Well then, check out Part 1 of Pixie Dust and Stud Collars in my August Newsletter. Sign up to get Part 2 delivered to your inbox. Let me know if you like reading installments like the old days of pulp magazines. I know I do.
It was happening—in that wavering haze that made Shannon think of a desert mirage—if the desert was packed full of people, had a roof, and was the size of a giant basement. A Mirage. Humidity. Maybe a special effect manufactured by the band.
Those were the preferred explanations in the beginning, but no more, not after witnessing the phenomenon three times. That didn’t mean she had an answer…
In my email newsletter this month, I’m sharing a recent short story I wrote for a Punk Meets Fae mashup challenge. I’ll be offering the story in installments through December, and I’m including Part 1 here as well.
If you’d like to continue with the story, I’d love you to join my list. You can unsubscribe at any time.
Pixie Dust and Stud Collars
Part 1
It was happening—in that wavering haze that made Shannon think of a desert mirage—if the desert was packed full of people, had a roof, and was the size of a giant basement. A Mirage. Humidity. Maybe a special effect manufactured by the band.
Those were the preferred explanations in the beginning, but no more, not after witnessing the phenomenon three times. That didn’t mean she had an answer.
The effect was indiscernible until it hit you that something was off, and you looked harder, only to observe the eerie dust cloud coalesce over an unsuspecting pubgoer. More terrifying was when the target vanished, no one seemed to notice, no one but Shannon as she stood, dumbfounded, heart racing while the screaming, thrashing fans jostled her.
It had taken three Twisted Chords performances to believe what her eyes were seeing. And here she was, seeing it again. But tonight, at the RockSea GoGo, the all-grrrl band’s fourth venue, Shannon was ready for action. Action, but no plan, other than to yank the target out of harm’s way if she spotted him in time—her best strategy after too many sleepless nights agonizing over the reality and what to do about it. Shannon froze.
Yes! That towering man in front of the stage had to be the target.
The ones before had stuck out like that—taller than anyone around them, powerfully built, gorgeous.
She wiggled and shimmied in his direction, straining to keep her eye on the guy, the band, and the sparkling dust. It wasn’t easy. The surf-punk femme power chant had the crowd riled as the mini-skirted, go-go-booted singers shredded their instruments and emptied their lungs over the worshipping crowd… And the acrid air was beyond sultry, obscuring the glitter. Was it moving toward the giant dude wearing a spiked collar? She both hoped and dreaded that it was.
Shannon thrived on the overstimulating, dizzying clash of sensations from a packed pub. Soldering with sweaty bodies at these venues was her passion. It was also her job as a journalist. Aside from punk rock music’s raw strings, tribal-stomp beats, and off-kilter crescendos, the intimate fusion was what Shannon craved.
The bobbing bodies lost in art-defying noise were a thing of beauty, a single entity, greater than themselves, amplifying the music’s message, inspiring escape into a primal existence. The crowd’s pulse was the centerpiece of her reviews. This band’s scale between screaming rebellious dissonance and hypnotic siren calls added a thrilling dimension. She cringed, even as she made a mental note to use this in a piece later. Folklore imagery kept creeping into her ideas about the five hauntingly beautiful musicians.
What bothered Shannon about the mystical connotation was that it felt like truth. While the familiarity was disconcerting and prompted the need for answers, it was the disappearances that filled Shannon with urgency, bringing up buried memories of personal loss. If there was a chance she could prevent another one, she needed to take it. She stopped pushing and strained on her tiptoes for a clear view of the stage.
The dust cloud that had blossomed in the strobing lights was forming into a moving ribbon. She felt the connection again, which she’d denied up till now. The materializing phenomena resided somewhere in her memory like an elusive itch.
Reason told her she had nothing to do with these happenings so bizarre no one would believe a word out of her mouth—probably not even Becka who thrived on the bizarre. Scratch that. Her best friend would swallow the story whole and beg for more. But once spoken, denial was off the table. Shannon worried that acknowledging her awareness somehow made her responsible for the disappearances. Her jaw tightened.
If she’d let her brilliant, receptive friend in on things, she might have had a better plan.
The bodies pressed in, their collective heat rolling over her like bathwater while she twisted up once more to peek around a wide punk rocker wearing a crewcut and glasses. Her target was only feet away… and he was looking right at her!
He sent her a wink.
Shannon blinked rapidly in response as if the repetitive focus might wake her from a dream. A waif-like girl fell into her. Shannon caught the laughing leather-and-lace-clad fan and heaved her back to her friends. Okay, not a dream. She straightened her shoulders.
This was it. The moment thinking on her feet would be critical.
Part 2 coming September 9 to my newsletter only.
Give my books a read and let me know what you think. Reviews and comments are always appreciated.
It occurred to me that the comments from the amazing contributors at AutoCrit are technically a book review. Huh! Not sure why I didn’t think of it that way until now.
This happy moment starts at 24.43. But all the writers who made the anthology deserve a listen.
AutoCrit is a great editing platform and I wouldn’t have grown as a writer without it and the community.
Priss Starwillow & the Wolf is available at your favorite sellers.
As In It Didn’t Even Make it Through the First Round of a Micro Fiction Competition
So, I’m just releasing my thoughts about this into words. Thanks for allowing me to indulging in this exercise with you.
At the very least, it has been a huge learning experience participating in the NYC Midnight writing challenges. The prompts and random genres are hard! But I was bit by the competition bug and have been compelled to torture myself in a few of these events where you only have a day or two to write according to prompts. I managed to score points for two stories in the flash fiction contest, but not enough to go to the third round. So, failing to even get an honorable mention in my latest endeavor put a big dent in my day yesterday.
Why am I whining? I’m not really. I have learned so much from these competitions, and the feedback from the judges is detailed and well thought out. I had the idea that I could share this with a few readers (if anyone is willing) to shine some light on what the judges say was lacking.
I was assigned Action/Adventure, Catching an Insect, and the word Clean to use in my story.
Now I admit, Action/Adventure is not my thing, though I had fun with it in my short story, A Leap Through the Elder Oak, which I wrote for my solstice writing group and hope to publish in some form one of these days. But I gave it a shot because I do love a challenge. I was pretty happy with the plot that popped into my head as I mulled over the prompts.
The main issue was that the story failed to have a direct action scene. Oops. I’m fairly certain Action/Adventure needs a direct action scene. I thought dodging between skyscrapers in a squirrel suit was pretty direct, but that’s just me. Kenji might have been a little too contemplative for an action story. At least the judges said it was a compelling story despite the lack of direct action, and Kenji was a compelling protagonist. I’ll take it!
Then they said I needed more backstory for the brothers. I get that. The judges were confused about the purpose of the story. Was one brother good, one bad? Both bad? But backstory in 250 words? Hmmm. And I think my main theme was pretty clear. It was about family, so it didn’t matter if either of them were good or bad. One brother was desperate to save the other, and he risked himself to do it. Again, 250 words… how do you give them both a backstory plus the story in 250 words? Sorry. I’m repeating myself.
They discussed the idea that the omen of the moth could be bad, or it could be good depending on the reader. I’m okay with that. It’s what I intended. This lovely moth in fact represents portents both good or bad depending on the culture. I wanted to leave that up to the reader, whoever you may be.
Finally, they said the paragraph where I use the required prompt word “clean” could have been shorter, less descriptive to allow room for more backstory. But how the heck would “clean” fit in without Kenji looking around his environment? That’s a stumper, but it’s probably why I need to work more on my micro fiction.
Well, here it is for better or worse. Feedback is always welcome, and feel free to share your micro fiction in the comments. Thanks for taking a read!
The Death’s Head Omen
Kenji suited up, knelt on one knee, propped his elbow on the other, then used his mini scope to confirm the coordinates. Target was locked.
Jumping from a high-rise balcony in the dark to land on the roof of a warehouse three miles away was crazy. The wingsuit flight could kill him any number of ways. An accurate parachute landing would be the first miracle. Doing it in the middle of a drug deal raised the stakes impossibly higher.
But he would arrive unseen, and it was his best option to save his brother. Kaiyo would do the same for him.
Still, prickling sweat mocked him. Made him doubt his abilities. Kenji needed an omen. As the thought entered his head, a shadow flitted across his vision. A death’s head hawkmoth. Up here so far, and all alone? Like Kenji in his desperation.
Swiveling, he scanned his surroundings one last time. It was beautiful amid the tops of the gleaming buildings. Muted, like the outer reaches of space. Pristine. The glass wall behind him was so clean he could see through to the east end of the hundred and first floor.
He captured the portentous insect between cupped palms, absorbed its fluttering life, then spread his hands. It flew free. He aimed his body and did the same. Familiar excitement took hold as the air currents gripped him and he hurtled twenty-five miles an hour between gleaming skyscrapers and flashing neon, zigzagging towards the only family he had left.
A lonely man in a dying world seizes a chance at happiness with a mythical being. Grab a cup of tea and settle in with your favorite snuggly blanket for an eight minute story that feels like getting lost in a novel. While you’re there, I would love to know what you think.
Click on the photo above to go to my Vocal Media story and feel free to comment and like. I would greatly appreciate it.
Excerpt
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The view from this high place included a blue sky interrupted by puffy white clouds tipped in pink from the rising sun, and their shadows moved swiftly over a patch of turbulent sea. That spot was the focus of her longing.
It was the vast land flowing away from the sea that comprised the unknown, the part of this world she had never experienced until now, the part that required a pair of feet to traverse it. She looked at her toes in wonder, curling them just to ensure it was her will operating the strange appendages.
Still, I managed it with fifteen minutes to spare! And I hadn’t even figured out the title yet. Yikes! My closest call yet. I had the deadline wrong. I’m typing away and thought I should check the submission requirements again. Due in Two Hours! What!! The story that resulted still has me reeling. I love it so much, I don’t even care if it doesn’t get a win. It is dear to my heart, and that is all that matters.
The prompt was to write a dystopian tale using the first sentence, “The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room.” I couldn’t resist this one! It’s short. Eight minutes to read. I’d love to know if it captures your imagination, too, only if you have a few minutes to spare, and need a dose of magic. If you do, click the photo.
A lonely man in a dying world seizes a chance at happiness with a mythical being.
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The view from this high place included a blue sky interrupted by puffy white clouds tipped in pink from the rising sun, and their shadows moved swiftly over a patch of turbulent sea. That spot was the focus of her longing.
It was the vast land flowing away from the sea that comprised the unknown, the part of this world she had never experienced until now, the part that required a pair of feet to traverse it. She looked at her toes in wonder, curling them just to ensure it was her will operating the strange appendages.
Click on the Writing Battle Website image above to check it out.
The excellent feedback from my peers will be invaluable. My story had some good points that survived consistently, and the parts that need work came through strong but clear, so I have a basis to make improvements.
I will post my story after tweaking the spots I agree need fixing. Because it was a fun story to write and utterly entertaining (to me anyway). And now I can make it better with all the great suggestions. Some feedback, I didn’t agree with. And that’s okay. It’s my story, and peer reviews are subjective. And I am so joining the next one!
My genre draw (you draw tarot cards for the genre, subject, and character – and can redraw and remix them up to a point before the deadline) was Cannibal Comedy, one I’ve never even heard of let alone attempted to write. Now, I’m very familiar with the nuances, though comedy is really hard! My story tended to be more on the dark side, using irony, and tongue-in-cheek.
My character was the ferryman, and the subject was a masked party. The story… The Passengers. Stay tuned.
I can’t deny I was pleased with this summary. I worked hard on polishing my first microfiction 24-hour submission to NYC Midnight’s 250-word Microfiction Challenge 2022, and maybe… just maybe, this will mean something in the judging. We will see (but not until January!). These events are amazing for anyone who wants the challenge of getting a complete story into a tiny format. And for those of you who are participating with me, the best of luck!
Check out AutoCrit if you haven’t already. I recommend it as a great writing resource with powerful analytics.
By D. L. Lewellyn 