Flash fiction: Betrayal

If you enjoy writing short stories, check out the Fiction Friday challenges by Jeanne at The Raisin Chronicles.

This week's challenge was/is: to write a piece of "flash fiction" - a short story of 100 words or less that begins with the phrase -

"We had differing agendas."

If you're interested in joining the fun, click on the link above.

Here's my story for this week.
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Betrayal

We had differing agendas. You wanted to be a free-spirit; making no commitments, going where and when you pleased. I did everything I could to win you over; bribing, cajoling, threatening. Nothing seemed to make an impression.

I was infuriated by the stench of your lies. How many times had you assured me there was nothing going on? How many times had I believed your empty promises; that you loved me, that you would come to me when your need grew too great, that it would never happen again.

“What’s that smell?”

“Daddy, me no need use potty!”

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Microsoft says that's 99 words. Hope you enjoyed them.

Take care.

Flash fiction: The Chief

My Flash fiction submission was submitted too late for consideration in this week's competition at The Raisin Chronicles. But I still wanted to share it with you.
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The Chief

You never meant this to happen. But, man, if some of those Ivy League pr*cks from college could see you now, they'd choke on their silver, fr*ckin’ spoons. And the Dekes are going to celebrate tonight; those dudes know how to par-tay!

‘Course you remember the times that got out of control too. The stolen Christmas wreath, Dad bitching at you for running over the garbage can with Marvin in the car, the DUI. You’re glad all that’s over.

Still, a beer right now might calm the nerves – as you raise your right hand.

“I, George W. Bush…”

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100 words (according to MS Word)

Take care.

Flash fiction: Classical gas

If you enjoy writing short stories, check out the Fiction Friday challenges by Jeanne at The Raisin Chronicles.

This week's challenge was/is: to write a piece of "flash fiction" - a short story of 100 words or less that begins with the phrase -

"Oh God, the smell..."

If you're interested in joining the fun, click on the link above.

Here's my story for this week.
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Classical gas

Oh God, the smell when I stepped into Tim’s bedroom made me feel I had entered a parallel universe. Not that I was wholly unprepared. The entire apartment was strewn with empty pizza boxes, broken tortilla chips, dried vomit and partially-emptied beer bottles.

But the bedroom...was the Eighth Dimension of Stench.

Tim only looked dead. Wished he was dead.

“I think that perhaps…”

His every pause was filled with groans accompanied by deep, loud and improbably-long farts.

“I may possibly…

have…

the beer farts.”

“Really?” was my sarcastic response.

From now on, it’s whisky and coke for me.
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(100 words - on the dot)


Take care.

I'm going to Disneyland!!!

IWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWONIWON
Not that it's big deal or anything. I'm totally composed, you know. I've maintained a sense of dignity about the whole thing. WOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course, I'm very honored to have been selected this week's winner in the Friday Fiction Contest at The Raisin Chronicles. There's lots of great stuff to read there - and Jeanne, the hostess with the mostess, offers some fine ideas on how to develop and hone one's writing skill.

If you're not sure what I'm talking about (and haven't clicked on any of the links above), you can read my flash fiction for this week (entitled Homeland Insecurity) by clicking

HERE

The plan for today is:

1. Martial arts training
2. Lunch
3. Finish mastering the CDs from the last Music Night
4. Attend tonight's Listening Room event at Chico's house

Have I not talked about the Music Night Federation of Metro Detroit? The Middle-Aged Woman hasn't either. Well, I gotta do something about that.

But not right now.

Take care.

Flash fiction: Homeland insecurity

If you enjoy writing short stories, check out the Fiction Friday challenges by Jeanne at The Raisin Chronicles.

This week's challenge was/is: to write a piece of "flash fiction" - a short story of 100 words or less that begins with the phrase -

"As neighbors go..."

If you're interested in joining the fun, click on the link above.

Here's my story for this week.
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Homeland insecurity

As neighbors go, the Canadians seemed like all we could hope for: distracted, docile and dumb.

Until the Great Hockey War of 2013.

Some say it was the Red Wings’ seventh straight Stanley Cup victory that set them off. Others think it was Obama’s health care plan making theirs look so feeble. Whatever the reason, Homeland Security was completely unprepared for an attack from the Great White North.

Once Buffalo, Detroit and Seattle fell, defeat was inevitable. Who knew they had turned hockey pucks into incendiary devices? It was devastating.

But…now we have pretty money.
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(97 words including title)

Gotta run. Going to the doctor with the Middle-Aged Woman.

Take care.


RED WINGS PLAYOFF UPDATE:
The Stanley Cup Finals - Detroit vs. Pittsburgh
The Wings lost to the Penguins Tuesday night by a score of 4-2.
Detroit leads best of seven series, 2 games to 1

Flash fiction: Runaway

My name is Jim - and I'm a flash-fiction-aholic.

Ever since the Middle-Aged Woman turned me on to the Fiction Friday challenges by Jeanne at The Raisin Chronicles, I'm seriously jonesing each week for a new opportunity to craft a mini-story.

This week's challenge was/is: to write a piece of "flash fiction" - a short story of 100 words or less that begins with the phrase -

"It was not what it seemed."

If you're interested in joining the fun, click on the link above to see all the rules and regulations.

My offering is shown below. Hope you find it worth your time.
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Runaway

It was not what it seemed. It felt to him like a bad dream.

His elation that she had been found evaporated during a 20-minute cab ride. Each block more desolate than the last; whatever flicker of hope remained as he sat waiting in the small, dirty bar was extinguished when she entered.

“Oh shit,” the girl said, glassy eyes rolling, pupils enlarged.

“Please.” She knew what he wanted. “Please…”

A man that age shouldn’t beg.

“Why did you come here? It’s over!”

He heard the snickering. Sugar daddy lost his sweets.

“Dad – I’m not coming home with you.”
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(100 words including title)

In addition to being fun, writing these bite-sized stories is good practice for improving precision and brevity. And I have at least one post each week I can feel good about.

What's not to like?

Take care.

Flash draft: Sprint

Because I have to get up at 4 am for a 6 am flight to New York, I am unveiling my first draft of this week's Flash Fiction entry. Hopefully, I'll have time tomorrow to post something a little more substantial.

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Sprint

If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the fear as he caught sight of his son.

He knew even before beginning to run, he would never reach the boy in time.

How did he get so far from the house so fast?

Straining forward, anything to go faster.

Please – let me reach him.

His son had nearly reached the busy street.

Please.

The child stepped down from the curb. The first car -

God.

Stopped. He snatched the boy up in his arms, gasping.

Thank you.

He was joyful, exhausted, angry. Grateful.

He never forgot.
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(100 words including title)

Take care.

Flash fiction: Unclear on the concept

(or "How I Was Kidnapped")

Let's start with the fiction and then we'll get to the truth.

Please visit Jeanne at The Raisin Chronicles to read more flash fiction* prompted by the opening phrase: "The voice on the phone..." She's super-cool - and it's fun to see what different directions people can take a story from those words.

And now, without any further ado, Jim Styro's latest flash fiction**...

Unclear on the concept
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The voice on the phone was low. Unfamiliar.

"Mrs. White?"

"Yes," I replied, half-listening.

"Mrs. White, we have kidnapped your husband." The world stopped.

"Who is this?!"

"You don't need to know. Do you want to see him again?"

Panic rose in my throat, then I heard our front door open. Clasping the phone to my chest, I leapt into the hallway. I saw his face coming through the door and nearly burst into tears.

“What?” he asked, perplexed.

I spit the words into the phone.

“My husband is here – and your number is on my caller ID. Idiot.”

Click.
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(100 words plus title)

My original intention, at this point, was to tell...The Rest Of The Story. But it's after midnight - and I have an early meeting tomorrow.

So instead, I thought it'd be fun to pull a "World According to Garp" thing*** and ask people to tell me which parts of the story above they thought were true and which parts they think I made up. Post your true vs. made up theories in the comments to have a chance to win a copy of John Irving's wonderful novel, The World According to Garp (one of my all-time favorite books). All entries must be submitted by midnight on Sunday, May 17 to be eligible for our grand prize (need not be present to win). The winner will be notified by carrier pigeon. All decisions of our judges (me) are final. Anyone to whom my wife and I have already told the story is automatically disqualified from competition. Good luck!

I will post the full, true story of How I was Kidnapped on Monday morning.

But I hope you'll come back and visit again before then.

Take care.


* A short story of 100 words or less. Flash fiction often relies on the title to help tell the story.
** The Middle-Aged Woman gets at least half the credit for this story. She posted a version of this tale on her blog.
*** For extra credit in your true vs. made up theory, explain what "pulling a World According to Garp thing" means as it relates to this contest.

RED WINGS PLAYOFF UPDATE: Detroit vs. Anaheim
The Wings defeated the Ducks Thursday night, 4-3,
to win the best of seven series, 4 games to 3
Detroit advances to face the Chicago Blackhawks in the Western Conference Finals.
GO WINGS!

Further flash: Lonesome Dove and the joys of McMurtry

A couple days ago, I mentioned my love for the book, Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry. It was turned into one of the best made-for-TV movies/mini-series ever (one of the best Westerns ever, IMO) starring Robert Duvall and Tommy Lee Jones (amongst others). Except for Clint Eastwood, though, the Western as a genre in film and fiction seems to lack appeal for many folks. I think that is why I have often sought to champion the story to anyone who will sit still long enough.

Apart from being extremely well-written (it rightfully won the 1986 Pulitzer Prize for fiction), the book is a wonderful story of cowboys and the Old West - and, at the same time, those trappings of the story are irrelevant to enjoying the book as a tremendously rich and moving work of fiction. Or to put it more simply: you can love this book whether you like Westerns - or you hate them. All you need to enjoy Lonesome Dove is to love a good story (if you love a LONG story, that doesn't hurt either).

I'm telling you all that, so I can tell you this: While spending time thinking about and writing my "flash fiction" piece for The Raisin Chronicles*, I recalled that within the sprawling tale of Lonesome Dove**, there is a favorite passage of mine that almost qualifies as "flash fiction".

McMurtry has 600 pages to set the scene before this paragraph appears in the novel; I'll just tell you this: The following passage refers to a remembrance of July Johnson, a young sheriff from Fort Smith, Arkansas. One of the plot threads in Lonesome Dove involves July's search for his missing wife, which takes him from from Texas to Nebraska.

Listen to what Larry McMurtry can do with 216 words.***

All during the trip [July] had been haunted by the memory of something that had happened in Fort Smith several years before. One of the nicest men in town, a cotton merchant, had gone to Memphis on a business trip, only to have his wife take sick while he was gone. They tried to send a telegram to notify the man, but he was on his way back and the telegram never got delivered. The man's name was John Fisher. As he rode back into Fort Smith, John Fisher saw a burying party out behind the church. Being a neighborly man, he had ridden over to see who had died, and the people had all stopped, stricken, for they were burying his wife. July had been helping to cover the coffin. He never forgot the look on John Fisher's face when he realized he was a day late - his wife had died the afternoon before his return. Though a healthy man, John Fisher only lived another year himself. If he ran into someone on the street who had seen his wife on her sickbed he always asked, "Do you think Jane might have lived if I'd got back sooner?" Everyone told him no, you couldn't have done a thing, but John Fisher didn't believe them.

If you enjoyed that tidbit, I hope you'll pick up a copy of Lonesome Dove and give yourself a real treat.


Take care.


* If you haven't been to her site before, I highly recommend that you check out some of Jeanne's older posts. She is a wonderful writer - you'll find some gems. And new flash fiction pieces are still being submitted - some great stuff!
** 850 - 950 pages depending on whether you're reading hardcover or paperback. Of course, I have both.
*** Microsoft Word counted them for me.

Flash Fiction*: One Breath

The Middle-Aged Woman sent me an email today with the Subject line:

Are you in? I'm in.**

And a link to Jeanne's Fiction Friday Challenge at The Raisin Chronicles.

The challenge was/is: to write a piece of "flash fiction" - a short story of 100 words or less that begins with the phrase -

"The room was silent except for...."

Never one to back down from a challenge by two women (especially when one is my wife), I submitted my story Saturday evening.*** I'm also never one to miss a two-for-one posting opportunity; so my post today consists, in large part, of my flash fiction submission entitled:

One Breath

The room was silent except for the distant hum of a fan. He lay still, his breathing hushed. He felt alone – although she was close enough to touch him.

Then she reached out and grasped his arm, a gentle tug. Relief swept over him. He turned to her and covered her mouth with his own; his arms encircled her and drew her close. She took a sharp breath as she felt his lips on her throat, his hand at the small of her back. Now they breathed with one breath.

“I want you. Do you want me?” he asked.

“Yes.”
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Hope you enjoyed my story.


Take care.


* not "flasher" fiction (despite what you may think after reading my story)
** Of course, I'm always wanting to be in
*** a day late - but not a word short.