Dad Wrote A Story

My dad wrote a flash fiction piece inspired by the second challenge at Rachel Harrie’s Writer’s Campaign. He doesn’t have a blog so I told him I would post his story on mine.

It's actually quite good.

“Imago? Not Tonight!”

“No, dear brother. Not tonight, not today, not ever,” she said in "the voice" reserved for such times.

His response was spontaneous and predictable. “Why not? It’s in the dictionary, isn’t it?”

“It’s not in my dictionary, nor any dictionary,” was the reply. She knew what was coming next.

“But it is in Papa’s dictionary, and it is a good word,” he pleaded.

She well remembered the dictionary Papa had frequently referenced. Words like lacuna, synchronicity, miasma, and other obscure creations of his imagination. The dictionary they never got to actually see themselves which was stored on the top shelf, just out of reach.

The fire in the stove had burned down somewhat, but the room was uncomfortably warm. The kettle, once full of water, was beginning to make a low noise, a sign it would need to be refilled soon. Outside, the storm dragged on, a harbinger of many more winter nights to come.

The pair sat across the board from one another. Suddenly she grew tired, but staring down at her pieces, she felt the excitement. Starting with the "o" she slowly arranged her pieces downward.

“Oscitate. Double letter, triple word, and out. Just like Papa!” she exclaimed.

NaNoWriMo, Saved By The Bell, and a Giant Cat

My days as an absentee blogger are officially over.

For now, anyway.

Here’s the latest from my neck of the woods:

1) I won a flash fiction contest over at Rachel Harrie’s Writer’s Campaign. I placed twelfth out of 192 entries, which is, apparently, high enough to win a prize. Thanks to everyone who voted for my entry, by the way. It’s an honor.

2) I’m doing my first NaNoWriMo this year. My cousin managed to talk me into it a couple of months ago. My word count isn’t quite where I want it to be, but I’ve got an awesome idea that I can’t stop thinking about (sound familiar?) and I’m good at pumping out words in short amounts of time. I can’t wait to see what I have at the end of November.

3) A good friend of mine stopped by and photographed some drawings for my portfolio. I’m hoping to get them up on the Internet soon and score some new clients.

3) I went to a crafting retreat a few weekends ago outside of the city. A friend of mine, who happens to be an avid scrapbooker/crafter/graphic designer organized the retreat and invited her friends to come out. I’m not a crafter or a scrapbooker, but I figured it would be fun and, as it turns out, I had a great time.

While I was there I had every intention of writing at least 6,000 words for NaNoWriMo, but ended up knitting half a mitten, drawing a still life, and eating more food than I have in the last six months and partaking in more girl talk than a group middle school girls at a slumber party in 1991 arguing Zack vs. Slater.

4) Oh, and I turned 30 yesterday so I’m celebrating by posting a picture of my giant cat.

2nd Campaign Challenge

It's time for the second campaign challenge over at Rachael Harrie's Writer's Platform-Building Campaign.

This one was a doozy, but I enjoyed the challenge.

Rules:

• 200 words exactly, excluding the title: Yes
• Flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous blog musings, or poem: Got it
• Include the word "imago" in the title: Uh huh
• Include miasma, lacuna, oscitate, and synchronicity: Check
• Make reference to a mirror in your post: Done!

                     

The Battle of Imago

His fist ricocheted off the Opponent’s red armor.

The ligaments in his blue arms extended and retracted at lightning speed through the small lacuna of safety between them that flickered with shards of moonlight.

Though they wore the same type of armor, he knew it wasn’t uncommon to be unfairly matched.

For a brief moment, their arms became entangled and their movements mirrored each other in a synchronicity that frightened him.

The Opponent slammed his fist into his face and a wave of pain darted through his neck and skull. He returned the favor with a swift uppercut. The Opponent’s armor rattled and a mechanism in his left arm snapped.

He smiled. The Opponent was weaker.

The Opponent struggled to maintain his stance and faltered. Through the miasma of aggression he saw an opportunity and drove his fist straight into the Opponent’s jaw, causing his head to oscitate from his shoulders and pop into the air.

Before he could celebrate his victory he felt his body rise into the air and float some distance before settling on a shelf.

“If you ever want to see your Rock’em Sock’em again, you boys better turn the lights out and go to bed!”

                       

If you liked my story take a moment to swing on over to the list of entries and vote for me (#53).

1st Campaign Challenge

The first challenge for Rachael Harrie’s Writers’ Platform-building Campaign has been posted! If you aren’t participating in the campaign (have no fear!) you can sign up for the next campaign at Rach Writes next February.

Here are the challenge rules:

"Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “The door swung open” These four words will be included in the word count.

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), use the same beginning words and end with the words: "the door swung shut." (also included in the word count)

For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!"

And now for the good stuff:

Pappy’s Fiddle

The door swung open and a tall gray-bearded man stepped over the threshold.

“Pappy!” the children screamed. They leapt from the floor and gathered around him, hugging his legs, and smiling up at him.

“Well, I declare!”

Pappy shut the door and sat his case on the floor, then hugged them back.

A child, slightly older than the rest, stayed hidden in the shadows. He crossed his arms and watched the old man as he put the smaller children on his knees and bounced them and laughed as they pulled his beard and tugged his ears.

“Pappy, play us a tune!”

“Well, alright.” He sat the children down and pulled a fiddle out of his case.

The boy in the shadows frowned, then went to the door and pulled it open.

“Son, you’ll wanna stay for this,” Pappy said to him.

Pappy’s bow hit the strings and the boy froze. Notes leapt from the fiddle, filling the room with musical honey, and the children fell into silence and stared at Pappy’s fiddle in awe.

Goose bumps formed on the boy’s arms and, unable to control his reflexes, he smiled, then let go of the handle and the door swung shut.

If you like my short story swing on over the Rach’s blog where you can read tons of other stories like mine. (Tons of other stories may be an understatement.) I'm #292 by the way.