The Story on the Wall

Thanks to Mead Hunter, who first shared this in a place where I saw it. A wonderful short story.

The photos I had posted were removed.

I stated clearly this was not my work.

I'm not sure what happened - I received no communication before the photos disappeared.

But I will still link to the page, because it is fabulous!

The Story

by Mobstr

Click on over to see the whole story.

New Fiction Story Published

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My copies of the anthology, "places like home," arrived yesterday. I am excited and honored to have a new short story, "the day jimmy changed," included in this beautiful book. I am thrilled to be sharing the printed pages with this collection of other skillful writers, some of whom I have written with in the room in person; some of them I have shared virtual classes with. 

Ariel Gore is, herself, a talented and creative writer. She is also a fantastic workshop/class facilitator, mentor, editor, creative human. All of the stories in this book, be they in the form of fiction, memoir, or poetry, sprang from prompts in classes, or from her Saturday writing prompts (available for a $5 per month subscription).

I also was delighted to be an editor for one of the chapters. This gave me the opportunity to work closely with some of the other writers and their creative visions.

This is a beautiful book and it is available at LiteraryKitchen.net. This link takes you directly to the book's page on the website; but I encourage you to look around at what else is there.

"Ariel Gore’s School for Wayward Writers is a network, a community, a secret society of writers and art-makers. We are beginners. We’ve been at this for decades. We are bestselling authors. We’re recluses who only create for ourselves and each other. We are MFA professors, sex workers, high school dropouts, administrative assistants—and sometimes all of the above. We are witches and witch-adjacent. We are teenagers and grandmothers. We are feminists and anti-racists of all genders. We live in Eureka and Melbourne, in Seattle and Brooklyn, in Melbourne and Cairo. We gather online in The Literary Kitchen. We meet in person in Portland or Astoria; in Longview or Oaxaca; in Santa Fe or Truth or Consequences. We tell the truth. We face the consequences. We lie sometimes, too."

—from the introduction

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Just Released: "Pickle Blanket Chronicles: A Flash Mixtape"

Announcing the release of my chapbook, "Pickle Blanket Chronicles: A Flash Mixtape."


This is one reason my writing here has been a little slow. I was in a fun and informative, fast-paced chapbook creation online class with Ariel Gore. While I was interpreting plays and my regular video relay work, attending a work conference, and doing NaNoWriMo.


And I was making this book. It is a compilation of some flash fiction plus a couple of poems. There are some black and white photos, also taken by me.


A brief aside, since several people have already asked me. Flash fiction—what's that? If you do an online search or look in writing magazines, you will find different lengths and more subcategories, but "flash fiction" is basically a story that is under 1,000 words. Some people say under 1,500 words. Some others define it as under 750 words. There are stories which are even shorter than that, some of which have been variously given other names—such as ultra fiction (usually fewer than 500 words), or micro fiction (this could be 50 - 100 words), and there are even more names and word length specifications. There is the revolving popular six word stories and the six sentence stories.


Aside from the opening and closing poems, the stories in my chapbook are between 500 to 1500 words. Thus the "flash" in the title, plus the idea of a "mixtape," which was a compilation of songs in the days of cassette tapes. Mixtapes tended to be favorite songs, which were often shared with friends.


So this book is a mixtape of different styles and of my writing—fiction, dystopian fiction, creative nonfiction—wrapped up in an easily portable 64 pages, 5 1/2 x 5 1/2 inch chapbook. Like a sampler pack of chocolates.


The chapbook is available on my "BOOKS by Dot" page (link below the banner above). There is a PayPal BUY NOW link below the photo.


I present to you the front cover of my chapbook:

Relationship with Rejections

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I received a rejection for a hard to place piece of writing today - and the rejection makes me happy. Reason one that I'm happy - it means I am getting my writing out there. Reason two that I'm happy - well, I will let you read the rejection :

"Unfortunately this particular piece was not a right fit for Mason's Road, but we were very impressed by your writing. We hope that you will feel encouraged by this short note and send us something else.

We look forward to reading more."

I like this particular short story. I have workshopped it with several writing groups and individual writers and friends. I've edited and revised. I believe it's a strong piece of writing and I've received good feedback, and people like it - not everyone, but those who understand it, like it. I think it's hard to find the right fit for this particular story, but I am not giving up on finding a home for it out there in the world. I will keep looking for the right publication and go back to this one to see what I have which might be a better fit.

Rejections are a part of being a writer = getting a rejection means I am writing and submitting my stories. Thank you to Mason's Road for the note.
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A Good Day for Writing

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I want to report that today (Tuesday) was a very good day for writing.

One important factor is the weekly Tuesday morning writing date on my calendar. Rooze has been wonderful to write with. We take a little bit of time to check in - how the week has been, including our writing - then check in with what our plan for the day's writing session is, and then, we write! We usually have at least 90 minutes of writing time, sometimes a little more.

It's beautiful. It works really well. And, once in a while, one of us can't make it. The challenge then, only to ourselves, is for the other one to show up. The follow through when we're the only person who really knows if we go and what we do with our time. Most of the time we both show up. And today we were both there.

I also noted that it was right after completing another performance interpreting project. Noted that, again, performance brain done and writing brain rises to the surface.

Here is what I did today in my writing life:

Send in the requested information to Float On as application to their Writers Program.

Sent an inquiry to Sou'wester Lodge in Washington about their Artists Residency program. I'm hoping to get a time up there this summer; I could put it off until the fall, but I hope there is a slot available in the summer. It's for a week-long stay with a bit of break on the cost and I would love to do that to work on the M-book. That project is at a place where I need some distraction-free, immersion time in order to move it forward. From what I've seen and heard about the place, I think it would be perfect and this looks like a great do-it-yourself writing retreat.

I worked on the story which came to me in the float tank last Saturday. It is moving along well. It is not quite taking the path to the point of the story that I thought it would; but isn't that part of the fun of writing?

 I worked on the story I started the previous week. One of the two main characters has a name now; he is no longer just "the interviewer." His name fits and it just rolled off the keyboard. I like that.

 In searching for one of the stories - which was filed in the wrong folder - I discovered a story I forgot I'd written. I read the story and I like it. I made some minor edits and it needs more. But it's a good story and is worth additional attention. It is one I'd like to get ready to send out into the world. Another story which won't be easy to place; but I know it has a home. Somewhere.

See? It was a very good writing day.
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Playing with Words

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...literally...

Have you heard of Wordle? It's a website where you input some text or link to a webpage and you get some art from what you entered. It's fun to spend some time there, playing with text. I first heard about it a couple of years ago during NaNoWriMo. I played; I forgot what it was called; I forgot about it. Periodically it surfaces in my brain and I try to remember how to get back to the site, since my bookmarks/favorites are so huge now and after changing computers due to blue screens of death and totally clogged systems I've even given up searching because it might not even be there, anyway.

Then yesterday Wordle surfaced again. I've been thinking about it recently, wanting to play, but too busy to look into finding it again. Then I received an email of a writer's blog post, which included her Wordle from one of her stories.

Yay! I decided to enter the text of the short story I'm preparing to send out into the world. There's an upcoming deadline I want to make for an anthology.

Wordle is an interesting experiment in taking the text apart, from which the Java applet creates a visual cloud. It lets a writer view her work in a new way - seeing what pops out and what gets lost. It's interesting - this Wordle is actually a pretty good visual representation of my flash fiction piece. (On Wordle I titled this, "It's a Food Thing." The name of the short story is "Meatballs on My Mind.")

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Challenge : O is for Outlandish Ostrich Orthotics

 O is for Outlandish Ostrich Orthotics

Yes, it looks like it's storytime, again. I was thinking of "O" words and many came to mind. I let them loll around in my head, Orating and Oozing and Ogling each other. I thought I was going to settle on One thing and then the Other popped up and cried, "Me, Oh, pick me."

And here I am, with another tale to tell and, look, it too has an animal.

I wonder what her story is? Let's find out.

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Olivia the Ostrich was walking along the dirt road. The day was still early and the spring sun had yet to show its glowing orange head above the horizon. The glow from the edge of the world reached up toward the place where Senor Sun would land later in the morning, but for now it was still a deep turquoise blue fading to gold trimmed in near white.

photo from The Princess and the Pump

Far off deep in the clumps of trees Olivia could hear the little birds singing to each other. Talking of their plans for the day and the things they had to do. There was a pair somewhere nearby overhead whispering about a near escape he'd experienced with a big wild cat recently and his friend seemed to listen intently, with only an intermittent peep.

There was no sign of her sister; they were supposed to meet today to talk about what to do for their brother's birthday. Which was only a couple of weeks away. Olivia increased her speed and bobbed her head from side to side, wondering if maybe her sister was playing a joke and would jump out to scare her or something. She'd done that once in the past; she might do it again.

The clumps of trees eased away and the birds' voices faded. The top of Senor Sun's head was emerging on the edge of the world and Olivia could see farther around her now. Still no sister. She stopped on the road and listened. Hearing only the roar of an engine in the recesses of the other side of the trees, she opted to leave the open road.

There were thickets of bracken and clumps of trees smattered across the landscape. She mentally mapped a path of safety to get her out of sight of the road but so she could still keep her eyes on it in case.

In case? she thought. In case, she told herself, her sister appeared. Because their brother's birthday was getting nearer by the minute. Or so it seemed.

But she didn't want to get caught by the car beings because they could be unreliable and mean.

So she hid.

And as she hid, she dozed. The rising sun faded. The lightening sky faded. The grasses and trees which now hid her were the last to go and all was dark or non-existent.

Olivia dreamed of dancing on the sun with her sister. Of catching fireflies with her brother in the moonlight next to a river. Although in truth she didn't know how she'd hold a jar into which to put the bugs; but in her dream it didn't matter.

Then she noticed it. In her dream she was wearing glitter covered red shoes. Just like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Only these shoes had wide toe boxes and the thick heels were rubberized and comforted her feet with each step. They were beautiful and solid and she felt like she could dance all night.

Olivia opened her eyes. She thought she opened her eyes but everything was still dark. And then she noticed a figure standing near her and she jolted wide away and shook her body from side to side.

"Who?" she started. "What?" and prepared herself to run.

photo from deviantArt

"Hey, chill, sis, it's me," came the voice and Olivia felt her body relax. "Lil Joe just want us to play a game of catch a falling star for his birthday. That's all. And his birthday is in ...well, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 ... now! You're it!"

And her sister ran away and joined a slightly smaller ostrich, Olivia smiled and chased after them. Slowly. Being the oldest, her stride was longer and she'd catch up to them in no time. But she wanted the game to last so they could be together, so she took her time.

Ostriches in the dark, playing catch a falling star. And Olivia imagined she was still wearing her own ruby red slippers.

Challenge: E is for Eclectically Ergonomic Elephants

Don't ask.
I don't know.
It just came to me in the way that random
words
pop
with a prompt.
See, I'm a writer.
Words
Pop
Without warning.



Today "E" is for Eclectically Ergonomic Elephants. And if you're wondering which came first, the picture or the words? It was the words. Then I searched for a picture to go with the "E is for ..." because it was too good to pass up. Of course I couldn't find Eclectically Ergonomic Elephants online. So these pictures will have to do. They look like they're in Eclectic stances and they are Elephants and I'm hoping that the large creatures are standing Ergonimically, although I have no idea.


photo from A Step Ahead

Esther the Elephant on tiptoes, reached towards the lowest branch, hoping to pull down something delicious

to eat which she thought she saw dangling within her grasp. If she could get the branch just a little bit closer.

In the distance, Edward the Elephent raised his trunk and called to the herd to come near. There was something important news he'd overheard and it was vital to their well being. Esther listened and stretched a little further and managed to grasp a few leaves and the little twigs to which they were attached. She could smell something. Up there. It was there. The. Something.

"Meeting," Edward bellowed louder and longer, drawing it out so there was no mistaking his intent.

Esther heard others coming near. Some were walking quickly, short bursts of their round feet on the dry hard ground. Some scampering like the smaller beings in the area; proabably the young ones. And some taking their time, not in a hurry.

"The branch," Esther thought. "The - thing."

And a little red round deliciousness dropped to the ground. A few elephants ran past her and Esther let go of the branch, which bobbed a bit and rebounded to rap her lightly on the top of her head. She dipped her head and let her trunk search the ground for the little orb which was losing its glitter in the dust of the called to meeting members of her tribe.

Esther raised her trunk toward her mouth, and slipped the treasure into her pointed mouth. She felt the red juice ooze from the cool roundness as she pressed it to the roof of her mouth with her tongue. She felt it swell to double the size, triple the size, and her mouth filled with the sweet juice and she let it run down her throat and tipped back her head and felt it run clear to her belly. The hurry and scurry around her faded and there was only her and red and juice and the sparkle she had seen previously was now inside her head.

photo from The Daily Galaxy

Edward let out a final shout. Somewhere.

Esther felt the redness fade but there was a glow in her belly. She opened her eyes and there were now golden flecks in the trees, the herd was now covered with silver and steel blue sequins,and the sky was amber and fuschia with ribbons of azure. Her feet glided as if on ice as she walked toward the gathering.

Esther smiled.

Challenge: D is for Dallying

D is for Dallying.

From Merriam-Webster:


1a : to act playfully; especially : to play amorously
  b : to deal lightly : toy
2a : to waste time
  b : linger, dawdle




I chose the above definition of Dally because it's not entirely negative. Most of the available definitions of Dallying take the negative spin, such as this one from Google: Act or move slowly: "workers were loafing, dallying, or goofing off".

But for writers, for artists of any kind I believe, dallying is actually a necessity. I also believe that even the 2a definition above - to waste time - is necessary. Because I don't really believe that it is wasting time.

It is in those moments of moving more slowly in the world, of taking time to notice, or even of staring off into space and letting the world catch your attention with something unexpected or new or even mundane (thanks, gl!) that you might not have otherwise noticed if you weren't sitting there. Wasting time.

Or as authors dallying at the coffee cart, with the hot cup of green tea in your hands, inhaling and letting the warmth spread from your hands to your face, you smile. And you overhear a conversation between two people at the burrito cart behind you. And you know what the character in your story on the screen at your desk is going to say. You head back to it and begin to write.

Or you notice the Grocery Outlet store when you're heading home from an appointment and remember you have to buy some handy item and maybe they have it. Inside you find treasures of foods from places you've never been to, or you thought your friend had made up, or something from the place where your current work in progress takes place. You wander the shelves to see what else there is and find the jumbled products in random order and yet you're compelled to keep looking. And there is a can of ______ something. The thing your protagonist is going to make for dinner and on the back, the label has a recipe for just that thing.

And sometimes, we just have to sit. Or walk without purpose. To slow down. To let our mind rest a little and let the stories percolate while we relax. While we dally.

Dallying. It's not a waste of time. It's time spent getting ready for the next round. Dally a little and see what you might have otherwise missed. Or notice if it makes it a little easier to jump back into your writing or art, or even to get back to the less-than-creative job which pays the bills.

NaNoWriMo Day Twenty Nine

....and I'm a winner! I typed my final words to the 50k mark, which earned me to purple bar of honor as a NaNoWriMo 2011 Winner! My official final word count is 50,231. I doubt I'll do any more on it right now because I have student journals to grade and an assignment due in the Literary Kitchen and feedback to give to last week's assignments in the Kitchen.

...but I did it.

Now what? Will I abandon this story? Will it grow to a fully developed and published novel?

I'm not sure to the last question. But I do know I won't abandon it. I like parts of it; I like parts of it a lot. And I can see this at least being a longer short story (say 20 - 25 pages). And I can see turning it into a full novel. I did not get to the end of the story - but I will. I owe the characters that much.

I am now a four consecutive years NaNoWriMo winner.

It feels good.

Yes, this story will grow into something. I'm confident of that.

#SheWriMo
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quote for writers: "fearless"

Fearless is an interesting word, for in fact, in being fearless you are not without fear, rather you are withstanding fear. You are moving forward in spite of it. Writing a very short story requires a degree of fearlessness, and I think reading one does also. I have deep respect for the very short story for many reasons, perhaps most profoundly for its fearlessness.
--Meredith Pignon

writing contest: New Works Competition

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Richard Hugo House: New Works Competition

As part of the Hugo Literary Series, Richard Hugo House seeks previously unpublished poems, short stories, personal essays or plays, of no more than 1500 words.

The theme is Born in the U.S.A., and the winner will receive $500, publication in City Arts Magazine and an invitation to read at the final Hugo Literary Series event on March 18, 2011 alongside authors Alan Chong Lau, Victor LaValle and Debra Magpie Earling. Entries must be received by January 10, 2011.

The theme: All manuscripts must reflect the theme, Born in the U.S.A., using the prompt below as a jumping point:

Since the birth of our nation, we’ve grappled with the uncomfortable question of who gets to be American and why. My ancestors came over on the Mayflower; yours made the “middle passage” on a slave ship. Your grandparents were interned in a prison camp during WWII; you serve in the U.S. Army today. My older sister can be deported because she was born before our parents crossed the border, but I’m a citizen because I was born here. Our declaration says all men are created equal; our pledge to the flag says we are one nation, indivisible—so why do so many of us still hyphenate our nationality? Whether you were born in Sarah Palin’s “real America,” The Daily Show’s “fake America” or somewhere in between, what does being American mean to you?

Submission Format: Five copies of the manuscript typed, double-spaced, pages numbered, in 12-point standard font. No name of author on entries; include cover page with name, address, phone, email, entry titles and genres. One cover page is sufficient for the five copies of your entry. SASE #10 for notification and SASE with sufficient postage if you would like manuscript returned.

Entry restrictions: The New Works Competitions are only open to residents of Washington state, Oregon, Idaho or Montana.

Entry fee: $10.00.

Submissions may be sent to Richard Hugo House, c/o New Works Competition, 1634 11th Ave, Seattle, WA 98122.

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Oh - I like it!

I did make it to Wordstock for a couple hours. Things have been so busy and I have a play I'm preparing to interpret - but I did give myself a treat and went by the Wordstock Expo for a couple of hours on Sunday. There were some interestng things and, to be honest, probably more interesting things than I had energy to explore. But I was glad I went, even if it was crammed in between script translation work and work-work.

One thing I stumbled across is a prompt website that seems really fun. I need to look into them more - but at the outset, it seems like a good idea. And, yes, I signed up.

It's called "typetrigger." The premise is that they post a new prompt every six hours. So you have six hours to write up a maximum 300 words piece and post it. Fun! Genre doesn't matter.

I just completed my first installment and here's the link - "her conundrum" - not that I need more writing assignments (wink). But maybe this will be a help when it comes to NaNoWriMo. Could be. Get myself stuck for something to write, pop on over and login to Typetrigger, get a prompt and go. Really - 300 words? That's about a fifth of my daily minimum total.

submissions: NPR's Three Minute Stories

The basics:

Round Five Rules:
Your story must begin with the following line: "Some people swore that the house was haunted."

Plus, your story must end with this line: "Nothing was ever the same again after that."

Including these lines, your story must be 600 words or less. One entry per person. Your deadline is 11:59 p.m., EDT, on Sept. 26.

Three-Minute Fiction Round Five Official Rules

For more details, click on over to the NPR website.

The judge is Michael Cunningham.
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workshop: Make Your Story Sing (and Sell):

Make Your Story Sing (and Sell): a workshop with Sage Cohen and Jessica Morrell  

Want to spend a delicious day at one of the most beautiful places on earth, learning how to make your language leap off the page? I'd like to spend that day with you! Let's do it.

The Center for Contemplative Arts, Manzanita, Oregon

October 23, 2010 : 9:30 a.m. - 4:30 p.m.

Visit Writing the Life Poetic, Sage Cohen's blog, for more details.

I attended workshops by each of these women at the Willamette Writers Conference and this should be a powerful and beneficial experience on the Oregon coast. I'll be attending a workshop by Ariel Gore that same weekend, or else I'd see you on the beach!

Short Story Contest

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Just a week left on this one. I stumbled upon it in someone else's blog. A no fee, open topic, open genre (except no erotica) literary fiction contest.

Lady Glamis (Michelle Davidson Argyle) is having a short story contest; below is an overview of the guidelines. Click for the full details , including the prizes.

(1) Contest is open until June 1st.
(2) Open to all genres and subjects except erotica.
(3) Stories up to 7,500 words.
(4) One entry per person.
(5) Email entries to annie.louden [at] gmail [dot] com with SHORT STORY CONTEST and the name of your entry in the subject header. Paste your story into the body of the email, with your name, contact email, word count, and title.
(6) Winners announced on Wednesday June 3oth.
(7) Stories are judged for: quality of prose, creativity, and the ability to engage the reader within 7,500.

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Focus? Focus!

I have a dilemma. Not a bad dilemma, but one all the same. I'm not sure where to focus my writing time.

I often wish I had unlimited writing and editing time - and the financial resources to do that. And sometimes I know that I would then probably be fretting about not enough time to do something else. But a little more time to do my writing would be nice. With the commitments I currently have, I need to hang in here for about another six weeks then - well, we'll see. I need to schedule in more time for writing or leave time for writing. But, for now - this is what I have.

So my time and energy have limits. As much as I've tried to juggle and rearrange and shuffle and double/triple stack my time - it doesn't work for long. I have some acceptance of that now.

And.

I have three books in progress. Well, two in progress and one stalled. And I have short stories out to publications and contests and more to be revised and sent. One poem out and a couple others I could send when I find the right place. But I also enjoy writing the short stories and need more to submit because almost all of the good ones are already out.

What do I do? Where do I focus my writing time? Book? Short stories? The book that the first rough draft is done but needs major revision? The book that the first draft is still in progress? Experiment with poetry forms?

There are other questions. Which will wait for now, while I re-integrate my writing (just as soon as all the student interns and practicum students have their placements!).

prompt and one Flash Fiction definition

From the Internet Writing Workshop, a definition offered for a flash fiction story:

"...A flash story must begin immediately and move quickly toward the end--no long descriptions, no unessential words. The goal is to present a single effect resulting from a single cause. The character(s) must experience and react to events, and the outcome must be swift. ..."

PROMPT: write a flash fiction story from one of the following. Decide whether to use a character sketch, a photo, or words; set a timer for 10 minutes, and write. ... At the end of 10 minutes, take a break. When you come back, revise the story for 30-60 minutes. Then let it marinate overnight and check it in the morning. Repeat as necessary.

[character sketch] blue jeans with a hole in the left rear pocket, faded t-shirt with a scrawled A in a circle on it, blue headband, keen water sandals, safety yellow messenger bag.

OR

[photo]

photo from Zooborns

OR
[words] Through the open window she saw...
.
.
.

character sketch

Before I could even see if the person was male or female. Before I could see the neon green running shoes or the shiny incredibly fake red fur of the hat and the just as equally fake, glowing in its whiteness, fur brim. Before any of that, what I saw through the window of the coffee store, were twinkling tiny Christmas lights, shimmering and glowing as if they were hanging outside in the wind.

But they weren't.

I blinked and looked again. Yes, the lights were moving now. Yes, the lights were surely on a person unless the coffee shop had decided to install and human sized mechanical dancing skinny tree of some kind. Because I couldn't see any branches and the sign behind which the lights were peeking out was too thin for the tree to have any volume at all.

But the glare on the window prevented me from seeing who or what the lights were hanging on and why they were now dancing. I opened my car door, got out, and stepped back to close the door. That was the moment the neon green shoes came in to view. Then a peak of the red hat from over the sign.

A couple people moved closer and I saw blue jeans approach the counter and the barister laughing. As I approached the door, I could see clearly that the laughter was of familiarity and fondness, not fake like the Santa hat or mocking like the evil grinning elf hanging by a thread in the window.

Two young children rushed in the door just ahead of me and ran to her. She laughed with them and talked and then their mother came a few minutes later.

When the woman with lights sat at a table, the children came to her and listened to her stories. Other customers came and went and many of them approached her, greeted her, and listened as she explained her upcoming volunteer gig, or the one she had to turn down, or the friend she was going to deliver a meal to tomorrow.

A not quite jingling presence whom almost everyone seemed to know.

Confidently sitting at the table, working in her pencil puzzle book. sipping coffee and juice. With a smile and a story for every interruption.

Happy to be sitting here in the middle of the comings and goings. Happy to greet another face and know somebody cares.

*prompt for May Day*

for a poem, a collage, a story.

complete the following list. if one takes you in a particular direction, follow.

create.

I am
I wonder
I hear
I see
I want
I am
I pretend
I feel
I touch
I worry
I understand
I say
I dream
I try
I hope
I am