My past, my present: thirteen years of second-hand smoke, second-hand clothes, second-hand life. Now, I’ve got a thirteen year old son imitating his proud father.
Any affection? You’re kidding, right?
Sure, I’d hoped for something better. Hope and sinew keep me alive.
42 words originally written for the Yeah Write gargleblaster this week…however, I didn’t realize we weren’t to write of familial relationships so an oops on my part. Still I like the character’s voice :))
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Terry spit out the orange juice as quickly as he’d drawn it up into the straw. He threw the carton onto the linoleum and shoved the tray table away with his good arm. Pleased to see a sticky juice puddle forming under the visitor chair, he settled back into the hospital bed.
His motorcycle accident had resulted in severe injuries: broken legs in traction, his right arm and hips plaster-cast to ensure proper mending. His left arm was the only extremity he could move now. At least I’m not helpless like the guy on the other side of the room, Terry thought. That oxygen mask is brutal. I’d rather die than be a vegetable.
The day dragged along like each day had since the accident. Terry hated life in this dreary void, chafing in overly bleached sheets. His only respite came in sleep.
That night, he dreamed of a childhood track meet. Terry and his team rival were running the half-mile, neck and neck. Terry was full of confidence. I’m the best, Terry shouted in his dream. I’m the best! He closed in on the finish line, ahead by two steps. But just before the finish, his foot caught the asphalt and jammed, causing him to stumble. He cried out in pain as his ankle twisted sharply. He fell. The cracking sounds and shock were enough to pull Terry from his dream.
He awoke in his hospital bed, wincing from dreamed pain. Yet, he felt nothing. His legs, arms, trunk, chest, all paralyzed. He thanked God he still had his sight. He scanned his surroundings though it was difficult to see past his fogged oxygen mask. The guy in the bed across from him had his legs lifted in traction. And he was staring with satisfaction back at Terry.
300 words for Laura James’s latest ‘Horror Bites‘ flash fiction challenge. She asked for 200 to 300 words inspired by the photo above. Admittedly, I took a bit of liberty with mine but I think the connection is clear. Please drop by Laura’s blog, Office Mango. She is a relatively new writer, focused on the horror genre and all things scary,but she is a lovely, fun and very nice person!
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Darla has a monkey, she says its name is Sam
With her life of luxury, I think it’s just a scam
Sam loves climbing trees, especially if they’re blue
Blue leafed maples? Wouldn’t you too?
It’s been an easy life for Darla and for her pudgy man named Joan
They skip instead of walking, to make their love most known
Basking in devoted glow and plenty on repeat
Worlds of bounty stretch in every way with lots of stuff to eat.
Constantly overjoyed to see their rounded, smiling faces
I’m going to suggest one day that they and I trade places.
In response to today’s daily NaPoWriMo‘s poetry prompt: write a 10 line poem in which each line is a lie.
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As unlikely as it may seem, author and flash-fiction’s-finest writer, JD Mader named names and I was on his list. JD can be found on his diverse blog, Unemployed Imagination. Please pop over to read some of his writing and see why I hold his writing in such high regard. I also encourage you to visit his Amazon author page and purchase a volume or two. :))
And now, to the questions:
What am I working on?
I am always working on short fiction pieces. Several short stories are on their way to completion and I usually have a poem in various stages. I have a novel idea (see what I did there?) for which I’ve written chapters and scenes; however, I don’t anticipate completing the novel until I have more time to write in greater chunks of time. When will that be? I have no idea.
How does my work differ from other of its genre?
It could be argued that I don’t write genre fiction, unless literary fiction is considered a genre. If it is, I will answer in terms of what voice I believe I bring to writing that other writers might not.
When I began writing, I believed I would write stories about any subject and from any point of view. As it turns out, that isn’t the case. I am most concerned with telling the stories of individuals (or groups of people) who are hidden, hurt, silent, forgotten, unnoticed, misunderstood, and who live lives which are, for the most part, unheard.
Within that framework, I strive to be respectful of the characters and the stories I write. I write fiction but I try never to forget that my fiction might also be someone’s reality.
Why do I write what I do?
I write to share my point of view and ideas. I write about the twists and turns in people’s lives because that is what intrigues me. Most of my stories are takes on reality-based themes because those are usually the stories I like the best. That said, I also enjoy reading well-woven, action-packed science fiction/alternative reality too!
How does your writing process work?
It could be argued that my writing process doesn’t work! Other writers are able to crack out significantly more stories and that is due to their focus and my lack of it. My day job (which I love) takes a significant amount of emotional engagement on my part. At the end of the day, I find it difficult to gather the energy to write, even though stories run through my mind.
On a good day, I try to focus by responding to some kind of prompted writing challenge. I listen for a few minutes to Bach (truly) and then I need silence. When writing stories, one of two things happen. Either, I see the face of the main character, I consider his/her situation and then try to look at the situation from a different perspective, or I imagine a situation and populate it with a character who is more than he/she appears initially.
Once I have the basics of the story, I will often write an outline. I can’t outline without having written some of the story because my stories just don’t work that way. I need to get a feel for the characters before I can direct them…but direct them, I do. I’m the writer. My characters do what I tell them to do!
Thank you for stopping by. I’m not going to tag anyone to continue the tour as I believe it has gone in all directions already. But please do take the time to check in on Indies Unlimited. IU brings together a group of fantastic, independent authors and posts informative pieces that are chockerblock full of useful tips and insights! Also, I have really been enjoying the poetry-filled site of d’Verse The site posts articles almost daily – writing prompts and discussions – so if poetry is your writing form, please do stop by.
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Moon reflects peace in alley pothole puddles
Reverie splashes high as noisy shopping carts push through
In the ‘hood, we’re tripping the light fantastic.
All we are is here and now, right?
Yet. if we were able to look skyward
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Out into the frost and wintry, charcoal streets, they soon learned the harsh reality of their new lives.
One by one, dressed in Sunday finery, those chosen for The Journey stepped out through majestic, illusory doorways of once elegant homes. They must leave everything familiar: all luxury so fervently maintained, all warm embrace of certainty. Instructions delivered two days ago outlined quite specifically that nothing was to be taken when they returned to Earth.
For Laurence Topper, the cruelest of his instructions was to leave behind his adored wife, Jenny. She received no gold envelope: an invitation denied for a lifetime’s adamant belief in “real” God.
Tears of frustration and grief were shed by poor Laurence, yet he did what he knew he must. He could not leave his dear Jenny alone. To come to what end?
Oh, the pain! His final decision in this interstellar paradise was murder.
I’ve been away from my writing for a couple weeks but am now re-focusing. I thought I’d try something a bit different midweek. Will be posting more of my usual fare (is that a good thing?) later this week and on the weekend.
This lovely photo challenge is via Angela Goff‘s weekly writing challenge,Visual Dare.
Entries are supposed to be 150 words or less. Mine, I admit is about 4 words over the limit.