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Category Archives: Flash Fiction
[NOTE: I joined a new writer's group! This group differs from the old one, in that these writers are eclectic in personality, diverse in style, and disciplined to work, which is what I prefer in a group setting. Our first meeting was fun. Here's one of the 12 minute writing prompts we did; enjoy!]
Concept: A meteor is about to strike our planet, decimation of our known civilization is certain! React to the news…
My fellow Americans, Armageddon is upon us. I will not speak to you as your President, but as your neighbor. I too am terrified, of what shall become of our homes, of the natural life, and of the art we cherish. And since I have the world’s attention right now for the next 11 minutes, I’d like to go ahead and share a few things. First, I need to apologize to Ms. Jackson. It was me, not Henry, who pushed Melissa off the monkey bars. I watched as Henry got swatted over and over, tears streaming down his red face, eyes of disbelief pleading to me to tell the truth. It has haunted me this entire life and I’m glad to relieve myself. Next…I confess…I looked down Sara’s shirt in Shop class all period long. She never caught me doing it, but I know I was a total sleezeball.
Alright, let’s forget the grade school stuff. This war currently in the Middle East? Well, it’s ongiong because I lost my shirt at the White House poker table! Yup, it was me, Dubya, Dicky Cheney, Donnie Rumsfeld, Metta World Peace, and Rhianna. Me against Donnie, chips high, and I lose, two sevens to his three 9s. I thought I had a good bluff, America! So yeah, you parents of soldiers battling out and losing lives over senseless interference? That’s all because of double 7s. Whew! This is therapeutic.
Okay, another one. Me, Putin and Cameron had an ultimate three way at Yves St Laurent’s former terrazzo in Marrakesh. We called it a ‘peace summit’ but really, it was all about gettin’ a piece of SOME ASS! Also, I tried LSD and I like it. I should’ve pushed for an increase in research funding because frankly, if we were all stoned right now, I think we’d be taking the end of the earth way way better.
In closing, I’m gonna roll a spliff and cheef in the Oval Office, because I’m the Chief of State, and the state I’m in merits cheefing. HA HA! This is why they got a guy to write my shit, oops, STUFF, oh hell, who the fuck cares about decorum! I’m gonna take off my clothes now…EVERYONE GET NAKED AND START FUCKING!!
President, out! <drops pen like a mic>
Original composition 9.7.14
You bought my book? AWESOME! Wanna tell me what to do next? Also awesome!
Go RIGHT NOW to Make Contact and select FOCUS GROUP from the pull-down menu.
I’m collecting information to help me decide my next move in the book game.
As always, thanks for playing along!
There should be more people out here than there is.
No matter, as the rental chariot of the day, one Ford Fiesta, slides into a parking space in front of Paradise Grill. Immediately the smell of salt rushes up my nose and through my skull, making the center of my scalp tingle.
Bob unloads, overexcited to be out of the house and in a public place. His black nose busies nudging bush branches as I and my proven co-captain journey towards the deck.
Bummer. The grill is closed.
We find my favorite two Adirondack chairs vacant over to the right. She pulls out her pack of smokes while I wrangle my dog to at least try to stay in the vicinity. I let go of his lead and let him visit with the people making the short climb up the side wall to reach the deck we’re on. Cloudy night makes the full moon a full smear up and to the left of us. The Gulf of Mexico lap lap laps in quick tempo as the tide shifts out. The water is a soft grey, perfectly reflecting the clouds above it, creating a silvery soft vortex opened only to us three, a portal of infinite possibility.
I sigh. “I wanted to do something to commemorate this day, but the grill is closed.” I smack my own forehead. “We drove right past that Circle K. I coulda stopped and picked up some beers before we made it down!” I stay looking at her. In her amiable style, she says, “No worries,” and I assume it’s because we still have a whole ‘nother cigarette to burn. I shimmy forward on my long seat and straighten up to announce, “Come on. Before we get comfortable. Everyone back to the car.”
The Circle K has a long faced woman working the counter tonight. This is such an important day, a successful day; today I got rid of that last bit of trash. Consciously amending my sobriety clause, I wind past the salty snacks and to the double door coolers.
We’re doing it. We’re gonna have an alcoholic beverage, because that’s what you do when you succeed; you raise a glass and you let yourself be giddy. My eyes scan the options and I frown. No Dos Equis.
There it is.
“If you’re gonna fall off the wagon, do it with Sam,” I proclaim as I lift the sixer off its shelf. That’s when I notice the wine case. Shoot! I saunter over and see it’s the bring-a-bottle-to-a-dinner-party variety. I figure one cannot go wrong with a Chateau St Michelle Riesling if it’s already chilled in the case. She grabs the bottle while I return the stock. “I think it’s a cork. Yeah, it’s a cork,” she says fiddling with the top. “We’re gonna need a bottle opener.”
“No we’re not, we still have the tool bag.” The tool bag. One of the things I told her to keep up with when we loaded the car. ‘Be familiar with this bag; it’s going on our trip.’ She pointed out I was missing needle-nosed pliers. Add to travel list.
“We have a flat head screwdriver and a hammer.” Over the top of the bottle she’s holding, I mimic the screwdriver in my left, the hammer in my right, and one focused hit to the head. “Bottle opener.”
Although we should probably add a corkscrew bottle opener to the tool bag. Add to travel list.
The twenty dollar bill in my wallet turned out to be a ten dollar bill, so back to the original plan. We head back to the beach; this time, over to the long bench overlooking the south part of the deck. The tide had carried out some more. I use my key chain opener to serve our beers. We toast to our great day, clink necks, and enjoy the deep amber…
Three years ago, I discovered and fell in love with Chan Wook Park. Not familiar? He’s the director of Oldboy, Mr. Vengeance, and Lady Vengeance, a powerful revenge trilogy that I find, alongside many other movie fans, exemplifies the consummate redemption tale. Yes, I’m including Tarantino’s Kill Bill volumes, and you guys know how much I love Kill Bill.
Imagine my elation when I noted my Netflix queue was repopulated with Lady Vengeance! Hit A then A again on the Xbox controller aaand…
Love this movie. Gorgeously shot, beautiful sets, Vivaldi stitched into the operatic story, with a flash presentation that offered me several moments of, wow, I wasn’t ready for that! Here’s a director after my heart: he celebrates friendships and femininity amongst the criminally dispositioned as well as mocks the sensationalism of religion and the superficiality of broadcast media.
Powerful scenes abound in this movie, and they could only be conveyed by the strength of all the actors; I mean, everyone was invested in the wickedness of his or her role. The one scene where Geum-Ja is alone, smoking in the salon chair and laughing mad gave me an ohhh I’ve been there moment. There’s another scene with a dog licking the barrel of a gun, which forces you to wander into your dark self and confirm your position on the matter. And Jenny, oh boy. Jenny is SO the daughter I’d have if I’d let men make decisions for me. Not gonna get all meta about Lady Vengeance or the rest of the trilogy; I’m sure there’s plenty of blogs that have covered it all ad nauseum. I’m sharing with you why it matters to me.
Like any good artist, if you’re gonna approach a medium or a technique you’re not familiar with, you gotta study the masters. When I happened across Chan’s work, I was studying contemporary writing techniques, particularly this avant garde styling called “flash fiction.” Chan Wook-park helped style my work to relay intensity with grace. I applied it to my schooling, and the results, along with some nods to Chan, you’ll find in I Blew Up Juarez.
So are you for or against revenge? I now find revenge to be futile. It is a projection of righteousness and the dominion of absolutists who believe in Right and Wrong. Revenge is an aspect of emotion, and emotion is ruled by Ego. I strive to be ruled by Logic.
Have you executed revenge? Many moons ago and during the time when my ego defined my existence. Along with my art studies I picked up the works of Sun Tzu, Confucius and the Baghavad-Gita, and honed my living philosophy to attenuate the rationale for revenge. Now I find it ephemeral, pleasing only to the ego, like a one-night stand or the last cigarette in your pack. Once it’s done it’s done and you’re left empty and wanting, so why bother?
However, I understand revenge. I sympathize with those who have also committed revenge. Artistically, I absolutely plan to exact a revenge tale in the other Johnny books. I can’t deny how enjoyable a solidly executed redemption tale is to read or watch.
Seonsaeng Chan, if you’re looking for someone to join your writing team, I humbly seek your consideration. Gamsa habnida!! :)
Hands steepled, staring intently towards the wall, I too, assumed the form of our beloved high functioning sociopath as I mulled over what went wrong.
Wrong, wrong, did it go wrong? Is it wrong? What’s wrong? Could it be not wrong? Nothing wrong? What’s wrong? Is it wrong? Did it go wrong? Wrong!
You get it. It’s ART. Like an Escher tessellation, stare at it too long and you’ll see something different entirely. And when it’s completed art, you definitely cannot revisit it. It’s out there. It’s DONE. To analyze after the fact is bad juu juu.
But what if it’s wrong?
Here’s what I decided to do…
Book’s been out officially since 4 April, that makes 80 days as of this post date. Technically, I’m coming premature on my decision, but, (this the part where I release the steeple to point the definitive index finger) fuck it, it’s my book.
What had happened was, ([CHORUS]: And then, riiight!) I went through a publisher to release I Blew Up Juarez. In the T minus 1 hour of wrapping up production, right at the all-systems-go point, she decides not to associate with this work. Demonstrating complete lack of professionalism, she wanted her company logo emblazoned across the cover artwork, and I said no, so she got butthurt and pulled out. Infuriating, considering I compromised artistic license, time, and patience to meet the publisher’s needs.
Since it’s release, my astute readers are pointing out the wide, gaping hole in the lemniscate-like track that is this fast paced story, a true sin in the literary world: you do NOT introduce a character without validating his/her purpose. This is Composition 1000, and I’m looking terrible! The fifteen chapters omitted during production were initially agreed to be more for Book 3 than this book, that’s why they were out, but she should’ve caught the dangling character.
Technically it’s the publisher’s fault but since now I am the publisher, well, I’m making an executive decision.
…I shall publish an epilogue to I Blew Up Juarez for release this holiday season. With my impeccable discipline and (hopefully) people leaving me the fuck alone while I work, the fifteen chapters that were omitted in the story will be provided in full splendor, and, with deft styling, will bridge Book 2 to Book 3 handsomely.
*SIGH* Now that feels right.
And here’s the gift that keeps on giving: all of you who have purchased a copy of I Blew Up Juarez from me since its release to today (Eastern Standard Time, don’t get cheeky) will get [WT]The Epilogue FOR FREE! Why? Because you fuckin’ rock.
And now we DANCE!
As in ‘go’, as in ‘green light’…clean ups on every page. Especially check out my I Blew Up Juarez tab…did I answer your questions satisfactorily? Think I covered ‘what is the book about?’ and ‘where can I find it?’ as succinctly as possible. And please do Like the page, but only if you mean it ;)