Author: Monica McHenney

Monica lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two foster dogs. She taught parents how to raise their toddlers for twenty-five years before retiring in 2015 to write. The secret to toddlers is to make sure you get enough sleep. Monica hasn't found the secret to writing, yet, but is diligently working at it. See links to her on-line stories on the publications page.

Method Writing

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Though she covered politics at the Tribune, Jenny wrote nothing but romance.  Her approach came from a place of genuine empathy, perhaps because she was having an affair with the mayor of Topeka at the time. 

The mayor’s husband played along. He’d often wondered what was missing from his wife’s campaigns. Turned out Jenny was the secret sauce. Once she started following a candidate, they ended up in bed. This gave Jenny’s reporting authenticity and, being so close, she could  zero in on the candidate’s humanity.  It’s what the public wanted and Jenny’s motto was, “The  reader is always right.”

The New Orders

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Inside the church, Doris found a gift shop. A number of books, hats, mugs, and crypto coins stocked the shelves. A wizened old man sat at the counter. “Can I help you?”

Doris said, “Isn’t this the unemployment office?” 

“Everyone is employed. Everyone who wants to be.”

“I was laid off. They gave me this address.”

“What about a Bible? Our thoughts and prayers are in there.” His glassy stare put her off.

“Where can I pray, then?”

”Inside, to the right. There’s a soup kitchen in the basement, too. God be with you.”

The pews were empty, but the soup kitchen was full.

The Perfect Pet Cow

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Ellie groped for a pitcher to hold her morning milk. The pitcher felt warm. It moved and mooed when she touched it. It had the same fresh smell of country lanes that had attracted Ellie’s attention as she browsed the housewares aisle of the local thrift store. The pitcher had been only five dollars. She thought she might be asleep.

Overnight, the pitcher became a cow. She fed it salad and built a small platform with a hole in the center for the cow to stand on. She placed her tea cup under the center hole and squirted in milk.

Wishes Come True

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Jack spent the change from his mother’s lottery ticket on a pen. The hawker wore tattered clothes, even more tattered than Jack’s. Maybe the boy felt sorry for the man. These magic markers hadn’t brought him luck.

“Write your wish on a piece of golden paper tonight when the moon is bright. Bury the paper under an oak tree and say a prayer.” 

Jack thanked the man. He took the lottery ticket and the pen home to his mother.

“You spent my change for that.” Still, she gave him paper. It was barely in the ground; she shouted, “We won!”

Can Dreams Be True?

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The dog died under a fallen fence in a thunder storm. Marley suspected that Ginger hadn’t been ready to go. Sure enough, they met up in Marley’s dreams. Often, Ginger had advice. It was like old times, minus the vet bills, though it was odd to hear Ginger talking. 

Their discussions got uncomfortable when Marley started dating a colleague. Ginger had strong opinions about clandestine office romances. 

Marley reminded Ginger that she herself had been guilty of digging under the fence to meet a handsome Doberman. 

Ginger wept big doggie tears. “If I hadn’t been digging, I’d still be alive.”

How to Turn a Gremlin

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“It’s a wonder I don’t do more damage. I bunk in the wheel well of an airplane and live on leftover military meals.” Unrepentant, the gremlin had been caught sabotaging a bomber. 

The interrogator didn’t know what to think. The gremlin was no more than three feet tall, dressed in rags from a bygone era, and furry enough that the wheel well story was credible. “Whose side are you on?”

“Are there sides?”

“There’s a war on.” The interrogator felt sorry for the stubborn creature. Would he work for the Allies? He looked so miserable. “How about some home cooking?”

Escapist Fiction

Openverse

She woke up on Saturday morning with the best of intentions. She even had a list. There was a little shopping to do and then she’d clean the house, walk the dog… But it never happened. Well, rather, shopping happened until she saw a book at the check stand and started flipping through it. 

The next thing she knew, she was flying through a tunnel towards a bright light. She pinched herself, realized nothing was amiss, and began to notice odd things at the checkstand. Gummy witches, scarecrow corn chips. Then she noticed she wore a gingham dress and ruby slippers.

MAMA’s Boys Meet 4B (B for no, 4 for dating, sex, children, marriage)

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They sloughed into DC for the inauguration. They meant to get there sooner, but the polar vortex swept down and froze the engines on their hogs. They took a bus to DC. Man, they were jazzed. Trump would “Make America Misogynist Again.” Overturning Roe was a down payment. He’d keep his promise to protect women, “Whether they like it or not.”

Tex, the organizer, noticed there were no chicks in the crowd. Ladies, way too delicate for this weather. He checked his dating app. Every woman’s profile said, “Not interested. Back in 2029, maybe.” WTF?

MAMA’s Boys- 0. 4Bs- 1.

https://www.the-independent.com/life-style/4b-movement-trump-election-win-south-korea-b2643558.html

A Doggie Solution

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I had a lover and then we split. He wanted the dog. So did I. I won that fierce argument. The ex settled for visits.

The dog was a steady companion, a good judge of character. He loved us both and told us so with sloppy licks. He sniffed the air in that doggie way that senses tension, anger, sweet innocence. He buried the bones of contention so that we could be friends.

Doggie romped, played, distracted, comforted in the language of liquid eyes and soft tongue against tear stained cheeks. Stayed close, healing pain with sweet and kind attentiveness.

The End of Empire

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Haven’t you heard? The elder statesman is packing. 
Emperor Discord is prancing to Palatine Hill in a red toga. 
He’s promised bread and circuses. 
He’s planning a retro-empire Roman regime.

After the wall comes the coliseum. 
No need to go in person. See pictures on X. 
Read the retweets. Watch Fox trust, they will not verify. 
Comedians, prepare to roast.

The joke’s on us. All the bread is meant for the one percent. 
Even now, they’re pulling up the stakes on the circus tent. 
You’ll find the performers leaving at midnight on the gravy train. 
Ticket  price: unwavering, groveling loyalty.