Sam the Sham is Happy that the World is in the Toilet [Fierce Anticipa...

Well dear readers, it’s Sam the Sham again. Let’s not waste much time with me delving into an esoteric reason as to why I am disgruntled with stuff. Just know it involves summer camp, mononucleosis, Transformers 3, giant spiders, not going to Comic Con, and a can of black olives. There. Now...

FIERCE ANTICIPATION: Sam the Sham Edition

FOREWORD This week’s Fierce Anticipation blogumnist is an attempted screenwriter, noted hundred-aire (NOT SURE I GET THIS), and sandwichsmith, Sam the Sham. Sam is a regular in Single Serving Films’ weekly shorts (on Facebook and Youtube), his own blog (TooLong2Tweet), and is the...

Fierce Fiction: Fireflies

. a small MIranda story by Aimee Swartz Photo by Coso Blues The day my dad died was the longest day of the year. Usually, we counted down to this day all summer because the night seemed to last forever. On the day my dad died, Carla and I stayed inside. “Out of respect,” my mother...

Fierce Fiction: Aunt Ginny

. a small Miranda story by Aimee Swartz Aunt Ginny was the one who told us our dad was dead. Aunt Ginny was my dad’s older sister. She had no children, but she always had fruit chews that never went stale no matter how much time went by. Although Aunt Ginny smiled a lot and laughed at all the...

Fierce Fiction (Thanksgiving Edition): We Have Beauty On Our Side

. A short Miranda story written by Aimee Swartz We played football on Thanksgiving. Lucky for us, it was always sunny, except for the blizzard that cancelled everything. We hadn’t been to school in eight days, and Mom and Dad stayed home, too. They worked for the city and all offices were...

Fierce Fiction: ole!

. A small Miranda story by Aimee Swartz Fridays were Fiesta Night at our house. Friday was my favorite day of the week because I also got to eat pizza for lunch at school; we never ordered pizza at home because my mom she didn’t trust people in uniform, except the clergy and that was more of...

Fierce Fiction: Kids Don’t Have To Wear Black At Funerals

/ A small Miranda story as written by Aimee Swartz The day we buried my father was the hottest day of the summer. I woke up with my head half wet and the covers in a ball on the floor. Carla refused to sleep with the fan because she liked either silence or love songs. She couldn’t fall asleep...