kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Monday, June 4th, 2012 11:09 pm

The Quillians’ writing challenge for May was as follows:

May Challenge:

Write a death scene for a superhero. Make sure we know his/her superpower and how it was overcome.

You can use up to 400 words.

I literally did not have a single idea until about an hour before the meeting, when the scene popped into my head, fully formed. I apologize for the . . . heavy-handed “message.” But it’s what I came up with. :)

The Green Avenger lay dying, surrounded by the steaming remains of what had once been a lush rainforest. Around him gathered multicolored parrots, monkeys, neon frogs, sleek cats, spiders, insects of all sizes . . . representatives of every species that had once called the rainforest home.

A figure approached out of the ruined mess, its heavy boots crunching on the dry, ashy remnants. The animals clustered around their erstwhile protector, trying in their own, simple way to return his many favors.

“No,” the Green Avenger croaked. “Let him approach. He’s won.” The animals backed off, reluctantly. Some still snarled under their breath.

The other figure kept walking until it stood over the prone superhero. It bent low, the gas mask covering its face unemotional and yet chilling at the same time.

“Reveal yourself, villain!” the dying hero gasped, then spasmed as coughs shook his ravaged body.

“Interesting,” said the machine-modulated voice of Fossil Fuel. “You were far easier to defeat than I thought possible.”

“Show yourself!” coughed the fallen, green-clad hero.

“If you insist.”

The dark figure straightened and removed the gas mask and the cowl, unfurling auburn tresses that cascaded halfway down her back.

The figure on the ground gasped. “But…Wendy?”

The beautiful woman smiled. “Hi honey. I’m home.”

“But . . . how? Why?”

“‘Why’ is easy. We need power, you naïve idiot. And the only way to get it is more coal, oil, and natural gas.”

She bent low over him and cradled the back of his head with one rubber-clad hand. “The ‘how,’ my dear, sweet husband, is the power of apathy.” She smiled sweetly, but it caused a spear of ice to go through his heart.

“People simply stopped caring. You were just too stupid to notice. And without them . . . your power failed.”

“But—” he coughed, and red flecks of blood stained her black suit.

“Shhh,” she whispered, and put a finger to his lips.

She gazed into his eyes as he breathed his last.

She gently lay his head down and stood. “All right!” she shouted. “Let’s get the equipment in here and start drilling!”

She looked at her husband’s body. “And get a clean-up crew to get rid of these . . . vermin.”

It won first place amongst those voting. Thanks, guys! I keep wanting to tweak it . . .

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.

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kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Thursday, May 3rd, 2012 04:44 pm

I mentioned the other day that I submitted three of my very short flash pieces that have appeared here on my blog over the last year or so to a podcast called Toasted Cake.

I got a response back from Tina Connolly (podcastrix).

Hi Gary! Thanks for sending me these to consider. I’m afraid these won’t quite work for Toasted Cake, but I thought the poem was funny and I hope you’ll send me something again if I have another sub window.

(and, thanks for the kind words on Toasted Cake :)

So as far as first rejections go, I’m not displeased. It’s a very good one, actually, encouraging me to submit again in the future.

Plus . . . now that that’s over with, I’m not dreading that first rejection anymore. :)

I still want to get into Viable Paradise, though, Universe, if you’re listening.

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.

kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Tuesday, April 24th, 2012 05:24 pm
Progress by dingatx, on Flickr
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.0 Generic License  by  dingatx 

It’s been about a month since I last updated my blog. I’ve had a busy social life and a sick cat and frankly haven’t written much. I also helped out a fellow writer by critiquing her entire finished novel over the last couple of weeks.

But another thing I did work on was submissions.

I finally bit the bullet and submitted a manuscript to Viable Paradise. In their own words,

Viable Paradise is a unique one-week residential workshop in writing and selling commercial science fiction and fantasy. The workshop is intimate, intense, and features extensive time spent with best-selling and award-winning authors and professional editors currently working in the field. VP concentrates on the art of writing fiction people want to read, and this concentration is reflected in post-workshop professional sales by our alumni.

Viable Paradise encourages an informal and supportive workshop atmosphere. During the week, instructors and students interact in one-on-one conferences, group critiques, and lectures. The emphasis at first is on critiquing the students’ submitted manuscripts; later, the emphasis shifts to new material produced during the week. Even when not actively engaged in teaching or critiquing, instructors often share meals and general conversation with the students.

The Viable Paradise experience is more than the workshop itself; it also includes the autumnal beauty of coastal New England and the unique island setting of Martha’s Vineyard. Taken all together, they create a learning environment that’s perfect for helping you reach your writing and publishing goals.

I’ve wanted to go to VP pretty much since the first day I heard about it—Egad! Six years ago!—when podcaster and writer extraordinaire Mur Lafferty went in 2006 (VPX) and talked about the experience.

Of course, I’d also like to go to Clarion/Clarion West. But I have a full-time job and only 23 PTO days per year, and Clarion takes six weeks, or 30 PTO days. (Which actually isn’t all that bad, considering. They’d only have to let me do a leave of absence for seven work days . . .)

The shortage of time off still didn’t stop me from attempting to apply. I mean, once I got in, I could worry about getting time off, right? But I misread the submission guidelines. I worked for hours editing a story to get it as perfect as I could get it. And then with just about twenty minutes to spare, I was getting ready to email everything in and . . . realized they had asked for two short stories, each between 2500 and 6000 words. I had just the one, and it was 6900 words.

Here’s a tip: Read the submission guidelines thoroughly, boys and girls. <grumbleblather>

Not that Viable Paradise was a distant second choice, mind you. It could even be argued that my subconscious sabotaged Clarion on purpose. Dastardly subconscious.

I sent in my submission on April 16th. The deadline is June 15th. They will make a decision as soon as possible after that date and let everyone know one way or the other. Only 24 students will be accepted. They will, of course, have to read and evaluate all the submissions they get at the last minute, so I wouldn’t expect to hear one way or the other before the 20th of June, certainly.

So now, I wait. Patiently? Well . . . :)

In other news, I have recently started listening to a newish podcast called Toasted Cake by Tina Connolly. Tina is an accomplished author (and Clarion West 2006 graduate) and voice artist who frequently voices stories for the three Escape Artists podcasts, EscapePod, PseudoPod, and PodCastle, as well as Drabblecast and Three-Lobed Burning Eye.

She decided to podcast a flash story per week for 2012. She hit up her writer friends for the first dozen or so, then opened up for submission from interested listeners during April. I sent her three of my extremely short flash pieces to see if they strike her fancy. She likes ‘em dark and kind of twisted, which these three are. I sent the anti-Valentine’s Day poem, “Pot O’ Gold,” and “Nothing Lasts Forever,” all of which I have put on this blog in the last year. I should get a “Pass” or “Hold” email before too long. Submission deadline is April 30, and I sent it in a couple of days ago.

So that’s basically what I’ve been up to. Which doesn’t amount to much on the page, but I’m hoping one or the other or both of those pan out.

What I have done, writing-wise, is come up with a veritable mother-load of ideas for the second novel in the Urban Fantasy series I’ve come up with (which I’m tentatively calling The PCIU Case Files). You know, the second novel. I haven’t finished the first one, but my brain is supplying me all kinds of good stuff for the second one.

Stupid brain.

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.

kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Monday, March 26th, 2012 11:36 pm
Many and Great Mistakes - The Desolation Project

Album Cover

The challenge:

Imagine this image is the album cover for your new band, The Desolation Project. However, you’ve been slack, and you haven’t actually written the songs for the album yet. Oops!

Your challenge is to come up with titles for ten songs that will be a perfect fit for this album.

I’ve been meaning to post my entry for several days, but I’ve been busy. Life, etc. You know.

Anyway, tonight (3/26/2012) was the deadline, and we voted, and although I didn’t even consider mine up to par with the others, much to my surprise, it won. Here’s what I came up with.

I wish the other five folks would post theirs because they were all so good. This was probably the hardest time I had selecting my top two picks of any of the challenges to date. Congratulations are due to Kate McCridhe and Paolo Alfa, who came in second and third, respectively.

We all went with “Concept Albums” where the songs all tied together on some theme. It’s funny, too, that I don’t think any of us overlapped at all, although I tried to overlap with one other person, but could never make the title work. She did, and it blew me away. “Lullaby for a Sonogram.” Mine was going to be something like “Trojan Defeated.” Hers clearly rocks; mine just as clearly does not. I’m glad I went with “Hod’s Missile (Toe)” instead.

Now, because I’m anal retentive (Should that be hyphenated?), I’ve put a link on each title to explain what it is in reference to, in case you don’t know. Probably very unnecessary, but . . . it’s what I do. The Icarus one is supposed to refer to the hang-glider in the image, and the Quixote one is supposed to refer to the windmills. Now you know more than you probably wanted to.

Note: The image above was created by Sherry D. Ramsey and I’m using it without any sort of permission at all.

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.

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kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Tuesday, August 16th, 2011 06:10 pm
CSIS

CSIS

The July challenge for The Quillians was to write 250 to 350 words inspired by a song. We had to postpone the ‘judging’ meeting twice because the first time, only two people had entered, and the second time, our Fearless Leader–Luta in-game–didn’t show up. Speculation about where she was ran rather rampant. I suggested that the only thing that could keep her from us was that she had been kidnapped by pirates. Or perhaps clowns.

Or pirate clowns.

One thing led to another, and the challenge for August was to write a 350 word story explaining just where Luta was. :)

As usual, I was given a word count, and I met said word count exactly. So here is my entry in the “Where’s Luta?” challenge.

Oh, I should mention something: Luta is Canadian. From Nova Scotia, specifically. That will make the story make more sense.

Stephen Harper, brows beetled, chewed his lower lip. “Are you sure it has to be her? She hates it every time she’s activated, and besides that, it’s Monday.”

“Oh, for the love of God, Steve. If you’re afraid to call her, just hand me the phone and I’ll do it! Canada could be on the brink of ruin, and you’d worry about one woman being irritated with you.”

Not just one woman, he thought.

His wife stood, hands on hips, glaring at him through narrowed eyes, her foot tapping soundlessly on the carpet. He supposed she was right. It wasn’t every day that an agent so deep undercover was activated, but this one was special. He picked up the phone.

* * *

Luta folded laundry with one hand while checking her daughter’s math homework with the other. “No, honey, you need to carry the two,” she said as she checked the clock again. Only a half hour to go.

The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. Oh, for the love of…it’s nearly 10 on a Monday. What now?

She laid down the sheet she had been folding, and, dodging dogs and trailing a daughter with an open notebook and a pencil, she marched upstairs and into her office. The phone blared twice more. If I answer it, it’s going to be something bad, and I have a Quillians meeting on Second Life. I can’t let them down!

It rang twice more before she picked it up. With a heavy sigh, she said, “Hello?”

“Um…” came a harried, tentative voice, then a fumbling sound. She thought she heard someone say, “Really? This is the activation phrase?”

“Hel-lo?” she said, emphasizing each syllable.

“Yes, um…’Yo ho ho and a big red nose.’”

Luta’s face, which had been a mask of irritation and impatience, instantly relaxed into one of supreme calm, her eyes narrowed. “Prime Minister. This had better be damned good. Last time—”

“I-I know, Luta, but…it’s that situation in Moose Jaw.”

She closed her eyes. Crap. I thought I took care of that last time. “Tell me.”

“Well, [REDACTED]

I knew from the moment I came up with the idea that the last word of the story had to be [REDACTED]. :)

Anyway, I presume this will be judged toward the end of August, or possibly the first Monday in September. Wait. What is that in Canadian?

<ducking>

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.

kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Tuesday, August 9th, 2011 11:16 am

"Lightning Over Midtown Atlanta" ©2010 by Brendan Lim

Flash! (AAH-aaaaaahhh!)

Last night on Second Life The Quillians had our weekly meeting and read everyone’s submissions for the July challenge. We each selected two favorites.

I came in first, with Ge3x and Mira tying for second. The hilarious thing about it is, of the five entries, all of them were dark. With all of music to choose from, all five of us picked “downer” songs.

I can reveal now that the title of my piece was “Nothing Lasts Forever” and it was inspired by “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas. It’s my favorite song of all time.

I didn’t even know most of the songs by the others, so there was no hope of winning the extra prize money. Ah, well. I had guesses. Oddly enough, all my guesses were kind of cheerful. I guess I’m warped that way.

What I’m learning from these monthly challenges is that I kind of like the flash form. Less than 1000 words—our challenges run way less than 1000, usually from 250 to 350—makes you really think about what you want to say, and eliminate needless words and extraneous ideas.

At my Tuesday night writers group (The Forum Writers), we have new writers join us all the time. Some stay, some come and go. But whenever we have a newbie, we make them introduce themselves, tell us what they write, and what they want out of our group. Then we all introduce ourselves in turn, explaining what we write. I usually say some variation of this:

My name is Gary, and I’m currently working on an urban fantasy novel. It’s set in modern Atlanta where magic works, but there are no sexy vampires or werewolves. <insert pause for expected ‘yay’ reaction> I also write science fiction, epic fantasy, dark fiction, and a little horror. I used to do short stories, but my short stuff seems to have developed a pituitary problem.

What can I say? It usually elicits at least a smile. :)

That last part about the pituitary problem, though…I may have to change that. The more I try this extremely short form, the more I like the sense of freedom it gives me. Write 350 words and tell a whole story…then move to the next one. Be done with something instead of incessantly writing it or thinking about it night and day (and night) for months.

Maybe it’s an escapist thing. <shrug> Whatever. I just know that I an enjoying the instant gratification.

As an aside…am I the only person who always adds the “AAH-aaaaaahhh!” in my head every time I hear or see the word “flash” (AAH-aaaaaahhh!)? Surely not. Surely not.

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.

kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Wednesday, August 3rd, 2011 11:19 am

Repeat

Repeat © 2006, Thomas Hawk

Yeah, so . . . a bunch of us showed up on Monday night and waited, but the group leader/moderator didn’t show up. There was wild speculation, but we finally determined that the most reasonable explanation was that she had been kidnapped by pirates, or maybe clowns. Or perhaps clown pirates. Or pirate clowns.

Either way, there was no judging this week, either. So . . . I guess the July challenge is now officially the August challenge. :)

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.

kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Saturday, July 23rd, 2011 03:46 pm

A Cannibal Star © 2010 NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center

A Cannibal Star

A few months back, I was doing a series of challenges organized by The Quillians, my writing group on Second Life. I managed to miss out on May’s and June’s challenges because of the Project That Ate Summer™ at work. But I’m back for July.

The challenge was simply this: in 250-350 words, write a flash piece inspired by a song. Bonus for guessing the song!

(The bonus is because what we do is gather together one Monday night at 6pm Second-Life Time, read all the entries, and then vote on which ones we like the most. The votes are then tallied, and the winner gets a cash prize (Second Life in-game cash, that is), as do the second- and third-place winners. This time, whoever can correctly guess which songs inspired which stories gets an additional prize.)

Now, I can’t give the name of the piece or the song that inspired it, because I know some of the Quillians read this blog. :) The name comes from the lyrics of the song that inspired it, so I’ll just call this “Name Withheld” for now. I’ll update this with the actual name and the song later. Or make a new post. Whatever.

Once again, when given a word limit, I tend to hit it exactly. But this time, I hit the LOW end instead of the HIGH end. Hm. Interesting. So this is exactly 250 words.


He parked the ship just inside the orbit of the third planet, the one they used to call Jupiter after a long-forgotten myth. The eyes of the worlds were watching, and he wanted a good vantage point, but it would be stupid to endanger himself just to get a story.

He was not the only one here. The proximity sensors indicated several million other ships of various sizes and configurations, some further out, some closer in. All positioned with an unobstructed view of Earth.

Humanity, in all the forms it had assumed and in all the far-flung parts of the galaxies to which they had migrated, still remembered home, or at least some few of them did. Still felt enough nostalgia to mourn—or at least mark—its destruction. But for most of humanity, Earth wasn’t news. It wasn’t even a distant memory. It had been uninhabitable for several billion years. All that was left was just a burnt husk. A useless cinder.

Still, that cinder was the cradle of one of the most powerful civilizations the Cluster had ever known.

He cut unneeded systems to conserve power, unfurled the solar arrays, launched and programmed the recorders to capture all wavelengths at maximum bandwidth and density in three dimensions. Stellar transitions weren’t predictable to split-second accuracy, but it would happen long before he ran out of supplies.

He got comfortable. When Earth was engulfed by the expanding sun, Man would be here to bear witness, after all.


Hope you enjoyed it. I think I really like this piece. I tried making it longer, but I hated it every time I did.

We’ll meet Monday (7/25/11) night and vote. If you do have a guess as to what song this was inspired by, do feel free to guess. I moderate all comments, so if someone guesses, I can just hold them until after Monday, then let them through. I’m interested to see if it’s obvious.

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.

kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Wednesday, March 30th, 2011 01:09 pm

"Silver Lake Park Bench" © 2010 by Jim GardnerThe Quillians‘ challenge for April is to write a scene of no more than 350 words consisting solely of dialogue. No tags (…, he said; …, she asked, …the constable exclaimed), no narration (He raised his eyebrows, her lips were set in a thin line), no nothing except pure dialogue.

Now, I was given a word count, again, so of course, I hit it exactly, almost without trying. It’s sort of getting uncanny.

Since we are given no opportunity to create character, setting, or plot outside of dialogue, this was an interesting challenge. How do you get all those things across while at the same time making it interesting to read as a conversation?

Well, from the get-go, I knew I wanted to do something . . . a little odd. (Who, me?) So once I had the character name you’ll see shortly, <cliché alert> the rest of it just sort of wrote itself </cliché alert>. Phone conversations are, perhaps, the easiest to portray this way, because they’re naturally all dialogue.

So, anyway, I now present my entry to the Quillians’ April Dialog Challenge: "Kit-napped"


"What exactly do you want me to do?"

"If you ever want to see Miss Princess Pants again, bring a trash bag of catnip—the fresh stuff, not that over-the-counter crap—"

"Oh, I would never—"

"Shut up! Bring the goods to the park at Webber and Clouseau at 12:00 sharp. There’s a bench near the sandbox."

"Yes, yes, I know the one."

"Lie on the bench watching the birds."

"What? Watch the—? I don’t understand."

"I’ll be watching. Stay until you’re sure no one else is around, then bury the bag in the sand and walk away."

"But, how will—?"

"If you do what we’ve asked—"

"We? I thought there was only one of you . . . Hello? . . . Oh, sweet goddess, hello?"

"If. You do. What we have asked. Miss Princess Pants will be returned to you, unharmed, by 3:00 pm. Understand?"

"How will—?"

"Do you. Understand. My instructions?"

"Y-yes. Bring a bag of fresh catnip—"

"Primo stuff, remember."

"Yes, high-quality catnip. To the park at Webber and Clouseau at noon and bury it in the sandbox."

"Come alone. If I catch whiff of the K-9s—"

"Oh, no! No. I just want . . . I just want my baby back, safe."

"Then there should be no problem, provided you don’t do anything stupid."

"Can . . . Can I speak to her? Please, I . . . I just need to hear her voice."

"Lady, I don’t have time for—"

"Please! I’ll do anything you ask! I just need to hear my baby to make sure she’s OK."

"Oh, fine. Anything to shut off the caterwauling."

"M-Mom?"

"Princess! Oh, my Bast, Kitten, I’ve missed you so much! Are you OK? Are they treating you all right?"

"Mom, I’m OK, I’m OK. These jerks are assholes, but they haven’t hurt me. Can’t say the same for them, th—"

"All right, that’s enough, you little spitfire. Lady, are you satisfied?"

"Yes, yes! Oh, thank you. You aren’t going to hurt her, are you?"

"Not if you follow our instructions to the letter."

"I’ll be there."

"See that you are. Remember: I’ll be watching you."


And there you have it. Three hundred fifty words of pure dialogue. In what I hope is an entertaining little vignette.

We’ll present them and vote on them probably around April 11. I tied for third on the poem challenge for February. I took first place for the Pot of Gold story for March. We’ll see how I do for April. :)

Oh, and two more things. First, I’d like to thank my friend Patti for the names of the two streets. Once I saw her suggestions on my Facebook page, I knew I had to use them. Oh, the puns . . .

Second, this is the first post I’ve done using Microsoft Live Writer. I have no doubt it’ll look great on WordPress. What I am a little trepidacious about is how it’ll look when it’s cross-posted to LiveJournal. Well, we’ll see, I guess.

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.

kaasirpent: (WriteWright)
Thursday, March 3rd, 2011 05:06 pm

"Pot of Gold" © 2010 by Wizetux

"Pot of Gold" © 2010 by Wizetux

Last month, my Second Life writers group—The Quillians—had a challenge to write an anti-Valentines Day poem of any length and in any style. I wrote a sonnet and posted the result. Mine tied for third place of the entries submitted (voted on by the Quillians present for the meeting of 2/14/11).

For March, our challenge is to write a 250-word flash story that includes the phrase “pot of gold,” but not leprechauns.

Well, begosh an’ begorrah! How are we supposed to do that?

Here’s my submission. :)


“What did we hit?” Jen asked.

I pulled off the road and turned off the wipers. Blood was smeared on the windshield over a spider web of cracks.

“Whatever it was, it was big.”

I squinted out the windshield. The rain was sluicing what was left of the blood away.

“Did you see anything?”

“No,” she said. “I was too busy screaming.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry about it. One of us had to.” I sighed. “I’d better check it out.”

She didn’t protest, and I popped open the glove compartment and grabbed the flashlight.

I got soaked immediately.

I wan’t sure exactly what I was looking for.

Wait. What was that? I shone my flashlight toward where I had seen a glint.

It looked like a Barbie doll. Twisted and obviously dead, diaphanous wings crushed beneath her, still oozing blood, which was washing away in the rain. I bent closer. The tiny female form was blonde, dressed in leaves, and a tiny wand lay near her outstretched arm. And something else . . .

I grimaced, then scrunched up my face and reached out to pick up what she’d been carrying.

Back in the car, Jen turned to me, her eyes wide, and said, “Did you find anything?”

I held up the thimble-sized pot of gold.

“Another fairy? You’d think they’d figure out eventually not to fly so low over human roads.”

I tossed the tiny pot into the glove compartment with the flashlight. At least it would pay for a new windshield.


Exactly 250 words. Don’t give me a word count on something this short unless you want exactly that many words. :)

Who knows, I may come up with something else before the deadline. But this is what came to me in the shower this morning and then wrote during lunch.

Originally published at WriteWright. You can comment here or there.