I feel the urge to share a few random quotes and a couple of songs that have been throbbing in my splintered mind. Read and listen. Or Ignore. It’s all good.
Motion is health
Legs pump like a heart
Arms stab sun and vapor
Bones collide on boulevards
Smiles taunt in cafés
Eyes fuck on dance floors
Urges twist on linen
Happy caresses happy
Insurrection births remedy
Your vitality in my hands
My affliction in your mouth
Us loosed from dominion
Us writing the law
Veins gulping touch
Skin choking restraint
Bodies like charred pearls
Yesterday, a pack of furry beasts busted their chains, howled maniacally in various accents, and ran wild across the digital lawn of the Internet. They want your attention. They want to do tricks for you. They want your eyeballs.
The FlashDogs are back.
143 stories from a global community of supremely talented writers across two books: Light and Dark. The theme linking the stories together is the summer/winter solstice. We were given four unique photo prompts and were tasked with only one demand: write a sublime story/stories.
I contributed four stories for this anthology, one of which was a collaborative tale with the charming Voima. To be included in this anthology for a second time is truly an honor. I remember waiting on the Golden Ticket (invitation) with more than a little anxiety brewing within. When it eventually arrived, I did a fist pump and kissed the computer screen. Ran naked through the streets Hamilton. I might have been a wee bit excited.
All proceeds from the books goes to a wonderful charity called the Book Bus. This organization places books in the hands of children from Asia, South America and Africa. It’s a noble endeavor, and one I applaud.
A massive thank you is in order for the tenacious folks behind this anthology: Mark A. King, David Shakes, Emily June Street and Tamara Rogers. Without their tireless work, there is no FlashDogs anthology. It’s that simple. Plus, if I had ended up on the editorial team, we would probably be the FlashPaintedTreeFrogs. Or the FlashDolphins. Maybe the FlashAardvarks. Alas, we are the FlashDogs, and I’m a damn proud member. Grrrrr (Human dog growl. Try it out loud, it’s fun)
You can order the books below, print or digital. Or both. You won’t be disappointed.
Originally posted on Flash! Friday:
Ten answers to ten questions in 20 words or fewer. That’s less time than it takes to burn a match*.
(*Depending on the length of the match and your tolerance for burned fingers, obviously)
Our newest Flash! Friday winner isChris Milam. Read his winning storyhere. Note that this is his FOURTH amazing (if not terribly unexpected; have y’all read this guy’s stuff??? SO. GOOD.) win!!! Be sure to check out his winner’s page to read his previous winning stories and interviews & then come back here to get to know him better. (Note: 4x winners aren’t bound by word count in their answers.)
1) What about the prompts inspired your story, particularly the concept of a “theater of solitude”?
My first thought when viewing the prompts was I didn’t want to use a typical film/play type theater. Paired with a prisoner, I instantly saw a man sitting alone in…
View original 1,257 more words
He slid the CD, a meal of memories, into the mouth of the plastic device. It accepted his offering with a grinding, mechanical thank you, a sound that became his friend over time, his partner in torment.
Images leaked from the television, coating the walls and his face with the chaotic light of evacuation. He was a human tree on the couch, rooted in the fabric, sedentary, except for his eyes. They shimmied in their sockets, pulsating blue, as they drank the beauty on the screen and devoured the colorful silhouettes that crawled through the darkness like radiant serpents.
Over time, he had moved his bed into the basement. And the refrigerator. The microwave. He turned a storage closet into a matchbox bathroom. This theater of solitude became a damp penitentiary of the past. Daily, he slammed the mental bars, turned his key of regret, and did his time.
Newspapers piled up on the porch like black and white firewood. His lawn grew into a suburban savannah. The mailbox gained weight.
Richard couldn’t differentiate between dusk or dawn, snow or sunshine. The outside world was as foreign to him as happiness.
He snatched another CD, stabbed Play. Caged bones and iced soda, their trip to the zoo last summer.
My entry in Flash! Friday: Volume 3-27. Your story had to use a Theater as your setting and the photo above was the prompt. Word count between 190-210.
I’m quite stunned to be named the winner this week, my fourth win in this lovely weekly contest. A huge thanks is in order for the outgoing judges, Eric Martell and Carlos Orozco. They had a difficult task this week, as there were a plethora of wonderful stories to choose from. Their comment about my tale is below.
Judges remarks: “The first line “He slid the CD, a meal of memories, into the mouth of the plastic device” took our breath away, and it only got better from there. From “He was a human tree on the couch, rooted in the fabric” to “Newspapers piled up on the porch like black and white firewood”, every description in this was deliciously original and we were beyond envious. This writer showed a strong command of the language, twisting and contorting each word and phrase to tell a great story. The pacing was also well executed. Like the depressed protagonist we lose track of time and slip into the monotonous routine of daily life. Ordinary objects become fantastic (mailboxes gaining weight, lawns turning into extraordinary landscapes), but it doesn’t matter to us because the story also drops us into that dark place. Well done.“
I’m thrilled to have my prose poem, Glint of Transference, published by The Camel Saloon. A huge thank you to Russell Streur for giving my words a nice home. You … Continue reading Glint of Transference
The images on the screen cut the darkness with a splash of glowing love. His arm is draped around her shoulder like a muscular shawl. Her face, still captivating, roars with a feline happiness. The twenty comments and thirty-six likes reveal their popularity, their coupling accepted. Lauded. If I’m missed, it’s obscured by the flash of white pouring out of her mouth. Further scrolling is required.
We were a pack once. She was mine and he was just our friend. We met on the dirt diamond as teens. He was the slugger, a wunderkind who obliterated baseballs with a violent, tornadic swing. “Chicks dig the long ball,” he’d always say with a wink. Tonya would lounge on the bleachers, her designer sunglasses concealing the prey ensnared in her glance. Later, we’d get wasted in my basement. Billy would toss his charm around like handsome confetti. Tonya’s uncovered eyes fluttered when he spoke, a flirtatious gyration of blue deception. A foreshadowing.
They’re going to Miami next week. “Sand, salsa dancing, and mojitos,” she posted.
She hasn’t blocked me yet. Maybe she’s a sadist and wants me to feel the burn. Or maybe she knows I’m a masochist, that I welcome the burn. Either way, Billy was right about the long ball.
My entry in the Flash! Friday contest this past week. I didn’t make the podium this week but I received some very kind feedback on my tale. Always a good thing.The story element required was a coflict of Man vs Man. The picture above was the prompt and the word count was 190-210.