As of this morning, my short story The Abyss is up at Pulp Metal Magazine!
Couldn’t be more thrilled!
Much gratitude to Jason Michel for taking it!
As always, your thoughts are more than welcome!
Much gratitude to Jason Michel for taking it!
As always, your thoughts are more than welcome!
Don’t know if you dressed up and went around the neighborhood hijacking candy, but the combination of the holiday, plus the sky getting darker way too early has me in a Friday Flash funk kind of mood, so here you go:
Inspired by Charli Mills weekly 99 words, no more no less flash-fiction challenge over at Carrotranch.com, monkeys are flying!
Hector cursed them; damn financial aid forms!
Jumping through hoops, that’s what this is. How the hell did they expect him to get all this filled out by Friday, with three papers, two exams and a final to suffer this week? Like monkeys flying bat-shit all over campus, it just wasn’t gonna happen!
What he needed was cash. Lots of it. And now!
The line grew longer by the second, and sensing his out, he took it! The grey gun-metal felt cold to his touch in his pack as he raised it, passing the point of no return…
Lurking in the dark dusty 7th floor corridor, the grad student stared down rows of empty, after hours office doors. Sensing the incoming bomb drop, he’d tried to prepare but hadn’t been able.
Nearly 10 pm now and he knew; his pompous thesis advisor, over an hour late, wasn’t coming. Shuffling his final thesis signature pages, he sighed; no signature, no candidacy! No candidacy, no diploma! Digging into the bottom of his backpack, his fingers found the scissors, sharp and slick, nearly nicking off his pinky in the process. His advisor liked the campus bar, frequented after classes.
His cell phone glowed out 10:45 now; just enough time, before they called last call…
A thoughtful post on where we actually do the deed from fellow scrivener Sarah Brentyn at sarahbrentyn.wordpress.com.
Being guilty of clicking away in a coffee shop as we speak, I’m notorious for frequenting the joints. Much like this old black and white from Holly-weird yesteryear, hanging out in a space filled with the aroma of freshly ground grounds and all kinds of humanity prowling around near me is enticing.
Yet, does any work really ever get done?? Honestly, no! Too many sticky fingers grabbing too many sticky buns and too much caffeine never really helped my writing. Sure, the brain gets fired up and emails get answered. But actually novel chapters in a setting so noisy I can’t hear myself think?
NO! Never happens!
For that, I gotta go bury in a cubicle ten feet deep in the bottom racks of the school library, where the only people around are busy typing as fast as I am and in just as much mental misery as I am in some shape or form!
So. My question of the week is out there! I really want to know! Where are you when your characters do the dastardly deeds and you spicy pages germinate best???
Tell me all about it!
“One of my biggest pet peeves as an agent reading slush is unrealistic dialogue. This is a huge indicator of skill for better or for worse. For me, this is a bigger red flag than any grammatical error…”
(Literary Agent, Carly Watters, on writing good dialogue; Source: 4 Ways To Write Better Dialogue)
Ms. Watters post on the matter got me musing alright! Dialogue, in its best state, is natural. When it flows like water and you can’t turn off the stream if you try, then you know, you’ve got something! When the characters interact and your fingers can’t seem to stop typing, as if they’re on autopilot, that’s when you’ve struck gold! Like that time I sat eavesdropping in an old leather booth at a local diner, jotting down everything the two old birds next to me were saying. One was practically mute while the other carried on the practically the whole conversation by himself, ping-ponging back and forth, asking and answering his own questions, and having a grand old-time doing it. It translated into a short flash, then a longer short-short for me. Nothing like the real thing!
But what about those days when the words feel more forced than anything else and reading it back, you practically choke on the sound it’s so stilted and vague! Don’t know about you but I have those moments. Never easy to write, one of the things I’ve found helpful is to have others read your dialog out loud. And not just in a workshop setting.
I’m talking about drama. Live, on stage actors, reading the parts. That’s where you’ll know for sure if it’s working or not. And the actors will probably be the first to let you know, in case you haven’t figured it out for yourself yet. If they feel funny saying it, chances are, it’s a pretty funny set of words to be spoken out loud!
What’s your take on the matter???
Luv to hear your thoughts on this one!
While you’re all out there waving the red, white and blue, and firing up those BBQ’s, don’t forget to take off your hat and give a wave to your local libraries and librarians who toil away for the sake of you, your kids, and your family’s insatiable reading prowess at large! By day and by night, these institutions and folks are the cornerstone of the American word, free speech, and our steadfast right to enjoy both!
As an MFA grad student, writer and prolific reader, I’ve probably spent over half my life in these places. Filled with gifted, educated, and wonderfully decent people attempting to spread the word, they are still the best free deal in town! Or, as David Nilsen tells us in this recent post from fourthandsycamore.com in On Neil Gaiman and Libraries,
“I’m going to suggest that reading fiction, that reading for pleasure, is one of the most important things one can do. I’m going to make an impassioned plea for people to understand what libraries and librarians are, and to preserve both of these things.”
What’s your take??? Salute me back with your thoughts…
Source: On Neil Gaiman and Libraries
It’s Clint Eastwood in “The good, the bad, and Ugly” and Roz Morris’s recent post on Nail your Novel.com about authors and Social Media. And I can’t help but wonder, just how Eastwood and his fans might have seen it?
Seems we can’t escape it, whether or not we want to. It’s here, in all its forms, from friending to tweeting to linking and tumbling. And for introverted authors like myself, it can all feel like a terrible plot conspiring against our very sanity to drive us out of our ever-loving minds!
Yet, where would we be without it?? It keeps us connected, keeps us informed, keeps us current and most of all, keeps us writing!
So, tell me, what’s your partial brand of this particular poison?? Chime in and have at it!
(Roz Morris Source: Yes, social media DO work for writers – here’s how)
Down and through the apple, over and over and over. Staring blankly out through the kitchen window, Kevin wondered what would happen if the apple weren’t an apple but instead, a head. Somebody’s head, but not just anybody’s head. It would have to be more wide than circular with orange hued lips and a V-shaped mouth and eyes that slanted slightly to the left when they looked at you. And nostrils the size of extra-big peanuts, sniffing in any hint of aggression coming its way. It would have to be…
“Dam it all to hell!!”
Kevin looked down at his hand, now crimson stained and the liquid was leaking to the left and the right and all over the cutting board. The apple that was green a moment ago was now anything but. Stinging like the worst splinter he’d ever recalled, his skin was now splitting like a zipper, only the split was expanding and getting wider.
Grabbing up the lose bit of skin now strewn like oatmeal, Kevin triaged his finger with wet paper towels clamped together so thick that no blood could get through, and cinched the knife with his left hand.
Needing a beer more than ever, he turned and pulled hard on the fridge with the free left hand.
He slammed the door shut on seeing nothing in the fridge but an empty Vodka bottle and a half eaten loaf of stale bread. He grabbed up the utensil, and turned toward his roomie’s door. They’d neve really gotten along well anyway. Bigger steps now, blade still glistening, he knocked hard twice, then kicked open the door….
Oh, as a bonus for your labor day weekend, here’s a great link to an excellent article on how to build your author brand through UTube and more! Thanks to Wendy Van Kamp and Adam Mulholland at nowastedink.com or this link!
YouTube offers content creators a way of cross-utilizing mediums to enhance and bridge engagement beyond a book. Authors wanting more presence should leverage this platform to reach a larger audien…Source: How Authors Can Promote On YouTube & Use Patreon by Adam Mulholland
Here’s a little something for you to gnaw on, if you’re like me, and am pondering the bridge to the depths of despair when it comes time for axing off your characters!
If it seems like a tough choice, just ask yourself the eternal question of the master, “To be, or not to be!” Hahahaha….if you write anything at all like yours truly, you’ll know the answer in a flash! A friday, fun flash, that is!
And now, some words from our sponsor, master of the deathly muse himself, Shakespeare…
(Thanks for sharing this on twitter, Mr. Moon! (@Mr.Moonunity) https://twitter.com/MrMoonUnity?cn=Zm9sbG93ZXI%3D&refsrc=email
A Spring Friday in New York City brings promise of good things yet to come. But I’m more interested in what came before the calm…what might be buried deep underneath this blissful thaw…
Have we got a jogger perhaps, who tripped and fell during winter in the ice packed snow and being alone and without his cell, couldn’t dig himself out in time? Did he break his ankle and couldn’t move, while the ice, rain then dirt washed away all traces of his being??
Or perhaps, a lone German Shepard wandering loose from her home, got caught up in the freezing cold temps that NY winter can bring and broke through the frozen solid over the now thawed over river in the foreground. Her body only now floating up to the top to be seen by passers by…
Or, contemplate the down and out homeless dude begging on a park bench, waiting for something, anything to fall his way, and finally getting nothing, laid down and gave up, NYPD only now finding his remains in the thaw…
What’s your take? I’d luv to hear. Untwist those brain sparks and contemplate,
The storm Before the calm…
Tossing her keys to the dude honking his horn in the Range Rover, Summer threw both legs out of her still running Honda and took off full sprint toward the club’s sprawling entry.
“Park it wherever Mac, I gotta class to teach and I’m already almost ten minutes late.”
Mac, whose solid looking guns hung out of the drivers window, flipped her the bird but she knew he’d get over it eventually. She’d done it before to him and most of the others, and they always did somehow. Especially since everyone knew that the instructors had dibs in the lot, and really, what else could they do? Her new Nikes pounded down hard on the pavement taking the brunt of her speed and she could still hear the honking from his horn and his screams as she flew inside.
“What the hell Summer! Just caz you work here don’t mean you can just ditch your ride any old time and leave it to me to figure where to land it.”
Summer turned quick on her heels, giving Mac a quick thumbs up right before sliding inside, and past Ramone at the front desk. She’d buy Mac a power smoothie later to make up for it. His favorite, the “Orange Groovy” concoction the snack stand guy made usually helped pave these things over. Ramone was busy checking in members and scanning their cards, as usual. He was always fighting with someone over something, since most LA Fitness members were mostly muscle heads, and tended to like a good roe now and then. But being late for her class, she couldn’t have cared less. She was more concerned with Ross, the club manager, who she saw waving frantically from behind his desk as he multi-tasked two phones and a waiting client, sitting in the chair in front of him. She could see him mouthing his usual rave, even from half way across the room:
“Summer” he screamed out. “You’re late. There’s a whole room full of people waiting on you back there and I already got Jason calling on a sub. One more time Summer, just once more, and that’s it. You’ll be teaching classes out on the street.”
She smiled and did the only thing she knew how to do, and the only thing that might appease him. She gave him the double thumbs up. But she didn’t have time to stick around to find out if it worked. There were probably over 100 people waiting on her in the aerobics room and she knew they wanted to move fast, and something fierce! So she hightailed it down the long hall and bounded up onto the platform stage, jammed in her music tape and switched on her microphone. Tone Loc’s Funky Cold Medina’s cool sounds filled up the room while the crowd grooved right and grooved left, and before she knew it, the hour was over. Sweat filled her eyes and down the back of her neck. She grabbed her towel, chatted with a few of the newbies who always liked to introduce themselves, and headed on out toward the front. The thought of that smoothie sounded good now, so she headed on over to the snack bar to find Mac, only to see a line of Paramedics carrying stretchers down the hall.
“Jason, what the hell is happening out here? Why are these Fireman here?”
Jason looked up from his desk, covered in LA Fitness water bottles and fliers. A scantily clad girl in a leotard sat in the chair opposite, waiting for him to take her money.
“Jezus Summer, they’re Paramedics, not fireman. And I don’t know. One minute he was serving smoothies, as usual. The next, he was face down on the floor. Just happened like ten minutes before your class finished. Ross called the paramedics in.”
“No way” Summer said. “ Who? The juice guy? You gotta be kidding me? I was just going over to get an Orange Groovy. Wow. But how, I mean, why?”
Jason handed the girl in front of him some cash and a water bottle. She leaned over the table and signed the contract.
“I don’t know man. Like I said, one minute, the guy’s pouring drinks. The next, boom!”
Summer backed up from Jason’s desk and slowly headed toward the commotion. The paramedics were busy loading the snack stand’s man into the stretcher and trying to clear out some space between them and the door. People were gawking all around. She reached up and let out her pony tail, untied her Nikes and slid down the wall to the carpet to make room. She sat there watching as a stretcher with a still body paraded past, and out into the night. Snack stand man was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. She leaned her head back up against the wall, and wondered, if they would they ever get their Orange Groovy’s again.
HI all and happy Monday once again!
So this week a post caught my eye from Michelle, over at The Green Study.com,
Her post is all about those pesky technical distractions we find that get in the way of living our happier and more productive lives, and doing the things that matter the most. And since last week my cell phone died and so I had to go through the time-consuming and loathsome procedure of not only visiting my local AT&T store but also coughing up the big bucks for a new one, this post hit me like a rock to the head!
As Michelle says: “This week, I’ve been practicing stripping away distractions. It’s been made more difficult by a head cold. Silence sounds more like a waterfall rushing through my head. I’ve been making myself do things, one at a time, with no background activity. It’s very hard to do and I find that upsetting.When did I change? When did I become this leg-jittering, humming, antsy person in need of a fix? That I can’t even sit in my own company without checking this device or that – it’s a wake up call. In psychological terms, much of what I do these days would be described as experiential avoidance. I quit my job a few years ago to commit to writing full-time. Thus far, most of what I’ve done is unfinished, unremarkable and uninspiring…
So that takes us back to my phone issue…
Once at the AT&T store, I had a decision to make. And yes, I had insurance! Not that it seems to matter any since it what it comes down to is a pay now, or pay later proposition. That said, not wanting to pay later, I reached deep and did it now. But part of the Faustian deal included having to wait 3-5 days for the new one to arrive. So I did. And I have to say, by day three when I came home to find it on my doorstep I was wishing they had taken the five!
Totally unplugged, footloose and fancy free for a whole 72 hours was nothing short of glorious! I felt more calm, more rested, and more in control of my time than I had in at least a year! Not having the constant buzzing to attend to and the endless stream of both Facebook and Twitter interruptions to deal with (dare I call them annoyances??) meant I was able to do more of what mattered and what was important, like spend time working on my novel, my thesis, and even reading. What a concept that was!
So, my big question to you all today is like Michelle’s…
What’s your least helpful distraction? And just what are you avoiding with it???
As always, jump on in. The water’s warm!
A recent post by Kathryn Craft entitled “How Much will You Give Away” on http://WritersintheStorm.com got me thinking…
As a definite “new kid on the block” at this whole blogging/writing thing, and as a basically broke, blundering, grad school novice slugging it out in the writing trenches with barely a few credits to my name, and dog paddling just to keep my head above water, I’ve got my fair share of whining to be heard. But let’s face it: no one wants to hear that stuff all or even most of the time! I mean everyone, even Hemingway and Stephen King had to start somewhere!
But balancing one’s time between school projects, papers, thesis writing and demanding professors with also trying to put out credible regular blog posts and also furiously sending out submissions in hopes of getting published can be more than just a bit overwhelming. So what’s a poor grad student to do, when on top of all that, requests for things like guest blog posts and even submitting to anthologies for free beckon enticingly at the back door?
Sure we want to get published. In fact, that’s all we really care about. Our days and nights are spent in single-minded pursuit of it, and our dreams are pretty much haunted by it. But like Kathryn Craft asks:
“When such requests catch us off-guard, we are liable to whine, “Why do people keep asking me for more free stuff?”
In my case, I haven’t been asked so much for free stuff, as for my time. Guest posting on someone else’s blog is groovy. And sure, it might get me some more readers. But really, does it serve my higher purpose? Like Ms. Craft tells us in her stellar post, one of the greatest things a new writer ( or any writer for that matter) can do is to “Analyze your career goals and set reasonable boundaries.” Without that much at least down on paper, a simple response to the question ” Will you write a series on our blog for free?” may turn into stressful quandary taking up a whole lot more time and energy than anticipated. Especially when in fact, as Ms. Craft again so wisely tells us:
“It takes me at least a half-day to write a cogent, polished blog post. Or, I could draft 2K words on my work-in-progress. You must convince me the exposure is worth it”
Or, as I put it, uh yeah, No!
last time I looked I had at least five professors barking down my door with serious deadlines and a thesis looming larger than Big Foot, and oh yeah, my own novel in the works too, which by the way, should be taking precedence over just about everything. Recently, a respected blogger and author, and kick ass writer coach who shall go nameless here advised me that same sentiment, phrased differently, of course. But the gist of it was simple:
“Focus on the novel and getting it out there. Then everything else will just fall into place.”
That’s not to say that doing said guest posts or spending time organizing our MFA readings at our local book store aren’t great things to do and have on the resume. They are, and will continue to be important elements to my overall writing career. And are great ways to gain exposure and or simply increase ones community circle outreach. And certainly, writing and being involved with other writers on any level is better than not writing or communing at all.
But these days the pecking order has made itself clear:
It’s thesis, novel, my own blog posts here, and then, all that other stuff!
What’s been on your whine list lately?
Don’t be shy, just drop me a line and whine on!
I’m here to listen!
Much thanks to Kathryn Craft and http://www.writersinthestorm.com
Ciao for now, and darkly yours,
Father Trevor’s rolled the rosary beads round in his hand for the twentieth time in the last twelve minutes. He knew how exactly how long it had been, since the hands on the clock overhead were extra noisy as they ticked the down the seconds going round. The digits were painted on bold too, dark green, on a pale cream-colored backdrop, making them hard to miss. Under it sat the calendar with today’s date circled in red, December 31, 1949.
The date was significant for Trevor, since it was one year ago today that he’d been transferred to this stark and quiet parish from his native and decadent Puerto Rico. A move he’d hadn’t wanted, but had resigned himself to. Monsignor had told him it was either that or face expulsion from the order, so he’d sighed and reluctantly agreed. Packed up his things that very night, and was on a plane the next morning. He’d settled down into his new surroundings not ten hours later that evening.
Ohio was certainly not Puerto Rico. There was no escaping the monotony of the strict borders and rules of the priesthood here. No avenues for escape like in San Juan, where the bars he’d found tucked away in the seedier downtown districts had led him to Eduardo. They’d tucked out whenever he could get away, slipping into their nightly rituals just long enough to meet up and shack up. They’d rendezvous in whatever hotel Eduardo had managed to find, usually one of those by the hour places, just long enough to satisfy their urges. Then, once satiated, he’d sneak back to his priestly service, no one being the wiser. But they’d found out, and exiled him, a million miles away from Eduardo and the temptations of his favorite and secretly coveted city.
But he’d found a new hobby, even here, of all places, in Ohio. And he guessed that they knew, once again. He was going to be asked to come clean. Could feel it. His eyes watched the clock as he rolled the beads round and round in his fingers, wondering just what to say.
Should he tell them everything? Or just barely enough. Or maybe, nothing at all.
Maybe they didn’t really know, maybe they only suspected.
The parish’s newest altar boy was so sweet, so young. So compliant. And Trevor’s passions had got the better of him the very first time he glanced the boy through the bathroom mirrors, while stripping down for their morning showers. They’d exchanged glances but once, and it was done. Ever since then, their midnight meetings in the gardens outside the parish walls had become more frequent, and this last time they’d both felt someone or something watching, and looked up just in time to see a window closing high overhead, in a hurry.
“The Monsignor will see you now Father.”
The tall, lean messenger’s request broke Trevor from his thoughts.
“Yes of course.”
Trevor rose from the pew, straightened his robes with the palm of his hand and tucked the beads down deep into his trouser pocket beneath.
I’ll tell them nothing, he thought. If they know, they know. And I’ll suffer the consequences. And if they don’t, then it’s on me. My sins are all on my conscience.
He walked behind the messenger and down the long aisle of the small chapel, where the sun set off the stained glass windows all around, illuminating clearly the things in front of him. Trevor’s eyes took in the round, firm swishing back and forth under the robes of the messenger walking in front of him and something stirred in his pants.
Lord help me, he thought. My sins are not my own. But, they are, will be, my undoing.
He swallowed hard and pushed on, into the abyss, unfolding
It’s Monday Musing time again, and todays topic just happens to be inspired by a recent guest post from Aimie K. Runyan on multiple POV’s, from one of my all time favorite writer sites, Writers In the Storm, at: (http://writersinthestormblog.com/2016/01/10-tips-to-writing-from-multiple-povs/).
Ms. Runyan’s post caught my eye because my novel in progress indeed falls into this complicated, yet fulfilling category, with multiple characters telling the story and moving the plot forward with their own unique quips and quirks, and hopefully, keeping the reader engaged invested in turning the pages far past their alloted bed times.
Case in point: just check out this Scooby pic:
Don’t know about you, but the one thing I recall is that each and every one of them wanted to uncover and take credit for figuring out the “who” in the “who done it” part of the game. Sure, they started every show as a collective we. Loaded up in the Scooby van driving to wherever their mystery of the day might take them. But once there, they always split up, no? Giving us scenes, from you guessed it, multiple Pov’s.
Case in point:
First, we’d usually get serious Fred, all orange Ascot and arms crossed Rambo style in front of his chest, scowling as he deduced the nature of the crime (single pov). And most of the times he’d be accompanied by Daphne, the ginger haired Barbie, and off hot on the trail of the bad guys. (another separate pov chapter). That is, when Daphne wasn’t busy playing damsel in distress, getting kidnapped, tied up or gagged, (a whole separate pov) in which case usually Scooby and Shaggy (yet another pov scene) would fly in to the rescue from some other scene where snacks of all conceivable shapes and sizes preoccupied the moment. Or sometimes it was Fred, who’d swoosh in to save the day hot off a solo scene from tracking down villains or ghosts (main detective pov). And of course, we can’t forget about Thelma, intelligent, reporter girl Thelma, interviewing potential suspects and witnesses, usually solo (yet again, another reporter, cop pov.)
Thanks for indulging my digression into retro cartoon mania. But, there’s a point to it all (hint: multiple points – haha).
And as Ms. Runyan points out in her post, beauty can be achieved in the magic of cohesion, as long as it’s pulled off well. Right now I’m writing my first go at a multiple pov novel, and it makes my Scooby example but a paltry simplified version of the real thing and of Ms. Runyan’s musings. And since I couldn’t begin to state it better myself, here are the main highlights from her “10 Tips to writing multiple POV’s”:
(her original full post can be found at: http://writersinthestormblog.com/2016/01/10-tips-to-writing-from-multiple-povs/):
“These are some of the methods I used to weave three separate narratives into one cohesive story:
So, that’s it for today folks. But I leave you with a question:
What are you working on? Does it have multiple POV’s? And how’s it working out for you?
Luv to hear your thoughts!
Ciao for now, and darkly yours,
(much thanks to Aimie K. Runyan and Writers in the Storm; and the post, 10 Tips to Writing from Multiple POVs | Writers In The Storm.)
So. It’s that time again kids and kiddettes!
Freaking fun, fantastically fabulous Friday. That day where we get to look forward to the few hours of precious time on the weekends to release, relax, and re-energize! Or, as case may have it, go to the f-ing dentist!
Yes fellow fraidy-cats, today was that time again. And seeing as I’d already been putting it off for as long as humanly possible, having canceled and rescheduled at least 3 times in the last 3 months coming up with brilliant but not so real imaginary excuses every single time, I’d figured it was time to bite the bullett, or rather the probing tool, and buck up for my own Little Shop of Horrors first hand experience!
For those of you who’ve seen the film, and for those of you who haven’t: Here’s a cautionary “viewer beware” rating. A movie caught in the middle, between a PG13, “shield your kids eyes from the nasty” film, and an adult only R, that has you shielding your own eyes from the horrors. Only with this film, your never quite sure whether you should be looking, or not! It’s one of those “peek behind the fingers covering my eyes” but in small doses only. And then retreat back again quick when Seymour (Rick Moranis) starts feeding the insatiable plant, with body parts axed up from the what’s left over of the dentist (Steve Martin.) MMM. Getting hungry just thinking bout’ it!
Things really get twisted when Martin comes riding down the street in his black leather motorcycle get up and singing about how his mom always told him he’d be a success if he’d only become a tooth man. Especially, since he loved to torture and terrorize small animals and other less bully-inclinced types of kids. All I can say is, Go Mom!
Especially love the scene where Seymour’s in Martin’s office under pretense of needing work done, and instead, whips out a gun wanting to kill off Martin for smacking around the film’s femme fatale, and his girlfriend to be, Audry. But, as fate would have it, Martin’s laughing gas gets the last laugh as it gasses him to death in the corner!
Seymour looks on horrified, or, is he really?? Not only did he not have to use the gun, but evil mouth man has been dealt a lesson, a Karma-strikes back only kind of lesson, where the pain he’s inflicted on who knows how many is coming back to haunt him bad! His final and frightening grand finale!
And now, as I sit in my own personal tooth-trench hell, reclining and staring up at the photos of dental menace and mayhem plastered on the ceiling above me, I can’t help but wonder – Just where the hell is the gas?
Real world creative non-fiction, or freakin fun, Friday fantasy? You decide.
Ovef and out, from a half crazed, overly anxious patient waiting room, where darkly insane thoughts are running fast, and furious!
Oh. And just because:
The cover work you see here is the brilliant anthology, where my very first published short story now lives! Another creepy, crawly, and somewhat demented short story called “Midnight in Alaska” where I ramble on about wolves howling and prowling in the distance, and spooky Santa Clause North Pole happenings all in the dead of the Alaskan night!
If any of you ever check it out, do drop me a line, and let me know. Pretty proud of it, as I can now call myself officially published! Happy Friday, fiction fans. See you around the campsite soon!
Ciao for now, and darkly yours,
SO, here we go with this week’s Mondays Muse, as promised. And take a guess what we’re talking about? Yep, you guessed it, writing fiction! And who better to guide us through the murky, distant, tantalizing, and creepy waters than the master himself, Mr. Stephen King!
All’s I can say is, if you’re a writer and you haven’t read this book, run, don’t walk, to your nearest library and check it out. Or, if you’re unlike moi, that is to say not a broke and struggling grad student, and you actually have two cents to rub together, maybe even consider buying it. Not only does it look great on your shelf, but it contains so many nuggets of writerly wisdom, you’re eyes and ears will consume it faster than you would that chocolate pie or the newest rendition of Marry the night from Lady Gaga. Yes folks, it’s one you wont put down till the last page is done and the corners are dog-eared stiff! And or until the lights go out because the wind is howling so hard outside you’re sure he must be out there somewhere in the dark channeling his particular brand of writer spooked through the rain and into the walls of your dwelling space.
Either way, my heartfelt advice is to check it out, and soon! It’s nuggets like these, that will catch your eye. I know they did mine, for sure!
” The first story I did actually publish was in a horror fanzine…I was a teenaged Grave-robber…After a long time spent studying the markets, I sent Happy stamps off to Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. It came back three weeks later with a form rejection slip…By the time I was fourteen…the nail in my wall would no longer support the weight of the rejection slips impaled upon it. I replace the nail with a spike and went on writing.” (p. 38-41)
Okay peeps…don’t know about you, but that’s all good for me. In fact, if you follow me here and or on FB at all, you know that I recently just got my very first published short story ever up in a horror anthology called Fightening. The story’s called “Midnight in Alaska,” a creepy crawly Stephen King-like tale, and I like to think he’d be proud to know there are those of us who are out here, following in his footsteps. Or, at the very least, dying to try! (wink-nudge-haha.)
Well. That’s all for now folks. Gotta go burn that midnight oil and keep the spooks at bay while I crack open another less, than desirable grad school text-book which is due tomorrow, but took a serious back seat to Mr. King and friends.
See you all on the boards soon, at Friday’s Fun Flash Fiction. Make sure to stay tuned for that, caz. you never know what’s gonna fall out of this brain!
Ciao for now,
And just where might you fit in??
Sweet, sour, sexy, or salty? These guys got it all covered!
Not sure which is me, but I’m considering the little one in the front, all the way to the right – Black and white, with small ears and a big smile. Or maybe, the black poodle-doodle in the third row right – with the curly hair and white chest markings!
What’s got you barking today??
Any way you slice it…Gotta luv a good dog face!
What’s your perfect storm like for writing?
Is it a a white-out, snow driven, stephen king-ish type day where the wind’s whistling at 20 below and the only respite is found bundled up inside the 4 walls of the house hiding underneath the drifts?
Or is it the opposite; a sunny, shore drenched cove, where the kids are bopping and the waves are rolling and margaritas flowing…
Personally, I prefer days like below – cold, crisp, and clear…with my pup curled up by my feet, and the world shut out tight, with only the keyboard to contend with on my lap.
So, to kick off today’s Mondays Muse, I just thought I’d tell you all about Dashiell Hammett’s “The Thin Man,” which I just finished reading. And what a great read it was! If you’ve never read it, or haven’t read it recently, it is a super fun must do to add to your 2016 GoodReads list.
Mr. Hammett penned a couple of terrific characters here; a polite, upscale, charming, and engaging couple who live in a fancy New York hotel with a miniature dog and who dine on duck legs and chicken livers in between martini happy hours and solving mysteries. <br>Nick Charles as the retired but easily swayed private detective gets caught back up in a murder mystery when long time friends daughter Dorothy shows up on his doorstep wondering what happened to her father. Of course, he can’t turn down her request for his help, and the story is off and running.
Hammett’s characters are quirky and fun, like Nora, Nick’s boozy but glamorous wife, as is Asta her miniature dog with spirit who pounces her paws ferociously on all who dare enter. And Mimi is a super charged femme fatale, lying and scheming her way to the money, and throwing herself to whoever she can to get what she wants. <br>Hammett hides the thin man incredibly well, right up to the end, keeping us guessing as to his whereabouts. A masterful arrangement of buring the lead, if ever there was! Kept me reading on into the night. Too bad Hammet only wrote the one book with these guys. I would have loved to see more of them!
Check out my Goodreads list for more great reviews, which will be posted here as well as I go through them. My 2016 goal? To get through all the classic noir and crime fiction works I can from the masters past, who definitely have a thing or three to teach us about the craft. Hope you all enjoy reading them as much as I do!
<a href=”https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/44321941-lisa-ciarfella”>View all my reviews</a>
So a post on “Live to Write, Write to Live” by Deborah Lee Luskin caught my eye this morning about forming your own “Writing Wisdom Council.” In it she asks an interesting question. If you could form your own “Writing Wisdom Council” with any combination of favorite authors (dead or alive), favorite characters, and or both, what would yours look like, and why? And I thought, why not start the debate here. Since we all have our own faves, it ought to be an interesting list. So, I’ll kick it off for us.
My writing council would be of course populated by the great Raymond Chandler; his iconic predecessor Dashiell Hammett; fifties master of the noir, Jim Thompson, and his current doppelgänger, Hollywood’s one and only, Paul D. Marks.
Just who might be on your list, and why? I can’t wait to hear your responses.
(Original post here – Friday Fun – Your Writer’s Wisdom Council)
Friday Fun is a group post from the writers of the NHWN blog. Each week, we’ll pose and answer a different, get-to-know-us question. We hope you’ll join in by providing your answer in the comments.
QUESTION: Welcome to the New Year! Another 365 days of your journey as a writer. Huzzah! Let’s imagine that to help you with all your New Year’s intentions, goals, and plans, that you can assemble a “Writer’s Wisdom Council” to advise and guide you. And let’s imagine that you can populate this council with a) characters from your favorite books, b) authors (living or dead), or c) a combination of both characters and authors. Who would you choose to sit on your council and why?
Lisa J. Jackson: What a great set of questions for the new year! At first glance I can’t think of any helpful characters that could help guide me other…
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