Thursday, March 22, 2012

Flash Fiction #15

Below is an adapted hundred word clip from my full length work in progress.  I decided it was time to share it with the world.  It's reaching completion, so the next step would be to send out a few query letters.  Maybe.  We'll see.  

Presenting, this week's Flash Fiction chunked out of my yet to be titled...dare I say it...novel.  Enjoy...or not.  I'd love to hear what you think.

The stench of menthol cigarettes still lingered though Christine knew the man had moved on long ago.  If he found her, she would be dead too.  But he hadn’t.  Yet.  He’d been pursuing her all day, and she had managed to evade him once again. 

Exhausted, she would spend the night here, protected by the thick brush. She needed sleep…and a plan.   He had caught her off-guard earlier today, but now it was time to play her ace – to draw upon all she learned during her time at the military’s elite SERE survival school. 
Tomorrow morning, flight would become fight. 

See for the weekly photo prompt.  Read what the #FridayFictioneers have to offer on her blog and on Twitter!  

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Flash Fiction #14

Bud and I were at the Willow Drive address.  “Sheeet,” he said.  “Look at all this crap!” 

“The bank said get it done today. Quit your bitchin and start loadin,” I told him.

Bud kicked a pile of tires but began heaving busted toys and bags of trash into the truck. 

“Stupid, lazy sons a bitches. Three washers? Who has three washers, Jim?!  I can’t believe they moved and left all their junk!  Nothing but junk,” he griped.

I sighed.  Bud complained a lot, but he was a good worker. 

“Jim,” I heard his voice soften. “Better come see this...”

We have an 11 year-old black lab we rescued this summer.  Her family owned her since she was a pup and decided they wanted to travel and “didn’t have time for a dog anymore” or so it said on her paperwork.  An inside dog, she’d been left out in the backyard for weeks before they finally took her to the pound (better than just letting her loose, I guess).  Her situation broke our hearts, so we recycled her.  Here’s my Mindy with her rescue brother PeeWee:

One man’s trash is another man’s best friend… 

See for the weekly photo prompt.  Read what the #FridayFictioneers have to offer on her blog and on Twitter! 

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Flash Fiction #13

Maggie and her beaux were kissing far away under the willow tree. She told on me cause I spied on them and I got paddled.  I wiped my tears and giggled.  She didn’t know I could still see them from my hidey-hole under the porch.  
These wasps would make Maggie cry when she opened her dresser.
My hands got too excited, and I squished the nest.  They all poured out.  Their stingers got me everywhere.  My skin was fire.  I screamed and screamed but no one heard.  Finally my throat wouldn’t let anymore screams out but it didn’t hurt anymore.       

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Flash Fiction #12

Jacque had been three days without food and a month without bathing.  He could not remember when he’d last slept, nor did he care.  These had ceased to be important.

Finding the first blood-hued ruby had been an accident, the second ecstasy, the third and final had merely stoked the already blazing obsession.
“Hi ho, hi ho, hi ho hum,” he sang to himself.  “Dig dig dig dig, dig dig dig...”

Clothes long turned to rags, pickax to splinters, mind to madness, Jacque painted with red as he scraped at the ground with torn nubs in search of number four. 

Join us!  See for the weekly photo prompt.  Read what the #FridayFictioneers have to offer on her blog and on Twitter!


Sometimes I have a hard time getting into the writing groove and am fascinated at the range of ridiculous things I find myself doing instead of working on my novel.  Yesterday was amazing – I had a full five hours of productive prose.  Today – not so much.  I have the computer on and the document in the forefront but keep finding myself puttering away at this and that – anything and everything but writing.
A few moments ago I was standing at the sink peeling labels off a glass bottle destined for the recycle bin.  This completely pointless task is not even required by the recycle center.  It was then that I realized I must be desperate to avoid sitting down at my desk. 

I’ve been downstairs countless times to check on the fire in the wood burning stove even though it’s been fine every time.  I put all twenty of the dog toys back in the box even though the dogs take them right back out again.  I did an oddball load of laundry – you know, the stuff that lingers at the bottom of the hamper for months, even years.  I put my cookbooks in food style order and cleaned dog nose prints off the picture windows (even though, again, new ones will be back momentarily).

I pacify myself with the knowledge that sometimes the words flow off my fingers with nearly no effort, but when I struggle to put what’s in my mind onto the paper, the end result seems forced.
Maybe today wasn’t supposed to be a writing day.  Maybe I got started too late.  Maybe cleaning the grout around the sink and reorganizing the pantry really was more important. 

How do you stay focused when you’ve lost your focus?