Happy Release Day to Broken Dolls by Tyrolin Puxty

BROKEN DOLLS, by Tyrolin Puxty

Genre(s): science-fiction, fantasy, horror

Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press

Date of Release: December 14, 2015

Cover Artist: Eugene Teplitsky

Find Online: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Goodreads

Description:

Ella doesn’t remember what it’s like to be human - after all, she’s lived as a doll for thirty years. She forgets what it’s like to taste, to breathe…to love.

She helps the professor create other dolls, but they don’t seem to hang around for long. His most recent creation is Lisa, a sly goth. Ella doesn’t like Lisa. How could she, when Lisa keeps trying to destroy her?

Ella likes the professor’s granddaughter though, even if she is dying. Gabby is like Ella’s personal bodyguard. It’s too bad the professor wants to turn Gabby into a doll too, depriving her of an education…depriving her of life.

With time running out and mad dolls on the rampage, Ella questions her very existence as she unearths the secrets buried in her past; secrets that will decide whether Gabby will befall the same fate…

About The Author:

I’m a Jack, or more accurately, a Tyrolin of all trades. In my 23 years, I have walked the red carpet for song nominations, was awarded Australian of the Year in 2014 for Music and in 2015 for the Arts, worked as a qualified paralegal, appeared in TV Shows, hired for product photography, modelled, became a Justice of the Peace, started my own club for school children interested in the arts, worked for a successful magazine company, published a book, hugged a koala and had a show ride collapse on my head. 

Find Tyrolin Puxty Online:

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads 

Curiosity Quills Press (CQ) is a small hybrid publishing company specializing in genre fiction of the highest quality. With 150+ titles in our catalog already and approximately 6 new books coming out each month, there’s never a dull moment at CQ. We work with major retailers such as Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Audible to ensure that you, the reader, can find whatever you are looking for at your convenience.

Founded in 2011 by Eugene Teplitsky and Lisa Gus, CQ was initially a resource portal for writing and publishing, created in an effort to help writers, like themselves, survive the publishing industry. After rapid success, CQ morphed into publishing press that over time has solidified its share in the market. Now we spend our days searching for the next great escape!

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Book Review: Soundless by Richelle Mead

I loved Richelle Mead's Vampire Academy, Bloodlines, and Game of X series. I awaited this newest book from her, ready to devour it as I have all the others.  I will say that it was a quick read, but I didn't enjoy it nearly as much as her previous books.

Fei lives in a mountaintop village where everyone is deaf.  No one in her village has been able to hear in centuries, and now residents are starting to go blind.  Fei sister, Zhang Jing is one of those losing sight. As an artist, she relies on her sight to contribute to the village's daily record.  When her failing sight is discovered, she is demoted to a house servant.  Fei is determined to restore her sister's honor, as well as uncover the cause of the blindness.

The mountain village is isolated, sealed away from the rest of the world by avalanches.  Every pass that leads to the base of the mountain has been blocked by boulders that are too massive to be moved.  The villagers are unable to provide food for themselves due to the harsh landscape, so they rely on a zip line for supplies.  The township at the bottom of the mountain sends them food in exchange for the precious metals they mine at the top of the mountain.

Fei's ex-boyfriend, Li Wei, loses his father in a mining accident.  Convinced his father's death could have been prevented, he decides to risk a trip down the mountain to petition the line keeper for more food.  The villagers are near starving and need more rations. Fei miraculously regains her hearing and insists she accompany Li Wei on his quest.

They make it down the mountain and discover the world is much different than they expected. There have been other villages. There are other who have lost their hearing.  Food is plentiful and the ore they mine is worth much more than the meager rations they receive in exchange for it.  The king is using them as cheap slave labor to provide him with the ore he needs to remain rich and powerful.  Fei and Li Wei risk everything to get back to their village to warn them that conditions will only continue to worsen and that the people need more than just that zip line to survive.

I wanted to love this book. I didn't.  I liked it. The love that is rekindled between Fei and Li Wei is sweet.  Fei's devotion to her sister resonates with me because I would like to believe I could sacrifice as much for my own sisters.  However, the world-building here is not as strong as it has been in Mead's other books.  This book could be set almost anywhere there are mountains.  Short of the persimmons they find growing in the wild and the characters' names, there is not much that indicates this book takes place in China. I thought the deaf community was an interesting premise, but I feel like it fell flat in the face of the blandness of everything else.

It's a cute little story, but the most memorable thing about it is how underwhelmed you are when you finish.

Three out of five stars

Flash Fiction (again!)

There's this literary agent whose blog is immensely helpful.  Periodically, she hosts flash fiction contests. One hundred words or less, with a word bank of five words that must be included in your entry.  This week's words were: snag, rag, creak, peak, and week.  They don't usually rhyme like this. Here's my entry for the contest:

They said I reached my peak at twenty two, but I wasn’t done yet.

The paper’s nagging headlines creaked through my brain.

Buttonweezer botches bout.

Just having an off day.

Felicia faceplants in fettucini.

So I slept through one interview? Big deal.  It was a bad week, and then a worse year.  A smidge of narcolepsy and suddenly I’m a liability.  No venue will book me.  My subpar agent stopped returning my calls.

I was patient. I waited. I prepared.

I slid the .357 under my jacket. It was time to show them just how many rounds I had left.

I didn't win, but I did get a shout out, which still makes me pretty happy, considering there were 73 entries. The competition is always fierce.  I don't mean the authors fight, or are nasty to each other.  I mean, the other entries are always amazing.  Sometimes, I can't even bring myself to enter because the entries are that good.  I've taken to drafting my own entry and submitting it before I read any of the others.  Otherwise, I may not enter at all.  

It's difficult to write a complete story in only one hundred words. I love these contests because they force me to get rid of all the fluff.  Reading the other entries also helps me note where my own writing is weak or has failed.  Even if I don't win, it's good practice. As a bonus, I get to read seventy plus other stories that are quick, engaging reads. 10/10 would lose this type of contest again.

Book Review: The Shepherd's Crown

I had mixed feelings going into this book.  Knowing it was Terry Pratchett's last glimpse into Discworld made it very bittersweet, but I could not ignore the call of Tiffany Aching and the Wee Free Men. I listened to the audiobook version, which was excellently narrated.

Granny Weatherwax wanders away with Death, leaving the witches without an unofficial leader among them.  Tiffany Aching is nominated to take her place.  The elf world is in revolt.  Queen Nightshade has been cast out into the human world while her people plot an invasion. The Wee Free Men find the fairy queen badly beaten and bring her to Tiffany.  An unlikely friendship begins to form between the young witch and the former queen as Tiffany teaches Nightshade what it means to be human.

As Tiffany struggles to fill Granny's shoes as well as maintain her work on the Chalk, she must also train a new apprentice and babysit the fairy queen.  If that wasn't enough, she must also come up with a plan to thwart the elvish invasion before the wreak too much havoc on the human world.

As always, Pratchett's characters are lively and loveable (or hateable). There's a perfect blend of humor and action as well as sadness, both due to events that unravel as the story is told, and the touching afterword regarding Pratchett's passing and his passion for his work.  It's a wonderful story, and one I know I will revisit, once I think I'll be able to make it through without crying.

So close, I can taste it!

Welcome to the last full week of NaNoWriMo!  It's been a tough month, but November always is. I'll admit, I've struggled for the past few days to reach my word goal.  I was at another lull.  My characters were preparing for the final boss showdown.  While forcing myself to write about battle strategies and new settings, all I wanted to do was skip to the action.  I'm on the cusp of the final scene now.  I have a feeling tomorrow will be an epic word day.

I've topped 45k already.  The end goal is so close now. Less than 5k to go, and I still have an entire week to go.  I may power through to 50k tomorrow so I can give myself a worry-free Thanksgiving weekend.

I'm still certain my story won't be finished at the 50k mark.  I realized today, there is a very real possibility that it will need to extend to a second book.  I don't think it's trilogy material, but who knows where book two will take them.

For those of you struggling to reach 50k, keep going! There's still time to win this thing. Regardless of your final word count, you have more written than you did when November began. It might not be a novel, but it's still a good start.

So, here's to the last week of this grueling challenge and resuming normal life!

For those of you wondering, here's a link to my novel info for this year.  You can also see my past Nano projects and how many times I've failed at this!

http://nanowrimo.org/participants/gabbyg/novels

Book Review: Broken Dolls by Tyrolin Puxty

* The publisher gave me an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review*

Ella has never known a life outside of the professor's attic.  She loves trees, painting, and, most of all, to dance.  Ella is also a doll who, the professor says, was once human.  The professor dresses her in a new tutu everyday, and her life, while limited, is happy.  Then the professor introduces her to another doll named Lisa.  Lisa is not happy. Lisa is quite possibly crazy ad tries to kill Ella.  Lisa runs away from the attic and discovers secrets about the professor, secrets that make Ella question everything about her existence.  She also begins to wonder if the professor is really a gentle man that wants to help those that are broken, or if he is a mad man that turns girls into dolls for fun.

The concept of this novel is very unique.  While wild cures for terminal diseases have definitely been written before, a transference of consciousness while the body heals was something new for me.  The professor has to wipe the dolls' memories clean so the stress of their memories doesn't hinder their human body's ability to heal.  This complicates things.  Some dolls, like Lisa, remember just enough of their old lives to resent their dollness.  Others are maddened by the transformation and have to be deactivated.  The author gave each doll a unique activation experience and backstory.  The reader cares about all of them, even Lisa.

I think the most interesting twist came when I realized I didn't like the protagonist. At all.  When she is a doll, Ella is lovely, but as a human she's selfish and hateful.  It isn't often that a book makes me dislike the narrator this much. Kudos to Puxty for making the transition so gradual that I didn't even realize how my feelings had changed until I had nearly reached the end of the book.

With a cast of very interesting characters, some real, some less human, and a very unique concept, Broken Dolls is a captivating read. Four out of five stars.

Spotlight: Grudging by Michelle Hauck

Title: GRUDGING

Author: Michelle Hauck

Pub. Date: November 17, 2015

Publisher: Harper Voyager Impulse

Format: eBook

Find it: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Goodreads

A world of chivalry and witchcraft…and the invaders who would destroy everything.

The North has invaded, bringing a cruel religion and no mercy. The ciudades-estados who have stood in their way have been razed to nothing, and now the horde is before the gates of Colina Hermosa…demanding blood.

On a mission of desperation, a small group escapes the besieged city in search of the one thing that might stem the tide of Northerners: the witches of the southern swamps.

The Women of the Song.

But when tragedy strikes their negotiations, all that is left is a single untried knight and a witch who has never given voice to her power.  And time is running out.

A lyrical tale of honor and magic, Grudging is the opening salvo in the Book of Saints trilogy.

Excerpt:

Shortly after the combat, Ramiro made his excuses to the men at the wall and left, returning to the citadel and taking the stairs to the roof. Some alcalde’s wife from the past had turned this spot into an outdoor garden and dining room, making it a favorite retreat for many. A peaceful place when he felt anything but.

Other people’s blood spotted his white shirt. Had things gone differently, it could easily have been his own. He needed a bath and a rest, but his mind hummed from the conflict, leaving him unable to stop pacing. Cold chills claimed his limbs. His stomach was sourer than when alcohol had filled it. With no clear single-combat victory, he hadn’t earned his beard. The night reeked of disappointment.

How long? How long could they keep the Northerners out?

Stars spotted the night sky here, where the citadel met the top of the world. Or so it had always seemed to him as a child. Life was no longer so certain now that he was older.

He drew in the cool scent of creeping jasmine, carefully tended and watered by hand in pots across the rooftop. Colina Hermosa spread before him, a humbling sight. The city stretched away from the citadel on all sides, a jewel shining with lights. It spread down the hill, becoming wider and grander as it sprawled, with imposing avenues and white-clad stucco buildings whose thick walls and small windows kept out the noonday heat. There was squalor and dirt as well, fits of temper, rudeness, and often impatience. But the darkness hid all that, washing the city of its faults and giving it a fresh life until it tumbled like the sea against the immovable stone walls that now held out the Northerners.

His heart swelled with love. Something worth defending. Home.

Outside the high, white walls, well beyond arrow shot, was a sight not so welcoming. There, jammed between the city and a deep, old quarry used to build the city walls, campfires burned. A red swarm of rage and death, brimstone and smoke, offering a grim contrast with the peaceful firmament. Not by the hundreds did they burn, but by the thousands, mirroring the stars in the sky. How many peasants’ houses did they demolish to feed so much hungry fire? They must be down to burning cacti. How they kept it up night after night, he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Salvador had talked on about supply trains and quartermasters, but Ramiro had let his imagination dwell on his first ride instead. An indulgence he regretted now.

If only each fire meant a single enemy, but that was wishful thinking. Each fire contained tens of men. Tens and thousands. And behind them, the siege machines waited their turn. A lethal combination for Colina Hermosa.

He touched the spot above his spleen, and whispered, “Santiago, don’t let me give in to despair.”

About Michelle: 

Michelle Hauck lives in the bustling metropolis of northern Indiana with her hubby and two teenagers. Two papillons help balance out the teenage drama. Besides working with special needs children by day, she writes all sorts of fantasy, giving her imagination free range. A book worm, she passes up the darker vices in favor of chocolate and looks for any excuse to reward herself. Bio finished? Time for a sweet snack.

She is a co-host of the yearly contests Query Kombat and Nightmare on Query Street, and Sun versus Snow.

Her epic fantasy, Kindar's Cure, is published by Divertir Publishing. Her short story, Frost and Fog, is published by The Elephant's Bookshelf Press in their anthology, Summer's Double Edge. She's repped by Sarah Negovetich of Corvisiero Literary.

Website | Twitter | Facebook page | Tumblr | Goodreads

Nanowrimo: Coming into week 3

The wretchedly awkward week two has finally passed.  The lull of details and backstory has been conquered.  Action has replaced the slow build up, and the words are flowing much more freely.  I hit 32k words today.  That means I'm almost 6k words ahead of the daily goal.  It's quite possibly the biggest lead I've had at this stage in the game.

November is always a whirlwind month, but this one has been a doozy.  Somehow, even in the midst of hosting a benefit art auction, I've managed to stay on top of the daily word count.  I'm choosing to take it as a sign that this novel wants to be written.  It's all coming so naturally.

Of course, there's also the part of me that whispers that the words can't flow this freely forever. I dread that one morning, they just won't come at all. It appears that week three brings the fraud police to my door.  So while the words are still coming, the confidence that they'll form a decent story by the end is waning.

I've made it this far, so I'm determined to see it all the way to 50k, fraud police be damned.  Even if the story sucks, it's still my story.

Nanowrimo Week 2!

Week two is one of the hardest weeks for me.  The crazed excitement from week one has worn off. All of the ideas I've had bouncing around in my head have already made it to paper.  I've hit a lull in the action.  Quest preparations are underway, but gearing up is boring.  My writing is in a slump.  I gave myself a bit of a break today and sketched this lovely map:

So, now that it is painfully obvious that cartography is not one of my strengths, let's discuss how helpful this hideous map is.

My characters need to find something.  I need the route they take to that something to make sense.  I also need for it to remain constant.  Should they pass through the same area twice, the area needs to remain unchanged from the last time they came through.  A map becomes a necessity when your characters travel.

This map was a bit more fun than most because it's a fantasy world, so I could put whatever obstacles in their way that I wanted.  Need a harrowing rescue scene? Add some quicksand and poisonous snakes.  Do your characters need a push to help them snuggle up? How about some spooky scenery to force them into each other's arms? 

I've still got a general outline of where I want things to go, I just have to trudge through some mundane detail until I can get to the fun stuff.  It's the hardest thing for me to write.  I don't care about the setting as much as I care about the action.  I don't care about dialog tags as much as I care about what the characters actually say.  I always have to go back and add those details in later.  My characters just talk to each other without the meaningful glances, furrowed brows, and cracking voices that will tag the dialog later.

The best thing about Nanowrimo is the it's meant to be a rough draft.  No one's expecting your 50k to be polished and ready to publish on December 1st. 

So, here's to another week of writing! My my quest preparations be completed quickly so that the story becomes fun to write again.

Nanowrimo!!

It's that time of year again. One month, 50,000 words. It's my favorite writing challenge. National Novel Writing Month began today!

I took a new approach this year, and actually planned out my novel. I don't have all of the details worked out yet, but some of my characters have back stories, and I have a general plot outline. I've never gone into November with this much planning done. I usually just wing it. I have found both failure and success with the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants method, but I wanted to give organization a try this year. I'm also using a new writing software. It's called Scrivener, and it helps you plot the novel out. It also provide clean chapter and scene breaks, which makes it much easier to find specific scenes when you go back to edit.

I have a good feeling about this year. It feels like a winner. It helps that I've already met my word count goal for today. Wrote an extra 300 words actually. If I can maintain that momentum, victory is eminent. Easy to say when it's only day one.

While I don't expect to post here daily during Nanowrimo. I do hope to give weekly progress reports. It gives me more incentive to stay on the daily writing goal wagon.

November is going to be a busier month than normal for me, but I still plan to power through and make the 50,000 word goal. I want to write this novel. I will write this novel. Whether it will be finished by the end of November remains to be seen.

Flash Fiction Contest Results

Once upon a time, a girl entered a flash fiction contest to challenge herself. She did really well in the first round, but drew a genre outside of her comfort zone for round two. She tackled the dreaded flash mystery as best she could. But, alas! The girl's best efforts were not good enough. She failed to advance to the third round.

Honestly? I'm relieved. I've got too much on my plate right now to focus on a writing competition.

I'm in the midst of organizing a silent art auction for a friend of mine who was recently diagnosed with cancer. My living room is filling up with assorted artwork, which is pretty awesome. I'll be sad to part with some of the pieces. I've also been painting to add some of my own work to the donation pile.

On top of that, my little one had an allergic reaction to the flu shot this week. His arm is about three times its normal size. We've pumped him full of meds, but his body is recovering slowly. We have an appointment with an allergist to determine whether he has an egg allergy, or if he reacted to a different component of the vaccine. Fun times.

On the writing front, NanoWriMo starts in less than two weeks. I have a general idea of what I want my novel to be about. I know the characters. I expected to be a bit more prepared, but I'll go with what I've got. Sadly, it's still more prepared than I've ever been at the start of November. With the art auction in the middle of the month, as well as Thanksgiving, meeting that 50k word count goal is going to be especially tough this year.

So, did I really need to be in a writing competition with all of this going on? No, it's probably best that I didn't advance. Am I still disappointed that I didn't make it to round three? Absolutely.

Book Review: Inconceivable

Hatty leaves her home in the Ozarks to study journalism abroad in the small country of Toulene. She has aspirations of becoming an investigative reporter, but lands an internship at a tabloid. She accidentally runs into the Prince, John Meinrad, at a bar, and it isn't long before fate has them head over heels for each other. 

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage. Except, it doesn't for John and Hatty. It's not for lack of trying. Their struggle to conceive is heart-wrenching. 

The writing is strong and clever, and Hatty is very easy to sympathize with. However, I couldn't get past how much she willingly gives up to be with John. I understand they're in love, but the sacrifice is very one-sided. In order to "be allowed" to marry John, Hatty must abandon her internship, the research she has conducted for what was to be her first big story, her degree (they won't even let her graduate!), and her U.S. citizenship. She does it with hardly any fuss. Hatty is so strong in her struggle with infertility, willing to go to great lengths to be a mother. Where was that passion for her career and education? I almost abandoned the book after Part One because I was so pissed at Hatty for how quickly she caved to the royal demands.

The latter half of the book is worth it though. It is touching and emotional, and even brought a few tears as I read. Hatty seems to grow stronger as she faces increasing pressure from the monarchy to produce an heir, and even blackmails the King when he threatens to have her marriage to John annulled. In her desperation to conceive, she seems to find herself, and it's beautiful to see. 

If you are looking for a whirlwind, fairytale romance, this is definitely not the book for you. Yes, our heroine gets her prince, but it's not the flippant happy ending you might expect. It's so much more.

** I received an ARC of this book from the publisher in exchange for an honest review. **

Book Review: Alice Takes Back Wonderland

So, we all know Alice fell down a rabbit hole where things became curiouser and curiouser, but what happened once Alice went home? After her adventures in Wonderland were finished, where did Alice's story lead? In his book, Alice Takes Back Wonderland, David D. Hammons tells us that Alice's parents medicated her to help quell her delusions of Wonderland, and Alice did her best to live a normal life. Except Alice lives in the United States, and it's present day, and she catches the white rabbit robbing her house and follows him back to Wonderland, where nothing is as she remembers it.

The Ace of Spades is sucking the wonder out of Wonderland. He wants it to be more like Alice's world. Alice decides to do everything she can to depose Ace as the ruler of Wonderland and return the wonder to the world she has such fond memories of. The fact that Ace wants her dead proves to be a bit of a challenge.

The Mad Hatter tells Alice she must amass an army and wake the Sleeping Beauty to save Wonderland, and launches her to a new land, where Alice encounters characters from fairy tales, and discovers she may be a fairy tale character herself.

I wasn't immediately drawn into this story. The first chapter is a rushed flight from Neverland when Alice was a young child, and is filled with the nonsensical wisdom of the Cheshire Cat. Alice's mother made me want to throw my Kindle into the wall because she was so unsupportive and indifferent to Alice's discomfort with the medication.

However, once Alice returned to Wonderland, I couldn't help but be drawn into Hammons' story. I love the way that he intertwines the tales of so many characters. So many people make appearances, from Jack the Giantslayer to Tinkerbelle, to Pinocchio, and none of them are the characters you expect. Fairy tales are only echoes of the truth, and the stories have been told through rose-colored glasses for many of these characters. Happy endings are a bit harder to find than our storybooks led us to believe.

I dislike that so many authors have begun to draw their stories out into trilogies. I miss the days when a good adventure could begin and end within the covers of one book. That being said, I actually find myself wishing Hammons had extended this into a second novel. There are so many wonderful characters and settings, that I wish we had more time with some of them.

Overall, I found this to be an enjoyable read, and fans of the original Alice might find this dystopian Wonderland an interesting contrast to the one with which they are familiar.

Flash Fiction Round Two

I'm not feeling as confident going into the second round of the flash fiction contest. I feel like I struggled incorporating all of the prompts into the story. Hopefully, I'm just being too harsh of a critic. I won't find out for about a month. Whether I advance to the next round or not, I will receive feedback on both stories from all of the judges. I feel like that's really the most valuable part of this experience. Unbiased criticism is difficult to find. Readers don't believe me when I say to be brutally honest. If something in my story isn't working, tell me! It's the only way I can fix it.

I don't think there's any saving this one, though.

Genre: Mystery
Setting: A Wax Museum
Object: a zipper






The Wax Museum Weeper

Herb wouldn’t admit that he was scared.  He’d been the night watchman at the Grand Prairie Wax Museum for nearly four years. The wax figures were creepy, sure, but far from frightening. Within the walls of the Grand Prairie, Herb was President Obama’s top advisor. Beyonce always said yes when he asked her out for drinks, and Betty White always had a smile for him.

At the Grand Prairie, Herb was not the quiet kid that everyone ignored. He didn’t hide behind his long hair to avoid being noticed. Company policy dictated that he had to pull it back and tuck it beneath his hat, exposing the acne scars and timid eyes beneath. As a night watchman, Herb finally looked people in the eye. Granted most of them were made of wax, but he still considered it a victory. The uniform lent him a level of confidence that he lacked outside of the museum’s walls. Among the nation’s top celebrities, Herb could be anything and everything. Except brave.

Herb didn’t have to admit he was scared. The sweat on his brow and the unsteady beam of his flashlight undermined any attempt at bravado.

The museum was usually quiet at night. There were dozens of life-like figures frozen in poses that were supposed to look natural. None of them made noise. Herb’s footsteps were the only sound that ever cut through the silence, until tonight. Tonight, Herb could hear someone sobbing.  Muffled whimpers floated on the stale air, following Herb through every room of the museum.

Herb knew the stories they told about this place, anyone who had lived in this town for more than five minutes knew them. The old owner had been poisoned, strychnine-laced cough syrup found at her bedside. Her assistant had died suspiciously months before, though no one could prove her death was anything other than an accident. Neither murder had been solved. Halloween was one of their busiest days. Tourists and locals alike packed into the museum hoping to catch sight of the ghosts of the two women who met such a tragic end.

Herb didn’t believe in that nonsense. At least, he tried to remind himself that he didn’t as he resumed his rounds. He’s also heard that ghosts weren’t very keen on the scripture, so he began to hum Amazing Grace, just in case.

When the cries became a little louder, a sudden rush of cold air ran down Herb’s leg and he shivered.  He grabbed his flashlight tighter and swallowed the lump, that was definitely not fear, in his throat.

For the first time, Herb found himself longing for the buzz of conversation that filled the museum during business hours. A group of schoolchildren had been loading up a bus when he got to work this evening. Their playful laughter would be a welcome break from this anticipatory silence. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the flashlight so hard his hand shook. Something crackled under his foot when he took his next step. His weak beam of light slashed down to his foot. It was just a granola wrapper. One of the school kids must have dropped it as they wandered around.

The whimper amplified, growing steadily until it became a wail. The sound bounced off of the walls and echoed through the empty corridors. Goose bumps ran up Herb’s arms and down his legs. He clung to his few remaining scraps as his panic bounded through his chest like a caged rabbit.

Herb was in the hall near the restrooms and water fountain.  It sounded like the noise was coming from the men’s bathroom.  Herb tip-toed to the door. C’mon, Herb. You can do this. He braced himself against the doorframe, took a deep breath, and kicked the bathroom door in.

There was a young boy huddled in the far corner.  He squealed, burying his head between his knees when Herb’s boot hammered the door.

“Jesus, kid. You ‘bout gave me a heart attack,” Herb said, relaxing his grip on the flashlight.  He flicked the light switch and the florescent bulb sputtered to life. The boy continued to weep quietly in the corner.  Herb guessed the boy had still been in the bathroom when the school group left. The chaperones must have botched their headcount as they corralled the children onto the bus.

The automatic timer for the museum lights is set to turn them off five minutes after close. There was a small window above the paper towel dispenser, but it didn’t even let in much light during the day. At night, the bathroom was pitch dark. The poor boy must have been terrified.

Herb approached slowly and softened his voice as if he was trying to soothe a skittish kitten instead of a child. “Hey, now. It’s ok. Let’s get you out of the bathroom, eh?” He reached for the boy, who let himself be pulled to his feet. His eyes were pink and swollen.

“What’s your name?” Herb asked.

“Jason,” the boy sniffled.

“Alright, Jason. I think I’ve got some hot cocoa in the office. Would you like a cup?” Herb put on his most reassuring smile.

Jason nodded, though his tears continued to run in a silent stream down his cheeks. When they stood to go meet her at the front door, Herb’s body shook with another cold chill. What was with him today? Maybe he was coming down with something.

“Hey, mister,” Jason said as he wiped at his cheeks. “Did you know your fly is down?”

Herb’s eyes darted down to the crotch of his pants. Sure enough, the zipper was completely down. Well, that explains some things. He wasn’t catching a cold after all. Herb rolled his eyes and pulled his zipper up before escorting Jason through the dim hallway.

Flash Fiction

Flash fiction has always been a challenge for me. Telling a story, a good story in only a few thousand words is tricky. Limiting the words to less than one thousand seems impossible.

Because I love pushing my brain to its limit, I decided to enter NYC Midnight's Flash Fiction contest. You have 48 hours to write a short story of one thousand words or less. They also throw in a twist, as if that wasn't challenge enough. They give you a genre, a setting, and an object that all have to be included in the story.

I got rom-com, which I wasn't too thrilled about, a private island, and a walking cane. The thing is, I misread the prompts and wrote about an island paradise instead. I didn't realize the mistake until after I had submitted my story. I resigned myself to a low score for failing to follow the rules, and did my best to forget about the contest.

The email came today to announce the results. I checked my group. I got second place. Second, even with twisting the prompt about like I did.

Round two starts at midnight tonight and runs through Sunday. I'm ready to be a jittery wreck until submission. Apparently, I'm better at this flash fiction stuff than I thought. Here's the story I submitted. Hope you like it!

A Change is Gonna Come

The Waikiki Community Center smelled faintly of stale sweat and the fake lemon scent of bargain cleaning products. Gloria almost walked back to her rental car. She felt ridiculous. She was too old to be prancing about at a singles dance. She should never have let the concierge talk her into coming here. The thought of returning to her empty hotel room renewed her resolve to enter the dance hall.

She found a table in a dimly lit corner and eased herself into a metal folding chair. She didn’t dare gaze around the room out of fear that she would catch someone’s eye, or even worse, draw them over to her table.

She closed her eyes and tried to let the sound of Otis Redding’s voice calm her frayed nerves.

It's been too hard living, oh my,

and I'm afraid to die.

Not exactly the most soothing lyrics.

“Did it hurt?”

Gloria was startled out of her near-doze. “Sorry. What?”

“When you fell from heaven, did it hurt?”

Gloria laughed, her chuckle degenerating into a raspy wheeze.  It took her a minute to regain her breath. She studied the stranger’s face while her breathing grew steadier. Deep crow’s feet showed that he smiled often. His lips were actually spread in a toothy grin now.

“Good heavens! That line is older than I am!”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little rusty. It’s been awhile since I tried to impress a beautiful woman. It doesn’t make you any less of an angel.”

“I’m afraid flattery will get you everywhere.” She extended a liver-spotted hand. “I’m Gloria.”

The man gently caressed her arthritic knuckles before he planted a leathery kiss against the back of her offered hand. He was at least ten years her junior. His fingers were long and delicate, a sharp contrast to her misshapen digits. Her fingers were so crooked she could no longer wear her rings.

“Harold,” he said. “And I am ever so glad to make your acquaintance.”

Gloria waved a dismissive hand at him. “We both know I’m no spring chicken,” she smiled. “But I appreciate the attention all the same.” She felt color rising in her cheeks and hoped the dim light masked her embarrassment. Cheesy as his lines were, his attention had her flustered.

“Would it be alright if I joined you?”

Gloria surprised herself by pushing the chair beside her away from the table toward Harold. “Please do.” After five years of dinners for one, it was nice to have someone to talk to. She had forgotten how flattery warms your cheeks and compliments can set your pulse racing. She suddenly found it difficult to stop smiling at Harold.

As Harold sat, he tucked a cane beneath the seat. Gloria hadn’t noticed it at first, too distracted by Harold’s smile. Now that she looked closely at it, she could see there was an eagle, mid-flight, perched at the end of the cane.  The detail of the wings was so intricate that she wouldn’t be surprised if the wooden bird took to the air.

“That’s lovely,” Gloria said, pointing to the cane. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift from my wife--my late wife.” Harold’s smile faltered. Gloria reached across the table to take his hand.

“I’m so sorry. How long ago did you lose her?”

“Almost a year.  It’s still hard to believe she’s gone.” Harold tried to withdraw his hand, and Gloria gave it a gentle squeeze before letting him pull away.

“What was her name?”

“Bethany. She always wanted to come here, but we never made it.  After I lost her, I said ‘Harold, you’re going to get your shit together and go to Oahu.’ So, here I am.”  He spread his arms wide, the brilliant smile returning, though it was duller around the edges. “So, what brings you to paradise, Gloria?”

“A promise I made to my George. When he got sick, he made me swear that I would come here.  We were supposed to come the year he got the cancer.  We cancelled our plans so he could start chemo.  He wanted to make sure I came, even if he couldn’t. Maybe especially because he couldn’t.  So, here I am.” She raised her own arms and returned Harold’s smile.

“It must be fate.” Harold’s crow’s feet deepened as his smile perked up at the corners.

“Maybe so,” she conceded, suddenly feeling very much like she did at sixteen when George asked her to her first Spring Fling. She had paced her room for two hours and tried on at least ten dresses before he came to pick her up. His eyes never left her as she descended the stairs to the front door. She had blushed then too, knowing from the intensity of his gaze that the blue dress had been the right choice. They danced to every song, and she had never been so happy to have sore feet. She hadn’t danced since before George got sick. Even then, she was barely nimble enough to rock side to side in his arms as he led her around the kitchen.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to dance?” Harold asked. He pushed himself to his feet with the assistance of the table edge and reached a hand toward her invitingly.

Gloria pushed herself to her feet with the assistance of her own cane, unadorned white aluminum. She stared at it for a moment before she tucked it into the empty chair beside her.

“I would love to,” she said, and Harold led her out onto the dance floor where Otis Redding’s voice followed them around the room.

It's been a long long time coming,

But I know, but I know a change is gotta come.

Oh, yes it is.

New beginnings

The writing challenges have had a wondrous effect. I can feel creativity returning to me bit by bit. Today, while waiting in the doctor's office, I began a new novel, and I'm excited about it.

For the first time in ages, I'm excited to be writing again. While challenges and mini contests I've competed in have been successful in preventing my creative juices form drying up altogether, they feel a bit like a chore. They all have guidelines, criteria, provided plot elements, that I have to meet or include. It is restrained creativity.

Writing a novel leaves all of those constraints behind. The characterization, setting, and genre are my choice. I'm free to take the story where it wants to go. It's refreshing.

Now comes the hard part: maintaining enough momentum that this novel doesn't get discarded before it's finished. I have at least half a dozen beginnings of novels that are collecting dust, most of them deservedly so. They weren't any good.

But the Fraud Police are a powerful force, and can convince me than nothing I write is good enough to see the light of day. It's a constant struggle to overpower their negativity, but I want to write, so even if it isn't any good, even if not a single person will ever read it, even if it's doomed to spend eternity in a dusty notebook hidden away in storage, I will write. I will fill every page.

Weekly Writing Challenges

Once again, I find myself out of the habit of writing daily. I recently discovered that Joseph Gordon-Levitt has this thing, HitRecord. It's a pretty awesome thing. One of the awesome things they do is host a weekly writing challenge. I always want to do it, but never manage to write anything. The deadline for this week is tomorrow, so I forced myself to just sit down and write something tonight. The challenge is to write a letter to the love of your life, who just happens to be marrying your best friend in 48 hours. I chose to write the story directly on the website, so it hasn't been edited, and it was written very quickly. I'm going to take this approach more often because it forces me to submit something without over-thinking. When it comes to my writing, I need to think less.


The challenge, and contributions to it, can be found here:


http://www.hitrecord.org/collaborations/9571?page=1


And here's my contribution:


Dear John

So, it's almost the big day. The first day of the rest of your lives together and blah, blah, blah.
I'm not very good at the romantic crap. But you know that already.

I know you and Steph really want me to come to the wedding, but I can't. I'm a terrible friend and a coward, and I don't trust myself. I'm fairly certain I would get extremely drunk and say inappropriate things at a socially unacceptable volume. You know I have no filter once I get a few beers in me.

Steph is a lovely girl, and I can't do that to her. She deserves her fairy tale, not some goblin clumsily knocking shit over or throwing up in the bushes near the cake.

Do you remember the night you met her? She was my lab partner in Chemistry sophomore year, and I brought her back to the room so we could finish writing up our notes. I knew you were lost from the time you saw her face. Your eyes nearly glassed over. I probably could have seen your imagined future play over your irises if I had stared closely enough. Instantly smitten, man.

I never stood a chance.

Even without Steph, I never would have had a chance with you. And that's ok. I've accepted it. There's nothing that I value more than our friendship.

So, that's why I can't come. I love Steph. She's probably the only reason I passed Chem that year. You couldn't have fallen in love with anyone more perfect. I know you'll have a beautiful life together. Save me a piece of cake, will ya?

Seriously, I hope you can forgive me for sitting this one out.

All my love,

Chet

To the Mom in front of me at Target

This isn't one of those posts. You know, the ones that tear into a stranger for something you observed while they were most likely having a terrible moment during the worst day of their lives. No, this post is a commendation, and a confession.

So, the boy and I are behind a Mom and her two kids at Target the other day. The boy has begged for a slushie enough that my will wore away and I agreed to buy said slushie.  The kids in front of us were also buying slushies.  However, SuperMom pulls out two wallets from her purse and hands one to each kid. Each kid then proceeds to buy their slushie using their own money. How great is that? What a great lesson on how money works. I totally stole her idea and plan to implement it immediately.

The boy picked out his own wallet. It's a Spiderman one with a zipper pocket, which is perfect for all of the change he's going to want to shove in there.  We've discussed how things will work. He wants a snack or treat from the store, he will use his own money to purchase that. If he runs out of money, he can do chores around the house to earn more. I feel like this will be a beautiful system. This means it will most likely crash and burn, but I have high hopes for it.

So, this incident, combined with a history of comics course I'm taking online, have got me thinking about ideas. That mom inspired me to begin a practice that I hope will build a solid foundation for the boy in his understanding of the world of personal finance.  The comic course assigned us to take a god or goddess from any mythology and use it to create a new superhero and villain.  We constantly borrow and trade ideas with those around us.  Look at the wild popularity of sites like Pinterest and Etsy.

The beauty of these borrowed ideas is that they don't have to be exact replicas.  In fact, many times the idea transforms into something unique. Like Poseidon evolving into Aquaman, or the cute party favors you made last year that were inspired by something you saw on Facebook.

My confession: I'm totally an idea stealer. Well, more like an idea transfigurer. Yeah, that's a made up word, but you know what I mean.  So, a huge shout out to the Target mom that inspired me to try something new with the boy, and props to all those creative minds out there that ignite the imaginations of those around you.