tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36550065928251098542024-02-18T19:24:02.856-08:00hanafrankNotes of a woman learning to write speculative fictionUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-8216486757161556562020-09-13T20:04:00.004-07:002020-09-13T20:05:27.448-07:00<p> </p><p><br /></p><p><b>From Muddy River Poetry Review</b></p><p>Katherine Szpekman - Late for Basketball Practice</p><p>line breaks lost!</p><p>Katherine Szpekman
Late for Basketball Practice
There you stand on the driveway
in your white socks, holding your sneakers
looking at me
like you don’t know who I am
or why I am shouting to you
hurry up my boy, now almost a man.
I watch you put it together
like Lego blocks –
grab water bottle, get shoes on, get in car,
and I remember the smell
of your downy head,
the tingle and swell of milk
as we rode the waves,
in the green rocking chair,
held in a warm ocean of darkness.
You hop in, on long legs of muscle and fur,
slam the door a little too hard, as always.
This time, I don’t correct.
You caress the orange globe in your lap,
fingertips read its pebbled surface,
palms slide over black lines of longitude.
Your scent is salty and mossy,
like seaweed and wet leaves in fall.
You have joined a new tribe.
Sweat beads on your forehead,
whiskers have sprouted on your face,
and your jaw sits sculpted and determined.
We drive in silence,
like passengers on a bus
getting off at different stops.
The day’s last brush strokes sweep
pink and scarlet, orange and gold.
Twilight is but moments away</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-22403057406543929282020-08-29T20:26:00.000-07:002020-08-29T20:26:09.774-07:00<p> </p><h2 style="background-color: #e6e6e6; font-family: Rosario, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 4em; font-weight: 400; line-height: 48px; margin: 0px 0px 0.15em;">Four Disconnected Truths About My Father</h2><h6 style="background-color: #e6e6e6; color: #333333; font-family: Rosario, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.3em; font-weight: 400; line-height: 20.8px; margin: 0px 0px 1.75em;">by <a class="aauthor" href="http://www.smokelong.com/category/people/authors/james-tadd-adcox/" style="border-right: 1px solid rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #8d212c; margin-right: 10px; padding-right: 10px; text-decoration-line: none; transition: all 0.3s ease 0s;">James Tadd Adcox</a> December 20, 2009</h6><div class="alignright storyphoto" style="background-color: #e6e6e6; box-sizing: border-box; float: right; font-family: Enriqueta, Times, serif; font-size: 10px; margin: 8px 0px 15px 20px; max-width: 60%;"><a class="cboxElement" href="http://www.smokelong.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/adcox27.jpg" rel="lightbox" style="color: #8d212c; text-decoration-line: none; transition: all 0.3s ease 0s;"><img alt="story art" class="colorbox-manual" src="http://www.smokelong.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/adcox27.jpg" style="border: 0px; height: auto; max-width: 100%;" /><p class="caption" style="clear: both; color: grey; font-family: Rosario, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.2em; line-height: 19.2px; margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 8px 0px 0px; text-align: right;">art by Robinson Accola</p></a></div><p style="background-color: #e6e6e6; color: #333333; font-family: Enriqueta, Times, serif; font-size: 1.4em; line-height: 22.4px; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;">i.<br />My father calls me on the phone. It’s been years since I last talked with him. He asks me how I am, asks how’s the wife, how’s our kid. He says he was watching TV and he saw an ad for a local college and started to think of me. I wonder if he’s a little drunk. His mood changes, he’s quiet for a long time while I talk, and then he tells me that all my education ever did was make me think I was too good for people.</p><p style="background-color: #e6e6e6; color: #333333; font-family: Enriqueta, Times, serif; font-size: 1.4em; line-height: 22.4px; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;">ii.<br />When I was younger, right after my father left, my mother would make maps for me and my brother to go on treasure hunts. She would crumple up pieces of paper and soak them overnight in water with a little yellow food-coloring, then, when they dried out, she would draw a map of our neighborhood, changing the objects around us through the labels on the map: storm drains became dungeons, the cul-de-sac on which we lived became the Dead Sea, etc. The illusion, my brother and I discovered, could be kept up only so long as we didn’t find the treasure – because the treasures were inevitably something we didn’t particularly want or care about, a toy from a Crackerjack box, a piece of old candy, sandwiches wrapped in foil…</p><p style="background-color: #e6e6e6; color: #333333; font-family: Enriqueta, Times, serif; font-size: 1.4em; line-height: 22.4px; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;">iii.<br />When I was twelve years old, someone broke into our house while we were away for the weekend, shattering the window downstairs and stealing, in addition to most of my mother’s jewelry, several of her dresses. My mother was convinced, for some reason, that it had been my father – even after the police apprehended another man, who had carried out similarly bizarre robberies in the area, and, as it turned out, whose fingerprints were found on one of my mother’s dresser drawers. Years from now, after my father has died and my mother is living in an assisted-care facility, when my wife and I visit her, my mother will speak in a whisper about “that time your father broke into our house.”</p><p style="background-color: #e6e6e6; color: #333333; font-family: Enriqueta, Times, serif; font-size: 1.4em; line-height: 22.4px; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;">iv.<br />When I was in college, late at night, drunk, I would sometimes call my father. He never picked up. Usually I ended up talking to the machine, and I would spend the minute or so before it stopped recording telling it, point by point, the wrongs my father had done us: the months without responding to calls from me or my brother; the times, when we were younger, when he was supposed to pick us up for the weekend when he simply didn’t show; the forgotten birthdays, forgotten Christmases, forgotten Easters, etc. Once in a while my father’s new wife would pick up. She must have worked at night – she always seemed wide awake, even if it were one or two o’clock in the morning, and was always faultlessly polite. “I’ll tell him you called,” she’d say. “I know he’s always glad to hear from you. He talks about you and your brother all the time.”</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-75723311175314545802019-12-16T14:30:00.000-08:002020-01-20T17:12:57.662-08:00Just a collection of inspiring writing examples<br />
<br />
The Art of Dying<br />
<a href="https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2019/12/23/the-art-of-dying?verso=true">https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2019/12/23/the-art-of-dying?verso=true</a><br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b></b></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<b><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Kenyon Review</span></b></div>
<div class="p2">
<style type="text/css">
p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 14.0px; font: 12.0px Times; color: #0000e9; -webkit-text-stroke: #0000e9}
span.s1 {text-decoration: underline ; font-kerning: none}
</style>
</div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><a href="https://kenyonreview.org/kr-online-issue/2020-janfeb/selections/terese-svoboda-342846/"><span style="font-size: small;">Polygamy</span></a></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gulf Coast</span></div>
<style type="text/css">
p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 18.0px; font: 16.0px Arial; color: #1a1a1a; -webkit-text-stroke: #1a1a1a; background-color: #ffffff; min-height: 18.0px}
p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 14.0px; font: 12.0px Times; color: #0000e9; -webkit-text-stroke: #0000e9}
span.s1 {font-kerning: none}
span.s2 {text-decoration: underline ; font-kerning: none}
</style>
<br />
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<br />
<b>Electric Literature</b><br />
<style type="text/css">
p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 14.0px; font: 12.0px Times; color: #0000e9; -webkit-text-stroke: #0000e9}
span.s1 {text-decoration: underline ; font-kerning: none}
</style>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><a href="https://electricliterature.com/all-you-have-to-do-is-kill-her-off/"><span style="font-size: small;">All you Have to Do is Kill Her Off</span></a></span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-72082754039920513082018-08-31T01:53:00.001-07:002018-08-31T01:53:40.667-07:00Problems with Star Trek<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The list so far -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>1</b> Weekly trauma. Every 7 days the highest ranking officers on the Enterprise are subjected to terrible danger or significant stress. Those events are usually life threatening. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">nobody shows signs of PTS.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>2</b> The highest ranking officers survive every terrible event thrown at them. Only minor crew members get killed - crew members we've never seen before.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>3</b> Every single alien the Enterprise encounters is 'humanoid' in appearance. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>4 </b> Every alien has a mouth and communicates by sound. There's never any reference to how the translation into english happens. The translation is automatic, smooth and accurate - no problems with stuff getting lost in translation or encounters with aliens who DON'T communicate via sound.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>5</b> The technology on the ship is similiar to current technology - how come touch screens and tablets are still in use that far into the future?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>6</b> The Klingons have figured out cloaking technology, but the rest of the Federation hasn't. After the Klingons joined the federation why didn't they share their cloaking technology with others?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>7</b> No-one is ever shown using the holodeck for sex. In an emergency people will walk in and interrupt officers in the middle of a holodeck session - they never catch them out having virtual sex - no-one is concerned about PRIVACY.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>8</b> Have viewers seen every part of the ship? Sometimes the main characters walk down a corridor past unknown crew members. Where are those minor characters going? What job do they perform? Example - Are they on the way to a huge 'laundry' room where uniforms are steam cleaned ?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-23321512401018130802018-04-10T17:55:00.001-07:002018-04-10T17:55:53.175-07:00Junot Díaz: The Legacy of Childhood Trauma | The New Yorker<a href="https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/04/16/the-silence-the-legacy-of-childhood-trauma">Junot Díaz: The Legacy of Childhood Trauma | The New Yorker</a>: <br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/pengoopmcjnbflcjbmoeodbmoflcgjlk" style="font-size: 13px;">'via Blog this'</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-40024183400230400572018-04-09T12:41:00.001-07:002018-04-09T12:41:53.350-07:00Don't forget to read Poems by Naomi Shihab Nye Added to reading list!<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a href="https://www.poemhunter.com/naomi-shihab-nye/poems/">Naomi Shihab Nye Poems - Poems of Naomi Shihab Nye - Poem Hunter</a>:<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/pengoopmcjnbflcjbmoeodbmoflcgjlk" style="font-size: 13px;">'via Blog this'</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-75253628367050148342018-03-30T05:48:00.001-07:002018-03-30T05:48:34.167-07:00Alicia Gifford's BlogSee Links to stories - where are you NOW Alicia?<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a href="http://aliciasblahblahblah.blogspot.com.au/">Alicia's Blah Blah Blah</a>:<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/pengoopmcjnbflcjbmoeodbmoflcgjlk" style="font-size: 13px;">'via Blog this'</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-60305009512062024652015-03-07T13:50:00.001-08:002015-03-21T14:47:00.174-07:00Back to the writing<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Trying again to overcome resistance and fear. Trying to stick to a daily writing habit. Feeling inspired by the exercises in a gem of a book by Dorothea Brande - <i>Becoming a Writer.</i> </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First exercise - write first thing every morning, before you do anything else. Without Fail. Write anything. And if you get stuck just write 'I Can't Think of Anything to Write' again and again, until boredom forces your brain to stop farting around and get to work.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I started writing in an old diary - feeling good about the way I could churn out 5-6 pages every morning. I scribbled out memories and how I felt about stuff. Then moved to writing out scenes and ideas for stories still floating in my head. And discovered (once again) that the act of writing <i>really really</i> helps the brain to solve problems. Possibilities come up - possibilities that wouldn't have risen up if I'd just been staring in space <i>thinking</i> about a problem. So I've been churning out tiny story scenes instead of stream of consciousness stuff.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then I decided to type out the morning pages in a secret blog. So I can add tags and find stuff later. Also - hand written scrawl doesn't look like 'real' writing to me. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some mornings I type out a few sentences on the iphone on the way to work. Because the morning writing session got me inspired and I want to keep experimenting. Even though I might have woken up with No Desire At All to write.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This morning I copied out a section from a short story by Jean Bedford - <i>Through Road.</i> It was a long paragraph showing the thoughts of woman who at that moment is feeling rage and resentment towards her husband. There's a long flow of angry thoughts - and then she laughs at herself and the story has an upbeat ending. Decided to re-work this for a scene in one of my stories. I love the sense of thoughts flooding out, the way significant moments across many years are linked. But in my story the girl will suddenly see reality and the relationship will end. There's pain, but also relief about finally being able to let go. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">AND - Thanks to Jean Bedford I realised the back story I wanted to put at the <i>start</i> of the story can be there in the girl's thoughts at the <i>end</i> instead. The back story won't be an info dump because it will show why the girl is so sad and angry.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-13458945461389950152014-09-27T18:32:00.000-07:002014-11-15T19:19:54.391-08:00Make Back Story the hook <br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I came back to a short story I read in Strange Horizons. The opening paragraphs really stuck with me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Interesting how the writer Rich Larson starts with 'back story' and piles on the adjectives - two things the learner writer is told to avoid. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The back story works for me because it raises questions : Why has Cedric come to work at this place? Why did he run away from his father and then his girl friend? What went wrong with his relationship? What happened before he arrived at the rig?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rich uses vivid poetic language that paints an alien and dark scene.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Back story works when there are gaps in the facts provided - and those gaps intrigue the reader.</b></span><br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 1em 1em 1em 15px;">
In Baltic waters, gnashed by dark waves, there stood an old oil platform on rusted legs. It was populated as rigs always are, by coarse men young and strong whose faces soon overgrew with bristle and bloat. Cedric was one of these.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 1em 1em 1em 15px;">
He’d fled his father in New Zealand, then a pregnant girlfriend in Perth, arriving on the rig with insomniac eyes and an inchoate smile and a bank account in need of filling. In the pocket of his dull blue coverall, he carried an old Kindle with a spider-webbed screen and a Polaroid photograph of Violet when she was still slim and still laughed.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 1em 1em 1em 15px;">
His days were filled by the slow geometry of pipefitting, the bone-deep clank of machinery, the shrieks and swoops of soot-stained gulls. At night, when the running lights cast wavery orange on the black water and a sea-breeze scoured at the omnipresent stench of oil, Cedric thought the rig was not so bad. At night he read <em>Moby Dick</em> and anything else vaguely nautical. At night, Violet was blurred beautiful by the webcam window, distended curve of her stomach cropped neatly away, and he nearly loved her again.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 1em 1em 1em 15px;">
Some nights, Cedric stayed up top for hours to watch the starless sky and the ink-black sea. Dregs from this or that leak shimmered around the derrick’s legs. Scabs of tangled plastic bobbed between them. Some nights, Cedric thought he saw a shape moving in the water, but he knew all fish had fled long ago.</div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.strangehorizons.com/2014/20140811/stormy-f.shtml">Strange Horizons Fiction: The Air We Breathe Is Stormy, Stormy, by Rich Larson</a>: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/pengoopmcjnbflcjbmoeodbmoflcgjlk" style="font-size: 13px;">'via Blog this'</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-41072324887908071832014-09-27T17:28:00.001-07:002014-09-27T17:40:17.623-07:00Flash Fiction Challenge: One Amazing Sentence « terribleminds: chuck wendig<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This week's challenge from Terribleminds - write one amazing sentence.</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've discovered that revenge is a dish you should serve when it's still hot.</span></b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/09/26/flash-fiction-challenge-one-amazing-sentence/">Flash Fiction Challenge: One Amazing Sentence « terribleminds: chuck wendig</a>: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/pengoopmcjnbflcjbmoeodbmoflcgjlk" style="font-size: 13px;">'via Blog this'</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-66323293818322149422014-06-13T20:04:00.000-07:002014-08-23T16:24:54.756-07:00Stuck<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I keep coming back to the flash about the girl who suddenly realises (finally admits?) her boy friend doesn't love her. I've got loads of writing 'doodles', some moments I like, but nothing to show in <i>an interesting way</i>, that things have changed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm in love with the story title - Now I just need to find an actual <i>story</i> to attach it to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
In all my drafts the girl is seeing stuff and reacting <i>internally</i>. Then there's this moment of shock and revelation. And then what? She can't just turn to her boy friend and say "today I realised your guru is a sleazy little creep, a fake. He's as fake as our relationship. I don't want to be with you anymore."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
Problem - How to show a series of small moments that lead up to her waking up to reality? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />Maybe end it with the girl still clinging to illusion, the same way her BF continues to cling to a guru who is obviously fake. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-22216560161543384492014-05-24T18:17:00.000-07:002014-05-24T18:17:57.056-07:00Writing The Perfect Scene: Advanced Fiction Writing Tips<a href="http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/articles/writing-the-perfect-scene/">Writing The Perfect Scene: Advanced Fiction Writing Tips</a>: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/pengoopmcjnbflcjbmoeodbmoflcgjlk" style="font-size: 13px;">'via Blog this'</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-63006543877820107182014-05-24T18:12:00.000-07:002014-05-24T18:12:13.687-07:00The Writing Café - HUGE list of writing links to revisit<a href="http://thewritingcafe.tumblr.com/post/55258391868/writing-references?goback=.gde_1697027_member_261181739">The Writing Café</a>: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/pengoopmcjnbflcjbmoeodbmoflcgjlk" style="font-size: 13px;">'via Blog this'</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-84697044480144183102014-05-24T18:10:00.000-07:002014-08-23T16:29:53.831-07:00Third person and deep POV<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Been trawling the net, desperate to find a copy of <i>Fallen</i>, a short story by Alicia Gifford. One of the most perfect pieces of flash fiction I've ever read. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Note to Self - when you fall in love with a piece of fiction, make a COPY. Don't just paste in a link to the old magazine issue and assume you'll be able to find the story 2 years later.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">SOB</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This morning I found and read </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">another piece by Gifford - </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After the Fire</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Liked the way Gifford doesn't always use dialogue marks or tags, the way it added to a <i>deep</i> 3rd person POV, a feeling of momentum.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've also seen writers strip away marks and tags </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">when there's only a few lines of</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">dialogue - so the dialogue doesn't take on more significance than it should</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Want to experiment with this for draft no. 1057 of the WIP.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="background-color: #f2f1ec; border: 0px; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, FreeSerif, Georgia, serif; font-size: 1.1em; orphans: 2; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline; widows: 2;">
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
He reaches for the bong and knocks it over so that the stinky water empties onto his sofa. Just then the phone rings and it's his brother David on the caller ID.<em>Fuck!</em> But he picks up as he heads to the kitchen for a towel.</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
Has <em>Tante</em> Risa called you? David asks.</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
No. Why?</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
Oh, David says. God, she's supposed to call you.</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
Lenny has to steel himself. He can't help it. He accepts that his brother is gay, but does he have to talk all<em> mincey </em>like that? Is it <em>required</em>?</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
Anyway, David says, Mother has to go to an assisted living place. It's time.</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
The kitchen towels are wadded on the floor in a mildewed stink. The last paper towel slides off the roll. He grabs some dirty underwear from the laundry hamper and goes to mop up the bong water while David tells him how their mother wandered to the 7-Eleven half-naked and that the cops had to detain her like that until they located him.</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
You left her home alone?</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
Anna was taking a little <em>siesta</em>. I think she drinks.</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
Mom?</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
Anna.</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 1.1em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 3em; vertical-align: baseline;">
There's one more swallow left of tequila, and a bottle of Manischewitz cherry wine in his cupboard. He slugs down the tequila and tears at the seal of the wine bottle while David tells him he's checked into a number of places and it would cost them each about $2,500 a month.</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-65577012242940995262014-04-12T22:42:00.000-07:002014-04-12T22:51:54.785-07:00Prompt from Terribleminds<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Prompt from Check Wendig - 'Come up with a great opening line' </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe one day I'll come up with great opening lines. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/04/11/flash-fiction-challenge-the-return-of-the-opening-line-contest/">http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/04/11/flash-fiction-challenge-the-return-of-the-opening-line-contest/</a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">_________</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Every morning the Genie begged her to make a wish, but Rhonda couldn't decide, couldn't choose.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-68070697749623938782014-03-28T15:32:00.001-07:002014-03-28T17:22:10.831-07:00Short story - starting<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Found some simple advice about short story structure. Lets try this with the 'house' story: </span><br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dramatic start (scene)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Decisive sequel</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Surprising middle (scene)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Satisfying end (scene)</span></li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Note - sequels are less than half the length of scenes </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hmm - only 1 sequel in a short story? And does the opening need to be 'dramatic' - maybe it needs to</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> be compelling (raises questions, intrigues you) without necessarily being jaw dropping dramatic.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Must check out some short fiction and see how many times I can tick the 4 boxes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The house story -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For inspiration I'll construct the opening around the prologue from a military sci-fi novel. I see a powerful alien bad guy confronting a human engineer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I'll write out some cool moments based on the true story. Focus on conflict and writing dialogue to try and find the characters. Then shuffle stuff around to find connections - see which part of the story a scene or moment belongs to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sudden inspiration this morning about using the symbol of the tattoo. In the ending the engineer reveals his own tattoo - shows he's switched sides. And I can see how to raise the stakes - the defeat of the Bad Alien means the future will be different for other races : )</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-10895552041819453902014-02-01T20:42:00.002-08:002014-02-01T20:42:24.964-08:00Strange Horizons Fiction: The Serial Killer's Astronaut Daughter, by Damien Angelica Walters<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another fantastic story on Strangehorizons. I should make a donation to this wonderful magazine this year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Great use of First person POV / Present tense. I like the edgy humour, the beautiful tight wording. The way the dialogue brings characters to life. The stunning TITLE for this story. How could you read the words 'The Serial Killer's Astronaut Daughter' and NOT want to read on?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I checked the author's website and was surprised to find some other work that sits in the Horror camp. A couple of other pieces I read were a lot darker than this. Then again, there's a dark and interesting undertow in this story.</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.strangehorizons.com/2014/20140106/Astronaut-f.shtml">Strange Horizons Fiction: The Serial Killer's Astronaut Daughter, by Damien Angelica Walters</a>: <br />
<br />
<a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/pengoopmcjnbflcjbmoeodbmoflcgjlk" style="font-size: 13px;">'via Blog this'</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-35035313551489345572013-12-22T00:35:00.001-08:002013-12-27T19:51:38.632-08:00Part 5 of 5 part story challenge<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Final part of fantastic story prompt from Chuck Wendig - </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5em;">Flash Fiction Challenge - 200 words at a time - part five</b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
<b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Silk </span></b></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
<span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #666666; line-height: 1.5em;">Part 1 by</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5em;"><span style="color: #666666;"> </span><span style="color: #990000;"> <a href="http://murgatroid-98.livejournal.com/2391.html">murgatroid-98</a></span><span style="color: #525252;"> </span><b style="color: #525252;"> </b></span><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #666666; line-height: 1.5em;">Part 2</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #525252; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5em;"> - </span><span style="color: #525252; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><a href="http://elsiewho.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/200-words-at-a-time-continued/" style="background-color: white;">LC Hu</a><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: #eeeeee;">Part 3</span><span style="background-color: white;"> - </span><a href="http://jeremypodolski.com/200-words-at-a-time-terrible-minds-flash-fiction-challenge/" style="background-color: white;">Jeremy Podolski</a><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #525252; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee;">Part 4</span><span style="background-color: white;"> (and story title) - </span></span><a href="http://burntgraphite.net/fiction3" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5em;">Meagan Wilson</a></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
<span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: purple;"><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5em;">Part 5 by Yours Truly </span><span style="font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em;"> </span></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white;">
<span style="color: #525252; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white;">
<span style="color: #525252; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3655006592825109854" name="more"></a><span style="color: #525252; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
The Jacksons, Ed and Marnie, had been away for two months and no one in the neighborhood had heard from them. Everyone assumed they were still traveling across the country to celebrate Marnie’s retirement. Lena held her breath as she approached the driveway. She had noticed the stench during her morning walk. Something dead. An animal perhaps, a large one by the smell. Plenty of feral cats lived and died in the area. Coyotes, too. Burying the poor thing, whatever it was, seemed kinder than leaving it to rot and stink.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
A glistening wetness oozed from under the door as the odor became almost tangible. She gagged. Maggots. Her stomach roiled as she backed away, stumbling onto the lawn. She bent over and heaved onto the grass, gasping for an untainted breath. As she stood back up, she noticed that the front door was slightly ajar.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
Lena moved slowly to the door to peek through the crack and listen. Dim light filtered through the curtains into the living room. She pushed the door open and froze, stench and maggots forgotten. Horror and relief fought for dominance, because what lay on the carpeted floor was not one of the Jacksons.</div>
<hr style="background-color: #9f9f9f; border: none; clear: both; float: none; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; height: 1px; margin: 7px 0px; width: 920px;" />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
It was a dog. A huge dog, a (wolf) husky, maybe, in such a state of decay Lena guessed it must have died around the time the Jacksons had disappeared. Lena strained to remember if the Jacksons had ever had a dog. She didn’t think she’d ever seen one; but she’d never been very close to the Jacksons. They could have kept a dog inside, or in the backyard. Maybe it was—had been—a good dog. A quiet dog.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
Lena knew moving closer was a bad idea, but her curiosity refused to take no for an answer. She leaned towards the corpse and immediately had to fight the hot acid rise at the back of her throat. The dog’s belly had been torn open. The ragged wound gaped blackly, more black slime pooling from the wound. Farther back in the dark wound, there was the hint of movement. More maggots.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
Staggering back towards the door, Lena sucked in great breaths of fresh air.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
She glanced back over her shoulder and immediately regretted it. From the dark interior of the house, the yellowed fangs of the dog smiled back at her, lips drawn back by rot and dehydration.</div>
<hr style="background-color: #9f9f9f; border: none; clear: both; float: none; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; height: 1px; margin: 7px 0px; width: 920px;" />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
But there was something more, an interesting scrap of fabric impaled on the animal’s right incisor. She almost missed it in an effort to shield her eyes from the gore, but the pattern caught her attention as much as anything else.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
She steeled herself for a closer look. The swatch was blue silk, adorned with a repeating design of a samurai locked in battle with a serpent, all in gold. It looked expensive, and it certainly didn’t look like it came from something that the Jacksons – who by all accounts were more likely to frequent the Ripley’s Museum than one of art or natural history – would own.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
Lena could tell easily by the frayed edges and jagged outline that the scrap had been torn from something larger: A scarf? A babushka? A kimono? The eviscerated beast had put up a fight, but against what? It was hard to picture the animal locked in combat against a wealthy, well-dressed dowager.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
She felt the urge to take the fabric, as if this was her mystery to solve and her clue to commandeer. The thoughts spinning in her mind distracted Lena from her nausea, but they also prevented her from recognizing the presence of another in the foyer.</div>
<hr style="background-color: #9f9f9f; border: none; clear: both; float: none; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; height: 1px; margin: 7px 0px; width: 920px;" />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
“Leave.”</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
Lena gasped, and whirled to see a figure emerge from the late afternoon shadows. He was tall, at least by Lena’s standards. His black hair was swept up in a topknot, similar to the samurai that chased a serpent across his blue silk jacket. Sure enough, the jacket, which looked like a short kimono, had a piece torn from the bottom edge. But what really held Lena’s interest, and set her heart thudding, was the sword at the man’s side. A sword he began to unsheathe as he took another step toward her.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
Lena swallowed, hard. If the wound in the dog’s belly was any indication, the sword was not for show. She should run. Call the police.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
But instead, she heard herself ask, “Why did you kill the dog?” as she inched toward the door.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
“He was in my way. As are you,” his voice was deep, and hard as the four-foot length of steel in his hand. Uh-oh. She’d read somewhere that a samurai never drew his sword unless he intended to use it. She tore her eyes from the blade, forced herself to meet his dark eyes.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
<div style="font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em;">
“So you’re going to slaughter me, like the dog?”</div>
<hr style="background-color: #9f9f9f; border: none; clear: both; float: none; font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: medium; height: 1px; line-height: normal; margin: 7px 0px; width: 920px;" />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.8em;">
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">The dark eyes flashed and she shrank back when he strode up to her.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">"Go. Before the Jacksons get here." He gripped her arm and pulled her towards the back door. "They'll kill you if they find you here now."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">Okay. Obviously a nut case here, in need of medication. Better to just leave quickly. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">A noise from the lounge room brought crazy samurai guy to a stop. He turned and ran back to the lounge, sword raised, with Lena right behind. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">Ed and Marnie stood wide-eyed in the door-way. Dear God. The poor darlings must be terrified.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">But the Jacksons stood their ground, even seemed to swell in size. What the . . . ? Still swelling up. Shedding clothes. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">Oh Fuck.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">Her neighbours. Transformed into giant green serpents. As tall as the ceiling now, they hissed and and screeched as the sword slashed and cut and hacked. Crimson fountains of serpent blood splattered walls, windows, furniture.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">When the samurai finally straightened, both the monsters were dead. And then in a sudden burst of gold light, warrior and serpents vanished.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">Leaving Lena in a pool of blood. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Open Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.4375px;">Wondering how she could explain everything to the cops without sounding like a nut case.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Open Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 1.5em;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-3224393627696521642013-12-07T16:40:00.004-08:002013-12-07T18:42:39.372-08:00Part 3 of 5 part story challenge<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Part 3 of fantastic story prompt from Chuck Wendig</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Flash Fiction Challenge - 200 words at a time - part three</span></b></span><br />
<div style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>A Gifted Wizard</b> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part 1 by <a href="http://creativehappyplace.wordpress.com/2013/11/23/flash-fiction-challenge-200-words-at-a-time/">Andrew Linder</a><span style="line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;"> - </span></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: inherit;">Part 2 by <a href="http://arrawyn.wix.com/caitlinmccoll#!blog/ckky">Caitlin McColl</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: inherit;">Part 3 by yours truly - </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: inherit;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-style: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Mary loved Christmas because it was the comfiest holiday. Sitting on the floor before a modest pile of gilded presents, surrounded by family, sipping hot cocoa—hot cocoa!—she was experiencing true, Christmas bliss. She pet the cat beside her as it nuzzled her knee. Her brother handed her a perfectly wrapped gift. She reached for it, but he yanked it away, laughing. She laughed too. This happened every year. “Mom!” she said, directing her voice toward the kitchen, “Danny’s being a jerk!” But she snatched the present from him anyway and pulled at the ribbon.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span>
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3655006592825109854" name="more"></a><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-style: inherit;">Then the front door burst open and a gaunt, bearded man in ripped jeans and no shirt stumbled in. He had a large, pointy hat on his head. He glanced around at the startled faces, settling on Mary’s. She knew him, and stuttered, “U-u-uncle Martin?”</span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He nodded. “There’s magic afoot, niece…You’re a wizard, Mary”. Seeing her confusion, he pointed at the cat. “Look, the cat can talk now.”</span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">She looked down at Bubbles. Bubbles looked up. “Hey,” Bubbles said.</span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Mary stared. “Hey.”</span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Uncle Martin pulled a folded up hat, like his own, from his back pocket. “Here! Take this wizard hat and follow me.”</span></div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.75em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-style: inherit;">Mary jumped up and with a glance over her shoulder at the confused faces of her family, she followed her uncle out into the crisp fall air. She wondered how he could be wandering around without a shirt when she was wearing a long sleeved sweater. Maybe wizards generated internal heat? "Wait! Hold up!" She jogged to catch up to him. "You can't just throw a crumpled pointy hat from a cheap halloween costume at someone, make the cat talk, then leave again! I have questions. Lots of them!"</span></div>
<div style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 21pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I'm sure you do," Martin said nodding with brief glance at Mary as he kept walking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 21pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Like, did everyone else just hear Bubbles talk back then? Or do they think you're crazy for bursting in like that. They probably think I'm crazy now too!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 21pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"No, they can't, just you can. ‘Cuz you're a-"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 21pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"You're a wizard Harry!" Mary said in her best mock-Hagrid voice. "I'm not friggin’ Harry Potter, Uncle. I’m a thirty three year old nursing student from Portland, not some kid in a story book with a magic wand!” She grabbed Martin’s arm and turned him to face her. “Seriously, Uncle. What’s going on?”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 21pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;">
<div style="font-style: inherit;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"There's a problem. And we need you."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-style: inherit;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Me?" Mary let go of his arm. "Look, whatever this is about, I'd love to help. Really. But shouldn't you get a more experienced wizard?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Martin didn't answer. His eyes were lifted to the sky. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
"Uncle?" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
The faint sound of jingling bells made her turn and look up. Huge clouds parted to reveal a team of reindeer pulling a red sled. The animals drifted down, landing beside Mary with the grace of ballet dancers. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
The head reindeer nodded at her then jerked its head at the sled. "Hey Marty. We've gotta go. Like right now dude."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
"Mary." Her uncle's voice was a plea. She stood frozen, staring at the reindeer, her fingers crushing the paper wizard hat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
"The great Wizard Claus needs our help." Martin shook his head. "Something went wrong and now he can't get back into Real Time."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
"Tell her about it on the way dude." This from one of the reindeer at the back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
"Yes. Yes of course." Martin held her arm, gently steered her towards the sled steps. "We've only got an hour left Mary."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, she decided, talking reindeer and a sled were way cooler than the magic cars Harry Potter flew in.</span><br />
<div style="font-style: inherit;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 9pt;"><br /></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-84926666182230413542013-11-30T19:59:00.001-08:002013-12-04T01:23:44.549-08:00Part 2 of 5 part story challenge<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Part 2 of fantastic story prompt from Chuck Wendig</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Flash Fiction Challenge - 200 words at a time - part two <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/11/29/flash-fiction-challenge-200-words-at-a-time-part-two/">read more</a></b></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Millions of Cats</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First 200 words by <a href="http://www.ninjalibrarian.com/2013/11/wendig-challenge-first-200-words.html">Rebecca Douglas</a></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Things never worked out according to plan when there were cats involved. I knew that, and I should have known better than to take the job. Either don’t try to plan or stay far from cats, and I knew which would have been better for me. But Keelan made it all sound so easy: we just had to pick up the consignment from Alpha-Centauri 4 and take them to Exilion 17. Four days, max, and two of them in hyperspace.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What could go wrong?” I should really have run when Keelan said that, because you know as well as I do that anytime those words are uttered you should run, very fast, in the opposite direction.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, we needed cash, and the cat people had it. So we went and picked up the load of cats.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That was where the trouble first began. They were supposed to be crated, sedated, and ready to be picked up by fork lift and stowed in the cargo hold. But when we arrived, a team of cat-wranglers was still chasing them around a pen. We had to wait an extra three days for all of them to be properly prepared for flight.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ----------------</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turned out 'properly prepared' meant a total refit for the cargo hold. Nutrient and water dispensers, state of the art litter trays, climbing platforms, scratching posts, heat lamps . . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then a ritual involving a hundred blessings and cat nip incense before we finally got to lift off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The second day out a report came in of another war breaking out in the Fifth Quadrant. The Karzi had launched a million war ships. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You sure we aren't heading into deep shit?" I asked Keelan. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He beamed that terrible smile of his at me. "Relax Becky. The Karzi have no interest in this sector. Or in cats either." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was down in the hold with him. The main scrubber had broken down again and the smell of cat pee had wafted into the whole ship. As usual the cats were mating in a frenzy with each other. I wondered idly why the cat worshippers hadn't told us this was breeding season.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was about to point out that our flight path crossed over one of the Karzi colonies, when a sudden shock wave knocked us both off our feet. The ship shuddered and the cats wailed in unison.</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-55335844502009092932013-11-28T10:48:00.001-08:002013-12-04T01:40:05.771-08:00Part 1 of 5 part story challenge<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Great writing prompt from Terribleminds - <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/11/22/flash-fiction-challenge-200-words-at-a-time-part-one/">Read More</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As the portal lights flash green, Betty says, "We could knock the Moseby kid out you know. Tranquilize him. Grab the whole stash."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's 5.30 pm and we're about to make our last jump for the day. Everyone is exhausted. But still desperate to fill the weekly quota. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The portal hums and everyone yanks their face mask down. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Betty's voice is a plea over the comm link. "I've done the research. Four women all firing dart guns at once. We can do this ladies." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The portal throws us over. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The co-ordinates are off. We've landed on a kitchen bench. And we're probably inside a McMansion. Lots of distance to cover. Gabby does a fast sweep with the tracker, then points a finger upwards.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We flap our wings and rise. Listening for sounds, alert for any sudden movement. We follow stairs up to a pale blue door covered the artwork of a young child. The door is solid and I feel the magic begin to drain as we pass through it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But the tracker in Gabby's hand lights up like a christmas tree. We're near a tooth of fine quality. Probably a front lower. And hopefully not buried under a pillow. </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-65135212719548431652013-10-22T02:57:00.002-07:002013-10-23T14:33:07.595-07:00Weekly prompts and music<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just subscribed to Spotify. And discovered great weekly prompts on Terribleminds. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Headphones on listening to 'Sounds of Nature' - hoping my emotions, my writing, will flow out with music.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Taking baby steps. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just one Flash every week. Minimum. Doesn't matter how stupid and dull and boring it is. Just need to get down one Flash every week. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And keep finding the joy in experimenting, in discovering what moves me.</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-61302636456458069202013-08-09T12:43:00.000-07:002013-08-09T12:43:15.707-07:00Begin with the Antagonist<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Advice from writer Kristen Lamb -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the early stages of building a story, develop the antagonist first. Don't start off with the hero. Must experiment with this. Also, the thing about antagonists ? Evil is more interesting than goodness. So maybe starting off with the more 'interesting' character gives you more writing inspiration ? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 24px;">With no clear antagonist, it is impossible to know the core story problem in need of resolution by Act Three. It’s impossible to plot (even good pantsers still have to know the story problem). It’s impossible to generate dramatic tension and what we are left with is melodrama….and a great way of getting STUCK at 30,000 words and wanting to kill ourselves and give up being novelists.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 24px;">The antagonist is the beating heart of the story. He/She/It creates the crisis and the crucible that forces our protagonist to become a hero. If we don’t know the endgame, we have no idea how to insert roadblocks, create misdirection, setbacks, or drama. So if you keep getting stuck? It might not be you are lazy or fearful (I wasn’t either). It might be your foundation (the antagonist/core story problem) either isn’t there or it’s weak and unable to support the bulk of 65-100,000 words.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://warriorwriters.wordpress.com/2013/07/19/the-single-largest-cause-of-writers-block-might-not-be-what-you-believe/">http://warriorwriters.wordpress.com/2013/07/19/the-single-largest-cause-of-writers-block-might-not-be-what-you-believe/</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-89816886058533193522013-07-06T18:57:00.001-07:002013-12-03T00:08:50.300-08:00Short Fiction and The Twist<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally. My brain understands why the twist is so powerful in short fiction. Why 'the twist' crops up again and again in articles and posts about short fiction.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course I would have figured this out earlier simply by reading stories with a twist and thinking about how/if those stories would work <i>without</i> the twist. Would've realised that . . . well, the story <i>wouldn't</i> work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pretty bloody simple really.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Light bulb went on after I read "The Quiet" by Cara Long.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The story opens with a man visiting his dying mother in hospital. He sits next to her thinking about his wife, the end of their marriage. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You're shown stuff that makes you suspect the wife is cold and unfeeling. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But by the end of story you understand that she needs more intimacy, a partner more engaged with life. And you suspect that the man's mother isn't always asleep when her eyes are closed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://www.smokelong.com/flash/caralong39q.asp">SmokeLong Quarterly—"The Quiet" by Cara Long—</a>:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just after reading Cara Long's piece I did a crit for a flash that showed an MC hoping to be rescued and then getting rescued. But the story was flat. Something was missing. My expectation was met.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In short fiction there isn't enough room to build up suspense or a series of emotional highs and lows. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Instead, the reader can be given a significant twist, a powerful moment of surprise and discovery. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got excited about using a twist in my short piece about a girl waking up to reality. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the first draft I showed a BF who was obviously cold and selfish.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the re-write I'm now trying to (falsely) present the BF as a sweet absent minded professor. I want the girl AND the reader to be fooled by him at first.</span><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3655006592825109854.post-18204180128934910302013-06-25T14:06:00.000-07:002013-06-25T14:06:52.536-07:00The pleasure of Poetry<div>
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Australian poet Katy Keys revealed at a writer's festival that she focused on poetry after realising she would never finish a novel.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do some people have brains that will NEVER produce story outlines? </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'd forgotten about the pleasure and power of poetry - </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Check out -</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">@tinylittlepoems</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0