Flash Fiction Challenge - Human Found Dead

Well...

Here we are then.  I haven't actually written anything since...um...NaNoWriMo 2011. It's been a while.  I claim a combination of writer's block and getting on with life...  So, I'm out of practice.  You have my apologies for the roughness of what follows...though, since it's supposed to be hard-boiled, that might actually work in my favour...

Anyway.  Challenge was 1000 words, and after bouncing up and down, I managed 998. I'm actually intrigued enough with this to write a whole short story...first time I'd ever done a hard-boiled anything, and I think I kinda like it...

Anyway, it's a hard-boiled urban fantasy, with (hopefully) a theme of Love Demands Sacrifice, so...lemmie know how I did.

.~.~.~.

Human Found Dead

I was at Grimm's when he started running his mouth.  Normally I let drunks ramble and ignore them, but tonight I'd come to wash the blood out of my thoughts with whiskey, not listen to his whining.  So, I give him a not-too friendly warning.

“Look, friend,” I said, interrupting him.  “A little free advice:  You've got about five minutes before someone in here decides to take your hide.  I suggest you use it well.”

“They won't kill me.”

I shook my head.  Humans.  They're never willing to believe any of us wear their skin – or used to, rather.  It's been banned, though that don't stop the traditionalists, and the traditionalists drink at Grimm's.

“For your own good, tell your story and scram – before someone kills you to dye their hat.”

“I thought you guys were cracking down on the Red Cap gangs.”

He was actually giving me attitude, after the sob story he'd just been telling anyone who'd listen?  I gave him a look.  This idiot just didn't realize on whose turf he was being an ass.  I could feel the assorted eyes of the other patrons on us, staring from the shadows.  Out in mainstream society or not, the fae don't like humans drinking in their bars.  Especially the annoying humans.

“Fine, fine.”  He turned sullen and swallowed what was left of his drink.  He had a face like the backside of a barn door, grey and unloved.

In spite of myself, I was curious.  This guy was a real, true-blooded human, and you don't get a lot of those in Grimm's.  I figured he probably had an hour tops before he was somebody's dinner, and I wanted to know why he wanted to die so bad he'd risk being human in a fairy bar.  Guess I felt bad for the poor sucker, so I signaled the barman for another round.  Least I could do, if he was going die of Terminal Stupidity.

Besides, maybe it'd take my mind of my own troubles for a time.

“What happened to him?”

“Hmm?”

“This friend you've been going on about.  What happened to him?”

“I...I dunno.  We grew apart.  I grew up, and...”  He squirmed.  “There was this girl.”

I nodded.  Nothing new there.

“She...well, eventually she left me for a six foot QB who beat her and knocked her up on Prom night.”

“And your friend?”

“I tried to find the way back, but...”  He downed his drink.  “This was before the Boundaries fell, you understand.  I couldn't find it.  We used to do everything together.  Sailed up and down the coast...he was so fierce that even the pirates backed off.  Doesn't matter,” he added bitterly.  “He's coming for me now, and there's nowhere left to run.”

I didn't say anything else.  Didn't ask him how he knew. I just bought us another round of drinks.

.~.~.~.

She has hair like untouched snow and eyes so dark they go on forever, and at 3 A.M she handed me a cup of coffee to mask the scent of whiskey on my breath.  I'd only slept for an hour tops, and was still in yesterday's clothes.  I was rumpled and smelly, but she was pristine; cool and crisp like fresh linen.  Even here, surrounded by blood and filth, Aderyn smelled like flowers.

“Barman found him.”  She has a voice like a warm fire on a cold night, and is so gentle with me it hurts.  “He said you might know something about it.”

I looked around.  I hate that she sees this shit, but she chose it – gotta help those who can't help themselves – and as she told me in the beginning, I can't take that from her.

The morning paper will have few of the details, none of the gore in a story as flat and flaccid as a rentboy at noon.  They'll leave out the splashes of dark red against brown bricks and the black puddles of lifeblood on asphalt; the smell like raw steak, and the multiple chalk outlines around what was left of that poor bastard.  They'll leave out the rank stench of bile from where the rookie yacked, and the piss-and-filth-and-garbage reek of the dumpster they found him behind.  The damp air and the eye-pounding strobe lights on the marked cars.  They'll tidy it up for their readers with three words:  Human Found Dead...

“He was a human drinking in a fairy bar,” I said.  It should be all the explanation anyone needs.  Not that that would make it better for the human cops, when we called them in.

“What do you make of this, then?”  I looked where she pointed, up at the words scratched with bloody efficiency into the brick.  “'Honah Lee'.  Could be a person.”

“Maybe.”  I filled her in on what I knew; it wasn't a lot.

“He have a name?”

I shook my head.  No names, not in Grimm's.

“Looks like his friend caught up to him, though.”

When they found the head, the mouth was stuffed with strings and wax, and there were two scales, emerald green and glowing, on his eyes.   Pennies for Charon.

I looked up at Aderyn as a nameless tech handed me a wallet.

“Jean Papier,” I told her, reading the name off the license, and had to hide the hitch in my breath.

Aderyn had taken the Change so she could walk upright like the rest of us, given up her life in the forests to wade hip deep into the scum of the Earth and make things a little brighter.  I'd marry her if she'd have me, but unicorns don't really go for elfin types.  Especially elfin cops with drinking problems.

She reached out, but not to pull me out of my personal darkness.

I handed her the wallet.


NB: I've fixed a few awkward phrases/grammar errors since putting this up and linking it to terribleminds.  Infinite do-overs and take-backs, yeah?  Well, I'm usin' 'em. :)

5 Reasons Pop Culture is Run By Fanfiction

Well, I was going to write this article myself, but Cracked.com beat me to it, and did all of the more research, so instead I'm just going to link to it and point out that now you don't even have to wait until the authors are dead anymore to make money off pre-existing stories - you just have to change the names and a few details and add in badly portrayed BDSM relationships and call it erotica *coughcough50ShadesofGraycough*.

I should also point out that changing the names and a few details of a story to make money off of it isn't a new thing either; just look at almost every fantasy story written since Tolkien published LOTR.


Anyway, here's the article :D

5 Reasons Pop Culture Is Run By Fanfiction

Woooot

So, I am alive...

Also, I watched this just now, and I think you'll all find it as interesting as I did:

Andrew Stanton's TED Talk

Enjoy!

(Minor swearing)

So...um...yeah.

Greetings!

I know I've fallen off the internet for a while...there's an explanation for that. It mostly involves living, but...yeah.

Anyway, everyone knows NaNo's staring in a a week or two, which is exciting...and I have no idea what I'm going to be writing for it. Maybe I'm out of practice, or maybe it's writer's block, but...I really haven't got a clue what to write, and every idea I come up with...doesn't work.

Now, I'm not whining...much. One of the biggest reasons I haven't come up with anything is time. You see, I've gone and acquired myself a husbandboyfriend and a stepson who's 8 now, and this month I've been embroiled in helping him to construct a Halo Spartan costume out of old shin guards, knee pads, etc, spraypaint, duct tape and cardboard. I got promoted in August to HR Manager at the hotel I work for, which is a much more hectic position for not too much more money than I was getting before, and I'm often there later than I would like to be...but the upside (no more night audit for me!) is also something of a downside, because it means I can't write at work.

I've barely even crocheted anything.

Now, I'm not whining because I'm being all growed up and doing my job and being step-mum when one has no real experience being a mum is...different (and not something I'll ever give up), but...I miss writing. NaNoWriMo would be the best time to get back into writing, except for the one, pesky detail that I can't escape:

What The Hell Am I Going To Write?

Wow. Just wow.

Proof that even Nobel Prize winners can be complete dicks.

...

-_-

Ecksmas Prompt: Man of Snow

This is proof positive that I'm bugnuts, by the way. Enjoy! And happy Solstice Rites Of Your Choosing!

~~~

When he woke, he was blind and cold and deaf and could not scream. He couldn’t move, either, but he could feel their hands.
Sensation returned first to his arms; his fingers felt cold and brittle.
Sight returned, then smell. The world was shades of grey, but he could see it and was thankful, even if it did smell of carrots.
They stuck a corncob pipe where his mouth was supposed to go, before they gave him the hat and scarf. It didn’t charm him; he was as cold as death.
They wanted holly-jolly laughter. Instead, he took their souls.

EDIT: I tried putting the damn picture at the end. It won't let me. I blame the shitty computer. And I'm totally adding this after the story's been up for a few moments. Hah! Also, there are waaaaay too many pics of creepy snowmen out there. They're coming for us.

Back to the grindstone...

Now that NaNo's all done with, and I've had a whole seven days to recover, I find myself wanting to write again. I had thought, a few days ago, that even putting a pen to paper would cause my head to explode in nasty ways, but it seems I'm wrong. Maybe it's because I've got time to sit around at work, sometimes, and I need something to occupy myself with, but really, I think it's because I'm something of a masochist. Also, a pleasant side effect of the whole NaNo thing is that I'm actually inspired to write more. Not on The Hollow of White Hazel, which was my NaNo story, but on the one about the princess who goes in search of her abducted prince, which is going to be my attempt at turning an entire genre on its ear.

Now that I've said that, I hope it works.

Anyway, has anyone else noticed the urge to write, inspite of the painful wrenching of brains that happened last month? Or not so painful wrenching of brains - some people here finished early, but I shan't name names. E. >:D But yeah...did you find NaNo has brought you to a whole new level of inspiration, or would you rather there were someway to burn the whole process of writing down like a matchstick factory in a high wind*?

Oh, and this is a discussion question. I'm bringing them back, yo**. Discuss.

*If this made no sense, blame the fact that it's 5am and I still have two hours before I can go home
** See above.

Yay! Also, not yay.

I'm done! Woot!

Got me 50016 words in 29 days. Most of those are crap, and the story's not anywhere near done, but I still feel accomplished. Even if I basically just wrote a 50016 word outline for what will probably be two books, when I actually get through with it.

But, for the next few days, I'm going to put it aside and ignore it and then start the mammoth task of stripping it of it's awkward phrasing and filling in its plot holes. And then, I might just let people read it. >:D

Bit of a bollocks-y problem, though: Every time I try to get my story verified, so I can have WINNER! enscribed across the progress bar, it takes a moment to think and then tells me that I've only written 48517 words. I've most assuredly done 50016. I can do screencaps, if anyone really cares. The problem is, I can't get my goodies if the verification process isn't working, and if it doesn't start working by this time tomorrow, the past month of mental agony will have been for naught.

So I'm a little stressed. I don't understand why it's not working. It lets me update my word count just fine; it even tracks my stats without complaint. It's just not letting me verify and win.

I just don't get it.

Halfway There...

Or in my case, 5000 words shy of being half way there. But it's the 15th, and everyone should (technically) be at 25000 words now.

Since I'm not, I thought I'd put up the same excerpt that I put on the NaNo site, to keep you all entertained. And also to serve as a small distraction from the actual writing, which is mean of me, but sometimes necessary.

Enjoy!

(PS: I should mention that this hasn't been edited yet, so there are probably a couple of things that need fixed...)

Excerpt: The Hollow of White Hazel

And then he sang.

He sang the harmony, not the melody, but the notes seemed to reverberate in Ethelwyn’s chest. She could feel the emotion of the song better now, the agony of the woman, the desperation of the male back-up to get her to just turn around and see him. She felt tears pricking in the corner of her eyes, and a desperate desire deep within to sing along, to help, to add her voice to the notes that seemed now to fill the whole street. She opened her mouth, but a sweaty hand reached around and covered it, choking the sound.

She twisted in her seat. Arthur covered his own mouth with his other hand and shook his head. He pointed to his ears and mimed covering them. Confused, and still wanting to sing with a desire that shook her to the core, Ethelwyn plugged her ears with her fingers.

It helped, a little. She no longer wanted to sing, at any rate, and muffling some of the sound took some of the reverberation out of it. She could listen now. Arthur pulled his hand off of her mouth, and covered his own ears.

The pixies didn’t seem to have the same sense. They stopped what they were doing, dropped whomever they were eviscerating, and capered slowly towards Emrys, who was still standing in the middle of the road. The street became deserted of human beings; in the distance, sirens were wailing, coming closer. The song was nearing the second verse, the music swelling until, even with the fingers in her ears, Ethelwyn wanted to join in. The reverberation grew stronger in Ethelwyn’s chest, and she realized that the pixies were actually singing in harsh, piping voices that sounded more like a broken-bellowed organ than anything melodic. They wheezed and puffed and screeched along, adding their meagre voices to the harmony, until, with a gut-wrenching twist, the lead singer proclaimed that, every now and then, she just fell apart…

Emrys brought his arms down, and held the note.

The pixies exploded into a thousand splinters.

Aaaaaaand...

GO!

Well...at least if you're anywhere East of Southern Ontario. You silly Albertans have to wait another two hours >;P

Three Days 'Till NaNoWriMo 2010

...

O_O

Who's ready? Because I know I'm not...

Eep.

A Title...?

I'm thinking of calling my NaNoWriMo story "The Hollow Of White Hazel"

I'm not sure it fits, significance wise, but for some reason, my head's going 'Nope, that's it. No more ideas for you'.

What say you?

Whee

So I think I've got the synopsis of my NaNo story worked out. I think. It's going to require a hell of a lot of research and decision making on my part, but I'm not too worried. It's a subject I'm actually interested in, so it should be okay.

I just need a title.

King Arthur returns from Avalon to find nothing is how he left it. His beloved Camelot is barely a memory, and no one speaks his language except Merlin, who jockeys disks instead of casting spells. Instead of taking his rightful place as king, Arthur finds himself at the mercy of a constitutional monarchy and a population who think he's a myth.

If that wasn't enough, his knights have been reincarnated and scattered across the globe, no one can find the Grail (again), and he's only got a week before The Wild Hunt sweeps the world clean - and where the hell is Lancelot?

A (hopefully) hilarious, Modern-Fantasy, Historical FanFiction, complete with romance, magic, mayhem and gingers.

Suggestions welcome. >:D

Woot

I've signed up for NaNoWriMo, have picked the story I want to do, and I'm halfway done the horror story for Terrible Minds.

I feel accomplished. Except my NaNo story doesn't have a title yet.

Bah. I'll think of one.

Anyway, I'm still Elvish Kitty (don't ask) on the NaNo boards, so feel free to add me.

Speaking of Chuck Wendig...

Well, we weren't, but I was poking around on his blog to day (it's awesome...I'm putting it in the links to the left because he's hilarious and brilliant and a free-lance writer and a figure worth learning from)...

Anyway, he's doing a Flash Fiction thing. Details HERE, but basically, he wants 1000 or less words of vacation-oriented horror stories...by which I mean, monsters and shite, not "my plane was THREE HOURS LATE and all I had to eat was these horrible peanuts and then the kid next to me wee'd himself and rolled in it". Whole other genre, that.

I figured it was right up our collective alley. We should all do it. He wants them by the 11th of Feb-October.

Best part: He's going to put them on his blog, as is, which means (you guessed it): Exposure! Fame! Fortune! Someone in "The Business" might read it!

Also, prizes may be involved. But, apparently, us Canucks will have to pay the shipping if we win.

I've found another article that everyone might find interesting. This one's about an apparently pretty strong gender bias in the publishing world when it comes to book covers.


I Write A Nasty Book. And They Want A Girly Cover On It.

Discuss!

>:D

Freelance Writing

Godchecker put the link to this article up on their twitter account. I read it, and thought, "Everyone at DevCo would love this", and (even though Bean's already got Godchecker on her twitter follow list thingy), I figured I'd at least let E have a go. >:D

Really though; it's a good article about freelance writing and why you can get away without pants it's awesome

Why You Should Freelance (Despite All That Face-Punching Business)

Good discussion question from this: would you ever consider doing full time freelance writing, or would you rather have a specific publication/publisher?

An Interesting Article

Some People Just Need To Be Kicked In The 'Nads

It's the 'e-book vs. real book' thing again, only some tit has gone and made a deal with Amazon to sell all of the books he represents on nothing but kindle. Naturally, this has the publishers annoyed, especially since it cuts them right out of everything to do with the money involved. It also has me annoyed, because I don't want a Kindle and I doubt I ever shall. Apart from all of the other pros and cons...magnets can't erase words printed on a page.

Still...I don't think it's the death knell for paper publishing, as the article suggests. There will always be a market for paper books, amongst those with their heads screwed on straight. I do wish they'd come up with more sustainable sources for paper, though.

Oh...and this can count as this week's discussion question >:D

Discussion Questions...?

...Should we have them?

I'm guessing yes.

This week - Song Lyrics. What makes them so damned effective? Or not, as the case may be. Got some favourites?

Come on people - lets get this site moving again. >:D

Vintage Writing - Through Darkness

I wrote this on April 26th, 2003, according to the little note I left at the bottom of its original post...which I believe was on Pile of Crap back in the day. I'm rather glad I did that...left the note, I mean, since otherwise, I'd have no idea when I'd actually written it.

Anyway, I was reading it over again, and I don't think I would change any of it, awkward phrases included. It's rare that I would say that about a piece of writing of mine, especially one that's as old as this one is.

Other bit of back history...I wrote it before I took any writing classes. I think, in many ways, I was a much better writer back then. I didn't know the rules, and so didn't care if I broke them.

Whatever...hope you like.

Through darkness I strode, in the fullness of a dream, watching wearily the solid black, though I could see nothing. And yet, my steps knew their purpose, and heading, and my legs moved of their own accord, so while even though I could see not a thing, I could walk and be unworried that I would trip.

Wearily still, however, I peered around, hoping that I could discover something that I could see, and perhaps learn of how I came to be in this place, where there is no light. But I could see nothing, hear nothing except a dull echo of my foot steps upon the inky black floor, and could feel nothing except a slight, very slight, breeze from my passing.

And so I walked, into time uncounted, wondering and wandering across a void so profound that even its presence began to weigh heavily on my heart, and my steps - firm until now - faltered, and stopped. I could not move. What had once been a comfortable walk, albeit a weary one, was now sorrow unbound. I felt now tears on my face.

A vision came to me then, in the back of my mind, although I could see nothing through my physical eyes. A vision of a smile, a look, a glint of blonde in weary weather, a laugh and a fond remembrance of a joy long shared, of lying on a hill top and watching clouds drift lazily above, slowly and away, of a hand holding mine...

I remembered now my purpose, to find him on the other side of the darkness. I had forgotten, in my long walk, what it was that I had been looking for, but, now I knew, more deeply than I had ever known, exactly what it was that I had lost. And now had to find.

With a cry that echoed as dully as my footsteps, I lurched forward, breaking into a run. My heart knew now where I had to go, and to that place I ran and never grew weary. Sounds returned to my ears; laughter, tears - waves upon a shore. Feeling returned to my face; a caress, a chaste kiss, hair upon my cheek. Scent returned to me - summer rain and summer fields, and the wind off the ocean. And finally, most wonderfully, sight!

For an instant I was blinded, the deep darkness through which I had come had left my eyes starved for sight, but unused to it. Pain at first, but it was bearable. The brightness faded, and I saw his face, looking down at me from above, and I knew.

Through darkness I had come - and I was Home.