Thursday, August 30, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction – Faces

The Five Sentence Fiction is a simple idea:
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week, the chosen word is "Faces," and this made me instantly think of the Door's song, but I twisted it a little. Enjoy.

***

Linda hated the rain because that's when she saw them from the corners of her eyes, contorted, looking nothing human at all.

Glaring, watching, following everywhere she went -- on the train, riding the busses, walking menacingly as she swept by them in the taxi -- nameless, distorted, inhuman things.

Oh, they looked like people to the outside world, but she knew they were not, she wasn't fooled by their masks; she had seen them before as a small child, and many times since, and each time it was before a horrendous event, and always in the rain.

Were they angels, demons, or something other?

She didn't know, she didn't want to know; she just knew something dreadful was about to happen, then they'd go away -- like always -- taking the rain with them.

Friday, August 24, 2012

E-book bundle!

Here's a bit of fun for you! Go to Lulu.com and buy the print edition of my book (here's the link) and when you have received your physical copy in the mail, email me by clicking this link (include your order number), and I will send you a free e-copy of the book, either Nook/Kobo or Kindle, for free. (In the email, just tell me which version you need.)

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction – Blush

The Five Sentence Fiction is a simple idea:
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week, the chosen word is "Blush." And to answer the question posed in the final line: yes, he can.

***

She could not resist the reaction when she saw him, when from across the room their eyes locked.

He, a vision in her eyes, with his dark hair and even darker eyes, was the spitting-image of Apollo -- it was as if one of the museum's displays had come to life right before her.

She feigned a distraction, but could not turn from him -- too strong was his magnetic pull.

The blood raced to her cheeks, and as the warmth flushed over her the palpitations in her chest grew so loud she was convinced the world around could hear it.

He smirked and strode toward her; she swallowed hard, breathing heavily she wondered if he could see what she felt.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Gretchen McNeil's "Army of TEN"

See that bug on the right side there? Yeah, that one! Gretchen is running this totally cool contest. Click that link, follow along. You might even get mentioned in her next book. How cool is that?

The Next Chapter(s)

My current work-in-progress, MINIMAL, is coming along at the normal, snail's pace, I am used to, and I know the next three chapters, and what they're about. But the key is getting it down on paper.

That's my motivation at the moment, finding the "gumption," (now, there's a word you don't hear too often) to plop down the needful on these three new parts.

The first is all about "Cavanaugh Bing," a character briefly introduced much, much earlier in the story, who returns to give some details she seems to have to the police. Is the info valid? Is it worth the drive to interview her? We'll see...

The next is all about victim Five, who has been located. Poor thing. She was the most "advanced" of "The Count's" work to date. This chapter will fill in a little about the journey "The Count" is on, and hammers home that Dr. Yuri was right...

The one after that sees the return of Genevieve Cordeaux, who, in a change of form, having been traumatized by seeing her relative dismantled upon the coroner's slab, actually changes her tune and becomes somewhat helpful for a change. Hey, she's not a total bitch after all, whaddya know? ;)

So, if you're on the list of friends that get to see MINIMAL before it's edited, these are the things to look out for.

Now, if I can only muster the strength!

I know that MINIMAL has approximately 15,000 words left before it's finished. Which will bring the rough-draft -- and boy, is it rough -- to conclusion. And then we let it simmer before digging in for the first round of real edits. It's been a long road getting this far, and the end is slowly coming into view. Then I begin to worry the major bit of "will anyone care?" Will MINIMAL turn into just a piece I wrote just for me?

Stay tuned... We'll just have to see how it goes. You're on the ride, too. Ain't it grand? ;)

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction – Night

The Five Sentence Fiction is a simple idea:
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week, the chosen word is "Night." What happens in the night? You'd be more than surprised, I'm sure. Here's the inspirational picture for this week's entry. Enjoy.

***

As the darkness deepens, she sleeps blissfully as the beast stirs, her hair cascading onto pillows imprinted with patterns of sunflowers.

Pinky the dragon, the coward he is, would never dare attack in day, comes full force, flapping its venomous green wings, flying in from his corner in a fit of fury.

Landing, he breathes hot air into her ear giving turbulence to her dreams and bringing frightened jolts as her visions turn foul.

But Sir Stuffed-a-Lot, that portly old bear, leaps from his shelf high in the room; and with his sturdy wooden sword in hand, fights off the dragon, tearing a worn mid-belly seam, causing Pinky to retreat back to whence he came as his stuffing fluttered to the floor.

Turning, the bear comforts his maiden, softly caressing her cheek; again, he shall stand guard until sunrise.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction – Distance

The Five Sentence Fiction is a simple idea:
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week, the chosen word is "Distance." There are many distances that can be measured, I chose a different kind. This is a short love letter, purple prose for certain, but heartfelt all the same.

***

The span of my arms holds the world entire.

Here, when you are held within, exists all that is, ever shall be, and all that I require.

But a short distance as measured by Man, you contain all the Universe of my heart; a hundred-thousand fold emotions bless me in your presence.

Neither time nor unnumbered leagues can hold me from you or you from me; for perhaps made separate, we are one.

You and no other have bridged the wide streams of my soul.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction – Victory

The Five Sentence Fiction is a simple idea:
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week, the chosen word is "Victory." Victory, to me, usually comes from all those war movies I watch. Or, perhaps, a little Conan... Either way, that's the drive behind this entry.

***

All around him was a bloody mass of bodies chaotically intertwined in a cacophony of carnage.

Alone, standing on the field, sword ever at the ready, battle-standard in hand -- his flag blazing as it flapped in the ineffable breeze -- he scoured the countryside for any sign that he had not taken the last of them to the bowels of Hell by the point of his blade.

Cursing the fallen enemy as they lay at his feet, he could hear distant moans of gory demise dim and come to silence as the last of the refuse paid their debt to him in the currency called death.

For what seemed like miles around him the offal littered the ground, the stench was horrible, it burned his nostrils; and he felt a heaving in his chest as he breathed, and only through a supreme act of will could he keep the contents of his last meal from climbing back up his windpipe.

He had taken the day and dealt with his own bloody hands a defeat from which they would never recover -- at long last the war was over.