Avid readers of this blog (Hi Zee! Hi Warjna! G’day Bob! Oh, and, ummm … hi Ada 😀 ) will know that I’m as prolific as I am completely belligerent toward perfect grammar, pacing, ‘voice’, and giving a fuck about writerly things in general. Those things, while important, are not as important to me as loving what I’m writing.
Well, if I can keep my finger off the ‘post’ trigger, I’m going to work on what is, I think, a steampunk novella named ‘CogWorld’. My plan is to do this as a mixed media story, largely because steampunk is so highly detailed it’s easy to get bogged in descriptions that don’t advance the story. For that reason, at appropriate junctures I’m going to throw in a picture, so you can see rather than read.
I’m not sure I’m going to post the final here. Maybe I’ll upload it as a PDF and anyone who wants it can just download it. Dunno yet. I have another blog where CogWorld will soon be under construction. If you want to see how I build the world, and perhaps stick your beak in where its not wanted but might be useful, let me know and I’ll get the gears into motion. In the meantime, expect less prolificity (I invented a new word) here. Maybe.
She was really something special, everyone said so. It didn’t come easily for her and it wasn’t natural, either. Hours and days of dedicated practice melded into weeks and months of specialist training, and what little time she had left was spent in fending off wandering hands and deflecting crass sexual innuendo.
Tara had completed her military service honourably but with a lack of progression through the ranks; it was still a boys and their toys world. From there, she joined the force and began trying to work her way into a specialist position, which had only months ago become a reality. She was now a sharpshooter in an emergency response team.
I used a random generator for the X and Y choices and came up with Robocop and Silence of the Lambs. Here ’tis.
“Stop being a bastard. You have fifteen seconds to comply,” said Robocop, his Auto9 Beretta93R at the ready.
“Tell me about the lambs, Clarice,” Hannibal replied smoothly.
The spotlights died and the dim illumination that replaced them signalled that a softer song was coming. It was one she’d been practicing for weeks, there in the studio after all her other songs in the set had been fine tuned.
“This song comes from a beautiful little movie called ‘Once’, Ingrid said to her audience. “It’s bittersweet and haunting, and I hope you enjoy it.” She knew her audience and she knew they’d love it. This kind of song had given her career its lift, back when getting a gig and singing to three disinterested people was obviously not getting her anywhere.
Resolution. This is the last part. Up front, I’m not sure I liked the ending but it is unexpected. No spoilers, though. Thanks to everyone who followed this. What began as a single short grew into 6. Here are the others. Perhaps in a few days I’ll tell you the backstory to this. In some ways I think it’s much more interesting than the one I wrote.
“So that’s how you trash your own life! Why don’t they teach this stuff in school?” Hayden thought. Not only was he out of a job – one he really liked and was good at – he was being bombarded by the psycho-bitch-troll-from-hell and being studiously ignored by the police. “It doesn’t get much better than this,” he thought, sourly. “Living the dream, dude. Living the dream.”
The next, and next to last part, in the UB series. Here are the other parts, in order, and thanks for reading.
She’s a corrosive, malignant bitch. Mariana is the cute-looking freckle that everyone loves and comments on; the freckle that’s hiding beneath it the tendrils of cancer that has invaded every part of its host and slowly, slowly sucks the life out of it.
Thanks again to everyone who has been liking and commenting on UB. You’re all in this next instalment, along with a goat.
Here’s where it all began and where it’s progressed since then. Enjoy!
It was such a whirlwind, that first six months. Of course, I was on my very best behaviour when Hayden picked me up and took me to Rockpool, the latest and greatest city restaurant. I had to practice enormous constraint just to keep my hands off him, and instantly I knew he was The One. It was, quite literally, love at first sight. “How did you manage to get a reservation at such short notice?” I asked him. Rockpool is always booked out months in advance. “At first they said no, but then I told them you’d be disappointed and all of a sudden there was a table available,” he said. He’d told her the truth but she laughed as if it was an incredible joke.
Dedications on a small and almost reader-less blog orbiting the unfashionable end of the blogosphere are pretentious nonsense, which is a specialty of mine, and this part of the story is for the fans. Dorkchops and Ipsy V, maybe one day you’ll say ‘hi.’ This one’s for you, and thanks for ‘liking’ the stories so far. Miss Zee! Hello, You! And even Bob the Wordless gets a mention, too. I think this series will ultimately have six parts.
This is the somewhat disturbing follow-on from Uncommon Beauty https://p33d33.wordpress.com/2015/04/17/uncommon-beauty
“Not guilty, Your Honour,” I said to her, a stony look on my face as, for the thousandth time, she accused me of ‘having and affair’. How could that even be possible, when we weren’t even married and we never would be? I remember that moment, out of all the moments that went before it, because for the first time I recognised the sparks: anger, frustration, and then what’s substantially worse in my opinion, indifference. We had just stepped beyond the end of the beginning; we were now in the territory of the beginning of the end.
The Dark God rose behind her, quietly building the fury it would unleash. Before the next pulse could pump through her heart she turned and rammed the Sword of Fire into the centre of his chest, thrusting it home with all the power of the Elementals. Surprise registered on his face as he looked down. In seconds, he exploded in a shower of sparks and oily flames, the Sword hanging suspended in the air until she reached for it and returned it to its scabbard.
The Challenge: Write an opening sentence.
followed by Pick an opening sentence and go.
The title sentence was provided by Shauna Clinning. http://shaunamooreclinning.com Thank you, Shauna. Thank you, Chuck.
PS. I don’t know what happened here but only the opening paragraph published and I didn’t notice it until much later. Here’s the complete 1,261 short story.
He’s a freaked-out 6-year old who likes to be called Sabrina. *sigh* It’s complicated. Added to that, he’s been pestering me for years to get him breast implants, a tutu, and stilettos. I told you it was complicated. To humour him, I told him he could have pocket money and save up for the implants but he’s an impatient little shit so as soon as he had the money for one implant he had ‘the job’ done. Now he’s saving for the other one.
Regular readers will recall my recent spray about Pete, my accountant, https://p33d33.wordpress.com/2015/04/13/being-a-hottie-will-only-get-you-so-far/ and how he is so whipped he was scared to ask for his wife’s permission … PERMISSION! … to spend some money on a guitar he wanted. Here ’tis, and that’s me holding it.
Yep, I’m now the proud owner of a Rickenbacker. Only 200 are made each year and almost none find their way to the Land of
Oz, so these are as rare as chicken lips.
It’s a beauty. So am I, come to think of it, but there’s more to the story than meets the eye so I’m going to share snippets of it with you. Continue reading
I love the way you look. You are like art, moving.
In the chemical cocktail we call life, you are the cherry that so beautifully crowns it.
A short story for the Chuck Wendig Challenge http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2015/04/10/flash-fiction-challenge-time-again-to-write-an-opening-sentence/
I wrote this from the sentence created by Tori.
The stains from dragon vomit almost never came out, and being covered in it while standing in a pile of manure, Donovan should have known better than to think the day couldn’t get any worse.
Chuck Wendig’s ‘The first line’ Challenge.
The first line was contributed by devsmess. I wonder if she knew what she was letting herself in for.
Image credits go to my newest friend and source of inspiration, Bettina, at http://zeebam.com She is a very talented visual artist and writer, and an all-round lovely person. Go there. Immerse. Repeat.
** Multiple Warnings: strong continuous horror, catastrophic violence, disturbing image **
The darkroom was decades unused, but she found it still suitable for developing photos; and as the contours of the images darkened and formed, so did her impression of the mother she thought she knew.
Here’s my first dubious contribution to the latest Wendigism. http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2015/04/10/flash-fiction-challenge-time-again-to-write-an-opening-sentence/
The Challenge was to write a story from a first line provided by someone else. I chose Brenna Faye’s opening sentence for this story, which is long at around 3,300 words but which can be read simply as Part 1 if you prefer. Thanks to Brenna for the inspiration and Chuck for the Challenge.
“Let go of the past,” Madeline’s mother had always warned her, “for it feeds upon us all with great appetite, and wants to live again.”
Shitsuren sākuru 失恋サークル (Heartbreak Circle).
With a deep and heartfelt bow of reverence to:
- Star Trek’s ‘Kobayashi Maru’ コバヤシマル (Kobayashi’s Circle),
- John Donne (For Whom The Bell Tolls),
- William Henley (Invictus), and especially to
- Ada Ireland (Break My Heart Thoroughly), here’s a bittersweet love story.
I know this from actual experience, because I was one. Don’t laugh; it’s true. I said it’s true, fuck you.
Now, with the passing of the decades, I’m no longer hot. I have to rely on outrageous cuteness and an incisive wit. Okay, mostly on the cuteness thing. In a Yoda sort of way.
So, anyway. Today I’m going to talk to you about my accountant and his wife, because I just got a call from each of them, following my as usual bizarre email replies to them.