Digging In This December

I'll be brief – good thing I write flash fiction! -  because I'm still struggling with my novel/novella draft, and I am determined to be done by the end of the year. 

 

This holiday post is short on words, but it is long on gratitude. As 2023 draws to a close, I am grateful for so much in my life, including all of you. Thank you for reading my dark, weird little stories. Thank you for stopping by this blog. Thank you for all the comments. Your encouragement and support, humor and information are thoroughly appreciated. 

 

*** All of us here at TSR wish you 

a wonderful holiday season and a new year 

that exceeds your dreams and expectations!!! *** 

Anew in November

We can finally open the windows in our house now and let the crisp, cooler air blow through, moving out and away some of the mental health issues that plagued the last couple of months. A combination of things became a slow slide I struggled to stop. 

 

But, once again, I've regrouped. My birthday was last month, and I'm grateful for another year, another chance to breathe fresh air, to walk with my husband beneath palm trees and blue skies, to pet the tortoises, and to pen the possibilities – the light and the dark - living in my imagination.

 

WRITING

I was thrilled to be one of three winners in a recent flash fiction contest held by lit agent, Janet Reid! I so needed that creative boost. Here's the link to the results post where you can read all three stories.

 

It's been a few years since I participated in NaNo, and I considered it this time around, but I don't have the oomph for it. I'm doing my own looser version in order to get this novel/novella done or as close to done as I can before the month is over. Please wish me luck!

 

 

READING

Both THE TRAP by Catherine Ryan Howard and THE LAST ONE by Will Dean were so suspenseful and twisty, I almost got paper cuts I turned those pages so fast and furious. 

 

I thoroughly enjoyed the debut novel, THE VIOLIN CONSPIRACY by Brendan Slocumb. It's a tense mystery whose characters practically jump off the page. 

 

*****

 

Are you enjoying the weather where you are? Read anything amazing lately? Any writing goals or goals in general for this month? If you're participating in NaNo, I wish you all the luck and all the words! 

When Icy is a Compliment

It's no secret I've been in a bit of a creative slump lately. Blame it on the heat. Blame it on the second season of Netflix's GLOW being over. Blame it on Ben and Jerry. Blame it on the old guy on the next treadmill who runs faster than I ever will (unless I'm chasing Ben and Jerry.)

Whatever the case, I had to do something. So when literary agent Janet Reid ran another flash fiction contest recently, instead of whining to the tortoises - again! - that I have no business being a writer, I pulled on my Minion pajama pants and got going.

I wrote with no expectations. I wanted to experiment, to reach. I wanted to stretch and tone that flabby creative muscle.

My entry made the finals.

The always encouraging and supportive Reiders rooted for my work.

Ms. Reid blew me away with her comments about my story.

And . . . I won!

I'm not sure who's happier - me or the tortoises. (After all, I can - and do - whine a lot.)

*****

For the contest, we had a maximum limit of 100 words and had to include the following - city, lie, sam, hawke, woo hoo. If you'd like to read all the finalists, click here. My story and Ms. Reid's comments (in blue) are below. 

Deer Momma

I shouldn't open the door when your working, but Mister Sam
said it was an emrgenz. The city is full of flew bugs!

We're going someplace safe, sekret. He'll keep a hawk eye on
me until you come. He's a nabor, not a stranger so it's okay. And I scarred of bugs.

Missus Woo came, yelled NO GO! ALL LIES! Missus Woo hooked
her fingers into claws, scratched Mister Sam's face! They fighted until she fell down asleep.

Mister Sam screamed HURRY! so I am.

Don't be scarred, Momma. See you soon!

Your sun Marty

This made me gasp out loud.  The story is icy, but what elevates this is that it's written in a vernacular of sorts, but you still understand every word. That's not as easy as it looks. 

The More Creeped Out You Are

I am socially awkward at the best of times, but I usually manage to come up with a coherent and interesting (hopefully!) answer to the general question about what I write - something along the lines of short fiction, dark fiction, horror. Now, if you ask me specifically what my novel is about, you get this -

"Um...."

Doesn't that just sound deliciously creepy and like something you're dying to read? NOT! Napping tortoises are more interesting than that. (And definitely cuter.)  

Literary agent Janet Reid wrote an excellent post - What's Your Book About? - about her experience at a conference speaking with authors and what happened when she asked them about their work. I absolutely recommend heading over and reading the whole post, but here's the biggest takeaway for me:

"You simply MUST be prepared to tell people, in a compelling way, what your book is about. . . . First thing to remember is start NOW. No matter where you are in the publishing cycle: querying, sold, pubbed, you need to be able to say what your book is about."

I'm working on it!

*****

And speaking of Ms. Reid, I entered her Writing Without Rules Flash Fiction Contest last month, and although my story didn't win, her comments on it (below, in blue) made my entire month.  

Gregory, old and gnarled, slumps on his porch. His lawn, overgrown with weeds and wild things, chokes the once neat path. At the gate, nettles cling, watch deserted streets. He calls out, can only hope for more survivors.

A man and woman appear, dirty, laden with packs.

"Please help! I fell."

They hesitate, the rules different now.

Gregory is desperate. "I have food, water. It's yours."

They nod, start toward him.

He watches the lawn shiver, the monsters within slither out to feed. He listens to the screams.

Gregory is spared. Again. He stands, stretches.

The rules are different now.

Honestly this creeped me out so much I could barely read it the second time.
Thank all deities foreign and domestic that I live in Brooklyn, a place with few lawns.
Of course, the more creeped out you are, the better the writing.

*****

Are you prepared to talk about your novel? Or are you like me, still working on it? Do overgrown lawns creep you out? If you have a lawn, do you know what's lurking in it? 

Round and Round We Go

You all know by now how much I enjoy writing short fiction to prompts or themes. Well, over the holidays, literary agent Janet Reid held a flash fiction contest. But this was no ordinary flash fiction contest. Usually, we have about 48 hours to write a 100 word story that must include all five prompt words.

This time? Rounds. Four of them.

Round One: Prompt Word = bird, Number of Words = 30
Round Two: Prompt Word = ring, Number of Words = 25
Round Three: Prompt Word = colly, Number of Words = 25
Round Four: Prompt Word = sent, Number of Words = 20

Most of the usual rules applied along with a big twist: You could write individual stories each time OR build on a previous "starter" - yours or someone else's (with attribution, of course.)

It. Was. A. Blast.

I chose to build on my story. It was a risk because I didn't know what the next round's prompt word would be until it opened. I kept my story creepy (big surprise!) and my fingers crossed that I could make the prompt words work. My entry is below, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

*****

Fog shrouds the house.

A bird flits by a window, the old glass broken from within.

The fog breathes, escapes.

The bird does not.

Inside, the occupants are still hungry.

Long ago, they gathered at the dinner bell's ring.

But the meal was not for them.

The only thing to grow up was their rage.

Now, they're the monsters. Cursed, caged.

Desperate, their tongues, long and twisted, bruised colly and cobalt, lick the walls, tasting memories of blood and bone.

When they turn on each other, it's swift, unsentimental.

Only one remains.

She crunches her brothers' bones, satiated.

For now.

***** 

Would you build on your own story? Someone else's? Or would you write a new one - with that tiny word count! - each round? Do you enjoy writing to prompts or themes or super small word counts? Or do you find them too restrictive?

Goodbye, Sleep!

In celebration of Halloween month and all things that go bump in the night, I've got a few treats - no tricks! - for you:

*****

My flash fiction collection, Garden of Lost Souls, is FREE this week (Monday - Friday.) Think of these creepy tiny tales like those miniature candy bars - some are full of nuts, none are particularly good for you, yet they're so small, so yummy, they keep you coming back for just . . . one . . . more.

Available on Amazon

*****

I've opened up the Ask the Author feature on Goodreads, so if you're a member over there and have questions about my stories, my writing or how I sleep at night with all those creepy-crawlies lurking in my imagination, please stop by. I'll keep my eyes peeled for your questions. (Peeled eyes. Sleep? What sleep?) 

*****

And so I won't be the only one around here not sleeping . . . . Back in September, I entered one of lit agent Janet Reid's flash fiction contests. (Some of the rules include keeping the word count to 100 or fewer and using the required words, which in this case were - snap, gator, ask, tie, iron.) My story didn't win or place, but it did receive one of my favorite mentions ever by the Shark herself -

"THE START OF A STORY (OR NOVEL) THAT I'D BE TOO CHICKEN TO READ"

Mwahahaha! Enjoy!

***

Beneath a sky the color of iron, through air as heavy, Lily paddles her kayak. Spanish moss, gray and tangled, hangs like the hair of bent old women.

The river is blocked. Gnarled fingers of branches reach, twine across the water.

Gators watch with hooded eyes. Their silence ties her nerves in knots. Lily focuses on one task – leaving.

No breeze caresses Lily's skin yet the Spanish moss shivers. A rattling rips through the silence. She looks up. Hanging bones judder, collide. Lily's sanity snaps. She screams as a creature older, deeper than the dark, creeps down toward her. 

***

The Write Way to Start 2016

I'm excited to share some recent publications and writing news with you all!

First up, most of my regular readers know I'm a huge fan of Nailpolish Stories (stories are 25 words, titles are nail polish colors.) My story, Coming Up Roses, originally published in the July 2015 issue, made it into The Best of 2015 issue. I loved taking a positive phrase and giving it a dark spin. (I know, I know, big surprise.) And, in the January 2016 issue are two more stories, Fade to Black and Shifting Power. 

Next, as a huge fan of literary agent Janet Reid's blog and her flash fiction contests, I was thrilled to see my most recent entry make Finalist. Here's what she had to say about it:

This is incredibly creepy given the clues about the character's age/s.  So much is left to the reader's imagination, but there's exactly the right amount of information here so we can fill it in with all the horror it deserves.  This is very elegant writing.

Whoo hoo!

Click here if you'd like to read all the Finalists and the Winner.

Click here if you'd like to read all the entries. 

How's your writing going so far this year? Any exciting news - writing or otherwise - you'd like to share?