I am... a Character: Anthology

By PJ Colando

I am a storyteller, a loyal wife, and a vibrant, fun-loving friend. My credo is "everyone needs to know their life matters." Even me. I AM... a Character.

 

I am ardent, authentic, and undeniably out-going. My husband calls me a walking exclamation. point!

 

I've been repeatedly told that my smile and hugs are the Best. You'll likely find the tale of some exuberant adventure or a grief tale in these pages. There's wisdom, sarcasm and laughter, too. All to be enjoyed with exuberance.

 

I call my genre 'loos with the truth.' There might be facts embedded or overlaid in the fiction. The converse is true, too. As you read each story, be a detective - ask yourself which is which?

• Language: English
• Publisher: PJ Colando
• Release date: Sep 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781795525480

Book preview

Stashes by PJ Colando

Baby Boomer parents gallivant around the country in an RV, leaving the family farm in the care of their immature son

and his conniving wife. What could go wrong?

"PJ Colando has a natural gift for characterization and a very good ‘dialogue ear’. Her book, Stashes, is definitely funny."

– Mike Foley, Writers’ Review

"PJ Colando’s sprightly novel shines its light on an uncommon slice of contemporary Americana, a Midwest culture most often viewed from flyover range. Dismayed by a cynical world gone to hell? Stashes’ hearty protagonists good-humored cussing, rewarded kindness, and luck synched with prayer might just be your antidote."

– Art Plotnik, author of Spunk and Bite, Better than Great,

and numerous other how-to-write and fiction books

I was immediately drawn to this book because the people on the cover could be my parents. The image really captures the relatability of the main characters and their situation. The mingling of generations is very natural and, again, relatable. Interesting use of bouncing between Amy’s perspective in some chapters—this breaking down of the third wall allows readers to, again, see the difference in generational perspectives.

– 2015 Benjamin Franklin Awards Review

"The author of Stashes uses an interesting technique in switching narrators and, in doing so, the reader gets a better feel for the personalities of the characters, primarily Jackie and Amy. The book is filled with clever turns of phrase, which add to the story and keep the reader engrossed in it. Because many people occasionally dream of traveling the country in a similar fashion to Steve and Jackie’s trip, Stashes is even more entertaining. Amy and Brandon are a bit frustrating to read about since they seem to keep stumbling into financial and even legal trouble, but as the book concludes, things seem to end in a satisfying manner."

– Red City Review

Hashes & Bashes by PJ Colando

A charismatic outsider arrives on a small Midwest farm,

claiming to be kin. The entire community embraces him, but—when he gets rich quick—suspicions arise. Can chaos be contained?

"With an insider’s glimpse of life on a Midwestern dairy farm, and the solid, loyal people who live in its small-town community, HASHES & BASHES entertains us with daily life amid high drama. It’s a humorous contrast between the simple and complicated, the ins and outs of a farm family who have surprising secrets and make this novel intriguing.

PJ Colando’s work is authentic, passionate, and witty. But underneath the turmoil of conflict and betrayal, I sense a deep love of the land between each line in the book. Over and over the farm is saved, the land kept pure, a way of life preserved. The abiding goodness of a most traditional way of life is held sacred, no more so than around the dinner table with Jackie at its head. Jackie is the quintessential farm wife, ever ready to resolve all issues with good food, even with an extra dash. While all the chaos ensues around her, Jackie can dish it up. And so can PJ Colando!"

– Kate Farrell, Author and former librarian

"As anyone who has seen a truly great concert can attest, it is easy to tell when the artists on stage are enjoying themselves. In the case of PJ Colando’s Hashes & Bashes, it is equally obvious that she is an author who is having a wonderful time with her story.

And there is more going on than first meets the eye, not only in reference to the entertaining and sometimes provocative plot, but with the writer herself. While employing many of the tropes that firmly root this book in the soft-boiled/cozy genre, she does so with an edge and a sly wink, and a distinct sense of nostalgia woven into the seams that adds warm dimension to the characters and evolving narrative.

With a poet’s heart for detail, and gimlet-eyed humor undergirded by compassion and empathy, Colando provides uncommon insights into her characters’ souls that are both witty and wicked.

An entertaining and timely adventure told with equal parts humor and heart. Well done, PJ Colando."

– Baron R. Birtcher, LA Times best-selling

author of the forthcoming title, Reckoning

"Cast of colorful characters - CHECK

Authentic sense of place - CHECK

Entertaining and humorous - CHECK

Conflict and plot twists - CHECK

Page turner - CHECK

Hashes and Bashes is a five-star tale, penned by an extremely competent writer. PJ Colando definitely knows her eclectic characters well and plops the reader right alongside them in a Midwest farming community. I thoroughly enjoyed this lighthearted romp and can imagine it celebrated as a weekly show on the small screen. I recommend this upbeat book to anyone who needs an escape from cable news. And who doesn’t."

– Nancy Klann, author of The Clock of Life

Everything PJ writes in funny!

– Amy Wallen, author of When We Were Ghouls,

Moonpies and Movie Stars, Associate Director

of the New York State Summer Writers Institute

The Winner’s Circle by PJ Colando

A trio of gal pals—mired in middle age, Middle America, and

other people’s problems—long to escape. A lottery win funds wanderlust, but home is where the heart is—right?

A stylish, comic tale about unexpected changes in life.

– Kirkus Reviews

"Join the endearing, intrepid folks from Michigan for the trip of a lifetime. The Winner’s Circle is a riotous romp."

– Larry Porricelli, President of the Southern

California Writers Association

"The Winner’s Circle by PJ Colando is a delight. Three women, one more quirky than the next, negotiate a humorous setup that pays off in the most satisfying ways possible. Like the old maxim says, ‘Writing drama is easy; Writing humor is hard’, but Colando pulls it off with aplomb and panache. In these dark times, it helps to have writers like PJ Colando letting some of the light back into life."

– Jeff Lyons, Author, Anatomy of a Premise Line: How to Master Premise and Story Development for Writing Success

"Motivated by faith, lust, and money (lotto money), three kick-ass church ladies from the land of Hellman’s and Velveeta head ‘Down Under’ for a high-octane pursuit of life, liberty, and pursuit of the Americana dream. In The Winner’s Circle, PJ Colando combines her Midwestern roots with her keen wit for a heady cocktail of hilarity, sin, and redemption."

– Maddie Margarita, organizer of LIT-UP OC and

author of the forthcoming book, Hit Me!

"Heartfelt and delightful! Prepare to become addicted to funny, funny prose. Like the heroine, you’ll win the lottery with The Winner’s Circle."

– Chris Lentz, author of My Friend Marilyn

I AM... a

character

Short Story Collection

PJ Colando

FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Advertencia Antipirateria del FBI: La reproducción o distribución no autorizada de una obra protegida por derechos de autor es ilegal. La infracción criminal de los derechos de autor, incluyendo la infracción sin lucro monetario, es investigada por el FBI y es castigable con pena de hasta cinco años en prisión federal y una multa de $250,000.

I AM... a character

First Edition

Copyright © 2019 PJ Colando

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author.

This story is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establish­ments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

BISAC Codes:

LCO019000 LITERARY COLLECTIONS / Women Authors

HUM012000 HUMOR / Topic / Men, Women & Relationships

BIO026000 BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs

Editor: Pamela Sheppard

Interior Formatting, Copy Editing: Debra Cranfield Kennedy

Author Photo: Larry Colando

Cover Illustrator: 99designs

My credo is "Everyone needs to know

their life matters." Even me.

I’m thankful for my trifecta of muses:

Larry, my parents, and Me. I Am... a character.

Table of Contents

Faith

Return to the Light....................................................................19

Go West, Young Woman.........................................................21

Wisdom from an Old Tractor Seat............................................23

Salvation Army Bell Ringer........................................................29

I’ll Have Sushi With That.........................................................31

A Woman of Strength.............................................................41

She is Me...................................................................................43

Dear Girl Series of Blog Posts................................................46

Pray Without Ceasing............................................................53

Sudden Impact..........................................................................55

Three 300-word stories.............................................................59

Vicki Allen’s Eulogy....................................................................63

Family

A Kiss and a Hug........................................................................69

My Best Friend..........................................................................77

Ticket to Ride.............................................................................79

Father of the Prom Date + Two................................................87

For Richer, For Poorer, For Thin...............................................92

Going, Going, Gone...............................................................101

Surfer Dude Conversation......................................................102

Women are from Venus; Men are from Mars.......................105

Upholder, a Salute to Uncle Lar..............................................107

Onomatopoeia, the Ultimate in Wordplay..............................113

I Said, I Have Breast Cancer...................................................115

Scruffy Stuffy Quilty Dog...........................................................118

Good-Bye...................................................................................128

Angel Investor.........................................................................131

Frenzy

CSI: OC.......................................................................................147

Wright/Night Plight...................................................................154

Fiction Ain’t Always Fiction, as a Matter of Fact......................164

Visit Grandma Minnie...............................................................177

Frequent Flyer Blues 2010........................................................182

One Day in Bangkok..................................................................190

A Deva Slice...........................................................................200

Starbucks Daze........................................................................209

You Can Bank on the Breeze.....................................................213

Steak, Salad, Rancor..................................................................221

Night Flight................................................................................225

Why I Write...............................................................................233

Preface

I call my short story fiction genre loose with the truth because there is always, always, always a kernel of truth in the fiction I flash. Some members of my writers’ groups have become confused after they read one of my short stories, certain it was a personal essay despite my disclaimer.

Some have begun to weep because of strong emotion evoked by a tale of visiting a doctor. No one believes that a single picture can sprout a short story with powerful dynamic. My fiction is often more believable than the non-fiction within my tale. As the famed author, Robert Crais, says, I’m just making sh** up— and, to some people, it resounds.

I guess that makes me a story-teller, a talent that has evolved. I never fibbed when I was a kid. Did you?

Some stories are powered by a rant or a personal pet peeve or an encounter that perplexed me. One of these grew into a book, compelled by a need to tell more, to show more, and to create. My opinions have long been submerged due to polite rules of culture, especially when raised in the ’50s in the Midwest. Every Boomer-aged woman I know can recite, in the same sing-song tone: If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.

I relaxed into this mantle of overt story-telling when I heard Fannie Flagg mention the same manner of upbringing in the South. She confessed to maintaining a rich inner dialogue—studded with sarcasm and sass-back—through life when hemmed in by polite politics of discourse. And, she mined this terrain to produce stories, her vision, her point of view, often hilarious, always cohesive, always whip-crackingly smart with insights. And, a catalogue of best-selling books. She is my icon for slice of life tales.

I’ve exorcized demons, retorted in print to people who’ve been unkind, and changed my point of view with writing as an algorithm for life. I’ve gained empathy, deepened my resistance, and resolved problems that will never resolve in real life.

I write to learn what I’m thinking rather than remain locked in my feelings. Sometimes I even write to process feelings. I write to feel less insecure.

I can’t, couldn’t, won’t imagine life without the ability to write. I think I’d go crazy . . . or else suffer emotional death. A kibosh of monumental proportion on my spunky spirit.

As it is, I no longer brain-bitch, a euphemism gleaned from one of my favorite Hoosiers . . . I write.

Return to the Light

EDIFY online magazine, January 2018

Amidst the escalating stampede to preempt modern civility, it’s become difficult to listen to one’s inner truth, the spirit that’s attached to one’s soul. My mind is too restive to meditate, and the raging fires in nearby California hills caution against candle use. Music might lull, but my husband prefers to rock and roll.

For me, clairvoyance visits during simple acts, like washing a cup from afternoon tea, when my hands are engaged and my feet must plant. I enjoy the solitude, the safety of the perfunctory.

My cup clean and stashed in the cupboard, ready for tomorrow’s refreshment, I sprayed the sink to complete dishwashing as my mama had coached. As I cocked the faucet handle back into place, the still, small, genderless voice sparked: Go watch the sunset at the beach. Tomorrow will be a new day.

Compelled to hurry after a glance at the clock, I rallied my husband from his La-Z-Boy, where he lay prone to elevate his feet. We’d walked a bit that day as part of my self-prescribed program to recoup skills diminished by his stroke. Rest was required to complete the process, my fervent attempt to restore and prolong his earthly life.

Thirty-two years of marriage fostered his compliance, to surge awake, out of the chair, and into our van. Within minutes we were at the beach, parked in a sparsely populated, blacktopped lot within fifty feet of a small set of picnic tables under a shelter. Only locals, and those who launched small fishing boats eager to furnish a family meal or supply small restaurants that catered to tourists, knew the place. Little renown and relative secrecy amplified the view.

I helped my husband from the car, an increasingly called-for assist, and we walked carefully toward the rocky shore. A dozen other sunset worshippers were already in place, eyes affixed to the rapidly sinking sun. Dang, a couple was seated at the concrete picnic table that I’d planned as our destination.

Suddenly this couple turned, stood, and began walking rapidly toward us, as if we were the final bowling pins to clear from the day’s path. In our less-than-stable state this trajectory was an unwelcome sight. I clung to my husband’s arm as much as he clung to mine. Two pillars are better than one, a truth scribed by Khalil Gibran.

What a joy to run into you! preceded their reach, thank God. And, in that moment, I recognized dear friends we hadn’t seen in nine years, after they’d moved to another state. Their hugs were sublime.

How wonderful to have them in our orbit once more, before we both passed on. We have no need to lout-mouth. We enjoy each other’s song: light-hearted, affirming, and attuned in appreciative amity and love.

...

PJ Colando  | 

Go West, Young Woman

So, here’s a story. It may be truth, it may be fiction. For the record, it’s not me. But it is a fairly good tale.  😉

On this date fifty years ago, my New England parents put me in the car with two soldiers, recently returned from Vietnam. The uniform inspired such trust. My worldly goods in one suitcase and a backpack, off we went. Two thousand miles without speedy Interstates to ease the drive. With three drivers, the trip took just thirty hours. Stops only to refuel the vehicle and our bodies, and to take a leak. These were soldiers used to lengthy treks as ordered, so they had little sympathy for a girl’s anguish. Because I grew up with brothers, pride dictated that I be one of the boys and not wet myself.

It’s a good thing that bottled water wasn’t available—didn’t exist as a product—to exacerbate the need. It’s a bad thing there were no cells, to phone home. Brave be.

The group arrived in Fort Collins, Colorado, at 3 a.m. The boys headed to bunk, somewhere, and I checked in—alone—to the Great Northern Hotel. The desk clerk squint-eyed a single, unescorted female with one bag, one pack, no purse. Scuffed tennies, no hooker heels . . .

At least I had luggage, not just a toothbrush in my jacket pocket like Dustin Hoffman sneaking up to see Mrs. Robinson. My outfit was likely bell-bottom jeans, a long-sleeved tee, and a winter coat, so I was good there. My hair must have been wild without time for shampooing, even combing, after the fast-tracked road trip. While not having a means to phone my folks might have been worrisome, at least there was no cell camera to record my look for history. You invent your own image and we’ll leave it at that.

I’d already spent the cash stashed in my purse, so no means to pay. I’d been given a pack of blank checks from my father’s desk . . . but I didn’t know how to write a check(!), and credit cards were not yet ubiquitous. Not possible for a single, unmarried woman to have her own account. The dark days before Women’s Lib.

I turned on my heel, click-clacked down the hall to the women’s restroom, relieved myself and washed up, then locked myself in a stall, herding my backpack and bag around me for warmth. Somehow, I slept through the night. Then next morning, I held my head high as I walked to the nearby restaurant.

The plucky cafe waitress served me coffee and hotcakes, bacon on the side . . . on her tab.