Not Just Another Flash in the Pan: My First Attempt at Flash Fiction

So, I just entered my first online flash fiction contest. For those unfamiliar with the term, let me spoil your hopes and dreams now. There is no Flash Gordon, Flash Lightning, or Flashdancing of any sort.

It simply is a short story that is no longer than 1000 words. It should have a beginning, middle, and end, along with a clear conflict, resolution, and characterization. Bonus points for voice and character development. Setting's cool too.

The idea is that in flash fiction, the story itself is somewhat ambiguous. And there should be a twist or something unexpected.

All that in less than 1000 words. I said it couldn't be done. By me anyway. So, I channeled my inner John Locke *of LOST fame although the philosopher is pretty cool too* and said to myself, 'Self, don't tell me what I can't do! Just for that, I'm gonna do it. And I'm gonna enter a contest. And I'm gonna win, dammit!' Myself can be pretty convincing when it wants to be, so I did it.

Yep, that's right. I got it all in 737 words. (this particular contest was 750 and under)
Not that I am bragging mind you, but I did come up with the idea at 7 pm the other night, and had it written and done by bedtime. How did I do it? The first line came to me and the character narrated from there. She's a pretty feisty girl. A real tiger. It may not be perfect, but you know what? I dig it.

Will I win? That remains to be seen. But, I'm proud of it and think it's a hoot.

And if you can name her (she is nameless at present), I'll give you a cookie.

So, here it is.

PARKED


It wasn't a cold I caught the night I kissed Jimmy Marino.

He picked me up at my Nana's place. In a polished white El Camino, complete with fuzzy dice. Classy right?

So, you know, we went to the park--to catch up on old times, talk politics and stuff. That's what all kids do when they go to the park. Yeah, sure.

We was gettin' all hot and heavy, right. He was kissin' my neck and movin' his hands in not so innocent positions. I was kinda embarrassed. After all, we weren't alone. There was like, a ton of people there with us. So it wasn't exactly a private affair. But there he was, smellin' all kinds of Drakkar Noir and I was havin' a hard time keeping it PG.

I says to him, 'Jimmy, we can't go too far, because, you know, we're in public' and he just moaned and nibbled my ear sayin', 'Baby, trust me. I'll only go as far as you'll let me'. And I did. Trust him, that is.

That's why what happened next got under my skin so bad.

Takin' a breather from his happy hands, I told Jimmy I had to go to the ladies' room. Really, I just needed some time to cool down and keep things in perspective. Last thing I needed was my life to get complicated. I mean between school, workin' at Gina's Parducci's salon, and babysittin' my little sister, I had no time left for the likes of Jimmy Marino. But damn, he was hot. So maybe I'd make it work.

Anyway, I slipped out of the bucket seat, and made my way to the restroom, which was foul by the way. I took care of business, and then checked myself out in the mirror. My lipstick was smudged and I could see a red patch where Jimmy's chin stubble rubbed me raw. Fluffin' my hair and adjustin' my skinny jeans, I made sure I looked decent.

In walked the bustiest, fake tanned, blond girl I'd ever seen. She was a walkin' cliché, you know what I mean? Anyway, she gives me the once over and smacks her gum like some kinda cow munchin' on grass. She says, 'You're the girl with Jimmy tonight?' and I says, 'Yeah, why? You got somethin' to say about it?'

She gets real close, like in my personal space, you know? And she says in her minty fresh breathy voice, 'You better use protection. Jimmy's been around more than a dirty doorknob, if you get me'.  I says, 'Thanks for the warnin', but I can handle myself'. She smiles and says, 'I'm sure that's what last night's girl thought too' and she turns away and heads into the stall.

So I'm sittin' there thinkin', What the hell? Jimmy hooked up with some chick last night and now he's tryin' to get lucky with me? What a douche bag.

Makin' my way through the park back to Jimmy, all these things are goin' through my mind. Am I gonna say somethin'? Should I ask him to take me home? And I get to him, and he's all big-brown-puppy-dog eyes at me and smiles. 'Baby, I missed your lips on mine, bring those back over here and remind me what they taste like' and for some reason, which I still can't figure out, I sit down beside him and lean in for a kiss. Which leads to his hands makin' their way up my shirt and into my bra. I know I shouldn't be doin' it, but I've crushed on the guy since middle school. And what he can do with his tongue? F'get about it.

Things are gettin' crazy outta hand, and I hear people around me, chantin', 'Go! Get to third base! Get it! Get it!' and my heart is racin' somethin' fierce.

That's when it happens. Seein' movement from the corner of my eye, I tear myself away from Jimmy's wet lips. I jump up outta my seat, lungin' for the object comin' at me. It hits my hands hard and fast, and stings like a bitch.

Lookin' down, I could hardly believe it. Alex Rodriguez's home run ball. At Yankee Stadium. I caught it. No freakin' way.

It was awesome.

I was so excited to get Alex's autograph, I couldn't think about anything else that night. Not even Jimmy Marino.

Why? What'd you think I caught?

August…you sucketh. From Sookie in fairyland to my manuscript in queryland.

Monday Mash Up.

Let's see. Three things are on my mind. Okay, way more than three, but three is the magic number. At least that's what Blind Melon says. The things on my mind will be blogged about in no particular order.

First, True Blood. Last night's season finale was pretty decent. Brought back some things I have been sorely missing. Lots of sex and nakedness. Because it isn’t True Blood if this is missing. And this show hasn’t been True Blood for some time. YKWIM? Also, we had the return of Tara's love for other females. Good to see at least the writing is consistent. I mean, come on…it was pretty obvious that Tara had a thing for Pam. Pam is pretty hot. (She is actually one of my faves next to Lafayette and Arlene.) We also had the return of the true death…true dat. Was awesome. Haven't seen that much gelatinous goop since middle school. The sound effects alone last night were priceless.

But the best thing about last night's episode was undoubtedly the return of (pitter patter sigh) Erik to Bon Temps. When he looked at Sookie…my word. I just love him. Like…really love him. He is vampire perfection. Screw Edward. Erik would wrap him up and eat him like a sandwich. I would pay to see that. And Sookie could kick Bella's ass and stake her in a nanosecond. I would pay more to see that.

Erik came to get Sookie to help save Bill. (Does anyone else have a hard time not saying it like Beee-yilll?) But Bill has just turned into the most evil asshole ever. Talk about character turnaround. Are you kidding me? I mean, I get character arcs and all, but he may have just jumped the shark. Or the coffin, so to speak. When he bared those creepy lion fangs at Sookie…I was screaming along with Erik. RUN! But we all know there is no human that can run from a fanger. Nope. No way. Her little fairy powers better come up with something, because Bill is comin' after her and it ain't for her fried chicken. It was a really great episode. Worth watching the fifth season of crap for this one epi alone.

Second, I never was a big fan of Robert Pattinson, but now I love the guy. Kristen Stewart is a trashy tramp who is so emo I want to barf. Hate her.

Even worse…Emily Maynard! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? America loved you…and now you have just beaten down the coolest hipster in town. Seriously? Jef is an amazing catch. I really thought this one would work out. Nope. She just had to sext with another guy. Incredibly disappointing. I have nothing more to say. Except when does the next Bachelor start?

Third, this month has been bad in writing land. Like really bad. Like I had a great feeling going into August, then BAM…all went silent in query land. No bites. No nibbles. Not even a form rejection. I find myself wondering what the heck is happening here? Where are all the agents? Is there some big LOST island they are on, running from smoke monsters and traveling back and forth in time? (hey, that might just be a great story!) Seriously, it has been bad. I can't wait for September. Maybe I will query more this week in prep for it.

I have started my new Young Adult MS Speechless, and I'm really excited about it. But I can't get my first MS out of my mind. Or heart
.
Last week I joined a really great bunch of ladies in a beta/critique group in which we all exchanged the first three chapters. So, I dusted off my MS and sent it out. Got great feedback. She said it was a page turner. Then this weekend, while on a last trip of the summer girls' weekend, I let a girlfriend read it (The Princess Paradox), and she was two thirds of the way through it in a day. She was obsessed with reading it. So, I went back and re-read some of it. And you know what. It's good. No...it's funny and charming and romantic. I have heard from several readers that commented how it "read like a movie".

I know some writers look back at their first work and say, "this is awful, I can't believe I wrote this crap". But I can't say that. Honestly.

And I'm not being stupid or naïve. It's good. Every time I read it, I can't believe I wrote it. Every beta reader comes back and says they love it. These people don’t know me. They aren’t my friends. Yet still, they say they can see it published. So, why…oh why…can't an agent see the same? I don’t get it.

This story simply must be told. I'm playing around with options.

Indie publish.

Self publish.

Put it up for free here to build readership. Perhaps put first three chapters to see if others would ask for more.

I am not defeated. Not yet. I will keep trying. I have to. The more I get knocked down, the more I want to fight back. Cue Rocky music.

I'm On Vacation...From My Problems!

Baby steps to the door. Baby steps to the car. Baby steps to the plane. Baby steps back to the computer.

 It's been a crazy whirlwind of events in my life lately. For one, I went on a cruise with the fam. It was nice. Lots of ice. (yes, the rhyme was intentional) Saw some glaciers and some small Podunk towns in Alaska. Actually, as a writer I was inspired by the unique and quiet towns in Alaska. Specifically Ketchikan. There were these old craftsman houses that dotted the hills, with long wooden staircases leading up to their brightly colored doors. Downtown neighbored the docks, so while walking around looking at the cute little trinket shops, one could hear the seagulls calling along with the gentle lapping of the waves upon the wooden docks. I could just imagine stories "happening" here.

Which kind of leads me to todays post. The more I think of myself as a writer, and believe me it still feels weird to say because Alli Condie is a writer, JK Rowling is a writer, Dan Brown is a writer…not me, the more I see the stories in the every day things I do. I found myself on the cruise thinking, there's gotta be a story about a boy who meets a girl on a cruise, become close friends, and meet back on the boat coincidentally ten years later, only to fall in love.

On the plane to Denver I imagined a businessman who flies back and forth across the country and a stewardess who flirt back and forth, kind of having a crush on each other but in love more with the idea of how exciting it could be and have to come to terms with the reality of their "relationship" when they bump into each other in one of the cities they fly to…a love affair begins but what happens after that?

I also thought about a friend I had in high school, whom I adored, but had some serious addiction problems. She was addicted to anything you could be addicted to: sex, attention, cocaine, pot, alcohol, prescription pills, cigarettes, bad boys…you name it. And the story which I could easily write because I lived it is what to do when you are the enabler, the friend who thinks she is trying to help but should really be out the door. The lesson learned when you have to say "I can't help you if you don't want to be helped." Which is precisely what I had to do, but only after 5 years of putting up with shit from her, letting my teen life slip away because I had to be her parent as well as her friend, the resentment that builds and the reality that I have to take responsibility for what happened, because I should have left.

So, why the sad story? Just to say as a writer, inspiration is everywhere. Everyone has a story. That's what makes writing and reading so amazing. We all live out our own plots, conflicts, and learn our life lessons. I have now gotten to the point, thanks to some amazing people I like to call writer friends, that I need to get a notebook, jot all my ideas down, then work on the story I am trying to write at that moment, leaving all the other ideas for later. That is what a writer is. That is what a writer does.

If you are stuck and want to write but don’t know how to start, try this: what big things have happened to you? What are YOUR stories that just have to be told? As you walk around and go about your day, listen to your world. What stories are being told? Can you add a what if?

 For example, what if an Olympic diver who waited his whole life for the Olympics, risked everything to be there, then…at the moment he needed to do his best, he failed? Not only failed, but like got all zeroes failed? And back flopped. Which most people didn't even realize was possible. See? Interesting story. And…it happened. Poor guy. But you see, stories are waiting everywhere to be told.

 Look between the nooks and crannies of life, there it is. A gem. A nugget of greatness.
 Be inspired.
 I know I am.
 Cheers.

What Not To Write

 

Insert Stacy and Clinton here.

So apparently campy fun women's fiction doesn’t have the lure it once had. I'm talking chick lit here. So all chick hating people can exit, stage left. I write chick lit. It's fun because I can put my humor in the story and it comes off well. 

Can you imagine getting into a great sci fi book and having this conversation:

Brock lifted the corner of the transmogrificator, and peeked in. The blue laser shot out and shone against the wall, obliterating a fly that had stupidly flown through the light.

"Damn, that thing really works" he said, eyes wide and face flushed.

"Yeah," Andromeda replied, "I told you it would."

" So, why do your parents have this? Here?"

"If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me."

"Tell me anyway." Brock leaned in, eyes ablaze with wonder.

"Remember when I told you they were in the military?"

"Uh, huh."

"Well…that part is true, only I kind of fudged some of it." Andromeda glanced at the floor, then peeked back up to gauge Brock's reaction.

"Just get it over with, Andy. You're killing me here." Exasperated, Brock ran his fingers through his auburn hair.

"They are in an elite group called the Adironidons, whose sole job it is to keep Earth safe from any other civilization that could harm them. And well, right now they are up to their necks in all this weapon stuff, like the transmogrificator because…are you ready?"

"I was ready ten minutes ago when I first asked you."

"We are about to be attacked by a group called the Ceylons. I've told you everything I know. Now I have to get ready for the dance, and you mister, need to get your tux on. You can't take me looking like that!"

Andromeda went to her closet, pulled out her Louis Vuitton clutch, a pair of Jimmy Choos, and her red Valentina gown. Stubbing a nail as she did so, she rolled her eyes.

"God, I hate when you mess up a perfectly great manicure."

See? It doesn’t work. And that is about all the sci fi I can do. If I had to get anymore in depth, I would have crumbled.

So, my personal What Not To Write?

Sci fi. Definitely.

Fantasy. Not sure, I would have to have a pretty amazing idea which right now, I got nothin'.

Historical Fiction. Blech. No offense to history, after all it did happen, I just don’t care enough to write about it.

Literary? No, I am not that good at lyrical prose.

YA? God help me, I am trying to come up with an idea. I have a few. But, it just doesn’t seem to pull me in and say WRITE ME the way chick lit does.

What to write? I have some ideas. REMOVED IDEAS PREVIOUSLY POSTED. Sadly, there are trolls who will snatch unsuspecting writers' ideas. So, I am learning to be careful.

So, there it is. Hmmm. Lots of choices. So…what do you think?

You say it's your birthday? Well, it's my birthday too, yeah!

 

Good morning. Another beautiful day in the Pacific Northwest. So today, I am turning…ahem, don’t you know it is rude to ask a woman how old she is? Let's just say, I've got a few more gray hairs than I care to admit. So, things I am not looking forward to on this day.

1.       Squeezing myself into some of my nicer clothes to go out with my friends tonight. The friends part, I love. It’s the squeezing that sucks.

2.       Missing Men Tell All on the Bachelorette. I'll have to watch when I get home, although they really should call it Men Tell Some, because I know damn well it isn’t all that they tell. Still, it makes for some great tv watching.

3.       Checking my gmail account, because it there is an agent rejection on a partial, I'm going to cry. Ive thought about skipping the whole process today to save myself the grief, but I also want to send my three newly revised chapters to the newest agent that has requested them. Let's see…that is 6 agent requests for my partials? (why does that sound naughty?) Pretty good results me thinks. I'm feeling better about the changes Ive made to make my MC more likable and stir empathy with the reader. And I set apart the commentaries from the narrative, so I think that will make my points clearer, thus setting apart my manuscript from all others. I'll cross my fingers.

4.       Getting older. Let's face it. This part sucks. I know as women age they get all "I feel better about myself than I did when I was 20. This age is so great because I'm so much wiser and confident." Blah blah blah. Yeah sure. Like if some magic genie offered you to be in a 20 year old body you wouldn’t jump at the chance. Whatev. Is there is a genie out there who wants to find someone to make that proposition to? Here I am. No questions asked.

I am seriously starting to think about what it would take to become a literary agent myself. Not just so I would finally get an offer representation. Although I would totally be my first client. But because as I become beta readers to people's manuscripts (a beta reader is someone who will read a writer's manuscript and offer honest feedback for revision), I realize I like reading, looking for plot holes, and commenting and helping other writers. I guess that's the teacher part of me.

Anyway, today I'm looking forward to spending time with my family and going out with my bestest friends. (Collective awwww goes here.) So, if it is truly your birthday, have a good one. If it's not, have a great day anyway. And wish me luck as I look into my gmail account. Positive vibes please!

Ciao.

No honey, I am not seeing another man. I'm just writing.

Happy Wednesday.

It has come to my attention that writing is like dating. In so many ways. This came to me on a week that was particularly hard. I was riding high on 4 requests of a partial and one agent that always asks for a partial, so having 5 agents look at my first three chapters is pretty damn exciting. And encouraging. Last week, I walked around with an air of "hey, look at me. I am a writer and I am so good, 5 agents want me. Take that J.K. Rowling."  Then the inevitable happened. One of the agents I queried was an agent that I really believed would LOVE my manuscript. She was perfect. And immediately she responded by asking for the first three chapters. Perfect, I thought, this will lead to a full then an offer of rep and I will be on my way! Except that it didn't quite happen like that. Instead, she gave me a really nice rejection letter. And this led me to the realization that I was having a relationship whether I knew it or not. 

It's like I am dating all over again, looking for the right person to just "get me". Obviously, she wasn't right. But I suddenly found myself going through emotional roller coasters asking myself the same questions over and over.

What did I do wrong?

Why wasn't it good enough?

How can I change to meet her needs? I can do it, I'll be different, just give me another chance!

Maybe if I beg. 

Maybe if I send enough really nice notes, she'll see how great I am and want me back.

Maybe she'll change her mind and realize she was wrong!

It's like my college years all over again. But this time around, I am going through it in a different way. I am bucking up and moving on. I hurt for a day, then get over it. So, I have to pick myself up, dust myself off and go out there again. Make myself available and vulnerable.

When people say writing makes you have a tougher skin, this is what they are talking about. I realize all the dating foibles I made, and I am realizing how to get rejected less painfully.

I realized through this, that like my MC (who she was concerned was too negative) I am a little negative in my humor and outlook. But then I realized it is not just me. Most of my best friends are a bit on the cynical side. We are teachers after all. We see the real world day in and day out. We see dramas unfold by the minute, and we could tell you heartbreaking stories that would fill the pages of many books. Our humor can be dark and snarky, but hey, that's us. One of my beta readers called it pragmatic. Yeah, I like that.

For example, the old me would have cried and eaten a pint of chocolate Haagen Daaz. This time around, I had a glass of wine, read about more agents and decided maybe this one just wasn't for me. Although we shared a love for fairy tales, David Sedaris, and my character Aidan, perhaps we just didn't connect. I couldn't help but ask myself "what did I do wrong? If I would have done something different, would she still reject me?"

This is why most of my friends in high school were either like minded or boys. I wasn't a girly girl. I wear converse and flip flops (not at the same time) and I prefer jeans and a tank to anything else. I don't paint my nails (although I do like my toenails painted, but that is more just because toenails are friggin ugly). I play guitar and dont wear a ton of make-up. I am not a cheerleader. I am not the prom queen. I can drink tequila without gagging and I love the feel of snakes on my arms. I am pretty cool. And fun. I would hang out with me. In fact, I do. Every day.

So what is with the diatribe? Well, just like my MC, I have to find that agent that is like minded. A girly girl agent all love struck and puppies probably isn't going to see things the same way. Although, puppies are cute. I will have to find the one that is raw and isn't afraid of an F bomb or two. Someone gritty, who has had some shitty things happen to her. Because like me and my MC, they have to understand that life isn't pink tiaras and fuzzy boas.

In my world, there is room for cynicism. But there is always room for hope. So, part of me thinks "bah, I will not ever get published. My life just isn't that cool". But...I will keep trying. Searching for the "one"...Mrs. or Mr. Right. Because ultimately, I believe that this was what I was supposed to do with my life. This is where everything in my life has led me. And I have faith, I will get published.

Okay. I admit it. This week was a fail in my blogging life. But come on! It was an anniversary of the creation of America, people. So I hope that affords me a break.

Now, to the Friday blog. I believe I said this would be media and news related. So...let me check the news.

Here is what I found. Is good no? You are reading this right. Apparently, back when people had their crap together, women would try to gain weight. I know...crazy. Men used to think women with a little meat on their bones was sexy. Go figure.



Today, we are the opposite. (duh...we know this.) But what I wonder is...with all fads circling back at sometime (see neon and skinny jeans for evidence), when will the fad of being too thin be over? When will the larger woman become the "new thing" again?

Mind you, I am not saying people should go around trying to be unhealthy. I am just saying people should be able to wear a size 8 or 10 and not feel like they need to drop to a size 2 to be considered sexy.

The OTHER big news this week...yes, TomKat is finis. Kaput. So sad. Poor Katie's fantasy about the whitey tightie wearing hunk with sunglasses is now fodder for the kitty litter bin. It is a tad weird that all Cruise's exes have all been 33 when divorced. Strange. I wonder what that's all about.

I get that she wanted out because he is a little more Michael Jackson than Leo DiCaprio, but shouldn't she have seen that, I dunno, when he forced her into Scientology and said she couldn't have Suri with drugs? Oh, and the whole 'be quiet while in labor thing'...I would have been pissed about that one too. Risky Business, indeed, Thomas.

Well, with the celebration of the country over, I guess I will need to get back to this business of writing. I really need to pour myself into a new manuscript. My YA novel is in "I can't get past this sentence mode" and it is hard to write the sequel to a book that hasn't even garnered a full request yet. But my characters are in my head and need to be released. So maybe I will bite the bullet and just start. Sigh.


I think it will start like this:

Shit. It's happening again. Just when I seem to get myself out of oncoming traffic, my metaphorical car veers to the other side, approaching a head-on collision full speed. This time, at least, he doesn't live next door. Nope, this time, it's my co-worker's "we're-really-serious-we-live-together-I-think-he's-gonna-propose-soon" boyfriend. Shit.

Okay...there. It's started. :) Resume day. See you Monday!