Emotion Flash Fiction Blogfest

Finally! We've reached Day Three of the I'm Hearing Voices Blogfest.

Rules for the final day:

Emotion Flash Fiction: Emotion is the engine of a story. Pick an emotion and in a flash fiction piece of 250 words MAKE us feel it! We want to connect with your character. This will be a challenge in 250 words.

Friday’s Prize—

• From Angela: A full manuscript critique.
• From Cassie: A full manuscript critique.

Right? Yeah, pretty awesome.


So, without further ado, here's my flash fiction piece!

She felt no fear.

The beginning held only resignation. Lita had been expectant. Hell, she’d smoked her first cigarette at twelve.

“As you can see…” The doctor’s bald head reflected the light. He smelled of antiseptic. “This is the healthy lung tissue. And these shadows…” He gestured to the xray with a flat palm. His wedding ring flashed in the light. “Is the cancer.” 

“Not long then?”  She’d always been blunt.

“I’m sorry Ms. Mercer.”



She walked up the driveway. Her life hadn’t been long enough. She’d miss stupid things like sushi and singing over the radio. Where was her happiness? She had no flashing ring on her finger.

Everyone had to feel this way - hardwired survival instinct. It wasn’t fair, to never be satisfied, to always be left wanting.

Inside the house, silence and darkness greeted her. A neighbor had been looking after her dog TJ. She’d have to make permanent arrangements, now. It’d be easy, he was a good dog.

She sank into the couch.

“I’m going to die,” she announced to her drapes, her silent TV. They didn’t answer. Not that she’d expected the darkness to evaporate.

She reached for her cigarettes and lighter. Her hands shook. She pictured the x-ray and the cancer covering her body like a wraith.

The lighter sparked and the fire obscured the dark.



Later, after the sirens left behind a charred ruin, she found she couldn’t quite express to the officer why she’d felt the need to erase the shadows.





There you have it!


And don't forget to sign up for the Teenage Heartthrob blogfest on March 5th! It's easy, and lets you post pics of fun celebrities from your childhood.
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No-Kiss Blogfest

Yay! It's time for the 3rd annual No-Kiss blogfest!!

This is when you get to write a scene or post one from your favorite books, movies, or TV shows that show the almost kiss-- the rising, crushing, excruciating, longing, tension that comes when two characters get oh-so-close to kissing that you can just feel it, want it, NEED it....and then...they don't!


I've chosen a piece of a scene from my WIP novel Break Free (which I lurrrve, btw. Seriously in love with this novel, guys)

Setup:

Kiel (MC) has been tasked to lead Izzy (love interest) through a jungle of deadly wild magic. He wears a collar that's attuned to Izzy, so it forces him to intervene whenever she's in danger.
In this scene, they just escaped from a bounty hunter who was looking for Kiel.

As always, this is still a rough draft. I haven't even started line edits yet, so please overlook any rough spots.

Onto the fest!!


"This way,” I yelled, pulling her down another game path. We zigged and zagged until finally the pulse in the collar began to dissipate. Izzy took another left and I followed into a clearing with a large tree. The hot breeze shook the tree’s branches and moisture dripped off its leaves; a mini rain-storm brought on by the wind.

“We can hide beneath it,” Izzy said.

The ground surrounding the tree was scraped clear of any sort of vegetation, a circle of dirt. Moisture from the leaves sizzled in an oily sheen before it soaked into the earth. The drops had a strange golden glow to them, similar to the stone in Izzy’s chest. Something wasn’t right.

Izzy stepped to the edge of the dirt circle and the collar flared up again. It jerked me forward, faster than my own reaction time, until I was pulling Izzy away from the tree, yanking her so hard that we stumbled to the ground, landing away from the tree and its rain.

“What the hell, Kiel?” Izzy yelled, trying to pull herself out from under me.

I didn’t even notice, the pounding in my head from the collar was so loud. “It’s not safe,” I managed to get out. The pounding slowed, then stopped. Damn collar. I didn’t need it jerking me around. If it kept up, it would get us both killed. And then who would protect Izzy?

“That’s not water,” I said. “It’s something else. Acid, I think.”

She paused, then peered over my shoulder at the tree and the liquid which dripped off its branches. “How did you know?”

“The dirt surrounding it. Where are all the plants? A tree that big should have some stranglers or other undergrowth below it. There’s nothing but dirt.”

She watched the liquid drip onto the ground. “Huh. Well, that would’ve been bad, but do you think you could get off me now?”

Only then did I realize the collar had forced me to cover her in protection. Interesting. The collar controlling me pissed me off, but I had to say, I wasn’t too terribly upset at my current predicament.

I watched her for a moment, just enough time for her skin to start to flush. It was surprising how easy it was to get that color to spread across her cheeks and neck.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m pretty comfortable.”

“You’re also pretty heavy…”

I sighed and pushed myself off. I offered her a hand and pulled her up. She stumbled into me but I held her before she fell. I caught a whiff of her perfume, still exotic, still tantalizing. Did she taste as good?

She blushed again and dropped her gaze. “We should probably find Dayre…”

No. Screw Dayre. The heat her off her body rivaled the warmth of the jungle. I wanted to pull her closer, feel that heat pressed against my skin. I inhaled deeply, trying to imprint this moment on my memory. Then I breathed out. “Yeah. I guess so.”

She stepped away from me, her fingers still gripped in mine.


 
 
Bam!! There you have it! Now I'm off to read the other entries!
How about you, did you participate?
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Stranger Than Fiction Blogfest

Today is the The Truth is Stranger than Fiction Blogfest hosted by the lovely Dangerous With A Pen (Lindsey Brooks) and aspiring_x (Vic Caswell) . They hosted a flash fiction contest/blogfest!

You could send in a flash fiction piece for a chance at some choice prizes and then, because it's also a blogfest, post your piece today to celebrate!

The theme was The Truth is Stranger than Fiction, which meant:

a fiction piece that originates from strange true happenings. It could be based on something that happened to you or a friend or a stranger. Something you saw on the news or heard from a coworker. Anything that originates from reality (the plot) but then you turn it into fiction


And I won one of two second places!

Here was my entry:


Desires

It used to be, when she was young, beautiful, desirable, she danced all night long. And there were men, and they would cheer, laugh, drink, want. They wanted her. Her limbs. Her hair. Her body. She craved the want. Craved the very need she fed.

Sometimes, though, she hoped they wanted the dance. Like the cigarette reflections in their drinks, she mimicked the fire, hoped they would feel the movement, feel the way she felt it, burning through her limbs.

So she supplied, fed their need, and in turn fed her own. The sway of her hips and the grace of her legs as she spun, turned, flew, were all to give rise to movement. She did it for the dance, for their desire.

Until her dance began to end, as all things do. Some things end suddenly, in a flash of flame and glory. Others smother, as the skin sags, the muscles weaken, the legs falter.

Still, she danced, and danced in the light.

The men no longer laughed, loved, desired, but jeered, mocked, loathed. She tried to return to them what she’d once received, but she was unseen, unloved. Broken, except for the dance.

Later, tired, alone, she remembered the men. Flames flashing in their seats, desire burning through her limbs. She climbed the stage and brought the fire once more; those red and orange flames flickering in nature’s first dance. She spun, turned, flew as the flames grew closer and she again felt the caress of want.

And there were men, once more, with sirens and lights. They wanted her, pulled her from the stage, the dance. Her hair blackened, shedding, ash.

The men spoke, but she paid them no heed. Instead, she remembered her dance.

As she watched her stage feed the need of the fire, she smiled.

Here, had always been her best audience.


So there you have it! I'll be jumping around to hit up the other entries today

In Which I Receive A Promising Rejection

My short story Hole Ridden has been out on submissions for just a little over 2 months.




It's received two rejections, all very nice, but I recently received a third, promising rejection.

More or less they said they can't accept it now, but if I wanted to make it a bit longer and perhaps draw more of a connection between the MC and the otherworldly aspect (the hole) they would be excited to take a look at it again.

Which is, of course, very exciting. Puts me one step closer on the road to publication.

Of course, now I need to figure out how to make it longer and rework it some. I'm not so worried about the reworking, but I am a little intimidated by the "making it longer" aspect. Since I don't make things longer. Ever. I always cut cut cut.

Ah well, hopefully the re-working will lend itself to a longer length. The key is to rework some of the middle without effecting the end and beginning all that much. Especially the end. The pacing is too tight, so any messing around in there could really muck it up.

How's things for everyone else? Anyone have a short out on submission as well?

Fairy Tale Blogfest

Yay a blogfest! Emily White is hosting a fairy tale blogfest today, which is awesome. Of course this one is also a contest, but the blogfest theme was so awesome this time I couldn't pass it up regardless of the awesome prizes.

Awesome. (I felt like I needed one more...)

The Rules:


Write in no more than 1000 words a story based on a fairy tale in a genre OTHER than fantasy. You can do horror, suspense, sci-fi, thriller, etc. (romance is okay, but you need to add another genre with it, otherwise you'll just end up with a fantasy romance), and the plot has to be closely related to the original tale.

All entries must be posted on August 30th. Emily will then pick her favorite five, post the links and everyone will have a week to vote.

Fun Times!


So here we go with my entry, currently untitled. As usual, this is a rough draft.


***

I hunt her like a wolf: catch her scent, trail after her. It’s not hard if you know what signs to look for: murders, deaths, disappearances.

Years I’ve tracked and now I’ve found her family. Her nest. Each one like her. Each one as much of a monster, though none appear as innocent.

“Greetings sir,” she says to the shopkeeper. She removes her hood before she closes the door behind her, nothing more than a child on an errand.

I watch from the shadows of the alley. She won’t hurt the shopkeeper. Not now, anyway. She has to keep up her disguise and play the human.

I sink further into the shadows. If I hurry, I’ll have enough time to make it to her nest before she returns.

The forest is peaceful, soothing. In the distance is the thunk thunk thunk of someone cutting wood.

This is another trick of her and her kind. No one would suspect that such peace could lead to such horror.

They make their home in a cottage in the woods. More a shack really, nothing like the ruined castles of the old days.

I must be stealthy. If one were to find me, I could not escape. You cannot outrun them, even with their iron shod shoes. This I know firsthand. Like grief, and sorrow. And guilt.

I peek through the windows but it’s quiet inside. Empty.

The door squeals as I enter and the sound raises the hair on my neck. The house is decorated as a normal habitat: a kitchen table holds a bowl of red apples, the dining room shares space with a bookshelf. There’s a single bedroom with the bed neatly made. I run my hand across the bedspread and the cloying scent of blood settles across me like lace drapes in a breeze.

My only warning is the creak of a floorboard behind me. I leap over the bed and tumble to the ground as an iron spike stabs through the space I had just inhabited.

It’s an old woman. She could be serving cookies to grandchildren if it weren’t for the iron spike in her hand and the cap on her head that drips with blood. The blood trails down her cheeks, following her wrinkles down to her lips where she licks it before she grins at me, her teeth sharp and rotten.

She shrieks and leaps at me over the bed, her iron spike held high. But I have a spike of my own and I lunge at her, my knife catching her throat. Her blood pours down over me in a hot rain and I yank my knife free. She stumbles, her hand to her throat, before she falls onto the bed. Her blood soaks into the cover and sheets.

My breath comes fast and echoes in the still room. I stand over her. I should feel something, excitement or relief that my vengeance has finally come to pass, but all I feel is empty. No matter how many monsters I kill, Clara will never return. Death doesn’t beget life, it only begets more death.

A sharp pain bursts in my side and I look down to find an iron spike erupting from my skin. There’s a jerk and the spike slides out. I stumble to sit on the bed and turn to find her, the young one, the child, with the red hood pulled over her blonde hair.

She has triumph in her eyes until her gaze is drawn to the body of the old woman, dead on the bed beside me.

“Grandmother!” she shrieks. Rage and shock spread across her features. Her teeth grow and sharpen like the old woman’s.

I spit out blood.

“My,” I cough. “What big teeth you have.”

“The better to eat you with!” she screams and jumps at me, the iron spike held before her. She’s faster than the old one, and though I raise my knife I’m not fast enough to reach her throat. Instead it sinks into her stomach and she howls. I release the knife and grab onto her throat, my fingers catching the back of the red hood. Where my fingers squeeze, the hood seeps blood until it runs down my hands in red rivers.

She struggles like a wildcat and drops the spike to pull at my hands, but the blood makes her fingers slip and she can’t get a firm grip. With my knees I push against her stomach and manage to twist us around until I am atop, squeezing her throat, wringing the life from her.

Behind us the door slams open. I look over my shoulder and see a man with an axe and a rifle pointed at us. He takes in the scene and disgust crosses his features.

“Wait,” I say and release my grip from the monster to hold my hands before me. They are covered in blood and the child-monster takes a deep breath. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“He’s killed my grandma!” the monster shouts below me.

I turn and pull the knife from her gut and lunge for her throat but there’s a loud crack and something slides into my back. A burning slips through me and the knife falls from my grip, though I try to make my fingers tighten.

There is a hole in my chest. My blood flows down my body onto the child monster and she smiles, her teeth sharp, as her red cape and hood drink up my blood.

She pushes me and I fall to the floor. I can’t seem to catch my breath.

The man rushes to the girl and she hugs him, the perfect image of a terrified child. He comforts her but does not see her reach for her iron spike, does not see her tears are false and her teeth are long.

“Monster!” I manage to utter but the word emerges as a whisper. I try to pull in more air but there is none. Instead my vision goes black and there is a gasp from the man who had saved her.

I hear a wet squelching noise. Everything around me fades and she begins to sing a song.

“So much blood, my cap shall never be dry.”




***

So there you have it! I will be making my rounds to as many of the other entries as I can hit today. I'm excited to see what everyone wrote.

In Which I Hodge-Podge

Hodge-Podge! I feel like a hodge-podge post needs a theme song or something.

Something along the lines of Grandad Robert Freeman's "Good food. Good food. Good foo-oo-oo-ood" song from the Boondocks.
Do you watch the boondocks? You totes should. Though it has a lot of language. A lot. But it's kind of the point.

This weekend we found a new game on our xbox arcade that we immediately bought because it looked awesome.
And it was.

It's called Limbo and is loosely about a boy who's sister goes missing and so he travels through Limbo to find her.

There's no music, and the whole game is black and white. It's side-scrolling and full of puzzles and scary creepy things like giant spiders, glowing slugs that attach to your head and drown you, and creepy Limbo children who set bear traps for you.

It's kinda gory, for a black and white game, but there is an option to shut off the gore. It's also pretty short, maybe just a few hours of game play.

We all agreed that we either wanted a movie like this, or a book. It totes made me want to write. AND I know I would have freaked out at its awesomeness had I been a graphic novelist/artist.

For reals, if you have an Xbox 360, get this game.

Here's a video and screenshots for those (like me) who can't always access vids:










I wrote a new short story this weekend. It came about because Hannah (Palindrome) had mentioned on her bloggy (and received agreement from Lindsey (at Dangerous with a Pen)) that sunflowers creep her the hells out. This had never occurred to me, that sunflowers could be something that frightened people.

AND THE STORY IDEA WAS BORN!

It's about 2k. I did a quick tightening but now have to sit on it to see if I can come up with a theme or junk to weave throughout. For me, themes don't come until after the story is complete.

But I was pleased with it. Hannah said it was creepy so that's good.

I also have another idea for a short story, and I had a dream this last weekend about a zombie-hunting family that I MAY (but probably not) write for NaNo instead of my sea serpent plan. We'll see.

There will be a two week span in August where I will be mostly away from the interwebs. The first week I will be camping and have no Internet access.
The second week I have to go into the office for fun time Six Sigma greenbelt training and since the commute is 1-1.5 hours one way, I will have less time to visit.

This is just a heads up. There will be more reminders later. I'll probably repeat some posts and maybe have a few new ones written as well.

And that's it for this Hodge-Podge experience!

How are things for you?

In Which I Share My Editor Critique

I'm back with my critique for Hole Ridden.



I had a good half a month between when I was notified of the editor's choice pick and when I received the crit so I had plenty of time to be impatient for it. I really wanted to send Hole Ridden out on submission asap so delays were a little prickly (good thing I had Foxfire revisions to keep me distracted). I also knew that once I got the crit I would most likely be upset for a day or two, which is typical for me. Be upset, wait 1-3 days, then address the issues.

BUT after I read this crit, I found I wasn't upset at all. I was excited and energized. I plan to finish up Hole Ridden this week, and then make a list of submission options. Then it will be all growed up and ready to branch out on its own.

Anyhoo, here's the crit. My thoughts will be pasted in red.

Here's another definition of the Editor's Choice Review, from OWW:

"If a submissions of yours is selected as an Editor's Choice, it's partly going to be used as a teaching tool for other members: the editors pick submissions that can be reviewed in such a way as to help both the writer and other workshoppers learn something about their craft. But rest assured: it's also a compliment"


THE CRIT

While it stands as a solid piece of short-story telling as it, the problem with "Hole Ridden" is that -- even at just barely 2600 words -- it's still too long. (this was a surprise to me. I had a few crits from readers who expressed that they wished it was longer. Since I don't really make things longer, I had dismissed these thoughts. But this was the first time someone actually came out and said, "make it shorter") Sarah tends to find moments upon which to linger in order to provide her central character, Janice, time to consider/judge/dismiss things so that the concept of this ever-opening maw of Earth will be accepted by the reader. For the most part it works, but there are a couple of instances where Janice's hesitation in the face of a singularly terrifying truth see, either, a) put there in order to draw out the suspense a little more, or, b) make Janice seem naïve (and borderline stupid). (this is something that I've struggled with throughout the drafts so it doesn't surprise me that he caught a few instances where it's not quite there yet)

A secondary problem lies in Sarah's narrative voice. For easily 80-90% of this story that voice is in complete control, which is one of the main reasons that the tale zooms along, barely stopping to catch its breath. The pacing is excellent, but because the story remains about 300-600 words too long, it could be even better.

Okay, specifics: The story opens with this exchange between Janice and Arthur:

"Are you sure that thing will be able to move a rock that size?" Janice gestured with doubt (already established with the gesture, so repeating it here is redundant) ) to Arthur's tractor. (I can't believe I missed this redundant tag. Gestured with doubt is just another way of saying gestured doubtfully. Smooth Sarah)

Then, in the middle of sentence (he must mean paragraph here...) which was until now solely from Janice's POV, you wrote:

Arthur wrapped a chain around the boulder and paused to look at his machine. He glanced at Janice, nodded and returned to the chain.

Which means that the next line of dialogue below if from Arthur, yet his actions remains attached to those of the last speaker, Janice.

"Yep, it'll hold it all right." Arthur rubbed dusty hands against his overalls and straightened his back. "Now you sure you want me to move it? God doesn't put something like this here for no reason."

Action always remains with the speaker; always. Everything after "Arthur's tractor" in the opening exchange needs to be separate from Janice's opening line an initial gesture.

(I was a little irritated at first by this part of the crit. When you upload work to the OWW system, it doesn't convert easily from Word so you have to go in and add a hard return between each paragraph. This was just a spot where I missed adding the hard return. A typo, more or less. But then I remembered that the crit is also supposed to help everyone else too, and I'm sure there are writer's out there who need help with this area.)

Shortly after this, as Arthur readies to removes the rock, you have a lovely observation from Janice that goes like this:

Janice nodded and retreated a few feet. Poor man had probably never even had champagne, though he seemed confident in his ability to remove rocks.

It's a sweet moment for a couple of reasons; this is the first - and I believe only - time in the story Janice spares a sympathetic thought for anyone but herself, and she's so jaded she doesn't even realize how outrageously condescending it is.

(This comment I enjoyed because the above line is one that I got mixed feedback on. I was glad to see that he liked it and understood the reason I had put it in)

That leads me to the next problem. You skirt far too close to the line of caricature with Arthur and Janice; she being the hard-bitten, cynical, judgmental, impatient, take-no-prisoners type who would have been played by Jane Fonda; Arthur, the almost too-laid-back neighbor and jack of all traits with so much homey wisdom and advice he's just waiting to share. You don't cross this line, but it comes close. (This is something I know the story has issues with. I've been slowly trying to fix it, but it's been difficult since many of my solutions seem to be related to another cliche) But there's an easy fix - and you're not going to like it. (when I read this, I got really worried. What wasn't I going to like? And why? Would I have to lose a character? Rewrite the whole story (I soooo don't do rewrites))

Move Arthur's story about "stopping a hole with a hole" into this scene, along with the few other pertinent bits of information that are exchanged out by the pickett fence Arthur is repairing. This confrontation scene simply doesn't work; it seems forced, it reads forced, and seems to serve no other purpose than provide someplace for Arthur's "a bigger hole to stop a hole" theory. There is no sense of culture clash, no reason for Janice to so vehemently accuse Arthur (even she knows that she didn't hear the tractor start up), so there is no point to this nasty little confrontation they have here.

Cut it. Take what necessary information you need from the scene and scatter throughout the opening sequence.

(After I read this part I was like, "That's it? That's what I'm not going to like?" Clearly Gary doesn't know me at all. Because cutting a whole scene (in a story that only has 3 or so) and moving the important info elsewhere, is not an issue for me. Not at all. I'm actually looking forward to playing around with it. So, huge sigh of relief when his major suggestion was something that I actually enjoy doing with revisions. Also I think he's completely right. I always knew that scene was the weakest. It actually used to be much much worse...)

Last point; your final line:

"If it came down to that, she knew exactly where to put the final one."

This is almost exactly the same thing you did in the story's opening line, only here, instead of voicing doubt while making a gesture of doubt, you have Janice look at her gun, make the connection ... and then tell us what that connection is, just in case someone doesn't get it.

Please cut the final line and use "...Maybe the only way to atop a hole was with another hole." As the final one. It'll be less obvious and much more chilling as a result.

(This one hurt a little. Not because he isn't right (because he so so is and I'm a little sad that I didn't realize how blatant it is) but because I always liked the final line. This will be a "kill the darlings" sort of revision for me, but I think the story will be much stronger if I follow his suggestion.)

In case I forgot to mention it, the entire central conceit of the story is exceptionally clever and compelling, and when the earth starts falling into itself as Janice makes good her escape, I was on the edge of my seat.

(Yay!)

What you have here is an excellent story. I think it can be made even better with some judicious pruning and re-arranging of smaller moments within scenes.

--Gary A. Braunbeck


So there you have it! After reading the crit I was super relieved that he didn't tell me to rewrite, eliminate a character etc, all things I probably wouldn't have done, even to make the story better.
His suggestions were right on the mark and he hit all the spots I knew were the weakest.

I was also excited to see the the Editor's choice for Sci-Fi was a member who had exchanged crits with me, he on Hole Ridden and I on his sci-fi novel chapter one. It was kind of like knowing someone else who had been chosen. Like when you see a friend or family member on TV. (I KNOW them! you think...)

Anyone else get some exciting news lately?

In Which We Discuss Wordle

I mentioned last week about how I ran my short story "Hole Ridden" through Wordle to find any over-used words I was unaware of (apparently, I used "back" much more than anticipated.)

A couple of blog pals mentioned that they had never used Wordle before or didn't know what it was.

Wordle is a website that lets you paste a chunk of text that is then turned into a word cloud. The word cloud will show you the most used words and it will also let you remove words you don't want counted (typically character names if you're using it as revision assistance)

There are also other websites, so if Wordle doesn't work for you, you can also google "word clouds" and find other options.

Wordle also lets you choose colors, fonts, languages and how the words are displayed to make your word cloud as much a work of art as you want.

When I ran Hole Ridden through Wordle (and I left in the character names) this is what my word cloud ended up looking like:

I giggled like a school girl when I saw this because it seemed so ominous with the giant "Hole" front and center.

Anyone else throw their work in Wordle? Either as a revision assitant or just for fun?

In Which I Share A Favorite Term

So when I was messing around with duotrope, looking for submissions options, I came across my favorite term.

Unheimlich.

I discovered this awesome term a few years ago. Loved it immediately. Then promptly forgot all about it.

heimlich means roughly "familiar" so unheimlich is the unfamiliar, uncanny.

BUT heimlich can also mean "concealed" or "obscure" so unheimlich can also mean "the revealed".

In horror unheimlich is that moment we experience as being uncanny - akin to seeing something unseen. When we’re forced to reinterpret everything we understood in light of new knowledge.

Freud comments that a sense of the unheimlich is “often and easily produced when the distinction between imagination and reality is effaced, as when something that we have hitherto regarded as imaginary appears before us in reality, or when a symbol takes over the full functions of the thing it symbolizes"



I love dealing with the unheimlich in my short stories. I think short stories are the perfect medium to explore things that normally aren't unusual or frightening, but with a little twist can be scary.

So what about you? Do you have any favorite terms? Or favorite themes you like to explore in your writing?

In Which I Request A Beta

Hi all!

How was your weekend? Did you do anything fun? We pretty much just sat around and played video games. Which was awesome, of course.

Also I did a bit of a blog cleanup so there's now a few more pages to visit if you're interested (and yes I know I've received more blog awards than that. I had them saved in a blog post draft which then accidentally got erased. Le sigh)

I didn't get much work done on Foxfire, but I did, however, get tons of revisions done on a favorite short story of mine, Hole Ridden.

It needed one more large-ish rewrite (well I thought it would be large but it turned out to be really easy). It had to be retyped because somewhere along the way I lost the digital copy (this was before I started using Dropbox). Good thing I still had a printed version. So I typed it up, gave it another line edit (since I've clearly grown a lot since the last line edit) did the rewrite, ran it through Wordle (genius, btw. Does anyone know how to save your Wordle word cloud? Mine looked so ominous that I wanted to keep it...) and then saved it.

So now, I was wondering if anyone would be interested in beta-ing it for me? Both Teebore and Palindrome have read it multiple times before, and though I'll probably shove it their way again (haha! Surprise!) I was hoping maybe someone who hasn't seen it before would be interested in taking a look at it?

I'd be mostly looking for a high level crit, mostly what works and what doesn't (though if you want to do a bit of line editing, I certainly wouldn't turn it down.I just don't want you to feel obligated).

It's not too long, just a bit over 2500 words, and you could certainly take your time.

Also it's in the Horror genre (as most of my short stories tend to be), though it's not gory or anything like that.

no vampires this time, promise.

So if you're interested, let me know either in the comments or via email.

Can you believe we're already into June? I can tell already the summer is going to go too fast.

Let's Talk Blogfest

Yay! A Blogfest I'm actually participating in!
It's been awhile for me, but when Roni suggested a "Let's Talk" Blogfest I couldn't turn it down.
I love to write dialogue. I find it easy and fun and it's one of my strengths.

Here's the definition of the Blogfest:


On Tuesday May 18, post a short excerpt on your blog of your most sparkly dialogue scene (no, I'm not talking about Edward Cullen). It can be anything dialogue-heavy--a laid-back chat, an all out argument, a flirty conversation, two friends ribbing each other--whatever. The options are endless.


I was originally going to post a scene from a short story I wrote about 8 years ago. BUT when I re-read that scene it wasn't very strong and I didn't want to spend the time fixing it up.

So instead here's another bit from a story I never finished. I don't even know where the story was heading and I only got about 4k into it before I stopped for whatever reason.

I think the scene is pretty self explanatory since it takes place so early in the story. The characters are a brother and sister, Sora and Yukiko who are Japanese Americans and attending a boarding school. The genre is paranormalish and leans towards YA.

Also, I apologize for the crazy blogger formatting.

Also, there is some language in this scene.

Here we go!

***


Yukiko and Lisa changed back into their uniforms and left the gym, surprised to see that it was already dark outside and that the weather had turned cool and breezy.

“Well, I guess that’s the end of summer,” Lisa rubbed her arms. “I would’ve brought a jacket had I known it was going to be so cold.”

“It’s not that bad,” Yukiko replied. They cut across the school lawns to make better time to their dorm. “And besides it's just a few blocks.”

“You think they could at least put some lights out here or something,”

“Why, are you scared?”

“Of course not!” Lisa said.

The quickness of her reply led Yukiko to believe otherwise.

Yuki didn’t feel nervous in the least. She felt comfortable under the large oak trees, regrdless of how dark it was.

“Lisa, we’re on school grounds, a hundred feet from our dorm. Nothing’s going to happen to us, so there no reason to be scared.”

“I’m not scared!”

“Sure.”

They walked through the trees. Yuki enjoyed the sounds of the crickets and the cold breeze against her shower damp body.
When they were almost out of the grove three figures leapt at them from behind a tree.

At the sight of their raised arms and loud voices Lisa shrieked and ran screaming back the way they had come.

One of their attackers stepped near to Yuki and she swung out a fist, gratified when her hand connected with flesh and bone.

“Ow! Fuck man,” the figure moaned and backed away. “Your sister hit me in the face!”

“Well what the hell do you expect Brandon!” Yuki yelled. “You jumped out at us and scared the shit out of Lisa. One of you had better go get her before she alerts teachers.” She glared at her brother and his other friend James. James rolled his eyes before he jogged down the path to catch Lisa.

“I think you broke my nose!” Brandon said, his hands covered in blood. Yuki ignored him and turned to her brother who was laughing at both his sister’s and friend’s discomfort.

“That’s just great Sora!” She slapped his arm.

“Ow!” He pulled away.

“Don’t give me that shit. It’s going to take Lisa weeks to get over this.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “You should have seen the look on her face.”

“What the hell are you doing out here anyway?” He showed her a bag of liquor. “Christ, you’re all going to get expelled!” she snatched at the bag.

“Nah, we’ve been doing this for years. Brandon’s window in his room has ivy and a trellis going to it. Just have to wait until after midnight to climb back in. Never been caught before.”

“Well how are you going to explain Brandon’s nose?”

“He was sleepwalking.” Sora shrugged. “Ran into a bed post.” He glanced at Brandon.

“I thought you were too smart to do something this stupid. Especially bringing me and Lisa into it.”

“What are you gonna do? Tattle on us?”

She glared at him a moment, her teeth clenched before she trusted herself to speak again. “Yeah, that’s right Sora, tattle on you!” She pushed past him and Brandon. “You had better hope James found Lisa, because I’m not responsible for what she says to anyone.”

As she walked out of the grove she could hear Brandon talking to Sora, his voice muffled behind his hands.

“Fuck man, your sister’s a bitch.”

“Nah, she’s all right.”

“She broke my nose!”

“Whatever. You just shouldn’t have gotten so close.”

“Think she’ll tell on us?”

“Nah. Come on, let’s go wait for James.”



When the knocks at their door woke her from a dreamless sleep Yuki knew it was Sora. She climbed out of her bed when Lisa spoke up.

“Don’t let him in!”

“He’s my brother.”

“He’s an ass! He made us both look stupid tonight. Let him wait until morning to apologize.”

Yuki sighed and considered Lisa’s point. She was still angry at him but had a feeling he came, not to apologize, but to seek comfort. She unlocked the door.

“Yuki!” Lisa whispered.

“I’m sorry, but what if something’s wrong? I can’t just leave him out there.”

“Fine. Do what you want since you obviously don’t care about me.” Lisa covered her head with her comforter and pretended to sleep. Yuki opened the door a crack and found Sora out of breath.

“What?”

“Let me in,” he whispered.

“Why should I do that?”

“Because I need to talk to you!”

She sighed and let him in. As he glided past she caught a whiff of alcohol and smoke.

“Have you been smoking?”

“No!” he replied, but at her firm gaze, relented. “Well yes, but only one, and that’s not the point!” he sat down on her bed.

“What is the point Sora?” She rubbed her temples. “Why did you come here?”

Sora glanced at Lisa and chose to speak in Japanese.

“Something happened tonight, in the grove. All of the guys said I just passed out but that’s bullshit. I mean I know what I saw and it was no fainting dream or whatever.”

“Sora you’re not making any sense. If you want me to listen, fine. But if you want me to comprehend, please speak in intelligible sentences.”

Sora rubbed face and started again. “I was laying on my back looking at the stars when I saw a comet over in the western part of the sky. I was curious because there shouldn’t have been any comets, and then it turned and started heading towards the grove.”

“It turned?” Yuki snorted.

“Yes it turned. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, and now that I think about it I don’t even think it was a comet, but maybe just like a shaft of energy or something. But the closer it got, the brighter it became and I could actually hear it as it came upon us.”

“What did it sound like?”

He looked sheepish before answering. “A jet. But it wasn’t a jet because no one else saw it." he paused, lost in his thoughts.

“Then what happened?”

“I don’t really know… The energy hit me, right in the chest,” he accompanied this statement with a raised hand placed just below the solar plexus. “And then, I was flying…but not like a bird, like the way a shuttle must feel. And that’s where I went, through the atmosphere up into space.” He paused here again and Yuki didn’t interrupt him.

“God, it was so cold. I mean I knew it would be, but it was so cold it burned. I could feel my bones and blood freezing and I knew if even the tiniest speck of dust touched me I would have shattered. I stopped breathing, and then my heart stopped. And I was dead. Just like that. I’ve never been so terrified in my entire life.” He looked at Yuki and she saw he was indeed terrified of what he had seen. “I don’t want to die. Not like that. Not at all.”

“Of course not.” Yuki rubbed his arm. “No one does. But maybe it was just a dream, caused by the booze and drugs?”

He shook his head. “It was too real, and I wasn’t that drunk or high.”

“But Brandon and James said you just passed out. Maybe you did?”

He looked at her a moment before he jerked his arm away. He pulled his shirt off.
“Passing out doesn’t do this.”

Yuki gasped. Tracing their way from his waist up to his chest were black and purple bruises, each so large that they all just melded together into a grotesque picture of his torso.

“Jesus, Sora,” Yuki whispered, forgetting to speak in Japanese as she reached out a hand to touch him.

“What the hell is going on?” Lisa demanded. She turned over in her bed. “You guys are sitting over there babbling away in Japanese when I’m trying to get some sleep! Can’t you at least have some re-” but as she saw Sora’s bruises her eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut with an audible clack.

“Does it hurt?” Yuki asked. She pressed gently against a bruise on his ribcage.

“Ow! Dammit of course it hurts!” he yelled and pulled away from her.

“What happened?” Lisa asked. She sat on the bed with them. “Did you get in a fight? Was it with Brandon? Did you kick his ass, because he needs a good ass kicking.”

Sora shot Yukiko a look and then pulled his shirt back on.

“No he didn’t get in a fight, Lisa. Listen, do you promise not to speak a word about this to anyone?”

Lisa bit her lip.

“Lisa I’m serious. Just don’t mention this to anyone, especially not any teachers, okay?”

“Fine. But what about all the others he was spending the night with?”

Yuki glanced at Sora and he shrugged his shoulders.

“What about them? If anyone asks, Sora was here with us tonight.”

“They’re not going to believe us!”

“Yes they will. I’m a top student and you haven’t gotten in any trouble.”

“Sora has.”

“So what? We haven’t. Besides they’d have to come up with a story about where they were tonight since I don’t think any of them want to tell the headmaster that they were sneaking out to get drunk and high.”

“O.K. Fine. I’m going back to bed, but you both owe me,” she returned to her bed. “Especially you,” she glared at Sora. Sora flashed her one of his most charming smiles. She snorted and climbed back into her bed.

“So do you believe me?” Sora asked Yuki, once again conversing in Japanese.

“I don’t know. I mean it’s obvious something happened, but I just don’t think some sort of vision would do that to you.”

“It wasn’t the vision that did this, it was the energy.”

“Well whatever it was, I don’t have the answer any more than you. Maybe you should go to bed. Actually, better yet, take a shower. You smell.”

“But-”

“Listen, I’m tired and I’m not in any position tonight to make any sort of decision or judgment. Even if what you said happened did happen, what am I supposed to do about it? Write to Dad and ask him to please come and get us? Some paltry little bruises aren’t going to get us home. Now maybe if you had broken something, some ribs or an arm, that might have gotten us somewhere, but as it is for now we’re stuck here.”

“All right,” he sighed. “You’re right, maybe things will change once I get some sleep.”

“I’m always right Sora.” She led him to the door. “Now you get some sleep and we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. She suspected that he would sleep well, no longer troubled now that he had unburdened himself. But she knew she would lay awake all night as she remembered the bruises that painted a grotesque picture across his chest.

***

So there you go. I wish I could remember where I was going with this story. Maybe I'll have to make something up.

See you tomorrow!

In Which I Reveal First Place

Today is the day!
Today is the day that I reveal who I chose for first place in my 100 followers writing competition.

After reading it, I'm sure you'll see why I selected it.

First Place and the winner of

• The Writers Book of Matches
• Pens
• Moleskin Journal
• Manuscript Makeover
• chocolate
• Total Oblivion More or Less by Alan DeNiro

Is:

Christi Goddard!

Without further ado, here is her story:

*******************

The first crack of thunder of a Texas storm is a sure sign to unplug everything promptly. Lightning around here seems to aim for electrical poles instead of lonely trees in fields. One of Murphy's laws, whoever he is. I'm pretty sure he should be impeached or something, though. I hate his rules.

The storm that blew in at dusk raged until dawn, and when I left for work I found my dog had run off. Never a brave soul, I named him Spike to give him some confidence. So far it hadn't worked out so well. I called his name for several minutes, then gave up.

Next to my car's tire was a soaked book I'd never seen before. Curious, but running late, I tossed it onto the floorboard to scope out at a later time.

I'd no sooner closed my car door and started the engine when a rapid tapping on my window startled me. I rolled down the window and gave my neighbor a vague smile. He always unsettled me with his nervous fidgets and darting eyes. It did not help that he was gaunt with long black hair that always hung in his face, obscuring his features.

"Quoth the raven," I said with a smile.

"What?"

"A gentle tapping at my… nevermind." The man never understood my humor. "What d'you need, Ray?"

He arched a brow at me, seemingly annoyed. Perhaps he knew I thought explaining a joke would be futile in his case. "Did you see anything…odd last night?"

"I don’t watch American Idol."

Ray frowned deeply at me, so I tried again. "No, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Why? Your dog run off, too?"

He didn't own a dog. I knew this, but it was my way of letting him know Spike'd gone missing and he should keep a lookout.

"Not yet," he replied, which I thought was odd. Perhaps he was trying to be as funny as me. He shouldn't do that. It's like trying to fly a plane after watching the pilot. Only not as dangerous.

He glanced down the street nervously, then scurried off without another word. Chocking it up to him just being the local crazy inventor, I rolled up my window and
proceeded down my driveway.

As I checked to make sure the coast was clear to enter the street, I saw Ray at his truck with rope, tying something down in the bed. Curious to a fault, I pulled up at the curb and rolled down my passenger window.

"What's that thing?" It was a metal box with knobs and switches. It almost looked like a giant toaster that'd been steam punked.

"Nothing. Something my brother made."

Right. The dead one. I didn't want to bring up touchy subjects.

"Oh. Well, good luck with it." It was a lame dismissal, but I had to get to work.

I pulled into the nearest coffee drive thru and ordered a hot java, but when I whipped out my wallet to pay for it, all I had was one hundred dollar bills. These paper items did not belong in my wallet. In fact, it was at least three month's wages. I knew I'd had nothing to do with them materializing in my wallet. I paid for the coffee with my debit card.

I wanted to go home and back to bed. It was a strange day already, and I'd not gotten to work yet. When I got to the office, I took the wet book inside with me. I put it under my office fan to dry it out some.

"I pray every day that it will stop, but it keeps getting worse," said my boss behind me.

"I know I'm late again, but my dog ran off," I said. "I'll get better, promise."
She gave me a disbelieving look and walked away.

I peeled open the damp book to discover it was a diary.

Ever since I woke, I smell the fear of others. I wish I'd just slept until I died. I'm so tired of feeling like a freak…

Entry after entry was like that. A woman had developed the olfactory abilities of a canine upon waking from a coma. Weird. Or she was crazy.

Three weeks passed, and I'd given up on Spike. When he did come home, he had a long, strange bone in his mouth. I decided his name had given him confidence after all. I renamed him Spike the Buffy Slayer.

****************

Do you see why I love it? Not only did Christi choose a prompt and write a story, she used all of the prompts! Can you believe it?

Also, the last line was such a winner for me because as soon as I read that the dog's name was Spike I was all, oh, like Spike from Buffy. And then, at the end to have Spike bring us a bone from Buffy??! So awesome and hilarious!

Great job Christi! Please email me your mailing address and I will send your prizes post-haste!

Tomorrow - the rest of the entries and their prizes!

In Which I Reveal Third And Second Place

Yay! More winning entries!

Since I know you're excited, I'll get right to it!

Third Place and the winner of

• The Writers Book of Matches
• Pens
• Moleskin Journal
• Total Oblivion More or Less by Alan DeNiro

is:

Nicole Ducleroir!

Here is her story:

*****************

The Sacred Heart


Thomas’ black leather coat was as useful as a window screen at protecting him from the biting wind. He clutched the collar to his throat and strode down the littered Bronx sidewalk with his head bent against the constant gust. Halfway down the block, a pair of tattered shoes entered his limited field of vision. Thomas slowed his pace and lifted his chin. His gaze traveled from the shoes, up soiled pant legs, past where the waist bent at ninety degrees, to the torso of a disheveled and unconscious man. Thomas took a step closer, peering at the man’s chest to see if it rose and fell. That’s when he spied the frayed wallet, half- wedged under the man’s hip next to a smudged Styrofoam coffee cup.

Thomas glanced quickly up and down the street, snatched up the wallet, and opened it. It was empty.

He tossed it back on the card board bedroll and walked on. A hundred feet later, he turned and crossed a small parking lot in front of Fortworth Saloon. He reached for the door handle and paused. A drop of water ran down the inside of the sweating glass. Thomas whipped his head left and right, popping his neck. He took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

~~~

“Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me?” Stevie Romero scoffed as he threw his cards face down. A cheer went up from the onlookers surrounding the table. Thomas raked all the chips from the ante pile toward him, including the Rolex laid neatly on top. The piles of chips at his side resembled the smokestacks of Jersey’s finest factories across the Hudson. Thomas allowed a boyish grin and avoided looking at the other players.

A large man in a white suit and matching ten bucket cowboy hat peered at Thomas. “So, Tommy Heart?” he drawled. “How come we’ve never seen y’all around the circuit before today? Y’all can’t be new to the game. Ain't beginners who can bluff like you.” He eyed Thomas’ chip fortress with suspicion.

“I been playin’ in the neighborhood for years. In Brooklyn, you gotta have your game face on all the time, ya know what I’m talkin’ about?” Thomas smirked and offered a knuckle bump to the cowboy who sat still, his emotionless eyes fixed on Thomas. Thomas lowered his fist.

“Aw, come on Tex, you’re just pissed off ‘cause he got your stupid watch,” shouted Romero from the other side of the table. “Your bluff was weak, man. Even I saw through it.”

As the Texan argued with Romero, Tommy Heart excused himself from the table. His cool composure cloaked his racing heart. In the vacant hallway leading to the restrooms, he pulled out his cell phone. Glancing left and right, he pushed speed dial number one.

“Sacred Heart of Brooklyn, may I assist you?”

“Sister Cecelia Maria?” he whispered into the phone.

“Father Thomas? Is that you? Where are you, we’ve been worried sick!”

“I’m fine, Sister. But I only have a minute to talk. Listen, please call the parish council and tell them to block the Youth Center demolition. I have raised the money for the new roof, and I suspect there’ll be enough to buy new furniture and get some of those programs off the ground we talked about for the kids.”

“Praise the Lord, Father! This is a last minute miracle. How did you do it?”

Father Thomas glanced at the poster on the wall advertising the semi-pro Texas Hold’em Poker Tournament. With a scarlet blush he said, “I found a room full of willing donators.”

“God is great!” Sister Cecelia Maria exclaimed. “I’ll make the call now. Thank you, Father. Thank you so much!”

“You are welcome. And Sister? One other thing. Please call Father Fitzgerald. See if he is available on Sunday to hear my confession.”

~~~

An hour later with the wind at his back, Thomas made his way up the block. He stopped in front of the sleeping homeless man. Retrieving the wallet, Thomas slipped six twenties into the billfold. He shoved the wallet squarely into the man’s trouser pocket. Snapping his arm out straight to reveal the watch, he unstrapped the Rolex from his wrist and dropped it into the man’s stained trench coat pocket. The man stirred and Thomas walked away.

As Thomas rounded the corner, he looked back. The homeless man was sitting up, one hand cupping the top of his head as he stared into his open wallet.

***************

Wonderful story! Also she was one of the only people to use the money in the wallet prompt (I'll give more prompt stats on Thursday) and she used it in a completely unexpected way.

I loved the fact that the MC in this piece was a completely different person by the end of the story, not because he had changed, but because our perception of him had. I find the story a little bittersweet, which is one of my all time favorite emotions when I'm reading fiction.

Great job Nicole!


Second Place and the winner of

• The Writers Book of Matches
• Pens
• chocolate
• Moleskin Journal
• Total Oblivion More or Less by Alan DeNiro

is:

Teebore!

Here is his story:

**************

Amends

Surrounded by seventeen cops and six superheroes, Roger reached a chubby hand into his pocket. “I’m not a bad guy!” he yelled, clutching a yellow orb. Nestled in the crook of his other arm was a silver, Thermos-like canister.

“He’s got a bomb!”

As a barrage of bullets, three energy blasts, two arrows and an enchanted mallet flew towards him, Roger flung the orb onto the sidewalk. He vanished in a flash of blinding light.

Roger hated funerals. They made him feel judged: like everyone was looking at him, wondering why he wasn’t grieving more or why he was grieving so much. As he approached the casket containing his brother, he was thinking about all of that instead of Teddy. This, in turn, made him worry that other people were thinking he wasn’t more upset.

His brother had been a phenomenal inventor, and a super villain. Still, the boys’ father Franklin, though he would have denied it if asked directly, had always favored Teddy. Franklin had been so excited when Teddy had proven himself as intuitive and skilled an inventor as his father. Where the scientific community had laughed at Roger’s inventions, they had applauded Teddy’s. Where Franklin had mocked Roger’s clumsy attempts at following in his father’s footsteps, he had shown nothing but enthusiasm as Teddy quickly eclipsed his father’s skills.

Roger knelt. His hair was unkempt (he could never keep it tidy) and his shirt hung beneath his poorly-fitting suit coat (he could never keep his shirts tucked in). Roger could feel the eyes of the city’s biggest superheroes on his back, there to honor their fallen foe and the son of the man who had created all of their fantastic equipment.

“I bet you’re really pissed all those guys who always fought you are here,” Roger whispered.
“Nothing you can do about it now, I guess.” Roger glanced over his shoulder to his visibly upset father. “Dad never stopped being proud of you, you know. Even after all the mad scientist stuff, he still loved you more than me.” Tears formed in the corners of Roger’s eyes. “God, I hated you so much for that. I’m the older one, I’m supposed to be the favorite.” Roger sniffled. “But I didn’t want you to die.”

Blinding light filled the cramped room and Roger stumbled out. Breathless, he delicately placed the silver cylinder on a nearby table. “Did you get it?” his brother asked.

“Yeah, I got it,” Roger panted. “It was right where you said it would be.” Roger’s dazed eyes adjusted enough to see the holographic representation of his dead brother gazing with longing at the cylinder.

“Well,” the hologram said, “get to work.”

“I will, I will.” One of Teddy’s secret labs, the room was low ceilinged and packed to the brim with cluttered tools and half-finished inventions. Roger walked to a small refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He sipped it as he moved throughout the room, gathering tools and supplies as he prepared to finish his brother’s final invention.

Holographic Teddy watched impatiently as Roger puttered about. “This is killing you, isn’t it? Relying on me to do all the work?” The hologram gave Roger a pained look. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”

Roger placed a pair of goggles over his eyes and picked up a small torch. “Don’t worry, I can do this. We’ll be done in no time.”

Surrounded by cops and superheroes again, Roger stood on a rooftop beside his completed invention, cold wind tearing at his skin, hands held high.

“Please, it won’t hurt anyone. Just let me show you!” The machine was as tall as Roger, wide at the bottom and tapered towards the top where an old satellite dish was mounted. Exposed wires were everywhere. If Teddy had finished the device himself, it would have been smaller, sleeker, and color coordinated. It was all Roger could do, even with his brother’s hologram looking over his shoulder, to get the thing working.

Roger activated the device. Bullets tore into his flesh. They were too late.

Falling to the ground, his insides shredded, Roger heard the cops panicking as the superheroes approached. The device hummed.

“Don’t…,” Roger coughed up blood, “…destroy it. Just…energy. Unlimited energy, for the whole city.” One of the superheroes, Roger couldn’t tell which, knelt by his body. “Tell my dad…” Pain raked his body. His vision faded. “It was Teddy’s last invention. To make amends.” Roger knew he was almost dead. “Tell him Teddy was sorry.”

***************

Things I love about this piece:
Superheroes
Flashbacks
An enchanted Mallet
All contained in 750 words.

Also, one of my most favorite themes is redemption, so combine that with a brother's loyalty and it's a win win situation for me.

Great job!


If you two could email me your mailing addresses I will get your prizes right out to you (and let me know if you own either of the books and I will substitute another).

Tomorrow, the first place winner!

In Which I Reveal Fourth Place

Wow! Everyone who submitted to my 100 followers contest did such an AMAZING job! Seriously, I did not expect it to be so hard to choose winners.

Because it was so so hard, I actually had to create a fourth place (or honorable mention, whichever you prefer) and that place is actually held by 2 entries because I just could not decide.

Also, because all the entries were great, everyone who participated will be getting a prize! That's right, a prize for everyone!

What's the prize you ask?
You'll have to wait and see, later in the week.

This is how I'm going to do things. I'll reveal the fourth place winners today (and post their stories for all to read) the third and second place winners tomorrow, the first place winner on Wednesday and Thursday will be a wrap up including what I liked about the remaining entries and what they're receiving as prizes.

Fun times!

Please remember, I chose the stories based on entertainment value alone. Of course they were all entertaining, so hence my earlier mentioned dilemma of choosing winners.

And, since I'm sure you're all anxious, I'll get right to it!

Fourth place is a tie, and the first entry to hold this place (and winner of The Writers Book of Matches and Hooked) is:

Sonshine Music!

Here is her story:

***************

I Have a Bone to Pick


It’s a really bizarre moment when you realize your life will never be the same. I mean, sometimes it sneaks up on you, but other times it’s just right there, in your face, wake up and take notice. Your life’s changing whether you like it or not, for better or for worse.

Have you noticed it’s usually “for worse”? At least, it has been in my experience. You know the phrases. “Your daughter has cancer.” “They did all they could.” “There was an accident.” “The company is ‘restructuring’.”

You want to know the phrase that changed my life? I bet you’ve never heard it before. It went like this:

It all started with my stupid dog. Now, before you go all ASPCA on me, please understand I mean that in the most affectionate way. Marty is the stupidest mutt you will ever meet. The first day I had him he got his ear stuck in the refrigerator. His ear! But I didn’t notice for two hours. He just sat there for two freaking hours with his ear in the fridge waiting for me to come back. What kind of dog does that?

Well, this time he had disappeared for three weeks. I called the pound, talked to my neighbors. Even posted pictures around town. No luck.

I was out in the garden on that fateful day. Minding my own business, just squatting down to inspect a tomato plant, when I was scared out of my wits by a cold nose pressing into the small of my back. It hit hat bare spot between my tee and capris.

“What on earth? Carry muffins in a pan!” I screamed. Sprawling backward into the grass I found myself nose to nose with my grinning, slobbering, brown and grey, seventeen-pound mess of a dog.

See, Marty doesn’t bark, he woofs. And he would have woofed at me if he could have, but he couldn’t. Not with that thing in his mouth. Even though his tail was going eighty miles an hour and he was all kinds of excited to have found me, it was the thing in his mouth that caught my attention.

It was a bone. Not a rawhide, rubber or chunky hunk of bone, but a real bone. It didn’t look like those cartoon bones either. It was red and white and I had never seen anything like it.

Marty dropped it on my chest. “Ew, nasty pie of disgusting grossness!” I jumped up and let the bone fall to the ground. We both stared down at it, then Marty looked up at me and woofed.

“Shut up,” I told him. “Do you realize what a pain this is for me?”

He grinned and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, drool dripping onto my bare toes. I curled them out of instinct and shooed Marty back to the house. He woofed again, bounding around my feet, trying to make sure we both ended up back on the ground.

“Cut it out, you mangy mutt,” I growled, but then I ruffled his ears as I pulled open the screen door.

After locking him in the bathroom so he didn’t spread chaos around the rest of my house, I snagged the phone and rifled through the front of the phone book to find the local police number. Yeah, I don’t have it memorized and this didn’t seem like a 911 worthy call. I snorted as the phone rang. Can you imagine that conversation?

“Yes, I’d like to report a bone. No, my dog brought it home. But it’s real. No, there’s no emergency. No, no one’s in distress. Well, I guess something is. I mean, something’s missing a bone. Those are kind of important.”

Not so much.

Then the operator answered and I found myself saying those same words anyway. There’s no easy way to broach that kind of subject.

The woman thought I was pranking her at first, but I repeated myself until she agreed to send a car over.

The two cops got out of the cruiser and I led them over to the bone. It looked so out of place on my crisp, green lawn. A little harbinger of death and destruction in my corner of the world.

Their faces got all serious. One crouched down, pulled on some gloves and picked it up. He looked at his partner and; here comes that phrase I was talking about at the beginning; he said, “I think it’s human.”

Stupid dog.

****************

I LOVED the humor in this piece. I loved that the dog got his ear stuck in the fridge and I especially loved the "Carry muffins in a pan!" expletive and I expect I will be stealing it and using it in real life. Also, what's not to like when the MC is discussing why they didn't call 911 because of the story they'd have to tell, when they had to tell it anyway to the non-emergency police. Hilarious!

Great job at making me laugh!


The second entry for this place (since again, there was a tie) and also winner of The Writers Book of Matches and Hooked) is:


Palindrome!

Here is her entry:

*************

UPDATED:

Because Palindrome has plans to submit this baby, it can't be posted on the interwebs.

BUT, the story was about a girl who wakes up from a coma and finds that she's very very hungry.
FOR BRAINS

*******************

Ewww! Creepy! Also, awesome. What is not to like about zombie-esqu coma patient? Nothing, that's what.

Also, what I love about Palindrome's writing is her use of metaphor. "There is a dry sponge in my mouth. I try to push it out with my tongue until I realize it is my tongue." I can never metaphor like that, and so am always appreciative of those who can.

Great job to both of you!

If you ladies can email me your mailing addresses, I will send your prizes on their way! (also, please let me know if you have either of those books and I will substitute for another).

Tomorrow, more winners!

In Which I Entered Another Contest

I entered something in Natalie Whipple's Dark and Stormy Contest. I actually wrote a little flash fiction piece. Of course, once I finally got it down to 250 words is when I realized I forgot to open with the weather.

Yeah, I left out the whole point of the contest. Smooth Sarah...

So anyway, I was able to delete a few more words (and it was hard, I had already cut out 150 words, which is a lot for a short piece) and stick in my weather reference.

I was pretty sure I had no chance because I didn't weave the weather throughout, and I was correct.

But still, I kinda liked it, so here it is for everyone to read.

*******

On a sunny afternoon, Jim left Jena with a bellyful of baby for some trollop. Still, Jena sometimes missed him. After all, Jim had made her a mommy.

Clara was the perfect baby, Jena’s soul mate, the reason she allowed Jim back in their lives. Surely some good existed in him since he was partially responsible for the exquisite Clara. And more than anything, Jena loved Clara.

Which is why, when Jena first noticed the fangs, she wasn’t scared.

The two fangs were a shiny white, no bigger than grains of rice. They responded with Clara’s mood: happy meant no fangs, hungry or angry meant the delicate fangs would pop out.

Jena became anemic. But it wasn’t Clara’s fault. Jena loved every inch of Clara, even the inches that drew blood.

So she stopped breastfeeding and tried formula, but Clara lost all interest in food. Her nightly cries kept Jena awake and nothing soothed. Finally, when it became too much, Jena called Jim.

It didn’t take much to convince him to come over: the promise of liquor, maybe a little amorous fun.

“Say hello to the baby,” Jena said and thrust Clara into her daddy’s arms.


Jim held Clara to his shoulder and rubbed her back. He wasn’t, after all, a bad father.

Clara nudged her daddy’s neck. Her tiny fangs erupted and slid into Jim’s skin.
Jena was there to catch Clara when Jim collapsed. After all, she was a mommy, and would do anything for Clara.

*****

I know. Vampires again? Yeah. But it's a vampire baby. Anyway it's not like that's how I intended for it to go, but what can you do?



I might possibly like to stretch this out a bit, add a couple hundred words, so I can do less telling and really weave more of a theme throughout. But we'll see.

I've got bigger projects that need editing first.



Anyone else enter a piece in the contest?

In Which I (Thought I) Edited Too Much

So I submitted a piece for the Cosmic Coincidence Contest put on by the awesome Simon and Carol. The goal was to write a flash fiction piece (under 1k) using some prompts Simon came up with off some cool writing dice his wifey had made him.

Straight up the prompts killed me. I kept coming up with ideas and then realized I was mixing up the prompt sets.

Sigh.

Anyway, I made myself submit (Twin harped at me, too) because I certainly wouldn't gain anything by not submitting.

But I almost didn't submit anything. I had 2 pieces, and I felt neither of them were my best work. I passed the 2 pieces to my writing group and Brother and Twin, and even though I liked the shorter, more "literary" piece, they all came back preferring the one about vampires.

So I submitted it and got on with my life. I even wrote a blog post ahead of time to discuss the flaws inherent in my story I was sure they'd laugh at.
(to be fair, Carol and Simon are super duper nice and I'm sure they would have never laughed.)

And then, on Wednesday, there was my story on both their blogs for all their wonderful followers to read.

So I freaked out. In a good way of course.

I've never had a story posted where people just say nice and good things about it. Usually I'm sending things out to be critiqued, so while there are always good things said there are also places that need work.

Having complete strangers say wonderful things (like they loved my voice - can you believe that?!) is a complete mind trip and confidence booster. Especially when I thought the piece was a bit sub par.

Apparently I was a little hard on the story and it was, in fact, the little piece that could.

Anyway, here's the story for anyone who wants to read it. Below I'll discuss the few things that I thought were irreparable flaws (though clearly, much of it must have been in my head)


Pulled the story down for revision and submission


Word Count = 999
Writing Prompts = sunny day, martinis, a snake

The basic story idea that I came up for this was "what if someone fed stray vampires instead of stray cats?" Which I still think is an awesome idea. I don't remember how or why I came up with it.

There are a couple of reasons why I wasn't ecstatic with Strays

One is that I think flash fiction works best as one specific scene. This one (and to be fair, the other one too, which is why I wasn't happy with that one either) has two scenes, the first one in the bar and the second one at her home.
I just don't think it's as strong as a piece that is one scene, but perhaps that's just my preference.

Also I felt that I had edited it too much. It started over 1600 words, so I had to cut over 600. The first 300 or so were good cuts, they made the piece stronger.
Originally the story had another character. Marcia was at the bar with her friend discussing the vampires and then she meets Jacob. I actually like that version a bit more, the dialogue seemed more authentic and it flowed better. But I had to cut her friend out in order to get the words down. Then I needed about another 100 words gone. At that point, I just cut where I could.

I was worried that I had lost much of my voice with the cuts and also that the first scene was too much of a talking head syndrome ("blah blah, here's information that's important to the story, blah blah").

It was the first time I felt I had edited a piece too much. But clearly, I may have been overreacting a bit.

On the plus side though, all the beta readers and quite a few of the contest readers thought Jacob was going to be a vampire. Which is good because that was what I originally had planned for the story, a sort of "you think this guy is the bad guy but SURPRISE he's not". I thought I failed epically at this and therefore stopped trying to make it that way, but I guess that worked to my advantage because it ended up being more subtle. Who knew?

It's funny. I thought this piece didn't have a chance in hell with this contest and I was wrong. And I thought my piece for the Natalie Whipple contest was a sure thing and it wasn't even an honorable mention.

Clearly my confidence and doubt is all mixed up.

I want to once again thank everyone who said such kind things here on my blog and over on Simon and Carol's blogs as well. It's amazing how one little positive comment is enough to spur someone ever onwards.
Cheers!

Does anyone else have an experience about editing too much?

Love At First Sight Blogfest

So I'm participating in the Love At First Sight Blogfest, organized by the lovely Courtney Reese.

For those of you new to the idea, a blogfest is when someone comes up with a scene topic and anyone who wants to participate writes a scene (or takes one from an existing piece) and posts it on their blog for all the world to see.

This one is, clearly, about love at first sight scenes (appropriately for Valentine's Day). Or, if you don't have a love at first sight scene, it can also be when your characters realize they love each other.

I thought I had plenty of scenes like that in my writing. But it was hard to find one. Most of my short stories are not of the happy variety (about 90% of my shorts are horror-esque) and though Foxfire had a few, they were both lengthy and would require too much build up and backstory.

So I looked at my previous WIP (the one stalled at 70K).
This one had a few options so I went with one scene that looked pretty solid.
The only editing I did on it was spell check so this is how it looks in the unfinished first draft.
I tried to include as much conversation as required to make sense of the scene. I hope you can follow along...


****************
“When we got attacked by the wolves, back at the alley,” Joachim began, “you changed your form.”

She nodded but continued to watch the fire.

“Is that something you’ve always been able to do?”

“Yes. You did not notice when I changed before?” she asked.

“You looked like one of them,” Joachim said. “Like one of the wolves.”

“I don’t look like them. They look like me.” Cilka clarified. “And now I look like you.”

Joachim saw that Cilka had changed her appearance to once again look more human, her fur gone, her mane replaced by hair and her claws with fingernails. She had gone back to the woman he knew. The woman he loved.

As soon as the thought entered his head he found it to be true. When he had seen her fall into the river and not resurface he had felt such a moment of loss the closest association he had was when Jen had lost the baby, and then he had lost Jen. He had loved Jen. And now he loved Cilka.

“You told me that you loved Arenna,” he said to Cilka. “That you would have died for her, given the chance.” Joachim turned to face her. The firelight danced across her skin and created patterns and reflections of movement.

“Yes.” Cilka said.

“Is that why you spend so much time with me? Am I just her to you?”

She turned to face him. “You aren’t her. You can never be her. She was a unique creature that no human could ever encompass.”

“But you said-”

“I am a creature of the moment, Joachim.” She rested a hand on his leg. “You have to be when life just goes on and on. I tell you this so you can understand that when I say I house guilt over Arenna’s death, you can understand that, for me, to hold onto any emotion for such a length of time is an anomaly. That is how much I loved her. She changed my very nature. I am no longer what I was before I met her. My kin would not recognize me now and would see me as a broken creature, to feel as I do over a being that was destined, as all things are, to end, to die and return to dust and earth once more.

“When I first saw you, I knew immediately you carried Arenna’s blood. I see it in your skin, taste it on your breath. You can’t imagine what it is like, to have loved so greatly so long ago and to have just a glimpse, a reminder, of that love again. It hurts so much. And yet, I would experience it over and over again. Because you are all I have left of her.”

Joachim nodded. It was the longest speech he’d ever heard from Cilka and it was full of lovely and painful words.

“I understand,” he said and noticed how the black polish on his fingernails had chipped.

“Joachim.” She reached two fingers and lifted his chin so he could look into her eyes. “I already told you that two things cannot be one and that you are not Arenna. But even if you carried nothing of her in you, I would still love you as you are.”

She leaned forward and kissed him gently upon the lips. She tasted of good things, rosemary and mint and he was reminded again that she smelled like cedar and dry leaves in the fall.

He wondered if it was possible to love a monster.

**********************

So there you have it. I hope it wasn't too confusing and I think I accomplished what the blogfest was meant to do.

Now I'm off to read the other entries.