Men think the majority of us women are crazy. But they should be counting their lucky stars that they’re not a male praying mantis, or their life would end shortly after completing one of men’s favorite past-times. (Do I really have to elaborate here?)
While at the writing event I attended about a month back, I spoke with a fellow writer who handed me a card bearing the silhouette of what appeared to be an ant, and the title, The Journal of Unlikely Entomology. Now, I will admit, I had to Dictionary.com the word “entomology”, and was surprised at what I found.
1. the branch of zoology dealing with insects.
A little confused, a lot curious, I hopped on my computer and went directly to the site.
An excerpt from the About Us section, found on www.grumpsjournal.com
“The Journal of Unlikely Entomology is a new literary market for fiction that delves into the world of things that creep and crawl and explores the limits of what it means to be human. The Journal publishes biannually in May and November, with an additional roving mini-issue some time during the year.”
Suddenly I understood. And it was awesome.
I did a little bit of snooping, and found some wonderful writing (particularly this story: http://www.grumpsjournal.com/jue1/stories/jue1-ness.html) and great artwork.
Then I remembered a short story I wrote for a creative writing course about two years ago, and thought it an interesting idea to dig it up, dust it off, and do a bit of editing. Then, just maybe, I’ll cross my fingers and toes and send it off for consideration. After all, what are the chances I come across a literary journal dedicated to all things creepy-crawly, and here I am sitting on a story about a woman that turns into a praying mantis and eats the skulls of her lovers?
Anyway, before I begin the editing process, here is a raw glance at Prayer to a Charlatan God. Please keep in mind that my writing has developed over the last year or two, and this has not been touched in quite a while.
“What the hell are you doing?” His words were quick and panicked.
She lifted herself off of him, the suction-cup sound of parting flesh lost among groans and cries. The stark white walls were decorated in a modern-like splash of red as she raked his chest. He fell silent and she leaned her head back, her jaw slowly unhinging with a quiet pop and lowering itself between her breasts. She swallowed him back to the base of his thick neck, the crunch of bone and Velcro-like tear of muscle arousing her as he was separated from his own shoulders.
She closed her eyes and ran her fingers across her throat, massaging as she broke him down. Her jaw reattached with ease as she finished. She said a prayer and dressed, slowly, enjoying the view.
Hahaha. Boys, beware!