Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Flash Fiction Challenges are back! Snow Frosted



Welcome back to our challenges!  I hope to have these weekly again, as I am able, and am excited to see what you have for us!

As a prize, I can offer a copy of one of my published works (can be found, linked, on the left), or if you already have them, editing services for a piece of work, 5 pages or shorter.

OR (while offers last)!!!  You can steal one of my winner prizes from me!  I will GIVE you my coupon code if you prefer, to one of the winner things over on NaNo.

With this in mind, we can pick a 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place, and allow the first place person to choose first, second second, and so on.  :)

http://www.nanowrimo.org/offers  (I only withhold the Dragon Naturally Speaking code.  This one's for my dad, who wants to get back into writing, but cannot always manage the keyboard for long periods of time.)

This week's challenge, Snow Frosted, needs to be to me by the end of the day Thursday, 12-13-2012.  We'll aim for 1500 words this time, anything less than that is okay.  We have been NaNo-ing it up, and 1500 is a good amount to get in a good word count, get in a good story, and not go overboard.

Remember the rules:
  • Edit your work for grammar and spelling as best as you can.  
  • Post it on your own blog and LINK it here in the comments.
  • Stay UNDER the word count for the week
  • Have it to be by Midnight, Mountain Standard Time, on the day listed above.
  • You must use the photo as inspiration for your story, in some way.
  • The work in question needs to be written FOR this challenge.  Otherwise, it is cheating!  And the point of this is to improve our skills, not win.
  • Have FUN!  :)  
See you at the finish line!!!!!!  Good luck!!!

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Now that it's all over...

Now that NaNo is all over...  what are you finding to do with your time?  Are you back to your normal old life?  Does that seem strange?  Not writing every day?

Or are you keeping at it?  Using your month of daily writing to help establish good habits, and working on, without the word count ticker?

There are several places you can go, year round, if you miss the ticker, or the challenge.

www.writeordie.com has a fun self-challenge thing.  Worst case, your words will be EATEN BEFORE YOUR EYES if you stop working.  That's just mean!!  But there are nicer levels on there, and it is worth looking into.

www.writtenkitten.net is very silly, giving you kitten rewards for meeting your word counts.  Awww, another kitteh!!!  SO CUTE!!!!!!

There are various versions of this, now, too.

Puppy:  http://writtenkitten.net/?search=puppy
Dog:  http://writtenkitten.net/?search=dog
Chihuahua: http://writtenkitten.net/?search=chihuahua

Are we sensing a theme?  Put whatever word you want in the search area and VOILA!
You can put ANY word in there and it will try to find you motivational images.  Whatever those might be, to float your boat.  *ahem*  Some may only be adult-friendly.  Play with your new toy responsibly, please!

Really, it just takes any search for images and makes the answers random.  It's kinda clever, but is all based on some search engine somewhere.  But, if it motivates you?  Great!

There's always www.750words.com too.  It's a private thing, and can be used to journal, but it tries to make you write at least 750 words per day.  Tracks your moods through the words you choose, kind of cool.

In any case, DO NOT let people suggest you only are allowed to write during November.

If you want to write?  WRITE.  End of story.

So, what are you still sitting here for?  Go!  Get to it!  There are stories that want to be told!

PS:  The weekly-ish flash fiction challenges will begin again this Thursday night.  Check back for details, or look at the Flash Fiction stuff from previous challenges for ideas of how it will look!

<<<<< Over there, word bubble or search feature!  :)

Friday, February 24, 2012

Flash Fiction Challenge: Double Rainbow



Welcome to the fourth weekly flash fiction challenge of Febuary!!  Here are the rules:
  • You have one week to submit if you want to be included.
  • You are up to challenge yourself AND win a copy of either my short story, Nothing Lasts Forever, or a copy of my giant book of poetry, Bony Fingered Limbs.  Just let me know which you'd prefer, should you be chosen!  :)  It will come to you via email as a PDF file, DRM-free, so you can send it to whatever e-book-reader-device you may prefer.  ALSO, If you win so often you run out of choices, I will offer my services in editing something of yours, so there is always incentive!
  • Your word cap this week is 800 words, so it's a little shorter, like last week!  That makes it a bit harder, but I think you can do it!  We'll work our way down shorter each month until we're awesomely churning out quickie stories like pros.  It is a good thing.
  • Your challenge for this week is something I am calling Double Rainbow.  Let the photo above be your inspiration!
  • Get me your submissions by Midnight next Friday morning, 3-2-12, Mountain Standard Time.  Link us your story in the comment area!  Put it up on your own blog, or on a public note on Facebook or in a Google Document file.  Somewhere so we can all see it.  Make sure you link your story!  Just  to be sure it's not passed over by accident, missed, or not included in the contest!  Thanks!

Anyway!! Let's see what you've got!  

Friday, February 17, 2012

Flash Fiction Challenge: Frosty Path



Welcome to the third weekly flash fiction challenge of Febuary!!  Here are the rules:
  • You have one week to submit if you want to be included.
  • You are up to challenge yourself AND win a copy of either my short story, Nothing Lasts Forever, or a copy of my giant book of poetry, Bony Fingered Limbs.  Just let me know which you'd prefer, should you be chosen!  :)  It will come to you via email as a PDF file, DRM-free, so you can send it to whatever e-book-reader-device you may prefer.  ALSO, If you win so often you run out of choices, I will offer my services in editing something of yours, so there is always incentive!
  • Your word cap this week is 800 words, so it's a little shorter, like last week!  That makes it a bit harder, but I think you can do it!  We'll work our way down shorter each month until we're awesomely churning out quickie stories like pros.  It is a good thing.
  • Your challenge for this week is something I am calling Frosty Path.  Let the photo above be your inspiration!
  • Get me your submissions by Midnight next Friday morning, 2-24-12, Mountain Standard Time.  Link us your story in the comment area!  Put it up on your own blog, or on a public note on Facebook or in a Google Document file.  Somewhere so we can all see it.  Make sure you link your story!  Just  to be sure it's not passed over by accident, missed, or not included in the contest!  Thanks!

Anyway!! Let's see what you've got!  

Friday, February 10, 2012

Flash Fiction Challenge: Canyon



Welcome to the second weekly flash fiction challenge of Febuary!!  Here are the rules:
  • You have one week to submit if you want to be included.
  • You are up to challenge yourself AND win a copy of either my short story, Nothing Lasts Forever, or a copy of my giant book of poetry, Bony Fingered Limbs.  Just let me know which you'd prefer, should you be chosen!  :)  It will come to you via email as a PDF file, DRM-free, so you can send it to whatever e-book-reader-device you may prefer.  ALSO, If you win so often you run out of choices, I will offer my services in editing something of yours, so there is always incentive!
  • Your word cap this week is 800 words, so it's a little shorter, like last week!  That makes it a bit harder, but I think you can do it!  We'll work our way down shorter each month until we're awesomely churning out quickie stories like pros.  It is a good thing.
  • Your challenge for this week is something I am calling Canyon.  Let the photo above be your inspiration!
  • Get me your submissions by Midnight next Friday morning, 2-17-12, Mountain Standard Time.  Link us your story in the comment area!  Put it up on your own blog, or on a public note on Facebook or in a Google Document file.  Somewhere so we can all see it.  Make sure you link your story!  Just  to be sure it's not passed over by accident, missed, or not included in the contest!  Thanks!

Anyway!! Let's see what you've got!  

Friday, February 3, 2012

Flash Fiction Challenge: Doldrums



Welcome to the first weekly flash fiction challenge of Febuary!!  Here are the rules:
  • You have one week to submit if you want to be included.
  • You are up to challenge yourself AND win a copy of either my short story, Nothing Lasts Forever, or a copy of my giant book of poetry, Bony Fingered Limbs.  Just let me know which you'd prefer, should you be chosen!  :)  It will come to you via email as a PDF file, DRM-free, so you can send it to whatever e-book-reader-device you may prefer.  ALSO, If you win so often you run out of choices, I will offer my services in editing something of yours, so there is always incentive!
  • Your word cap this week is 800 words, so it's a little shorter, like last week!  That makes it a bit harder, but I think you can do it!  We'll work our way down shorter each month until we're awesomely churning out quickie stories like pros.  It is a good thing.
  • Your challenge for this week is something I am calling Doldrums.  Let the photo above be your inspiration!
  • Get me your submissions by Midnight next Friday morning, 2-10-12, Mountain Standard Time.  Link us your story in the comment area!  Put it up on your own blog, or on a public note on Facebook or in a Google Document file.  Somewhere so we can all see it.  Make sure you link your story!  Just  to be sure it's not passed over by accident, missed, or not included in the contest!  Thanks!

Anyway!! Let's see what you've got!  

Thursday, February 2, 2012

It's a Jungle out There

 This was a fun little story that's been floating in my head all week.  It's written almost like a children's book, but is NOT a children's story.  The "moral" at the end is meant to be purely sarcastic and amusing to those who have read their fair share of children's wholesome stories.

It almost fits into this week's flash fiction, but is too long.  So I'm not "officially" entering it for that.  But it's here for fun reading in any case.

Anyway!  Enjoy it for what it is...  a sarcastic little glimpse into the mind of a person with too many thoughts floating about in a single head.  Without further ado...




It's a Jungle out There

Once upon a time, there was a koala named Betsy who traveled from zoo to zoo. People would come to see her and marvel at her cuteness, the way she carried one baby koala upon her back and another in her arms. George and Maribelle had to take turns in their mother’s pouch now that they were getting older, but they were beginning to like riding on her back just as much.

The animals from each zoo would visit every night, coming to see the strange and exotic beast, and wonder why the humans were so excited by the new things come to visit. The animals all come out at night, you see, as they can leave their cages if they really want to. The humans think they are in charge, but the animals are not as stupid as they think.
Betsy liked to watch the humans right back, as every grouping was different from the last, but her favorite thing to do was observe the animals in each zoo. Some places, the animals ignored her after they looked her over the first time. Sometimes, they wanted to be her friends, but Betsy preferred to sit on her high tree branches, eyes wide, and just watch the world go by. Her little ones just liked to climb, find sweet leaves to chew, and fight one another.
At one of the zoos, one day in the dead of winter, Betsy was being observed by the zoo animals once she was set free in her exhibit space for the night. But she soon bored them, and they went on about their business.
At that zoo, somewhere in the mountains, she was pleased to note a Silverback Gorilla was in charge. He was fierce, and gave the other creatures no pardons for their wrongdoings. He broke up fights, settled scores, and talked some out of hurting another. That first night, Betsy heard him talking to a large Peacock with a huge fan of feathers. She heard him telling Peacock he could not speak in rude ways about the girl peacocks, and he needed to calm himself down. Peacock left in a huff, not bothering to hide his anger.
Later that same evening, as he held court before her pen, Betsy listened as a large cat called Lioness begged for Peacock’s feathers to wear as a lovely hat, and as Silverback scolded her for even asking. Lioness left, head hanging low, but once she rounded the corner, she began to pace and mutter to herself. The lioness thought she was alone, but Betsy saw. Betsy always saw.
The next night, after the last of the small children finished their gawking and Betsy lulled her little ones to sleep, more visitors came by. She leaned out on her branch to listen, and quickly grew bored.
Panda, who was delicate with cub, wandered by and chatted briefly with a handful of other creatures before retiring for the night. Young Wolf crept around, quiet and observant, only snapping occasionally when teased. Kangaroo kicked him and he yelped, but he didn’t run off. At first, Betsy thought she’d see a fight break out between them, but the two were friends and liked to play tricks on each other.
Polar Bear left his water for a short time, glanced at Betsy once and huffed, “Koalas aren’t even a real bear. They shouldn’t be called koala bears,” and he dismissed her entirely. He stood, ignoring her, and made conversation with Kangaroo and Wolf about the seals and their water sports, but quickly bored with the dry land and green grass, and disappeared back into his pen to swim the night away. Only when he disappeared did a pair of penguins join the group, looking relieved their natural enemy was gone. Polar Bear was well fed, of course, but he couldn’t help it if he saw food when the penguins wandered past, so Gentoo and Little Blue kept their careful distance.
Through all of this, Betsy noticed, Peacock wandered the edges of the group, wanting to join in, but never adding much to the conversation. Silverback lazed in the moonlight, ignoring his subjects as they did not need his attention, and Lioness prowled around the corner, looking for an opportunity to snatch the colorful bird and sneak him away. Much to her dismay, however, Peacock was not stupid, and never left the sight of the wise old gorilla. He had heard of her request, and was not about to give her the chance to make a meal of him.
A few nights into her stay, Gorilla was otherwise occupied in a meeting with the other heads of staff, so Lioness, Alpha Wolf, Salamander, and Snow Owl disappeared for the evening, leaving the underlings to play their games unchecked. Betsy could feel tension rising as Peacock strutted up to Kangaroo, who was reclining on his tail and laughing, and Peacock snarled at him.
“I bet I could take you down. You’re just a big stupid ‘roo, and I’m the king of the peacock fights. Just last night, I tore another bird to bits and fed him to the pigs,” he boasted. “Not that you mammals would notice the difference between us birds. Isn’t that right, penguins?” He raised a feathery brow at the pair of penguins that stood nearby, but the two backed away.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Gentoo said while his brother, Little Blue, remained quiet.
Kangaroo bounced forward, stepping between the penguins and the great green bird, “You want to fight? You have no idea what you just brought down upon yourself,” he laughed heartily. “I could take you down right here, right now.”
Young Wolf threw back his head and howled as the two stepped toward each other, and when they looked at him he showed them his teeth. Betsy wasn’t sure if it was a smile or a snarl. “Not here. The empty field over there,” he nodded to the area below the paved pathway. “The one that is being made into a savanna in the spring, for the antelope and the giraffes. It is quiet and the ground is softer. We don’t need Zookeeper to pick us over and double check our locks later, if you all hurt yourselves too badly…” He trailed off as he saw his friend the kangaroo roll his eyes.
“I don’t mean to be hurt, but the grass is softer beneath my feet and I am sure Peacock here would like a softer place to land,” Kangaroo grinned and hopped from foot to foot, front paws raised before him.
Peacock nodded and the group set off down the hill. Bets were being placed, Panda and Polar Bear heard the noise and came running quickly to see what was happening. Betsy debated following them, but decided to climb higher in her tree instead. From up there in the tallest branches, as she munched on eucalyptus, she could see everything. Everyone gathered in a circle around the two creatures, and bets were placed quickly before the fight began.
The two of them walked in slow circles around each other, both waiting for the other to strike first. Kangaroo jabbed the air just over Peacock’s head, and Peacock took the bait. He lashed out, quick as a viper, and tried to peck at Kangaroo’s arm. He missed. They repeated the game, one dodging, the other striking, and for a moment, it didn’t seem like either would land a blow.
But then Peacock twisted his neck to the side and lunged at Kangaroo, pecking once, then biting down hard at Kangaroo’s flank with his beak. Kangaroo doubled up in pain, screaming, and hit Peacock wildly with his paw. Peacock released his grip and backed off, dancing around, and he raised his tail feathers in an impressive display.
Kangaroo lunged, though, and Peacock darted backward, clearly intimidated despite the small victory he won by striking first. Kangaroo leaned back on his tail casually. “If you want to give up now, I suppose I could allow that,” he said with a grin.
Peacock did not reply, but lowered his tail feathers and narrowed his eyes, watching for an opportunity to present itself. Kangaroo just lounged on his tail, ignoring the place where he was bitten, pretending not to feel the blood seeping from the wound. Peacock smiled to himself, sure he was close to winning. He flapped his wings hard and flew at Kangaroo, jabbing at his chest, but Kangaroo was ready for him, and kicked only once. The strong foot caught Peacock in the neck and sent him flying backward, and down the hill.
Betsy watched intently, waiting for the end to the battle, but Peacock did not return. Kangaroo nodded only once, then left the field, his pride intact. It was then that Betsy noticed a small grey mound next to her on the branch. Her little one, George, sat next to her.
“Mama, what’s going on? Why were they fighting?” he asked groggily, and she pulled him in for a snuggle, tucking his bum into her pouch. He didn’t really fit anymore, but it was easier to hold him like that.
“Well,” she began, and slowly meandered down the tree toward his sister, who slept happily in a deep crook of the tree, “Peacock wanted to fight. It was not a wise decision. He got what he deserved by picking on Kangaroo. He should have known better than to fight like that,” She settled into the crook next to Maribelle, and snuggled them both.
“But, fighting is bad unless you are playing,” he yawned. “Won’t the Silverback be cross with them when he finds out?”
Betsy nodded to him, “Perhaps, my bug, but there are a few things we can learn from this. First, don’t bite off more than you can chew. Second, violence can be the answer, sometimes. And third, don’t be an ass.”
George’s fuzzy head shifted at that and he mumbled, “But Mama, it was Peacock, not Ass…”
Betsy chuckled at that, she patted his head twice, and he fell asleep before she could answer him.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Flash Fiction Challenge: Deserted



Welcome to the fourth weekly flash fiction challenge of January!!  Here are the rules:
  • You have one week to submit if you want to be included.
  • You are up to challenge yourself AND win a copy of either my short story, Nothing Lasts Forever, or a copy of my giant book of poetry, Bony Fingered Limbs.  Just let me know which you'd prefer, should you be chosen!  :)  It will come to you via email as a PDF file, DRM-free, so you can send it to whatever e-book-reader-device you may prefer.  ALSO, If you win so often you run out of choices, I will offer my services in editing something of yours, so there is always incentive!
  • Your word cap this week is 1000 words, so it's a little shorter, like last week!  That makes it a bit harder, but I think you can do it!  We'll work our way down shorter each month until we're awesomely churning out quickie stories like pros.  It is a good thing.
  • Your challenge for this week is something I am calling Deserted.  Let the photo above be your inspiration!
  • Get me your submissions by Midnight next Friday morning, 2-3-12, Mountain Standard Time.  Link us your story in the comment area!  Put it up on your own blog, or on a public note on Facebook or in a Google Document file.  Somewhere so we can all see it.  Make sure you link your story!  Just  to be sure it's not passed over by accident, missed, or not included in the contest!  Thanks!

Anyway!! Let's see what you've got!  

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Hands Free Monkey, the Jungle Monkeys Challenge

This was written for this week's flash fiction challenge, Jungle Monkeys.  I decided to go with an almost true story, written from my crazy son's perspective.  This is the story of my kid (names changed per his direction), and this picture shows the jungle gym where it all went down.  Silly boy antics, away!  



 Hands Free Monkey

Frankie looked around, but nobody was there to see what he was about to do. The other kids were running crazily, and his sister was across the playground, flipping around like she always did. Frankie was always quiet. He'd learned being quiet meant the babysitters only glanced his way occasionally, and he could be sneaky in his early daredevil stunts.
He waited for the moments when nobody was watching, and then he pulled stunts he'd been planning and dreaming up for weeks. He didn't want to reveal his secrets until they were perfected, so he waited, and he practiced, and he smiled at each small success, though nobody else saw them. Yet.
That afternoon he was going to work on something he was calling Hands Free Monkey. He had devised a way for his backpack to hold his body weight up, and he planned to use it on top of the monkey bars: The green set that looked like it was made entirely up of iron ladders, and shaped to be a great big box.
Frankie meandered over to the set and his friend, the babysitters' son, followed him. Frankie was sufficiently boring, though, and the other boy ran off to play a game elsewhere, leaving the little daredevil all alone with his plans. He smiled.
He took great care climbing up to the very very top. The backpack on his back had his homework folder and lunch box in it. He probably still had a bit of sandwich left over that he couldn't finish at the lunch table. He didn't really remember, but if there was a bit of sandwich left, he wanted to eat it for a snack later. So, he had to be careful.
Once he reached the top of the jungle gym, he sat up there, watching the babysitters' eyes carefully, looking around to see if any other kids were watching. The woman called out, “Be careful, Frank, okay?”
“Okay!” he hollered back to her, and she turned to run down her youngest son, who had just made a break for the parking lot.
It was his chance! He pulled one arm out of his backpack carefully, then slipped beneath the bars with his body, leaving the bag on the other side of the bars. He lifted his shoulders and slipped his arm back inside the shoulder strap, leaned forward for a moment to test the holding-up power, and when he didn't slip, he grinned. It was time.
Frankie let go of the green bars first with his hands, and felt instantly like he was flying! He grinned wildly, arms held out stiffly to the sides, and pretended to be an airplane. “VROOOOM! CRASH! BOOM!” He made shooting sounds, diving airplane sounds, bombs dropping sounds. He leaned to one side, then the other, flying through enemy airspace.
And then there came a sound that Frankie didn't make. It was an awful sound, a sound that told him something was terribly wrong. It was a ripping sound. He felt his backpack seam tear above his body, and fear flashed over his face. Before he knew it, he was falling.
He landed, hard, and the air left his body. He felt strong arms lift him, saw fear in the dad babysitter's eyes. He felt a hand press firmly into his head, and the man scooped him up and ran with him. Frankie's eyes were closed, so he didn't see where they ran to, but he heard a familiar voice talking with the babysitter man. The school was still open, and when he could see again, Frankie saw they were sitting in the nurse's office.
The nurse's face was grim, she told the receptionist to call the boy's mother at work, and she dressed his wound. It took a very large bandaid to cover the spot. He heard her say they needed to watch him, and the parents should take him to the hospital as soon as they could. The man thanked them for their help, washed his bloody hands, and walked with the boy back to the playground.
His sister stood there, worry covering her face. He smiled at her concern, because it proved she really did like him. His dad arrived home early from work, took him and his sister back to their house. He sat with them, made dinner, watched Frankie's eyes every so often, and at bedtime, he determined the boy was just fine, and sent him to bed.
The next morning, their mother was home from work, and she changed the wound's dressing. Her husband hadn't looked at it the night before, because Frankie always made such a fuss about changing his bandaids. He whined and cried for ages both before and after, because he didn't like the feeling of the glue being ripped off with his skin. When the dressing came off, Frankie watched her eyes, as his own filled with tears.
His mother's eyes widened in horror. There must be something terribly wrong for her to look that way. Maybe he was going to die. She shook her head, and picked at the wound. It hurt! He wanted her to stop, but she told him she had to get the rocks out. Rocks?! In his head!? No wonder she looked unhappy.
But then, Frankie began to think about it. It was his very first war wound, earned in the heat of battle. The gaping wound should have been stitched, but by the time they discovered that, it was too late. So, sticky sterile strips and a few weeks later, Frankie stood at the mirror, admiring his shiny new scar.
He smiled proudly at his reflection and made himself taller. It was better than he hoped for: He had been a real airplane, in a real war, and he had the proof. He really was going to be a daredevil, and he didn't even have to wait until he grew up.   

Friday, January 20, 2012

Orion's Belt, Sand Palace Challenge

I wrote this last night and fell fast asleep just before I could get it up here.  I didn't know if it was actually done or not until I went to re-read it just now, and turns out I DID finish in time!  I just fell asleep before I could post it.  Not that it matters to anyone but me, since I don't count my own stories in the challenges...  anyway!  This is for the one that ended early this morning:  Sand Palace.  Enjoy!  



I originally planned to make this a children's story, like a kid's book.  I will have to go through and edit the phrasing and make sure the words are understandable for younger readers, and maybe do a little illustration...  but I like the story!  Anyway.  Shutting up now.  *nod*



Orion's Belt

It was a morning like any other. I woke spluttering, my perfect home flooded yet again. I ran out as fast as my eight legs could carry me and dove into the water, hoping I would not be sucked under with the sand yet again. When I was safe from the threat, I allowed myself to rise to the surface, knowing what I'd see: my lovely home being washed away grain by grain, yet again.
The tide always took my homes away with them. I knew it would happen. I couldn't help myself. Every day when the children came and built their castles in the sand and left them there when their parents dragged them away, I would take my pick of the lovely structures and settle in for the night.
Some of the buildings were certainly sturdier than others, and I tried to pick the best of the available spaces. I loved lying there, looking up at the stars and watching them pass slowly across the night sky. My parents had instilled a love of the cosmos in me from when I was just a tiny crab, barely old enough to go skittering across the sand. They'd loved walking on the beach at night, claw in claw, naming each constellation, and dreaming of the children they would have some day.
The stars scattered across the sky had been the inspiration for our names, in fact. My parents called me Orion and told me I was named for a warrior in the sky. My sister Lyra and brother Leo knew their sky signs too, but I always thought mine was the best of them all.
I watched my wonderful house be sucked back to the sea, and wondered if I was the only crab in the world trying to make a living up on land. Probably the only one trying to live in castles of sand, anyway.
The other crabs made fun of me, but I felt the way sand could dry, hard as stone, and knew if a house was built properly, it could make a suitable home. It just needed to be far enough away from the shore to stay out of the tide, but close enough to have the good fine sand that washed in every day, and easy access to the water for sculpting.
The big problem was the humans who liked to build with sand were usually children. Or adults working with children, who then allowed the children to make grievous errors in engineering. What I needed, I knew, was an adult with a plan.
As it happened, while I floated there and pondered this, trucks pulled in. I watched as huge blocks of sand were brought in and set up. Areas were marked off with rope, and crowds began to gather. I watched as long as I could, curiosity eating away at me. What was going on? Why were they bringing more sand here? They were ruining my beach!
Eventually it became too much and I went to find others to come watch with me and figure out the mess. Sebastian, the old crab who was like a grandfather to me, told me he'd seen something like this before. When he was a young crab, he enjoyed snacks the humans let fall into the sand, and he liked to sneak up on land and have his fill. One day big blocks like those arrived, and he watched as the humans spent hours working. When they were done, huge statues and scenes were left behind.
I thanked him for his wisdom, he grumbled and swam away, but my friends and I sat watching as the sun crept across the sky. Some of the humans made skyscrapers, domed buildings, and regular human houses like the ones built all along the beaches. Others made images of people, mermaids with fish heads and human legs, or carvings of ships at sea. But the one that drew my attention most of all was a sandcastle, nay, palace, at the end of the row.
It was the biggest structure like it that I'd ever seen. Towers all over, hundreds of tiny sculpted windows, and best of all, it was hollow inside. I could actually live there! I crept closer, watching, waiting, biding my time, and when the crowds dispersed, castle builder upset after losing the contest, I took the opportunity to run inside and take a look.
From the tallest tower I watched the sky grow dark and waited. The first star popped out, and I closed my eyes and wished with all my might, “Please let this one stay.” When I opened my eyes, I saw the rest of the stars pop into view. I had wished on the middle star in the warriors belt. My warrior's belt. I went to bed knowing it was a good sign.
The next morning, I woke to sounds of the waves lapping, and scrambled out of bed. I waited for them to crash down the walls, but there they stood. I walked up the tall tower and looked around carefully, sure that my new home would flood soon like all the rest. But it didn't. I looked out of the tower to the rest of the sculptures, and they all melted away into the sea. All of them but my castle.
That night I thanked the star in the middle of the warrior's belt, and it winked at me. I was reminded of a story my mother told me, how she asked the stars for what she wanted more than anything in her life, and how the stars had answered her.
I knew, then and there, my mother knew a truth. She knew, and she tried to tell me. The stars can give you what you want, she once said. She'd asked, after all, and the stars had given me to her. Once, I laughed at the idea. But now I knew too.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Jungle Monkeys



Welcome to the third weekly flash fiction challenge of January!!  Here are the rules:
  • You have one week to submit if you want to be included.
  • You are up to challenge yourself AND win a copy of either my short story, Nothing Lasts Forever, or a copy of my giant book of poetry, Bony Fingered Limbs.  Just let me know which you'd prefer, should you be chosen!  :)  It will come to you via email as a PDF file, DRM-free, so you can send it to whatever e-book-reader-device you may prefer.  ALSO, If you win so often you run out of choices, I will offer my services in editing something of yours, so there is always incentive!
  • Your word cap this week is 1000 words, so it's a little shorter, like last week!  That makes it a bit harder, but I think you can do it!  We'll work our way down shorter each month until we're awesomely churning out quickie stories like pros.  It is a good thing.
  • Your challenge for this week is something I am calling Jungle Monkeys.  Let the photo above be your inspiration!
  • Get me your submissions by Midnight next Friday morning, 1-27-12, Mountain Standard Time.  Link us your story in the comment area!  Put it up on your own blog, or on a public note on Facebook or in a Google Document file.  Somewhere so we can all see it.  Make sure you link your story!  Just  to be sure it's not passed over by accident, missed, or not included in the contest!  Thanks!

Anyway!! Let's see what you've got!  

Friday, January 13, 2012

Flash Fiction Challenge: Sand Palace



Welcome to the second weekly flash fiction challenge of January!!  Here are the rules:
  • You have one week to submit if you want to be included.
  • You are up to challenge yourself AND win a copy of either my short story, Nothing Lasts Forever, or a copy of my giant book of poetry, Bony Fingered Limbs.  Just let me know which you'd prefer, should you be chosen!  :)  It will come to you via email as a PDF file, DRM-free, so you can send it to whatever e-book-reader-device you may prefer.  ALSO, If you win so often you run out of choices, I will offer my services in editing something of yours, so there is always incentive!
  • Your word cap this week is 1000 words, so it's a little shorter, like last week!  That makes it a bit harder, but I think you can do it!  We'll work our way down shorter each month until we're awesomely churning out quickie stories like pros.  It is a good thing.
  • Your challenge for this week is something I am calling Sand Palace.  Let the photo above be your inspiration!
  • Get me your submissions by Midnight next Friday morning, 1-20-12, Mountain Standard Time.  Link us your story in the comment area!  Put it up on your own blog, or on a public note on Facebook or in a Google Document file.  Somewhere so we can all see it.  Make sure you link your story!  Just  to be sure it's not passed over by accident, missed, or not included in the contest!  Thanks!

Anyway!! Let's see what you've got!  

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Prince Pirate Charming: Flash Fiction

I wrote this for this week's Flash Fiction Challenge, Message in a Bottle.  Had to make it shorter than the last few weeks' offerings this time, which wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought it might be!  Good stuff.  Keep it Simple, Stupid!  Ahem, sorry, talking to my own self.  ;)

Anyway, here be your story.  Enjoy!  Yeargh!



Prince Pirate Charming

The morning sun began to rise over the ocean, dancing its rays across the surface of the water, gleaming and golden. Annie crept out of the beach house as quietly as she could, which was no easy task with the enthusiasm of Asteroid, her white and black splotched mutt of a dog. Annie's daughter Elizabeth had picked the dog out at the humane society three years back, and was insistent she'd take care of him all by herself.
As suspected, after just a few days, the duty fell to Annie instead. At first she had been upset, but time passed and now she and the dog were fast friends. Asteroid was her running companion, and they always had a huge amount of fun running the beaches before they were sullied by footprints.
Hers was a small town tucked in by a little cove, rarely visited by outsiders, and the quiet was a treasured anomaly. The beaches up and down the rest of the North Carolina coastline were packed with sightseers, while their towns' series of beaches were happily quiet, left untouched by the tourism.
The cove itself made for less than advantageous tides, making it a poor place for surfers, though sometimes they would show up and try their luck. They never stayed long. And because of the lack of tourists, there were really no tourist shops either, just the usual supermarkets and gas stations, libraries and churches. All in all, Jeddison was not a terrible place to live. Annie had lived there all her life, and she had always loved it there.
Well, “always” is a strong word. There were moments in her childhood that made her want to run away. The moment her father walked out and never came home. The moment the doctors told her they were sorry, but her Mama died in the church fire. The moment her Aunt Maye came to take her home with her. Annie hated that house, the way it smelled of moth balls and lemon scented cleaner. But she was only twelve and didn't have a choice.
Annie walked the dog down to the water, and looked around to be sure they were alone before unclipping his leash. He wasn't a dog to run off or bite people, so she never saw the harm in letting him have a bit of freedom. She urged him on, and laughed as he ran, hair flopping all about. For an hour they ran together, dog running ahead, turning to be sure she was with him, and running on again.
She laughed when he stopped to play in the foamy waves as they rose and retreated. He always did seem to think he could catch each bubble if he tried hard enough. After a while, though, he tired of his game and busied himself with digging in the wet sand where some lone sea creature burrowed out of sight, trying to get back to the sea.
When she got within shouting range, she paused to catch her breath and called to him. The dog perked up and ran back toward her, lope growing slower. The dog was getting tired, and it was about time to turn back. But as he neared she saw it wasn't the usual sleepy dog run. He had something in his mouth, and was bringing his treasure to her. When he drew close, he lay his find on the ground and sat, tongue lolling happily, watching her.
At first it looked like a root beer bottle, but upon closer inspection, it was a small wine bottle. Too light to be full, but cork shoved back in place. Common litter. She shook her head, picked it up, and took it home with her to discard. When she set it on the porch to rinse off the sand, though, she noticed the sunlight didn't shine through it properly. Something was inside.
Curiosity piqued, she retrieved a corkscrew from the house, said good morning to Darren and Elizabeth, who had risen for the day, and retreated back to the wide porch. The cork was pushed down deep in the neck of the bottle and sealed with some kind of wax, which made it difficult to get it all out in a single piece. Annie ended up breaking it up, having to shake out bits of the cork, and had to fight with a pair of pencils to retrieve the rolled up bit of paper she found inside.
Darren found her sitting on the porch later that morning, stunned, just staring at the note she found by pure chance. The messy handwriting of a sad little girl was apparent even without reading the words themselves. It was a note to Prince Pirate Charming, begging him to come get her and take her away from “this place”. It was signed Annie Houston. She had long forgotten tossing the bottle into the ocean, but there it was in her hand again, and with it came all the emotion of the sad and lonely summer when her mother died.
Her husband sat beside her, held her hand, and listened as tears streamed down her face. She choked back sobs as she told of a little girl all alone in the world, no one to love her. Her aunt seemed cold and distant after taking her in, and she felt unwanted. Now she understood her aunt was overwhelmed, suddenly responsible for a child while grieving a sister.
Annie just wanted to be whisked away and had created Prince Pirate Charming as her own personal savior. Annie had always wanted to live on a pirate boat.
Darren smiled at her and said softly, “Well, I may not be a prince or a pirate, but I do hope you've outgrown your desire to run away.”
You couldn't get rid of me if you tried,” she smiled at him through her tears and brushed off the bottle. She decided she wasn't going to throw it away after all.




Tuesday, January 3, 2012

The Girl in the Cup: Flash Fiction

This was written for last week's challenge, which I missed due to family in town.  But I wrote it as promised, and here it is!  Better late than never!  Enjoy!





Amy yawned and rolled over in bed, wishing she didn't have to go to work. Not the closing shift again with all the rowdy college students who never tip and always leave a mess. But it was noon, and she couldn't stay in bed much longer, so she got up and got herself ready, ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and fed the cat on her way out the door for her hour long commute. As ever, her shadow of a friend, Lisa, followed her silently, and Amy wished she would go away.
On the train, she listened to her music and tried to ignore the grifters who frequented the cars with their cup and ball game. She was not stupid enough to fall for the “wowed first time winner” act, but she did try and follow the ball, and got it right half the time. Still, she never bet money on it. She never had extra cash to wager anyway, and when she saw the same people in the same act with the same “wowed first time winner” later that week, she was glad she hadn't.
She thought about stopping the gullible woman who fell for their game, but shook her head and looked out the window instead. Not her business. People shouldn't be so stupid. Lisa, as ever, was nearby, watching the exchange, expressionless.
Amy climbed off the train and clambered down the steps to the street, glanced both ways twice, and ran across the street to the bus stop she needed for the next leg of her trip. Lisa followed, humming. Amy ignored her.
She wished for the hundredth time she had been able to just get a position at the Beanery that was on the same street as her building, but it was always fully staffed, whereas the one in the center of three college campuses downtown was not. That one employed college students, who, by default, tended to be less reliable than their adult counterparts uptown.
She arrived at work ages later, and wondered what the muse would bring out tonight. She never did know. The people she worked with saw her coffee artwork as beautiful and inspiring, something to live up to, but she couldn't tell them the truth. It wasn't her who made the pictures in the foam. It was her ever-present friend, Lisa. It wasn't their fault they couldn't see her.
Amy pulled her vivid orange apron over her black shirt, tucking the apron neck beneath her collar so it sat properly on her, and washed her hands thoroughly in the sink. Her manager briefed her on the day, set her up for the evening, then left. The night shift was Amy's territory. Not that she liked it exactly, but it was a job, and she should be thankful to have one at all.
The afternoon passed into evening seamlessly, then died down once the usual after dinner coffee crowd made their way through. She was humming to herself and cleaning the dishes when the door opened, bell clattering, and a crowd of generally conservative and clean-cut college kids walked in.
She recognized them immediately as regulars from the church around the corner and wanted to hide. They were always nice, but thought leaving tracts about saving your soul that were printed to look like money were the best tip they could ever give. Little did they know the change from each of their orders could make a real difference in her pocket.
Still, she put on her smile and served each and every one of them, making the drinks to order, dipping and swirling the spoon in the foam when she was done, and handing off the liquid artwork. It wasn't until the last one of the group sat down and they started to compare notes on their images for the evening that she realized she'd made the same picture for each of them, and they took turns looking at her curiously.
Amy hadn't really paid much attention to what she had done, but she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture it. All she came up with was a fuzzy face. She turned her back to clean out her milk pitcher, hoping to keep the foam from setting, and she jumped when someone said, “Excuse me.”
She stilled her heart and turned around to see a new girl in their group standing there before her. “I was wondering, how do you know this girl?” she asked and gestured to the cup she'd brought up and set on the counter.
Amy glanced in long enough to see what she had done, and hid her surprised to see Lisa's image looking back at her. She shrugged, “I don't know. I didn't really think about it much today.”
The girl nodded slowly and looked over her shoulder to be sure they were alone before she continued. “It's just... she looks like one of the girls at my school. She's been missing for a year or so now,” she began, but trailed off. She took a deep breath and added, “She was my friend.”
Lisa wandered over by the other girl and looked at her sadly. Amy made herself not look at Lisa and spoke again, “No, I'm sorry, I just dipped the spoon and it came out that way. It wasn't meant to look like any real person.”
“But you do this every week. You make all different designs, they told me. There has to be a reason we all had the same one today,” the girl's heart visibly fell, and Amy felt bad for her.
“I was just messing around, seeing if anyone would notice. It wasn't meant to be any real person. I'm sorry if it upset you.” The girl nodded and took her seat, but left the coffee on the counter. The rest of the time the group was there, she sat and watched Amy work, clearly trying to puzzle it out.
Amy took the cup carefully to not disturb the artwork, and stared into it for a while, feeling like she was being pulled into the coffee colored eyes on the face, losing herself to all else. Why was Lisa putting herself in the cup? She didn't say anything to her when the girl came up to ask about her. What did she want? How could she help her spirit find peace and finally move on if she wouldn't talk?
It was Lisa's playing in the foam that started their location's art themes. It just happened one day, the day after she'd come to Amy, months ago. Her boss thought it was clever and told her to keep it up. Lisa wandered into her line of sight, breaking her train of thought. The spirit girl gave her a significant look, then pointed out the door. They'd gone and she hadn't even heard the bell.
Amy ran out the door, and called out, “Wait!” just before they disappeared around the corner. The thin girl turned around, but the rest of the group continued on, oblivious. “I do know her. Just not like you think. People never believe me, so I don't like to say anything,” She said, shaking her head. “Come back inside. I think she's ready to talk.” The girl looked confused, but followed.
Amy made her a new cup of coffee without any design in it, and they sat in the corner booth again. The girl introduced herself as Jen, and Amy told her story. Amy explained that she had always been sensitive to spirits, but most of them would pass on their messages through her and vanish. Lisa had been different. She'd stuck around much longer than any other spirit Amy had dealt with before. She stuck around, probably waiting for a face she knew. Stuck around waiting to let her friend know she was gone.
Once the basics were out of the way and Jen didn't get up and leave, Lisa came over and told her story through Amy. She told how she was invited to a party on a boat, and went despite having previous plans with Jen. She drank too much and fell over the side of the boat, but nobody noticed. She spluttered, alone in the dark, as the boat left her there. Her last thoughts were of Jen, wishing she'd just stayed home and kept their plans.
The thin girl sat, face in her hands, and sobbed. Lisa had been her best friend all her life, they'd gone off to college together, and now she was left to face the world alone. Amy gathered her up, and hugged her fiercely, telling her she was never alone. Jen and Amy ended up talking all night, and quickly became friends. Lisa hung back and watched it all before she vanished into the ether, a smile on her face. Her job was done. 

Monday, January 2, 2012

Flash Fiction Challenges... what's the point?

I had the idea the other day, but I've been kind of busy.  My parents were in town to celebrate a just-a-little-late Christmas, and were here until early this afternoon.  And kids have been out of school and driving us all a little batty.  Thursday they go back.  It will be a long few days...  >.<

Anyway!  I had this idea for this posting and may not be quite as coherent about it all as the day I thought of it.  But here you go.

The point of my little fiction writing challenges!  Why do I do these?  Why do I host them?  Why do I try and get other people doing them too?  Why are the prizes my own work?  Here's my line of thinking on the subject:


Why do I do the challenges in the first place?
I started doing the challenges for myself.  Because I need to work on my beginning-middle-end. I need to work on my conflict and resolution.  I need to work on being concise.  I need to work on getting better about deadlines.  So I decided to prompt myself and get myself working at least weekly on something fictional.


Why do I host challenges?
Well, largely because I can.  If I'm going to challenge myself to do this, I want it to be READABLE.  So I write mine, then post it for the world to see.  This makes me work harder than I might if it was just for me and nobody would ever see it until I'd edited it 100 times.   I figure if I'm that way, other writer-peoples will be too.  So I share my ideas and try to spurn yours.




Why do I try and get other people doing them too? 
I like having people kind of keep me accountable on keeping these going.  If it's just me all by myself, it's a lot easier to procrastinate and put things off again and again (I'm a fucking expert at that!).  I need someone to kick me in my enormous ass if I don't get moving for one week.  I haven't slipped up yet, at least on posting the challenges.  I didn't manage to get last week's done on time, but I do plan on writing it.  And then writing this week's too.  *nod*

But I like to think someone would notice and care if I missed a week, and yell at me for it.  There, you have permission to yell at me if I miss one.  You can quote me on it if you must.  ;)




Why are the prizes my own work?
Because I am a lowly upstart writer and that's what I have to offer, mostly.  If you win a few times over and don't have anything else I can send you as a prize, I'm happy to edit something for you, within reason.  I have a family and I work outside the house too, so I only have so much time, but if you win, it's only fair you earn something, eh?  :)

Also, maybe it's a little bit selfish or self-serving or whatever, BUT, I also figure getting my work into the hands of other writers is something like free advertising if the people who read it happen to like it.  You are free to post reviews on Amazon if you happen to win, finish something, and feel the need!  :)

SO, if you are thinking about hosting your own challenges, that's my little bitty distracted line of thinking on it.  At least some of it.  I'm sure I have 1800 more reasons floating about in my head but I can't think of them right this second.  ;)

Anyway!  Get to work!  I see you over there.  Yeah, you with the cookies.  Get yourself a cup of tea, cocoa, or coffee, and get to work!  No, put down the remote.  Put away Facebook.  Buckle down.  At least for a little while.

You'll thank me for it later.  Promise.

Friday, December 30, 2011

Flash Fiction Challenge: Message in a Bottle


Welcome to the fifth weekly flash fiction challenge of December (Even though half the week is really January...  You know what I mean!)!  You have one week to submit yours if you want to be included in the runnings for "my favorite" of the week.  I'm going to offer a copy of either my short story, Nothing Lasts Forever, or a copy of my giant book of poetry, Bony Fingered Limbs, to the winner.  Just let me know which you'd prefer, should you be chosen!  :)  It will come to you via email as a PDF file, DRM-free, so you can send it to whatever e-book-reader-device you may prefer.

If you happen to win enough times to run out of choices, I will offer my services in editing a work of yours, up to 3000 words.  

Get me your submissions by Midnight next Friday morning, 1-06-12, Mountain Standard Time.  Link us your story in the comment area!  Put it up on your own blog, or on a public note on Facebook or in a Google Document file.  Somewhere so we can all see it.  Make sure you link your story!  Just  to be sure it's not passed over by accident, missed, or not included in the contest!  Thanks!

Your challenge for this week is something I am calling Message in a Bottle.  Your word cap this week is 1000 words, so it's a little shorter this time!  That makes it a bit harder, but I think you can do it!

Let's see what you've got!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Congrats Frank and Josie!  Let me know which copy you'd like and where to send it!  bekajoi@gmail.com