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Publisher's Review:

A collection of twenty short, and flash fiction, stories by published poet, writer, and author, CJ
Heck.  She's been entertaining children, adults, and schools for over a decade with her humor, insight,
unique perspective of life and the human heart, through her poetry.  Now, she does it through her
fiction.

Many of the stories have nostalgic themes, others, CJ's own special blend of humor and sensitivity.  
Covered are many subjects, such as, finding a headless body near a sewer drain in the city, internet
dating, and a grandfather and grandson teaching each other about life while feeding pigeons in the
park.   One of CJ's personal favorites has a surprise ending, one you won't expect.

Bits and Pieces is available through Amazon.com, Kindle, Nook, bookstores, or here at Barking Spiders.
 These stories truly are ... from a writer's soul.


Sample Stories from Bits and Pieces:





A Box for Good Will
(flash fiction)

As a friend, Martha had come to help yet one more time, and she watched as Gayle set the
empty cardboard box on the floor, as she had done so many times before.  The box was labeled
for Goodwill, carefully penned in black permanent marker with large block letters nearly fifty
years ago.

From deep in the closet of her room, Gayle began by pulling out an old blue suit.  It had faded
over the years, but Martha could see in Gayle's eyes that the memories still had not.

Softly, Gayle smoothed the sleeves that dangled flat and empty. Then she stroked the
trousers hanging over the smooth wooden hanger.  Gently, Gayle brushed the dust from the
collar and lapel, and then Martha heard a quiet sigh. Just as she had feared, Gayle's resolve had
melted away once more.

Gayle's face was pale as she turned and faced Martha, who silently patted a spot beside her on
the bed.  Gayle sat down, and again they talked and remembered.

Gayle talked about long ago, how the sleeves had encircled her in warm, secure hugs. The
trousers had covered lean muscular legs; legs that were slightly bowed; legs that loved to dance.

Then Gayle told Martha again about what she missed the most -- the heart that beat just below
the lapel of the old blue suit; the heart that beat with love for her.

For over fifty years, the suit had stood sentinel, loyally guarding both Gayle and her memories.
Now Martha watched as Gayle carefully replaced the suit and closed the closet door.

Then, through quiet tears, Gayle asked once more, " How could all of that ever fit in a box for
Goodwill ..."




"How beautiful a day can be when kindness touches it." ~George Elliston

Christmas at Mel's

A broken neon sign flashed "Mel’s" atop a small darkened bar on the edge of town. The air was
heavy with stale smoke and beer, blending faintly with the odor of dried spit on unclean bodies.

Sadie sat at a small table alone pondering the world and its problems, two drinks past actually
seeing beyond the unkempt nails she drummed nervously on the chipped Formica in front of her.
The lines in her face were knit as if by a palsied hand dropping stitches here and there where a
pox scar decided to roost.

For Sadie, this was home -- at least until tonight’s john, with an empty glass and full libido,
swaggered up and invited her to the nearest no-tell motel. Life sucks, but it was her life. Feeling
in control, a spider in her web, she threw back another drink and waited.

The hours passed and Sadie now slumped in the chair at her favorite table at Mel's. With each
drink, the world's problems faded further, until she was only mildly conscious that she had more
than enough of her own. Merry Christmas. Yeah, yeah, so what? she asked indignantly into the
air.

Sadie slowly counted the empty glasses lined up in front of her on the table. Seven. Nice.
Rhymes with heaven. How 'bout that -- as if I'll ever be there.  They prob'ly don't let people like
me in a ritzy place like that.  Sadie pushed the thought away.  She studied the half empty glass
that was still in her hand with the same intensity a demented gypsy might, upon watching her
favorite crystal ball suddenly deflate right before her eyes.

Tired, the lines in her face met in an intricate pattern just above her penciled brows as she
pondered her situation through the booze fog. Damn Mel. Damn his twinkle lights. Damn things
hurt my eyes. Freakin' barkeep, why'd he have to put twinkle lights in here ... as if anyone wants to
see the graffiti better, she cackled to herself.  Sadie watched as the room with its new holiday
lights blinked, first red, then green, then yellow through the gently swirling smoke. She threw
back the rest of her drink. It made her want to puke, that's what it did.

Who the hell cares if it's Christmas Eve? Every day's the same to me, she thought. I'm just a
workin' woman tryin' to make a buck. Bad enough, everywhere you go, bells are ringin' on every
corner, music blastin' outta radios, snow and slush in every step you take, and all that fancy
decoratin' to remind you, you're freakin' alone.  Merry Christmas ... yeah, Mer-ry Christ-my-
ass!  Cash registers are ringin' big time, too, Sadie thought, with a bitter smile.

Damn, business was slow this time of year. Every john she knew was prob'ly home playing
Santy Claus with the kiddies and Husband Of The Year with the wife. What a joke, she
thought.  What they really want, I give 'em.  What they really need, I give 'em. They're all the same.
What a freakin' joke, she thought ... yeah, only the joke's on me.  I'm the one who's sittin' and
waitin' in a blinkin-stinkin' hellhole all by m'self.

Sadie set empty glass number eight at the end of the line on the table and raised a finger at the
barkeep for another drink. Waiting was a bitch ... just then, a shadow fell through the swirling
smoke to settle eerily on Sadie's table. It was strangely blinking in mixed colors through the
empty glasses in front of her. Surprised, she looked up to see one of her regulars standing
there. Finally, she thought to herself, and 'bout time, too. Already a plan had formed in her mind
to do him fast and then get some shut-eye. She gave the john her best crimson smile.

The man leaned down and handed Sadie a folded bill. With a sad smile he said, "Go home,
Sadie. This one's on me, and ... and well, M-Merry Christmas to you." Then he turned and
walked back through the swirled and blinking smoke to the door and back out to the street with
Sadie staring slack-jawed at the door closing slowly behind him.

Damn, if that don't beat all, Sadie thought, as she unfolded the fifty dollar bill. Then she
scooted her chair back, pushed herself away from the table, and for the first time in years,
Sadie's face softened into a genuine smile.




Mr. Beggar Man
(Flash Fiction)

He will always be, Mr. Beggar Man.  He was such a kind and gentle soul. Every day, he was
dressed the same in a stained red plaid shirt, brown felt hat speckled with bird poop, and saggy-
baggy pants that stopped just above two heelless shoes that were see-through to feet with no
socks.

So many mornings I walked by his corner, putting money in his cup, if only to borrow one of his
smiles when I had none left of my own. I always knew that the one he gave, would be the one that
found, those I had only misplaced for a while.

Countless times we shared a lunch, as he did with many others. Sometimes, hot soup and
coffee from the deli across the street.   Other times,  half of my tuna sandwich from home and
lemonade from a thermos.

He, in return, shared his wooden pallet to sit on, but never once a conversation. All the while, he
never missed a beat as he continued to pass out his glorious smiles to everyone who glanced his
way as they hurried by.

I've often wondered what happened in his life to make him take up residence on that corner, only
to die cold and alone. I'm saddened to know the smiles he apportioned to others were his only
living legacy.

He is missed by many, even the shopkeepers who so often shooed him away.  I hope he knew
what his smiles meant to me ... and I never even knew his name.

Review:

"You will enjoy the eclectic stories in "Bit and Pieces"
displaying CJ's vivid and wide-ranging imagination.
Writers, like CJ, should be allowed to live one hundred
fifty years. How else could they reveal all they have to
offer?  Do yourself a favor and get a copy of Bits and
Pieces. I have read most, if not all, of CJ's work and she
is at the peak of a mountain of talented writers. She
writes to the souls of all men, women, and children."  
~ Russell Daily

Review:

"Every word strikes a cord deep within and stirs us
all. She breathes life into us through her work and
nourishes the heart and soul of everyone who knows
her. Innocence and beauty that radiates from the
heart and soul are rare in an adult. She has guarded
that most precious gift and secret and joyfully
shares it with us without the judgement of an adult
in the grownup world."
~Bob Cosmar

"May you always see the world through the eyes of a child." ~CJ Heck

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