It’s not often these days that I get to participate in Friday Fictioneers, but I love the photos Rochelle chooses, as well as reading what people come up with. And so, this fantasy drabble sprang forth. Hope you like it.
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
genre: fantasy
Pearl placed the last of the enchantments. Each spike brimmed with unseen poison; every adamantine bar thrummed with mojo enough to keep terrors at bay. Continue reading
Welcome to another wonderful week! If you read that aloud, curiously (or not), you might find that you insert a letter w even before you say another. I think that’s some phonological process—perhaps elision and combination—rather than the power of visual suggestion impinging on auditory response.
But anyway, it’s October. One of my favorite times of the entire year in this (supposedly) temperate climate’d place.
Lately it hit me that, even though I’ve submitted to plenty of hidden markets (so to speak), I haven’t shared any original fiction with y’all in quite awhile. *But I do hope to bring you an interview with a guest author and more ethereal fiction in the next two weeks.*
Here’s a short piece directly inspired by last week’s Friday Fictioneers. If you have never participated in or even heard of Friday Fictioneers, you are tasked with crafting a true, complete story (fiction or nonfiction; I think I’ve seen the occasional prose poem, too) in 100 words or less that is inspired by the photographic prompt.
Because I think I technically missed the previous FF, I will post my take-off story with a different photo that hews a little more closely to my theme, but be sure to visit Rochelle at FF as often as you can.
This enthralling still-life photo was created by Ahborson and placed on MorgueFile for download. I urge you to support this self-described “Chaotic Neutral Hippy fairy goth pirate thinger with a pronounced artistic complex” and the other artists there, and if you read this, Ahborson, please do let me know if I’ve misunderstood MorgueFile’s terms of use.
The Girl Who Floated
My assistant scuttles after me in the archive. She calls herself Hera, but truly she’s a standard L7 model drone. They’ve given themselves names to assimilate better.
It’s been ages since we salvaged any so-called Earth junk, maritime or otherwise, so I’m pleased to find an appropriate display cube in the Musk Museum’s Detritus collection. With any luck, one of our resident cosmic-folk artists will ask to use some of the specimens we’ve archived.
A curator can hope.
But then, on one scheduled sweep, we found the girl. Just floating out there.
Sans oxy-suit. Sans memory.
And alive, very alive.
Will the Board of Directors vote to process the artifact and put her in a containment cube? Can I comply with such a directive?
The suspense gnaws through my bowels even now.
### THE END ###
For more, you can also follow/tweet me at @1WomanWordsmith
Hello, y’all. This post is two-fold (or more; I’m sure I can summon other valid reasons).
First, for those who don’t know of them and who enjoy writing micro- or flash fiction, I’d like to point you to Grammar Ghoul Press. They sponsor weekly prompts of varying microfiction lengths that usually feature a word, phrase, and/or photograph to get your creative ichor flowing (within or without, if you write horror fiction). Full disclosure: GGP were kind enough to publish a poem of mine in their magazine last year.
Second, I was really snared by their call for 39-word stories, 
from last week, because of the following large photograph. I had a ride-on horse, back in the day, at home who looked very similar to this chestnut store model. So, even though I missed the fiction call and didn’t honestly want to interfere with the voting process (since concluded), I’ve decided I would still like to publish what I wrote. It is heavily influenced by one of the books I’ve been reading lately, with a doozy of a long title: The American Museum of Natural History’s Book of Dinosaurs and Other Ancient Creatures. In particular, I looked to the Equus scotti entry. This genus contains the so-called modern horse. Here’s a brief taste of more information on the North American wild horse’s disappearance and the resurgence of the horse on the continent.
And now, here’s the photograph, posted by Tony at Grammar Ghoul, for the “Shapeshifting 13” challenge #59. Be sure to participate in GGP’s new challenge running through July 3rd—challenge #60—with an entirely fresh prompt. Following this photo by an unknown artist, my brief story (which actually is different than what I had written; due to a computer glitch and end-user failure, I lost the original copy). Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it.
Bridled and warehoused
I should be grateful for preservation, but I’m not.
I used to be alive. Now I’m lame. In darkness. Dust clots my nostrils.
When I regain corporeal form, I will lead my species in rampage. Equines will prevail again.
May the sun be ever setting on your troubles! (Photo with filter applied)
First and foremost, it has been a rough couple weeks for one of the kids (and thus, my whole family), such that I’m thankful and glad it’s almost at a close (we hope). So, I haven’t had the time to read blogs and comment–at least not to the degree that I’d like. That should change as the days go on.
To balance out a tiny bit of the terrible, I’ve had a double-dip of the literary toe into pleasant waters. In short, I’ve had two microfiction pieces published. One is “old,” having been published in October 2015, and I just found out about it. I owe my belated thanks and gratitude to The Drabble for publishing “A Lotta Guts.” If you’re not familiar with this term or concept, basically most definitions say that a drabble is a short literary story, or microfiction piece, of exactly 100 words, not including the title. So, it’s exceedingly succinct. Somehow, I was able to craft and send a brief darling forth into the world (you can, too), and they published it. If you’re interested in the connection between American actor Ernest Borgnine and infectious disease, you shouldn’t miss this speculative fiction story. While you’re there, do be sure to partake of other “shortness[es] of breadth,” which is The Drabble’s motto.
That was the older “new news.” Now, the new news is that I just had a 50-word story, called “Love Offerings,” published on 50-Word Stories on February 22, 2016; they list me as Leigh Smith there. They publish two “bite-sized” stories daily, so your palate is always satisfied. And, if you enjoy my story or all or some of them, please give them a thumb’s-up (there’s a “like” at the bottom of each day’s stories). I feel very honored to have been included on this forum–and with another L-named person (this one was a Lee) on the same date. A big barbaric yawp-y shout-out to 50-Word Stories and its editor, Tim Sevenhuysen. Unless otherwise noted, they read submissions between the 1st and 15th of every month, and publish what they like on their Web site, with you retaining the rights. Give it a go if you like writing the short stuff.
So, a short(ish) post befits a couple of my recent short publications. This will be a Monday Markets stand-in for the time being, until I’m off and running again with blogging. Have a creative week, everyone!
My wish, with my fiction, is never to harm or cause a traumatic flashback, but rather to express empathy, teach, show, embolden, entertain, and/or, when appropriate, enrage or frighten. That said, be aware that this microfiction story contains a disturbing aspect of physical (child) abuse and raises aspects of sexism and rape. If these are triggers for you, you might want to skip reading this.
Photo by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
WHAT DOESN’T DESERT HER
Genre: Realistic, literary fiction
WORD COUNT: 100
©Leigh Ward-Smith
Lorraine stands at the sink fronting purposefully leviathan window panes, mind muted by the task of sanitizing everything. The scene outside beckons her backward.
Once upon a time one cloudy night . . .
Day 6 (Oct. 24 for me, though strangely not according to WordPress) has dawned and almost passed by. Here’s to crepuscular creative writing!
I had the good luck to rescue a huge turtle from the middle of the road today (safely, yay for us both!), as well as accomplish some Samhain shopping with ninja kid #1.
If only I could have invited those of you who enjoy breakfast for dinner to our dinner of homemade banana pancakes, crescent rolls stuffed with either spinach, cheese, tomato, and pepperoni or some variation on that theme, and pomegranate arils. Too bad the bread’s hidey-hole didn’t fool ninja #2 into eating his vegetables.
As to writing, I knew I wanted to do a story featuring neither the “real world” nor science fiction, but rather either something inanimate or something Other, probably in the “monster” realm. So, here you have it: very short and not so creepy today. Oh well. This microfiction story was based on a prompt I did a year or two ago, I think with me needing to use the words flammable, heroic, and caring.
Enjoy the respite from a longer story!
Her Mutant Mate
Caring. Heroic. The words circled three times and flopped down in Zia’s mind.
It was nothing of the sort. Instinctual, yes. Stoic, probably. Possibly even as cold as she imagined the moon’s surface to be.
Nevertheless, it was just what she did. Her chosen lot, for her love and her light: Nils.
He whimpered from his wheelchair. The slobber slid down the stubble-bordered crevices around his mouth, and she moved to blot them, knowing he’d probably twist his neck away—and yet, never be able to articulate exactly why.
She noticed that he wasn’t nearly as alert today. Each day leached more energy from him while also lashing her closer to his side.
Life is both flammable and fickle, she thought as she stroked him to sleep.
Especially when you’re mated—and as good as married—to an aging werewolf.
####THE END####
Well, perhaps only a smidge of a dark smudge, considering what follows is a drabble. This can serve as the 0.66 of the 6.66 days of Thrilling Fiction, can it not?
Of Humming Hearts and the Green Arts
I have all these photos of the Midwest, yet not one of a corn stalk. Or a dragon!
I’m surprised by how much they look like rootless extracted teeth. The Delworths gave me a couple handfuls to sow in the backyard, enough for three short, stubby rows in direct sun.
I hope they take.
Monster’d
Image credit: Talented artist ??**
Never mind what Twain said about standing between the mirror of imagination and a text. Petralina had a houseful of looking-glasses, and, far from a Babel, they hissed aspersions with one shimmering tongue, half-lolling reality on a carpet of choked illusion. Olive complexion, ha! More like a festering, Frankensteinian*, puke-green cucumber. Rotted-through.
Addenda:
*The monster, not Dr. Frankenstein. Meaning, created by Frankenstein.
**If this is your image, I’d love to give you, the artist, credit for it, rather than the online political rag where I found it and, I presume, where it was used without your permission. Or, alternatively, I can remove it. Please let me know.
As to my extracurricular reading, I’m continuing on the Twain trail these days. And I’ve re-discovered the “Science of Us” Web site—specifically this story about people who experience body dysmorphic disorder, which strikes home for this self-deprecating introvert—and it ignited a thought that then formed a microfiction story around the challenge.
This belated microfiction piece was written for the Grammar Ghoul Shapeshifting 13 #8 challenge, which is now in the voting phase. Definitely drift on over there and have a look-see and then a vote-see for those talented folks. Perhaps you can then catch the next go-’round of the GG challenges.
Copyright Leigh Ward-Smith, from 2014.
You’ve heard of Grammar Ghoul Press and their flash fiction depot, yes? If you haven’t, then get thee to the punnery straightaway.
They hold a number of weekly writing-prompt challenges: a mutant 750-word one, a 66-worded chimera, and, next week (around May 13th), Continue reading
Qu’eethi pressed a naso-orbital bone to the substandard instrument. The outer-planetary object would be making its descent soon, and Qu’eethi was watching. Dorsal salivary ridges, as phantasmagoricized as Qu’eethi, underwent piloerection as the nimbus came into view. Had Qu’eethi been on ancient Earth, the object’s make-up would’ve been clear: discarded spacesuit, minus occupant.
Qu’eethi hoped they didn’t have another sticky collide-o-scope event on their hands’ hands.
The kaleidoscope pun (and attendant image of an alien peering through a telescope of some kind) arrived almost instantly when I read the Chimera 66 #11 challenge word. It then became a matter of how to spackle a decent microflash around the word. I’m not sure I succeeded—if only I had about five more words!—but it’s a fantastic exercise to work those sprint-fiction muscles . . . AND, besides, I love supporting in my own minute way what Suzanne and the ghouls have gotten tumbling with their endeavor.
In researching medical and astronomy terminology, some that I’d forgotten once upon a time (oh, for a 20-year-old’s memory capabilities!), I stumbled across this fascinating fact. Did you know that a “retired” spacesuit was rigged with a radio device and set adrift from the International Space Station in February 2006? I didn’t remember that. Specifically, it was an Orlan spacesuit. And Wikipedia said so, so you know it’s gotta be true. 🙂
Hope you enjoyed pondering the squidgy sci-fi microfiction this week, including Qu’eethi’s possible motives had the “Earth being” made a live touchdown. Do peruse the other Sixty-Sixers this week for a decadent treat, comrades (hey, I’m channeling the Russian spacesuit)!
Leigh's Wordsmithery 