Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Short Story #2

The end was closer than the underwire that was stabbing me in my armpit. I had meant to throw the old bra away months ago, it was on my list. That was before things fell apart. Our lives were being held together by a thin string, much like my underclothes, and both were as equally painful.

Two months ago we started this garden, my husband and I, more so for a hobby, something to do with the land we hand, something to build and grow together. We had no idea when we first broke the ground with that shovel that we’d be counting on it for a means of survival in such a short time.

That’s just the way things happen. One week you’re laughing over a beer, the next you’re practically begging for water. Water while it’s pouring down on you in massive hurricane ways.

First it was that injury of his at work, then me losing my job, then the car breaking down, illness… the rain it keeps falling.

He spends his days glued to the want ads and selling everything of value. Me breaking my back, cursing the ground I’m trying to convince to grow us something to eat. My hands resemble some red and brown version of shredded swiss cheese, and I’m positive the dirt will never release itself from under my nails. My sides ache with tremendous pain from the crying, from the hunger, from the work. My feet are swollen and sore, my arms beyond repair. This is all probably beyond worthless, but it’s all I can do. It’s all we have.

Two weeks, the bank said, just two weeks before they’d force us out.

So I dig, I dig and I pray. And I sow and I water. I pray and I cry, and my blood literally is being put into my work. Two weeks isn’t long enough to grow a garden, two weeks isn’t long enough to give us food. But my brain can’t handle anything else, there’s peace in the dirt.

My hand shovel snapped under the weight of the worthless clay soil, snapping my soul with one quick snap. I threw the pieces as far as my trembling arms could throw them. I wiped the sweat from my brow, leaving a trail of dirt across my face, and pulled at my bra strap. I was born overly determined, I’d die being overly determined. I dug my fingers deep into the dirt, pulling away, funneling my hatred for everything straight into the ground.

Pulling and moving, digging and clawing, making way for the only hope we had left. My husband’s shadow towering above me, filling me in on only more despair.

I collapsed next to the bag of seed potatoes waiting for me to plant them, laying my head on top of the burlap, praying for an end, I was done. My eyes fell upon the hole I was so desperately trying to dig, and let me tears roll out. Without much strength I talked to it, “Please don’t fail me, just let this stuff grow.”

The ground sparkled back.

I switched to another angle, the hole still glowed metallic back at me. Knowing now that I had totally lost my mind and dug my hands deeper into my hole, bringing my craziness up to the sunlight. Opening my bleeding fingers to reveal 5 small stones… gold.

 

If you’re new here or trying to catch up, you can find out what the heck I’m doing with these quick unedited short stories here

 

Changing the Rules, Again

In case you’re new here, or in case you just didn’t notice the 5 million other post, I am trying to participate in BlogHer’s NaBloPoMo.  Short and sweet, it’s all about posting everyday for one month.

The theme for the month of April is Poetry, except I’m not big on sharing anything leaning towards the scope of poetry that I’ve written.  And when I say I’m not big on it, I mean don’t ask, I won’t do it.  It’s my very much private stuff.

Moving on.

I also changed the rules that NaBloPoMo is all about posting everyday EXCEPT for on the weekends.  Give me a break, the weather has been beautiful and my husband has been bitten by the motivation bug and is helping me finish outdoor projects I’ve been waiting on for years.  If blog posting would build new goat huts, I’d totally ditch him for you all.  ❤

And while you all are here, I’m going to go ahead and publicly pat my back for going this whole entire time without posting about nothing and or writer’s block.  Sure some of that from last NaBloPoMo was fun… but I was annoyed.  And yes there may be some people who have made millions off of nothing, but I didn’t make a dime, lol.  And also too, here’s an extra cup of coffee for me for not whining in any of the post about writer’s block! 

So now I’m going to go ahead and screw up the whole dang thing.  I just can’t help myself, I need a break from the safe place I’ve found.  And trust me, this latest groove has been super safe, my views have doubled, and my followers have jumped up by ten since the beginning of this month. 

This morning I began to type up another memoir type, from back in the days post… and I yawned.  I read through the entire post and got an immediate headache.  When did I type cast my blog?!  Oh sure, I might have found the right path to work with, but I’m bored!!!!

And that concludes the whining.  Because I’m sure you’d like me to get to the point already.  Anddddd I can’t believe I’m going to do this…

*stabs voice in the back of my head that’s already trying to get me to back down*

From here on out (for April, I’m not that crazy), it’s all about, *takes deep breaths*, short stories and flash fiction.  *forces fingers off of the backspace button*  You know, because it makes perfect sense to dedicate myself to something I have never EVER NEVER been able to do before.  Ya know, just a little something I’ve been trying to do for months now, so it’s obvious that I should pledge myself to doing one every dang day.  *headoven* 

Yup, I’m going to do it, and it’s going to be baddddddddddd.  We’re all going to cringe and convulse and beg me to go back to my safe place.  And I might, just might lose my mind. 

Someone stop me, please………………

I’m already second thinking this…………

 

Getting Pointless Once Again

I’m getting things crossed off that list, the one with 101 things to do in 365 days.  And of course that is all sorts of awesome.  Getting things done are the things dreams are made of, especially with a bazillion animals and young minions.  But yet I’m lacking on one MAJOR area…

“Finish the first edit of Denali”

“Write a Short Story/Flash Fiction”

In all honesty it’s been weeks, maybe even a month since I’ve pondered those two things.

So my brain pulls up excuses…  “You’ll get to them when all the other need to be done’s are done.”  “Maybe you SHOULDN’T be writing.”   “Maybe you should just be a rock farmer.”   “You just suck.”

*headoven*

At first slacking in the blogging/social media world was great.  I lost the constraints I was giving to myself, stopped hearing other people’s words and ideas instead of mine and all sorts of freeing epiphanies.  And then I just lost interest.

Did I lose the muse?

Did I ever have one?

*insert image of my brain and I spinning in circles*

I’ve whined, complained before, thinking maybe this just isn’t for me.  But right now my brain seems to be pretty much convinced.  After all, shouldn’t a passion fuel it’s self??? 

And what “writer” takes months off over and over again, no one will take that seriously.

And is it the book itself?  Is it the ideas?  Is it me?  *pours more coffee*

Do I start over?  Do I just force myself to do it?  Do I sell straw hats at an intersection?

Do I chase away all of my fellow readers by constant whining and pondering of my worth in the world of words?

*gulps down coffee*

And why are REM songs flashing through my head?

 

Stale Cheetos and Flash Fiction, There is a Connection

Somethings been swirling around in the vortex of my mind.  Popping in here and there, grabbing my attention and tickling my neurons.

I want to dip my toes in the white, rapid waters of Flash Fiction.

Actually what I’m really gunning for is to be able to share more of my writings here, and less of my ramblings about nothing.  And I’ve been told that the more you publish of a novel online the less a publisher will want to touch it. 

Flash Fictions could be my compromise, not long enough for a novel, but long enough to learn skills, develop my style and share with you the crazy weirdness that is my brainz.  And have you seen all of the contest online?! 

But there’s one problem….

I don’t know where to start, or HOW to start.  I don’t know what to do!  Oh sure I can pump out pages on pages developing a plot… but a story in UNDER 1,000 words?!  I’m lucky if I can post a blog in less than a thousand words. 

I know that you my most intelligent, awesome, ruler of the world readers have some excellent advice and thoughts.  So go on now, spill it!  After all in some time not too far off in the distance a big scary, hairy man will be standing behind you, armed with stale Cheetos, forcing you to read my attempts at flash fiction.  You might as well help me make it decent!