Write Club

Well I did it, I banged out a 500 word short story (this morning) and emailed it to the people running the Write Club this year. Now all I have to do is sit back and see if it gets selected for head to head challenge.

Wish me luck!

 

Friday Fictioneer: 7/27/12

I'm revisting my farmer Ted character that I created a couple Friday's ago. I've grown quite fond of him. This week's photo prompt was provided by Madison Woods. Other great writers participating in this week's Friday Fictioneers can be found right here.

Wait and See
127 Words

Storm clouds gathered intensity in the sky as Ted detached the hose from the tap. His wife moved beside him as the first fat drops splattered on the dusty ground.

            “Will this help,” she quietly asked.

            Ted thought about the hand-deep crevices he’d found in the corn field, the fruitless apple blossoms, and how he’d already fed a considerable amount hay to the cattle, and unopened pile of bills lying on the table, before taking his wife’s hand. “I don’t know. We’ll just have to wait and see.”  He drew her off the porch. “But we might as well it.”

            In less time than it takes a heart to beat they were soaking wet as the laughed, splashed, and danced in the rain, celebrating the perfect moment.

Friday Fictioneers: 7/20/12

Boo

113 words

Ted advanced towards the grapevine tepee between the tool shed and the corner of the barn. He was struck with the hair raising sensation something lurked behind those vines. He could’ve sworn that the vines had moved and shifted without the benefit of any breeze.  It was silly. Still, the only way he would relax was removing the blasted vines.

                He glanced at his dog, Hap, who stared, fascinated, at the vines.

                “Okay,” he told the dog, “let’s get this over with.”

                The hedge clippers had barely completed the first cut when vines shook violently, as if caught in the middle of a tempest, causing both Ted an Hap to leap backwards, as fourteen fuzzy ducklings burst from the interior of the viney shelter and scrambled towards the barn.

Any and all comments and criticisms will be appreciated. To read some truly incredible flash fiction you should check out the other Friday Fictioneers.

Friday Fictioneers: 7/13/12 Round 2

No sooner do I get something posted for this week's Friday Fictioneers prompt, when another idea slams into me. I like this one a little better, but I decided to leave both posted. Any and all comments and criticisms will be appreciated and considered. Thanks.

To read some incredible bits of flash fiction, you need to visit this page.

The prompt, courtesy Madison Woods.

 

Shouldering On
  106 words

Ted paused, stealing a moment to admire the bird swooping and soaring above his head, gliding from one thermal to another as it circled the property.  The breathtaking beauty of its flight striking counterpoint to its appearance before it settled on the limb of the dying cottonwood. The buzzard folded his wings and turned his head, meeting Ted’s eye, issuing a silent promise. After a moments reflection, Ted shouldered the sack of corn. He’s a farmer, ignoring harbingers of dying crops, broken machinery, low sale prices, and high taxes is just part of his job description. Right now, the cows needed to be fed.

If you're interested, the link to the first story I posted can be found here.

Friday Fictioneers: 7-13-12

This week’s photo prompt, courtesy of Madison Woods. Additional Fictioneers can be found here.

 

Regular Visitor

Everyone thinks of the bird as a kind of a rock star. Each morning, it flies over town and perches on the branches of the dead cottonwood tree located in the center of the old graveyard. All day it rests there, barely moving, watching the visitors, not leaving until the sun starts slithering beneath the horizon. Most believe the bird was a pet, it’s daily pilgrimage a sign of the grief it feels for losing its master, though no one knows who that might be. Not me. I know the bird’s true purpose.

 In a burst of creativity, I ended up writing a second story for this prompt as well. If you want, you can read it here.

Collision-A Short Story

I was supposed to spend this evening writing some articles about online bingo and line editing Dwarfed, but I got distracted by a shiny new story idea.  

This short story is the result of two ideas colliding together. Last week's Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. kept conjuring up an image of a young man with a roll of wire over his shoulder, which I combined with a Goodreads writing contest prompt, London kiss.  

This is a very dirty draft, so I'm sure you're going to find some grammar, punctuation, and style flaws. I beg your forgiveness. I appreciate all comments and criticisms and will give each one due consideration. Particularly with regards to the end, which I'm not happy with.

Collision

A wide band of orange separated the dark blue sky from the even darker earth, as Travis stomped out of the old farmhouse. The screen door shut behind him, splitting the air with a rifle like crack as it slammed against the frame which caused Conway, the old blue tick to lift his head and peer at Travis with sleepy eyes. Travis’s boot heels beat a steady tempo against the warped wood as he hurried across the sagging porch towards the truck parked alongside the driveway.

            Conway heaved a heavy sigh and pushed himself to his feet and trailed after him towards the barn.

            Travis made it to the barn. He managed to pull the door open and drop the heavy roll of wire over his shoulder without giving into the urge. It wasn’t until he tucked the heavy pair of leather gloves and other tools into the battered leather saddlebags before his hand slipped into his pocket pulling out the slim phone he’d tucked into his jeans.  His finger’s shook as he flipped the phone open.

            A ball of molten lava filled his throat, swelling until he could barely breathe as he stared at the image on the screen.

            To anyone who had grabbed the phone from his hand and glanced at the photo they wouldn’t have though much about the picture. They wouldn’t have thought it looked any different than any photo of the London tower most tourists snapped on any given day.

             Most wouldn’t notice the girl who stepped into the frame just as Travis snapped the photo. If they did they might comment on how pretty she was. They might comment on the fact that her purple flip flops and thin tank top wasn’t really appropriate attire on what was clearly such a rainy day. One person, Travis’s sister-in-law, looked through his vacation photos and commented on how the girl must have be a very silly kind of person to not have noticed him taking a picture.

            No one would have given her more than a passing glance.

            Yet her image consumed Travis. Even when he wasn’t holding his phone, he saw her. Her slightly blurred had been branded on his retinas.

            He’d been home for months, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the way her dark hair flowed around her shoulders as she jogged up to him, or how her bright smile didn’t quite erase the sadness shadowing her brilliant blue eyes as she stepped close to him. He felt the way her nails scrapped against his, before tangling in his hair, tugging his face down as she tilted hers back. His body vibrated in memory of the way she pressed hers against him, so close that not the slightest whisper of air fit between them. The scent of rain mixed with her raspberry shampoo as she braced all of her weight on him. A heartbeat later, all thought fled his mind as her lips connected with his, and his soul became hers.

            An entire lifetime of happy moments flitted through Travis’s mind. He’d never been surer of what the future held. In that moment he knew his heart belonged to her.

            A wide smile curved her lips, slightly more swollen than they’d been a moment earlier. This time it seemed to brighten her entire face.

            Drowning in her eyes, Travis racked his brain, struggling to come up with something to say, wishing for the first time in his life that he had a talent for spinning words into poetry.

            The girl didn’t seem to mind his silence. The fingers of her left hand played at the frayed pocket of his jeans as she rose up on tiptoe, brushing her lips across his before leaning close to his ear.

            “Thank you,” she whispered, her breath washing over his skin, causing his hair to flutter. “That was perfect.”

            “Mmm,” Travis hummed. He dipped his head, going in for another kiss, unable to resist the way they tasted of caramel coffee and strawberry lip gloss.

            The world shifted.

            The girl nipped at his lower lip, and rocked back. Travis had never been so aware of the space separating people. Her fingers lingered on his chest, just over his heart, for a split second before she took a step back.

            His shock was so intense, Travis couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t chase after her. He simply stood and watched as she jogged through the rain, her flip flops snapping against the bottom of her feet. By the time he found his voice, she’d been swallowed up in the crowd, and Travis didn’t know where to begin searching for her.

            She’d been in his life just long enough to turn his world upside down.

            Conway whined and swiped his paw against Travis’s thigh, jerking Travis from his memories and back to the present. He needed another moment to adjust to the bright morning sunlight and dusty farm.

            Travis’s eyes narrowed. For as long as he could remember, Travis had loved the farm, but since she’d stolen a kiss and a piece of his heart farming hadn’t held the same appeal. He simply went through the motions.

             Shifting the loops of wire to a more comfortable position on his shoulder and dug into his jeans pocket, removing a crumpled piece of rose pink scrap of paper from its depths. He opened it carefully, and stared at the writing. The only thing scrawled on the paper was a combination of numbers, Travis assumed they were a phone number. Since he hadn’t seen the paper prior to the kiss, he concluded the girl must have slipped the paper into his pocket before she bolted.

            Travis’s thumb hovered over his phone’s keypad, brushing lightly over the keys as he studied the phone number. The idea of typing the number in caused his stomach to twist into a knot.

            Grunting in disgust he shoved the paper and phone into his pocket.

            As he swung up onto the tractor seat, Travis found himself wondering if it was fear or common sense that had once again prevented him from making the call. He pondered if he would ever use it.