It's simple, really...

I was busy yesterday for Flash Factory Friday over at Jessa Russo's blog, but I wrote one really fast this morning. Hopefully, it's there on time (I don't actually know when it closes). :) The judge made a comment about how her favorite part of writing was dialog, so I decided that my piece would only include dialog. It was hard not to put any tags on any of those lines. I wanted to put some movement in, but I refrained. It was a good thing because I only barely made the word count limit! (Shocking, right?) Anyway, the word prompt was: saccharine, asphalt, simple. Enjoy!


“It’s simple, really, you just have to--”

“Don’t patronize me!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“Stop! Just stop. I don’t need some saccharine apology that--”

“Now that’s not fair! Not everyone who apologizes is lying! Just because--”

“Don’t. Don’t even say it. Don’t bring him up.”

“You brought him into the conversation first.”

“I did not! I don’t ever want to talk about him again!”

“Then stop comparing me with him and assuming his intentions behind my words! He didn’t just kick you to the curb, he rubbed your face in the asphalt and scattered your stuff in the street. I get that. Well, no, I really don’t, but this is never going to work if you can’t learn to trust me that I don’t have your worst in mind every time I open my mouth. God, Sylvia, I’m walking on eggshells here and I’m breaking them at every step and they’re cutting my feet…I don’t know if I want to keep walking. You are smart and funny and beautiful. We have the same favorite book and you have the best serve I’ve ever seen not on tv, but…I don’t know if you’re ready for this.”

“Billy, please…just…just give me time. You’re right. I’m damaged goods, but--”

“You’re not damaged, Syl, you’re hurting. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Don’t let him do that to you. You’re free now. Just keep moving forward one step at a time.”

“But you don’t want to walk with me anymore!”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that. I just…Maybe making it official was a little too soon. I’m your friend. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not giving up on you. You’re worth it. Believe it.”

“Thank you. You’re so good to me. I’m sorry. I’d like to – Can we keep trying? I can’t promise I’ll be better, but maybe with your help--”

“Sure, Sweetie, I didn’t want to end it. I just want what’s best for you.”

“You’re best for me…. Now, about this toilet…”

“The plunger’s just off…”

Disco Party Blues

100 word flash fiction - Who me?

Things are getting out of hand. I wasn't planning on trying this one...The 100 word limit was scary. But then I saw the picture and managed to come up with an idea quickly. This one is from Tuesday Tales home of Stevie McCoy. I also had to use the word 'royalty'. The picture is fun. Follow the above link to see the poor girl sitting by the disco ball... :) Enjoy!

EDIT: I'm including the picture!

How hard is it to hang a disco ball? I give up. I have been defeated by my lack of drywall nails. Or something.

I’m still sulking when Brian turns off the lights and shines the spotlight at the ball on the floor. “See! It still works! You’re all sparkly.”

“Please, Brian, it is so not cool to have it on the floor. Where will people dance?”

“Arianna, tonight is your night. You will be treated like royalty. Everything you want at your fingertips. Starting now. I’ll head over to the hardware store. I’m sure they’ll know what to do.”

Lucky?

So, okay...I think I'm enjoying this flash fiction thing. There is apparently quite a few author sites where they run these competitions. This one was submitted to Motivation Monday at Wakefield Mahon's site. The prompt was required as the first sentence. This is my first future dystopian thing...I kinda like it. I might someday turn this into a middle grade novel... We'll see. :) Enjoy!

The trouble started when they threw the book in the fire. I gave it to them. Was that stupid? It didn’t seem so at the time. They started tossing it around and laughing. The bonfire blazed – light and shadow sending mixed messages I didn’t have time to figure out. I still don’t know whether it was an accident or if it was all part of some plan. There was one of those moments when time stood still, the world holding its breath, and then the pop of the casing cracking.

It happened so fast! No time to fish it out. No time to do anything but run.

Run I did. They had to know what would happen to me. I had bragged that I could live outside the city just fine. That I knew how to survive. That I didn’t need Father telling me what to do.

I had lied. Or, at least, I thought I had.

I was lucky. I picked the right direction. I passed over a dry riverbed and found an entrance to a cave before the hovercars could detect me. Okay, I fell into it, but it was lucky all the same.

Was this an amusing joke they played on all the stupid kids they wanted to get rid of, or was this a test? If I assumed the former, then I should make my way back to the city and explain to the guard what happened. He might take pity on me. Maybe. No. No, he wouldn’t. I didn’t have my book anymore. How could I prove who I was? Plus, I ran.

However, if I assumed the latter, then I should – What? What did they want me to do? This was all Addy’s fault. If she hadn’t shown me how to cloak my movements from Father, I never would have found them. I never would have known that I didn’t have to have the surgery. That there was another way. When she didn’t come back, I thought she had joined them.

I was wrong. Or, at least, she wasn’t around the fire.

So now what? There were still years before I was old enough to get the implant. I could have another chance before then. I could go back and plan and learn so that I could make another attempt…

Who was I kidding? If I went back – and if they didn’t kill me, which was a big if – then I would be put under constant surveillance. I would be in lockdown. Solitary for who knew how long. Father wouldn’t take that chance.

So this was it. My one chance. Was it that important to me?

Yes.

I looked around. Caves were supposed to have water, right? Maybe if I went deeper I’d get lucky again.

Bloody Basin Real Estate

Menage Monday over at Cara Michael's blog here is another flash fiction contest. I have enjoyed the two I wrote for Flash Factory Friday, so I thought I'd try another. This one is a little more difficult. It requires between 100 and 200 words. As you know, I've been perilously close to the 350 limit on my other two, so this was a challenge. Anyway, there were three prompts: 1) a picture of an exit called Bloody Basin Rd. 2) the phrase "a family affair" and 3) the phrase "a fight to the death" - I'm not sure if that last is supposed to be a phrase or if the story is supposed to include people actually fighting to the death...hmmm...I suppose I should have clarified that because mine doesn't work that second way. Oh well, here's my flash!

Word Count: 178

Stupid name. We’re coming up on the exit and if he sees the name he won’t buy the house. He has to see the house first. Maybe if I distract him, he won’t even notice the sign.

“Beautiful mountain view.” I flick my turn signal.

He grunts, “Bloody Basin? What’s the story on that?”

Unfortunate. “Lots of stories.”

“Which one’s true?”

“I don’t know if any of them are.”

He glares at me. “Try me.”

“Cowboys, Indians, a fight to the death, that sort of thing.”

“Anyone important?”

“I’m sure they were to somebody.” Time to change the subject. “Do you have family? The schools-”

“This isn’t a family affair. Just me.”

“There’s a lot of square footage, are you looking to entertain?”

“No. I don’t like people.”

Right. “They just laid fiber last year, so you should be able to get fast internet. And the basement could easily be converted to a home theater.”

“Bloody Basin sounds ominous.” He’s not even going to look at the house.

“It’s just a name.” I wish they would change it.

Worst. Stop. Ever.

I entered Flash Fiction Friday again. The required words were bathroom, hooligan, and vengeance. Follow the link here to Jessa Russo's blog. As I did last week, I will post my entry below. I decided to try present tense, which is unusual for me. That was a fun challenge. Again, the word count pushed the upper boundaries at 346 words. This has to be one of the most mundane things I've ever written a scene on. Let me know what you think! :)

I really need to pee, but the bathroom is still occupied. This gas station is the worst one yet, but probably the only one for another hour or more. I don’t have a choice. I won’t make it that long. I wish I was a boy. Then I could just walk over into those bushes and be on my way. I’m tempted to do it anyway.

I’m bouncing. I try to stop, but it’s gotten so bad I find myself doing an adult version of the pee pee dance. I stare at the faded red door, willing it to open. How long does it take to use the bathroom? Crap. Literally. I don’t hear a fan. It must be broken. I sigh. It’s going to reek in there.

I try to decipher the ‘decorations’ left by whatever hooligans inhabit the middle of nowhere. The ‘artist’ is either a fan of Picasso, or doesn’t understand basic human anatomy.

I knock to let them know someone is waiting. No one answers. I knock louder and say, “Could you please hurry up?” Still no answer.

Someone has to be in there. This is one of those places where you have to ask for the key behind the counter. I asked. No one could accidentally leave with a foot-long bathroom key. And who would do it on purpose?

I pound on the door, “If someone is in there, answer now! I’m going to check if there’s another key!” No answer.

The clerk resembles a cow, blinking slowly and chewing gum. It seems that thinking isn’t something he does often. “Well…” He glances around. “Oh.” He reaches over and picks up the wooden dowel with the key. “I guess it was returned.”

You guess?!? I feel my eyes bug out of their sockets. I snatch the key and do my business, being sure not to touch anything. I wish I didn’t even have to step on the floor. I want vengeance. Somebody should pay for this horrendous experience. I swallow my frustration, return the key, and continue on.

Worst. Stop. Ever.

Discovery Writing

I had a conversation recently with my hubby about a scene I was writing. This scene was composed entirely of dialog between my main character and someone else. There were no dialog tags. I actually didn't know who was talking to her. That's right, I didn't know...and I was writing it...yes. Does that make me schizophrenic? Maybe. It was definitely odd, though. I kept thinking, "Who in the world is this? Who is talking?" It was driving me nuts (aside from the me being nuts thing). The problem occurred when I tried to skip ahead in the story and write a scene, or section really, that I had been thinking about for a while. I was really excited about it and I really wanted to get to it, but my characters were taking their sweet time about moving through the part I was currently writing. The part that was supposed to be the first quarter to third of the book is now sitting at 90,000 words. Yup. They just had other things to do than go where I wanted them to, when I wanted them to. That may sound strange, but it's true. The characters really did have a life of their own.

That's not to say that they took me away from my outline...ha! Outline? No. I don't really have much of one. Or, more specifically, it's so broad that they could do a lot of things that are different but still fit into the outline. Honestly, my outline sounds something like "First they're here, then they go here, then they travel to here. On the way this and this happens. Other stuff happens at this place, then they go here and then here and learn this. Then, on the way to here, this happens. They end up here and then this happens. Then they save the world." There are some deaths scattered here and there, but that's pretty much it. (vague enough for you?) Perhaps I should have put a spoiler alert on the saving the world bit? Other than filling in actual names and places and specific actions for the 'theres' and 'thiss' that is pretty much the outline. Which, if you don't know writing terms, makes me pretty much on the far side of the spectrum when it comes to discovery writing (the opposite side is outline writing). I didn't have any outline until about 19,000 words in and then that's what I've been working off of ever since.

That doesn't mean that I don't know where the story is going, I just don't know how it's getting there. When I started writing I knew a scene in the story nearer to the beginning (22,000 words in at the moment) and the ending. I had a vague idea of theme. That was about it. I had a main character and I kinda just developed the world around her. I kept adding other characters who continually surprise me. They show up and talk sweet and make me fall in love with them. Then they hang around for way longer than I think they will. One of my characters started talking about his younger siblings and I remember thinking, "Wow. I didn't know he had any siblings." Yes. That thought. I did actually think it. Yes. And almost immediately after that I thought, "Well, of course he does." That's kinda how my writing day goes. It's fun. It's crazy. I'm probably crazy, but at least I'm having fun!

This discovery writing thing is definitely messing with my goals. I hoped that by the end of April I would have 100,000 words and be done with my novel. Knowing that I tend to go over a tad (well, okay, a lot) in every single writing assignment I've ever done, I then hoped that I would be finished after May with somewhere around 120,000 words. That was my plan anyway. It seemed feasible. Well, I'm a little behind (~94,000 words - which I've had most of by the end of April) May has been really bad for writing. And I'm not really near the end of the story yet. At least, I don't think I am. I'm going to set a new goal of being finished with it by the end of August. I've been thinking of doing Camp NaNoWriMo in June or August, just to give me some extra accountability. We'll see. Anyway, for those of you eagerly anticipating my story to be finished...well...It's coming along. I'm still enjoying it. That's about all I know. I have several things to do at the location they're at now. I have a couple other places for them to be. And then the ending stuff that's as concrete in my head as anything ever gets. Hopefully that part will go quickly. I can't promise anything though...just that I'll keep going until I get to the end. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens as much (or maybe more so) than you! :)

Call Box

I wrote my first ever flash fiction today. It was fun. And hard. My writing is in no way considered short, by any stretch of the imagination, so it was fun to challenge myself with a story of 350 words or less. Before this prompt, I didn't think it was remotely possible. How could I write a story that had only 350 words? What would that even look like. I don't think I even have scenes that short! I think flash fiction can be up to 500 words, but not for this contest. Anyway, if you're interested in reading it, the following link with take you to the contest page:

http://jessarussowrites.blogspot.com/2012/05/flash-factory-friday-5.html?showComment=1337976459362#c6439742150319495083

Actually, I suppose I could just put it on here... Okay, so if you want to check out the contest page follow the above link. If you just want to read my 347 word flash fiction? Well, I'll copy and paste it right here! Enjoy! :)

EDIT: The word prompts were Static and Dream and the picture I chose is:

I raced to the call box. Which number was it? Why couldn’t they be labeled? As far as this reality went, I needed out. It had started as such a dream, but now it was a nightmare. I needed time to think. The beast was growing and changing so fast. I heard the claws scrabble against the cobbles a few streets away, echoing through the alleys.

If I pressed the wrong button, I could end up anywhere. Sure, the garden behind the wrought iron fence looked innocent enough, but anyone could see that it was completely static – no breeze, no nothing. As soon as I made a commitment I had to either go there or stay here. Staying here wasn’t an option. The beast slammed into some trash cans. It must be having difficulty navigating the cobbles. Good.

I wracked my brain. Three was that deserted island, right? I think I’d figured out how to make that raft now. Wait. No. That was only three if I was coming from the moon colony. From here it was – Oh, I can’t remember! The crash of trash cans and a yowl from a cat told me that I had better figure it out right now.

The gate opened. Marjorie. Her eyes grew big and her mouth dropped open. “Gavin? Finally. You’re here!” Her smile was like the sun.

“I have to leave.”

“No. Not again.”

“I’m going to be eaten alive.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“You just don’t want to tell me.”

“No, I can’t remember which number goes where.”

She laughed. “Does it really matter?”

“I guess not, as long as it’s not the alligators or the bats. I’m not even sure I can get to either of those from here.”

“Feed the alligators those squatty birds. They’re dumb as rocks.”

“Thanks.” My fingertips brushed her cheek.

“Try to stay put for more than 24 hours next time.”

“I do try.” We both turned when the beast howled as it rounded the corner. “Come on, lucky number four.” I pressed the button and walked through the gate.