He’s a Natural Man… – Friday Fictioneers

This is probably the latest I’ve ever posted a Friday Fictioneers story, since I usually do it on Wednesday. But we just got back to North America and this whole week has been up in the air (partially literally). I’ve been the first on the list before. Maybe this time I’ll be the last on the list.

copyright Claire Fuller

copyright Claire Fuller

He’s a Natural Man…

“It’s for our landlord,” I told Joe, pointing to the festivities. “He’s never bathed, ever. After a few years, lichen started to accumulate. We tried to get rid of him but by then, he had Greenpeace on his side, seeing that he was so much a part of the environment.”

“Sounds disgusting,” Joe said.

“Well, yeah, but he’s kind of a local treasure now. After the town accepted him, they fought hard to get him recognition. Let’s go: the party’s starting.”

We walked over to where a huge banner proudly proclaimed:

CONGRATULATIONS KARL ZIMEKIS ON MAKING THE NEW SPECIES LIST.


Bruised Heartwood – Friday Fictioneers

I’m currently on the road and writing this in a hotel. As always, I wish I could read more of the other stories but I should be able to pretty soon in the future.

copyright Madison Woods

copyright Madison Woods

Bruised Heartwood

The gnarled old oak tree on the hill loved Jenny. He loved watching her spread her picnic blanket in his shade.

“I’ll dress up for Halloween,” he said, and propped a goat’s skull in the crook of his branches.

But no one saw or cared, even Jenny who was at a party.

His heartwood was wounded deeply, and tearing up roots long planted, he rampaged through the town.

They caught him, cut him down, chopped him up. “Trees go bad,” they said.

But Jenny didn’t dance around the fire they made and her heart ached, although she didn’t know why.

 


Mommy’s Little Miracle – Friday Fictioneers

I’m quite late this week, but I’ve been pretty busy. Still, the end is in sight: two more days until we move. Things will still be hectic, but at least I won’t have all the packing and cleaning I have now.

copyright Mary Shipman

copyright Mary Shipman

Mommy’s Little Miracle

Swish, swish.

Pastel colors brushed onto old, warped walls. The pungent smell of new paint mingled with the lusty cries of new life in the next room. The last few days had been a whirlwind of activity, a maelstrom of emotions: anticipation at the hospital, a few moments of fear and now, pure elation.

She had long given up on having a family, but now here he was, her little miracle.

Well, almost hers. Her eyes flicked to the TV news. A few more months. When she had outlasted the searches and the Amber alerts, he would be hers forever.

 


The Procedure was Painless – Friday Fictioneers

Hi everyone. I’m still completely swamped with moving and packing but only for a few more weeks. I feel really bad I haven’t been able to read more of the other Friday Fictioneer stories, but be patient with me, if possible. In other news, my two-year blogging anniversary just passed. In some ways, it seems way longer than that.

copyright Ted Strutz

copyright Ted Strutz

The Procedure was Painless

Saja’s tongue ran over the foreign terrain of his now-vacant gums. He looked down at his weaponless paws.

Guards escorted him to the ship, alert for predators.

“Welcome aboard,” the captain said. “When we reach Languenpax, everything will be provided: food, mates, anything you want. Still, you’ll need to be caged for the journey.”

“Why?” Saja asked. “I’m not dangerous anymore.”

“You’re still extremely strong. We do have a weakening procedure . . .”

Saja just nodded. It would be worth it, he hoped. Nevertheless, as they led him away, he cast a last glance back at the wild savannah of his birth.


Day 219 – Friday Fictioneers

copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

Day 219

My iPad is a telescope, turned backwards: the world tiny, but terrifyingly clear. 

It’s a biology experiment, they say. But of course they wouldn’t tell me if it were psychological.

Most websites are blocked except CNN and BBC. Suspicious.

Horror constantly splashes across my screen. The sudden economic collapse and ensuing conflicts. The European epidemic killing millions. Famine, War, Pestilence.

Death.

I can leave this cave anytime. The blinking green button winks at me seductively.

I want to end this madness and go outside and see it was all just a test. But I’m afraid it’s not, so I stay.

 


Standing Between Realities – Friday Fictioneers

Copyright Jennifer Pendergast

Copyright Jennifer Pendergast

 

Standing on the Edge of Realities

“I’m such an idiot! I walked through that arch, back to this world, and I find her sleeping with my co-worker. I came back—gave up paradise—all for her! Stupid! I can’t go back now—the magic’s all gone—and I’m stuck forever in this tepid modern world. I just want to belong somewhere: I’m only an outsider now.”

The cop was having a heck of a first day on the job. “That’s terrible, sir. Really. If you’ll just step back from the edge of the bridge, I’ll buy you a coffee and you can tell me more about it.”


Foggy Bottom Brain Surgery – Friday Fictioneers

Hi everyone, did you think I would miss Friday Fictioneers this week? I’m over 24 hours late from when I usually post this, but I wasn’t feeling inspired. The problem with doing these every week for so long is that I don’t want to write just any story and if I don’t get an idea I really like, I just keeping thinking and thinking. I don’t know if this is exactly a good story, but it’s unapologetically bizarre, and that’s okay in my books.

copyright Erin Leary

copyright Erin Leary

Foggy Bottom Brain Surgery

Dr. Singh was sweating like . . . there was no better analogy than what he was at that moment: a doctor performing brain surgery on the king of the Bhligli, whose cognitive organ was in their buttocks. The Blighli never thought sitting down.

The tumor was an active thing, dodging the scalpel and hiding in the forest of alien ganglia.

“More suction, the whole thing is filling up with fog.”

Slurp. A greenish appendage disappeared up the vacuum tube. The nurse cringed under his wrathful look. “Do you think that was important?”

“For the sake of the human race, I hope not.”


Welcome to the attic of the Green-Walled Tower

Come on it, don’t mind the mess (I don’t pick up that often). Just follow the steps up and up until you get to the top. I’m letting you into the inner sanctum of my writing world in response to an invitation by Amy Reese, at amyreesewrites.com. She is a great writer and a good blogging friend of mine since the beginning of this blog. This is part of the Writing Process Blog Tour, I do believe. Without further ado, here are the four questions that I was given.

1)     What am I working on?

Ah, what a question. It almost pains me to think about it. It’s like I have this jar of wriggly, squirming stories and I love every single, slimy one of them. They are my children: each at a different stage of development but they all have such potential. But then, with some chagrin, I have to cram the top back on top of that sucker or they might get out and I do NOT have time to deal with all of them at the moment.

Yeah, my jar is extra full, I’m afraid. I only mention them here since I work on things slowly, turning them over in my mind over a long time, like a literary Sarlacc.

Plots...I need plots.

Plots…I need plots.

I’m usually pretty private about my projects, but what the hey. Here is what is on my plate:

The Inner Darkness: this was originally a Nanowrimo novel I did in 2009. It has been through several edits since then, but I have a lot of plans for it in my head. No time though. It’s a quirky, first-person fantasy involving an abyss in a cave where people occasionally emerge from. I really love the main character.

The Girl Who Could Snee: I wrote this novel around a story I originally posted on this blog. This one is unfortunately not finished, not for lack of ideas but just time. Why didn’t I finish it originally? Sigh. Why not, indeed?

Brother Alien: This is another novel that is not finished, although with this one, I am still thinking about one particular point. It’s sitting in the belly of the literary Sarlacc, still stewing. It deals with the aftermath of a failed alien invasion.

Special Becky: This is a novella I’m working on, which is based on the series of Friday Fictioneers stories I did, one with the same name. It’s not finished, not because of a lack of ideas or interest, just because other, more urgent projects came up.

I don’t mention all these to brag. If anything, they are a mark of shame that so many are unfinished. I mention them because they are all on my mind and even when I’m not actively working on them, I’m working through ideas for them, until the day I can pull up the file, read through the notes and begin gloriously again to create.

What I am currently working on actively is a collaborative novel. It’s kind of a secret though, so I can’t say much about it. It is a great story though and if/when it’s published, you’ll know all about it.

Pictured: not me

Pictured: not me

2)     How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I have a confession: I don’t know what my genre is. As you might know, my blog stories tend to be quirky or dark and everything in between.

Of course, those are blog stories. With my novels, seven are adventure stories; four are funny; six have fantasy or sci-fi elements in them. However, if I had to answer this question (which I apparently do) I would say that I combine these elements together in my own style, which makes it different. Also, there are three minor elements that many of my stories share that reveal my personality. 1) other languages are a key part of the story or some character is learning another language, 2) there are often huge, dark expanses, 3) there are other worlds and some way to go between them.

fiction-genres-changing-writing-genres

3)     Why do I write what I do?

First and foremost, I write the kind of stuff I want to read. I write my ideal books (as well as I can) so it’s always fun to go back and reread them again and again.

Secondly, I write to express what I believe. I am a Christian, but I don’t mean I want to write blatantly Christian books (mostly because I don’t like to read most blatantly Christian books). I have a lot of beliefs.

I believe the world is a wonderful, magical place; I believe in forgiveness and mercy; I believe in truth; I believe the world is a really complicated place with no easy answers sometimes. For instance, in Brother Alien, the plot turns around the idea of what to do in a stalemate with stranded aliens who have killed hundreds of millions of people. Some people want to wage eternal war, others want to forgive them. Can you ever forgive a crime so great? I want to explore that question.

4)     How does my writing process work?

Many of my novels start with a picture. For a few of them, the picture came from a dream. My very first story, Teardrop, started with the image of a train going up a valley at quitting time. Inside were two different races: one short, one tall. Another one, The Wild Children, started with a dream where I was in a wet, muddy cave. The roof suddenly split open and light streamed in and a hand reached down. That was it; the whole dream. I built the novel around it.

After I have that picture or a What if? idea, I just think about it. I think and think, working the idea back and forth until I have the kernel of a story. Then I start writing. When I begin, I usually have an inkling of where the story will end, but not always. I don’t plot out scenes on paper, since I’ll just change them while I’m writing. If I get stuck on a point, I think on it a while until I get it unstuck.

After I get the rough draft done, I put it away and start something else, usually an edit of another project, since I don’t usually write novel rough drafts back to back. When that edit is done, I’ll come back to the rough draft, reread it and plot out the scenes with all their characters and significant events. Then I can see what needs changing, what needs cutting and adding, and so on.

Thanks for coming on this tour. Now I would like to pass on the challenge to Sharmishtha Basu, if she has any interest in answering these questions. Sharmishtha is a prolific writer and poet from India who manages an impressive number of blogs and specializes in fantasy and paranormal stories.

writing warning

This is true: the teacher in The Wild Children is named after a barista.


Currents Run Deep

Currents Run Deep

Triliton’s mining ship the Ocean Duchess set sail from Dover with the mission to strip mine the ocean floor. It was carrying a new machine that extracted all nutrients and left only bare rock behind. It was also carrying a saboteur.

<Five days later>

“They got Tre!” Joy said at the Ecological Army headquarters. “They caught him setting the dynamite.”

“Is he alive?” Nel asked.

“They brought him into a small room for a couple hours. He’s unrecognizable now. Here’s a picture I stole from a security camera.” She turned her iPad.

“Bastard!” Nel squinted. “I never thought I’d see Tre in a suit. Is that a Mercedes he’s driving?”

“Yep. They made him the Director of Environmental Affairs. Six figures. He won’t return my calls.”

“It just shows the evil we’re up against.”

<Five years later>

Joy could barely restrain from punching Tre when he turned up late one night at her apartment.

“How could you, Tre?” she demanded. “You sold yourself to the enemy.”

“Haven’t you been getting my donations?” he asked. “They were anonymous, but I thought you’d figure it out. Plus, the mission is finished.” He flipped on the TV.

“TRILITON’S ENTIRE OCEAN MINING FLEET SUNK. ECO-TERRORISM SUSPECTED.”


Leaving the Land of the Morning Calm

An old name for Korea is Joseon, which means “the Land of the Morning Calm”. It really is a beautiful country and it’s become home to me for the last decade or so.

Joseon

And now I’m leaving.

That’s right, we’re moving back to North America somewhere in about six weeks or so. Do I want to go? Yes and no. I’m really dreading leaving, especially all my friends here. I’m dreading telling my students (certain ones, at least. Others couldn’t care less) and seeing that look on their faces that will probably make me want to cry. I’m dreading all the inevitable hassles and changes that come with moving internationally. I’ve done it four times before, so I know what I’m in for. I’m dreading finding a job (well, FINDING one is great, it’s the looking that drains you). I’ve been looking for months now without even the whisper of an interview. I’m not worried, but it’s quite the slog.

This is us in a few weeks.

This is us in a few weeks.

Of course, I’m looking forward to seeing my family again and being closer to them. I’m looking forward to having our own house (eventually). I’m looking forward to drinking root beer and going to Tim Hortons. I’m kind of looking forward to owning a car again. I know it’s for the best and that it’s time to go, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Anyway, as  you can imagine, I’m pretty busy these days. I’d be busy with just moving and looking for work, but I’ve also got several large projects that need to get done before I leave, ideally. So, that means a lot of little projects have to be put on hold. I won’t be posting as many stories for the next month or so. I’ll still be doing Friday Fictioneers and Sunday Photo Fiction, if I can. Also, please understand if I don’t read many blogs. I’ll try to read some, but it can take a lot of time.


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