motel                   Submitted a new, raw poem here:

to their BAD SUMMER JOBS open call for poetry, fiction, and short plays.  I’ve sure had bad summer jobs!


This one had dogs, blood, and me running away from that motel job as fast as my 14-year old self could.  I don’t normally swear, but this poem called for it to be true to life.

If I were honest, this writing would be even more raw and awful, for it was an unsafe difficult job–but paid $4 an hour! A fortune we thought back then. I literally ran out of the motel, terrified.  Had I been older, I might have been amused, but I was working when (illegally) very young there.

I’m old enough to remember when most places didn’t care to check on your age. They really didn’t.  If some “official” wanted to see birth certificates, I’d just quit and go back in a week or so.

Did that at a fast food place, but that’s another story too. WHAT I LEARNED THERE! That I was not cut out for manual labor.  That work was very hard for very little money. That you needed to be strong to work in many fields.  That I would need an education to become something other than one who was burning self all day on fryers or fighting off men in motels…

Now back to the issue:

The call for submissions to the BAD SUMMER JOBS ends at end of day tomorrow, so if you are interested, check it out and get writing! They are accepting poetry, fiction, and plays about this theme.

Oh–a positive aspect about this publication? It splits all profits from sales of their print publications and e-books.

Thanks for reading.