Got Flash?

[annaswirls]

Flash fiction.

I am trying to try it.




Okay I want to try flash fiction and I cannot get myself independently motivated. I am a literary exhibitionist I guess. So I figured I would passion my flash here, maybe it would get my ass in gear.

So come here to:

Write flash fiction.
Tell me what flash fiction is (besides more popular than poetry)
Teach me teach me teach me. I mean us.
Anything flash. Please.
Here.

 

[annaswirls]

Slumber Party-edit

I do not have a gagging reflex problem. But somehow I wind up with a bottle of "good head" mint flavored anti-gag potion tucked discreetly into a pink plastic bag, which happens to be perfect for hanging on your cigarette lighter as a trash bag for later.

It was a pretty enough dress, but I could not stop thinking about her thighs as she passed us glow in the dark penis candles and key chains, fuzzy handcuffs and other cheap novice novelties. In this Southern heat must have a serious rub rash between those thighs, I can imagine there is no space between them, and baby powder or not, friction happens.

"They all have faces on them, because in China you can't sell things that look like real penises." I am mesmerized by the red smiling face that jiggles while he reels and lurches in 14 different modes each with its own signature LED light pattern.

I have no desire to become married to the gyrating China man, but I do confess to being hypnotized but this miracle of modern science until Janice passes me the little blue dolphin. Clarify: an angry blue dolphin whose motor is growling for my attention. "The tip of your nose has the same sensitivity as your door bell, so you can test him out."

"Door bell" three women shout and raise their hand. Janice throws them the hide a vibe pillow in our game of modified hot potato.

The dolphin gets a turn with my nose. "This is nowhere near the sensitivity of my clit!" I forgot I was talking. I forgot to call it my doorbell.

"Another Mint Julep?" Yes, please.

I call "Romeo" when the consultant gives Janice and I the choice. She has me finger fuck the hole in Juliet's clenched hand. I am transformed into a 7th grade boy as I try to wedge my finger in this carnal reenactment. Let me in Juliet! Then with the magic of Astroglide repackaged in a pretty pink bottle, my digit slips effortlessly into the tight grasp and I feel all of the tension slide down my back and onto the chair until I realize that I am still fucking Juliet’s fist while the housewife sex consultant continues to pass around the fashion lube us that we too, can have a penis slide right up our ass in style... Damn! I mean back door. No prize for me.

Presenting magic jars of potions, snake oil hustler tells us to pick our poison, hot or cold? "Oh surprise me" I say and she hands me a Q-tip dipped in doorbell polish. The bathroom is occupied. I sneak into Janice's daughter’s glitter ridden bedroom to slip the Q-tip under my skirt and twirl it around my clit. I am pretty sure this is not normal.

"Ooh! I feel like my pussy just ate a York Peppermint Patty!" one of the neighborhood women shouts. Truth is, I cannot tell if I got the burn or the freeze, as all my door bell and I are interested in right now is the all but naked Janice in the stretch lace bodice coming down the stairs in her self-proclaimed whore boots. Great, now every time I see Andy his face will be buried under the lime green magic stretch lace. I will have to restrain myself from shoving him aside with a "My turn bitch!" Suddenly the bourbon and the nipple lotion kick in and I am buzzing like an angry dolphin, so distracted I wind up dropping "Good Head" in my pink bag with other products I do not need. Except the dolphin. Everyone needs a good dolphin.

 

[CharleyH]

I do not have a gagging reflex problem and I am not in denial. But somehow I wind up with a bottle of "good head" mint flavored anti-gag potion tucked descreetly into a pink plastic bag, perfect for hanging on your cigarette lighter as a trash bag for later.

It was a pretty enough dress, but I could not stop thinking about her thighs. How they must have a serious rub rash between them, with this heat, and truely there is no space between them, baby powder or not there has to be quite a bit of friction there. "They all have faces on them, because in China you can't sell things that look like real penises." I am mesmorized by the red smiling face that jiggles while he reels in 14 different modes each with its own signature LED light pattern.

I have no intention of sticking the gyrating China man anywhere, but I am hypnotized... until Janice next to me passes me a little blue dolphin. An angry blue dolphin whose motor is growling at me to take my turn with its power. "The tip of your nose has the same sensitivity as your door bell, so you can test him out." "Door bell" three women shout and raise their hand. Janice throws them the hide a vibe pillow in our game of modified hot potato.

The dolphin gets a turn with my nose. "This is nowhere near the sensitivity of my clit!" I forgot I was talking. And I forgot to call it my doorbell. Mint Julip? Yes.

I call "Romeo" when the consultant gives Janice and I the choice. She has me finger fuck the hole in her clenched hand. Then with the magic of Astroglide repackaged in a pretty pink bottle, shows us that we too, can have a penis slide right up our ass... oop, I mean back door. No prize for me.


Magic jars of potions, pick your poison, you want it hot, or cold? "Oh surprise me" I say and she hands me a q-tip dipped in some doorbell polish. The bathroom is occupied, so I sneak into Janice's daughters bedroom to slip under my skirt. This is not normal.

"Ooh! I feel like my pussy just ate a York Peppermint Patty!" one of the neighborhood women shouts. Truth is, I cannot tell if I got the burn or the freeze, which is to say nothing for the product. All my door bell and I are interested in right now is Janice in the stretch lace lime green bodice coming down the stairs in her whore boots of the same color. Suddenly the burbon and the nipple lotion kick in and I am buzzing like an angry dolphin. He is coming home with me.

Is this it? I will read and PM in a blink My 2 day turnover blink

 

[annaswirls]

Is this it? I will read and PM in a blink

lol yeah, that's it

yeah I am telling you I don't know what it is.

I just passioned this out so certainly it must suck on many different levels

Damn you are fast!

 

[ruminator]

anna...that was hilariously erotic. I'm going to be a big fan and/or contributer to this form. I just may not be very good at first.

Here's one I wrote for fun a few moths ago and haven't done anything with it yet. Thanks to EB for the volunteered edit. It may be fun or bomb, but what the hell. If this is nothing in the realm and you need it deleted, just let me know.

So I'm laying my sub...

...and it dawns on me how much I appreciate and depend on her.
Smoothly flowing near effortless cooperation we achieve.
It's such a pleasure to guide her gently but firmly.

I get a bit pissed when I hear remarks about her age but she's in remarkable shape for being older than I am.
Still firm but her joints creak a bit from time to time....*grin*... then again, so do mine.

It was hot here this afternoon. Not real humid, but still hot.
Maybe she takes the heat better than I do because she rarely complains.
Being alone in the empty house I stripped off my shirt to get comfortable and we began.

The comfortable ease of our movements together must be what got me thinking about this appreciation.
She's so loyal and faithfull in meeting my needs that words fail to express my gratitude.
She seems to sense this, judging by her responsiveness.

Led Zeppelin was bouncing off the walls in a 3 in a row selection mix and that's always a good thing.

These are the seasons of emotion and like the winds they rise and fall
This is the wonder of devotion - I see the torch we all must hold.
This is the mystery of the quotient - Upon us all a little rain must fall.

...the notes were ringing in and out of my head.
As our interlude progressed to something more intense,
the rising heat started wrapping around me as well...

Sometimes our trysts together are rather 'routine' but always satisfying.
This afternoon I must've been more aware of her knowing movements.
Her rhythm was matching what I decided as she let my hands control her.

She was responding to each thrust of mine by bouncing back to me.
She didn't rush ahead of me.
Instead, she obediently waited for my driving force until her actions were appropriate.

*bam*.........bounce.........sl-i-i-i-iide
hmmm...this so nice, I'm thinking...
*bam*.........bounce.........sl-i-i-i-iide
*bam*.........bounce.........sl-i-i-i-iide

Drops of sweat begin to gather, then run down my chest and back

*bam*.........bounce.........sl-i-i-i-iide

She feels so good in my hands; so eager to please me.
I can feel her picking up the pace ahead of me but I just match it rather than ruin the moment.

*bam*...bounce.sl-i-i-i-iide....
...*bam*........bounce..sl-i-i-i-iide...
..*bam*...bounce.........sl-i-i-i-iide...
.....*bam*...bounce..sl-i-i-i-iide

My knees are starting to ache, rubbed raw by the back and forth motion on the floor.
She won't let me slow down to give them a break.....



*bam*...........bounce.....
...*bam*...........bounce........
...........*bam*.....
......bounce........BAM.....*bounce..
.BAM.....*bounce...BAM.....*bounce...
...BAM.....*bounce...

Gasping for air and now trying to keep up with her.........

BAM.....*bounce.......

My thrusts were moving her across the floor and she was faithfully responding to each one.....
The burning pain in my knees was giving way to burning exhaustion in other areas of my body.
The heat was unbearable and the pace relentless.

....BAM.....*bounce......BAM.....*bounce...
...BAM.....*bounce..

....the levee was about to break, I could hear.

Now,...I'll try to explain, with words, what happened next.
It's like working out or holding a heavy weight.
The first reactions of the body are an enjoyable challenge to the muscles.
This builds in intensity to a mix of pleasure and pain
as the strained fibers begin to give way to the weight being held......

....BAM.....*bounce......BAM.....*bounce..

I could see the finish but I knew I would never last to that point.
My legs ached, my shoulders and arms were trembling and my stamina was dwindling........

BAM.....*bounce.......
my grip on holding out was slipping........
BAM.....*bounce.......
panting furiously, trying to catch my breath.....muscles screaming
....and then I let go in exhaustion and relief...

....BAM.....*bounce......*bounce*...bam.....*bounce*.
..bam..
.*BOUNCE*...bam.......she had taken
over......*BOUNCE*...bam.....
..she was going to make sure we finished

I fed on her energy and thrust back in response, the best I could, anyway.
I was too busy concentrating on the pleasure/pain of my muscles being consumed by fire.....
I gave up and gave in......*BOUNCE*...bam.......she did the reast.....
*BOUNCE*...bam.....*BOUNCE*...bam.....
milking the last ounce of strength from my body to continue......
*BOUNCE*...bam.....
until we were done
...*BOUNCE*...bam......
....*BOUNCE*...bam........*BOUNCE*...bam...............


I collapsed on the floor and still held her in my trembling hands.
She lay motionless beside me; the heat from her radiating toward me.
I knew my knees were bleeding from scraping across the bare wood floor.
It wasn't the wetness because everything was soaked.
It was the searing pain there and pulsing throughout my entire body.
I couldn't move my arms. I lay there gulping for air as the last waves trickled out of me.

Eventually, I attempted to gather myself and figure out what to do next.
The entire week was looking forward to this afternoon's plans.
I was spent and content.
There was nothing that could possibly follow this.

*sigh*.....Maybe one day I might buy an air driven nail gun to replace the one I lost,
but now that I've renewed my long term relationship with my 'ole mallet driven cleat nailer,
maybe not. She's very special.

*grin*

Oh yeah, the sub-floor is done and I'm ready to lay the tile.
Damn!,.... how I love home improvement and construction.

 

[annaswirls]

Flash fiction,

also called sudden fiction, micro fiction, postcard fiction or short-short fiction, is a class of short story of limited word length. Definitions differ but is generally accepted that flash fiction stories are 300 to 1000 words in length. Traditional short stories are 3,000 to 10,000 words in length.


~~~


Writing Flash Fiction
By G. W. Thomas


With the advent of the Internet, editors are looking for shorter works, more easily read on a computer screen. The current term is "flash fiction", a tale between 300-1000 words long. Longer than micro-fiction (10-300 words) but shorter than traditional short stories (3000-5000 words preferred by most magazines), flash fiction is usually a story of a single act, sometimes the culmination of several unwritten events.

This article will offer several strategies for writing flash fiction. Used by themselves or in combination, the writer can focus their story to that brief, interesting event.

1) The small idea

Look for the smaller ideas in larger ones. To discuss the complex interrelationship of parents and children you'd need a novel. Go for a smaller piece of that complex issue. How kids feel when they aren't included in a conversation. What kids do when they are bored in the car. Middle child. Bad report card. Find a smaller topic and build on it.

2) Bury the preamble in the opening

When you write your story, don't take two pages to explain all the pre-story. Find a way to set it all in the first paragraph, then get on with the rest of the tale.

3) Start in the middle of the action

Similar to #2, start the story in the middle of the action. A man is running. A bomb is about to go off. A monster is in the house. Don't describe any more than you have to. The reader can fill in some of the blanks.

4) Focus on one powerful image

Find one powerful image to focus your story on. A war-torn street. An alien sunset. They say a picture worth a thousand words. Paint a picture
with words. It doesn't hurt to have something happen inside that picture. It is a story after all.

5) Make the reader guess until the end

A little mystery goes a long way. Your reader may have no idea what is going on for the majority of the story. This will lure them on to the end. When they finish, there should be a good pay off or solution.

6) Use allusive references

By using references to a commonly known story you can save yourself all those unnecessary words. Refer to historical events. Use famous situations from literature. If the story takes place on the Titanic you won't have to explain what is going to happen, who is there or much of anything. History and James Cameron have already done it for you. Beware of using material that is too obscure. Your reader should be able to make the inferences.

7) Use a twist

Like #5, the twist ending allows the writer to pack some punch at the end of the story. Flash fiction is often twist-ending fiction because
you don't have enough time to build up sympathetic characters and show how a long, devastating plot has affected them. Like a good joke, flash fiction is often streamlined to the punch-line at the end.

Let's look at these techniques in my story "Road Test". I wanted to write a story about taking my driving exam. I didn't mention the pre-test or practicing. Just the test. (#1 THE SMALL IDEA) This narrows our subject down to a manageable scene.

I didn't have room to describe the driving examiner in detail. I set my main character in two sentences.(#2 BURY THE PREAMBLE) "The man in the government-issued suit sat down without looking at the person across from him. We've established the main character and his chief flaws. (He's mediocre and probably hates his job.)

I started in the middle of the action by having the driver very quickly go from good driving to dangerous driving. Johnson, the driving examiner
realizes the driver is not human but goat-headed (#3 START IN THE MIDDLE). "He had changed. The beard was longer, the skin darker and two large curved horns crowned his skull." This creates tension and has created an image: a man trapped in a speeding car with a monster (#4 A POWERFUL IMAGE). It pushes the reader on because they want to know what will happen next, maybe why is it happening? We won't tell them until the end (#5 KEEP THEM GUESSING).

The monster keeps yelling the same word, "Pooka!" Johnson begins to understand. He knows the old fairy stories about the Pooka, about how they pretended to be horses so they could drown their victims. (#6 ALLUSION)

Now is the time for resolution, our great twist ending that no one sees coming (#7 TWIST ENDING). As the monster crashes the car into a pond, Johnson realizes a modern-day Pooka wouldn't look like a horse, but would use a car. The car crashes and we finish with: "They would die, only Johnson would live long enough to feel those large goatish teeth chewing the flesh from his bones. The souped-up V8 hit the slick surface
of the pond like a fist into jello. Windshield collapsed under tons of water, washing away the high, shrill laughter of the driver."

"Road Test" clocks in at 634 words. It is essentially a man gets killed by a monster story, but the crux of the idea is "How would mythological creatures adapt to the modern world?" This is really the small idea. The allusions to the Pooka will work for some, but I gave enough explanation to help those that don't know about the old stories.

This example story was chosen because it illustrated all 7 methods. Using only one in a flash story can be enough. Writing flash fiction is a great way for writers to write everyday, even when larger projects seem to daunting or they are pressed for time. Using these short cuts can have you writing in minutes.

-----------------------------------------
G. W. Thomas has appeared in over 100 different books and magazines. His micro story "Nano-Hunk" won the Zine Guild Award for Best SF Micro Fiction 2000. He edits E-GENRE WEEKLY: The FREE Newsletter of Genre E-Publishing at
http://e-genre.tripod.com/index.html



oh damn I don't think I did any of that!

 

[annaswirls]

anna...that was hilariously erotic. I'm going to be a big fan and/or contributer to this form. I just may not be very good at first.[/i]

groan! you sure got me!

I am one of those people who does not like to be tricked (it happens all the time, I am so gullible) so this one will have to sit with me while I reassure myself that I am not an idiot.



Seems like you followed many of the seven things laid out in the article, certainly the twist in the end!

groan.​

 

[ruminator]

groan! you sure got me!

I am one of those people who does not like to be tricked (it happens all the time, I am so gullible) so this one will have to sit with me while I reassure myself that I am not an idiot.



Seems like you followed many of the seven things laid out in the article, certainly the twist in the end!

groan.​

I just love to elicit a groan from any of my thoughts but I try for a slightly different type.

Should regular stories not have the twist at the end? How about poetry with a punchline? Is that wrong or unappreciated?



Was it in any way, fun?

 

[champagne1982]

She bent over to look in the cabinet under the sink. Grabbing at the hose, her knuckles whitened as she gripped it and gave a shake. Fuckin' trash disposal! It was always clogging on something or other.
Straightening, she turned slowly to the broom closet. There's always the reliable jam clearing method of 'put-a-stick-in-it' and, of course, she was ready to try anything about now.
The local plumber wouldn't understand why she had to put that particular cut of meat down the drain. It wasn't bad-- well, bad business but not bad rotten. Harold would definitely get a little angry about it. So, clearing the drain was Theresa's only option here.
Why wasn't he awake? Teri blinked and looked around her. The knife block was lying on its side on the counter. Why?
She shook her head, that annoying buzz was back. What the fuck? That chair shouldn't be upended. Dammit, that stain looks horrible, smeared right along the hall like that.
Teri closed her eyes as she moved down the hall, her fingers sensitive to the cool surface of the drywall. Is someone hurt? A flash went off behind her eyes, searing her retina. That buzz! Stop it! Her fist smacked the door jamb as she came to their bedroom.
Open your eyes!
No, I don't wanna see!
She opened her eyes and looked at the red on her hands then snapped them shut again. What in hell?
Fuck me, that buzz.
Harold? Harold. Sweet Christ.
Harold's and Teri's daughter came home.
The plumber wasn't needed, that nasty clog in the disposal washed right down the drain.
Teri had made a good start on getting rid of the body, but she'd forgotten to use the meat grinder first. Things went smoother after her daughter started to take care of Daddy.

 

[annaswirls]

omg you are a sick puppy, Champ!


The last line was very cool!
what a dedicated daughter

 

[wildsweetone]

annaswirls, check out the Snippettsville Group. Lots and lots of 600 word stories in there that are complete stories within themselves.

Also:

Three hundred word stories

and

Lust and Murder in Small Town X

I learnt a great deal by writing to these short short's word counts.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Here is one I wrote a couple of months ago, exactly 400 words. I loved the experience - the process is remarkably closer to writing poetry than to writing a longer story or a novel(la) - and plan to explore this format a lot more often, so thanks for that article, Anna!

Oh - I talked to Laurel about this, two or three weeks ago, and she's considering the possibility of having a new category for flash fiction.

Bar Italia

And this was back in the days when we treaded down Frith Street, carefully avoiding the yellow sodium light of the malevolent wrought iron streetlamps, slouched for hours on burgundy velour sofas in a corner of Bar Italia, and got drunk on lukewarm chocolate milk with two sugars. Outside the windowpanes, tourists stopped in astonishment to see the place of which they had heard so many tales, and we could read their minds, occasionally their lips - so, was that it? - and then they walked right on past. We laughed. From time to time, someone pretending to be the last remaining mod in Soho rolled in on a golden 1958 Lambretta LI Special and had a cimbalino at the counter, side-laced black vinyl oxfords propped up on the chromium-plated surface of the swivel barstool's structure.

Night after night, I'm not quite sure if before or after I got drunk, the same dark-haired blue-eyed girl would be there across the room, half-sitting, half-kneeling on burgundy sofas, talking to the people around her, inconspicuously watching me while I pretended not to notice the comfortable, confident way she curled the right leg under her skirt and slid the calf across her pussy. A discontinuous carousel of smoke and silhouettes curtained us off - hordes of boys wearing monkey jackets, pea coats and black-and-white bowling shoes, swarms of girls with fur-trimmed parkas and paisley scarves - swirling in slow motion in the space between us. She was beautiful and exhausted, her skin pale, her cool existence intermittent but confirmed and multiplied to infinity by wall-to-wall mirrors behind her.

If I acknowledged her inconspicuous gaze, no longer would I be her infallible prophet.

And so I didn't.

And so she talked to the people around her as her fingers traced the contours of her slight frame, as she took a sip off her chocolate milk, so that she could see me better. She would laugh, she would smile, her distant words drowned by The Small Faces as they dripped and spiralled across the crowded room. Her lips lingered above the smooth surface of the glass, as people walked past.

The same thing happened to me, drunk with an empty glass of chocolate milk in my hand. Someone sat by my side and I laughed, and smiled, and talked, so that I could see her better.

It sucks being a prophet.​

 

[Angeline]

See eagleyez's thread I've had this idea.... He's combining the literary tradition of palimsest with flash fiction.

He's so smart.

 

[ruminator]

I have no idea how many words are here.

It was revealingly hard to avoid looking in her direction. Long twirls of auburn hair spinning like dancers around her eyes. Windswept hair catches my eye as fast as long bare legs do. Such a pleasure to wander in between the two while exploring her in a visual stroll. I had to move quickly to keep up with her while not drawing too much unwanted attention. Surreptitious situation enhancing this mounting excitement.



One long slender, calf tightened, nail polished, sun tinged light brown leg escaping from a breeze blown skirt. Fully extended with no hint of letting up any time soon....almost close enough to see her thigh muscles twitch from the sustained strain...have to get a little closer...my body stretches upright as far as possible, matching her thighs current state, making myself taller to have more of her,...right now,...this moment will be gone too soon.

As addictive as the sight of attractive legs is the fantasy inspiring space between them...close together where barely a sunray could squeeze through...spread slightly apart in a relaxed, open posture...one up, one down from a spontaneous wandering combining daydreaming with the refreshing lengthening of bored muscles...the space that always calls my name, my mind, my eyes.

I felt the strangest sensations from the unexpected sight of catching her wiggling her color tipped toes in the rushing wind the way most drum fingers in impatience. Foot flattened to the left, scrunching that long mouth watering leg tight against her barely covered breast. The compact position has her knee so close to her lips she could reach out with a soft teasing tongue lick...I would if I were close enough...fill the space with creative suggestions...mind moving between her thighs and upward, following the path of the wind, under her windblown skirt, pushing her restless fingers with my thoughts, along the muscles twitches, nails dipping beneath the glistening white glimpse of fabric stretched at the confluence of space, leg and desire.

She glanced my way, passing over me as if I didn't exist, much as one glances at a random tree when passing at high speed, at first, then the double-take glance back again that silently shouts the object of my visions....she knows now....her hand moving lower as fingers follow in disappearing, squirming, reception...she turns, smiles, winks and seductively sucks the wet finger that momentarily reappeared ...her rigid leg extended longer now, back slightly arched from the momentum....and she's gone.

I can only hope for a stoplight up ahead.

 

[bluerains]

I started this one long while back..

its still a work in progress though..those long writes are a bitch...



DIGITAL ANGEL *
R U SLEEPING MR. X..
in ur minds shallow revoling
chemera
u know
THAT HOLLOW space U replaced with a soul
I know ur home
do I still haunt U Mr. X
as I fade into ur perpetual shadowed shelter
does a candle still flicker
BENEATH those EMPTY SHEETS
I heard a yes MR. X
U BETRAY SECRETS U HIDE IN WORDS
UNSPOKEN
BUT I KNOW WHO U R....
U FALLEN STAR
U FELL BENEATH THE CURTain OF DESIRE
SATURATING YOUR WINGS IN my FLAME
R U TO BLAME MR. X
OR WAS IT my OPTICAL ILLUSION
SEARING ur BRAIN
ur CLONE OF LIGHT HIDDEN
WITHIN DENIAL OVERLAPPING
REALITY OF THE PERFECT
LOVE DEPRAVED
NOW a SILHOUETTE OF SHAME
U MUST EXIST IN THE COMPANY
OF DIGITAL ANGELS
IN A SHALLOW GRAVE
OF HUMAN where I keep you
my slave...
R U AWAKE YET MR. X

was a fantasy short one...maybe I'll finish it ..here...

 

[eagleyez]

We passed thru the painted desert at dawn, eastward towards the atlantic. Crossed Arizona riding 2 vehicles, old Barracuda and truck hauling PA gear and cased up instruments and drum hardware. I-40 all the way to a Mississipi right turn, then farther south. At midnite, just west of Albequerque, the Cuda had a rear wheel brake-fire. Pulled over, mountains like shadows in the badlands on Navajo reservation land. 10 miles into the first truck stop, we explained the car was back on the side of the easement, the road that cut like torn up railroad America thru foreign country.

"We need a wrecker to haul the car in, buddy." He just spit in a chew cup and laughed. "Your car is gone boys," he said with a grin.

Me and Bob took a nap in thunderstorm 2AM while JJ went with the tow truck man to get his first car, 18 year old, leftie drummer out of the house for the first time.

"Its gone, my car is gone." He chainsmoked and lamented his cymbals and clothing were gone too. We woke in a silver dollar night rainstorm, Union 76 sign twinkling and the station man laughing. "Told you boys, for a case of beer some young bucks went down and chained that car up and dragged it up where no-one is ever going to find it. Ten minutes after you left it."

At dawn, we gave it up and headed for Holly City. We laughed uproriously, tossed the police report in the glovebox and wondered what the fuck would come next. Turned out to be a nap in the Texas panhandle, then east into Arkansas, thru to Nashville at dawn. Right turn.

 

[BooMerengue]

Yesterday I passed...

Yesterday I passed through a small one horse town. That should have been the end to this tale cuz there sure ain't a whole lot there! Well, theres one less of a whole lot now!

I had to pump my own gas which was okay it bein a nice day. I had thrown an old tarp in the truck bed and tho it was a perfectly calm day I saw that old tarp move! Not usually a suspicious person I lifted the cover and there laid the prettiest girl I had ever seen in these parts- or any other parts, to be totally honest!

Well I was pretty cool. I finished pumping my gas, walked inside and paid for it, went back out and got in the truck and pulled off. Never uttered a word. About 2 blocks farther on I pulled in to Hannah's Diner, stepped out the truck and just walked inside. Hannah, the owner, brought me a menu but never opened it cuz she knew I only wanted coffee and cuz she was watching an apparition crawl over my tailgate.

Now, I'm not one to go long winded over anyone's looks, but godalmightydam this girl was something! She stood about 5'8" in her boots, long legs wrapped in snug denim and a man's shirt tied over a chest that shoulda been on a WW2 bomber. I didn't know I'd been holding my breath til I looked at her face and let it all out in a big whoosh like I'd been punched. Tousled flaxen hair in a loose pony tail framed a face straight from a valentine's card. Heart shaped lips, a cute button nose and eyes like a wounded deer. I told Hannah I thought I might need the menu.

Sure enough, the goddess came in and sat down like she belonged there. After perusing the menu and ordering a breakfast too big for most loggers, she settled back with her Cherry Pepsi and studied me. I squirmed a little, but only for a minute cuz once she started talking I was plumb mesmerized!

"My name is Doreen, but you can call me Desiree cuz that's the name I'm gonna use when I get to New York and get hired as a dancer in a Broadway show. Oh I know… everyone laughs when I say that, but I know it's true cuz my Uncle Jake who isn't really my uncle said I was better than any dancer he'd ever seen and he's seen 'em all since he spent a lot of time in New York when he was in the Navy.

Ya see, Uncle Jake is one of the new writers staying in Snippetsville looking for enlightenment. He taught me all the important moves of dance. I mean I knew the steps and all but he said I needed the emotions… the kind you can only get from bein in love and havin sex and stuff like that. So of course he showed me all about those emotions and I wasn't too keen on it but he insisted and well you know how it is with some guys- they just don't hear the word No no matter how loud you say it.

Well I just figured I better learn all I could about emotions so I hitched up here last night and found Jake and I studied him real hard as I watched him fall over from being knifed in the back. Man! That's gonna be a hard thing to pretend you know?"

14 hours later and she's still under the tarp and we're goin east. To New York.

 

[WickedEve]

So I'm laying my sub...
...
Oh yeah, the sub-floor is done and I'm ready to lay the tile.
Damn!,.... how I love home improvement and construction.

All this time, I thought sex was what I wanted, but I all I really need is home improvement and construction.

 

[WickedEve]

Green Meat
inspired by true, southern stories, and therefore you may want to skip it if you're familiar with some of my southern writings, and may have been offended in the past.


Squint had his mind, not a powerful mind at that, set on a homecomin' for his Boy. Boy knifed Bastard back fourteen years ago. I can still recollect those years now gone over yonder. Doc sewed shut Bastard's belly, but in no time he was smellin' up his death bed with that gangrene he done gone and got himself. He died one night. Died soon and died angry. Oh, gives me powerful shivers when Doc tells 'bout how he held down Bastard--and Bastard was a mighty, colored man. To hear tell, Bastard's eyes fixed on his gut and he started yelling, "Green meat! Mercy, Lord! I got green meat!"

Boy served fourteen years--poor white trash, eatin' better up there in state penitentiary. But Squint was gonna show Boy how well-to-do he done got and fix Boy some fine vittles. He called down the kin from the holler, and they came with banjos and bare feet and good hearts. They slept there on the front porch and on patches of grass, waitin' for the homecomin'. And early that day, Squint made his way to the general store. He knew Old Man would throw the meat out that mornin'. He'd be all sly 'bout it and walk by like he didn't pay no mind to the goin' ons of such things. But he'd get him some of that store-bought meat and not pay a dime for it. His Boy was gonna have a homecomin'.

Now, we all know 'bout Old Man's meat. He'd soak a piece in saltwater pert' near all night and day and night again, till it was fit for showin'. If nobody bought it, he'd keep it longer, then throw it out back in the cans by the track. Old Man knew poor, colored folk and whites alike would gather like crows 'round those cans, pickin' at the green, sliminess. Way it's always been. Squint threw a heap into a sack and toted it back home for Boy. And Boy was there waitin' for his homecomin'.

Well, better be gettin' my shoes on. Wouldn't be proper now for me to be showin' up at Boy's funeral with no shoes.

 

[flyguy69]

Green Meat
inspired by true, southern stories, and therefore you may want to skip it if you're familiar with some of my southern writings, and may have been offended in the past.


Squint had his mind, not a powerful mind at that, set on a homecomin' for his Boy. Boy knifed Bastard back fourteen years ago. I can still recollect those years now gone over yonder. Doc sewed shut Bastard's belly, but in no time he was smellin' up his death bed with that gangrene he done gone and got himself. He died one night. Died soon and died angry. Oh, gives me powerful shivers when Doc tells 'bout how he held down Bastard--and Bastard was a mighty, colored man. To hear tell, Bastard's eyes fixed on his gut and he started yelling, "Green meat! Mercy, Lord! I got green meat!"

Boy served fourteen years--poor white trash, eatin' better up there in state penitentiary. But Squint was gonna show Boy how well-to-do he done got and fix Boy some fine vittles. He called down the kin from the holler, and they came with banjos and bare feet and good hearts. They slept there on the front porch and on patches of grass, waitin' for the homecomin'. And early that day, Squint made his way to the general store. He knew Old Man would throw the meat out that mornin'. He'd be all sly 'bout it and walk by like he didn't pay no mind to the goin' ons of such things. But he'd get him some of that store-bought meat and not pay a dime for it. His Boy was gonna have a homecomin'.

Now, we all know 'bout Old Man's meat. He'd soak a piece in saltwater pert' near all night and day and night again, till it was fit for showin'. If nobody bought it, he'd keep it longer, then throw it out back in the cans by the track. Old Man knew poor, colored folk and whites alike would gather like crows 'round those cans, pickin' at the green, sliminess. Way it's always been. Squint threw a heap into a sack and toted it back home for Boy. And Boy was there waitin' for his homecomin'.

Well, better be gettin' my shoes on. Wouldn't be proper now for me to be showin' up at Boy's funeral with no shoes.

Dang. I was gonna use "Green Meat" as my Lit status.

 

[WickedEve]

Dang. I was gonna use "Green Meat" as my Lit status.

That's okay. In my heart, you'll always be green meat.

 

[ruminator]

All this time, I thought sex was what I wanted, but I all I really need is home improvement and construction.

I'm a true believer that they all not need be mutually exclusive



thought provoking story you wrote.....nice

 

[Angeline]

Every time I looked in the closet, I saw it shine. Just a corner of it, stuck between the industrial days of my school clothes, sweaters and dusty shoes, announcing you home with shinies I never saw before. A different you, a grown-up you home to teach me how to drive, be there just two weeks. You gave me turquoise earrings and we sneaked a cigarette in the bathroom, you know an L&M, a Lennon and McCartney. Always after months of not.

That dress was lime green velvet spandexy sexy like a long tank top with a purple star on the chest. Green and purple leaking San Francisco like Mecca, the real deal not the nitty gritty East Village, but love world, writers and jugglers, Diggers and Merry Pranksters all green and purple leaking like starry contrails of my midnight experiments, landed like a spaceship in the closet, its antenna clinging to the bar.

Well it was yours, wasn't it? I thought about it a lot while we parallel parked and u-turned, at dinner over meat loaf and green beans and later, cross-legged on the fire escape watching the sky, thinking about gods and constellations. One purple star and me, exhaling L&Ms through my nose.

I thought about how you looked in it. Who you were in it, not anyone else and not anyone I know. I think about how you looked at me when you said It's not for you, the close look into me. How could you do that when your pupils were tiny as dots?

I wish I had it now. I wish I had it now.

 

[wildsweetone]

some thoughts...

To tighten the language, check your word count and then see if you can take out 20 words.

Look for words that do not move the story forward. Look for those little sneaky 'and's and minimise them. Try taking out any of those explanatory phrases that you use to explain a prior word choice.

Keep the voice you have in each excerpt, but hunt down those excessess and delete them.

(ALWAYS keep an original, original. Do your drafts separately from each other. You can always go back to the original and 'borrow' things you've removed.)

 

[champagne1982]

omg you are a sick puppy, Champ!


The last line was very cool!
what a dedicated daughter

Remember, it's all about what isn't said...