I think it’s safe to say that the optimism and energy of last August dissipated toward the end of the year. My plans to self-publish my short stories faltered when I read advice that said it was dangerous – a badly written, badly edited self-published book can end a career as well as launch one. I worried, I wobbled, and decided against. But since then I’ve re-read some of my stories, had a rethink, and decided to try again. It’s too easy to be a writer who writes but isn’t read.
Russell over at What’s So Funny had the same idea as me for a cover design. It must have me been discussing it with hubby that created enough morphic resonance for the thought to carry across the ocean. Or maybe, great minds just think alike. I have recovered from Russell getting there first and Plan B is to create an illustrated book with friend and creative colleague Janice Hume. (And I’m not copying kz either.) Jan has read the first crop of stories I plucked from my hard drive and not gone off the idea of entangling herself with me. So I must continue editing and collating, and wait until she has a gap in her schedule of photography shoots and design assignments, before we put our heads together. Of course, Sarah Ann’s Shorts has had to go as a title and a concept. It’s Hall and Hume now, and we need a new title.
For more info on books to which I refer above, click the links:
Russell Gayer’s The Perils of Heavy Thinking
KZ Morano’s 100 Nightmares
Within the hour, I am destroyed.
She welcomes me; massages my scars.
Comforted, I allow her to tease apart the healed skin.
When she prods raw flesh, I cannot run, but stay and feel the pain.
And next week, I will return.
This is my submission for this week’s gargleblaster challenge from yeahwrite.
In 42 words, writers are invited to answer the Ultimate Question. This week:
Do you see her much?
I have heard back from the agent to whom I sent the synopsis and first three chapters of my book. His response:
“I’m so sorry but I just did not fall in love with this. Good luck elsewhere.”
My eternally optimistic self takes this as a positive – the writing wasn’t criticised, he just found the opening to the story underwhelming. However, having no previous experience, I am at a loss as to how to interpret this hand-written note appended to the bottom of my covering letter.
Calling all those with experience of agents, and the doomsayers and pessimists – bring me back down to earth. Tell me what he really means.
Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.
Every Friday (or before) the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Visit Rochelle’s site for the rules on how to join in and check out the other stories by clicking on the blue guy.
Streamers snap. Choirs sing, battling the beeps and whirs of mechanical enticements.
Children dart and squeal in delight.
Adults chatter – ‘Jimmy, get back here!’
The wheezy bleat of an accordion soars.
Feet shuffle over grass; stamp on the dance floor.
Ker-plunk: a coin in a slot.
Pop goes an air rifle. ‘YES! Get in there!’ wins a prize.
Onions sizzle, burgers spit.
The squelch and, ‘Yeugh,’ of a dropped ice-cream.
A joyful cacophony cushions squawking gulls, circling overhead; waiting.
A wave of cordite rolls.
Deaf. Blind. Can’t breathe.
Bones snap, flesh tears, blood flows.
The screams begin.
I’m not happy with this piece. I know what I was trying to do, I don’t think I acheived it. Let me know what you think.
It’s been a long time since I attempted a Five Sentence Fiction piece, but I couldn’t resist this week’s word.
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week Lillie McFerrin posts a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate writes 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: WHIMSICAL
Sometimes she balls her fists, stamps her feet, and wants to screeeeeeam.
There days to her energies cing.
she wants all
There are occasions –
‘Oh look at that gorgeous ivory convolvulus waving its head in the breeze; hark, the cacophony of birdsong that welcomes the day and the fat blue sky criss-crossed by vapour trails and full of opportunities.’
And there are moments when observers wonder what on earth is going on inside her pretty little head.
This week’s Ligo Haibun Challenge gave us a choice of two pictures from which to write. I chose:
There is a woman on my wall who looks down her aquiline nose at me. Her cloche hat is perched ‘just so’ on perfect black curls. Shapely calves emerge below the hem of a well-cut woollen skirt and end in patent heels. There is an almost smile on her lips and, while her eyes look front, they are off-centre – disengaged. I wonder what she would have thought of me.
Next to her is an unruly head of white permed curls. A long neck sits above an open-necked blouse. Cheeks and wrinkles are scrunched in joy and playfulness as hazel eyes stare directly into the camera lens.
These two are the same woman.
If I didn’t know, would I be able to see?
no indication of she
who will be grandma