This one will be indefinite. Sunday’s post didn’t happen for a reason. Everything’s crazy up in here, y’all. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Peace to you all.
Notes Of A Storyteller will be out this Sunday; the next two days leave me little time for this blog.
My junior year of college begins, and there is much to do in my first week. Therefore, I shall not blog this week. Probably. Maybe. No regular features for sure. Have fun doing whatever that thing is that makes you happy. See you on Monday!
Welp, turns out I’m still in the running in that fun little flash-fiction contest I told you about last week. For the second round, we got the following prompt, “The water barely rippled as she entered…” Once again, I couldn’t resist whipping something up. I called it “Jennifer”. What do you think?
The water barely rippled as she entered. Jennifer stood in a cold, dank sewer hole, facing a pitch-black tunnel. Somewhere in that tunnel, there was a drug dealer she’d been asked to bust.
The light from the opened manhole shone on her scarred cheek. Her brown hair was thin and short after years of crime-fighting. She wondered sometimes if anybody thought she was pretty. As always, she laughed, and whipped out her pistol and flashlight.
“There’s more to beauty than a smooth face, you silly!” she said to herself, wading into the darkness. “And there’s more to life than beauty.”
Voting starts this Saturday. Check out the other entries right here.
Usually I don’t do contests that I find online, but this one was so quick and fun that I couldn’t resist. J.C. Martin, novelist and blogger, established a contest to write a story based on a prompt in just a 100 words. It’s like the 100-yard dash, except the only muscles that get taxed are my brain and my fingers.
The prompt was “Smoke from the flames curled and twisted in the breeze…” For those of you word-counters, the title and the prompt don’t count as part of my 100 words, according to contest rules.
Without further ado, here’s what I came up with. It’s called “The Fire In David”, if you want to give such a short piece a title.
“Smoke from the flames curled and twisted in the breeze. They made David’s eyes sting. Benjamin Cross’ house lay before him: a ruin of burning rubble. David’s ears still stung from the screams.
David wept. He hadn’t meant it to end like this. All he had wanted was revenge for what Benjamin had done to his sister. David had trusted in the fire of rage, and it had consumed him.
The fire left him two choices. He could flee into the mountains, douse his rage in the snow, and begin a new life. Or he could wait for the police, let his rage devour him, and fight to the death.”
Check out the contest details and vote on your favorite entries here. Voting starts August 4th, 2012.
On occasion of the midnight premiere of The Dark Knight Rises, and the visit of a family friend, the Notes Of A Storyteller feature will be delayed until tomorrow. My apologies.
A personal reflection from my Tumblr…
“This morning, I discovered my little sister lying on the couch. Apparently, she had thrown up the night before, and wasn’t feeling that spiffy.
“You want a glass of water?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
I found one of the tallest glasses in the cupboard and turned on the faucet. It ran my finger through it, to make sure it was nice and cold. Then I filled the glass to the brim and added a straw. My sister thanked me and I walked away.
It took a while before I realized something. That glass of water is more important than anything I might write this week. I’m working on my second novel, but even if I win a Nobel Prize for it, it will never have the same impact as that act of kindness. It is not with the pen that I make meaning out of life, ultimately, but my heart.”
This is a message worth sharing with writers and readers alike. There are only so many words we can use before making ultimate sense of life. Books cannot be the whole of our discovery of existence. It must be acted out, each and every day. Take some time every day to withdraw from words, and find something nice to do for someone. We writers find that difficult sometimes, but I promise that it’s worth it.