Category: Fiction

Twenty-one Days to Change a Habit

Flash Fiction:

Can I go twenty one days? It seems like an awfully long time. I thought about three weeks and what it means, not as Mr Gerard Faulkner wanted me to consider it (as a time to respond the changes in the condo association ordinances number 201:45B and 201:45C) but as a dry time. I sat there at the new neighborhood monthly maintenance meeting at the up and coming golf club restaurant with a pint in hand, listening and throwing in my two cents worth, that is – not much–but I was speaking up every so often so my neighbors thought I cared as much as they do but I don’t. I don’t. I have to show up or I’ll have them screech to a halt on their way home down the cul-de-sac past the gatekeeper’s original home which is now my home and I’m no gatekeeper by any sense. I can’t be bothered and so I’m not bothered except I am but I don’t say anything because like I told you I don’t want them to stop and yell as me as I sit in my front yard sniffing my family heirloom roses as if the new development hadn’t magically appeared after Mom and Dad died. I’d sold the farm for a good price not thinking I’d miss the fields or the view of the Lindon Hills over past Mrs. Jarrod Hunkers place half a mile a way but I do miss them, Mom and Dad, and the farm and the fields, and the view and even Mrs. Jarrod Hunhkers who’s never forgiven me and neither have I and so I drink to keep it all in and I drink to shut up and I drink to be social and what would happen if I stopped?

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The Bus Ticket

Her eyes lit up. Blue. Pale. Her skin was dirty, skin weathered, chin sunburnt, and a huge genuine smile that broke you open again. Again. Linda, you’d chatted a few times on Main Street over the months. Her and the backpack, talking of camping in the park out of sight. “I’ll be alright, won’t I?” she’d asked and you’d said yes. You think she was.

You waved at her this morning. She was walking slowly up State, the farmers’ market out in force. She stopped at your voice. She lit up seeing you. You chatted, glad she was okay. Then she asked you for money for a supposed ticket. Instinct kicked in and you said “no, I can’t help.”

But you gave her $3.25 in quarters from your front pocket.

“I’m going home to my mom. I need to catch the bus today, that’s what she said. She worries about me for some reason.”

“They do that,” you joked.

You talked about how much the bus ticket was – $35, how much she needed – $8 total, and perhaps she could ask at the market? Feeling shy today, she muttered.

She again asked for your help. You lied. You fucking lied to her.

In your back pocket was $25 in cash. You never have cash. You’d just bought and eaten a fresh ham and cheese croissant for $4.50. She’d only asked for another $5 for a ticket home to her mom and you’d lied? For fuck’s sake, Sleam. You chatted a bit more, crossed the road together and then she walked to the bus stop anyway.

You walked away.

The sun beat down.

Hot day ahead.

Your cool apartment.

Fans blurring the edges.

Fridge full.

Cash in pocket.

Croissant crumbs on your tee shirt.

And

You’d lied to Linda.

You walked around Bear Pond Bookstore, tempted by another collection of essays that you don’t need. You walked out. Linda sat on a concrete bench in the shade of an Ash tree, stretching out one leg, pack at her feet. You called her name and gave her a fiver.

Her face lit up. You chatted together. Again.

You walked away, crying. You? You… No, me, but you knew that, right? Yes.

I had lied to Linda.

Wishing her a safe trip home, I turned home and began to cry again because I’m so fucking angry at the world and life and me me me and for fuck’s sake, someone asked for help and you didn’t want-that is, I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone and I couldn’t shut down and so my heart broke again and I cried. I am now. I’ve been there: Broke. Homeless. Reaching out. And helped by strangers for their own reasons.

Linda gets to see her mom.

I wish I could see mine one more time.

Flash Fiction: Your Downstairs Neighbour doesn’t like you

Your Downstairs Neighbour doesn’t like you. Why? Can you hear the stereo? Mine? No, because I can hear your bloody Gameboy. Games, boy. Over and over that damn theme song, it’s not really song is it though? A loop of bass and rhythm but without any rhythm eh? Do you want to be an american idiot? Caught up in the daily routine of work to pay rent to play your games at night? And get pizza delivered? Every fucking night? So when you die, or about to die because you’re unhappy and unhealthy and yes, I’m judging you and I’m okay with that, but when you’re up there with that god of yours are you going to say, man I reached level five, can you believe it, I mean, oh god, it was great the lights blinked twice and then that was it, you got me, was that it? I’d wanted to get to the next level and the pizza, the big one with pepperoni was on its way and who’s going to pay for it? What a waste, oh god, what a waste. And god says, yes, it was. And then me, that neighbour downstairs who listens to your creaking chair and the repeated theme track for that bloody Gameboy will eat your pizza even though I don’t like pepperoni but the dogs do and this music on my stereo breaks my heart so maybe it’s a good thing to get pissed off with you and your bloody Gameboy, games, boy. It breaks my heart.

 

(An excerpt from the collection of prose, poems, and portraits, Clean up on Aisle 23.)

Flash fiction: Is this what you meant?

Is this what you meant?

When you said dogspeed, did you mean big dogs or little? Remember Freddy, the old chi-mix I took in from the shelter? With the grey face, bad arthritis, and his red winter coat? He was slow, feisty but as slow as you are in the mornings. And Harold, my sweet Harry, bless him, he’s not as fast as he once was. It’s his hips – isn’t that true for all of us? But Rosie, she doesn’t bloody stop, does she? Putting her on a leash to walk around the block is like asking a marathon runner to skip to the traffic lights and back. Oh. You said godspeed? I don’t know what that means. Sorry.

Writer’s Craft: On Fiction and Character Development

On Fiction: Knowing your characters is key to a writing an insightful novel or short story. 

It’s true, the more we know the protagonist, the side characters, everyone mentioned, the fuller the sense of story we take the reader into. We’re less like to have pawns, stereotypes, and more likely to have believable people reacting to the world we’ve stuck them into.

Alexander Chee came to VCFA in 2017 and talked to us in the MFA program about developing his own characters and how much research he would invest in each one. He inspired much of this list, some are his ideas and others are mine that came from the inspiration of listening to him talk.

The list is in no specific order. It’s a collection of random questions and suggestions that help me when I’m writing fiction. It helps me in revision too, I can go back to each character once the story is finished in my case, and look more carefully into their backgrounds and make sure it rings true or if more information is needed for the reader to understand their actions and reactions.
It helps me. I hope it helps some of you too.

  • Trust the magic
  • Let the story out
  • Trust the characters
  • Write everyday
  • Get it out, remember?
  • Drop in deep
  • Fall into the spell
  • Trust your intuition
  • What’s the reason for living that lfie?
  • Who’s in control in the story? The protagonist’s life?
  • Ask questions of your characters
  • Follow those questions in each chapter
  • Access the urgency
  • Create a playlist
  • What do you have to say?
  • See the world through their eyes
  • Trust intuitive structure
  • Write what you should write, what you know
  • Don’t worry about externals
  • Don’t be in good taste
  • Let the characters act true to themselves
  • Don’t censor them
  • Or yourself!
  • Find the details that are so telling, a gesture, word, action
  • Poignancy, find it in each character
  • The story is its own editor
  • Do you know enough to tell this story?
  • Commit to writing two hours per day
  • Dive in, swim, float, paddle in that story every day
  • Write out all the sories and later work on how it fits together
  • What are you interested in?
  • Who do you want to hang out? You’ll be spending a lot of time with these characters
  • Research the context, era
  • Find those odd details
  • Clothes, politics, food, houses, music, transport, hairstyles, shoes
  • Don’t control the voice of each character, they are unique
  • What is the social place your character lives in? class, access, education, goals, lifestyles
  • What is the story that can only happen to them?
  • Know them so well that you can deeply know the motivations at all times
  • Find the intimacy of character details, the gestures, walk, look specific to that person
  • How do they rationalise their actions to themselves? To others?

If you have more ideas, then add to the comments below and we can share the info. Thanks again. Be well. Be creative.

Twitter @Princeharry5566

Twitter. Today. Dear Princeharry5566. Got your message. I can answer you now. It’s already been a couple of hours, I’m sorry. Princeharry5566, thanks for following me, I’m right flattered. Princeharry5566, not many young men notice women my age, you were raised right. I’m flattered of course, who wouldn’t be, what with a real live prince? I got the message you sent asking me where I’m from; maybe you looked at profile and saw I’m English too? We’ve not met, yet, but I remember getting plastered when your mum and dad got hitched, it was scrumpy cider and we were in the Mendip hills, and us girls got a bit messy. We spent the afternoon on a horse ride until 3pm and then cleaned up and sat in front of the telly with our cider and snacks, waving our silly little flags, but we’d drunk all that cider and then those flags did naughty things and the telly went on the blink and that was that. Did we miss much after four when it was tea time, you wouldn’t know really but maybe your mum said something? It was quite the day and so much has happened since then and you’re tweeting to me about your wife and you. I read your profile and your posts but you do need to edit. Your profile is in first person and third. Like it’s copied and pasted? Well, nice chatting. To think. Princeharry5566. And me.

Living The Dream: 35

As part of the weekly excerpt from the novel LIVING THE DREAM:

DECEMBER: UNDONE

I spent the afternoon fixing odds and ends around the homestead. I’d set up a campfire by pulling down various three to four-foot lengths of branches and partial tree trunks to be found near by. Blankets covered a few straw bales for seats and I’d even swept the deck clear of snow. Veggie soup bubbled away on the wood stove inside. Nelson played with the hens, following them around the trees and eating their poop. He flopped down in a sunny spot on the deck. When the hens wandered back into their run to escape his attentions, I closed the gate behind them. The sky was clear blue, and no storms nor wind threatened to come our way. I wore Mom’s scarf, a fleece sweatshirt, thermals, long socks, and my big winter boots. The sun might be shining but it was still below freezing.

I lay back across a straw bale and drifted off.

 

Nelson barked. I fell off the bale. The delivery guys had arrived. Three different trucks pulled up together, making a right mess of the snow by all backing up as close as they could to the bus, and with much laughter and carrying on, we began to unload the straw bales. Three truckloads of bales, I couldn’t quite believe it. Debbie set the kids to clearing out a space around the bottom of the school bus with the help of Nelson who’d taken to young Finn. They wore so many layers as to indistinguishable from one another, and they set to work removing rocks and cactus.

“Frank is on his way but had to swing by the Firehouse first. He said he’d be here in a short while. How do you want to do this?”
“I just figured we’d set one layer end to end all the way around and see how far we get. How many did you all pick up today?”
“I’m not sure. Hey Graham, was it fifty or sixty we got?”
Graham climbed down from his warm truck with an obvious shiver. “More like eighty between us, I think. It should do a fair amount, right? We probably have enough for at least two layers with more stacked on the north side. We can go back again tomorrow, or are they closed?”
I shrugged and grabbed the wheelbarrow, passing it to Graham, knowing his ability to disappear at the sight of hard work. “This is for you, my friend. If you could take a couple at a time over to the bus and spread them around? Debbie and I will unload her truck first and then we’ll start on yours. And no, before you ask, there’s no foundation built. It’s straight on the dirt. When they fall apart, I’ll use them in the gardens, okay?” I handed him Mark’s work gloves in case he tried that old excuse of forgetting his own. I grinned though as he tried them on and picked up a bale with a groan.

Danny came around behind me and covered my eyes with a laugh. “I have a present for you. Want to guess what it is? Go on, Jen, you’ll not get it right, not completely.”

He twirled me around until dizzy, chatting up a storm until I made a stab at it, “kittens?”

“And?”
“More hens?”
“Close, but not quite.”
He took away his hands with a flourish. In front of me stood Mom holding a box with two kittens. She laughed at my amazed expression. “I knew you wouldn’t expect to see me here.” She hugged me with her free arm, laughing in delight at my wide grin.
“He said you wouldn’t remember. I’d told you I’d try to come back. Well, I’m sorry that I missed Christmas but here I am now, and here are your two new friends; one’s a boy and one a little girl. They’re almost two months old now and still pretty vulnerable, so let’s take them inside and get them warm. Danny, can you grab the supplies?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her and climbed up into the back of his truck and Graham struggled past with two bales in a wheelbarrow. They nodded at each other but said little though they grinned shyly. The two boxes handed down were full toys, litter, plastic trays, feeders, water bowls, towels, anti-septic wipes, kibble, and even cans of wet food. He set one container on the deck for me and then wandered over to help Debbie throwing bales down one by one. Mom and I climbed inside the bus and shut the door behind us. Silence suddenly.
I set down a box, “Welcome back, Mom. I missed you.”
She passed me the kittens and sat down in the armchair. “How about some coffee and a little chat, Jen? Tell me all.”

 

“And then?”
“Not much, we decided we’d talk later, in a few months or so.”
“And you’re okay with that?” She sipped her coffee with a contented sigh as a kitten nuzzled on her lap. The fire flickered in the stove and outside the others walked back and forth with straw bales, chatting, and even singing bluegrass tunes as they worked. I relaxed against my mom’s legs with another kitten in my arms.

“I am, I really am. This is a good place for me to be, with or without him. And then there’s the trust, I can’t trust him again, can I?” I shifted the kitten to the other arm as I turned and faced her. “I love this, can’t you see why? See why it’s special? Yes, you can, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
She laughed, “Busted as they say. No, you’re right, this is a good place for you. I haven’t seen you this relaxed for a long time, Jenny. I approve, for what it’s worth.”
“Thanks, Mom, thanks for just letting me be okay with him gone. I miss Mark, but I’d miss this more.” I poked her in the foot, “Well, what shall I name these two?”
“That’s for you to decide, not me, but I can tell you something, it’s time we helped finish the work, isn’t it?” She set her mug on the table and stretched out her legs.
“You mean now they’ve done two truck loads?” I laughed and held out my hands, pulling her upright. “Good timing, Mom, I approve, for what it’s worth. Well, come on then, let’s show them how it’s done, shall we?”

 

Supervising my friends, we quickly got the first layer down by mid-afternoon. I called a halt to the work and asked someone to light the campfire while I set up a late lunch of soup and bread, followed by hot chocolate and mulled wine, age depending. We’d settled around the fire pit with bowls and mugs, happily chatting away when another truck could be heard slowly and steadily approaching. Two engines, one deep and rumbling and the other more like a diesel pick-up. Frank perhaps? I stood and put my plate down for Nelson to pre-wash and grabbed a straw-hat, then went to find out. Debbie called to the kids to get ready, “Papa’s on his way so stay back kids, wait till he turns off the engine, remember?”

They bounced in place and stuffed their faces with the last of the bread as a huge red truck slowly turned into the driveway, a water tanker, it was the oldest one kept out back at the firehouse. I glanced back at Graham and he simply smiled but shook his head, motioning he’d say nothing. I walked up to Frank as another vehicle pulled up behind him. Louisa and Anne sat in a flatbed truck with a black metal tank strapped to the back.

“What the hell’s going on? Why are you here, Anne?” That sounded bad so I tried to smile as I approached, heading to Louisa’s window deliberately. I nodded at Anne but didn’t say much. Louisa laughed though as she climbed out and hugged me, surprising us both.

“I was so excited to hear from your neighbor about today’s projects. I couldn’t believe the timing – it’s perfect. Did you tell her to expect us?”
Danny actually reddened slightly as he admitted that “no, I was busy with kitten wrangling and -”

“- picking me up from the airport. It’s my fault. I’m Martha, Jen’s mom. And you must be Louisa, the local dog whisperer. Anne too? Hello, come on over, we have some soup left if you’re all hungry. Kids, is this your papa? Are you sure? I don’t know if I believe you, Finn.”

Mom’s inner-hostess kicked in and soon we’d all sat back down with bowls of soup and more hot drinks. Louisa explained that the water tank came from Andrew’s place, which had been sold and they needed to clear out all the stuff the new owners didn’t want. “Like these tanks for some reason. Frank’s taking one for their place and I thought you’d be able to set up a catchment system, more than the ten buckets you’ve got lined up, if you want it?”
“Are you sure though? Don’t you need them at yours?”
“No, that was one of the first things my ex-husband and I had done together. There’ll be lumber too, odds and ends of tools if you want to come over this week? The place has to be cleaned up by Friday the fifth.”
Frank stood up, “talking of water, we should fill you before it gets dark. That old tanker is full, so I can give you about 500 gallons, and that’ll keep you going for winter, Jen, don’t you think? A nice feeling that’ll be, water in a tank, just stack some – ”

“ – BALES.” we all yelled out together, laughing at the reminder to work. Our late lunch break ended with the kids giggling and running after Nelson and a paper plate.

 

I drank a glass of the spiced wine as the others worked. I took photos, Mom insisted. Then Anne waved me over to Louisa’s truck. I wandered across, uncertain that I was up for this, but it might as well be dealt with, right?

“You stayed with Mark in LA, didn’t you?”

She nodded sheepishly and held out her hands, empty and open. I stared into her eyes and away, back at the impromptu gathering behind us. She spoke.

“I did. I doubt I’ll go back though. It was primarily to see my sister but yes, I saw Mark when I was there. But I’m not a city girl any more, not that I ever was, but it was fun to see Helen and take her to a party with Mark’s friends.” She played with snow at her feet, clearing out a small patch of dirt. “I am sorry, sorry it turned out like that, messy.”
“Yes, well, Mark’s happy there, I guess. And I’m happy here. Simple as that, when it comes down to it, isn’t it? I’m not to fall apart.” I suddenly had an image of my lonely Thanksgiving in the bus and cringed. “Well, not again. So now where do we go from here, Anne?”

Anne zipped up her coat and shrugged as she stared at my homestead and my friends hanging out around a blazing fire. The silence lasted a moment but was surprisingly comfortable. Anne shuffled and turned back to me, her eyes bright. “I have something for you, something Mark asked me to bring back for you.”
“Really? What? Something I’d given him or what?”
She grinned suddenly and I remembered that smile so well. “Kind of, but Louisa might disagree.” She opened the door of the truck. A little face stared up from within a pile of blankets. The white and golden scruffy little face I knew so well.

“Frida. Oh my god, it’s Frida.”

My pup shot out and into my arms, licking me all over as I shrieked and almost fell over. Nelson suddenly tackled us from behind and with Frida in my arms, I tumbled into a snowy wet pile with them both. “You brought back Frida.” and I collapsed into tears.

 

Embarrassed, I cracked open a beer and tried to make a joke. They all looked at me with such sympathy that it set me off again, dammit. Mom caught the kids, whispered to them, and made them stand in a line facing me from on top of some bales.

“On the count of three,” she commanded.

“One.” said Finn.

“Two.” said Franny.

“Three.” yelled Clark.

Out of the blue, hundreds of snowballs rained upon us, those little buggers had stockpiled them out of sight and now all was mayhem as Danny and Mom fought back, catching them in mid-air and tossing them onto the screaming kids. The dogs ran in circles, barking and chasing each other in excitement. Graham hid behind Anne as she desperately tried to make enough to throw back. Frank commandeered the high spot of the bus roof and yelled out directions for the kids. Debbie sat on a rock and ate more soup, unaffected. Louisa climbed the water tanker, staying out of danger. I stood there, in the middle of the battle, covered in melting snow, tears falling from laughing so hard that I dropped to my knees, unable to take any more. Undone. I was undone by my new friends.

 

“Thanks, Mom. You started it.”
“Did not. Did I, Danny? The kids did it, I blame the kids.”
Franny giggled from on Debbie’s lap as Finn dozed on his dad’s. Clark helped Graham and Anne clear up the plates and mugs. The stars slowly lit the night sky and a breeze reminded us of the winter storm watch for the weekend. I shivered and pulled down the woolen hat. Anne and Louisa were chatting away. Graham was shuffling around, trying to get into the conversation but failing in his awkward way. The fire lay hot and bright at our feet, glowing embers that sparkled and flickered briefly before settling down once again.

“Well, it’s time we headed back and settled the children down for the night. Are you okay out here tonight, Jen?”
I grinned up at my tall friend, “Frank, I think I am, I think I am. Thanks so much for the water and everything today.” I stood up and suddenly hugged him, making him redden uncomfortably. His kids clambered over the bales to say bye before they all disappeared, driving slowly with up the dark road. The others followed suit and soon I was saying good night to Louisa and Anne, and shortly after that to Mom and Danny.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay tonight, Jenny? I don’t want to worry about you, not tonight.”
“Oh, Mom, go and enjoy yourself and don’t worry about me. It’s a two-dog and two-kitten night for me. I’m fine, right? Danny, take her away, will you? I’ll meet you all for lunch tomorrow as planned. Go on with you both. I’ll see you next year.”

“Happy New Year to you too, my favorite daughter.”
“Your only daughter, you mean?”
“There is that but I’m not complaining Jen. Well, we’ll see you tomorrow then, bye.”

With a waxing half moon in a cloudless sky, they drove back down my driveway and pulled the chain across the gateposts.

I poured water on the fire and it sizzled into a cold soggy mass. My two happy dogs lay on the deck, tuckered out, but tails wagging whenever they caught me looking. Hiding behind a juniper shrub, I peed and stared at the stars above without falling over for once.
I stood up and with the last of my wine toasted land and sky, dogs and owls in the distance, not forgetting coyotes and cactus.

“This is the life, isn’t it? I’m living the dream, yep, living the dream. Oh, and Nelson? Frida?” They both yawned. “Happy New Year. Let’s go to bed, shall we? Are you hungry?”
In the dark, we clambered up the steps and into the warm bus. A squeak and tiny sharp claws climbed up my jeans, a black and white fur ball of a kitten had a mission to get up high. Her brother, a pale ginger kitten, stared out from his place on the armchair, watching the invading dogs, and completely unfazed by a huge hairy husky cleaning his ears. With boots removed, I shrugged off the coat and scarf, hanging them up at the door. I stepped over to the table to light a candle. My sock slipped in a wet and smelly present. Great. Frida licked at the mess with a wagging tail.

“Okay, first things first, you kittens need to learn how to use a litter box.”