Lascaux Flash 2012

This past weekend, the weather was fabulous.  Autumn is my favorite season, and the there was a delicious crisp chill in the air.  So of course I ended up spending all weekend indoors, writing furiously, trying to complete my entries for the Lascaux Flash contest.  Had it been unbearably hot or stormy, my procrastination would have seemed to outside observers like some kind of transcendent Zen taming-of-the-Fates wisdom.  Man, that would have been so sweet!

The real challenge (I think) of writing contests such this one (250 words max.) or the NPR 3 Minute Story that was due the day after the Lascaux entry (and which I will get into in my next post), is getting yourself to edit with coldness, even brutality.  Even five or six words used to help enrich the setting of the story will end up costing you in character or theme development.  I'm sure that without an arbitrary word limit, I could have composed a more full story, but the process that these contests force you through end up, in my opinion anyway, strengthening your writing in the long haul.

And I would be remiss to not recommend that everyone go check out the Lascaux Flash page.  The writing must be good, because several stories have evoked in me emotions  such as jealousy and angry bad unluckiness, and I wondered why couldn't these people have just sat on their hands for once so I could get a chance to win.

Enough blah, blah, blah - here's my entry to the Lascaux Flash contest:

(250 words - count 'em!)

A Brittle Rainbow

There were no corners in the room. Narrow windows fitted with stained glass were cut into the thick stone walls of the small chapel off the infirmary. A circular, ornate wool rug covered floor, and soaked up the drips as they fell. Driving rain and wind continued, darkness stretched out forever.

Hunched forward on a chair, Brother Cysur's hands cradled the warm throat of a clay goblet. With deep and measured breath, he observed the floor. A rainbow of shards was cast beneath his feet, arching towards the damp, howling window. The rhythmic sound of drips falling, absorbing into the damp rug made Cysur grow drowsy. The fury, he mused, must have been drawn out into the cold dawn.

"Why, Brother?" beseeched the frail Infirmarian as he entered. “We have a Covenant!”

“A Covenant!” scoffed Brother Cysur. “How much merciless suffering must we witness? Attend to? Wait on as hapless servants?” he demanded. “The Covenant has been long broken!”

A thin beam of light crept through the storm clouds, past the jagged teeth of the window, spilling on the blood red carpet, illuminating the room.

“Within days,” Cysur's voice swam in stone-muted echoes, “the ground will be too hard to break.” He rose, taking the Infirmarian's shoulder in his heavy red palm. “Gather the Abbot.”

The Infirmarian acquiesced, pausing at the door.

“You're Hell-bound, you realise,” his voice cracked through tears.

“Enduring this plague, I'll remain unimpressed by any atrocities there.”

Listening to:  Rid of Me - PJ Harvey
Reading: Oil! A Novel by Upton Sinclair

SoFoBoMo Uh Oh!

Failure.

At least I can take some comfort that the failure was of a technical rather than artistic nature. I did get the SoFoBoMo picture book project done; unfortunately, the file size of my completed PDF was about 4 times the maximum file upload size. I'm by no means a Gimp expert, and the time and effort it would have taken to shrink all 35 pictures down enough to meet the file size requirements were imposing enough to convince me to bail.

Now, an important part of goal-setting is to leave yourself open to the possibility of public ridicule, and so I once again declare: failure. Hoist the failure sails. Worse yet, in the interest of public humiliation, a link to my completed photo book.
 

I'm actually fairly happy with many of the pictures.

But oh, the words. The stupid little words. The hardest part of this whole picture book experience was the words. That what I spent the most time on, and it's the part I'm least happy with.  Please, just don't read them...you'll just embarrass us both.

SoFoBoMo like a MoFo

You know what's great about the internet besides cat videos and illegal Cat Power downloads and hipster kitty? Oh, you've never heard of hipster kitty? Yeah, I figured you probably wouldn't have. But I digress, where was I?



Ah yes, the greatest (non-cat related) thing about the internet is that there's always some organization hosting an activity that you can participate in. And it almost always has a stupid cutesy name. It's like a singles mixer for shut-ins - so it's sad, but at least you can be alone in your sorrow, which is way less awkward.

Like right now; it's SoFoBoMo time! You get 31 days from July through August to produce a pdf proof of a photo book. Yes, I realize that July through August is actually 62 days, but they have some silly rules I didn't really bother reading, and the point isn't to count days, it's to get off your ass and do something. That something is take pictures. Then you get right back on your ass and get those pics into your computer. So it's like shit you would do anyway, only this time instead of taking pictures of everyone drunk at your class reunion, you take pictures of clouds or fields or shorelines or something. Is it really to much for the internet to ask that you stop behaving like a complete Philistine for a month or so out of your life?

On the SoFoBoMo site, there are links to projects that past and current participants have completed and uploaded. Some are so good that they make you want to just give up before you even get started. Many, however, have an more encouraging "Hey, I could do that!" quality to them.




So why not give it a shot? At least it'll give you something to do while waiting for this video to load.




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Listening to: 7 Year Bitch - Whoopie Cat
via FoxyTunes

Hey ya!

Just got the news that my entry (Get Ready For The Weirdness) just garnered 2nd place over at the Clarity of Night writing contest! I feel just like the Soviet Olympic hockey team in 1980, only without the crushing oppression and fear that my family might spend the next four years in Gulag.



In all seriousness though, I am so seriously stoked! This is huge for me, and with so many great entries, a real honor.

Thanks to everyone who voted, and also to everyone who participated. You are all awesome! Tonight, I drink to you!



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Listening to: OutKast - Hey Ya!
via FoxyTunes

If this blog were a dog, it'd be dead...

Long time, no write, bloggosphere.

Well, that's not entirely true - I've been writing like an MFer for weeks and weeks now, desperately trying to get my novel finished and edited to the point that I'd feel OK sending it off to get printed (one of the prizes for winning NaNoWriMo is a certificate for a single printing of your novel. Only one catch: must be redeemed by June!).

I've taken a brief break from the novel to do - guess what - more writing! I've just put the finishing touches on an entry for the latest Clarity of Night writing contest. He be the fruits of me labor:


Get Ready For The Weirdness
By Kurt Hendricks


"Get ready for the weirdness," I said, turning the knob.

We were blinded as the huge picture window was revealed; it was a brilliant, clear day outside. As our eyes were adjusting to the sudden brightness, Lisa gasped and took a step back. I thought she was startled by the rather large disco ball hanging from the ceiling, but even as the thought was forming, a solid 'thwack' reverberated through the room.

I expected some reaction from Mayme, but she didn't stir from her seat by the window. I walked over, repeating her name, louder and more urgent each time. An apprehensive hand reached out to touch hers, which was clutching the joystick controller for her electric wheelchair. It felt like defrosted poultry.

"Another one," I told Lisa. This was her first time delivering, and I wanted to instill in her an expectation of this sort of thing. She just looked right through me with a thousand mile stare. I turned to Mayme and sighed.

I never thought I'd end up a drug dealer again. Ever since legalization, the glamour - not to mention the money - had left the profession. The clientele had changed, too; now mostly senior citizens looking for pain relief or a way out. Coltrane played on softly in the background.

“That crow…,” Lisa whispered, “it flew right into the window.” She was still obviously a little shaken. “It must’ve been attracted to the shiny thing.”

“Yeah,” I said, “you’ll get a lot of that.”


Thanks for all the fishes!


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Listening to: Monty Python - Always Look On the Bright Side of Life
via FoxyTunes

Two things

OK, two things:

#1: I got my NaNo badge! Woohoo!!
I'm still working on my novel, and probably have at least another 30,000 words to get to the end. Then, I've got to get it edited into some semblance of non-suck in order to get my free proof copy, another goodies for making it to 50,000. I mean, I could get the free proof copy of my unedited rough draft, but why?



#2: Heard this song on the radio two days ago, then went home later that day and found a free download of it. Now, can't get it out of my head. Enjoy!

Long Overdue NaNoWriMo update

Wow. It's been a while, blogosphere. I've just been too busy with NaNoWriMo to post anything, but as you can tell from the widget in the sidebar, as of today I am three-fifths done. On the down side, the month of November is more than three-quarters done.

But this is OK! No need to panic! I have all along planned for a sustained push over the long Thanksgiving weekend. I figure that I should get at least 15,000 words over that period, and added to my current total (approx. 30,000), that leaves me only 5,000 to get between tomorrow and Wednesday. Totally doable! That weird Viking helmet blog badge is so mine!!!

As far as my novel is going, it's not as great as I had hoped, but not as bad as I had feared. I'm sure it'll need the recommended two revisions before it's ready for another person's eyes. There have been some really pleasant surprises, little stories within the stories that just sort of popped into my head as I was writing, and the overall generalized outline I had made while prepping for NaNoWriMo has held up quite well, with only a few minor adjustments along the way.

One of my greatest fears going in turned out to be baseless: I have plenty of story to get to 50,000. In fact, just getting my two main characters to meet each other so that the story could begin in earnest took nearly 12,000 words. And now I'm sitting at around 30,000 words, and not halfway through the story. This is a little worrying, and I'm sure some of the first part will have to be cut to keep readers from falling asleep, but all in all, I'm very happy with the way things have gone thus far. We'll see, I guess, if this attitude still holds around November 28th. I'm guessing, probably not.


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Listening to: Björk - One Day
via FoxyTunes

Fiction Friday - Northern Lights

Wow, Friday already. My work today is a rough draft of a story I'm prepping for entry to Storyglossia. The theme for entry is "Musical Obsession". I am fully aware there is not too much of that in my offering this week - that will be woven in between now and the deadline for entry, 9/15.

As always, constructive comments (and, of course, encouragement, be it genuine or bald-faced lies) are welcome.


NORTHERN LIGHTS


Katja leaned back, propped up on her elbows, the high sun glinting off her shiny horns. She was young and beautiful, and couldn't have been more exotic, Jake thought. Her eyes were squinted into tiny slits, scrunching up her nose in an adorable way. She was much
more tan than a girl from Finland ought to be. Her head swayed gently from side to side, as if she was listening to music only she could hear. Jake was immediately drawn to that particular idiosyncrasy, almost fell in love with her on the spot because of it.

"I don't want to die...don't get me wrong," Jake said. He was looking out where the river from the melting glacier met the ocean, watching the chunks of ice flowing swiftly out into the wavy blue infinity. A seal popped his head above the surface of the river, looked around momentarily, then went down again.

"Do you ever think you might be of...possessed?" Katja asked.

"I have thought so many things...I used to think, back when I was a little kid, that everyone could see music. I don't know, the kids seemed to sort of understand at first, but as we got older, I got more and more weird looks." Jake picked up a handful of black sand and let it slowly sift through his hand. It was a thrilling sensation; the sand on top was hot from the summer sun, the sand underneath was cold, the way you would think it would be in a place called Iceland. The temperatures mixed as they traveled between Jake's fingers, creating a sensation that his nervous system didn't quite know how to deal with, and so just got all tingly. He lost his train of thought momentarily.

"Weird looks?" Katja prompted.

"It was so familiar and natural to me - I assumed everyone could. I still kind of think that it's something we all have when we're born, something we lose as we grow. Of course, I realize that it's more likely all here." He pointed to a spot on his head a little above and in front of his right ear, where the tumor that caused his vision resided.

Katja sat up and scooped up a handful of sand herself, and let it slip through her fingers, just like Jake did. She also experienced an odd sensation, Jake noticed, as goosebumps raced across the bare skin of her arms and chest above her breast plate. She scooped up two more handfuls before giving her head a little shake and brushing off her hands.

"Maybe this is from God, do you think?" she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out cheese, bread and a tin of tuna, which she spread out on the blanket they were sitting on. She then reached back in and retrieved two bottles of water, handing one to Jake.

Jake scoffed at the idea, waving his hands as if the very idea was a pesky insect that wouldn't go away. "Some people in my family think that. I don't know, maybe that's how they're making sense of my thinking."

"Your thinking about the surgery?" Katja asked. "I understand...I think."

"Like I said, it's not like I want to die or anything. I just think about how...different my life will be. I won't have this special gift or talent, or, I don't know...curse, affliction..."

"What does it look like?" Katja interjected. "The music when you see it?"

Jake paused, rolling his eye up towards the heavens and then closed them. He took a couple deep breaths and appeared to be lost in thought for a few moments. He turned his gaze back towards the water and saw the seal's head come back above the surface, closer now. He exchanged a glance with Jake before slipping back under.

"Sort of like the Northern Lights, I guess," Jake finally said.

"I have seen the Northern Lights," Katja said. "They are beautiful, but I don't think I should want to see them all the time."

Now finished with their lunch, she reached bag into her bag and pulled out two cups of skyr, handing one to Jake. Jake reached for it with a reluctant slowness, wondering how long they had been in there - were they still safe to eat? And how deep is that bag? It's like a cornucopia or something. Sensing his apprehension, Katja said, "It's OK. It keeps without refrigeration." Jake opened his and tucked in. He had grown fond of skyr.

"Is it distracting?" she asked.

"The Music thing? Sort of. I can't listen to the radio when I'm driving - at least not when I'm driving in the city, anywhere where I'd need concentration. I drove through the desert once listening to some CDs. That was...a... great time."

Katja's eyes never left Jake as he talked. She brought the little fold-out spoon up from the cup of skyr to her soft mouth, twirling it in there to lick the concave side clean, slowly withdrawing it through her pouty lips. Jake tried hard to not keep his eyes on her the whole time and turned his eyes again to the water, where he saw the seal again, by the shore, nearly half way out of the water. The seal was waving his nose in the air, sort of like the way that Katja's head would sway slowly from side to side. As he sat there observing it, the seal was suddenly pelted with a scattershot of small pebbles. Jake turned immediately to Katja; it took a couple seconds to get his head around the fact that she had thrown the rocks.

"Pesky," she stated, just the slightest hint of contempt in her voice. "They will come and try to steal food."

She leaned back again, propped up on her arms, her body in that revealing costume spread out in front of Jake. She reached a hand up to hold her horned helmet, to keep it from sliding off. She craned her neck toward him, squinting into the sun behind Jake, one eye completely closed, as if she was winking, and said, "I think you should have the operation." This had the effect of plunging Jake into a complete state of indecision.


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Listening to: Nine Inch Nails - Lights In The Sky
via FoxyTunes

Flash Fiction Friday - Hint Fiction

Seeing as how I'm prepping for another (most like demoralizing) contest entry, I thought I'd shoot two barrels of fish with one shotgun and post some of the compositions I'm considering for submission.

The contest? Hint Fiction.
The deadline: August 31 (this coming Monday, I believe).
The skinny: Compose a story in 25 words or less - perfect for a twitter post. Come to think of it, I should post mine on my much neglected Twitter account. I'll try to due that right after I send in the entries for consideration.

Well, here they are:


The Funeral of an Enigma

The programs were referred to often - compulsively, it seemed - as the structure they provided was some sort of relief from the awkwardness and boredom.



Baggage

From the pedestrian bridge, she emptied the purse into the river, laughing through the tears. She kept the purse, though, for the memories it held.



The Humanity

"There is a indifferent, yawning chasm in between compassion and resentment," Drake drawled as he withdrew the blade. Footsteps echoed down the alley.



He Was Supposed To Have Made His Mark By Now

From the opposite sidewalk, surreptitious sideways glances at the girls walking by in tight, skimpy clothes. The sight was suddenly, for the first time, depressing.


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Listening to: Miles Davis - So What
via FoxyTunes

In Vino Veritas contest entry

Just a quick update:

While cruising through the bloggosphere recently, I stumbled upon a flash fiction contest at The Clarity of Night. I had this idea knocking around in my head since last winter while I was lounging on the couch in a Nyquil daze. And at only 250 words, I figured I could knock it out quickly. The result is below; I intend to submit it sometime this weekend. Enjoy! Comment! Enjoy!

Fetch


Two figures approached from the southern horizon - they seemed to have been brought along with the storm. As the lightning flashed violently through the downpour, Eva traced their progress towards the isolated shack. She tried to wake her father and mother, but they were too drunk to rouse. In a panic, Eva grabbed some bread from the table and ran out the back door. She checked over her shoulder as she fled, making sure that the shack was keeping her blocked from view.

Upon arriving, the two men strode right in, simultaneously drawing their hoods back as they entered the one room hut. They were nearly identical, and were often mistaken for brothers. Eva's parents woke abruptly, and sat up straight on their old cots as the two men sat down at the modest dinner table. The man on the right pulled a decanter out of his satchel and set it on the table, and the man on the left, the one who did all the talking, spoke.

"Glasses," he rasped, motioning to the decanter. Lightning silhouetted him intermittently. Eva's mother stumbled out of bed in a drunken hurry to collect two glasses for the men.

"Come, sit," he said as he poured. Eva's parents, terrified, obeyed. He pushed the glasses towards them.

"Drink," he urged, and they hesitatingly did.

"There," the stranger said as they silently set their empty glasses down.

"Now," he whispered, leaning in towards them, "where is the child?"

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Listening to: The Pogues - Bottle Of Smoke
via FoxyTunes