too far from here. We can walk there.”
     “Day drinking?”
     “Just a pint or two,” said Annie as she kept navigating.
     Annie quickened her pace as her phone guided her to Hunton’s. Skye tried to keep pace at the same time as she observed the street scenes. She always liked to check out all of the little details of places that were new to her, especially the independent stores. She always admired the small things that made them unique, even the corner liquor stores that usually had some identifying marks, be it a small statue of Buddha or a string of paper four leaf clovers or sports paraphernalia.
     She took note of an arts and crafts store that had macrame’ dolls in the window, an ice cream store with discount cones that advertised itself with very amateurish hand-painted signs, and a fabric store with very old and classic sewing machines lined up in the window.
     Down a long high street, they finally came up to Hunton’s, which had an exterior that made it look like a biker bar. Skye knew it was a punk bikers bar when she saw a BSA and an old classic Triumph parked outside.
     Inside, the place was wide and dark, with scattered tables and chairs. Industrial music was playing in the background. Skye was impressed by the interior artwork, a gallery of paintings displaying alternate visions of devils and angels as punks and goths.
     They saw a few bikers in their leathers, sitting in the back. Several other patrons who looked like working class civilians were sitting at a window table, drinking pints of lager.
     Annie ordered a pint from the chubby-cheeked pink-haired punk behind the bar, while Skye got a bottle of soda.
     “This place is pretty dead,” said Skye as they sat at a center table so they could check the place out.
     “It’s fuckin’ cool though. I’d like to see this place when it’s jumpin’.”
     “Is there a stage in here? Maybe we can have an impromptu show.”
     Annie looked down at Skye’s bottle of cola. “Y’know, there are times I wish you still drinked.”
     “Seriously? I was such a lush though.”
     “You were usually wired. Not so lushy as most of us.”
     Skye’s cell phone buzzed and she glanced at it. “Yeah, I suppose so. After a while I only drank booze to take the edge off the speed.”
     “Ah, the good ol’ days!” said Annie as she leaned back in her chair, holding up her pint as if she were giving a toast.
     “You really wish I was still hitting’ the booze?’ asked Skye as she pocketed her cell.
     “Well, maybe not like we used to. I kinda wish we could just have a couple a’ beers now an’ then, an’ do that ridiculous stuff we used to, like make up fucked up pick up lines and actually try them out on some of the blockheads in the bar.”
     “Hell, we could still do that.”
     Annie made a face. “It wouldn’t be the same without the lubrication.”
     “Don’’t fuckin’ tempt me. I done relapsed twice since I decided to get my shit together. I don’t need to fall down that hell hole again.”
     “C’mon Skye, you beat yourself up too much about that shit.”
     “Yeah, Lee already gave me that spiel. But I was lucky. The first time I tried to take myself out, and I failed. The second time I woke up in a jail cell. I don’t wanna check out over somethin’ stupid, or wake up and find out I really fucked someone up and am lookin’ down the barrel of decades in state prison.”
     “I think you’re bein’ a bit overdramatic.”
     “Am I?”
     “Yeah! How many times did you get wasted in the ol’ days? You lost count, right?”
     “We all lost count.”
     “And you’re still here.”
     Skye narrowed her eyes at Annie. “Only by way of dumb luck.”
     Annie knew that she was there by way of dumb luck as well, as she thought about all of the people she knew who had checked out, and some who should’ve checked out. She thought about Carl and Mirian, Cheshire and Harris, all of her friends who had died rock and roll deaths… going out on junk, getting wiped out in traffic accidents, or taking themselves out. She thought about the rest… the friends, the acquaintances, the club goers, and a few of her past lovers who had gone to the great beyond far too early.
     Then there were the ones who missed the last ride, but probably shouldn’t have. There was Katy, who was bound to a wheelchair after slamming her motorcycle into a wall. There was Blame, her old bass player when she was in a scrub band, who was currently facing a myriad of crippling health problems, no doubt because of all the over-the-top excess she engaged in when she was younger.
     Her sight became dark when she thought about Debsie, her wild rock and roll friend, who went on a wild drug and drinking binge one night, only to black out and wake up in a jail cell, with no memory of what had happened the night before, and found out she had killed her boyfriend, an event her ruined memory was never able to recall.
     She was due for parole in a few more years, and no other subject engendered such a split in the scene concerning the subject of Debsie. Some wanted to support her, and others wanted to shun her, as well as too many who had mixed feelings.
     Annie snapped out of her train of thought when two young, gaunt men with chain necklaces and shredded band shirts walked in.
     Annie quickly nudged Skye. “Looky!”
     “What?”
     “The crusties that just walked in.”
     Skye glanced at the two as they leaned on the bar. “If Discharge patches were people.”
     Annie squinted at the two young plank boys.
     Skye knew what she was up to.
     As soon as they started walking away from the bar with their pints, Annie spoke up.
     “M.U.D.!” said Annie while pointing at the first Discharge patch.
     “What?” asked Discharge patch one as he stopped and gawked at Annie.
     “Your patch. You listen to M.U.D.”
     Discharge patch one looked down at his jacket as if he had forgotten there were band patches on it.
     “Yeah,” he said blankly. “Got it at Gilman when I saw them up there.”
     “That sounds like a story. Why don’tcha tell me about it?”
     Skye’s skin bristled when Annie pushed out a chair with her foot. It took a moment for Discharge patch one to realize she was inviting him to sit at their table.
Discharge patch had slightly sunken cheeks, and Skye could not tell if his faraway look was the result of having gotten wasted or if it was his natural, dumbfounded look.
His friend looked more like a normal guy, except for his spiked hair and patch vest. He had full cheeks and the kind of face that betrayed the coming of a goofy smile.
     Discharge patch one sat down cautiously, as if he suspected he might be walking into a trap. Discharge patch two sat down right next to Annie, giving a nod and a smile as he set his pint of lager down.
     “You like M.U.D.?” asked Discharge patch one.
     “I do,” replied Annie, “except Doug owes me a dollar.”
     “Doug?” winced Discharge patch one in confusion.
     “The singer,” said Discharge patch two.
     “Why does he owe you a dollar?”
     Skye rolled her eyes at Annie.
     “Long story,” said Annie. “Are you guys local?”
     “Yeah,” said Discharge patch one as if he were unsure. “Are you?”
     Discharge patch two swatted his friend on the arm. “They’re in The Dynamite Chicks you fool!”
     “Really?” blurted Discharge patch one as his eyes brightened up, finally showing a spark of unwraith-like life.
     “You guys are playin’ tonight,” remarked Discharge patch two.
     “We were thinking of mixing it up for this tour,” said Skye.
     “Mixing it up?”
     “With the Sturms.”
     “How’s that?”
     “Switch up the members, then we’ll have The Dynamite Sturms and The Jolly Chicks.”
     “The Jolly Chicks sounds like a Sesame Street band,” said Annie.
     “With actual chicks playin’!” said Discharge patch two.
     “How about we just mash up both bands?” said Annie. “That way we don’t have to be there as long.”
     “The Jolly Dynamite Chick Sturms?” asked Skye.
     “What the fuck is a sturm anyways?” asked Discharge patch one.
     Annie tossed her head back in surprise. “I don’t know. I never asked!”
     “It means storm,” said Skye.
     “You speak German?”
     “Ja, ja! Kann ziemlich gut Deutsch.”
     “Say something in German,” asked Discharge patch two.
     “Something in German.”
     “No, I mean, something in German, in German.”
     “Etwas auf Deutsch.”
     “What’s that mean?” asked Discharge patch one.
     “Something in German,” smiled Skye.
     “Ha ha,” said Discharge patch two sarcastically.
     “Who’s opening for you?” asked Discharge one.
     “Some band called Darling Fascist Bully Boy.”
     “No fuckin’ way!” blurted Discharge patch two.
     Annie sat back. “Why no way?”
     “I used to be their drummer,” said Discharge patch one.
     “No shit?” said Skye. “What happened?”
     Discharge patch one shrunk in his seat, looking embarrassed. “It’s… kind of a long story.”
     Discharge patch two nodded.
     Skye took the opportunity to talk about music. She asked the Discharge patches about the bands they had been in, what kind of music they played, and what the local scene was like.
     Annie kept asking them questions that irked Skye, such as what did they like to drink, if they had girlfriends, and what kind of pit injuries had they sustained lately.
     The jukebox music that had been continuously playing in the background came to a stop. The two Discharge patches excused themselves to refresh their pints.
     Annie leaned into Skye. “Come on girl, let’s take these guys somewhere and have some fun with ‘em.”
     Skye gave Annie a sour look. “You can’t be serious.”
     “I am! You can have the smart one.”
     Skye crossed her arms. “It’s really sad that I know who you mean by ‘the smart one.’”
     “I ain’t askin’ ya’ to get in a relationship with him, just take him somewhere and help him build a memory.”
     “Uch. I don’t think I could go through with it.”
     Annie leaned in towards Skye. “I betcha he’s never been with a woman who knows what she’s doin’. You could really rock his world!”
     “It would be nice to find a guy who really knew what he was doin’.”
     “C’mon Skye, let’s play with these dingbats!”
     Skye increased the intensity of her wince. “I’m sorry Annie, I just can’t. I can’t bear to seduce a dumbass.”
     “Seriously? Cute and dumb aren’t enough?”
     Skye shook her head. “No, not anymore.”
     “Psh! Since when did you get standards?”
     “I’ve been through too many dingbats. You just want something better after a while.”
     “Blug.”
     “It’s gotta be more than just looks.”
     Annie let out a long sigh. “Yeah, you’re right.” Annie narrowed her eyes at Skye. “But you’re still an awful wingwoman.”
     “Guilty.” Skye downed her cola. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
     They started out.
     “You guys are comin’ to see us tonight, right?” asked Annie as they passed by the Discharge patches at the bar.
     “Naw,” drawled Discharge patch one.
     “Why not? You don’t like us?”
     “We totally wanna fuckin’ go,” said Discharge patch two, “but we can’t afford the tickets.”
     “Aw man, that sucks.”
     “We could probably afford to go if we didn’t drink so much,” smiled Discharge patch two as he held up a fresh pint.
     Skye and Annie were just out the door, walking back to the hotel, when Skye stopped.
     “What?” asked Annie.
     Skye threw up her hands. “Fuck it!”
     She turned on her heel and made her way back into the bar. She found the Discharge patches looking over the bar’s old juke box.
     “Hey, gimme one a’ your phone numbers,” said Skye. “I can get you into the show tonight.”
     Their faces lit up with surprise and delight.
     “Seriously?” blurted Discharge patch one.
     “I hadda miss way too many cool shows when I was broke, back in the day. I know how it is.”
     She got the number of Discharge patch two, whose name turned out to be Toby. She promised them Colleen would text them e-tickets.
     Skye and Annie exited the place once more, beaming in the total delight of the two crusties who were overjoyed with the invite.
     “Have fun with ‘em after the show?” smiled a hopeful Annie.
     “We’ll see.”

Circus Tent is available on Kindle and KU

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H32R44ZN

You can find the entire Skye Wright series below.
Just click on the pic for the series!

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book-series/skye-wright-series/

The post CEO – An excerpt from my new novel Circus Tent appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.

Circus Tent is a series of short stories and rock and roll vignettes about Skye Wright’s band The Dynamite Chicks going on a cross-country tour.

This is the opening of the book, with Skye getting ready to take on a long tour engineered by herself and her burgeoning record label.

“…the soul of touring and the heart of it is basically every day is like putting up a circus tent.”

Pat Benatar

     J’Accuse!

     She could tell.
     They knew.
     The stares… the accusing looks, rife with mistrust and a sense of betrayal were coming from every corner.
     She went into the other room to escape the glare of their eyes.
     That’s when she saw her sleek black cat Dee Dee, sitting on her suitcase.
     It didn’t help that Dee Dee let out a loud and mournful meow when she walked into the room, as he sat defiantly on her luggage.
     Skye double checked her cell phone, wondering when Harp was going to arrive.
     She quickly jumped into the bathroom to brush her teeth while looking herself over in the mirror. She had frazzled pieces of hair spidering in front of her eyes despite her efforts to tie back her long, dyed-black hair. The straggled strands of hectic hair that danced in front of her face only accentuated the dark circles under her eyes.
     She scanned her hair as she made sure to thoroughly brush her back molars. She was checking to see if her latest dye job was covering the random gray hairs her thirty-something scalp insisted on growing, even though the offending strands of pale hair were, so far, only few and far-between,
     She looked down into the sink, wondering why she was obsessing over her looks.
     Ejecting herself from the bathroom, she sent Harp a quick text and grabbed Juan and Juanita’s leashes. The pugs started jumping around and running in circles, perhaps a little more frantic than usual.
     The anxious pugs skittered down the stairs. Getting outside, Juan and Juanita stopped to inspect the sidewalk trees and bushes as Skye looked up at her condominium, flashing back to the day she was looking it over with a properly dressed real estate agent, having felt a bit overwhelmed and out of place when she looked around the large, pristine living space that she would end up actually owning. The imprint of her apprehension as well as the disbelief of acquiring such a place with such clean walls, recessed lighting, and brand new appliances, had ingrained itself on her, even now. Her working class mind was doing its best to get used to the far-fetched concept.
     It took the cajoling of her friends and especially Tandasil to convince her to make the leap, to finally let go of her above-a-storage-business apartment for a more well deserved home.
     Gust had moved into her old place, with Sussy and Harp paying a gratuitous amount of rent for the other apartment they had already been occupying for the last six months. Skye was pressed by guilt to give her place to Gust, considering what the two of them had gone through when their friend Shake passed on, though Gust was not alone for long. Skye was impressed that her gutter punk friend had the presence of mind to actually ask if her friend Baffle could move in with her for a few weeks. Skye said it was fine, even if she didn’t believe that Gust’s friend would only be there “temporarily.”
     She was on the other side of the block when she got a text from Harp, letting her know she was on her way.
     She got the pugs back just a few minutes before Harp chimed the door.
     Harp walked into the condo wearing a brand new Derby jacket. She stood before the door, looking around in wonderment as the pugs danced at her feet and the cats swirled around her.
     “Fuck me,” said Harp as she dropped her large backpack on the floor.
     “I know. I can hardly believe it myself.”
     “That’s what Gail money will get ya.”
     “Don’t forget The Powder Snouts.” Skye grabbed her luggage and put it by the door. “Nice jacket.”
     “Sussy got it for me.”
     “Is she your girlfriend now?”
     Harp started looking around the kitchen, bending her eyes in awe. “She’s stringing some sugar daddies along. They give her funny money.”
     Skye stood straight. “Should I be worried?”
     Harp waved a hand as she studied the large, silver refrigerator. “Just old boyfriends she boinks once in a while for fun. No one that anyone needs to worry about.”
     “Okay, if you say so.”
     Skye’s harried heart felt itself float. Harp’s hair was full, her bright-red hair standing tall and healthy. Her eyes were clear and she had gained some weight, looking a far cry from the homeless wraith she had found in San Francisco only a few months ago.
     Harp pointed at Skye’s large, silver appliances. “You gotta show me how this stuff works.”
     “It’s just a fridge and an oven,” said Skye as she put her backpack next to the door. “You do know how to use an oven, don’tcha?”
     “That thing looks like a console from the Death Star. So yeah, you’re gonna have to point stuff out to me if I’m gonna be here for six weeks!”
     Skye gave Harp a quick run down of the appliances as she realized she had forgotten to type out condo instructions for Harp.
     Harp studied the TV remote as Skye gathered up the last of her things. She gave Harp a quick lesson on how to access the various streaming services that the cable hustler had convinced her to sign up for.
     “I can’t get over how damn clean this place is,” said Harp.
     “A few parties’ll fix that.”
     “No doubt.” Harp looked to Skye. “I assume you’re gonna do some decoratin’ later on, right?”
     “Pretty damn soon after I get back,” said Skye as she dug through her backpack. “I can’t live in no Ikea house.”
     “Should I check the mail?”
     “Definitely,” said Skye as she got out her mailbox key. “I ain’t gettin’ too much now, but if some slimers in the industry figure out where I’m living it might start fillin’ up fast.”
     Harp crouched down so she could pet the cats who were still swirling around her feet. “Still got those industry jack offs trying ta’ game ya?”
     “Jesus, those snakes are goin’ after other members of the band. I heard they’re even tryin’ to feel out Colleen.”
     “Feel up Colleen?” smiled Harp.
     “Sounds more like it,” said Skye as she stood up and looked around the living room. “I had to ditch a few of my email addresses. Once they were outed they got bombarded by spammers and hustlers.”
     “I know. I’ve heard you bitch about it before.”
     Skye wandered through the apartment, taking one last look around to see if she had forgotten anything.
     Harp slowly took off her jacket and carefully sat down on the black couch that was lined up with the wide screen television. Harp was still taking in the place. Even though it was not her home, she could scarcely believe anyone she personally knew could have gotten far enough to have an actual, real home.
     Skye came out of the bathroom with a box of dental floss. “I knew I forgot something”
     “What should I do if groupies or hustlers show up to the door?”
     Skye shrugged. “Whatever you want. Just as long as you don’t commit any felonies.”
     Harp gave Skye a look.
     “No felonies unless it’s absolutely necessary!” added Skye.
     Harp looked at her luggage. “Where’s your guitars?”
     “Colleen’s having all our junk shipped.”
     Harp slowly shook her head. “Fuck me. This shit is surreal.”
     “Tell me about it. I’m still having a hard time believin’ it myself.” Skye folded her hands. “Can you do something for me while you’re watching the dogs?”
     “Like what?”
     “Take them to visit Maria.”
     Harp’s eyes became wide. “Really? Their original owner?”
     “I can text you the details. The cemetery is just over in El Cerrito.”
     Harp looked down at the pugs who kept looking back and forth between Harp and Skye.
     “Sure, I guess,” said Harp. “Sounds kinda weird though.”
     “I know, but I would really appreciate it if you could do that for me.”
     Harp knelt down to pet the pugs. “Ain’t that somethin’ you should be doing for them? You were her neighbor.”
     “Normally yeah. But Maria’s birthday is coming up and I want them to visit her sometime around then.”
     Harp stood up. “When’s her birthday?”
     “May 23rd.”
     The pugs started pawing at Harp.
     “They know, don’t they?” said Harp. “That you’re going away for a while?”
     “Yeah, they can tell.”
     Harp volunteered to help Skye carry down her things right after Skye said goodbye to her fur babies, giving them hugs, pets, and kisses.
     The pugs looked confused and worried as they left.
     They went down to the garage and Harp sat down in the driver’s seat of Skye’s Subaru hatchback, which used to be her Subaru hatchback. She felt more than out of place behind the wheel of her old car, one which she had not driven for years.
     Skye looked up at her condo as they drove out onto the street. Both of her cats were sitting in the window, looking out, their grumpy countenances plucking Skye’s nerves.
     “It’s a real drag,” said Skye. “I just moved those guys in there and now I’m about to abandon them.”
     “I’ll make sure they get extra attention.”
     “Preston’s gonna ditch Joey at my place in a couple a’ weeks.”
     “That’ll be fun!”
     At the subway station, Harp got out of the car to give Skye a quick hug.
     “Take care of the place,” said Skye as she quickly darted off for her train to the airport.
     “No more than two, three parties tops!” smiled Harp.
     Harp got back in the car, wanting to get out of the drop-off zone before she got hassled by transit cops.
     Harp started kicking herself for not checking out the food situation before leaving Skye’s place. She stopped by a convenience store and got herself a junk food dinner of chips and pre-fab pastries, just in case there was nothing to eat back at Skye’s place.
     She tried as much as possible to shove aside her apprehension as she unlocked Skye’s door.
     The dogs came running up to her as soon as she entered, jumping up and down and pawing at her.
     “Ow! Calm down guys. Those claws hurt!”
     She shooed them away as she opened a can of soda and a bag of chips. She sat down on the couch and studied the highly complex remote, managing to get the television to turn on before scrolling through a confusing array of menus, trying to find out how to latch onto a streaming service.
     She carefully placed her snack food on the coffee table, bracing herself for the dog and cat onslaught, the pathetic stares and carefully choreographed cuteness they expertly employed to ply humans for snacks.
     Harp looked around when none of the fuzzy demons had approached her.
     The dogs stood still, looking at the door, as the cats assumed loaf positions on the other end of the couch.
     The pugs occasionally glanced back at Harp as they stood by the door.
     “She’s gone guys. For a while, anyways.”
     Harp double checked the remote as she kept clicking through menus.
     Her phone buzzed.
     It was a text from Skye. “Feel free to eat whatever is in the fridge.”
     She got up and opened the fridge.
     Her eyes darted around as she saw milk, butter, cheese, cold cuts, pre-made pizza dough, flavored water and soda, and a row of eggs along with a wide variety of other foods. Looking into the freezer, she found not only frozen french fries and chicken nuggets, she also found a couple of pints of ice cream.
     Grabbing a pint of caramel de luce, she slumped down onto the couch and put her head back, looking up at the bright ceiling lights.
     “Fuck me,” she said under her breath.

Circus Tent is available on Kindle and KU

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H32R44ZN

You can find the entire Skye Wright series below.
Just click on the pic for the series!

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book-series/skye-wright-series/

The post J’Accuse! And excerpt from my newest novel Circus Tent, book 7 of my Skye Wright Rise and Fall series appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.

First one’s free! Excerpts from every single on of my currently published books, from my premiere novel Gutter Folklore to book six of my Skye Wright Rise and Fall series Needle Pictures!

Check out these free samples and bag a book or two, or three, or a dozen! Click the pic or the link just right below it.

The Rise and Fall of Skye Wright and The Return of the Dynamite Chicks

The first two books in my Skye Wright Rise and Fall series, consisting of six books with book seven, Circus tent, coming out late in May 2026 and Revenge of the Broken Hearts coming out in Summer of 2026.

The most popular excerpt from this series, Skye and here friends in a punk Biergarten!

The Mississippi Lounge – Novel Excerpt from The Rise and Fall of Skye Wright

Finding the Apex Devil Girl

Book three shows Skye working with her burgeoning band while trying to find out about her long lost best friend Casey as they travel with alt music sensation Gail Burp across the US.

A night time drive shows Skye still living the punk life as she has too many chance encounters in one night.

A Night Time Drive – Excerpt from my upcoming novel Finding the Apex Devil Girl

Nobody’s Hero

Skye and stage diving! And getting into the intrigues of the music industry, including the rumor mill. One of my longer excerpts!

Stage Diving into Nobody’s Hero – Excerpt from my newest novel!

Requiem Descent

Skye becomes lost in the face of enduring tragedy, just as her business and her band are taking off. Personal reflections and the haunting of hardcore loss threaten, not only Skye, but everything she’s built in the past couple of years.

Fwap! An Excerpt from my novel Reqiuem Descent, Book Five of the Skye Wright Series

Needle Pictures

Skye deals with the aftermath of her sudden road trip and strained friendships in the wake of loss and spite, a sudden turmoil that threatens to split apart her band and set her new business off course, as Skye tries to deal with her stormy rock and roll life.

Tattooed – An excerpt from my upcoming novel Needle Pictures

Trieste

My one and only novella! About strange and sudden family relations in the punk scene!

Du Nervst! – An excerpt from my upcoming novella Trieste

Short Songs

Tales from The Punk Side! A collection of short stories featuring the many characters from the Skyee Wright Universe, including members of her band, her best friend Preston, as well as other characters such as Gail Burp, the alt-star sensation and Lee, the twelve step Jedi formerly known as the hurricane disaster area Scather!

The Closet – A Short Story from my upcoming collection Short Songs

Blood, Skin, and Ink

Six feet tall, covered in tattoos and scars, a beautiful and imposing woman with a hundred yard stare. There is no way you could not notice her, and you will wonder who she is and what her story is. That’s what this book is about. A sex worker, a teenage runaway, a musician, an alcoholic and drug addict… few have lived the live of tumult and chaos that Miranda has known. A true woman of the world.

Living in a Squat – An Excerpt from my new novel Blood, Skin, and Ink

A Long Slow Aftermath

Another work about my main character Preston, the star of The Falling Circle. In this story, Preston is just out of rehab, trying to adjust to a world without the gauze of drugs and alcohol. He tries to make his way in a quickly gentrifying Oakland, California, caught between the working class and the upper crust techies pushing everyone out.

Coffee Walk – An excerpt from my novel-in-progress A long Slow Aftermath

Stella Maris

The sequel to What the Hell, even though it can be read as a stand alone book. Skye Wright, punk and party animal extraordinaire, faces the crossroads of her life as she turns the big three-oh. and an overheard song reminds her of a long-lost friend. Pagan weddings and fever-dream raves!

The Morning After – An Excerpt from my Novel-in-Progress Stella Maris

What the Hell Ever Happened to Yuri Rozhenko?

My punk road trip novel. This is Skye Wright’s first novel as an exclusive main character. A ride up and down the West coast as Skye searches for her long-lost boyfriend Yuri while traversing dives, underground clubs, squats, and sex worker parties.

A visit to CrustyLand – The Soup Cafe’ – An Excerpt from my Novel What the Hell Ever Happened to Yuri Rozhenko?

Crash Shadow

My book about drug addiction, about two people: one trying to get clean and sober and another sinking deeper and deeper into her addiction. Two characters who used to be a couple try to navigate their drug-centered lives in the concrete jungle.

This is basically two books, as it follows the two stories.

Sample from my novel Crash Shadow – A Note

The Clubber

My anti-hero novel set in the San Francisco clubbing world of the Eighties. A self-absorbed artist is forced to confront his true self as he tries to become a rising star in the alt-underground art world.

“Omigod, I think this guy is straight!” – An Excerpt from my Novel The Clubber

The Falling Circle

My second ever book, this one will tell you what it’s like to be a gutter punk. Not just about the hardships of being poor, but how weird it is to be poor! Cramped houses, crazy roommates, and living life on the urban edge.

In this excerpt, my main character Preston has an interesting conversation with one of his roommates about talking genitals!

Talking to Gust – An excerpt from my novel The Falling Circle

Gutter Folklore

My first ever novel. A collection of short stories in the city of San Francisco! Follow a gang of crazy punks and offset urban types who are forced to live in the same house because they cannot afford $5,000 a week in rent for a single studio. In this excerpt, a junky finds an old craving and acts on it!

Yen – When the Cheeseburger Calls – An Excerpt from my novel Gutter Folklore

All of my Books

You can find all of my books on this page. Available on Kindle, KU, and paperbacks at BookShop.org!

Books by Jeffrey Vernon Matucha

The post Try Before You Buy! Excerpts from All of my Novels! appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.

This is the very beginning of my new novel Requiem Descent, book five in my Skye Wright Rise and Fall series. Skye’s band, The Dynamite Chicks, is enjoying widespread alt-underground success, to the point where they are threatening to break out into the mainstream. But Skye’s rock and roll life catch up to her, as those around her start to fall apart, threatening to derail her as well.

In the meantime, Skye creeps around a corner, expecting an attack…

    Fwap!

     Gripping the baseball bat, she knew she was near, waiting for her.
     She brought up the bat, ready to swing as she carefully looked around the corner.
     But she was not quick enough.
     Fwap!
     “Ow! You fucker!” winced Skye as she grabbed her head.
     Molly brought back the frying pan. “What? It’s made out of rubber!”
     “Cut cut cut!” said Lanker as he waved his hands around.
     “Can we still use it?” asked Miranda, coming up behind Skye with her rubber crowbar.
     “Mmmm… gonna have to look at it first. Maybe we can use it as a kinda Three Stooges kinda thing.”
     Roach came out from behind a wall with a large rubber mallet. “Dammit. I’m never gonna bonk Molly with this thing if we keep cutting these scenes short.”
     They were outside an abandoned warehouse in West Berkeley shooting a video for the newest Dynamite Chicks song Rock Head. Their filmmaker friend, Amen Lanker, had arrived early with a graffiti artist so they could paint some of the exterior walls with bright colors. Colors Lanker referred to as “Wacky.”
     “Where’s Annie?” asked Lanker as he swiveled his head around.
     “I think she’s by the van, playing with the bomb,” said Miranda.
     Amen told the young punks who had been holding up reflectors and boom mics to take a break while he set up the next shot. He went to his van and retrieved a box made out of construction paper.
     “We ever gonna use a different filmmaker for one of our music videos?” asked Roach as she sided up next to Skye, impatiently waving around her rubber mallet.
     “Every video he’s made for us has been a hit. Let’s not fix something that’s not broken.”
     Skye brushed back her long hair as she watched the tall and skinny Lanker busy himself with lights, cameras, and props. Amen was a fixture in the local punk scene, always videotaping and recording local punk shows at just about every small music venue. He was a walking encyclopedia of Bay Area rock and roll bands, and knew virtually every musician in the Bay Area. He was also what one would refer to as a “plainclothes punk.” His short yet disheveled brown-reddish hair was never colored, and he always wore plain t-shirts. Skye had never seen him wear a band shirt.
     Amen had directed their first music video, the one for their song Atomic Bomb Betty. It had gone viral on YouTube and broke them out as the newest alt-underground sensation. Even though they were not mainstream popular, at least not yet, every punk, heavy metal headbanger, music nerd, and college radio DJ had heard of them.
     As a result, Atomic Bomb Betty was their now signature hit, a song they were obliged to play at every show.
     Roach lifted the large rubber mallet up over her head.
     “Hey!” blurted Skye. “What the fuck?”
     “I wanna bonk someone with this thing!”
     “I already got hit by Molly’s frying pan. Step off you dork!”
     Skye looked around the set as her bandmates whiled away the waiting time. Skye always thought her drummer Roach and her lead guitarist Annie were a perfect pair of friends. They were both skinny with large plumes of hair that stuck out in all directions. Annie’s frazzled dyed black hair and Roach’s curly mane of light brown hair contrasted perfectly, looking like negatives of each other.
     Annie and Roach were also the only members of the band who still drank and occasionally did drugs. Skye, her singer Molly Mix, and the statuesque Miranda, were all clean and sober, regularly attending twelve step meetings together.
     Molly and Miranda were the most recognizable members of the band. Molly was the only member of the band with short hair, which she kept dyed black and spiked. Her reputation as the singer of her former and now defunct band Bus Stop Hookers was helping to propel their local celebrity. Her marriage to Gail Burp, a rising alt-music star, helped put their band over the top, increasing their exposure and their sales.
     Miranda was, by far, the most striking member of the band. Six feet tall and built like a fifties pin-up, she was absolutely covered with scars and tattoos. As if that were not enough, her long mane of wavy black hair went down to her waist, making her look like a villain that Conan the Barbarian might have to fight.
     “We should write a song,” said Skye, “called You look like a metal band!”
     “We do look like a metal band,” said Molly.
     “Molly is the dyke Rob Halford,” said Annie.
     “Breakin’ the law! Breakin’ the law!”
     “Hey, no metal music during a punk shoot!” shouted Roach.
     “You know you’re going to lose,” sang Miranda, “an’ gamblin’s for fools, but that’s the way I like it baby I don’t want to live forever!”
     Skye saw Amen shooing along his helpers as he called for everyone to take places for the next scene.
     After what seemed like a long time of fiddling with cameras, lights, and reflectors by Amen and his young minions, he directed Skye to stand on a ladder behind one of the painted walls, holding the square paper box Amen had put together to represent a cartoon anvil. Starting the shoot, Annie came around the corner, walking along the wall, carrying an oversized plastic prop gun.
     Annie kept walking and looking around while bugging out her eyes, carefully moving her mane of heavily hairsprayed hair that Amen himself had styled so that one would always be able to see Annie’s face. Annie tried to keep her best cartoon-like expression as she walked right under Skye.
     Skye maintained her best evil-villain expression as she dropped the paper box on top of Annie’s head. It bounced off of her tangled black hair.
     “Cut!” exasperated Lanker. “Annie…”
     “I barely felt it!” protested Annie.
     “It’s supposed to be an anvil!”
     “Okay, I’ll try and do better.” Annie picked up the paper box. “How the fuck is this gonna look like an anvil?”
     “CGI,” said Lanker as he adjusted his camera. “It’ll look totes Roger Rabbit.”
     Skye leaned over the wall and looked down at Annie. “Can’t we do something to make it heavier? It’s like, way too light.”
     Amen nodded. “Sure. We can tape like, I dunno, a buncha guitar pics to it.”
     “Guitar pics?” asked Annie as she handed the box to Amen.
     “I don’t want this thing to get so heavy it actually hurts you.”
     “Rubber fryin’ pan!” bellowed Skye.
     “Quit whining you big baby!” shouted Molly.
     Skye chatted with Annie as Amen worked on the box, taping pics and other small plastic objects inside of it to make it heavier.
     Skye got back on the ladder, holding up the paper box as Annie crept around the corner again. Skye became confused when Annie stopped in place, just as she was rounding the the corner, becoming completely still, and dropped the prop gun.
     That’s when she heard the screeching tires.
     Two police cars roared up to the curb and several police officers jumped out of the cars, crouching behind their car doors with their guns drawn.
     Skye dropped the box and held up her hands as Amen held up his camera. “Video shoot! Video shoot!” he shouted. “We’re making a music video!”
     Skye’s heart froze as her skin turned ice cold. She braced herself for gunfire as Amen kept waving his camera around.
     The cops slowly walked out with their guns still drawn. “Where is it?”
     “It’s a prop gun!” said Amen, still holding up his camera.
     “Put it down!” snapped a rotund officer as he pointed his gun at Amen.
     “But this is just a camera!”
     “Amen, put the fucking camera down!” shouted Skye, raising her hands higher.
     Amen slowly put the camera down as the officers kept their guns trained on him.
     Skye strained to keep her hands up, with her flat and empty palms out.
     She could feel her heart beating in her temples as she braced herself for gunfire.
     It felt as if her heart had stopped beating when she wondered if she was going to get shot.
     The cops kept their guns out for a long time as Skye and everyone else except Amen kept their hands held as high as possible.
     Once the cops had grabbed their props and lowered their guns, everyone slowly lowered their hands as Amen kept chattering at the police officers.
     “What the fuck is this for?” growled a tall and slim cop as he cradled Roach’s large rubber mallet in his hands.
     “It’s a prop hammer,” explained Skye cautiously.
     “What are you doing with it?” asked the cop as if he were interrogating a dangerous criminal.
     “Making a music video.”
     “What does a rubber mallet have to do with making a music video?”
     “We’re tryin’ to do a cartoon-like video. Y’know, like the old Warner Brothers cartoons where they hit each other with frying pans and rolling pins.”
     The cop stared intently at the rubber mallet. Skye strained to stay silent as more than half a dozen smart comments came to mind. She thought about how, in the old days, she would sass off to police officers whenever they hassled her and her friends.
     She wondered why she was keeping her cool this time, why she was not giving them the kind of shade that she used to back in her runaway days.
     While Amen kept frantically chattering at the officers, Tandasil suddenly showed up with a woman wearing a pantsuit and carrying a briefcase. The pantsuit walked up and talked to one of the officers.
     Skye felt her body breathe a sigh of relief as the pantsuit chatted with one officer while another officer kept meticulously going over the comically oversized prop gun.
     “Cops are fuckin’ stupid,” whispered Annie through her gritted teeth. “That gun is just solid rubber. How long is it gonna take him to figure that out?”
     “I wanna know how Tandasil got down here so fast with that suit,” whispered Skye.
     “I texted her.”
     “What?”
     “Zapped her a quick text. Five-oh fucking with us on our shoot.”
     A short and stout police officer with a neatly trimmed mustache walked up to Skye. “Hey, it’s the rock star!”
     Skye recognized him. He was one of the police officers who had come by her storage unit apartment because some fans had climbed over the fence to try and find her, an incident that had taken place last year.
     “How ya doin’?” said Skye as casually as possible.
     Trimmed mustache turned to his fellow officers. “Hey guys! I know her. She’s a rock star!”
     A tall and slim cop with a sallow face walked up. “Rock star?” she asked. “Who you play for?”
     “The Dynamite Chicks,” said Skye.
     The sallow faced officer glanced at the mustache. “Dynamite Chicks? I’ve never heard of you. How can you be a rock star?”
     “Well, we play a pretty specific genre of hard rock music.”
     “My kids know who she is,” said the mustache.
     “They do?” asked sallow face.
     “They showed me their video on YouTube. They were playing at that dive down on Gilman.”
     “Dive?” said Annie through her teeth.
     “It’s a dive,” said Skye as she gave Annie a look.
     After what seemed like far too much time, most of the police officers finally left. The only remaining cop was someone who looked like a supervisor who talked at length with Tandasil and the pantsuit.
     Skye walked up to Amen. “Whattaya say? Should we keep filming?”
     “Fuck. The sun’s gone way down. If it weren’t for the pigs we coulda gotten a bunch more shots in. We’ll have to pick it up again tomorrow.”
     Skye glanced at her phone. “Can we make it between one and three? Is that enough time?”
     Amen shrugged. “I guess it’ll have to be.”
     Skye let out a long sigh as she looked around the whole scene. She did not relish having to ask her bandmates if they could wrench around their schedules for another shoot so soon.
     “Whatup boss?” asked Molly as she walked up to Skye with her rubber frying pan.
     “Amen says it’s getting too dark to keep shooting.”
     “Can’t we just break into Gilman and do some shots in there?”
     Skye rolled her eyes around for a moment. “You wanna?”
     “We’re here. We got alla these silly props and we have all night. Why not?”
     Skye walked up to Amen. “Molly thinks we should break into Gilman and just keep shooting in there.”
     Amen perked up. “Sure. We can do that.”

Requiem Descent is available on Kindle, KU, and paperbacks can be bought at BookShop.org

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book/requiem-descent-book-five-of-the-skye-wright-series/

You can find the entire Skye Wright series below.
Just click on the pic for the series!

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book-series/skye-wright-series/

The post Fwap! An Excerpt from my novel Reqiuem Descent, Book Five of the Skye Wright Series appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.

Tattooed is the first chapter from my novel-in-progress Needle Pictures, book six in my Skye Wright Rise and Fall series.

In this scene Skye deals with punk prima donnas at a tattoo convention, in a testament to her increasing influence, while she tries to deal with rock and roll life demons.

Tattooed

     The frenetic buzzing was consistent.
     It was coming from all around, from every corner.
     She remembered the old days, when it used to clank like a swarm of metal bees.
     Now, it was electric…
     And she could not stop looking at all of the ink.
     Skye was at the Juno Juliet Tattoo Convention at the Cow Palace, wandering through scores of inked up participants swirling around all of the vendor tables. The background was filled with various kinds of music coming from all corners and the buzz of multiple tattoo machines.
     All of the artists and shops had their booths set up, showing off examples of their work along with tattoo chairs and tables where they could etch their art onto willing and paying tattoo collectors who happened by their stands.
     Nearly everyone there was already sporting tattoos – on their arms, on their hands, on their calves and shins, on their necks, and some with tattoos on their faces. Skye saw all manner of tattoos: old-school flash tattoos, modern graphic designs, band logos, portraits of famous musicians and celebrities, bright and colorful cartoon characters, skulls, bones, portraits of kids or passed on loved ones, roses, tribal designs, pet portraits, and all kinds of animal tattoos.
     Skye noted some interesting pieces of work as she made her way around the crowd. She saw a young man with a large chess piece tattooed on his forearm. She was also impressed by a colorfully dressed woman with an elaborate tattoo of a sewing machine on her shoulder. Skye also noted a very well-done portrait of Nikolai Tesla.
     She also saw a colorful and elaborate tattoo on a baldy’s forearm. It was a dancing skeleton wearing ragged clothes, swinging its arms and legs in front of a tattered and torn Union Jack. She also talked to a shaggy haired second-hand-clothes-store musiciab who had a very small yet highly detailed tattoo of a cross-eyed cartoon rabbit riding a skateboard, which had some of the most exquisite detail she had ever seen on a tattoo.
     Skye tried to rein in her eyeballing as she approached a booth and flipped through one of the portfolios.
     Roach’s mass of light-brown hair was easy to spot as Roach made her way through the crowd to get to Skye.
     “I’m gettin’ a cat,” said Roach.
     “An actual cat or a tat of a cat?”
     Roach pointed towards a booth at the end of the aisle. “This way cool gal Candace is gonna do it for me. She’s makin’ the stencil right now.”
     “Nice. Why a cat though?”
     Roach humbly folded her hands. “Just a little memorial for my ma.”
     Skye scanned the crowd. She began to wonder where Preston and Miranda were. She had expected them to get there before her and Roach showed up.
     That’s when she spotted Preston’s bright blue hair in the crowd.
     “What the fuck dude!” greeted Skye as she barged up to him.
     “Traffic was a bitch and a half.”
     “You drove here?”
     “Yeah.”
     Skye rolled her eyes at Preston. “You be crazy. An’ you have to give me an’ Roach a ride back.” Skye’s eyes bounced around, looking behind Preston. “Where’s Miranda?”
     “She… decided not to come.”
     “Really? She’s the tattoo queen!”
     “Yeah. But she’s already covered, like everywhere. She hardly has any places for new tats.”
     Skye nodded. “Makes sense.”
     Skye encouraged Preston to come with her to drop in on Roach as she got her cat tattoo. As they made their way down a long aisle, they could not help stopping by a few booths. They checked out older tattooists who did more traditional work before moving to the younger artists who did fine line work. They got held up at a table of artists who combined traditional styles with intricate shading and line work. Preston talked to a young woman about getting some of his old needle-and-thread tattoos covered up.
     Someone tapped Skye on the shoulder. It was Roach.
     “I thought you were getting tatted up,” said Skye.
     “I did!”
     Roach kicked her leg up. She had a small, fluffy black cat tattooed on her ankle.
     “Seriously?” asked Skye. “She did it that quickly?”
     “Yep. She just belted it out.”
     The air shifted as people turned to look towards the entrance. Skye could hear convention attendees chattering in hushed and excited tones.
     “What the fuck is going on?” asked Skye.
     Roach stood on her tip-toes and craned her neck. She brought herself back down with a sour look on her face. “Xan is here.”
     “Oh joy,” said Skye with an eye roll.
     Skye had not seen the singer for the infamous pop punk band Hop Skivvy since his mansion party back in Chicago, when he hosted a large rock and roll bash at the Reppers mansion, a party that Tandasil had compelled her to go to for the sake of music business networking.
     “Y’gonna have to talk to him, aren’tcha’?” asked Roach quietly.
     Skye let out a long sigh. “Of course.”
     Skye tapped Preston on the shoulder, as he was still talking to an artist. “Roach already got her cat.”
     “Seriously?”
     Roach kicked up her leg so Preston could see her new ankle cat.
     Then they heard the shout.
     “Fuck you guys!”
     Skye craned her neck to see what was going on.
     “Fucking posers! Goddamn sellouts!”
     Skye recognized the brightly colored locks and dreads of her friend and label scout Trilly. She was right in the face of Xan and his two punked-out companions.
     “What the fuck is your problem?” growled Xan, trying his best to look tough in front of a woman who carried the veneer of a rough and dangerous gutter punk.
     “You fuckin’ heard me!” shouted Trilly as she brought up her hands as if she were getting ready to fight. “What the fuck are you even doing here? Why don’t you go play another corporate show for a buncha rich pricks?”
     Skye made sure not to move too fast. She walked up behind Trilly and put a hand on her shoulder.
     She could feel how tense Trilly was.
     Trilly maintained her scowl as she put her arms down. Skye started to step in front of Trilly just as the short and skinny Xan lunged forward and pushed Trilly.
     Skye managed to catch Trilly as she tried to retaliate, certain that she had just saved Xan from a broken nose.
     “Just back up,” said Skye as she walked right up to Xan.
     “Look who’s fuckin’ talkin’!” yawped Xan as he waved a hand at Skye. “Callin’ us sellouts when we got a label owner here.”
     “Yeah, right. I’m a real bigwig, just like you guys!”
     Skye kept her arms to her sides, but she was ready to strike. She knew Roach and Preston had stepped up behind her.
     Xan scowled at Skye as his two skinny and carefully coiffed green and red haired punk companions tried their best to look intimidating. Skye could tell they were nervous despite their tough guy stares.
     She could also tell Xan was not sure what to do.
     She had no illusions about which side the crowd would fall on if things started to get out of hand.
     Skye walked up to Xan, waving her hand behind her to let her friends know she wanted them to back off.
     “Come on Xan,” said Skye as Xan remained still. “Just ignore the crazy punk an’ let’s us go get a cup of coffee.”
     Xan looked stunned when Skye put an arm around him and started guiding him to the snack stand. She did so even though she was more than a little concerned about what her friends and Xan’s friends would do without their leaders.
     “What the fuck is her problem?” growled Xan as he glanced back at Trilly.
     Skye took her arm back as they kept walking to the snack stand. “She’s just fronting. Don’t worry about her.”
     “You know her?” growled Xan.
     They stopped at the end of the snack stand line. “She’s one of my scouts.”
     Xan looked right at Skye as he furrowed his brow. “She works for you? Did you tell her to mess with me?”
     “Of course not! She’s one of the fuck ups I keep around so I can stay in touch with the trenches.”
     “What the fuck does that mean?
     “You know, get the goods on Gilman, an’ Burnt Ramen, an’ places like that.”
     “Gimme a fuckin’ break. You can’t just go to those places yourself?”
     Skye rolled her eyes. “Every musician in the Bay Area knows who I am. They know I run a record label. They act different around me. If they’re hanging out with sketchy gutter punks who do stupid shit like Trilly then they act like themselves.”
     Xan’s expression softened.
     Skye glanced back at the intersection where the confrontation had taken place. She saw Preston talking to Forty, Xan’s bass player. They looked as if they were having a casual chat.
     Xan insisted on paying for their cups of coffee. They walked over to one of the indoor picnic tables on the far side of the auditorium.
     As they sat down. Skye noticed Xan’s appearance. Somehow his tan skin had become extra clear. His dyed-black hair was spiked, but it looked as if it had been styled by a professional. She also noted that his dark brown eyes looked different somehow, as if he were wearing makeup.
     “Fuckin’ wingnut,” groused Xan as he sat down. “I don’t know why assholes like her have to screech at me. Don’t they know what I’ve done for the scene?”
     Skye bobbed her head around. She wasn’t sure how far she wanted to get into their sellout reputation.
     She took a sip of coffee and slowly set it down as Xan glared across the auditorium.
     “Seriously though, what was up with that?” asked Xan.
     “Come on Xan, are you gonna make me say it?”
     Xan sat back and gave her a confused look. Skye could not tell if he was actually confused or if he was contriving a mood.
     “I mean, a lot of people think you’ve strayed from your roots,” said Skye, “and not for nothin’.”
     “Come on, not even you guys could play Gilman anymore.”
     Skye crossed her eyes. “Not even us guys!”
     “You know what I mean. Where we are…”
     “Sure, I get it. I recently tried to talk The Jolly Sturms outta playin’ Gilman. They’re getting too big for places like that. But, I mean… fucking Salesforce?”
     Xan’s face dropped. He looked at Skye with cold and surprised eyes. “Just so you know, we had them shell out big time for some of the animal rescues around here. That was the price of our playin’ there.”
     “I’m not sayin’ you haven’t done a lot for the scene…”’
     “You know what those small clubs would be like without our support? Or all the bands we helped stay together so they could make it past the broken down van and livin’ with fifty roommates stage? Does that count for nothin’?”
     “I know all that. Whattaya think I’m tellin’ people when they bag on you guys? But fuckin’ mansion parties?”
     “Please. You know how many people want to jam into our parties? We didn’t do it to act like rich pricks. We needed a place that could handle that mob.”
     “Okay, sure. But what you’ve done for the scene, right? Isn’t the word ‘done’, and not ‘doing?’”
     Xan let his eyes wander as he sipped his coffee.
     “I’m not tryin’ to bag on ya’,” continued Skye, “I’m jus’ tryin’ to let you know how some people feel, like Trilly, even though she gets too fucked up about it.”
     Xan pointed at Skye. “Just you wait. When things start blowing up for you, people are gonna start callin’ you posers. Wait until you have gutter punks shouting in your face, telling you you’re a sellout.”
     “That’s already happened. I tossed a singer off of his stage because he was given’ me shit about being a sold out ‘poser.’”
     Skye looked behind her when she sensed another buzz in the crowd. People were stopping and slowing down while staring and gawking towards the entrance, once again.
     “Sounds like somebody else showed up,” said Xan.
     “What? Another rock star?”
     Xan gave Skye a pointed glare before his face suddenly dropped. “Uh oh, I know who it is.”
     “Who?”
     “I can’t see her, but I can see her pretty boys.”
     That was all Skye needed to know.
     Damage had arrived.
     Skye quickly and carefully glanced behind her before turning back to Xan. Xan had scrunched his shoulders, taking a sip of his coffee as if he was trying to hide behind his cup.
     “This should be interesting,” said Skye.
     “No shit.”
     Skye leaned on the table. “So if a brawl breaks out, which side are you gonna be on?”
     “Y’mean when you drop her like a sack of potatoes with one punch? Again? Me an’ my crew are just gonna watch.”
     “Really? Just stand on the sidelines?”
     Xan leaned back. “That fight won’t last long.” He tossed his head in the direction of Damage. “You know you fucked up all her macho cred when you belted her at that wedding.”
     “Honest, I didn’t mean to punch her out. It was just a reflex when she pushed me.”
     “Yeah, you reflexed her into lame-o land.”
     Skye let out a scoff. “Like she wasn’t already there.”
     Skye turned and observed the commotion brought on by the arrival of the former singer for The Drill Bits who had taken off with her own solo career. The memory flash of her fist shooting out and connecting with her glass jaw at Gail and Molly’s wedding was running on repeat.
     Skye had mixed feelings about having knocked her out.
     She felt a hand on her shoulder. Xan had stood up.
     “Honestly, if shit goes down, my crew will be right there,” said Xan as he waved his coffee cup in the direction of his gang of friends. “I mean, Damage is the real sell out here.”
     Skye stood up and patted him on the back. “Thanks Xan, but I don’t think it’ll get that far.”
     “She might have a bigger posse with her than those two pretty boy dorks y’know.”
     “Could be.”
     Xan walked back to his gang as Skye walked up to Trilly and gave her a light punch in the arm.
     “You gonna rein it in?” asked Skye.
     “Yeah, yeah,” said Trilly as if she were an exasperated employee.
     Skye walked past Preston and Forty. She gave Preston a quick pat on the shoulder, grateful that he had stepped in to help diffuse the situation.
     Skye looked around the tables, all while she was careful to keep Damage in the corner of her eye.
     Damage had not changed much since she last saw her at Gail and Molly’s wedding. Her leather jacket was properly old enough, covered with a few carefully and strategically placed patches. Her band shirt was brand new, as was her slick black jeans, but her slightly older Doc Marten boots looked positively preconceived. Her shoulder-length dyed black hair was just out of place, with a few random strands that had been carefully ratted out, just enough to look like she was not trying when she really was. Her entire look was painstakingly designed to make her look like a run-of-the-mill yet slick and down-with-the-street rocker. Skye could tell she had spent quite some time getting a very particular look down, even for something as innocuous as a tattoo convention.
     Damage stopped to talk to one of the artists. Skye looked in her direction while she was also trying her best to blend in, to appear to be just another casual gawker.
     Skye walked through the crowd and set herself at a corner booth, one that was just a few tables away from Damage. She knew Roach, Preston, and Trilly were coming up behind her, but she waved them off, quickly flapping her hand at them until they reluctantly backed off.
     Only a few people recognized Skye, looking between her and Damage with wide eyes, acting as if they were getting ready to make a break for it if a brawl broke out.
     Damage kept talking for a few more minutes before Skye saw her snap her eyes around.
     She had spotted Skye.
     Damage turned around and slowly walked down the aisle, her tall and slim Goth boys obediently trailing behind her. The tattooist she had been talking to stood still with a look of bewilderment, wondering why Damage had suddenly turned away.
     Preston walked up. “You gonna say hi to her?”
     “Fuck no.”
     “No throwdowns?”
     Skye shook her head. “Ain’t no fight gonna happen here. I mean, as long as she doesn’t try anything.”
     Preston waved a hand in Damage’s direction. “She ain’t gonna do nothin’!”
     “You sure?”
     Preston looked around the crowd. “Not unless she’s got a lotta backup here, an’ I don’t think she does.”
     Skye wondered how a showdown would go if Miranda was around.
     And then she remembered, she was there to get a quickie tattoo, if only she could find an artist who wasn’t already busy.
     Skye asked Roach to take her to Candace, to see if she was available to give Skye a quick tattoo. Roach guided her down a row and they found Candace tattooing the shoulder of a tall and skinny Goth girl who blurted “Holy Crap! You’re Skye Wright!”
     Skye talked to Candace as she tattooed the starstruck skinny Goth girl. Candace let her know there were a few people ahead of her.
     Skye and Roach decided to roam the tables they had yet to visit. They stopped at a table of young tattooists who had come down from Sacramento.
     Looking around, Skye spotted Damage a few aisles over.
     She was talking to Xan.

You can find the entire Skye Wright series below.
Just click on the pic for the series!

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book-series/skye-wright-series/

The post Tattooed – An excerpt from my upcoming novel Needle Pictures appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.

Download and print out these cards and then take them to a show!
When you see the appropriate shirt, mark it off. First one to
complete a row is the winner!

The post Punk T-Shirt Bingo appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.

The following are quotes from my punk novella Trieste, a tale of strange and sudden family relations in the punk scene.

Power punk couple Miranda and Preston have their worlds turned around by the appearance of a pixie punk. as the past comes around to haunt them.

Think of the following quotes them as mini-excerpts!

    “I am not cute! I’m mean an’ ugly an’ scary!”

    “Well, I remember the phrase ‘Du nervst, du Scheisskopf,’ but I still don’t know what it means.”

     “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” smiled Miranda. “I might think it’s an ex.”
     “Like, one of the exes I should be worried about?”

     “Okay, who here likes Human League?” shouted Molly after their third song. Molly’s question was met with hawks and heckles from the collected audience.

    “You fucking nailed it, you gorgeous bitch!”

    Miranda sat back, glancing around the late-night burger diner with all of its faux retro decorations. It was crowded with punks from the Gilman show. Half of the crowd had dyed-black hair, while many of the other half had bright and colorful locks; dyed green, blue, fire-engine red, and one particularly noticeable punk with a leopard skin print mohawk.
     Most everyone was wearing leather jackets, old army surplus jackets, flight jackets, and denim jackets, usually covered with patches and pins. A number of people in the crowd looked like college students, small groups of people who had been at the show who were just wearing band shirts and didn’t have any of the typical punk affectations that were so common among that tribe.

    “Do you have some sorta problem with me makin’ more money than you?”
     “No! Of course not. Honestly, it’s kinda nice havin’ a sugar momma.”

    “There’s no such thing as paranoia!”

    “You guys need any help?” asked Miranda as she walked up to the stage.
     “Yeah,” said Trilly as she whipped her dreads out of her face. “Molly left a vibrator up my ass. It’s still on. Y’think you could reach in an’ get it?”
     “Hell no. Molly put it in there, so make her get it out!”

    “Is there anything else I should know about you?”
     “Well, we can have a sit down sometime an’ go through the list.”

    I’m wondering how these guys got so damn popular though, bein’ as almost all of their songs are in that funny foreign language.”
     “Hell, you can’t understand half the shit regular English singers are sayin’.”

    Miranda knitted her brow. “Why are you getting so suspicious?”
     “Because The Dynamite Chicks keep getting bigger and bigger, and that means more people coming around, nosing into things an’ trying to hustle. Hell, industry reps are starting to stalk other members of the band besides Skye, trying to sneak in.”

    “Sometimes my junky instincts clue me in on bullshit I’d rather not know about.”

    “Hey, me n’ Miranda caught someone checkin’ you out.”
     “Sure you did,” snarked Preston.
     “No, really! She was lookin’ at you like you were a forty ouncer!”

     Miranda pointed at the scar on her neck. “I didn’t get that because I cut myself shaving. I got it from a fight I started, a fight I started for completely stupid reasons.”

     “Honestly, I don’t think I could live a boring life if I tried.”

    Miranda sat back down as she felt a wave of embarrassment. “Don’t be too impressed. I’m just another fucked-up punk.”
     Trieste looked at her with deep eyes. “How can you say that?”
     “What? It’s true. I’ve been a hot mess all my life.”
     Trieste fixed her eyes on Miranda. “You know how many punks have a mad crush on you? How many people just think you’re a fucking god, tall an’ beautiful and ripping up the stage all the time? Do you have any idea how many people want you to be in their bands?”
     Miranda looked down at the floor as Trieste kept talking.
     “I know half a dozen girls my age learnin’ to play bass, or who want to be a singer, just because a’ you an’ Molly. You ain’t no fucked-up punk. You ain’t like the rest. All those girls would be crushed to hear you say that.”

     She saw another punk grab a chair and slowly sit down. She was short and thin with stringy multi-colored hair that flayed out in all directions. She was wearing an old and cracked leather jacket and hobbling along with a walking cane.
     Miranda had noticed her slight limp when she walked up. She soon noticed her crow’s feet, a few deep lines in her face, and random strands of gray hair poking through her hair dye.
     Miranda looked down at her feet. She wondered about her body, how she had put it through so much abuse from drinking, junk, and fighting. She felt the tight parts of her body, the spots with thick skin where she had been cut, where she had cut herself, along with the scars from all of the club and alleyway fights. She felt the thick scar on her neck throb.
     It was an odd feeling for her, thinking about her age. She was just past thirty, but she thought about how she was less than a decade away from being forty.

Grab a copy of Trieste here!

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book/trieste/

Miranda’s life story is told in my novel Blood, Skin, and Ink

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book/blood-skin-and-ink/

Miranda Scholl first appeared in my novel A Long Slow Aftermath.
The story of Preston’s journey after drug rehab.

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book/a-long-slow-aftermath/

Miranda is also a major supporting character in my two book series The Rise and Fall of Skye Wright. Buy the Rise and Fall series here:

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book-series/skye-wright-series/

Click the pic of young Miranda to
see another sneak peek of the very beginning of her novel!

The post Quotes from my Novella Trieste appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.

In my Rise and Fall of Skye Wright book series Skye teams up with her old friend Annie to reform their band The Dynamite Chicks. This happen in book two, The Return of The Dynamite Chicks.

When Skye ran into Annie and was inspired to reform her old band, she started something that began to grow and take off, leading her up to, not only an alt-music hit that went viral, but also a life course that led her to owning a recording studio and record label, events taking her places she never knew she would go.

But what exactly do The Dynamite Chicks sound like? I posted about the bands that influenced The Dynamite Chicks, which just happen to be some of my favorite bands and performers, so that might give you some idea as to what they sound like, but the bands are varied enough that you still might wonder.

Given the diverse range of musicians in the band, from Skye to her bass player Miranda, the tall and intimidating Devil Girl, to Roach, a seasoned drummer from the scene, to the undergound super star Molly, a singer made famous in the punk scene with her old band Bus Stop Hookers… their sound couldn’t be pigeonholed to one particular style. The experience of the band members runs the gamut from new wave to rockabilly to straight punk to music that sounds like barbed wire going through a meat grinder.

Here’s my attempt at nailing down what the band’s sound and style is like.

The first book of my Skye Wright series.
You can find this book here!

Pop Punk? Why not?

Sometimes I believe their sound would sometimes sway more to a straight up rock and roll sound, or even verge on pop punk, which would explain their going viral. I think of songs like this…

I can easily imagine The Dynamite Chicks going with
this style by the A-Lines. This is also just a song
I really like, letting my bias get in the way!.

But let’s be realistic…

When I really think about it, my inclination for their sound is that they trend more towards harder and hectic songs. The Svetlanas is a good example of how I envision their music. I also imagine Molly Mix’s singing style to be much like that off Olga Svetlana. (Without the Russian accent, of course!)

This song comes the close to how I envision The Dynamite chick’s general sound to be like.

Down in the Dirt…

But there are, and would have to be, much more hardcore elements to their sound, especially considering the bands all of them had been in before.. Something like this, one of my fave bands from the day.

Retching Red embodies the kind of sound
and style of Skye’s earlier bands

Going too far?

Let’s get realistic again… Skye and her friends are big fans of the real deal, the hardcore sound that goes off the edge. Would they play music like this? Many of them, especially Annie and Molly, have been in bands that go the extra hardcore mile, but the sounds goes past where they center themselves. Even so, bands like Discharge, Fucked Up, and this band Slutbomb are definitely mine, and their, favorite bands. They wouldn’t go this far with what they do. (At least not all the time.) Even so, it’s a big influence which helps drive some of their more loud and fast songs.

One of my fave bands, as I have a fondness for groups whose music sounds like a violent
nervous breakdown made music! A Dynamite Chicks influence? For sure! Would they go this
far? Occasionally sure, but maybe a bit over the line for their particular sound.

Of course they would combine elements of the bands I already listed in my previous post – The attitude of Bikini Kill, the drive of L7, the screaming voices of Brody Dalle and Kate Bjelland… but their combination of punk and hardcore would be exemplified by the various talents of the band members.

But why would they get so popular so quickly? Is that even realistic?

Everyone in the reformed version of The Dynamite Chicks are veteran musicians. They’ve already played tons of shows at clubs, they’ve all been on broken down van tours, and they’ve already been in so many bands, usually bands that didn’t last very long which was frustrating for them as musicians, but gave them quite a bit of playing experience. All of them managed to garner qunot just playing experience, but also learned how to work within and manage being in a band.

And it’s not just experience. Most of the members of The Dynamite Chicks are clean and sober, and the two that aren’t are, (more or less,) past their extreme party days. Living more sedate and organized lives has helped them keep the act going strong.

Can they become actual rock stars though?

There is something to be said about trying to break into the mainstream. Some undergound acts that dwell in the alt genres do, but most of them do not.

Could The Dynamite Chicks really become pop star successful? Realistically that’s unlikely. Many people think about acts such as The Cadillac Tramps and The Mekons, bands that many people believed should have broken out into the mainstream, but never did. Even though they have tons of adoring fans who believe they should have been much more successful than they were, that they should’ve been breakout successes, they never quite got the recognition and outreach that many people believed they deserved.

As for The Dynamite Chicks, where will they go? At this time I’ve finished the manuscript for book six, am working on book seven, and have the outline for book eight. Will Skye’s band break out and become big time? Or only successful in the punk/alt/heavy music scenes? Will they fall apart before they get anywhere else? Or just cruise along where they are? Even I can’t tell you that. At least not yet.

As for what they sound like, I hope you have a better idea given what I’ve gone over. They don’t sound just like any of the bands I’ve mentioned, as I’ve only referenced those acts as a matter of style and influence. The Dynamite Chicks have their own sound, within the punk genre. And the mix of experience and talent within that group makes them so much more dynamic than other bands.

The post What do the Dynamite Chicks sound like? appeared first on Terminal Berkeley Denizen.