Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Instead of “Why Me?” Can We Do “What If?”

My mind is so bored. I wish to be inspired. Help me!

I’m having a hard time working through contemporary fiction novels as of late. Once the story gets going, I feel less involved and more talked down. Once the story reaches it’s epoch, I feel a, ‘yeah, so?’ instead of an investment. Endings leave me thinking, ‘and so…now what?’

These modern day stories are yawns. Where’s the wisdom? Why so much celebration of ‘why me’? Have we completely eradicated the fundamental purpose of storytelling, that is, to impart wisdom among our community then carry forward as knowledge-empowered people? It feels like that to me.

I won’t divulge which authors I have been reading nor titles, because that wanders into the role of “book reviewer.” I respect you are a person of intellect, capable of free will and imagination who can make decisions (such as whether a book is good or not) on your own. I will let you know these books are all modern setting (20th century to now), modern language, modern places, fictional stories, and have either received international acclaim or blockbuster movie status.

I feel it undeserved.

In every contemporary fiction work I’ve read lately, each author has demonstrated a promotion of the Why Me, and some successfully demonstrate some movement beyond the Why Me. To those writers I ask, could you teach us how to move beyond the Why Me? Just because you can voice it through character and exposition doesn’t mean you’ve provided a resolution. For me, I feel nothing is out there which is helping us move beyond the fears of our ancestors. Some writers attempt to move us forward but only within the afterward or in book release interviews. Never in the work!

When I digest a contemporary modern day fiction novel, I frame the question, “what does this author want me to know?” The award-winning, movie rights selling authors I just read want me to know:

  1. White people are scared of Black people
  2. Black people hate other Black people
  3. Women rather keep silent
  4. Men are afraid no one likes them
  5. Americans know there is a struggle and I have the right to say, “Oh yeah, I feel that way about that issue too!”
  6. Other nations hate Americans

The authors I despise most are those who write deeply on the cruelties of racism, as opposed to writing deeply on rising above racism. Within more than a few novels, I sensed the writer was at a pivotal arc during composition, leaned back in his/her writing chair, vigorously tapping the tip of a pen to his/her tightened mouth, plotting: “If we actually solve racism, then there can’t be any money made on racism, now can it? Why solve it when I can get rich exacerbating racism? Huzzah!” Then he/she takes off rabidly composing the next New York Times Bestseller. To me, if all you write about is racist activities, novel to novel to novel, then you must LOVE racism and want to keep it going! If you’re not a racist, can you demonstrate for the racist rest of us how to grow beyond it in modern times? No? Then stop writing about it. You’re not helping.

Okay, that was a slight rant.

Storytellers, I challenge you to promote the What If? If you wish to demonstrate strife, give us an experiential aspect, not your dream world aspect. I would like to experience writing in which the author has actually taken the time to do leg work, meaning, put yourself in the shit you want to write about. It’s clear with many of these contemporary works the writer did no more than conduct a few interviews and watched some classic movies. Get in there! Wanna write about prison life? Go to prison. Seriously. Go to prison. Don’t want to do that? Don’t write about it.

I guess my complaint is…I’m reading fiction suited for people who would rather live active lies then push beyond, excel and make better their surroundings, their community and the cultures they associate with. I’m reading works where I’ve been intentionally excluded as a member of the audience. Here is where I enter a plea for help. Help me locate contemporary/modern era novels which offer clear examples of how one can move past common hurdles and function in society. And please, oh sweet Venus please, leave the racism-celebrating volumes out. They bore me.

In the original picture, I'm posing with the #amreading novel. In protest of its content, I cropped it out. Unfortunately I appear more chipper than disgusted. Ah well.

In the original picture, I’m posing with the #amreading novel. In protest of its content, I cropped it out. Unfortunately I appear more chipper than disgusted. Ah well.

Today’s Writing Motivator

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From Authors Publish Magazine

Timed Writing Prompt: “There’s A Shirtlessness To This Guy…”

Credit: funnyjunk.com

Credit: funnyjunk.com

What an accomplishment! Three miles on the treadmill and a half mile in the pool! I bike eight miles to Five Guys for my double cheeseburger reward.

The mass of moo-ey goodness is sweating liquid fat and spices, cheese, dripping off the sides with a come-hither shine, the grilled ‘shrooms and onions resting like Tiffany diamonds upon a New Money bust. “Here we go!” I proclaim as I mash the delectable lady to my face. Why I’ve anthropomorphized my food into a female is inexplicable, yet feels right. I sigh as I swallow then tilt my head back, eyes all aflutter, hearing the calories I just burned off pile back on with every gregarious lip smack.

Screw a napkin. I wipe her essence – spread over my nose, cheeks, mouth and chin – against my sweaty sleeve. As I drag lips towards my shoulder I catch a whiff of healthy odour. Hoooo weeee!

Right then, out the window, I catch a view of a couple sitting in their parked vehicle in the lot across from my table. She’s narrow-eyed and flitty-handed in the passenger seat, while he wears a glum, defeated face. She points with a pink talon towards my hallowed restaurant; in response he opens his door, exits the truck, and strolls into the Guys.

He fascinates me: spine and shoulders so straight despite his bent smile. His eyes are hidden under a ball cap, offering an air of sweet mystery. Sculpted calves and tanned thighs indicate Mr. Fuckable’s an athlete, maybe even, a model. Yes, there’s a shirtlessness to this guy. Perhaps a footballer or volleyballer…something having to do with big balls.

My soppy girl slips out my hands as I hear him order in practiced English with a Portuguese accent. I’m destined to see him naked, I am sure! I glare back to my competition, the expensive hamburger patty in the passenger seat duck-lipping several selfies, adjusting her pneumatic boobs after every angle. As if the gods so declared it, he sits next to me to wait on his meal. At that moment I wince knowing my cumragged arm faces him. My true love has to meet his queen in such form? Fiddlesticks!Ī

He smears an agitated hand from chin to forehead, tipping back his cap, revealing natural blonde hair and soft brown eyes. He. Is. Beautiful. A distinct plume of sandalwood escapes his cap as he fans it over his face before returning it home. Mmm, I smile to myself, letting the smell of our sex pheromones intertwine.

“Is it good?”

Yes, I exhale as we switch positions, now me on top.

“Is it…delicious…is the word?”

Our hips mash rhythmically, “Yasss!” I moan towards the ceiling.

“Is this the wrong word, ‘delicious’?”

Oh shit. So busy fucking pretend cock I ignore Real Cock talking to me!

His caramel body is facing mine, his shiny eyes are facing mine, his blonde wisps spike my way. The best I can manage is a “hermmuhhmyeahhh.”

The Guys call his order, he waves as he rises, grabs his bag then leaves.

I look down at my whore, all asplay against the table, laughing at me.

“Fiddlesticks!!!”

ĪWe were writing at Parkside Cafe. The booth behind us was full of Midwesterners trying to remember a restaurant’s name by CONSTANTLY repeating it to each other in question form: “Is it Fiddlesticks?” “Fiddlesticks maybe?” “It can’t be Fiddlesticks…is it?” Oh if only I had my mace…

Indie Artist? Time To Shine!

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Full text from Facebook

Into The Woods

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Appalachian Overlook, North Carolina

National Poetry Month 2015! Erotic Poetry

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Credit: Houston Press

Every Friday this April, I am going to feature an original work here for your reading pleasure. Throw rotted fruit, sing praises, lemme know you just don’t get it, but do, please, have an experience. If you borrow the work, be polite and cite!

This is a work-in-progress poem. Dog-eared for publication, but it’s only the second revision. It’s very intimate. Passionate. Worshipful. The reader submits instantaneously.

As a former obese woman, fried dough is my enemy! But there is something rather sexy about the forbidden, que no? Once a month I allow myself an indulgence. And when I do…

Copyright VS Enterprises

National Poetry Month 2015! Interactive Poetry

Every Friday this April, I am going to feature an original work here for your reading pleasure. Throw rotted fruit, sing praises, lemme know you just don’t get it, but do, please, have an experience. If you borrow the work, be polite and cite!

Today’s National Poetry Month contribution is the full poem featured during January’s Fantastic Ekphrastic! This is a performance piece – a poem intended to be spoken and performed as opposed to reading across a page. I do this format to emphasize the passion of the piece. Weird? Good! I’m purposely taking you out of your comfort zone. :D

1) You must first listen to this song. The beat sets the tempo of the poem; if you just start reading, it’s gonna be confusing! So, about the 30 second mark, you should feel yourself “lifting”…

2) Once lifted, you can start reading the poem to the beat OR

Listen to the beat in entirety, then go in on the poem. I’ve purposely made it legible in five minutes to compliment the track.

3) Following the beat of the song, you’ll be able to discern three different vignettes which cumulatively is ArcAngel. Ready?

GO! [Remember, DeOrro’s Five Hours first…]

© 2015 VS Enterprises

I Made My Book A Soundtrack

My buddy The Vibe Muse put me on to my new obsession, SoundCloud! What..? I can make playlists out of any theme I come up with in my head space? AWESOME!

But really, what a handy vision-free tool. I’m a writer of sounds, which is why I like writing action stories, because I get to use furious, loud words, and I use all kinds of music to influence plot tempo. As such, every novel I’ve composed in the last five years, within margins and notes, includes the makings of a soundtrack.

So here’s my first extraction! I give you, loves of my life, I Blew Up Juarez: The Playlist

An entire novel in under 58 minutes. Enjoy!

Happy Anniversary, Johnny Saucedo! WE DID IT!

irenes_booksigningMy first book signing. We ran out of books.
 
I actually had to run out to my car for the two books I had in the backseat; luckily, leftovers from an earlier attempt at guerrilla marketing.
 
The last fourteen months of my life living dollar to dollar so I can get published, and now I’m holding 10s of dollars, 20s of dollars, in one hand. I didn’t think I was gonna sell any books tonight, so I didn’t think about maybe having a bank bag or lock box or something to put this money in. I’m so fuckin’ irresponsible.
 
I sold out my first event. Jesus Mahoney Christ, this shit’s really happening!
 
Wow. Just. WOW.
 
4/9/14 @ 11:38pm

National Poetry Month 2015! Poem It Up Fridays

It’s National Poetry Month, ya’ll! What a great year for poetry thus far:

Every Friday this April, I am going to feature an original work here for your reading pleasure. Throw rotted fruit, sing praises, lemme know you just don’t get it, but do, please, enjoy responsibly. Practice good karma; if you borrow the work, be polite and cite!

Let’s kick off NPM15 and the one-year anniversary of debuting I Blew Up Juarez with a Von Simeon original poem. Although the book is action fiction, I had to sneak in my poetic background somewhere!

Commander Ga shares this poem about Creation with her secret husband, the accomplished scientist Jah:

Travel back to the world of mortals, little soul

as a pink sworl of smoke

In your smoke, twist to mist

from your mist, grow to clouds

and fall

as rain

feed a creature as rice, barley, herbs, sesame, or beans

Express into the divine

feminine

and become child

Be born into existence, and live

anew.

© 2015 VS Enterprises

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