4th Anniversary- Daily (w)rite Turns 4!

Book of Short Fiction

I started writing fiction nearly four years ago, in April 2008, and that was the year I also started this blog, as a place where I would post something every day—ah,well, as often as possible.

I was going through my old anniversary posts and here’s what I said over the years:

2011,  I said: It IS nice to go back and read my old posts, and comments by readers, and I hope I can carry this blog another year!

2010, I said: There would be light and shade, and at least 20 posts a month! (sigh…tall order) And there would be travel posts, mixed up with writing posts, depending on where I go, and what I do. So, hopefully, I’ll have a third anniversary post, eh, and other anniversaries afterwards?

2009, I said: I want to keep up this blog for as long as I can; and I want to watch myself grow, become a little smarter, a little wiser, more intuitive, with each day, each month, each year, each post.

So here I am, and this is how the blog did last year.

This year I made more of an effort, wrote a fair bit of fiction on the blog as well.

I took part in the A to Z Blogging challenge, which means I blogged 26 days in April. That adventure, surprisingly enough, led to the book: A to Z Stories of Life and Death, which, to my utter amazement, continues to sell to this day, without much promotion, if any.

2011 was a long year, personally, and an average year, writing wise.

But I’ve stuck to fiction, written bunches, published some.

And just like I did three years ago, I find myself eager to ‘watch myself grow, become a little smarter, a little wiser, more intuitive, with each day, each month, each year, each post.’

Amen.

Do You Hold On to Your Anger?

Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. Gautam Buddha

—–

Hold on to Your Anger

Anger is a negative emotion. All the saints and all the scriptures, and of course, all the anger management gurus say so.

To an extent, I agree.

But if you hold on to anger not because you want to punch someone in the face, but because you want to remember never to be a victim again, is it such a bad thing?

If you hold on to anger against injustice, and express it in song, in art, in writing is it such a bad thing?

Do you hold on to anger, or do you let it go? Or does it depend on the circumstance?

————————

 

Bite-sized Stories of Life and Death

Today, Kelley at Writtled is hosting my interview about the process of writing and about A to Z Stories of Life and Death. My thanks to Kelley, and hope some of you will come chat with me there!

Bad Movies Give Birth to Fiction

Alex J Cavanaugh decrees in his blogfest:

On Monday, September 19, post a list of up to ten of the worst movies you’ve ever had the misfortune to watch. Films that just oozed awfulness and featured plot holes so big you could drive a bus through them.

Alex's Worst Movies Ever Blogfest

So without further ado, I present the 10 worst movies ever, imho, but instead of writing about them, I’ll use as many of their titles in a piece of flash fiction (that would hopefully make more sense than the movies it was inspired by, lol.) Hopefully Alex forgives the liberty I’ve taken…(* I’ll run hide under the table right after posting this*

So here are my 10 worst picks:

1.   Heaven’s Gate (1980)                           2. Mommie Dearest (1981)

3. Showgirls (1995)                                     4.   Battlefield Earth (2000)

5. Sweet Home Alabama (2002)              6. Gigli (2003)

7.   The Room (2003)                                 8.   Derailed (2005)

9.   Alone in the Dark (2005)                   10.  I don’t know How she does it (2011)

So, ahem, now for the flash fiction:

Mommie Dearest, M.D.

Mother to Son, Mary Gallagher Stout

I don’t know how she does it, but Mommie dearest manages to derail my life every time she steps into it, which is often. By Mommie dearest, or MD (as I call her when I’m alone in the dark), I mean my wife Gigli’s mother.

Mine, bless her, gave up the ghost when I was still a fairly runt-sized boy, and just about the only thing I remember of that woman is the smack of her hand on my bottom.

MD uses big words like Heaven’s Gate, Hellfire, the Earth as a Battlefield Between Good and Evil. I’ve grown up with small words like cold, hunger, roof, money, food, knife, rain, dark, sun, blood, water, hate, winter, and done just fine.

So MD’s words are lost on Gigli and me, who, unknown to her mother, is a showgirl at a gig I got her in the next town, Muck City, in our sweet old state of Alabama. Gigli is what they call her there, and what I call her ever since I married her ten years ago. MD calls her Gertrude.

Just yesterday, MD stopped by, and tried yet again to take me to church, being Sunday and all. She calls herself my soul-doctor.  It has always been like that in my marriage; me, Gigli, and MD makes three.

I left, of course, so Gigli could deal with her mother like she always does. I got drunk as a skunk, and came back home hoping MD had left. Not.

So I went to The Room, where I take all ladies who remind me of MD, to be alone with them in the dark. Knife, blood, Heaven’s Gate, we did it all, as usual—me and the woman I found. I left her in a trash bag, the letters M and D scrawled on her pitted bottom.

I’m tired now, and if you know me, you’ll know I’m a man of few words. I like it straight and narrow. So the next time MD stops by, she comes with me to The Room, and I don’t care what Gigli has to say about it. I’ll make an honest, spiritual M.D. out of her yet.

———-

A to Z Stories of Life and Death

If you liked this piece and would like to browse through more of my work, check out  A to Z Stories of Life and Death, available on Kindle and Smashwords.

P.S: The story came from the movie titles and the picture, and I took it down as it came. It is not meant to offend sensibilities.

I’m a Guest at Tossing it Out!

I seem to be getting out and about in blogiverse: 200 followers on Amlokiblogs, the Rule of Three Blogfest, and now, guest posting at Arlee Bird’s excellent blog where I discuss the A to Z Challenge, and the inevitable A to Z Stories of Life and Death!

Come chat with me there, guys!

Also, I’ve been up to my neck in THINGS TO DO, the topmost being: FINISH REVISING STORIES.

Ah, I know I’m shouting, but that’s is to get my own scatterbrained, wooly-headed attention.

What is the topmost thing on your Things To Do List? (Would make me feel feel better to know you guys have TTD lists too!Lol)

Now head over to Tossing it Out, and leave me a note, a pat in the back, anything you fancy

Show me a Rhythm and Love me a Dance

Crystal Blue Angel Wing Copyright Shadoweddancer

Each morning I write, sometimes days based on word prompts,  picture prompts on other days. Here’s the picture and the piece I wrote in the last ten minutes:

————–

Show me a rhythm and love me a dance, he said to her, his feathers ruffled against the cold breeze.

Now why did he say that? He had forgotten sensation in the time he had spent away from the human world, which could be an year, an aeon, or a few seconds in the silly vocabulary they use to measure the immeasurable, which is a point, after all, a line, a circle, a sphere, a spring all at the same time.

They sat suspended between times, between worlds, and it is this that intrigued him, that he could feel it all–how cold it was outside the cave, the softness of her skin embedded on her soul, the taste of her last meal of asparagus and wine, just before she left her world in his arms, this famous singer-dancer-entertainer.

He sensed it all, but could not decide if he liked it. He had moved so far away from like and dislike, from the polarities of that world.

But there was nothing for it, he had to wait before the gates opened again, and in this wilderness between worlds, this cave was all he could manage. Not much harm in letting the sensations take him for this breath of time, and then he would carry her to the gates, and return to pick up his next charge.

But that is not what happened.

The singer-dancer-entertainer woke up in her home, a few seconds later, coughing up wine, startling her guests who had begun to mourn her.

He found himself in the dark, reduced to a dot of existence, a cellular tissue of awareness. A mistake. All angels knew feeling was a mistake, they’re not supposed to feel, just be.

Now he must be born into this human world. Must learn, through pain and sensation, to rise above both. He must remember.

———————-

A to Z stories

If you’re intrigued by this story, look up A to Z stories of Life and Death,my ebook of short stories just like this one. Many thanks to Rachel Morgan and Alex J Cavanaugh for featuring this book on their blogs. I’m overwhelmed by the generosity of the blogging community, and would like to thank all those who visit my blog and cheer me on. Writing is sometimes a hard, lonely job, and I’m happy that other than the satisfaction that comes from the process of writing, I’m fortunate enough to be given so much love.

How do you judge a teacher toying with the sexuality of her teenaged student?

That is how my book A to Z Stories of Life and Death starts off on Smashwords.

Next step is Kindle, of course.

Just wanted to take a minute to tell my blog-friends who’ve bought the book already how grateful I am for their support.  Thanks also to a fellow-writer who reviewed it. I’ve never met any of you…so my only conclusion is I’m very lucky, and that writers are the nicest bunch of folks, who support each other.

I’ve received support in spadefuls, and I just want the opportunity to be grateful.

Here are the folks who inspired and helped me with the book, and I’d like to send a copy of the book to them to just express my million thanks in a minuscule way.

So, here goes, in no particular order: (Please tell me if you prefer not to receive a copy, because I don’t mean to intrude, only express my appreciation). Most are amazing writers and bloggers, some are super-talented photographers and designers. All are worth the visit and the follow.

DarcKnyt  Marian Allen  Petra Hefner 

Nutschell  Nicole/MadlabPost  Dafeenah 

Bornstoryteller  PencilGirl Patricia 

Christina Majaski  JL Campbell Corinne O’Flynn 

Claire Goverts  Anna Tan  Indigobunting 

Talli Roland India Drummond AlexJCavanuagh

Gladys Hobson  Arlee Bird  Bronxboy55

Priya  KCWoolf  Marcel Heijnen  Jake Garn 

TobyWNeal   Andrew Graeme Gould

A thousand thanks to each one of you. Some of you read the book and helped edit it, some inspired it, and others cheered me on. To each and every one of you, I’m grateful. Let the A to Z Stories of Life and Death ebook experiment begin!

The Long and Short of A to Z Stories of Life and Death

A to Z stories

As regular readers of this blog know, I’m publishing A to Z Stories of Life and Death as an ebook of stories I did during the A to Z Challenge in April.

Below, I’m sharing the short description (>400 characters) and the long description (>4000 characters) that I need to upload on Smashwords. Those familiar with some of the stories, please tell me if they ring true. Those who’ve never read any of my short work, please tell me if these descriptions would intrigue you enough to spend some small change on it!

Short Description:

How do you judge a teacher toying with the sexuality of her teenaged student? A boy who decides to murder his mother? What thoughts rage inside a pedophile serial killer before he shoots himself? These are some of the premises of 26 stories of life and death, based on 26 letters of the alphabet. They question the concepts of beauty, truth, and morality, by revealing the face of the other side.

Long Description:

The twenty-six A to Z stories based on twenty-six letters of the alphabet cover a wide spectrum. They show us people at a point in their life when it changes, for the better or worse, because they choose to make a decision. 

The stories also question our moral compass: how do you judge a teacher toying with the sexuality of her teenaged student? A boy who decides to murder his mother? What thoughts rage inside a pedophile serial killer before he shoots himself?

Some of the characters in the stories confront death, others talk about life with its quirks and whimsies. Each voice, ranging in age from a six-year-old to a centenarian, has its own riveting story to tell. Together, this collection of stories at over 12000 words attempts to prove that when it comes to stories, depth can sometimes replace length and breadth.

Please tell me what you think, and feel free to leave me changes in the comments, or on email at meringue dot p at gmail dot com.

I’ll be grateful as always. Thanks once again to those (you know who you are) who suggested the book, and those who’re helping me bring it to being.

Do what you do: Another short short!

Do what you do: the Man and his Muse

Every once in a while I doodle on a writing prompt and it becomes a piece of flash fiction, and that is what happened this morning. Without further ado, I give you the result of the timed free-writing I did today:

————————–

If Donatella Versace ever needed a double, this one would have worked. She had the fake hourglass figure, the stringy, flat, blonde hair, the bulbous lips, and sunken eyes penciled over high cheek bones. He checked his wallet. After he paid for the drinks, he might have just enough to persuade her.

He gulped down his drink, wiped his beard, and shuffled out to the men’s room, pushing through the crass Karaoke songs in Singlish, the cigarette smoke, the stink of cheap whisky, beer, and wine. She walked past him, almost colliding.

For a moment, he thought she would come undone, her breasts bounce on the floor, each going its separate way, her ass tumble out and rock slowly in its place, her lips splatter on the floor in a pink splotch. But her lipstick held back her lips, her bustier did an admirable job of keeping together her middle, and stockings and stays did the rest. She stayed within her skin and righted herself on her teetering heels.

Back on his seat, he waved for the check, and she came, holding the small black folder with her claw-like nails.  The sight of them prompted him to look at his own gnarled hands, yellow, blue, and green paint cracked under his nails.

When he asked her, she smiled, and said in her nasal, Texan drawl, aren’t you too old to be doing such things?

I’ll never be too old to do what I do, he said.

Afterwards, when he had taken off her breasts, her lips, her ass, her heels, she talked to him of her husband back home who had married again, of her kids who must have grown up by now, of how terrified she was of growing old.

The studio loft smelled of her, her perfume, and turpentine. His hands worked as she talked, and there they were, the swollen body parts she had stuck on herself to become more of a woman, hanging on sticks on his canvas, sailing on strings.  Behind her, from the window,  the lights of the Singapore skyline went out one by one, and the faint gray outline of tall buildings appeared against the dark of dawn.

Do me a favor, he said, come back often.

I will, she said. I love that you do what you do.

And so they came together, the man and his muse.

—————–

For those who’ve already read my other pieces,  please help me spread the word about A-Z Stories of Life and Death, my book of short short stories. If this is your first encounter with my work, and if you like it, please check out my book as well!

A to Z Stories of Life and Death

A to Z stories of Life and Death

So, here’s the book cover, designed by the super-talented Marcel Heijnen at www.chemistryteam.com. The image is by Jake Garn Photography .

The book should be out on all sorts of e-book retail outlets in the next few weeks, and then the great e-book experiment will begin in earnest. With this e-book, I don’t mean to thumb nose at traditional book publishers–quite the opposite.

I seek to learn the ropes of the fluid publishing market. I’ve been traditionally published, and hope to be considered for publication again. But in the meanwhile, I mean to explore the burgeoning new avenues of publishing.

The idea of the book was suggested by the kind and generous readers of my posts during the A to Z challenge, and to them, and all others who have supported me since, I owe a million thanks.

To those who helped bring about this book, and you know who you are, I cannot hope to ever repay the favor, but please know that I’m immensely grateful.