10 Year Reunion

Throughout my writing journey, I’ve felt that there’s been a massive transformation in terms of the subject matter I find myself writing. When I first began writing stories, I strictly wrote fantasy stories which contained (what I thought were) clever allegories that related to life and worldly observations. I hardly write that anymore. I’ve found myself engaging in the thoughts and feelings of characters that seem to come to me out of nowhere – or perhaps were little vignettes of my own persona.

When I was younger, I never did believe that the stories and characters you created were reflections of yourself. I thought great writers knew how to mask that and write something completely outside of their personas. But the older I got, and now reading back on some of the stuff I’ve written in the past – I slowly caught on that those were some of the thoughts and feelings I had at the time. Back in the day, I felt vulnerability was a buzzword for people to suggest their work had emotional substance and that blatantly putting your feelings on the page was just a lack of imagination. My opinion about that has changed.

Anyway, Furious Fiction for April 2019 has now been deliberated. And I didn’t make the shortlist, which means, I get to post the entry on my blog!

You can read the winning entry and shortlisted entries here.

April 2019 Prompts

In tandem with the promotion of their new dialogue course, the challenge was to incorporate three distinct quotes in our stories. They were:

  • “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.”
  • “He’s never done anything like this before.”
  • “What’s it going to be then, eh?”

10 Year Reunion by Charles M.

Henry had a secret that he only shared with me.

With anyone else, it would have destroyed him. But with me, it choked me up inside. It suffocated me like slow dripping molasses. It slowly destroyed me.

There he was, lying on my couch with his arms around me and watching the flickering television screen. A sci-fi movie of a franchise he always loved. Something about stars. I had never seen it. It might as well have been static and silence. I momentarily stared at his face. He seemed disconnected and engaged at the same time. But there was a sense of sorrow. It felt scripted when he talked about his favourite scenes coming up.

But then he would stare at me and smile. And I would feel hopeful that he would be convinced that he didn’t make a mistake.

I wanted to cry. But I knew I shouldn’t. But even if I could, I couldn’t.

“How is it crackling?” he asked me like he did 10 years ago on the day we first met. I wanted to believe he remembered that detail. But it had been 7 years since I last saw him before now. I knew he didn’t remember. Those stupid little things were only things I remembered. But he kissed me on my forehead and his hands landed back home giving me hope like he did back then.

Hope.

“It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with caution.”

That’s what this was to me.

I couldn’t stand it any longer and I did what I thought I would never do. I got up from the couch and let him go.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m just a little bit tired. I’m going to get some sleep. You can stay here for the night on the couch and keep watching the television if you like. I know how much you love these movies.” I stepped away from him, accidentally slamming my shin on the glass table. The squalor of empty glass bottles and half-finished snacks slightly rattled with the accidental collision.

Even under the covers of my bed, I felt cold and empty. It was a cold winter’s night and I couldn’t afford to pay for heating this month.

I closed my eyes, hoping by the time I woke up, that he would be gone.

But I felt the covers slowly move and felt a small chill right before the warmth of his body.

“He’s never done anything like this before.”

The guilt came over me. He knew well that I had loved him all these years. But I am such a coward. I wanted to push away. But I knew I wanted him to stay.

“Just a couple hours…” I thought.

He laid his gold ring on the bedside counter right in front of me and then he whispered into my ears.

“What’s it going to be then, eh?”


Writer’s Commentary

This story was something I had been mulling over. Every year I write a story that is a light continuation of a protagonist that’s been in my head for quite a while now. The first of the series was A State of Fireworks and Imaginary Romances which I wrote in 2017 as a return to writing after giving up for 7 years. The second was a belated one that I wrote at the end of last year but didn’t finish until this year called Potential Space Left Remaining (which will eventually see the light of day… soon). So this year’s one was going to be called Homewrecker. This quickly changed when I struggled to find ideas that I could’ve used for this Furious Fiction. So I decided to forgo my plans for the third in the series of annual short stories and tried to condense it with this furious fiction competition.

However, one of the interesting things about creativity is that even though you meet the rejections constantly, that work doesn’t go away – so I may revisit this in the future (see what I did there?).

This story was an interesting one to write. I actually injected some truths of my life and the characteristics of some people that I’ve met. I don’t usually do that – I rarely do actually. A lot of details and anecdotes comes from imagination mostly but I try to tinge it with emotions and feelings I have to make it authentic with the words and with my voice.

I try to invent everything through imagination and may try to find sources from fiction to build the story and characters. This time, I drew from real life and tried to get into the mindset of a “homewrecker”.

There’s so much more to say, but I think it speaks for itself.

C.

Hometown Hero

I apologise, this comes as an extremely belated entry. Just when I had sworn to be a little more proactive with my blog – I haven’t posted anything in nearly a month. If I am to be candid with you, I have been enjoying a little hiatus away from writing. When real life catches up, being able to be self-indulgent with writing and fantasy gets a little more difficult. That being said, I am still keeping the habit of always at least writing some flash fiction and now I’m starting to read a bit more other than policy documents and academic journals! Perhaps it is this balance that will make my writing better. Or perhaps, just as indicative of this furious fiction entry that is coming up – I’m in need of an actual overhaul due to depreciating quality. You be the judge.

February 2019 Prompts

  • Each story’s first sentence had to contain EXACTLY THREE WORDS.
  • Each story had to include A FIRST of some kind – open to interpretation.
  • Each story had to include A CANDLE.

You can read the winning entries here.


Hometown Hero – By Charles K. M

“Let’s be friends.”

I didn’t expect those words coming out of his mouth. It didn’t help that two hours ago, he was kicking and smashing everything inside the elevator. There were dents everywhere, including the floor selection panel. That’s probably what got us stuck in the first place. And that’s how we first met.

Max Kasovszky. At the time, I had heard stories about him. Actually, that is a bit of an understatement. I was quite infatuated with him the first time I laid eyes on him on the television. He was a tall, blonde haired man who looked quite intimidating most of the time – he rarely smiled on court or press conferences. He was also prone to destroying his racquets and yelling at himself. He is a bit of an esoteric figure outside his home country unless you were really enthusiastic about sport. Crazy Kasovszky they called him.

He was the “Hometown Hero” because he was meant to be the future of tennis for his country. A young prodigious talent and from humble beginnings – it was predicted he’d sweep all the slams. But decades have passed. There were no sweeps. It was a modest career of a few titles but quite cruelly, he was labelled a colossal disappointment.

I had heard so many stories about how awful a person he was. A party animal, a womaniser, a traitor. An unkind, standoffish and egotistical player that let his fame get to his head.

An hour had passed since we got stuck and we both decided to sit on the elevator floor in the dark. It was only silence we heard until the elevator radio started to operate again. A fairly old Japanese song from the city pop era played. It was only then I heard him break into a smile and then eventually into laughter. He looked to me and I could not help but laugh – particularly at the cheesy saxophone solo. He noticed the box of small cupcakes I had with me and smiled.

Soon after, a news report in a foreign language began to play and this brief moment of levity dissipated. I recognised his name within the phrases that were being said. He sighed, hiding his face behind his hands.

“Always a good day to hear how much of a failure you are on your birthday,” he blurted out.

I genuinely felt sorry for him. I saw how it had affected him. But I didn’t say a word.

“You’re only as good as your last game. They’re with you when you win, but they’ll be against you when you lose. And they’ll make up stories to make you look bad.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Ah. Well you, you have to get used to it,” he said, putting on a brave face.

Without hesitation, I got one of the small cupcakes and placed a candle at the top and lent it to him.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”


Writer’s Commentary

Anyone who knows me for long enough knows I am a die-hard lover of tennis. Despite appearances and general demeanour of being a rather socially conscious, culture loving, intellect driven and politically aware bleeding heart man, there’s something about sport of tennis that drives me passionate and mental. So much that I could possibly name or recognise any of the top 100 for both men and women’s side (and possibly those ranked lower), can predict play, vicariously give strategies and keep up to date on the latest tennis news and opinions. Anyone who’s seen my social media knows I’ve bombarded my feeds with tennis related things since I’ve liked and follow so many pages of the players.

So I thought it would be a cute story to sort of make an amalgamated story of a real life experience but twisted it with a bit of fiction (actually quite a lot). This year marked the first year I actually went to the Australian Open. The first time I’ve watched a live tennis match. And I’ve seen the people I’ve looked up to for so long.

Max Kasovszky was my really poor attempt to infuse a lot of cliches about the journeys of a tennis player. But rather than the typical rag to riches story – do a bit of social commentary about how fickle the media can be to treating people – putting them up in a pedestal and then tearing them apart in an instant. Max Kasovszky is just a mixture of a lot of “bad boy” stories I’ve seen over the years – but trying to humanise him into a rather tragic figure.

I really sympathise with athletes – you work your whole life to build a career – but sometimes factors out of your control like injury force you to quit and then you’re treated like you’re nothing by the media and your own people. Of course I got a little to ambitious which caused a lot of this stuff to be skipped over. My interactions with the athletes were always to say something encouraging and positive because of this. And I always try to make a habit to encourage others because I don’t know their suffering. But we all suffer. And sometimes a small gesture says a lot.

It’s a small story. But it’s a kind story. And I like those kinds of stories.

C.

Difficult Expressions

It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Another day, another year. Goodness, I have a few lifetimes I could write about. Wishing you all the best. One of the first things I did, of course, was that I entered the monthly Furious Fiction competition. Furious Fiction is a monthly competition where the first Friday of every month, you are given 55 hours to write a short story or flash fiction of 500 words or less! You are generally given 3 challenging prompts and you have to work those into your stories.

The prompts for January 2019 were:

  • Each story’s first word had to be NEW.
  • Each story had to include the words NINETEEN, DESERT and PRESENT
  • Each story had to include SOME KIND OF LIST – open to interpretation

My story was called Difficult Expressions. It wasn’t a winner nor did it make the shortlist. but you can read the winning entries here.



Difficult Expressions by Charles M.

“New shoes for new beginnings? A sexy outfit can change the hearts of men?” Danica read out from a list given to her by her housemate Roland. She looked at him with a puzzled expression, but only receiving a devilish grin in response. Danica sighed.

She then averted her gaze towards Laszlo, a partially illuminated zombie that rarely paid any attention to anything other than the television. The flashes of the screen painting his blank face with some semblance of dynamism and life.

“What are we meant to do with this? I told you to write what we need for the house!” Danica protested. She scrunched the piece of paper and aimed the paper towards Laszlo and eventually hitting him on the head.

“Hey! What was that for?” Laszlo shouted, throwing the controller of his video game console on the couch and glared at the words “game over”.

“This is no time for fun and games. Am I the only one who’s taking this seriously?” Danica grumbled, crossing her arms and glaring at both Roland and Laszlo. The smile on Roland’s face remained despite Danica gazing back with a murderous scowl.

Picking up on the tension, Laszlo quickly grabbed the scrunched-up list and began to read out loud.

“A man… who understands his gun… can easily find… an oasis in a… dry des… dessert,” he barely deciphered from wrinkles that made the writing illegible to him.

“There’s only one S Lasz…” Roland suggested.

“Oh! A man who understands his gun can easily find an oasis in a dry desert!” Laszlo said, celebrating in confidence that he successfully read the sentence properly.

“LASZLO!” Danica shouted.

“I… I… was just reading from the list…” he meekly responded, putting the list down on his lap. Roland’s smile faded slowly into a downtrodden grimace. He then looked to Laszlo and gestured that he should continue reading the list.

“You know Danica, maybe I should’ve written one about calming down unless you want to get premature wrinkles,” Roland scoffed.

“Now how is that meant to help us?” Danica retaliated, “No one understands your stupid aphorisms!”

“Every young man deserves a present to remind him that reaching nineteen…”

Danica gasped and quickly rushed over interrupting Laszlo from continuing. She snatched the list off his hands and then continued to read the list.

“…years should be celebrated,” Danica read to herself. She then looked towards Roland with a sense of remorse.

“Not everyone makes it that far… not these days,” Roland commented, with a far more mature disposition and tone in his voice and manner. Danica nodded to him.

“Reaching nineteen what?” Laszlo asked.

“Oh, it was just some dumb and dirty thing Roland thought about.”

Danica and Roland walked outside the house with each other, but as soon as the door slammed shut, Laszlo could hear them arguing.

“I couldn’t have written birthday, could I? He would’ve figured it out!” Laszlo heard from the constant bickering.

“Birthday? But I’m twenty,” Laszlo thought.

(Words: 496)


Writer’s Commentary

I find myself slowly getting into the groove of writing stories that I enjoy writing. As with Perennial Attachments last year during the Christmas period and Code White – I’ve started to really enjoy writing character-based interactions rather than have a swirling environment as a set-up, but rather imply the state of the world within the interactions. Flash Fiction is difficult because I generally love building the setting as a character, but you need to be really cautious of your word count.

But I think the more you do it, the more you find your voice and you really don’t care for the word count anymore. I used to be really worried about over-writing – but lately things have been coming to me in just the right length. That being said – I’m still bordering on the 450+ words mark and a lot of my stories still feel quite expandable – which I’ve realised might be a reason why they aren’t winning any competitions lately.

I really like this story. I didn’t want to write a wallowing story, but rather a comedy instead. One worry I did have was the content which can be construed as a bit one dimensional. But I felt the more I read back, I started to notice the small things that were revealed about the characters and the world that I didn’t actually intend. Perhaps not technically my best, but at this point, I’m just having fun.

C.

Flash Friction

After almost a month has passed since the Swinburne Microfiction Challenge. Despite having quite lengthy reflections on the pieces I wrote – I think it’s been enough time to really give my personal reflections on the entire competition itself and also my final thoughts and little tidbits of trivia I might not (or might have… I’m pretty forgetful) about the processes, inspirations and overall thoughts on how the stories came to be. Additionally, I will be going over a little more extensively my thoughts on the results and the winners – and judging by the title of this post – it’s going to get a little controversial. I have initially said quite complimentary things about all the pieces – but I’m going to be a little less PC and give you my thoughts after reading them over again. Honey, weaves are going to be pulled. Watch out.

How I will do this is bit by bit and prompt by prompt. Winners were released quite soon after prompts were released so I thought it would be better to go over things chronologically.

How I Came To The Competition

After having two stints with Furious Fiction, I was looking into other writing competitions and came across this competition from a google search. Despite not winning any of the furious fictions – my love for writing sort of reinvigorated and finding out similar competitions to furious fiction could only be a good thing to slowly work my way to exploring more mediums within writing. I think they have done this competition for a few years and it’s an honour to just be short-listed with these competitions. What intrigued me further was the fact it truly was furious fiction. A story every day for 5 days? Last years was 10 days!

One Word Prompts, Writing Everyday

One of the strange things about creativity is that sometimes, restrictions can be an easier option. Having really only experienced having a visual stimulus to work off of with the Geelong Anthology and 3 rules implemented by Furious Fiction – a one-word prompt that allows a lot of freedom would seem like a good thing right? Initially, I thought so, but as the day came for the first prompt – I actually really struggled as I was so used to having much more constraints.

Gardens of Waste 

Approaching the “machine” prompt was actually quite nerve-wracking for me. Believe or not, I was actually really nervous when the challenge started. Thoughts in my mind were things like; “would I have an idea?”, “should I write true to myself or what they would like?” and “am I even good enough to write flash fiction?”. Mind you, I had news that two of my flash fiction pieces that I wrote for the Geelong Anthology was going to be published – but I really doubted myself and the whole competition started to really weigh heavily on me. I started doubting my abilities because Furious Fiction hadn’t gone too well – and the enjoyment of writing felt like it was slipping away. “Was that accomplishment of getting published with Geelong Writers just a fluke?” – that was my first foray into flash fiction…

A lot of despair happened around this time. Anxiety took over. What I had slowly developed was loving the process rather than focus solely on the result of getting published or winning and then getting extremely negative on the massive possibility that it wasn’t going to happen and that I would never win. I reflected on the times where everyone kept praising my writing – but what did I have to show for it? I have an article that got published in the local newspaper 10 years ago, the student newspaper at year 12, some university contributions and a few online articles. Where was the Charles that was “so talented” that he would’ve written a book by now? Then that delved into why I never got into music, despite having a “good voice”? Or acting because I was really good at it. Or why I never could muster the words and confidence to confess my love for certain people over the years. Why relationships never worked out. Why I couldn’t find anyone. Why I can’t drive a car. Why nothing in my life seemed stable. What was I doing with my life?

It spiralled. It really did.

I think that’s probably why I’m incredibly harsh on this entry. I felt like this challenge was a perfect way to have a blank slate and just forget everything in the past. How inventive or experimental could I possibly get? Maybe I should change my voice? If I wasn’t getting published because of how I wrote, maybe I should change that all together? What was wrong with me?

This story was symbolic of what felt like a cop out. Mind you, I didn’t have the original copy of the story this was based on at the time – but it wasn’t a new idea. It was one I wrote about almost 10 years ago – of what I remembered. That scene people kept talking about when they read it. The scene about where it implied the future didn’t involve nature to the point where people forgot all about it. Where technology wasn’t just an application, it slowly made us heartless.

For the record – I slowly became more warmer with this entry much later (as in, a month later) when I came across the actual piece that this was inspired by – and actually how different it really was. But I’m skipping ahead here.

The First Winner: Theseus

Now here’s where the controversy starts. I promised honesty – I will give you honesty. I actually got a little upset about when this result happened. Not because I thought Gardens of Waste deserved to win. At the time, I really hated Gardens of Waste. But I got upset over the fact that initially – Seizure or whoever was running this competition actually had a fault in their system concerning confirmations of entries. When you would submit your piece, while you didn’t get an email confirming that they got the entry. I got extremely suspicious and people started questioning whether their entries for machine were actually received. Questions arose when they were accepting entries for Body however the winner for Machine wasn’t announced yet.

Now I don’t doubt the quality of writing presented in Georgia Coldebella’s Theseus. It’s very beautifully written. The storytelling was vivid, so detailed and the narrative voice was strong. Possibly the best out of the eventual winners in terms of that aspect of writing. I just couldn’t see how it related to the prompt. This seemed much more appropriate for the prompt body. The story itself was a rumination on the protagonist’s body and juxtaposed it with the fable of the boat. Had this won for body (or even ocean), I would have no objections concerning the relevance of the choice. But for machine – it seemed incredibly loose. I concluded that possibly the judges felt the juxtaposition of the human body and the fable could relate to how machines work – and the line when is a thing no longer a thing a very loose connection to the prompt.

It got pretty ugly. And I’ll admit I was bitter. Bitter for the fact that something that seemed much more suited to the future prompts (and mind you, results for the first winner didn’t come out UNTIL the 3rd prompt SPOKE came out. My conspiracy hat was on – where I believed in the possibility that entries for machine and body were actually compiled together and something that was actually purposed to enter for body won for machine. 

I really wanted to see the justification from the judges on why they picked this entry for machine. But I knew I couldn’t linger too much about conspiracy. I just wanted to write quality stories.

Flash forward – this entry was the eventual overall winner in the competition, and I do genuinely congratulate Georgia for her achievement and Theseus is a well written piece. I got over the whole conspiracy pretty quickly. I didn’t have time to be bitter. And I give credit where it’s due despite my feelings about things. Writers should support writers.

Fossils (Body Neurotic)

The title of this story came out first. I wanted to have a play on the term Body Electric. But the idea definitely came from a stream of KT Tunstall videos concerning her talking about her album Wax. I was going on HORRENDOUS dates before the impetus of this story – but the spark of inspiration actually came from the fact that I’d be so incredibly nervous going out anywhere. I hated getting my picture taken, or just going anywhere because I’d get so down on my appearance and often I’d have to feign confidence in every social setting I could – or just risk really not talking to anyone. And I really hate disingenuousness. So I wanted to combine the two things together (a horrific date scenario and the anxieties associated with opening up due to body image) to hopefully end up creating an uplifting story.

There’s a song (which I included on the complementary playlist) from KT Tunstall called “Dark Side of Me” that inspired the story. It was about the fear of revealing the ugly parts of yourself to someone else and warning everyone that they could get hurt. In the end though, I think the mission statement was trying to just accept yourself and not be scared to share the dark sides of yourself. Cut through the facade and understand that everyone’s the same – and that everyone’s got flaws – but it doesn’t mean it’s not worth sharing it.

Originally the story the descent into madness was meant to be a few lines – but eventually the date came in and had a conversation revealing their scars to settle the protagonist down and a bond would be shared as they both have scars. The importance of fossils coming from the fact that scars are what we leave behind of ourselves and others – and the older we get, the more evident they become. So you learn to accept them and find people that are willing to accept them as well.

Of course – the end product ended up being all about the neuroses and nothing else – which I got really down on myself about. After Gardens of Waste – I wanted this story to be a sort of glimmer of hope. It’s too easy writing sad or bleak stories. I wanted a somewhat happy story at least. But I settled on this entry as I felt the anxiety was both dark subject matter but also comedic in a way. That being said, I really disliked this entry (more than Gardens of Waste) because after I had finished it, I didn’t even bother proof reading it and just submitted it. It was only until I wrote the post and reflection for it that I read it once more.

But it was a much more “honest” piece of writing that I wrote. I related to it, so I tried to go with an angle so readers could possibly relate to it as well. In one of KT’s interviews, she really hammered the point home that “honest” work is the best work. And this was my way to write to that.

A Leading Man in Space

I had watched the Microfiction Clinic a few times at this point – and I learned two things from it. Gardens of Waste was definitely not a contender because it felt like a purposefully condensed story (which in reality, it was). And my entries so far were on the long side which both the judges didn’t like. Fossils – I’ll admit was purposefully catered towards the judging. It was an entry of a singular moment that was more character based than plot based. As far as I remember, I think it was slightly shorter too. But I ended up disliking it.

So I was really at a crossroads. Should I just write for me, or do I write for the judges? I reflected on the pieces that ended up getting chosen for the Geelong Anthology (2018) – where it picked up upon the judge’s observation concerning how flash fiction – due to their limited word count generally went with a route that sometimes had an element of mystery. You don’t have enough words to build a landscape or setting, or an intricate plot. But you could always leave the readers with questions.

When I wrote A Leading Man in Space, there’s a scene in Cowboy Bebop that really resonated with me. It’s near the end of the first episode where the girlfriend of the criminal (antagonist of the episode) looked at the inevitability of her death, sitting at her spaceship with her drug crazed boyfriend trying to evade the authorities trying to capture them. They had plan to use the money from the drugs to escape and have a better life – but her boyfriend’s drug habits (possibly due to marketing the drugs and demonstrating) got the better of him. It was that inevitability that I wanted to capture – the inevitability of not being able to escape or have the life you always wanted.

The origin for this story actually started with that Cowboy Bebop episode AND myself wanting to watch First Man with Ryan Gosling in the cinema (I still haven’t seen it as of this post). But rather than having all that plot – I wanted to make it more real. So I referred back to a character concept I had of “Rudy” who was the protagonist of an old story called the Discords of Radiance that I wrote around the same time the story Gardens of Waste was based on. From what I remember (I completely lost the file to this story – and don’t have any copies of it – or haven’t read it in almost 10 years), Rudy was a character that was extremely sick and spent half his time scared he was about to die and not get to experience the things like travelling the world. And the second half – he comes to accept his demise, but tries to encourage his friends to live life to the fullest. The Olive Brunch is the cafe they go to in the mid-way point of the story where it was the symbolic turning point of accepting his death. He was making peace with himself that he was going to die.

Of course ALL this was way too excessive to fit in below 500 words, so instead of that entire background – I wanted to work with the fact that Rudy was just someone that was skeptical about his chance to see space. I threw in some allusions to the fact he was sick (but it could be interpreted otherwise that he had an immature outlook) and it really was just a collection of musings that made everything ordinary but ambiguous at the same time.

I took to heart the honesty approach that KT Tunstall promoted and I had used for Fossils. I really do want to see space. I want to meet aliens. I used to dream of being the Doctor’s companion in Doctor Who when I was watching it as a child and saw repeat episodes of Tom Baker’s era at the obscure hours of the day and when I returned to the series watching it with David Tennant as the Doctor. I wanted to travel through time and space and save the world. I spent all of my childhood and high school years wanting it and wishing for it on my birthdays. I still kind of do now, but I’ve slowly accepted that I’d probably die before any of that happens. I’ll never see the stars. I’ll never see space. I’ll never be friends with aliens. And I’ll probably never save the world.

I really like this story because in a way it was my most genuine one. Even reading back at it now – I really don’t know what it’s all meant to be. It could mean so many things – but it’s just a mundane story about every day life. I don’t even think Rudy is me even though for the most part – a lot of elements of him come from me personally. A story where even the writer isn’t confident in telling you what it means – that’s a good thing in my eyes. We aren’t authorities of meaning. We just convey it. It’s really up to you to figure it out.

Time’s Anchor

I think at this point, I started to really rebel against the whole notion of “writing to the judges” – because after Fossils, I felt like that just wasn’t a good idea. I wasn’t enjoying the process as much where I wanted to write truthfully but had the little black cloud over my head to suggest I was writing for someone to just reject it coldly. I’m more comfortable writing third person because I don’t like drowning into character voice too much – I get quickly irritated by narcissism. And I had already written two stories in a row in first person, so I wanted to shift to a more personal approach but with a third person perspective.

I call this story the “rebellion” story because I basically took their advice and threw it back in their faces with what I wanted to do. Of course, a man wallowing about his lost love isn’t exactly a rebellious story. But making it shorter because they like short stories? Nope. Too much setting building and descriptions? Oh boy I’ll throw in as many as I can (tastefully). Obscure references but extremely personal for me? Let’s throw some in. This is the kind of writing I like to do. Setting is a character. Every sentence means so much. There’s no line wasted because everything’s important in multiple ways. But ultimately writing is about creating an experience to immerse the reader in.

However the INITIAL story was much more different than this. I was going to base this story on a long distance relationship I had a few years ago. Purely cyber, although skype and visuals involved as well. The ocean was going to be symbolic of the distance and love we had for each other despite our eventual parting of ways. Like two ships in the night, or parallel lines, we never would meet and there will always be distance but we’d always see each other. This became too difficult to write about and I didn’t want to cheapen my experience – so I settled for a different approach.

I really didn’t want this story to be based at the beach at all or have a physical manifestation of the ocean – but I got too worried that I’d lose the connection to the prompt entirely. So I thought – the disco is a really great setting. Let’s create a mood of the ocean with just being at a disco.

I think one of the faults I had with this story was being way too heavy handed with the language relating to ocean. It’s pretty obvious what I was trying to do. Eventually I thought “just make it a beachside disco”.

I love imagery and symbolism. It’s the reason why gothic literature and authors like Virginia Woolf and F.Scott Fitzgerald are my favourites. Every word and line is a meaning. I really wanted to recreate it with this story. Whether I achieve it or not is up to the readers – but for awhile, I felt like this was my strongest contender.

Showstopper and the Second Winner: Murder In The Consulate

Showstopper came pretty quickly. At this point – I was physically and mentally exhausted. This competition fell at a time where I was going out every single day and had little time to write for ALL days (plus Furious Fiction had come out). At this point I just wanted to be done with the competition and wrote about something as simple as I could. But I tried to be clever and used the prompt in all the ways I could imagine it would be interpreted in the story. The closeness of others forming connections, the end of a show or “close” and the “closing” song. In my signature way of ironically twisting titles and expectations – I didn’t want to write a story of a someone winning everyone over with a grand finale, but rather the “win” being that they really connected with someone. It’s a lesson in humility. And it’s a sweet message I like.

While Showstopper was quickly written – the second winner Dan Vasey’s Murder In The Consulate had come out around the time I was writing. Finally. And I loved this entry. Aside from what you could suggest was bitterness over the first winner – this winner actually addressed the prompt DIRECTLY. And was hilarious. And was meta. And was relevant. And was clever. And was inventive. And kind of took the piss out of the competition itself (well I interpreted it that way). This immediately became my favourite as soon as I read it. It was also everything the judges say they liked said in the rather long winded microfiction clinic. I love this entry. It’s a very different style from my own – but it had so many elements, I really appreciated it. It felt complete. It is exemplary.

Speaking personally, I’m quite sad to say not much went into Showstopper. Like Fossils it was just a quick story I wrote that was inspired by a few concert experiences and some videos and articles I read online about the struggles of live performance. Also I was quite exhausted and really just wanted to get it over and done with. That being said – I am happy with this story (I by no means hate it). It’s a sweet love letter to the many artists I love, saying I’ll forever be a fan – even when the crowd goes against you for not doing something they like.

The Remaining Winners

At this point, the writing component of the competition was over for us – and we were just waiting for the winners. The third was Jennifer Nguyen’s Please Don’t Eat My Eggs. That was a very, very strong entry. I remember reading it for the first time as it came out and I just loved her way with making the protagonist so personable and relatable. It reminds me of the scene in the Simpsons where Homer tries to convince himself not to eat the last piece of the donut so his soul doesn’t get exchanged to the devil by writing a post it note on the donut and leaving it in the fridge. The character voice of this was strong – but it’s also very simple – much like the previous winner.

The fourth winner was Michelle Goldsmith’s Dear Sister and what a story it is. Visually stunning, a really strong character voice. It’s like an epic in such a short amount of words and space – but it comes alive with every sentence after the other. It has such fantasy elements and there’s so much life and emotion in this story. There’s an abundance of beauty in this story.

The fifth winner was Linda Godfrey’s Birthday Party. Don’t get me started. This was a mess. An absolute mess. I know I said kind words on my initial post about this entry and be mindful this is my opinion and you’re free to disagree. And I really don’t mean to hurt any feelings (and at the end of the day, the joke’s on me, because I didn’t win any of the prompts, so I look like the complete loser at the end of the day). But what the hell was this?

Firstly, you can argue how I was being bitter about the first winner, but what the hell did this have to do with the “close” prompt? That relatives were at a birthday party for someone? Okay, I will concede that point? Was the “genius” of this entry meant to be the fact that the words and sentences felt so close together with heavy, suffocating sentences that felt more like reading an incomprehensible text message posed as a story? (See what I did there? It’s not hard to do).

This was sincerely an unpleasant read. It didn’t feel like a story. It felt like a rushed entry. Like complete manic word vomit. Pot meet kettle, true. Showstopper was a rushed entry too, but this was horrific to read. I tried to appreciate it on its merits – which I suppose was the clustered feeling of it all. Maybe I’m missing something. But even if I was, I don’t want to know. I’ve only read this three times. When it was announced. When I wrote the post for Showstopper. And now, as I’m reflecting on the winners.

I literally threw my hands up in the air. How was this a winner? Did the organisers just feel the same way and picked an entry at random? Did they try to pull a stunt to get more readers to go for the most outrageously unpleasant entry to stir up controversy? It’s deliberations like this that REALLY cry out for some feedback at the end of these competitions. Had this actually WON the whole thing – I would have seriously questioned the credibility of the organisers.

And at the end – I don’t mean any offense to Linda Godfrey at all. She’s the actual winner, so the the joke really is on me. I just fervently disagree with this being a winning entry. I’m sure plenty of entries were overlooked over this that were more deserving.

Now here’s were I very obviously rip off the format from my friend Ruth from her entry pertaining to the same topic. In this section I’ll be ranking the entries to my preference after HEAVY reflection. The topics will be my own entries, the entries of the winners and the entries from my friend Ruth.

My Entries 

My Ranking

  1. A Leading Man In Space: After quite a lot of discussion with my friend Ruth, I’ve garnered a better appreciation for this story than I previously did. For awhile, I ranked Time’s Anchor as my favourite and strongest contender – but overall I always came back to this one when it came to reading it and appreciating it. What wins me over was that it was very personal, raw, and honest – as well as having what I really love about writing and reading – multiple interpretations. The minimal dialogue despite it actually being a conversation heavy story is also something I like. They don’t really say anything – but it’s still meaningful at the same time.
  2. Time’s Anchor: While this was initially my favourite entry, I think it loses out to A Leading Man In Space only because it did feel like after a bit – it was just a story about a man wallowing. I’m still very happy with this piece and think it was probably the strongest entry I had – but after more read throughs and discussions, my opinion did change.
  3. Gardens of Waste: Did this surprise you? After I did accept that it was okay to revisit some ideas I really enjoyed this entry. I do think it was a little bit rushed towards the end, but there was a LOT of heavy social commentary here embedded in a simple story. I’m proud of what I came up with in such little words while telling a pretty important story with a strong message.
  4. Showstopper: Although I did love the message of the story and did recall lots of fond memories writing it, I did feel that it was a “blah” entry compared to the others. Don’t get me wrong, I do still love it and I am proud of the story, but I feel the first three listed were much stronger entries overall.
  5. Fossils (Body Neurotic): I don’t hate this entry despite the impression I might give. I think what really weighs on me were the drastic changes that the story took in a way I didn’t like it. I still appreciate it though.

Winning Entries

Here’s what my winning list would look like ranked.

  1. Dan Vasey’s Murder In The Consulate – It definitely was a difficult pick for number 1 because there were two clear favourites. But as I went over the stories again, this one I felt was the best. It doesn’t have the imagery or a lot of the technical aspects of writing for a “beautiful” piece – but it’s layers upon layers clever, sharp, fun, succinct and overall what the flash fiction judges really wanted and it’s an enjoyable read over and over again.
  2. Michelle Goldsmith’s Dear Sister – However this was the clear second. Such powerful dialogue and just an amazing tale that just keeps developing and creating such an amazing story. You really feel the ocean in the words, the flow of the story both technically and visually. I think over multiple readings – I prefer the simplicity and cleverness of Dan Vasey’s entry slightly more. But ever so slight. Maybe when I get back to reading these again, this could be number 1.
  3. Georgia Coldebella’s Theseus – Throwing aside the bitterness period I had over this winning the first prompt – I appreciate this story. Technically great, powerful descriptions and a clever juxtaposition of elements that came together quite nicely. While akin to Michelle Goldsmith’s entry, I didn’t find it as compelling nor did it feel it had a strong narrative drive.
  4. Jennifer Nguyen’s Please Don’t Eat My Eggs – This was a great entry. The sense of character is so clear with the way the author writes. There is some great imagery in it as well. Despite being in this place, this by no means, means this is a bad entry. I just didn’t find it as compelling or technically as good at the ones listed above.
  5. Linda Godfrey’s Birthday Party – I think the less said about this, the better. In all seriousness, I did try to see the merits (and there are some). I just found this unpleasant to read.

Ruth Elizabeth’s Entries

Now this is where I’ll be ranking my friend Ruth’s entries. I have high praise for Ruth’s writing. From what I’ve seen with this challenge and furious fiction – she has a brilliant mind. Clever, inventive and absolutely deliciously dark. I could never come up with the things that she comes up with. And through her entries – I’ve also seen that she’s very adaptable and versatile with her writing. Although her stories delve into the more darker realm, she’s been able to genre and technically shift her writing in a myriad of ways.

  1. Day 3 (Spoke) – Jinxed – I know how Ruth will feel about me putting this story up first, but I thought this story was complete genius. The subconscious being this menacing figure just commentating and lurking in the dark in the pits of the mind. And the thing is… I can’t even say definitively that is what it actually is. Funnily enough I see the similarities with both our spoke entries, where there’s quite a bit ambiguous in the stories.
  2. Day 1 (Machine) – Gizmo – I love good sci-fi and this one just takes you on an adventure from the first sentence and leaves you wanting more with the subsequent sentences.
  3. Day 2 (Body) – The House – This story was akin Jinxed, but I felt Ruth did the things in Jinxed better and more cleverly. This by no means is a bad entry. She builds the suspense and builds the tension and atmosphere really, really well here.
  4. Day 5 (Close) – Pages of a Love Torn Book – This was a really sweet story and a major genre shift compared to the rest of the stories Ruth wrote for the competition. You can really get the feeling of how “close” the characters are from just a simple story and gesture. While it was definitely a tonal shift – I do feel like Ruth’s strengths lie in her darker stories.
  5. Day 4 (Ocean) – Sensations of the Depth – I think the less said about this, the better. I jest of course. This was far from her best. It retained the dark elements but felt very unfocused. Her alternative story was MUCH stronger. Had that been an entry – I would have actually ranked that possibly above Jinxed.

Overall it’s been a very big learning experience. I really enjoyed writing for this challenge and I’m hoping to enter next year and keep on improving.

C.

Showstopper

We have finally made it. It’s the final entry for the Swinburne Microfiction Challenge for 2018. Full disclosure – I am writing this the day after the results have been released on who had won the Day 5 prompt. And it should come as no surprise that if I am posting my entry here – that I haven’t won. Rejection does get a bit upsetting, no matter how many times you go through it. I do wish that these competitions gave feedback to rejected writers to help them improve and have some consolation if their work is considered good or right for their publications. Sometimes with creativity – you can get a bit blind on whether your work is good or not – because it can be quite an isolating experience. But I strive to be better regardless of this.

I would like to acknowledge and congratulate the winner of day 5’s (and the final) prompt close. You can read their entry below:
Linda Godfrey – Birthday Party

Chaos. Absolute chaos. An achievement in creating chaos in both presentation and content. Intriguing and clever.

You can read my previous entries for the competition on the links below:
Day 1 Prompt: Machine – Gardens of Waste
Day 2 Prompt: Body – Fossils (Body Neurotic)
Day 3 Prompt: Spoke – A Leading Man in Space
Day 4 Prompt: Ocean – Time’s Anchor

You can also read my friend Ruth’s story for this competitions on the link below:
Day 1 Prompt: Machine – Gizmo
Day 2 Prompt: Body – The House
Day 3 Prompt: Spoke – Jinxed

Jinxed is probably my favourite of hers yet. I really saw the development of her writing to suit the flash fiction narrative of saying very little but meaning so much. She retains her style of gothic and dark elements with a 2nd person narrative – almost as if a sinister presence or a subconscious is speaking to you and being still relatable and clever. I love this entry and feel like it deserved the win for Day 3’s prompt.

And now for my entry:


Swinburne Microfiction Challenge 2018

Day 5 Prompt – Close

Showstopper

“This is going to be the last song for tonight. Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it.”

The crowd at the dingy, smoke filled intimate concert hall remained quiet at the announcement. Apathy. The worst nightmare of a performer was pervasive. The small signs of life were some whispers could be heard protesting.

“He didn’t even sing my favourite song. What a waste of time!”

Quiet giggles could be heard from elsewhere that had overheard the comment, while some others nodded their heads in agreement. These reactions did not fall on deaf ears to the lone singer – which at this time hid behind a small keyboard desperate to just finish the show. He reached for his glass of wine to have a sip before continuing with his last song.

He stared out into the crowd he fixated upon one of the patrons who gazed back at him with longing unrest. He gave them a small grin and then proceeded to gently tap the keys to begin his song.

“Not this song!” some of the other attendees quietly grumbled.

But this went largely unnoticed. The singer focused on the man who was closing his eyes and swaying like the slow waves of the ocean. His lips were reciting the words to the song with enjoyment and fervour. Not even the backdrop of small rectangular or square lights by the unenthused members reluctantly recording the performance on their devices bothered him. It was from this; the soloist’s performance became dynamic and regained some spark – his hands bashing on the keys and his disposition and voice transformed into an infectious vivacity and showstopping passion. The newfound confidence and desire overtook him and challenged him to display a side of him he reluctantly shows. He went for notes he could not usually reach, ad-libbed lyrics he thought of in the spur of the moment and played chords and complex patterns he never rehearsed. He trusted this emotion fuelled by the connection he felt from that one person in the audience. Everything was all for them. Even though their eyes had remained closed the entire time.

The closing song was met with obligatory, mechanical claps. Indifferent applauses that slowly faded to silence.  There was no encore.

Sitting alone at his keyboard, a sense of regret overwhelmed him.

“Maybe I should’ve just played that stupid song.”

Meanwhile, that audience member walked out the venue in elation. He felt a profound closeness to the performer.

“He actually played that song I wanted to hear at the end! It must have been for me!”

(426 words)


Writer’s Reflection

(I didn’t go to this concert by the way – I would LOVE to see Nerina Pallot live one day since I absolutely adore her – (if you have not guessed by now) I link this because this clip primarily inspired this story).

Live performances are scary, especially to a very lukewarm crowd. I remember watching a clip and reading about how performers promoting new material have their hands tied – particularly if they are known for more favourable work. On the one hand they are left to choose whether to please the crowd and just sing their hits – or they need to promote their new material. I have been to a few concerts where I would hear mumbling from the crowd that quietly complain about their song not being played – which ruins their night. I have also been to concerts where the energy of the crowd is very low – and I’d often feel quite sorry for the performer. Unless the context of it is for a refined crowd – generally pop acts want the crowd to be enthusiastic and receptive – and I think we forget it’s not only the artist but the crowd that make up the experience.

I remember going to a concert and I had quite good seats and I remember the act actually stared at me throughout the whole performance as she was singing my favourite song from her new material. I loved that song so much that I actually sang it while looking at her – and somehow I feel like her energy just got more confident and she was going for more vocal tricks and playing the piano – and her demeanour just seemed to change. In a way, I was trying to recapture that moment but with different characters and a bit of a humorous twist of the crowd member not knowing that they were the ones that gave life and inspiration to the performer. Unlike the story, the concert absolutely loved her throughout – so it was the juxtaposition of my experience with her concert – and watching other concerts where the performer would be apologetic for not playing certain songs.

It’s the kind of a strange but beautiful thing. We can create connections through music at such an unnatural venue. Someone elevated on the stage just producing sounds, but somehow a bond is formed. That’s the type of closeness I was going for. Plus the added pun on talking about the closing song – so a play on words.

It’s a very simple story. Be kind and encourage others. Even if it doesn’t make the whole crowd happy – you alone can be the difference to making an unforgettable night.

Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me. While I may have not won anything from the competition – it has been a really fun experience and I hope to encourage you to enter next year’s competition if you are a writer. As always, I hope you’ve enjoyed and feel free to leave feedback, a comment or questions!

I’ll see you later.

C.

 

Fossils (Body Neurotic)

I’m back again with my second entry for the Swinburne Microfiction Challenge 2018 where every day for five days (October 30th – November 3rd for 2018), you are given a one word prompt and have 24 hours to write and submit a flash fiction piece (500 words or less).

As always, before we begin, I would like to acknowledge and give congratulations to the winner of day 2’s prompt body. 

You can read Dan Vasey’s winning entry Murder in the Consulate on the link below:
Dan Vasey – Murder in the Consulate

A very entertaining read that is both marvellous and meta. True to the heart of flash fiction, the story does so much in such little words; concise, clean and amusing.

Before we begin; you can check out the piece I wrote for Day 1’s prompt machine on the link below:
Day 1 Prompt: Machine – Gardens of Waste

Additionally, you can also read a great entry from a friend of mine for Day 1’s Machine prompt here. 
Gizmo

Her story is a clever allegory of Sci Fi and Technology that has shades of Doctor Who and Black Mirror. I absolutely enjoyed it and it is an entertaining story full that has thriller and mystery elements that keeps you wanting more. I am sure you will enjoy it.

And now for my entry:


Swinburne Microfiction Challenge 2018

Day 2 – Body

Fossils (Body Neurotic)

I’m sitting alone at a table for two.

It’s been at least five times where I called the waiter for the wine list. But they are ignoring me. Well it feels like they are ignoring me. God, I need a drink! Why can’t I get a drink? But wait, I’m not meant to drink because of my liver. But I’d do anything to drown out this mess and make this night easier. One isn’t going to kill me. Right?

My voice at this point is hoarse. I think I’m creating a scene. Is that why they are ignoring me? Why are they ignoring me? I know this restaurant is a bit fancy, but I think I’ve dressed alright for the occasion. It’s certainly the best thing I could come up with. I’m wearing that t-shirt my friends complimented about a few years ago. And I still look at least decent in it. I think. It’s a pretty low bar, but still… Oh no. Did I underdress? Do I look out of place? Is that why that young couple is laughing? Am I just a joke? Kids these days…

Everyone’s staring. Even when I cover my eyes or lay my head on the table to hide away I can feel their judgement. Their stares burn through my second skin of fabric. I can’t hide. It pierces my flesh. I feel naked. Am I naked? Can they see through me? Did I wear a fresh pair of underwear? Great, the burlap sack of crap known as my stomach has gotten loose and is now hanging over my belt. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that sandwich at work.

I’m meeting someone I met through one of those dating apps. God I can’t believe I got that desperate. Wait no, it’s normal. I may be getting older, but I know the trends. But geez, there’s like hundreds of these.  And everyone is a bloody model now.

Did they forget? It’s been 10 minutes now. Crap. Did my picture scare them off? I mean I used the most flattering filters I could find. Wait, did I put too much? Wow, my skin looks blue. But that hid some of the wrinkles. I hope I hid the stretch marks I have everywhere. Normally it looks just like fossilised bark has been printed on my skin. Nature’s cruel tattoos. Why do people care about clothes when everyone’s desperate to get naked in the end?

But what if they came? What if they wanted to see what was underneath? That wouldn’t be good either. My body isn’t what it used to be. Maybe I’ll just bail. Yeah maybe I’ll go.

“Hey you. Hope you didn’t wait long. Sorry I was late. You know… Public transport.”

Great.

(458 words)


Writer’s Reflection

This is the first time I’ve read over this story apart from once before I submitted it on the day. I was actually quite afraid to read through it again but knew I needed to do so for this blog post. I had a lot of ambitions with this story and one of the aims I wanted to achieve with this prompt was try to write a story that inspires people to slowly accept themselves and not be afraid to open themselves to others. And out of all the five stories I wrote for this challenge, I think this went through the most dramatic change in terms of both genre and how it turned out – where I had to sacrifice a LOT of ideas and this didn’t end up how I initially planned.

Despite this – this was the easiest story to write for me in terms of how long it took. Actually I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole thing took about 10 minutes (I think I told my friend 20, but it feels even shorter than that). Quite literally my fingers were just compelled to the keyboard and I just typed non-stop before I felt the story was done.

About mid-way through, I realised the idea of having the protagonist slowly come to terms with their own flaws and being self-accepting couldn’t fit in the 500 word limit and as much as I love uplifting moments – it wouldn’t have felt true if I had shoehorned a message for the sake of it.

So instead it became the inner dialogue of someone who was incredibly neurotic about their own personal appearance and lacked self love and confidence within themselves to go through with their first date. What inspired that was I had been watching a series of videos of KT Tunstall (one of my favourite musicians ever) talking about her album Wax which is concerned about the body. A few of the songs in the record concerned about overcoming the fear of sharing yourself and accepting your flaws and that it’s human to be scared, but also human to have flaws. This later formed the mission statement (which I ended up not fulfilling) although I tried to more focus on the fear and neuroticism with relation to a first date.

Another juncture was actually watching the microfiction clinic that the Digital Writers Festival provided for this competition and taking in the advice of being really focused on one idea and not “overwriting”. And one piece of advice I took from KT Tunstall (that really resonated with me) was always making work that was honest – or it not being worth it or being the best you can do. If it’s not honest, it’s not true and good creativity has honesty. So the idea was really getting into the frame of mind and really relating to someone who really struggles to accept themselves, afraid of getting older and in a way, trying to make it relatable to the audience. And maybe in way – that could make people feel less alone about being neurotic about themselves because they realise that a lot of people go through it.

I wish I could’ve made this story a little bit more uplifting – but I think the comedy of someone driven a little mad about a first date sort of balanced the serious subject matter.

As always, I hope you enjoyed the piece and feel free to comment, leave feedback and even ask questions if you’d like!

C.

 

A Further Reflection Part II: Lost In The Lights (The Lost Hour)

Another week, another reflection into the stuff I do. Just to preface again – I hope to not spoil your imagination or reflections of the stories that you may have initially – so if you want to leave that intact – then I implore you to ignore these posts for future reference. It’s just a way for me to really air out my own feelings and describe my thought processes and feelings during and after re-reading what I had done for rejected pieces. I always strive to improve – and I think critical self reflection is a good way of doing that. And also, I’m a complete sucker for wanting to understand how creative people think and how they get inspired. Today’s reflection will be on a piece I wrote for the Australian Writer’s Centre’s Flash Fiction competition for October 2018.

Before we begin, I’d like to give congratulations and acknowledge the winner and the short-listers for October 2018’s furious fiction competition. You can read their stories all here on the link below:

Furious Fiction Winners and Short-Listers (October 2018)

So without further ado:

October 2018 Prompts

  • The story’s title had to be “The Lost Hour”.
  • The story had to include a sentence with three colours in it.
  • The story had to include the sentence/phrase “it was lighter”.

The Link to my story:
The Lost Hour (October 2018)


 

The Lost Hour (Lost In The Lights)

The interesting thing about this story was that this story was playing on my mind for months. I initially was going to try for the Woolongong Writer’s Festival competition which had the prompt Feeding Time. So for about 2 months (I discovered the competition around August time) I kept having this concept about a character being stuck in a place and not knowing how he got there. A place where time was something that didn’t matter. The story idea was actually drafted into a few concepts and plans – initially starting off as a mystery about why someone did something and slowly unravelling the truth – thus the beginning of the story begins with that question.

I absolutely love titles – and while the The Lost Hour actually is a decent title – I felt it was a little restricting and it didn’t really motivate me on writing further and making all the ideas and concepts I had with the original story to fit it in with the prompt. Which is why, despite already writing a piece around this – I think in the future, there would be a very different story that encapsulates everything I wanted to achieve to be written in a longer or alternative format.

In retrospect – I kind of feel like I just plugged the Lost Hour in as being the name of the limbo. That actually came around the end of the story where most of it was actually written up and I was really worried that I would be accused that I didn’t address that prompt. My attitude towards prompts is not being heavy handed with prompts but having either a clever or subtle connection to it that becomes crucial and more apparent with repeated reads or in-depth analysis. So naturally for me this was kind of a conflicting issue – where I actually felt it was pretty heavy handed to call purgatory “the lost hour”.  But after reading it a few times after I submitted it – I kind of like it.

The lost hour being a place of contemplation and reflection for the souls waiting for judgement. And if Ernest’s lost hour was empty – what could that possibly mean? I didn’t want to explain away what that means cause I think that could be interpreted in multiple ways. Because of the very limited word count – rather than providing answers everywhere – I thought it was important to allow the reader to ponder.

The inspiration by the veiled woman was a series of dreams I had when I was younger – about 10 years ago. I would have really bizarre dreams that strangely seemed continuous – where dreams unrelated to her, she would just appear in the background watching the scenes. It was kind of haunting – and actually kind of scary considering my initial feelings was that she was a representation of death. But she didn’t seem malicious or harmful. She just watched on.

I wrote a few stories about her which were recollections of the dreams I had of her. Unfortunately I lost those files – so I don’t really remember but I felt compelled to write another story with her. I wanted to play around the trope of having a “guide” which would mostly be over-exposition guardian type figures and having a rather sarcastic, playful version of that. But then again, is she really a guardian type?

One of my favourite artists – Róisín Murphy and her homage to Faye Dunaway also provided some inspiration for the setting. The imagery of the veiled woman is quite popular. Initially I was going to have Veruca hold a lantern in reference to the hermit figure – but what veiled woman would hold a lantern on her own? So I made her sit by candlelight and gaze at the souls that come by her way like a fortune teller.

As you’ve probably realised – I love imagery and atmosphere. Coincidentally I was watching a marathon of Space Dandy, having never seen it before – but one of the episodes really stood out where Dandy was stuck in limbo. I cannot count how many times there have been strange coincidences that happen as I’m writing. The idea of ethereal voices, kerranging and even some word usages like her fingers conducted the shadows imposed over the tabletop as if she were playing a gentle pavane were inspired by that episode. Particularly in an iconic moment where Dandy meets a lutenist that plays an amazing solo which happens to be pavane for a dead princess. The idea of limbo being with echoing, haunting sounds really was powerful imagery to me. I liked Space Dandy for it’s complete randomness. A World Without Sadness, Baby was the episode that made me realise how genius this series actually was.

Overall I am happy with the story. There are glaring flaws to me. How I handled the other two prompts I’m a little unhappy with. They were difficult prompts to fit in terms of the story I wanted to create – but I think I made it work the best way possible.

C.


Links to my other stories in the Furious Fiction Series:
The Longing Days of Hope (September 2018)
The Longing Days of Hope (Further Reflection)

 

A Further Reflection Part I: The Longing Days of Hope

I really like doing reflections of my own work because I think it gives me time to really ruminate on what on earth I just did. Sometimes I really just don’t know what I did or why I did it. But I’m always left wondering either way. I have a passion for hearing what inspired people to do what they did, why they made certain choices and what happened by accident (that happens a lot in creativity!). I feel like I didn’t go into much detail for the two writer’s reflections I did with the two flash fiction posts I did – so I’m hoping that this post will illuminate on what I missed out (and boy there is PLENTY).

What will probably surprise a lot of people is how much inspiration and motivation actually goes into writing a piece or dare I say, creating something. Even with the examples I’m discussing today; only 500 or less words – you’d think “geez, that’d be pretty easy!”. And most of the time – I’d actually agree. I’m rather an all or nothing kind of writer, where I can have a spark of imagination that would just go on for a long period of time… but then also have dry spells of that passion and fervour for possibly even longer. However I have been trying to temper and hone in on not waiting for that serendipitous inspiration and just write. The best advice a writer can give to another writer is just that. Write.

Now I preface that even though I did write that I think for every writer – once your work is out there; it’s up to the reader to make their mind on how to interpret your text. So in a way, these reflections are a bit counter-intuitive to that idea; where upon reading this may probably soil your imagination in terms of what the pieces mean to you.

So I say this in a very loving way. Please ignore these posts in the future if you want to preserve what your impressions and feelings are for the stories. Rather I, foolishly am doing this for vanity reasons and wanting to air out my own feelings for my own work. And whatever you got from actually reading these stories – if they do conflict with my own views; then it’s okay. Your interpretation is not invalid unless of course you came up with a very very far-fetched assertion – to which I WOULD love to hear about it and please feel free to share!

So what will these posts serve truly? While I will still do Writer’s Reflection at the end of each rejected story (mostly flash fiction, poetry or short stories) posts – these ones will be much more in-depth where I will REALLY going into the gritty processes and reflections on how everything came to be and what I wanted to achieve out of it. There is going to be MAJOR deconstruction to the point where perhaps the magic will be lost in the work – but I’ll try to tone it down. Hopefully all the magic doesn’t turn into disenchantment.

Just as a reminder, the prompts were:

September 2018 Prompts

  • The entire story must take place in an airport.
  • The story must include the word SPRING somewhere. (Plural also okay.)
  • The story must include the phrase: IT WAS EMPTY.

You can read my story here:
The Longing Days of Hope

The Longing Days of Hope

I make a LOT of Spotify playlists. I think it’s become a real running joke among myself and the people that know me. The title of this story is actually a title of a playlist that I made awhile ago. What you probably don’t know is that a lot of the playlists I make have rather grandiose titles – not because I’m pompous and pretentious (well… actually… Maybe I am), but because in my head – these playlists are kind of like a soundtrack to my mood – or possibly a story revolving in my head that’s a movie. A lot of the story writing I do actually involves HEAVY visualisation in my head to the point where sometimes I act out the scene, draw storyboards or even do a bit of script writing and major planning before I start on something. I think a lot like a music director in that sense – where I’m trying to track down a perfect song to match the scene. I also love singing – so even in my own life I’m just trying to find the perfect song.

Originally I was actually going to give this title to the second part of the story I wrote last year called A State of Fireworks and Imaginary Romances about a socially awkward young man who fantasises on trying an ice cream he never had and going to a fair he never did in his childhood. What ensues is rather a naive look into romance with the young man who serves him his ice cream – and finally taking the plunge to enter into something he only imagined doing which where all these three things.

Now what’s probably evident is that this had nothing to do with what I came up with for the flash fiction… Because it actually doesn’t. I gave this title at the last minute when submitting the story within the first day and actually not having a title prepared for it. So essentially – I made a playlist for a story. I haven’t written that story. I wrote another story. Gave that story a name for another story I was going to write. And now that playlist is obsolete because it doesn’t match for the story I gave the title to.

I actually really liked the airport setting for the prompt and coincidentally it was interesting because I think a friend of mine was watching The Terminal around the time the prompts were released (give or take a few days). However rather than do something fantastic like writing a love story filled with immigration and grandiose gestures of love – I liked the idea of airports just being a transit place before going to where one wants or needs to be. And the reality of that is that it’s quite a mundane, and actually quite boring place to be – and this year it was the first time in a while I got to really experience that after my two trips to Sydney.

It was kind of a bucket list thing for me – at least go on a plane once in your life. It seems like such a silly thing, but it really opened my eyes to what a lot of people take for granted – I had yet to experience. And in a way, it was a real eye opening experience. And it’s something I’ll never forget and hope to do plenty of times in the future if I can.

The characters were sort of a fixture in my mind for a very long time. They had existed long ago prior to what this story ended up becoming. And intentionally I left the relationship quite ambiguous because at the end – I felt it wasn’t very important. The label of their relationship only constrains what the meaning of it actually is and for me, I’d rather the reader make their own views. What was more important was the connection and familiarity these two had with such limited words.

They start off quite cold with each other – the unnamed female protagonist embarrassed and rather upset over the boorish nature of the male protagonist. However despite their harsh tones with each other – and while you may probably get the impression of the male character being quite antagonistic, what you find out later on is that they are much closer than initially expected. She represented the self-conscious, nervousness prior to experiencing something new, but ultimately the optimism and romanticism what to expect. He represented the cynical, cold and but rather confident and devil-may-care attitude that is defiant on where he is in the world.

They, like me (for a long time) have never been on a plane before or had a holiday. To her, this was an adventure that was going to change her. For him, it was just a way to spend time with her. And how they interact are like two opposing mentalities before a big event. But while opposing, together they are both harmonious and conflicting. And despite their differences, they care for each other.

The reckless abrasiveness he has was meant to serve as something to find deplorable with the character – fuelling the initial statement made by the female protagonist. Truly – I didn’t actually come up with that line until a bit of progress into the story – where the story was initially just meant to be a snapshot into the mundane aspects of waiting for a plane. But with that quote – it then ended up transforming into a sort of mystery. What wasn’t she willing to forgive? And then slowly you’re exposed to the characters and story. And then, when it just seems like she was getting upset over behaviour – it hits you that she wasn’t forgiving him not because of the bad impression he gave them or the conflict of what this trip means to them – but in actual fact that he “departed”.

That was another symbolic meaning I attributed to the setting. Airports are places where people “depart” or “return”. The plane in a way, is just a tool in which we run away from what we are used to. But what they were running from, or why they are there in the first place is left to your imagination. But while she was truly just waiting for the plane alone – he died and left her. What he really was all this time was a memory that she kept of him and also an encouraging force to make her realise that no matter where she was in the world, she would never be lost because she always belonged somewhere. And in the end, despite his death and the fact that seat beside her was empty – she would grow to become more self confident and realise she had the power to go wherever she wanted if she believed in herself.

Unfortunately, I was quite concerned due to the very minimal story telling and sparse and albeit random dialogue which did seem a bit forced in parts. There was a plethora of symbolism and lots of places where the reader was left to their imagination. A lot of my fears would be a lot would be lost unless things were looked into quite deeply.

Essentially it’s a story about reflecting on where you are and how the connections you form can lead to where you want to be. It’s kind of a sparse love story – about two people who oppose each other, but ultimately care for another. And while people “depart” from our lives – it’s what we learn from them that makes us grow and change, not just the holiday that we want to go on or the escape we are looking for. And holding onto their memory is a way for them to “return”.

On a lighter note – I really enjoyed writing the descriptions. Now in hindsight, it probably would have benefitted with some culling – as it was a bit superfluous. And the dialogue certainly could have been improved to make it flow more better. But I actually really enjoyed what I came up with in the span of 55 (this story was actually written in a couple of hours actually – but heavy editing was involved trying to cull it back to 500 words).

Addressing the two other prompts was a little bit more trickier, but I felt that I definitely did a better job here than I did with the October piece. I thought her reflecting on the fact that it was spring last year when they were meant to take that plane together was a really bittersweet moment of reflection she had – after all that time getting upset about his behaviour – it’s revealed that she still missed him, albeit in a rather passive aggressive way. And the seat next to her being empty was a brutal realisation that he was never coming back.

As mentioned many times – this story is strongly linked with a piece soon to be published called Curtains of Smoke. And if you’ve read my recent post The Lost Hour, there are some possible connections to that story too if you think about it (albeit much less than Curtains of Smoke).

In retrospect – the story would have been called The Echoes of Departures. And while The Longing Days of Hope kind of fits – considering there is a tiny aspect of concerned about hoping someone who’s departed to return – I guess that’s just how some things end up playing out. I also have to think of a new title for part II of that short story.

I hope you enjoyed my extensive reflection on what the story means to me and how I actually went about doing it. I will be doing the next reflection on The Lost Hour next week. That one was a lot more technically challenging and I felt I made a LOT more mistakes there – but also more thought-driven rather than emotional. I’ll see you then.

C.

 

The Lost Hour

Last week, I discussed the writing competition of Furious Fiction – a competition run by the Australian Writer’s Centre in which you are given 55 hours to write a piece of 500 words or less using the prompts that they give yon on the first Friday of every month. October’s prompts were interesting to say the least:

October’s (2018) Prompts

  1. Your story’s title must be THE LOST HOUR (and it should relate to the content of your story in some way).
  2. Your story must include the phrase IT WAS LIGHTER – either as part of a sentence or as a sentence on its own.
  3. Your story must include a sentence with the names of at least THREE COLOURS in it.

And without further ado, here was what I came up with!


The Lost Hour

Why did you do it?”

Ernest woke up from what seemed like an endless slumber greeted by the sound of a discordant voice and tenebrous surrounds. The words were reverberating like an auditory haze, softly kerranging in the darkness. A sonic mirage of an ethereal voice desperate to invite him with an evocative sadness tinged with regret.

“Ugh. What did I get myself into now?” the young man with chagrin.

Disoriented and bewildered by his predicament, Ernest slowly walked towards a glint of light he could see far off in the distance. His footsteps were reluctant, plagued with the fear of his uncertainty only mediated by the hope of his false bravado. A deep meditation he held onto closely in his perplexed conscience. While dread was evident in the trepidation he felt in his bones.

There he was greeted by a veiled woman who sat at a table surrounded by limited candle light and a crystal ball. Her face was barely distinguishable, and body enveloped in black clothing and shadows.

“So, you’ve finally woken up,” she said in an accent unfamiliar to Ernest.

“Mind explaining to me where the hell I am?”

The veiled woman chuckled, caressing her hands over the flame of the candle with delicate motions. Her fingers conducted the shadows imposed over the tabletop as if she were playing a gentle pavane.

“You tell me. You know this place better than I do.”

Ernest was taken aback. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well. What happened before you met me?” the woman replied.

“I don’t know… I heard a voice calling out to me and suddenly I woke up to find myself here.”

“Why did you do it?” the enigmatic voice returned, its forlorn cadence growing more apparent.

“THAT one! That’s the voice I heard!” he cried out. But the veiled woman remained impartial.

“So, you mean to tell me you just woke up approached me and assumed I would know what’s going on with you? You know what they say about assumptions.”

The veiled woman wearily sighed

“They call places like this the Lost Hour. It’s the liminal plane you go to after you die. It’s basically the waiting room until they decide what to do with your soul.”

“After what?!”

“Funnily enough, the hour bit is a misnomer. Since you’re dead – time is kind of irrelevant and it could be an eternity before they actually decide on what to do with you.”

Ernest recoiled in shock. His body felt heavy. He shut his eyes tightly, wanting to escape the darkness he was in.

“The people I’ve looked after usually have memories full of colour and vibrancy in their Lost Hours. It was lighter and brighter than this. Passionate reds, happy yellows, cool and reflective blues. Memories of happier days. But yours… It’s a self-imposed limbo. Just nothing.”

The veiled woman paused and stared directly at Ernest.

“You know what you did Ernest. This place is just a reflection of what you think you deserve.”

(499 words)


 

Writer’s Reflection

While I was happy the setting wasn’t confined to a setting (an airport for last month), these prompts certainly pose more of a challenge. Firstly, I absolutely love titles and very inventive ones – and I’ve been praised with the titles I come up with a lot of the times. Sometimes a title can really enhance the story you’re writing or even inspire you to write further when you come up with a good one. Traditionally, a lot of writers advise the title come AFTER you’ve actually written the story – but generally (even with essays, research reports and my thesis – I came up with the title BEFORE the piece). It is true however that titles should not be something that you mull over for a long period of time because trying to come up with a good one can lead to procrastinating on actually writing the piece.

Before coming into this piece – I actually had a short story idea in mind that was basically this premise. However, due to the word limit – how I reduced the concept was actually forming another sort of “mystery” element to the story. Without saying too much – the original idea involved actually already “knowing” what Ernest did – but trying to explore why he did it. However fitting that all in 500 words was going to be a massive challenge – so I left it to the reader’s interpretation.

I wouldn’t blame you if you thought the piece was a bit lazy – sharing a LOT in common with September piece The Longing Days of Hope. The story being introduced with something being said, the resolution sort of being explained at the end – but rather the focus being on the interactions with the environments and between two characters. That was somewhat intentional considering had these pieces been published – readers who’d follow on would eventually see a thread of stories that are connected either superficially or Ernest being the protagonist of The Longing Days of Hope and Curtains of Smoke. 

The initial title for the story was “Lost In The Lights” (an ironic title – since, in this scene Ernest spends most of the time he spends his time in the dark). The veiled woman was a character inspired by a dream I constantly had since 10 years ago where I’d see a veiled woman in the background of a continuous dream I had until she just vanished. I had written a story of her and those dreams awhile ago – but I’ve lost the files, but I wanted to pay homage to her again because she fascinated me.

Other titles included Veruca (which I was planning to call the veiled woman) and The Soul Stoker. 

A lot of the writing process eventually ended up being a matter of fitting the initial idea I had for a few months and trying to piece it together with the prompts. Unfortunately that did mean the forced dialogue (particularly the last one about colours). I do plan on expanding and writing more of this story in the future. And other than a few things (dialogue in particular), I was happy with this entry (despite it not winning or being shortlisted).

I won’t say anymore – but I would love to know what you think about the piece. And what did you think Ernest did? Feel free to comment below and I will happily accept feedback and reply to any questions you have.

Onto the next mission!
C.

Fury at the Silent Disco

Dear Lonely Hearts everywhere,

There comes a sense of pathos and tragedy when someone in their youthful years is sitting at home, with a health based beverage and quiet music blaring out while their parents – twice their age is out partying and the neighbourhood is blaring out music eagerly awaiting for the fireworks to show. It’s the end of what was rather, a year predicted to be apocalyptic. A tumultuous, quiet year of small little outbursts and tremors but far from the catastrophes that old media had anticipated and sold as fake news.

But, funnily enough, being alone on New Years has become such a custom; it’s a tradition stooped in calm stupor. I could never sympathise with the notion of debilitating sadness that automatically comes with the idea. In other non-pretentious words; don’t feel sorry for me. And for those that do feel the heartache that comes with the loneliness – your loneliness does not define you. It is not permanent. Don’t model your life on the lives of others; life is a journey and don’t give up so soon – brighter days are still possible as long as you keep breathing.

Everything that lives goes through struggles to learn to become a fighter. And to all the pacifists that would immediately object to this statement; being a lover also means being a fighter too. You wade through life actively resisting death. The act of surviving alone makes you a fighter. You just choose not to be an active participant to protect the values you take for granted.

And I think that’s the lesson I learned in 2017. You just keep doing you. When times got tougher – don’t give up. And when people started to fade away; you learn to keep at doing the best you can. Life is hard, sad, a struggle… but that’s not all it should be. As the list of people I send my best regards to gets smaller and smaller – I mourn, but I do not linger. People enter and exit your life all the time. Appreciate the time you have, and move on. Not everything is a constant – you can keep fighting to make sure they stay longer, but there are times the only answer left is goodbye.

Dear readers and lonely hearts everywhere – appreciate what you have. It’s okay to feel sad. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to be alone. It’s okay to be called insensitive. It’s okay to fight. It’s okay to struggle. And it’s okay to be you. Don’t waste your time for anyone that doesn’t appreciate or recognise your worth. Cherish your time, cherish your life.

And kick some ass in 2018.

Happy new year,

Kind regards,

C.

PS: I’m sorry it took us too long to recognise this sooner. Let’s promise to be kinder to ourselves as soon as the clock strikes 12.