mari's randomities

#FridayFlash, NaNo and Writing About Writing

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Fri, 07 Dec 2012 00:24:00 +0000

It's funny how things go. When I first started writing there was no way I'd show my stuff to people. I also knew there would be a long way until I could muster the courage to do so. Although, I knew that nowadays writing doesn't have to be a strictly lonely activity, so I signed up for Twitter and started talking to like minded people.

This is when I first learned about #FridayFlash. Oh boy, how badly I wanted to be a part of it! But I was still shy, so I watched, read and learned.

On May 2010 I finally gathered my wits and wrote my first flash fiction, Zombie Walk. The response was so great that it even got published on an e-zine, Flashes in the Dark, and it inspired me to run a contest Zombie Luv, which was so very funny and a great success! Recently, to my surprise, it was accepted in the anthology The Best of Friday Flash vol. 2, or as we affectionately call it, BOFF #2. (I strongly suggest you follow the links and buy the thing. The stories there are... Wow!)

After that first push I got a little bolder. I wrote weekly stories and made great friends in the #FridayFlash community. I even joined WeSeWrimo (Web Serial Writing Month) and NaNoWrimo (National Novel Writing Month), and got some great writing experience from it.

WeSeWrimo I "won" kind of easily, since you're the one setting your own goals. I was very modest and made the best of it. NaNoWrimo is something different altogether. You have to write 50K words in a month, and if you have never tried something like that, let me tell you this is no easy task. NaNo flunked very early on, but I wasn't too upset about it.

A few months later life got the better of me and I stopped writing. It took me over a year to put it together so I could even consider the writing venture again. No matter, in due time I got back and I do write a few stories now and then, and even, *cough, cough* poems. O.o (Not showing those publicly, sorry! :P)

Ironically enough, now that I write much less than I used to, I find myself writing about writing. Back when I started Randomities (this blog you're reading, if you're new here ;) I set a goal of sharing only my stories and other random stuff. What I least wanted was to write about writing, because I thought that such meta-writing was for the likes of Stephen King, not people like me.

Well, life got the better of me again! Recently I was humbled and honored to be invited to join the #FF staff as a contributing correspondent. I hope I'll be up to the challenge! You can make your own mind about it by reading my first article: "NaNo madness this year? Thanks, but no thanks".

So, if you're curious to know why my NaNo experience flunked, and more importantly, why I'm totally okay with it, follow the link above. I hope you'll find it somehow useful. ;) While you're at it, I suggest you browse through the Friday Flash website. It's full of information and links to uncountable wondrous stories. Have fun!

Darkening - #FridayFlash

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Mon, 17 Sep 2012 15:56:00 +0000

Partial picture credit
(can't find the original artist in this website or anywhere else)

I'm coming back home on a spring day. The sunset increases the contrast of city colors; the horizon is plastered with blues, oranges and yellows. I twist my nose at the garbage on the street and hear the voices behind me.

"Bro, it was so easy!"

"Dunno, man..."

"Swear ya. It was, like, pitch black, like. No way they saw my face. Girls are easy to do, bro."

I feel him smirking and my fingers roll tightly into fists. They seem not to notice me.

"Really, it was like... two seconds, bro! They were coming like right at me. The street was dark already and there was those trees. Kinda scary. But it was like a desert so no chance the cops could get there in time. Irress... Irressis - You know!"

"Irresistible."

"Yeah! You're the brain-man! Like that villain in the cartoon. Superman, like."

I start thinking of alternate ways. I certainly don't want to lead these two to my doorstep. I don't want them having brilliant ideas.

"I mean it, bro. I took one grand like that!" He snapped his fingers. "Easy as shit."

I relax a bit but my indignation stabs me like a broken beer bottle.

"A G?"

"Yeah." I feel him grinning, his rapper sneakers, the below waste jeans and his sideways Yankees. I feel his pride and his friend's greed; another crook coming to life. I feel them closing in and my eyebrows have a nice little gathering on my forehead. I stop to cross the street and contemplate the alternatives. There are still two blocks to get home and the week's work is collecting its toll, weighting on my shoulders and dragging my stomach down. Is it worth walking one extra block or they don't even know I'm here? Such a stupid idea to wear a skirt today... I hold my breath, the stoplight flashes green and I hear their voice dissolving in the past. I breathe out and carry the weight home.

This is a translated piece so please forgive any strangeness. Besides, I'm rusty!

Pause

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 19:37:00 +0000

Hello everyone! It's been a while, no? Have you missed me? I sure have missed you all. :)

I've missed having time to write too, which I haven't had much lately. Or rather, at all! See, my last post was from 31st of August and I haven't been able to visit my writing pals' blogs or chatting on twitter or facebook. Do you realize my last post on twitter is over 20 days old? O.o

Yeah, things have been a bit crazy here in "real life". In fact, in the past few months I've moved from one side of the world to the other, I've changed professions and I've changed my main writing project altogether. Lots of stuff to deal with!

(What is "real" after all? But we do have to care for our bodies, so we have to work and earn money, right?)

With all that happening and other things going on I realized it would be better to allow myself the time to take care of them and create a better structure in life to allow me getting back to my darling trolls and other characters.

So this is an indefinite pause in randomities and my writing life.

My hopes are that things will fall into place on the next few months, but if you feel this is taking way too much, please do give me a nudge! ;P

Oh, right! There are some people who asked me to give feedback on their work. I will look into the material I've already received and those who are still to send me their work, please don't shy out because of this pause! If you still want this crazy woman's perspective, I still want to give it to you! heh

Well, that's a bye for now, but not a goodbye! XD

Smarty Girl - #FridayFlash and Writer's Pets Contest Entry

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 18:49:00 +0000

This is an early #FridayFlash to remind people of the last day to enter the Writer's Pets Contest. Check out the rules here. ;)

My entry is called "Smarty Girl", which I reproduced below for your delight, and the picture that goes with it is the one on the side. Care to share your opinion on it? :) (No comments on the nose's size, please. I'm aware of that! :P)

She sniffed the air. Something had changed, she could feel it. Yes! Beloved was coming home! Tale sweeping the air, she ran to the top of the stairs and lay down, looking expectantly at the front door. When Beloved put the key on the hole, she shouted her warm welcome waggling so hard that her whole body moved along with her ventilator-tale.

But as soon as the door opened she stopped barking, letting her borrowed sister do the job instead. Of course Beloved didn’t like the noise, she never did. She went up the stairs ignoring the excited dogs and shushing the white little sister, who kept calling out despite the firm commands. Beloved went up to the second floor, left her bag on her room and came down again, going to the back of the house where she sat in a chair and looked down at her lovelies. They were still panting with those round shiny eyes, filled with infinite love, earning for her attention.

Beloved couldn’t resist anymore, she stretched her hands, each to one small hot head and smiled broadly at the moans of pleasure. The dogs soon sprawled on the floor, giving their bellies to be stroked. After everyone was fairly satisfied, Beloved got up and went back inside leaving the dogs behind. She snorted at her older sister; Beloved would never know that she was the one calling out behind the door.

Story Up at the #amwriting blog! Endure - #FridayFlash

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 03:01:00 +0000

Picture credit

I'm thrilled to announce that my story "Endure" is up at the amazing writing community's blog #amwriting.org. :D

Please go there and tell me what you think.

After you do so, I suggest you check out the blog for some excellent writing advice and great flash fiction from our #fridayflash folks.

Here's another link: Endure

Something Good: Rescue Doggies

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 03:04:00 +0000

Someone shared this gorgeous and well produced 2-minute video on Twitter, which made me feel great, so besides RTing it I'm sharing it with you. *smiles*

Now, have you noticed the message at the very end?

If not all, most of you know that I'm a dog person. In fact, I have not one but two rescue dogs (that are my inspiration for the #FridayFlash Writer's Pets Contest).

My dogs are lovely. They got even lovelier (if that's possible :P) after I came in contact with Cesar Milan's teachings. Have you ever heard about the show The Dog Whisperer?

If you haven't and you have a dog, you're considering getting one, you simply like dogs, of even if you're afraid of them, I suggest you take a peek. The man is amazing! What he did for me and my lovelies just through his show is incredible, and what he does for the most troublesome dogs I've ever seen... Ohhhh!

"What does he have to do with the video, besides the obvious fact that there's a dog featuring in it?" you ask.

Well, Cesar has many campaigns to promote rescue dogs adoption, but this one called my attention the most: To Hell and Back - The Story of Micheal Vick's Pitbulls

Let me ask you something: when you think of pitbulls, is aggressiveness the first image that comes to mind? If your answer is "yes", you're not alone. But you know, this is not necessarily true. When people say that dogs are just like their owners, they're more right than you imagine. But not because their natures are the same, but because it's in dogs nature to make themselves what their masters want in order to please them.

So, if you care to see things under different perspectives, check out that article about pitbulls.

And to add to my opinion about human-dog relationship, check out this other article about non-verbal communication between humans and dogs: Beyond Words: Human-Animal Interaction. It's mind-boggling!

Now, after seeing the movie and reading the articles, tell me you don't want to adopt a rescue. Impossible! You might even consider getting a lovable and submissive pitbull like Cesar's rehabilitated ones, eh? ;P (Well, not unless you're a cat person, in which case you're forgiven, heh.)

Oh, if you ever decide to adopt a rescue dog (or any dog for that matter), will you let me know? :)

Psst, check out Cesar's tips for getting a new dog. ;)

Spotlight Time! Kristin Neff

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 01:22:00 +0000

The Spotlight Time series was created to showcase people's work I feel deserve a special attention. The book Self-compassion - Stop Beating Yourself Up and Leave Insecurity Behind, by Kristin Neff, certainly falls into that category. See why.

I've come across this book through a newspaper article named Down With Self-Esteem? At first, I was intrigued but suspicious, but as I read, all suspicion vanished. In her book, the article explains, Kristin Neff, PhD makes a good point of differencing self-esteem from self-compassion.

The former is based on narcissism and excessive competitiveness, which lead people to feel constantly unsatisfied with themselves, their egos frequently hurt. Their behavior and life stile consequently reflect these feelings, as well as their interaction with others. The latter means accepting that we are all human thus fallible, not only in theory but in practice.

My reaction to this general idea was the same you're probably having: "Okay, that's a nice thought, but how the heck do I do that?"

First of all it's important to mention that Kristin doesn't say that we shouldn't have any self-esteem, but that there shouldn't be a reason for us to like ourselves. The moment we question that, we start comparing ourselves to others and things go downhill. We should care for ourselves no matter how many mistakes we make, how fat we are, how better we'd like to be. This is where self-compassion comes in.

Self-compassion doesn't mean to settle with less than we'd like. Of course we should strive to be better people, to have good things and to feel good about our bodies, but we shouldn't compare ourselves and "our things" to others('s). Self compassion means not judging ourselves when we make mistakes, means being gentle with ourselves when we're in pain, caring for ourselves instead of punishing ourselves for not being (or looking) as successful as our neighbor.

So how do we do all that? We start by paying attention to how critic we are about ourselves. If you're scratching your head now, you can test your self-compassion level on Kristin's website. Look how coherent are the criteria:

Self-Kindness
Self-Judgement
Common Humanity
Isolation
Mindfulness
Over-Identification
Overall Score

After having a first "self-criticism x-ray" I suggest you take a look at her website, where you'll find lots of information on how to start treating yourself better (and others by consequence). Then we can all read her book and put this beautiful thinking in practice.

Don't you think we could make good use of this self-compassion thing in our writing as well?

The Winter Adventure of a Cushion-dog - #FridayFlash

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Sat, 16 Jul 2011 23:28:00 +0000

I'm cheating this week and reposting one of my very first stories for this week's #FridayFlash. I'd love to have some feedback on this one; It's very different from what I've been posting lately, and I'm curious as to your opinion. :)

The Winter Adventure of a Cushion-Dog

On my first winter in this new land the family was finally gathered together again. How merry I was!

For the first time I tasted snow, sniffed the chilling wind, and ran free on motionless crops and mild streams. I wasn’t alone of course; my beloved seemed as pleased as I was with the surroundings. The beaming smile that I cherished the most, lately so scarce, blossomed in her peaceful countenance.

It suddenly broadened to a playful grin as she signaled a dash on the frosted grass. I needn’t a second stimulus; sprinting uphill I – what? Didn’t find the other side but a stony fall onto itchy leaves and rounded rocks. The cold water below was another unexpected sensation, but the familiarity of the beloved’s worried cries calmed me down. I smiled up to appease her, and shouted back so she could appreciate that I wanted to rejoin her as soon as possible.

She is a smart human, my beloved, smarter than anyone else! At once she understood my need and studying the vines that had held me moments before, climbed down, urging the brown-black intruder to remain far from us, where it belonged.

The intruder is a most aggravating creature that entered our lives not long ago, indicating the firm intent of residing with us permanently. Not even my best efforts seemed enough to cast her away once she planted her malign seed in the second beloved’s heart. I only tolerate it for fear of displeasing beloveds first and second. They must pity the wretched thing; that’s the only possible explanation!

Indeed, whereas she ensured that I was unharmed and the intruder had not followed, we exulted in our reunion and walked upstream for a short while, accompanied from above, sadly, by the anxious brownish.

An enlightened glance flashed in beloved’s honeyed-coloured eyes when she spotted a larger ivy vine, but I’m embarrassed to admit that her physical strength is not as grand as her mind, as she was unable to pull us up. I even daresay that the effort of reassuring the intruder might have played a decisive part in her rescuing efforts.

A few bruises, a ripped coat and another flash away, she was holding me again, lifting me up to salvation. But how could I abandon beloved? How could I leave her to her doom, and worse, to once again meet my abhorrent foe? No, I would not leave her. Besides, she had raised me so high to help me up that I didn’t feel as nearly safe as in her arms!

“You damned dog, go! Go that I’ll follow suit!”

I knew she was a tad upset with me, but I was firm in my purpose of not abandoning her to death. I’m certain she could read this in my eyes!

“You coward! I’ll be right there with you!” Her arms trembled with the exertion. “I can’t carry you up, don’t you understand?”

Oh, my beloved’s warm embrace is inestimable! I was presently adjusting myself to her chest’s shape when she put me down, clutching her own knees. She is so pretty when flushed, you should see it! But once again the intruder called out, diverting her attention from my grateful wagging.

She then found a clear branch on the thorny vegetation to rest, as the twilight threatened to fall upon us. For a few moments her respiration accelerated when noticing the darkening sky, but did I mention how clever the beloved is? Deep breaths prevented desperation and another flash led us farther upstream, where she spotted a clearing and a lowering of the fringe right ahead.

At this point the water was too cold, so I found lodge on a small ravine. She called out, but my paws were much better placed (and warmer) on the sand than in the icy stream. I was once again lifted and carried safely to the dry margin, where the blackish intruder manically wagged us welcome.

Moira’s misfortunes may have been a grand adventure for her and Iris (the “intruder”, which is actually my other lovely dog), but from where I stand it was not so. Only a hot shower could prevent an onset of the flu. These cushion-dogs can be so troublesome…

Below you can take peek at her amusement, a season later, when revisiting the site.

Book Review: Demo Tapes 3, by Susan H. Gottfried

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 17:52:00 +0000

Demo Tapes 3 is a collection of short stories and micro fiction featuring the rock band Shapeshifter, which main characters are Trevor (the main character) and Mitchell (the band leader and Trevor’s best friend). All Demo Tapes anthology refer to the novel Trevor Song, in which Trevor’s and the Shapeshifter’s story is further developed.

The whole Demo Tapes concept is very interesting. It gives the reader snippets of intimate moments of the characters that would slow down the reading if introduced in a single piece but are very interesting as separated stories. It’s very possible to read any Demo Tape isolated, as I did, since the author takes care of introducing each story and informing the reader where in the band’s story each short story fits. It was a bit disconcerting, at first, to be introduced to so many characters and viewpoints at once, but Susan’s characters are very well rounded so it soon becomes easy to identify the protagonists and to welcome new people as they are introduced.

These short introductions to each story also create a connection with readers and fellow writers, as she addresses them directly. She shares elements of her writing process, her blogging history an even some personal aspects of her life that explain why her descriptions and the situations depicted on her stories ring so true. Her experience in the business show may not have provided her the most fulfilling happening in her professional life -- as her character Jen came to realize in “Backstage with Jen” -- but it’s certainly paid off. Susan has a very effective and engaging way of killing our curiosity about what is it like to be a rock star, and also about how does it feel to be around them, and worship them. That makes quite a complete profile of the “rock’n roll people”.

The Demo Tapes gives hints about their inner conflicts and successes spiking my curiosity about Trevor's complicated family history, Mitchell's love life, and the secondary character's personality. Despite my initial disorientation, the book achieved its goal and I’m caught up in what the author likes to call the “Trevolution”. That is, I’d love to learn more about Trevor and his band, and specially to read a longer and complete piece about these grumpy and ill-mouthed guys. (Just a final warning for the purists.)

That’s certainly a recommend.

Susan Helene Gottfried is the author of ShapeShifter: The Demo Tapes — Year 1, ShapeShifter: The Demo Tapes — Year 2, and Trevor’s Song. She can be found online at http://westofmars.com, where you can find The Meet and Greet, among other goodies. A tone-deaf rocker-at-heart, Susan worked in retail record stores, in radio stations, as stage crew, and as a promoter while earning two college degrees in creative writing.

The Sweetest Trolls #19 - Memories part 2 - #FridayFlash

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 01:09:00 +0000

This is the 19th installment of the Troll Serial. To read from the beginning, or to find past and future installments, click here.

“Who’s your family?” asked Aimee in her gentlest tone.

“Kutril,” he replied. “My dad, and my mom.”

Kratan didn’t elaborate, so Aimee made a pause to reflect on that information. So Kutril was family? How would a troll family be? Considering that neither Kutril nor Kratan were ordinary trolls, their family shouldn’t be either. Kratan kept staring at nothing so she peeked at the deep cave through the fire light again. The chambers looked like rooms, if you considered the possibility of a troll family. There were two entries at one side, and two larger ones at the other. She’d have a look when she would be able to walk again.

Kratan grumbled something as if he was reliving old memories. He shook his head and hit himself with his fists.

“What’s happening?” coached Aimee.

“Mom’s not well...”

“What does she have?”

“She’s hurting… dad’s not here… No! Don’t hurt Kutril! No, no!” Kratan shook violently, tears running free down his cheek.

“Kratan?” said Aimee, with a knot in her throat.

“Mummy is bad, mummy’s bad!” was his reply.

“Where’s your dad? Can’t he help?”

“He’s out for help, but mummy’s nails are so big… She’s hurting Kutril. Stop, mom! Why is she laughing so hard?” Kratan wailed and rocked, scratching and banging his head alternately on the wall.

“Mom, stop hurting yourself! Muuuumy!”

“What happened?”

“She’s gone and Kutril is hurt. Must get some bandages.” Kratan stood and hushed to one of the larger chambers. Aimee saw him carry an armful of bandages to one of the small ones. He stayed there for a long time and she dozed off.

She woke up with someone sniffing at her. “Hmm, time for a snack,” said Kratan with his evilest grin.

Aimee started and grunted in pain. She stayed very still while he frowned at the scent of herbs and turned to the half-cooked body by the fire. He took an arm off and threw at her. She squeaked and looked up in horror.

“This has been too close to the fire. Why don’t you have a bite?” His mouth twitched between amusement and disgust. She shook her head, tears threatening to come out. “I agree this is not as pleasant as fresh food, but I can’t waste it, can I?” She pressed her lips together so no sound would come out. “Or maybe I should start off with you?” He smiled widely at her, but didn’t move. She tried not to stare at him while he fed and resumed their conversation, to see if she would be able to extract more information.

“Do you know where your mom is?” Kratan stopped mid-bite and looked wide eyed at her. She cringed internally at his reaction but managed to maintain a neutral face.

“Mother is dead,” he replied neutrally between bites. “She’s been for a long time now.”

“What about your father?” Aimee’s breaths came out in shallow gasps, but she couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

“Oh, the old fart is pretty much alive. He’s giving me so many playing opportunities!” While he laughed there was a flicker of light in his eyes and he shook his head. His voice came out deeper this time, “Too bad I couldn’t finish him off on our last encounter.”

“What about Kutril? Don’t you miss him?”

“Kutril…”

Kratan dove into his mind again, dropping his food. At some point the fruits Aimee ate gave signal of having worked through her system. She didn’t remember having used the bathroom ever since she was captured; how long has it been? Maybe it was only now that her body was recovering from the shock. Kratan’s herbs must be working.

Kratan was crouched with his head firmly set between his knees, his hands protectively put above his head. “Kratan?” No response. “Kratan, I need to… I need to pee.” Aimee blushed violently, but the troll didn’t look up. “Is there a bathroom here?” He pointed to the small chamber in the farthest corner. She sighed in relief, not wanting to imagine what the other Kratan would do. Aimee tried to get up, but the pain was too much for her. “I can’t… I can’t walk.”

Kratan stood up with veiled eyes and gingerly carried her to the bathroom. He left her there to balance herself in the darkness in front of the large gully. She thanked Holy Mary for its existence and for the old wooden cover that creaked loudly when she closed it with no little effort. She realized that she hadn’t prayed a single time these days, and chastised herself mentally for such negligence. Slowly, she limped out to see no Kratan to take her back. The fire light wasn’t strong enough for her to see where she was stepping so she bumped her naked feet on rocks and slumps, her right hand supporting her weight on the back wall. After a few steps she stopped, panting, and slid down the murky wall. She joined her hands together and prayed for help, for Kratan and his family, and for her own. The tears’ warmth contrasted with her body’s shivering cold.

<< Back to episode 18 Go to episode 20>>

Go to the beginning

Uh, oh! Randomities Won the Versatile Blog Award!

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 16:06:00 +0000

A while ago, Angela Perry bestowed me with the Versatile Blogger Award. This is one of my favorite awards, because it implies that your writing is not limited to a certain genre, voice or else. Thanks, Angela, for the honor!

Since the rules for this award became a bit confusing, I'll break my own rules and share a bit more of myself, but I'll not follow Angela's to the letter. (I have principles, you know? :P)

I'll stick to four random facts then:

I have recently moved across the ocean. That's why my tweets seem to come up so late, but I'm actually going to bed much earlier than when I was in Italy.

Most of you already know, but to my new friends I'm revealing that Mari Juniper is a pen name. As a former attorney I have this weird obsession about privacy, which is why I'm not telling anything else about the item above. Sorry?

Do you have a favorite writer? I do. It was Neil Gaiman's wonders that drew me to the writing career. Do I want to write like him? No, of course not. I want to write like myself, but I certainly want to write as well as he does. ;)

You know I have two dogs, right? If I could, I'd have three. No, four! Gee, My house would probably become a shelter... :P

Okay, breaking one's own rules is fun, but it's more fun to share the love! So, I'm sending the Versatile Blogger Award to:

>> Kevin Mackey, from KjM on the web.

>> Chuck Allen, from Chuck Allen

>> Sonia Lal, from Story Treasury

>> Helen Howell, from Helen Scribbles

There you go. Now go share the award love, my friends! :)

Random Cool Things #10 - Water

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 06:15:00 +0000

Lately, randomities hasn't been as random as it used to be. There has been mostly stories, book reviews and a lot of knigh-posts, which are all great! But today I'd like to present you something different I stumbled upon on, err.. StumbleUpon. :P

So, check out this video of water caught at 700 FPS. Amazing:

Team Ghost - High Hopes from 16ar on Vimeo.

Kevin J. Mackey's Week - Book Review: Haiku Through a Lens

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 22:10:00 +0000

Understand why the fuss, HERE.
Picture credits on this post.

To close up Kevin J. Mackey's Week, check out the review of his book "Haiku Through a Lens" that just came out and you can buy on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. If you care to, his week also includes an interview and an awesome guest post where he talks more about his writing.

Now, please note that it's not because I'm grateful to Kevin for his help that I'm not observing my review policy to the letter. Just saying.

Haiku Through a Lens, by Kevin J Mackey, is a collection of poems inspired by photos taken with the author's cell phone. This is all but a pretentious book. The pictures are simple and the poems reach out to the reader, in a warm and friendly way, such as:

Displayed - before all
A painted reality
Tell me - aren't they all?

Kevin shares his wisdom too, when talking to us:

Respite from the rain

Fill your lungs with breath, with warmth

And your heart also

There are also many references to the nature and seasons, anecdotes of life and traveling, as well as metaphors that mix these elements to others. There's a good connection between the pictures and the poems inspired by them, making the reading very pleasant. As with any haiku collection, I'd suggest you make a pause between one poem and the other. Do as he advises and take a deep breath, feel the wind on your face or the warmth of your body. You won't regret it.

That's a recommend.

Note: Haiku is a fixed form of poetry. Although one of its most important elements is its metrics, I did not analyze it in my review.

Kevin J Mackey is native Irish but now lives in the far drier climate of the San Francisco Bay Area. He reads widely - "whatever may be found between book covers" - but has a particular fondness for science fiction and poetry. He has had both flash and short fiction published in 2010 and 2011.

He also published "Haiku - Through a Lens", a collection of haiku and photographs on the themes of Light, Darkness, Travel and Seasons. He says he "follows in his father's ink-splotches"

Kevin J. Mackey's Week - Guest Post: Why I Write

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 21:22:00 +0000

Understand why the fuss, HERE.
Picture credits on this post.

I have another special knight-post for you. Kevin didn't want a story written about him or a character of his. Instead, he preferred to talk to you directly, which is great!

Please welcome Kevin J. Mackey and read his reasons of why he writes. Also, if you want to learn more about him, you can read his interview here, and later this week there'll be a review of his book.

I listened to the world's oldest surviving story, Gilgamesh, on the first iPod I bought. I attended a performance of the oldest complete play in the Western canon, The Persians by Aeschylus, at a theater in Berkeley.

These stories, dating from millennia ago, are still alive today, still speak to us today. Parables, plays, allegory, action rendered in narrative. The ways we humans try to explain who we are, why we do what we do and what is the meaning of what happens to us.

The storyteller, the "old talker" in my native language — gaelic, the holder and recounter of the tribe's history, is a central figure. And has held this central position from the earliest times in human societies.

Stories remain central to societies today. Lines, blocks long, awaiting the latest Harry Potter or Twilight installment attest to this. We watch morality plays on television, or in movie theaters, couched in the guise of science-fiction, westerns or romantic comedies. Entertainment, yes. But, at the heart of it is the use of story to communicate, to explain, to connect.

Humans view the world, and who we are, through the prism of language, symbol, story.

My siblings, in their working lives, feed the hungry, nurse the sick, build shelter for others. My own working life has been spent tending the machines that run much of our world. Not without value, certainly. But for me — insufficient.

I write to uncover, to connect, to delight. To immerse myself in the swirl of language, of symbol, of striving to understand who we are. That striving that began long before Gilgamesh and will continue long after I am no more.

I write, because storytelling matters.

He also published "Haiku - Through a Lens", a collection of haiku and photographs on the themes of Light, Darkness, Travel and Seasons. He says he "follows in his father's ink-splotches".

Kevin J. Mackey's Week - Interview

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 23:12:00 +0000

Understand why the fuss, HERE.
Picture credits on this post.

And now to another week entirely dedicated to a shiny knight! I present you Kevin J. Mackey's Week, which starts with an interview, as all the other weeks, but will take a different turn until it ends with a book review. Instead of a story, Kevin chose to have a guest post here at randomities, so stay tuned!

In the mean time, learn a bit more about this great writer and poet.

Silly questions:

1. What's your favorite color?

Pink. No, really. Ask anyone. Even my father bought me a pink tie once (well, it was a hand-painted silk affair created by a French artist who lived in Ireland prior to deciding she preferred the warmth of Provence to the warm Irish people - but even so.)

2. What else is a favorite to you that you feel is relevant?

What else? Good design - in anything and "functional works or art" - which is how I describe my fountain pens.

The writer:

3. What do you do for a living, besides writing?

Data and Software Architecture. It seems I'm quite comfortable in the abstract world of real-world representation - rather than the real world itself! And what is writing but an abstraction of the real world?

4. When did you start to write?

About 12. It was a science-fiction story (mercifully it never saw the light of day). My profession at the time? Brat (there are some who say that's another thing about me that hasn't changed.)

5. Why did you start to write?

The why of it? It seems, even then, I wanted to tell stories.

[Don't miss Kevin's amazing guest post this Friday, when he'll talk in detail about this.]

6. How did writing influence your life?

It provided an escape. A useful thing for an introvert. It's not an escape now, because it's very much part of the world I inhabit.

7. When/where do you write the best?

Most often at night (I'm a night owl like my mother.) But I'm finding I am now writing whenever I can.

8. Which part of writing do you like the most?

The glorious first draft!

9. What's your favorite genre? Which other(s) genre(s) do you write in?

Probably science-fiction. But I don't fixate there and have found I write all over the map (which is another good description of me.)

10. Which is the favorite character you've ever wrote? Why?

Lexi, or "The Destroyer of Worlds Chick", an emanation of Lilith who has shown up twice, here and here. As to why…who knows? Some of the most powerful people I know as friends are women.

He also published "Haiku - Through a Lens", a collection of haiku and photographs on the themes of Light, Darkness, Travel and Seasons. He says he "follows in his father's ink-splotches"

The Sweetest Trolls #18 - Memories, part 1 - #FridayFlash

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 22:36:00 +0000

This is the 18th installment of the Troll Serial. To read from the beginning, or to find past and future installments, click here.

This episode has a few references to previous scenes that I couldn't resist pointing you to. I've added links in the text to identify them; however, I've also added a list of links and the episodes they refer to, so the links won't get in the way of your reading. :)

Kratan headed northwest, passing through the first clearing and confirming his early suspicions that De Faumont had been there. He recognized his faint smell, as well as his horse’s. He maintained direction and grudgingly crossed the river, waking up the unconscious Aimee when tripping in a hidden rock.

Aimee groaned and looked around dizzily. She wondered if that river was the same where the trolls had forcefully bathed because of her garlands. Kratan turned east and then southward, following the river from the other side. Shortly, Aimee could see a castle’s light, surrounded by an enormous half-moon shaped city which end she couldn’t see. It was very disorienting to watch it all from upside down. As she knew from merchants’ descriptions, this should be the capital, the king’s diamond belt she had dreamed to see her whole life.

However, the effort was too much for her and darkness engulfed her. She woke again with a small rock falling on her neck. Kratan had moved her and she was on top of Velin’s body. She twitched, startled with the leathery skin below her.

“Quiet, girl, or I’ll drop you off.”

Aimee glared at Kratan’s back in response, and got dizzy again. Letting her body loose, she took a deep breath and decided to investigate her surroundings in a safer fashion. This caused only another wave of vertigo and a deep chill running up and down her spine. She was facing a dark abyss that seemed having no end. The pain and the cadaver’s smell made her sick. Velin was showered one last time as Kratan climbed a waterfall and headed south with great stealth. He put her and her companion down only when they arrived in a cave, leaving her alone in the dark. He came back shortly with enough wood to keep the fire up for days.

She woke up with the sun’s brightness dazing her. Kratan was at the other side of the dying fire, protected by the shadows. Velin’s body was entangled with her. It took her such a great effort to free herself that she concluded that flight was impossible. Once again she’d have to be rescued. She punched the floor in frustration and grunted in pain. Breathing hard she directed her attention to her surroundings.

She learned that they were at the entry of a cave with one large chamber downwards and several small entries. A worn out path into the darkness called her attention, but for now she resigned to her fate and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Kratan shook her off the bliss of forgetfulness. “Eat,” he said, while throwing at her an armful of fruits. She devoured them in a twisted dejà vu, looking up to him only when she was able to slow down. He was watching her with an empty gaze. She could not read his emotions for the first time and it scared her.

“I can’t have you getting thinner than you already are,” he said. “I like juicy bones, you know?” He grinned, but there was no glee in it.

She cocked her head, wondering the reasons for this other change. Kratan wasn’t having the usual fun on abusing her mentally. She pondered if their new location had anything to do with it but it was too soon to draw any conclusions. She would be patient, she decided, the nights were getting longer and she doubted help would come any soon.

The next night she decided to investigate. “Where are we?” she asked.

Kratan looked up startled. He searched the cave with an empty gaze and turned to her, still unfocused, “Not sure.”

She was so bewildered with his answer that she gaped at him until his head went down again. She rubbed her chin and after some pondering she tried a different strategy. “Kratan?” He looked up slowly. “My side hurts. I think I broke something.” No reaction. “Would you mind searching for something to help? If there are fruits around here, there might be herbs to make a cataplasm…” He stood up mechanically and left.

Looking at his back, she noticed that the sun was still a thin line in the horizon. With a chilled grip in her stomach she realized he would have walked right into the sun in this strange state. She’d have to keep an eye on him.

It was pitch dark when Kratan came back. He chewed several different herbs Aimee couldn’t identify in the dim light, and spit on the mixture. He went to one of the cave’s inner chambers and retrieved a large roll of bandages, to which he applied the concoction. He kneeled down beside her and lowered it, pausing when rubbing his fingers against her dress. He stayed there robotically, with unseen eyes.

Aimee mustered courage for a few moments. Slowly, she undressed her upper body, shyly covering her breasts with one arm. He lifted her other arm to discover that her whole hind was black and there was a strange protuberance in it. She saw a flicker of life in Kratan’s eyes and almost yelped, but he calmly put the bandage down and looked neutrally to her. “You’ve got a broken rib. This is going to hurt a bit.” Before she could reply he covered her mouth with one hand and poked at her rib pointedly with his index. The bone clacked into place and she shrieked in pain, tears rolling down freely. Kratan placed the medicine gently on her wound, and tightened the bandage comfortably around her shivering body. He then laid her down ever so slowly and left her breathing hard on her make up bed.

He sat down on the other side of the fire, shoulder and head supported by the thick wall. As soon as Aimee could move again she asked, head turned to him, “What are you thinking about, Kratan?”

Absent mindedly, he replied, “My family.”

<< Back to episode 17 Go to episode 19 >>

Go to the beginning

This is a list of links to previous events mentioned in this episode:

1) Kratan's suspicions about the first clearing - epi. #14 Bell Alarm

2) Trolls taking a bath because of Aimee's garlands - epi. #3 The Most Horrid Torture

3) Ravenous Aimee and her dejà vu - epi. #2 - Landy's Hands

Knight Post - Book Review: Runs in Good Condition

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 02:46:00 +0000

Understand why the fuss, HERE.
Picture credits on this post.

This is as special knight-post. Monica Marier has been an honorable guest before when her debut novel, Must Love Dragons came out. She told us in a very cool interview how she signed up with a publishing company through a facebook contact, and about her other work as a composer and as a cartoonist.

This is the review of the sequel, Runs in Good Condition, which you can pre-order here.

Now, please note that it's not because I'm grateful to Monica for her help that I'm not observing my review policy to the letter. Just saying.

In Must Love Dragons, we're introduced to our hero, Linus Weedwhacker - yes, that's his name. Once a drunkard bastard, this ranger becomes a family man who has to go back to his old profession to support his growing family. In the first book, he joins a team of rangers to hunt the frost dragon, and upon his return he puts himself in a dangerous situation: he agrees to run for president of the Rangers' Union, now a corrupt and inflated organization.

Runs in Good Condition shows us his campaign, its results and hints about this numerous and lovely family's fate. The book is filled with comedy (naturally, knowing Monica's knack for humor), danger, and touching family scenes.

What I most liked about 'Runs in Good Condition' is how Linus's old acquaintances from the Rangers' Union, who despised and even hated him, come to respect and love him once they get in touch with the better man he'd become. Vilori Reagan, one of his supporters is a great example of this change. At first he was so reluctant that I wondered if he was a playing double agent, but in time he gets to know the new Linus, the one who washes the kids diapers himself, who cares about the rangers' well being and not in the least about the privileges that come with presidency, who's willing to risk his life to make the necessary changes in the Union. Something similar happens to Wendel Biggs, a man whose life was destroyed in Linus's "bad times". The change in these characters happen smoothly, as they follow Linus's campaign from different sides. I didn't care as much for the changes of two other characters, though. Tyrus Gruthsfield was Lynus's mentor at the time of his downfall. It feels like the author couldn't decide whether he became just a bitter old man who wanted some moral revenge, or if he'd become the true villain he appeared to be in the end of the first book. Also, Morfindel, Linus's companion from the dragon hunt adventure, was an extremely annoying character in the first book, even if somewhow charismatic. In Runs in Good Condition he lost all his annoying traits and suddenly became a most agreeable character. I prefer much better the Morfindel from the second book, but it would have been nice to see the changing process in him as seen in Reagan and Biggs.

These are small details, however, if we consider the book as a whole. The story is highly entertaining, the plot flows smoothly, the characters are likable and unique, and the ending is not only good but it irritated me because I wanted to have the next book at hand to know what will become of the Weedwhackers and their friends.

That's a recommend.

Monica Marier is a caffeinated writer, artist, mother and eccentric. On weekdays, she's busy working on her books, recording audio files, and composing serials and short stories for her blog. On weekends she's a co-founder of Tangent Artists, a webcomic company where she writes and does art for 3 comic series.

Her book “Must Love Dragons” is now on-sale through Lulu, Amazon, and upon request at Barnes & Noble. The sequel “Runs in Good Condition” is now available for pre-order through Hunt Press. Her serial, “Madame Bluestocking’s Pennyhorrid” is now running in the e-zine Dr. Fantastique’s Show of Wonders.

The Sweetest Trolls #17: First Gathering - #FridayFlash

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 21:15:00 +0000

This is the 17th installment of the Troll Serial. To read from the beginning, or to find past and future installments, click here.

Monsieur Velin didn’t like his assignment. Although he was sure that the stone trolls could not get deader than they were, he didn’t know what to think of the third troll. He did trust De Faumont though; he didn’t believe such modest prince would be bragging about something he hadn’t done. He was mulling about the discussion he'd had with the others at the barn, his gaze lost on the rising moon, when Kreptus grunted.

“Oh, Lord Jesus Christ, I’m too old for this!”

Velin turned, gaping at the white beared troll and at Kutril, who scratched his head and yawned. Velin stepped back, breath held, and babbled, “Ho-how?”

Kreptus scanned the petrified man from head to toe and waved him off, “Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you. What’s your name again?”

“Eh?”

“Name! You do have a name, don’t you?”

“Ah, I do…” Velin’s gaze raised to Kutril, who had stood up and whose head was above Kreptus’s, right behind him.

“Then sa–” Before Kreptus could extract that simple information, Velin was grabbed from behind by Kratan, whose eyes shone despite the darkness. The more Velin struggled, the more Kratan pressed his hand on the man’s face. Velin’s eyes were rolling on his head as his limbs were getting heavier and heavier by the second.

“Let him go!” shouted Kutril. “You’re killing him!” Kreptus stepped aside, so the two of them could face their foe. The thought that Kutril was now an enemy weighted like a ton on Kreptus’s heart.

Kratan grinned at his once closest friend, “So? It seems you’ve provided me a good meal for the night.” He cracked the man’s neck and threw his body on the side of the road, looking defiantly into Kreptus’s eyes.

The old troll looked tired and weak. His pride and strength seemed to have been drained by the evil counterpart of his protégé.

“What are you doing, Kratan?” he asked, shoulders slumped. “Don’t you see that you have become everything you most feared?”

“Why, uncle,” his voice was filled with sarcasm, “I’m grabbing a good piece of meat, just as you taught me.” Kratan put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side.

“I did not –” Kreptus started to reply.

“Kratan!” interrupted Kutril and stepped forward, arms stretched and teary eyes. Kreptus raised his arms, blocking Kutril’s way, and shook his head, eyes set on Kratan’s.

“But, uncle, Katran needs our help!”

“I need your help? You’ve gotta be kidding me!” said Kratan, and roared with laughter.

Not having his club with him, Kreptus lurched with his fists, not wanting to give Kratan space to put in motion whichever plan he had. Kutril stood there, his chin falling limb like Velin’s body, his eyes alternating between his uncle’s incredible fighting ability, which he never imagined him having, and Kratan’s strength and speed, which he'd never had before.

Even before attacking Kratan, Kreptus knew there was no hope of defeating him on his own. He prayed Kutril would be scared away by the fighting, but he seemed paralyzed. He cursed himself mentally for underestimating Kutril’s surprise and braced himself for death. Kratan felt the defeat inside his uncle and increased his blows, while Kreptus got slower and weaker. Kreptus's eyes were swallowed, his ribs hurt and he was getting too tired to dodge Kratan's punches. Hit by hit, Kreptus pondered why Kratan wasn’t using his club to finish him off more quickly. Was he having fun, or was it the sign that there was still hope?

Kreptus fell on his knee and searched in vain for Kutril. He wanted to apologize for not having told him the truth, for leaving him and Kratan to their faith, for not being a good… Kratan’s last punch knocked him to the floor. As he gradually lost conscience he heard the sound of hoofs approaching. Why did they sound familiar?

De Faumont arrived in full armor, his sword ready and his eyes set. He crowed a thank you to the bird above and made a slicing movement to decapitate Kratan while his horse jumped over Kreptus. Kutril yelped and jumped to the side, making room for the horse and knight to pass. While De Faumont assessed Kutril readjusting his horse's position, Kratan picked up his club and copied one of his uncle’s fighting stances. De Faumont dismissed Kutril and lurched forward, sword pointing at Kratan’s neck from above his shield. Kratan dodged his attack and hit De Faumont’s horse with such force that the beast flew two meters, passing over Kreptus without touching him. Kratan looked about himself in surprise while De Faumont released his feet, jumped on the spinning horse and landed safely on the ground. He then looked up and smiled at the horse’s whining and De Faumont’s fear. He smelled delicious. Kratan wondered how he could retain a man’s body freshness without cooking it. Or maybe he could share part of De Faumont with Aimee.

They sparred for a long time, sword against club, club against shield, fist against shield. They were incredibly fast, thought the amazed Kutril, who could do nothing but watch and hope that his uncle was still alive. Only when the moon had raised a third of its way the fighters’ attacks started to slow down. Kreptus grunted for the second time that night while waking. He joined the fight, punching Kratan from different and unexpected angles, but the troll was too fast. Kratan managed to keep both opponents at bay, even though they seemed to know what the other was going to do before it was done.

De Faumont laughed aloud at the sound of new hoofs arriving, but in his glee he got distracted for the split of second necessary for Kratan to hit him. De Faumont fell to the ground unconscious, Kreptus paused in surprise and Kratan took the opportunity to flee, taking Velin’s body with him and a hidden woman, who screamed in pain and horror.

<< Back to episode 16 Go to episode 18 >>

Go to the beginning

Emma Newman's Week - Book Review: From Dark Places

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Sun, 29 May 2011 18:12:00 +0000

Understand why the fuss, HERE.
Picture credits on this post.

To close up Emma Newman's Week, read a review of her anthology, From Dark Places.

Please note that it's not because I'm grateful to Emma for her help that I'm not observing my review policy to the letter. Just saying.

Finally, Emma Newman's Week also features an interview and a story with a character of her book.

My first impression at opening the pdf file from which I read From Dark Places, by Emma Newman, was relief, followed by delight.

The old cliché says you shouldn't judge a book by its cover but it's nice to have a cover to try and not judge the book from it! Several ebooks I've read in pdf format were missing their covers and I found it very frustrating. Emma's book is complete in many senses, including the back cover, so I started the reading it with an extra dose of good mood. (I also liked the cover, but don't ask me if it made any difference in my general opinion on the book, because I won't tell.) Another good surprise was the book's layout, but if the book didn't disappoint me, it sure wasn't because of its good looks.

There are 25 stories in this anthology, the great majority of which are of the fantasy genre. 'From Dark Places', the story that gives title to the book, and 'Seeing Him Again', explore the (possible) mental illness of two different women; 'The Tenth Lord' gives a modern and strange look on fairy tales, something that could be happening to our neighbor; 'Sunday Lunch' is about family, sanity and the loss of a loved one. It gave me a big knot on the throat at the end. 'The Letter' is a goodbye by a hurt woman, which gave me several chuckles and left me wondering how the heck did the dog die. I'm still curious.

There are also gods and goddesses; death, the devil and angels show up in varied forms (as well as false ones) and there are zombies. I was pleased to learn that 'And Then There Were None' was published in this anthology, as it was one of my favorite entries for the Zombie Luv Contest. The take on love between the brainless undead (sorry for the pun) is very touching.

Most of the stories lead the reader to a false conclusion that will be clarified in the end with a humorous or creepy twist. As the reading progresses, it's impossible not to expect a twist in the end, which could diminish the reading experience if not for the author's creativity. Another ever-present element in this book is her love for tea; it shows up in no less than seven stories and made me pause the reading to brew my own tea to keep the characters company.

Two stories have stayed with me longer, making my favorites (apart from the dog mystery in 'The Letter'): 'The Need to Create' is a very curious view on how god handles its creations and on the making of humanity most (in)famous historical characters. 'The Unwoven Heart' is a lovely story about loss and restoration with a twitch of magic. Devil shows up as a metaphor for grief, and the gathering of threads represents the healing process and the strength to move on with life. The story has a lyrical tone that made me smile.

'From Dark Places' is certainly a recommend, and I would love to see how the author handled longer fiction. '20 Years Later' is on my to-read list.

Emma drinks too much tea, has too many ideas and writes too many stories. You can find out more about her debut novel '20 Years Later' here. She blogs and gets up to all kinds of writing mischief at www.enewman.co.uk.

'From Dark Places' is available in print and e-book book formats. You can buy a signed copy from her website and if you like dark short stories, join Em's Short Story Club to get an original short story for free in your inbox every month.

Emma has recorded audio books for publishers and has narrated short stories for fiction podcasts. To find out more about her voice work go to www.enewman.co.uk/voice. You can also find Emma on Twitter: @emapocalyptic.

Emma Newman's Week - Underestimated - #FridayFlash

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Fri, 27 May 2011 23:11:00 +0000

Understand why the fuss, HERE.
Picture credits on this post.

In continuation to Emma Newman's Week, I present you a story featuring one of her characters from her anthology, From Dark Places.

Emma's week will close up with a review of one of her books, and you don't want to miss her interview here at randomities. Stay tunned!

They were crouched in a small balcony, cornered at the 15^th floor apartment, their opponent closing on them.

“See what happens when you come up with this humanity crap?” whispered Pete. “The last time I heard I should act more like a human being or some bullshit like that, I almost got killed.” To the girl’s set face and trembling lips he continued, “You have no idea the kind of shit I’ve seen, rookie. Now where’s the holy water I gave you?”

She lifted her hand to the mouth, eyes widening. “You didn’t lose it, did you?” asked Pete. Blond slick hair blurred the girl’s face. “Where’s it then?”

“Yes, where’s that little bottle of salvation?” said Gerome, his mouth twitching up in a sardonic smile.

Pete lost color, his pallor matching Gerome’s. All of Anna’s body froze up, except for her eyes, which moved up to the bum’s void eyeballs. Her nose reacted and she instinctively pressed it with her fingers to prevent the horrid smell from absorbing all her attention.

“I’m disappointed at you, Pete,” continued Gerome. “I’d expect the girl to underestimate me, but not such an experienced hunter as yourself.”

“How do – ?”

“Yet again you misjudge me.” Gerome sighed and dismissed the crouching girl passing by him on her fours. “You should have noticed my accent and the fact that my mouth didn’t smell as foul as my clothes.”

“What else do you know?”

Gerome laughed. “Do you believe I’d tell you?”

Pete stood up to face the monster. “You parasite piece of shit. You shouldn’t believe I’d rely only on a clumsy stupid girl.”

He thrust his hand inside his pants but the beggar was too fast; he grabbed Pete’s wrist and pushed him forward, making him hit the balcony’s cold metal. Pete’s back hurt both from the impact and the odd angle of his spine. Gerome was so close that he could see the scars where his eyes were once placed. The vampire extracted his fangs and went for Pete’s neck, forcing him to lean back even more.

Better dead than undead, he thought. Pete used his free hand to change his balance but he wasn't strong enough, so it only caused him more pain. Gerome noticed his attempt and chuckled, an inch from his jugular. Then he opened his mouth wider, and Pete closed his eyes.

Gerome’s scream was so loud that Pete would have fallen off if not for his free hand clutching the balcony’s bar. The vampire released him and stepped back; Pete reacted instinctively and threw his flask’s content on Gerome’s chest, who danced at the sound of hissing holy water.

Breathing hard, Pete looked up to see Anna setting an arrow to a black crossbow. His mouth hanged open as she pointed, aimed and fired. Gerome fell with a thud and Pete slid down in front of his extended hand.

He followed her approach with blank eyes. Only when she shook him by the shoulders he managed to focus on her concerned grey pools.

“Are you out of your freaking mind? Do you know how hard it is to get the heart, even at short distance? You could have killed me!”

She released him hastily, losing her balance and sitting in Gerome’s mummified hand. She yelped and stood up too fast, dizzily stepping in Pete’s foot, and grabbed the balcony’s bar for support. Pete shouted in pain.

“Oh, sorry!” She extended her hands towards him but he growled back something unintelligible. “I do know how hard it is, and I have been practicing.”

“Where was the fucking holy water, anyway?”

“In the living room.” She pointed, pouting. “It fell from my hand when Gerome showed his fangs for the first time.” She looked up to avoid meeting his gaze.

Pete snorted and asked, “Did you ever consider that Gerome could have kneeled or something? I was right in your shooting line!”

“Oh, vampires are fast…”

“Yes, darling. They’re freaking fast!”

“Will you please stop shouting? You are alive, aren’t you?”

Pete sighed. “How the heck do you have a crossbow at home, anyway?”

Anna cleared her throat before replying, “I descend from a long line of hunters. I don’t think they’d have taken me in otherwise…” She lowered her head.

Silence fell until the stench of decay mixed with the odor of the beggar’s clothes was too much for them.

“Gimme a hand.”

She helped Pete up and they called headquarters. After letting the cleaning crew in, they left, keeping silent until the bright lights of the E.R. entry shone on their faces to wake them up from their reveries.

“Pete?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m worried that Gerome knew so much about you.”

“Yeah.” Pete shuddered, and grunted in pain.

Note: I apologize for the feel of incompleteness this story gives. Since Pete is not my original character I didn't want involve him in any "definitive" situation. If you'd like to read more of him, he's featured in the Emma's story "The Victim" in her anthology From Dark Places.

Oh, and I was the one who put the cursing in Pete's mouth. Just for the record. ;P

Emma Newman's Week - Interview

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Tue, 24 May 2011 17:47:00 +0000

Understand why the fuss, HERE.
Picture credits on this post.

This week's knight is the lovely Emma Newman. Besides being a regular contributor of the #FridayFlash community and having her stories featured in several anthologies, Emma has published an anthology with 25 of her short stories, From Dark Places, and her debut novel, 20 Years Later was recently released on ebook format and will come out in print this July. Can't miss it!

Today Randomities will be featuring her interview and later this week you'll be able to read a story featuring a character of 'From Dark Places' and also a review of one of her books.

Enjoy!

Silly questions:

1. What's your favourite color?

Blue, any shade. It makes me feel calm and happy.

The writer:

2. When did you start to write?

I was four years old, and my profession was Seeker of Answers to Everything. My grandmother has told me she remembers me sitting at her table, writing and when she asked what I was doing, I replied "writing a story Nana."

3. Where do you want to go with it? (the writing)

However far it can take me. I've done many, many things in my adult life whilst avoiding being a writer. Now I know that I should be writing, nothing will stop me from doing all I can to carve out a living from it so I can devote all of my time to writing books and not boring press releases.

4. How did writing influence your life?

I don’t think writing influences my life, it underpins it. It got me a place at Oxford University (that's a weird story in and of itself) and now it dominates everything I do. All of my thoughts come back to the current story or novel, or future plans, all of the changes I have made in my life lately have been to make more room for it. That'll be that obsessive streak…

5. Who most influenced your writing?

Do you mean books I've read or people in the real world? Well, the former I answered in an interview with the publisher of 20 Years Later over here so I'll focus on the latter.

Someone who had a major impact on my writing was my last primary school teacher (I was 10 at the time) who was called Mr Axon, and he was wonderfully eccentric. He used to give out the most amazing story titles, or first lines, and then tell us to go and write the rest of the story. I loved that so much, I used to ask him for titles to take with me on holiday. No surprise that I love writing to prompts now for my Short Story Club!

6. Which part of writing do you like the most?

Oh blimey, there's a question. Whenever I write a short story, I get the shape of it clear before I start, then there is a moment I love when it is perfectly formed in my mind. I am so excited about it, but also so fearful that as soon as I press it onto the page, it will be rubbish. I've learnt how to deal with that now, but it used to really cripple me.

Above all else though, I think I love going to other worlds. Being there. Totally. Now I am being published, I can take other people with me, which is what I have always wanted, really.

7. What's your favourite genre? Which other(s) genre(s) do you write in?

Speculative fiction. I know that's broad, but that's because I read broadly, and the genres I love most, like science fiction, magical realism, urban fantasy and just weird fiction (what China Meiville calls the genre he writes in) comes under that umbrella.

I write dark fantasy, science fiction, dystopian and post-apocalyptic and sometimes just plain old slice of life, whatever the story fits into. The trilogy I'll be writing after 20 Years Later is a quirky mash-up of urban fantasy and lots of other things too.

I find genre classification quite frustrating.

8. Which is the favourite character you ever wrote? Why?

Wow, you like your tough questions, don't you?

In From Dark Places, I think my favourite character is either Nathaniel in "Someone to Watch Over Her" or Charlotte in "Getting Fixed" because both of them know exactly what they want. I like Nathaniel more, perhaps, because he is so deeply, deeply selfish. But I can't say much more without spoiling it.

In 20 Years Later it's either Titus or the Red Lady.

And in the Split Worlds (the project that will come after 20 Years Later is finished) it's either the Shopkeeper or Cathy. Actually I like her brother too. Oh forget it, I obviously can't answer this question at all! Maybe I should add "indecisive" to answer 3.

[Note: The answer 3 Emma refers to, is from the original batch of questions. In that one, that didn't make it to the final interview, I asked her to define herself in a few words.]

9. Do you have some habit/trait that you feel defines you as a person (and eventually as a writer)?

An imagination that just won't stop. It sometimes gives me insomnia, that's true, but that's what I would call my defining feature. Also, a love of tea.

Emma has recorded audio books for publishers and has narrated short stories for fiction podcasts. To find out more about her voice work go to www.enewman.co.uk/voice. You can also find Emma on Twitter: @emapocalyptic.

Note: If you're curious to know how Emma got her book deals, I suggest you check out this other interview with her. Excellent advice here too. :)

Also, check out her book tour for 'From Dark Places' at Sam Adamson's Future;Nostalgic. Neat! :)

The Sweetest Trolls #16: The Finding - #FridayFlash

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Thu, 19 May 2011 21:22:00 +0000

This is the 16th installment of the Troll Serial. To read from the beginning, or to find past and future installments, click here.

Aimee averted her eyes.

“Look at me, or I’ll make you share my meal.” She raised her head. “There,” said Kratan, and smiled. Aimee lifted her hand, covering her mouth and nose with it.

Through her hands she asked, “What are you going to do with me?”

Kratan licked his lips and sucked the last remaining bone, throwing it in careless aside before answering, “Why, I’m going to eat you, of course!”

Aimee frowned, not wanting to show how scared she really was, cold sweat forming in her hands. Although her head was directed to this new Kratan, she turned her attention inwardly to consider De Faumont’s sign at the village. She could not understand what he had meant. Did he know what was going on? Or was he just trying to calm her down? Was he aware of this new danger? She gazed at her feet, feeling the absence of the fire Kutril would have built, and decided that she wanted old Kratan back, prince charming or no prince charming to the rescue.

“What’s happened?” she asked defiantly.

“What do you mean?” he dodged.

“Don’t act stupid. You’ve changed and I want to know how it happened. Where’s Kutril?”

“Oh, the little dame in distress is showing her teeth, eh?” he said getting up. Before Aimee could open her mouth, he was looking down into her eyes, his teeth inches from her nose. She recoiled both in fear and disgust.

“I... I just…”

“What? Not so brave now?”

Aimee swallowed hard and looked up his hollow eyes, “I thought we were friends.”

Kratan stood up and hip cuffed, his smile unnaturally broad. He looked up and let his laughter roar throughout the hiding place, shaking the ground above them. With his hands in his hips he replied, “You are so naïve, little dame! I bet you’ll taste as good as the crying boy. Will you cry before I eat you? I like salty food.”

Aimee gulped down again but did not give up, “What about Kutril? He is your friend, isn’t he?”

Kratan’s smile vanished. He stared at her for a long time, seeming lost in thought. She didn’t dare breaking his reverie and when he turned his back to her to rest for the day, she smiled. She had planted a tiny seed she hoped would grow inside him in time. She didn’t keep her hopes up though.

It took the villagers the whole night to put off the fire at the Mayor’s house, which by the morning was left into ruins. Although Madam Daussy and her father in law were rescued in time, she was still unconscious and the old man was frailer than ever.

“But papà, you never left your room anyway, why ask for father Pélerin?” The Mayor patted his father’s hand. “You’ll see, you’ll get better and live to see Aimee married to a nobleman as Agnes always wanted.” He showed his teeth in a poor attempt of smile.

The old man gazed up from the Velin’s family’s bed right into Daussy’s eyes, and then looked aside. The Mayor’s chin met his chest and a heavy silence fell between them.

De Faumont labored to prevent panic to settle on the villagers’ hearts, as well as on his own. He had never seen such audacity in a troll, not even in the evilest ones he had encountered before. He set to organize a search group, a night watch, and a rebuilding group. All this was more to have the peasants busy than anything else. He also dispatched a second bird to ask for reinforcement and a third to his uncle.

At mid-afternoon he received an answer that help was on their way. When he finished crowing a compliment to the bird, there was a wide eyed young man in front of him, changing feet impatiently. Upon having his presence acknowledged, he bowed hastily and pointed to the road, “Please come, Monsieur Le Prince. You must see this!”

Without word he followed the young hammer, praying to his ancestors to send him good news. He almost smiled when he was received by a loud cheering, but lost the little color his face held when seeing two trolls turned into stone in the middle of the road to the castle, just outside the village. The man’s cheering died instantly, being replaced by a mix of worried and puzzled faces.

“What’s the problem, my Lord? Shouldn’t we be celebrating that the trolls are dead?” asked Monsieur Depré.

It took De Faumont a moment to gather his thoughts around the question, “This is worse than I thought,” he said, almost to himself. “Much worse.” He finally looked up to the men and explained, “Don’t you see? These trolls were placed here to be found. They were unconscious before the sun came up.”

“Who would put them there?” asked someone to his right.

De Faumont looked down to hide his shame and his grief, “A third troll.”

There was a commotion, which the Mayor was unsuccessful to control. Some people shouted against the troll’s mischief, but most whispered doubts about De Faumont’s ability in dealing with such monsters. Perhaps the tales of his feats were false, planted by him to make himself famous and respected.

De Faumont heard none of that. He gave a loud and anguished bird-like cry and turned back to the village. He paused after a few steps to meet the stunned faces.

“Come,” he summoned. The faces sobered up and followed.

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Spotlight Time!

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Tue, 17 May 2011 01:51:00 +0000

This is something I've always wanted to do here at Randomities. It's spotlight time!

One of the most important things in a writer's career is to have people talking about their books and stories. (and buying them, of course :P) So I'm dedicating a "spotlight series" to the projects of my writing pals.

Today, Randomities will be featuring Jodi Cleghorn, who organized not one but two anthologies in the past few months. (wow)

Both books are being released in paperback through Amazon Chart Rush tomorrow (May 17th), and revenues from both books go to charities to help with the Queensland community in Australia, which suffered greatly with the Yasi Cyclone last February.

These are beautiful projects that gather a great many writers in them. Check them out and help them climb Amazon's ratings!

Click here to buy

Inspired by the Talking Heads’ song of the same name, Nothing but Flowers explores the complexities and challenges of love in a post-apocalyptic landscape; from a take-away coffee mug to a gun to the head, a fortune cookie to a guitar, the open road and beyond.

Poignant, funny, horrifying and sensual, this collection of short fiction leaves an indelible mark on ideas of what it means to love and be loved.

All profits from the sale of this anthology go to The Grantham Flood Support Fund.

Click here to buy

“One hundred beautiful stories. Our stories.
When so much was lost or destroyed, this was created.
That’s something that can never recede or wash away.”
~ Kate Eltham – CEO of The Queensland Writers Centre

100 STORIES FOR QUEENSLAND has something for everyone, from slice of life to science fiction, fantasy to romance, paranormal to literary fiction. Heart-warming, quirky, inspiring and funny, the stories between these covers will lift readers to higher ground.

Proceeds from the sale of the anthology go to the Queensland Premier’s Flood Appeal.

The Sweetest Trolls #15: Plans Executed - #FridayFlash

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Fri, 06 May 2011 19:37:00 +0000

This is the 15th installment of the Troll Serial. To read from the beginning, or to find past and future installments, click here.

The Millet family was in tears, several villagers looked shocked or worked up, fists shaking above their heads. The Mayor looked about himself, trying to locate his wife. He realized she wasn’t around and sighed; he was on his own then. He was trying to calm down the surging mob when De Faumont arrived. Everyone silenced and bowed, and Aimee slipped through the crowd unnoticed.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Madam,” he said to Petit Maurice’s mother. “I was certain that the trolls were not a menace anymore, but it seems that I underestimated their wits and wickedness. I am at fault with you and your village but I promise to track them down and kill them. This time, I will not stop until I do so.”

“What? You mean that there’s more than one?” shrieked a man in the crowd.

“I can only assume that. We were chasing two trolls the other day, weren’t we?”

The crow came back and landed on De Faumont extended arm, reporting its findings even before settling itself down. De Faumont focused his attention entirely on the bird, failing to notice the several degrees of uneasiness their communication caused on the villagers. Aimee observed both their communication and people’s reactions.

“What is it?” asked the Mayor, losing his patience and his manners with it.

“Unfortunately I was right, “ said De Faumont, ignoring the Mayor’s slip. Before explaining further, he crowed back to the bird with urgency and sent it away. “The trolls we had scared away are back.” He profited from the crowd’s reaction to search for Aimee, meeting her confused frown with the slightest of nods, which meaning he hoped she would understand.

Spreading his ears wide like his uncle had taught Kutril, Kratan heard their whole conversation. As the women and children scurried to their houses for safety and the men gathered their weapons, Kratan grinned ear to ear. He too had a plan.

While the villagers made their preparations, Kratan put his plan into action. The men were still forming teams of two or three when Kratan slipped into the Mayor’s house by the back door. He tiptoed through the kitchen, gawking at the smell of the fresh pie, and opened his ears flat to learn the house’s occupants’ movements. The hurried sound of slippers denounced the women’s position. He squeezed himself out the door and upstairs, straining the wooden steps with his weight. He paused, making another cracking sound in the process. This time, not even his privileged hearing could detect movement.

He gave up stealth and moved as quickly as his hunched position would allow, opening the room in the far end of the corridor with a punch. He grinned, knowing that the darkness wouldn’t prevent him to achieve the desired effect. He instantly heard a whimper and nodded to himself internally. “Kitty, kitty, kitty,” he said through his long teeth.

He heard movement from the opposite side of the whimper, and turned to it. “C’mon, little dame, you don’t sound like you’re in distress.” He showed his teeth and scratched his cheek gingerly, having learned to use his enhanced nails.

A different whimper, half-muffled by a hurried hand came from his left. Kratan chuckled.

“Oh, this is so fun,” he said in a conversational tone, “to know that these fool humans will be losing yet another night of sleep tomorrow; their little hearts heavy and bitter with grief for your loss.”

Since he hadn’t drawn out any reaction this time, he continued, “Aimee, isn’t it? I would very much like to see your pretty face again. It’s so dark here that I can only smell your delicate scent.” He smacked his lips. “This is so unsatisfying.”

From his right, he heard the sound of trembling limbs; from his left, movement and a lamp being picked up and lit.

Having only a bed as obstacle between them and Kratan, Aimee stood erect beside Madam Daussy, who held the lamp up. With the corner of his eyes, Kratan saw Aimee’s grandfather cornered at his arms’ reach. He snorted to the stricken-pale old man and turned to the women, but before he could take action Madam Daussy barked, “You wanted light? There you go!” and threw the lamp on the mattress with enough strength to brake the glass.

At Kratan’s surprised face the women thought they had succeeded in scaring the troll away, but alas, Kratan caught himself quickly enough and barred the door with his large body, cornering the women in their own trap. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the flaming bed to the side, almost catching the now unconscious man on the way. With one large step his lips, still bloody from Petit Maurice’s flesh, were an inch from Aimee’s head. She blinked at the nauseous smell. He smiled at her reaction and snatched her by the waist with his right hand, knocking the breath off her lungs. With the back of is left hand, he hit Madam Daussy, who flew to the wall and fell on the ground.

Note: Did you notice I have an ongoing poll on the sidebar? What happens is that I don't know which story to submit to BOFF #2 (uh) and I'd love to know your opinion on that. Pretty please? :) In case your favorite isn't amongst the options, please let share your thoughts on the comments of this post. Thanks!

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Poll - Which Story Should I Submit to BOFF #2?

noreply@blogger.com (Mari) — Tue, 03 May 2011 00:11:00 +0000

Click here to buy

For reasons that don't matter anymore I haven't submitted a story to The Best of Friday Flash, Vol. 1. The deadline for the volume #2 is getting closer (June 2), and I'm excited to give it a try, but I have a dilemma. I don't know which story to submit!

Would you care to give an opinion?

I've selected three stories that I believe would have some appeal, and I'd like you to vote on the one you like the most. Please use the gadget on the side bar to choose one of these:

Zombie Walk - My first ever #FridayFlash, which got published at Flashes in the Dark ezine. It's a humorous horror story. I call it horror only because there are flesh-eating zombies in it, otherwise it'd be the good old fantasy. :P

The P Word - The first story of my fantasy serial The Sweetest Trolls, which is also at The Penny Dreadful. I'm only thinking on submitting this one because at first it wasn't written as the first episode of a serial, but as a stand alone story. People liked it so much that it became a huge project with 52 episodes. Awesome, eh? :D

Train Day - That's a slice of life I'm quite fond of. It's based on real facts and I'm thinking of submitting this one because of the positive reaction I got from my beloved readers. I love you guys!

So, please go to the sidebar and cast a vote. If you have a different fave, please don't be shy, give it a shout on the comments.

To make things easy, here's a link to all stories published so far.

Ah, don't forget to submit your own story, and nominate your favorite of all on the People's Choice of BOFF #2. There are too few nominations so far!