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Tag Archives: Flash fiction

Late To The Party

08 Tuesday Dec 2015

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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Concrete Blonde, Flash fiction, Harry Potter, Henry Rollins, HoW, Jane Yolen, Junot Diaz, muse, NYPL

I don’t know if anyone else remembers it, the first time they received a piece of mail addressed to them that wasn’t a glittery birthday card from Mom Mom wishing you happiness, Xs and Os, along with a starched five dollar bill wrapped in a blank sheet of legal paper. Today I think about a piece of mail addressed to me of all people, my name, how did they get my name, how cool is this, to get a bit of correspondence from the New York Public Library, here in this place where I kind of lived, unsolicited. It arrived like… well…rather like Harry Potter’s acceptance letter from Hogwarts.  It was an invitation to a talk given by well-known authors, and sadly the only name I can recall is Jane Yolen. I was maybe 15 years of age and there was no way, in that time of my life, that I could conceive of asking my parents to take me to the event.   My best friend’s father died and I couldn’t even ask them for a ride to the funeral because I didn’t know how, and I knew without need of an oracle that my Dad would never drive me to the hated city for any reason at all. It was a folly, that bit of letter, and the idea that I-I–had been invited was very cool but that’s as far as it went.  (As an aside, the other letters I recall receiving in those days were heart-shredding solicitations from PETA and the Republican Party, neither of which I subscribe.)

Some years ago I came across a book of essays by Henry Rollins titled “Solipsis.” I flipped through it and found the writing visceral, angry, fascinating, but I wasn’t ready for it: I was too young to understand.  I have rediscovered Mr. Rollins who causes my writing self to be disturbed, unmoored, get a lady boner, and hungry. NOW I get it.  I made a few mouse clicks and discovered he has a spoken word tour going on, and lo and behold, one in traveling distance!  I went to click on the “buy ticket” button only to discover both nights have been sold out.  He won’t be back within 300 miles of me mostly likely for the rest of the year.  Late. Gutted.

So many things have opened up to me because of that magic thing called ‘internet.’ It’s how I discovered a taste for flash fiction, came to fall into the arms of a cadre of writers who help keep my creative mind moving, and more importantly, their friendships.  Thanks to this thing called a Twitter feed I was able to attend a conversation with Junot Diaz.  There are so many events and calls for submissions I find it hard to keep up.  I am drowning in opportunity, and the only thing holding me back is me!   I discovered a talk about Tarot and the Poetics of Imaginary Solutions fairly locally, but I found out a little too late. There was no way I was going to be able to wrest myself from my job in order to attend.  This morning I regret not trying hard enough to swap days with someone so I could attend. It was a little adventure I declined to fight for. What did I miss? What might I have gained? How many adventures have I declined? Oh god, that’s hard to think about.

I have been late to the party so many times, like that night I fell into Social Distortion and never looked back, or the day I was captured by Concrete Blonde; blessings.   These bands have been around a long time, and I’m running around waving my arms going “Hey look this is awesome! Wow!” And everyone else is like, “Yeah babe, we know, where you been?”  Today I am sorry I didn’t fight harder to attend a little bookstore talk, a missed opportunity, adventure.  There’s a little adventure in every day, there has to be.  I’m not some scared 15-year-old without access to a car and handwritten directions to get me to the parking garage so I can get to the NYPL, to be surrounded by a bunch of people that outrank me in every way… right?  Oh god…

Today I will meditate on how to get hungry enough to take it all, fill my plate, devour fearlessly, and fill reams of paper with results.  And write, baby, write!

 

 

Schwing! Submission!

15 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Bonewitch, Flash fiction, goals, guidelines, submitted

Notes from the desk of Indigo Vales:  Flash fiction piece finished, Flash fiction piece submitted.  The first time it didn’t go through because a certain someone , little Ms. Attention To Details, didn’t notice the file had to be in rich text, not a Word document.  Ahem…   so on my lunch break from work I took a closer look at the GUIDELINES, FOLLOWED THE INSTRUCTIONS, and this time it went through.

I am excited by this process, something I hope to keep doing and with more frequency.

Perhaps my next post will be Schwing!  Accepted!

9/16 update: Got the “received” letter and “do not query before” date.  Yay!

Bonewitch

06 Sunday Sep 2015

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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Bonewitch, Flash fiction, HoW, progress, prompt

The goddess wants me to tell you the story of the witch who lives in the blue school bus.

I hope tonight I will dream her whole life, and find the words ready to write in the morning.

9/7 Update: Her name is Bonewitch.  And she learns her sidekick’s true name upon giving her last breath.

Darwin’s Moon

27 Thursday Aug 2015

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Flash fiction, goals, Niko's Boots, progress, prompt

Notes from the desk of Indigo Vales:  I completed (yes? completed?) a flash fiction piece that comes from a photo prompt at my beloved HoW.  I find I do very little writing that isn’t cathartic unless inspired by the prompts found there. I hope that as I increase my reading diet and continue to bend my back to the writing wheel each day, there will be less blogging and more “real” writing.  It is a goal. A vague one.  I haven’t actually created a publishing goal lately.  Am I in a position to create and state one right now?  *Notes empty coffee mug. Distracted. Will come back to that.*

In my excited state I shared the story with my spouse who said (to paraphrase) “Good writing, where’s the rest?”  So now I have to decide what to do with the rest of the piece. Is there enough of a tale to tell about Volusia and her friend Darwin? Does she ever decide to get her passport and travel to Cambodia and see the temples beneath the moon? Will she stay in love with her life, her freedom, or make the biggest mistake of her life and fall in love? What happens when a young woman uproots herself from her lavish family to see what happens when she throws herself at the footsteps of the world?  Um, looks like there’s a rest of the story there…  But I wanted to write about Niko, who is still stuck at the bottom of a crater, grievously wounded! How will he get out?  Does anything interesting happen to him if he makes it back to his village?  Less of a story there, no matter how much I enjoyed writing about his dilemma.

All I know is, it’s going to be a busy day here for my family. Some life-changing times going on. I believe there’s going to be some river-sitting and beer drinking in my future this afternoon, and tonight, and tomorrow, and I shall bring the laptop along with me and see if I can coax any words to come along.

August 16

17 Monday Aug 2015

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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Flash fiction, progress, submitted

And that is how you do that.  By the seat of one’s pants when one decides at the last minute, “Hey. I haven’t submitted any material today. Or this week.  Or lately. What’s the hold up?”  And one polishes a flash-y thing, fills out the form, and sends said piece on its way.

The title of the piece is “It’s For You,” sent to the New South Journal.

WOOSH!

Another Day In Paradise

11 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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Flash fiction, HoW, prompt

I could feel him standing beside the bed like he always does.  He was hungry but didn’t have the sense to open the fridge door and put something on a plate he could set his teeth into.  He’d always been this way, and it was natural that he would come to my bedside the way we went to Momma’s bedside and beg for breakfast because only she could fill our plates with love.  After he stopped poking me and grinning, I got up and took three steps into the kitchen to put breakfast on, sky just barely light and the night creatures still calling Katy did but Katy didn’t. 

There’s a lot of things I know and one of them is what Katy’s brother did, that’s for sure.  We’re going to collect him up tonight and remind him what happens to folk when they put one toe out of line.  The other thing I know is that it’s a good thing I don’t sleep naked.  

I can tell by the look in Jeffy’s eyes he’s still hungry, so I scrape off my toast and grits onto his plate so I don’t have to hear him bellyachin for the rest of the day.  And if he tells me “I sure was beautiful back in the day” one more time, I swear to Christ on a crutch I won’t feed him for the rest of the week.  

Our Hands, With Love

10 Monday Aug 2015

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Flash fiction, HoW, inspiration, International Authors, Iron Maiden, Moorcock

Today I experienced privileged conversation. We are not a secret enclave set out to dominate and rule the world. Writers have better things to do, but don’t forget, we are an insular breed. Still, we find a way to open doors and windows so we can inspire and be inspired, impossibly.  Creatives of similar minds gravitate to this place. Privileged because we “get it” and we probably live in a world where our spouses and children, our family tree, our bosses and everyone in between just totally does not get it.

When the internet was new to me, I explored everything I had a passion for–things that swept me away, things that elevated and saved me. I only knew what my soul stood up and responded to, what my writers mind reacted to and appreciated, recognized lines I wish I had written in the books written by Michael Moorcock, for one. He and Stephen King (and Iron Maiden) had the earliest impact on my writers mind.

By fate I came to a place that challenged me to write in the format of six sentences–flash fiction.  I come from a background of cathartic writing, often from the hood of a Ford Bronco beneath a moon and alongside the Hudson river.  Looking back I can see how far I’ve come, which doesn’t mean “I OWN.” It simply means I see the growth and want it to continue. By chance, fate, fortune, by the Universe’s manipulations, call it what you will, I landed on a page where my primordial, cathartic words were seen and I was asked to come, to be, to participate in a House of Writers.  True to form, I gave a thousand and one excuses why I could not come.  I was summoned, and despite myself, I went to meet strangers at a secluded chalet in the shaded woods of North Carolina. It was the best thing I ever did for my writing life and for my spirit. I wish grateful thoughts were dollars so my writing friends could be millionaires because they deserve it.  Later, we came together by the ocean, and I was reacquainted with myself and this Writing Thing that demands my care and attention. My love for words and for those writing friends only grows.

Today I focus on the words “privileged conversation” because sharing the foundations of writing is important to me. I was privileged to listen to authors sharing their origins, their interests, and what our future writings will be.  What I focus on is not so much the authors that inspired them. Instead I focus on what their passions are driving them towards today.  Meeting with these authors and creatives raises the bar. It causes me to examine my work microscopically and challenges me in so many other ways.  So. Your hand holds a lantern which lights my way. In my hand holds all soul and passion and destiny. It is my realistic hope that wonderful things are on the way. By my hand, holding yours.

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