Challenge Met: Vow Kept

When dragons speak, Jeff listens. When dragons prod, Jeff complies. Or he runs incredibly fast.

The submissions packet is ready. I'll be supporting the United States Postal Service this morning.

Life should now begin to return to normal. Do not be surprised if you receive comments on posts you published a week or two ago. Jeff has much catching up to do.

On an unrelated note: Grandson #1 graduated from kindergarten last week. Paw Paw had to console the poor, distraught child. I just hope his scars will one day heal.

Congratulations, you little scholar you.

A Conspiracy? (A-to-Z Reflections)

I entertained the idea of participating in the A-to-Z Challenge this year. But I knew April would be a demanding month at work, so I logically decided against participating.

I was at peace.

Until a certain dragon delivered mail asking if I'd do it. I again debated the pros and cons, weighing them until the balance tipped. I replied, relaying my sincere apologies.

Now I said my A B Cs...

I was again at peace--mostly.

Until a certain ninja (or a clone of one) emailed me. He pounced with his mystical power of persuasion. I heard music in the email. A guitar, I think. This masked master of omnipresence tempted me.

Was there a conspiracy afoot? Were other tempters and temptresses out there lying in wait? It quickly became obvious that resistance was futile. I caved.

And I was no longer at peace.

I fretted over theme. I fretted over time. I fretted over Xs and Zs and Qs. I garnered curious expressions from my wife as she watched me roam aimlessly throughout the house muttering my alphabet.

I chose my theme. I chose my entries. I wrote and posted, visited and commented. I found new friends, discovered great blogs, and learned a few things in the process. I do not regret participating.

I am at peace.

For NaNo Participants...

Although I will not be "officially" participating in NaNoWriMo this November, I wanted to extend a few words to those who are.

First and foremost, you have my admiration for undertaking this challenge.  I wish you success and will be cheering you along from the sidelines.

Secondly, I wrote this post to provide a little encouragement for each day of the challenge.  I hope it is of benefit.

30 Thoughts for 30 Days

1. A prerequisite of success is believing that you will succeed.
2. Only you can project your imagination's content into mine.
3. You owe it to yourself to prove to yourself that you can do it.
4. The knowledge and experience you gain from this endeavor can be gained no other way.
5. A prolific writer prioritizes writing time.
6. The words you write today may well be someone's inspiration tomorrow.
7. Remember Dune. Fear is the mind killer. Accomplishments breed confidence.
8. This is your story.  Only you can do it justice. 
9. Foster creativity and determination in equal measure.
10. Every word you write is an investment. It's one word closer to finishing the book and to publication. Even words you cut are a learning experience.
11. Your strength as a storyteller builds with every word you write.
12. Discover when you're most productive and make that time available.
13. Spend time with those things (or people) that inspire you.
14. Put away your thesaurus until December.
15. Measure your success by courage and effort, not distance.
16. Achievement without challenge is hollow.
17. Self-discipline is the result of self-determination.
18. A writer's mettle is revealed when the goal seems unattainable.
19. Someone, somewhere, sometime will enjoy the words you're about to write.
20. Inspiration grows best in the soil of desire and determination.
21. Create your world so readers can vacation there.
22. Don't berate yourself for falling.  Falling is acceptable.  Refusing to get back up isn't.
23. Progress (and a novel) is made one word at a time.
24. Words have power. When written, that power is eternal.
25. The only time an effort truly fails is when the effort was never made.
26. Your future is determined by the dreams you choose to pursue.
27. Create now.  Edit later.
28. Accepting this challenge was a choice. Completing it is also.
29. Reward yourself for your accomplishments. You've earned it.
30. Wonderful things begin when writers make it to "The End."

Additionally, I've linked a few of my previous posts that may encourage or aid you in this challenging endeavor.

• How to Train Your Muse
• Thus Saith the Muse  (particularly commandments 1, 2 and 10)
• You Might Be a Muse Abuser If...
• To Blazes With the Formula
• Curse of the Time-Starved Writer

I invite everyone, NaNo participants or not, to add their own words of encouragement to those brave writers rising to this challenge.

My First Flash Fiction Attempt

It seems the weeks between me posting my short stories are getting much more numerous of late.  I could blame that on many things, but I'll instead just skip to today's almost Flash Fiction story.  I understand that true Flash Fiction tops out at 100 words, but this is the shortest fiction I've written to date.

This was written in response to the Yahoo Fantasy Writer's group's "Little Black Book" challenge posed for the week of August 12th.

Sylvia's Little Black Book

Sylvia blew out the match and grinned. The lights were off, the room quiet. Shadows danced along the walls’ faces. She loved candlelight, the tricks it played and the mood it set. Innocuous objects cast the most threatening silhouettes.

Objects like Randy, the overstuffed bear Jake gave her. All man, Jake was, shooting little targets with roped down pellet guns at carnivals. Sylvia’s lip rose in a sneer. The education-challenged brute sure knew how to show a woman a good time. He couldn’t tell a fake swoon from a fake--“Crap!”

Brian calling. Again. She took a deep breath and turned off her cell. The hint of a grin replaced her sneer. Brian won’t be a problem much longer. She’d already read his name. Yesterday. And not on her cell. She’d read it in her little black book. Soon there’d be no more Brian like there was no more Jake. God, that book sure came in handy.


Note: This is posted as originally written.  I'm up for comments on it.  Then I can compare them with the ones I received from the group.

03/25/12 FWC-Challenge (Give it up, Joe)

This was my response to the March 25th, 2012 Fantasy Writer's Challenge.
The week's challenge was: "Surrender." 

Give it up, Joe. 

"You’ve already caught it, Joe.  Give in."

"Never."

"You will."

"I can’t.  I won’t."

"We’ll see."  I’ve been trying to convince Joe now for days.  Once you catch it, you don’t shake it.  Just can’t be done.  I told him what it was, but he’s still in denial.  It’s a virus.  An addiction.  And it doesn’t go away.

"It’s too tough.  I don’t have what it takes to do it.  I shouldn't have ever said anything about it."

"It’s going to eat you alive no matter what you do.  Might as well surrender to it."

"I can’t believe you’re saying this!  You of all people know how difficult it is."

"Hey, fighting it’s the hard part, Joe.  Giving into it’s for the best.  Trust me.  I’ve already been through it—every single stage.  I know."

"Just because you came to terms with it doesn’t mean I will.  I’m not you, okay?  I’m too old anyway."

"You’re never too old, Joe."  I can’t help but grin.  I do, however, manage to contain my snicker.  He’ll surrender.  I’ll make sure of it.

"Listen, man, I am old.  I don't want to squander what time I got left."

"And you think doing this is squandering your time?  Hogwash.  It’s growing inside you man.  Right now.  Right there in your gut!  There’s nothing you can do about it.  It’s always going to be there.  You’ll be happier if you just accept it and deal with it."

"You know I can’t stand being cooped up at home day after day.  I’ll go nuts!"

Now the snicker escapes.  "You’re already nuts, Joe.  I want you to prove it.  Prove it to me.  Prove it to the world.  Stand for something.  Anything!  You’ve got it inside of you.  It’s not going anywhere.  I can promise you that."

"No, I'd love to, man.  Really, I would.  I just don't think I can do it."

"Look, Joe.  Don’t your wife and kids deserve to hear what you have to say?  Your grandchildren?  Don’t you want to leave something behind for them?  You've got it in you, I know you do."

"I don't know how to say what I want to say.  I’m just not good with words."

"Listen, Joe.  I’m here for you.  I’ll help you any way I can.  Just write the freaking book!"

 

March 18, 2012 Fantasy Writer's Challenge

This was my response to the March 18th, 2012 Fantasy Writer's Challenge.
The challenge: "Describe an unappealing place for a travel magazine."

Perfect Copy

Rodney Rat pulled the sheet from the typewriter.  His grin grew so wide that his whiskers tickled his ears.

Mona Mouse sat at her desk across from him, typewriter forgotten.  Munching straight from a box of Cheez-Its, she had her beady little eyes fixed on him again.  "What now, Rodney?  Another perfect copy?"

"It flows like butter, Mona.  Slices right fine when it’s hot."  And hot it was.  Next week’s commission would have him rolling in peanut butter.  Rhonda Rodent flashed in his mind, his date come Friday night.  She likes peanut butter.  A lot.  His grin grew wider and he squeaked out a giggle, remembering how he liked the way she nibbles.

"So where are you sending them to this time?  Paradise Pub for a night?"

"Better!  A whole weekend at Bernie’s Bistro.  You know the place, right?"

"I don’t travel Maple Ave.  There’s a Terminix at the corner of 17th street."

"Ha!  Bernie’s is at the 21st Street intersection.  Terminix is not a problem."

"Well, come on, let me hear it.  Somebody’s got to proof it before Gerry Gerbil gets it.  You know how he hates typos."  A Cheez-It fell to the floor.  "Rats!  Five-second rule!  Called it!"

Rodney shook his head and began to read.  "Bernie’s Bistro: Hedgehog Heaven."

"Oh, please.  Really, Rodney?  Is that the best you can do?"

"Hush, Mona.  Listen while you munch, okay?"  He watched her force another Cheez-It in her mouth.  The whole thing!  "Manners, Mona?  Is it too much to ask?"

"Just read."

"Two luxurious nights on the wharf.  Amorous aromas for lovers of life."  Mona choked and sent the soggy Cheez-It flying across the room.  It missed his eye by millimeters.  He squeaked his frustration and continued.  "Stay in one of Rodentia’s Twin Green Towers overlooking Bernie’s to the west and the rubbish-laced wharf to the east.  Leave your sunglasses at home and enjoy the shade only the Rodentia’s Towers provide.  They can accommodate your entire family.  Have your meals delivered by drop-in, their taste pre-tested by patrons of the establishment."

"Mmmm," Mona moaned.  Her tail, the only slender bit left on her brown body, rose.  "Leftovers."

"Should you choose to leave the luxury of the Towers and take a leisurely stroll, you’ll find the sleek brick and mortar walls doused daily with fresh refuse.  A manhole cover sits nearby, capping the perfect excursion for you and yours."

"Doesn’t sound so bad.  Maybe I’ll check it out."

"You wouldn’t like it, Mona.  Bernie’s requires a deposit and doesn’t serve Cheez-Its."

"Oh, just go take your copy to Gerry.  I got work to finish."

Feb 18,2012 Fantasy Writer's Challenge

This week's challenge was:  

"What happens to the socks that go missing in the wash?"

So, I figure, who better to answer that than socks, right?  Unwilling to hamper the muse, I rinsed my mind and wrung puns for all they were worth.  (I gave up counting them.)  Let the groans begin!

"Not a foot deep in water and I'd done lost my mate."

"Too late, Woolard," Nylo giggled. "Crue's gonna spin us another one."

"Hadn't even got dark yet and she was gone."

Stretching, Woolard whispered to Nylo. "How many times does he have to cycle through this? Week after week, it's all I hear."

"Crue's been like this ever since he lost Poly. You know that. Best to just let him get it out of his system.  He gets all agitated if you don't let him finish."

"Poly was so athletic," Crue lamented. "She could swim. She was good at swimming. Doesn't make any sense. The surf wasn't that rough. The tide was out. I should have clung to her tighter."

"You did all you could, Crue," Nylo said. "Some things just aren't meant to be."

"We weren't even gonna stay in the water long--an hour, tops."

Woolard rubbed his heel and bent closer to Nylo. "You know he's flipped his lid, don't you?"

"Don't be so rough on him, Woolard. He can't help it."

"Poly wasn't his mate, Nylo. She was his twin! He's sick!"

"Just you be quiet. He gets enough static from the others already."

"We were quite the pair. Don't you think, Nylo?"

"I do, Crue. You two made a beautiful pair."

"Hey Crue," Woolard snapped. "Look over there. You see her? The low-cut? That's Brooks. Jordan Brand said she's been wanting to starch your fabric. Go talk to her."

"I don't know."

Nylo kicked Crue's toe. "Go ahead, Crue. Just walk on over there. It'll do you good."

"You won't gain anything just lying around."

Crue stiffened and rose just as the buzzer sounded and did as they urged. Watching Crue spin away, Woolard asked, "So, Nylo, what do you think really happened to Poly?"

"Don't tell Crue this, but I heard she left Washington and moved west, someplace a lot drier."

Feb 12, 2012 Fantasy Writer's Challenge

This piece was written in response to Fantasy Writers' weekly challenge.

The challenge: "A dragon fight with unicorns coming to the rescue."

"Verithica's wail shook our whole village!"

"The whole village? Oh, Grandpa, did not."

"Sit down, Aric. This is Grandpa's story. Sit down now. Be quiet."

Little Aric sucked in more air than a six-year-old's lungs should hold, grunted his frustration, and sat. His lips protruded in an exaggerated frown that left his charcoal eyes peering at Grandpa from beneath thin, rigid brows.

"Mommas grabbed their babies. Everybody ran trying to find someplace to hide. Dragons are fearsome creatures, you know."

"Uncle Yaris said their wings cover the whole sky! Is that true, Grandpa?"

"Sometimes, Nevin. If they're close enough to you. But you don't ever want to be that close to a dragon. They get mighty hungry and think little boys make good snacks!"

"Dragons don't eat boys, Grandpa," Aric countered.

Nevin's eyes lit. "Uncle Yaris says they do! Especially when you don't do your chores."

"That's cause you never do your chores, Nevin. Tell him, Grandpa."

"Most dragons are rather fond of boys that don't let Grandpa finish talking." He paused long enough for Aric to fold his arms and animate a sigh. "Verithica was angry. And hurt!"

Little Nevin scooted forward in his chair. "Who hurt her, Grandpa?"

"Rendowin! The great red dragon himself. Nasty beast! All fireballs and temper that one is. And he was in a mighty foul mood."

"I thought Rendowin and Verithica were married?"

"Dragons don't marry each other, Nevin. Not like we do anyway. But they were mates. And he was mad. Flying over our houses and shrieking louder than summer's thunder. And Verithica shrieked right back at him too. She had her talons ready in case he got too close. White dragons can't blow fire, you know."

"They can't? I thought all dragons breathed fire."

"Not the white ones, Nevin. All white dragons are females. They can chase you down and claw you up, but they can't burn you like the red ones can. And they can fly higher and faster and longer than any other dragon. So if Rendowin was gonna cook her, he had to catch her first."

"He was gonna eat her?"

"We didn't want to stick around to find out. But there was nowhere for us to go. Every time Rendowin spat fire at Verithica some of it fell down here too! Things started catching fire everywhere. The barns and sheds, even our own roofs! Everything was burning! Verithica kept swooping down at him, trying to knock him out of the sky, but Rendowin's a red dragon, and red dragons are as strong as they come. And he wasn't going to let some white dragon get the better of him--even if it was Verithica."

"What'd you do?" Little Nevin nearly fell off the edge of his seat.

"There was nothing we could do! We were all gonna burn up and couldn't do anything about it!"

"Grandpa, you were not."

"Aric, Grandpa's not going to tell you again now."

"Yeah, Aric, be quiet."

"Only one thing can stop you from getting burned by dragon fire."

"A unicorn's horn! Right, Grandpa?"

"That's right, Nevin."

"Where'd you find one of those?"

"We didn't. One came to us."

"How?"

"On a unicorn, silly. It heard the awful raucous the dragons were making and knew we were in danger. It knew that if we could gather around it, its horn would keep the fire from burning us. And it came and stood right out there," he said, pointing at the village's well. "And everybody in the village gathered around it, squeezing as close as we could. We could hardly breathe; everyone was pressing in so tight. Most of us couldn't even hear it neigh with all the commotion betwixt the dragons a screeching and all the folk a yelling and crying. We didn't know until it was too late."

"Know what, Grandpa?"

"The unicorn couldn't breathe either."

Nevin's voice was little more than a whisper. "It died?"

Grandpa lowered his eyes and nodded. "It died, Nevin, rescuing us from the dragons."

Aric stretched his legs and rested his heels on the floor, his arms still folded and his mouth contorting into a sneer. "Grandpa, everybody knows unicorns don't exist."

Grandpa stood and reached for the mantle. He pulled a length of rolled cloth from atop it. Grandpa met their eyes as he slowly unwrapped it. Nevin gasped and Aric's eyes grew wide at the sight of the slender horn of a unicorn.

"You're right, Aric," Grandpa said. "Unicorns don't exist. Not anymore."