Friday, February 22, 2013

Flash Fiction Fridays, #7


It’s Flash Fiction Fridays again. 


5 words picked by a random word generator, 100 words or fewer story.  We have:  coin, gamble, calm, republic, ballroom. Please send in one of your own, due by midnight, Monday, New York time. Winner gets a critique of the first chapter of their WIP or poem.

     “Vampires in the ballroom, werewolves in the garden. Mama will be angry if I get blood on my new gown!”
     “Calm yourself, my dear. I have bullets from silver coins. The way you’re wailing, you’d think us surrounded by French Republic rabble.”
     “I’ve heard the unnaturals gamble then sow discord to avoid their debts.”
     “That is shocking. Fangs to your left. Mind your hat.”
     “Fur to your right, my lord. I shall dispatch it with my hatpin.”
     “Shall we fight our way to the punchbowl? Slaughtering undead is drying work.”
     “Thirsty...for blood!”
     “Drat. In want of a wife again.”

Thursday, February 21, 2013

worst query ever


I recently entered a contest on Rachel Kent's blog for Books and Such Literary Agency to write the worst possible query letter. Here's my entry (all typos and assorted godawfulness are intentional).


Dear Mr. or Lady Agent:

I am sending this email to every agent listed in teh book, so you’d better jump on it fast before its gone. I’ve written a Major Motion Picture Screenplay. It’s gone to sell more books than the Bible and make me more famous than Jesus Christ, so I know I’ll need a literary agent to find me a ghost writer to write the book and all it’s sequels for me. High concept, baby! I also need an editor and a copywriter to expand my treatment into a full-length screenplay, but that should be easy for someone like you to arrange.

The movie is Jack Reacher meets Downton Abbey meets Twilight meets those elves from the Hobbit meets a bunch of chick lit writers in long dresses, with a Beethoven or Mozart (some old guys in wigs or something) soundtrack, along with a bunch of stuff about drugs and I think traffic violations, with aliens (from space and the South of the Border kind. My movie is called A Hard Day to Dye the Ring Before Breaking the Bad Dawn of Northanger 51 in 61 Hours in the Kingdom of the Crystal Meth. We need to jump on this fast before any of the stars I’ve picked out get any older or O.D. (you know who I’m talking about, bet you partied with them back in the day, LOL) as the movie is going to be timeless! Serious money, honey, freakin’ serious cashola!

You just have to sign and notarize the enclosed release before I give you my treatment (can never be too careful, this idea is GOLDEN and I don’t want any hack writers getting their grubby mitts on it and stealing all my hard work. I went on a three day jet-fueled bender {you know ;0) ] to get all this done, and those are precious hours I’m never getting back.

As a sign of your serious intent and commitment to my art, please also send me a check for $50,000 as a retainer so you can become my agent. Once it clears, the treatment and Hollywood RIches are yours. Oh, also send me your Fedex account number so you can pay for me to overnight my hand-written treatment to you. It’ s on alot of wet cocktail napkins, and you know how wait adds up. I can’t pay for anything myself, as I have to save up for plastic surgery so I can get a bunch of implants and teeth and stuff and get my deviated septum fixed for all my red carpet and talk show appearances. You might want to forward a copy of this to Oprah too (all you media people know each other am I right?) so she can clear her schedule for a two day special on me, like Lance but without all of his short cuts)). We should get Roman Polanski to direct, he’s such a heavy Hollyweird player he’ll no all the good locations to shoot at in California. I also sent you twenty attachments of pictures of hot movie stars who will be lining up to date me once the movie and books come out.

If my check does not arrive within forty-eight hours, I’ll just show up at your house to collect it. I noticed you always take the same route home from the office; you better not do that when you’re carrying a copy of my future screenplay as I’d hate for any kind of freak accident to happen to you. 

P.S> Send me some bubbly while yo9u’re at it, only the good stuff,----...don’t be cheap with your cash cow: so we can toast my success and you’re lucky day! I already pushed some awesome gas station sushi and a hot dog and a Shushee through your mail slot. Don't let anyone else grab my presents to you cause Im definitely the jealous type, ha-ha!

Sincerely,
A. S. Talker

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Friday, February 15, 2013

Flash Fiction Fridays, #6--Valentine's Flash


It’s Flash Fiction Fridays again. 
No random word generator this week: instead five words in honor of the holiday, same 100 words or fewer story.  We have: heart, flower, valentine, candy, arrow.  Please send in one of your own, due by midnight, Monday, New York time. Winner gets a critique of the first chapter of their WIP or poem.

     “Exploding candy box?”
     “Fizzled.”  
     “What about poisoned flowers?”   
     “Threw them back in my face. Knocked me out for two days.”
     “Arrow dipped in curare?”   
     “Done. Bounced off the giant rock I got to handle her last year.”
     “What is she, immortal? Try a stake through the heart, whatever it takes.”
     “It’s hopeless. I even went St. Valentine’s on her, beating with clubs, stoning, the whole works. It was like fluffing her pillows. All that’s left is beheading, if I ever get close enough.”
     “She’s ruined your garden.”
     “I know. I curse the bastard who gave groundhogs their own holiday.”

Friday, February 8, 2013

"I'm nobody! who are you?" said the storm of the century

To all my friends on the east coast, I hope you're tucked cozily into your houses, ready to ride out what is being touted as the next "Blizzard of '78" or "storm of the century" to hit New England.

Naming the super storm "Nemo" or "no-one" seems like a bit of wishful thinking on our part, or maybe we're just hoping to impart the Yankee virtue of modesty and tone down the storm's wrath.


Flash Fiction Fridays, #5




It’s Flash Fiction Fridays again. 
5 words picked by a random word generator, 100 words or fewer story.  We have: nappy, farm, ink, trap, gamble.  Please send in one of your own, due by midnight, Monday, New York time. Winner gets a critique of the first chapter of their WIP or poem.

      “Did I just fall in a tar pit?”
“It’s an ink trap. Unwary writers wander in and get sucked down by their own verbosity. What genre do you do?”
“Picture books.”
“Makes sense.”
“How can I escape?”
“Hitting the Delete key a lot helps. You can use an eraser in a pinch. Life’s a gamble. Try living every day on a farm with a trigger-happy meat merchant.”
“I see your point. Still drowning here.”
“I’ll throw you an em dash. Well, best of luck with that. It’s nappy time. I’m off to count myself. Baa-bye.”
“-----Bye-----”

Friday, February 1, 2013

Flash Fiction Fridays, #4


It’s Flash Fiction Fridays again. 
5 words picked by a random word generator, 100 words or fewer story.  We have: down light, seasick, fan, gym, bullet. I have no idea why the random word generator decided that “down light” counts as one word, but let’s roll with it. Please send in one of your own, due by midnight, Monday, New York time. Winner gets a critique of the first chapter of their WIP or poem.

      I left the gym and headed for the indoor pool.  
“Geek, nerd, loser,” floated after me. I sank like a bullet, my hair fanning out.
I cruised the bottom, my lungs meaningless, empty. Through the down light, my skin gleamed like sea-glass, aquamarine. Seasick for Gloucester and the North Atlantic chill, I was never coming up. Iowa. Choking on fields of green.
My clothes are second-hand. I can’t catch a ball or lap the track without falling. Plain Jane drowning in a sea of prom queens.
Fish out of water? Try teen mermaid in a leg-loving world.