If you have suggestions for further typos or grammar mistakes for the Joe Schmoe chronicles, feel free to drop me a note in comments.

Misused punctuation or very obscure mistakes might be a little hard to demonstrate how they come across, so I prefer more common ones if possible.

I will give credit to suggestions that are used. 🙂

Joe Schmoe, pt. 6

One day, Joe had an awkward conversation with the Lt. in charge of his unit. He annoyed Lt. Jergins by asking a perfectly legitimate question. Lt. Jergins was busy with paperwork and gruffly answered his question before adding irritably, “Go away and don’t come.”

“Sir, I don’t sleep around on Mindy, but don’t you think denying me happy time is kinda harsh?” Joe asked, blinking at him in disbelief. What kind of officer wanted to control his sex life anyway?

There was a beat of silence, and then Lt. Jergins’ head jerked up and he gave Joe a very confused look. “Private Schmoe, what are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Well, sir. You said ‘don’t come’ and y’know, I don’t need it like a lot, but a guy’s gotta have a little private happy time now and then if his girl isn’t around. It can be unhealthy not to, you kno-”

“Private, I don’t give a damn about your ‘happy time’. Now go away and don’t come!” Lt. Jergins snarled, flushing darkly.

“But, sir-”

Back. Don’t come back.

“Oh.” Light dawned on Joe, and he blushed in mortification. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He made a speedy strategic retreat from the office, feeling a little misused. ‘Back’ was only one word, after all. How hard could it be to just add it? It would have saved him from looking like a total moron. How was he to know that the Lt. sometimes said something other than he meant? He walked off muttering, vowing to keep the Lt.’s weird habit in mind for future avoidance of accidental humiliation.


Joe Schmoe, pt. 5

Joe knew a couch he was fond of. He felt a little odd about being fond of it, but he talked to it enough that he couldn’t quite help himself. It belonged to his baseball coach. The man took it everywhere with him, and firmly believed that it was sentient, holding conversations with it and even going so far as to be offended if someone talked to him and ignored the couch. Apparently being sat on didn’t bother the couch, though, because the coach always brought it to practice, and most of the time could be found sitting on it while he coached the baseball players.

It was a nice couch, over all. Unlike the coach, it never yelled at him and the comments that coach sometimes relayed from it were often kind, or wise observations on baseball. It could be rather sharp worded when a player was messing up, though. Joe thought maybe it was a bit strange that a couch knew so much about baseball, but rationalized that it did belong to a baseball coach, after all, and probably coach had picked out the couch based on its enthusiasm for the sport.

[Yes, folks, I know it’s only one letter of difference between the two, but the coach and the couch are rather different entities. Even if they are both obsessed with the same sport.]

Joe Schmoe, pt. 4

Joe really missed Mindy on days when he was marching in the hot sun or cold rain, with his riffle on his shoulder. At least they didn’t make him carry his rifle, though, because rifles could shoot people, and even though the government told him it was patriotic to shoot people, they understood that messing up people’s hair or disturbing their water or flipping the pages of their book was much less traumatic for their soldiers and much more frustrating to the enemy. The government was good like that.

[Yes, ‘riffle’ is a word, no, a ‘riffle’ is not a gun. But hey, it’s all good, Joe gets to carry around a conceptualized riffle!]

Joe Schmoe, pt. 3

They were extremely compatible in the bedroom, because his girlfriend liked to suck cock and didn’t mind when he got semen on her. There was an occasional problem with seamen, though, since when they magically appeared out of his spurting semen, they tended to curse a lot and get in the way and even try to join in. It was a good thing that his girlfriend was a witch and could teleport the seamen back where they belonged pretty quickly. Jack, across town, had a lot more problems, because his boyfriend was an empath and couldn’t do any teleportation magic. Sometimes Jack and Jordan had to traipse over with a whole boatload of seamen for Mindy to teleport back to their ships.

[And while we’re at it, folks, please don’t misspell ‘cock’ as ‘coke’, the sudden introduction of drugs in the middle of a sex scene is really disconcerting.]

Joe Schmoe, pt. 2

He was used to being a solider, but being a soldier made him sad, because it meant he had to be away from his girlfriend. His girlfriend was sad too, because she missed the way he liked to ring orgasms out of her. He did this by passing the Ring of Orgasm repeatedly over her body. He also liked to wring orgasms from her in the more traditional manner, wringing every last drop of pleasure from her and leaving her a content mess.

[Yes, sex scene writers, unless you have a Ring of Orgasm, or are featuring some sort of ring device to make your character orgasm, the word is wring.]

Welcome to the New Year

Happy New Year and all that jazz. Welcome to the month of making resolutions that we’ll break 95% of within two months, tops. To overcast skies, snow everywhere, nasty slick roads, and subzero temps. Huh, there must be something positive to say about January…

Ah, yes. The days are getting longer! Yay! And there’s lots of sales going around… Yup, well, anyhow. I might be feeling a little sarcastic this year due to various circumstances.

Erased Resolutions Here

Just a heads up to anyone who cares, I’ll be taking down the rough draft version of A Gift of a Name sometime this month, because I’m going to publish a longer and more polished version. I think I’m about on the eighth draft right now, and the amount of red marks to fix up this time around is rather scary.

Honestly, the initial draft was very rough, as it was kind of more an author’s note sketch of how the family came to serve the vampire in the first place. I never really intended to polish it or add to it. My friend Hera gets most of the blame, ahem, CREDIT for changing my mind, complaining repeatedly that there should be more to it, that it should be longer.


Oops, almost forgot.  Here’s an excerpt from something a little more recent:

“Are you still drunk?”

Efraine nodded amiably. “Probably. You’re all warm. ‘Zsooo nice. I hate the cold, or the col’ hates me.” He rubbed his cheek against Aedelstan’s chest, and wiggled a little. “Sooo warm.”

“Sit still unless you want me to take you to bed and f**k you silly.”

“Wou’n’t mind.” He scratched his nose. “An’ I’m already silly. Even I can tell that.”

“Hm. ‘Elmar, carry him to bed, if you will.”

Puzzled, he finally spotted the boy in the doorway.

“Of course, father.”

Then he realized what had been said. “Noooooooo!” He flung his arms around Aedelstan’s neck. “Is not fair! I wasn’t moving! No, no, no!” Tears came involuntarily, and he sniffled against Aedelstan’s throat.

“For fire’s sake!” Aedelstan grumbled. “Oh, stop laughing, Aedelmar.”


[Efraine’s a demon, and the other two are devai.]