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Flash Fiction – in a Flash!

You might not believe this.

When I woke up this morning Dot’s email with her Wednesday’s Word piece sat in my inbox.

At 7:02am.

I forgot to mention yesterday that Dot didn’t want me to send her any word from my magic word bag a day or two ahead of time. She wanted to attempt the Word of the Day challenge like I do – wait until the Wordsmith sends his word out into cyberland, then write like mad.

So, when I crawled out of bed this morning, opened my laptop, and saw her story, my mouth fell open.

That’s what I’m talking about when I say commitment and dedication, and a fervor for writing. Amazing!

And, I don’t just mean her quick turnaround. Wait until you read her story….

*****

From Wordsmith.org, Today’s Word:

bread and circuses

MEANING:
noun: Things intended to keep people happy and to divert their attention from the problems.

ETYMOLOGY:
Translation of Latin term panis et circenses, from panis (bread) + et (and), circenses (circuses). The term originated in the satires of Roman poet Juvenal (c. 60-140). Circus refers to the circus games, such as chariot races, held in the Roman times. The term has been loan translated into many other languages. In Spanish, for example, it is pan y toros (bread and bullfights).

USAGE:
“Madrid has set up a series of summits that look a lot like bread and circuses for a domestic audience at time of economic misery.”
John Vinocur; Still Waiting for a Brave New Europe; The New York Times; Jan 4, 2010.

——————————————-

Judy opened the suede covered octagonal box, lifting each of the origami flaps – ocean blue and ponderosa green and solar yellow – as if the touch of her delicate fingers would burn them. Leaving behind a scar so ugly that no one would ever bother look inside again. And look inside was the point. Just a glance, a peek, no lingering. But if the entry point was marred then no one would come.

Each pointed flap laid open on the royal purple satin tablecloth, splayed as a ripened sunflower at the end of August. She moved forward, resting her belly on the edge of the table and peered over the box’s edge. There was the hat, just as she left it.

She felt comfort in knowing there had not been others since her last visit.

Judy reached into the box and slid her hands under the brim, whose color was the same as the dimming table. The four sprouts of the hat, the same color as the exterior of the box, bounced and giggled as she lifted it upward and toward her head.

Should she put it on now? Or wait?

“How long?” Judy yelled into the other room.

“Not long.” Margaret replied. “The ticket sellers will be here soon. Followed by the ushers. Then the food handlers. Why?”

“My hat, is it ready?” Judy shouted back, her voice now breathy as the opening moment neared.

“Wait.” Then silence.

Judy lowered the hat back into the box but left the flaps open.

“What are you doing?” Judy asked as she entered the kitchen.

“Building hardtack boxes,” Margaret answered. “Practical and nutritious and they last a long time. You entertain and I feed. Okay?”

“Deal.” Judy continued walking through the kitchen then walked right out the door and down the steps to the lawn. Where. Her naked feet met the blades of grass – again – and they smiled. She continued walking until she reached the plastic covering they’d hung from the garage. The white length of Tyvek stretching from the roof’s overhang, across the pvc pipes duct-taped together to the opposite sides where they were tightly tethered by yellow truck rope. All very carefully done so as to not smash their attendees. Or each other.

For some reason that neither of the women understood, the county government gave them a grant to do their show. Judy the performer and Margaret the nurturer. Between them they kept the people happy and kept them out of trouble. The valley was hit hard with the downward spiraling economy and people started becoming just plain mean. Hoarding. Isolating. Not taking car of themselves.

One day, Judy was in the driveway with Billy. He had just started taking acrobat lessons from her a few weeks before, she remembers. They were stretching and doing handstands and back flips and this car pulled up across the street. They even turned off their engine. Judy was having Billy practice smiling when he was upside down which was, according to him, a nearly impossible task. The couple in the car started laughing after a few minutes, with giant smiles on their faces nearly to the point of tears.

Two weeks later Judy received the distinguished monetary grant award for performers whose work inspires others to “Just Be Happy.”

That was about two years ago now. And here they are again, except that they bought the house next door and it was currently under remodel. The goal was to finish the master suite and to make the unused child’s room into a guest area. Every visitor needs a little “me time.”

And now was Judy’s time. She skipped back into the house and into the room with the box with her hat. This time she lifted it onto her head. Then she checked herself in the mirror and ran through the kitchen and out the door. She would not have her guests upset – so she places the hostess with the mostess hat on her head and let the spokes bounce with each step back to the garage where she could help people forget their troubles, just for a day. Or an hour, even. Every moment counts. Every moment is important to the health and well-being of the individual which is important for the survival of the planet.

“You feed their bodies and I feed their soul,” Judy shouted toward the kitchen window, where Margaret was standing, shoulders up, hands pressed against the window’s ledge. And the faint beginnings of her smile.

“Y-up,” Margaret mouthed, since Judy wouldn’t be able to hear her, anyway. Best to save the vocal cords for the evening’s performance. Judy said she had a surprise for them all tonight. Margaret would wait, as she always waits. And be there with Judy’s hardtack when she was done. For now, she needed to get the first pan out of the oven, before it burned.

*****

Dot is a writer in the spaces between work and working out. Current projects are completion of a memoir and revision of a mystery novel, alongside writing short stories and poetry.

She blogs at The Writing Vein.

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Back to Wednesday’s routine, sort of

Last week, I took a break from the usual Wednesday’s Word challenge, and hosted guest author Linda Lappin. Tomorrow, I will get back into the virtual ring with Wordsmith.org and his never predictable word of the day.

Well, it won’t be me in the ring exactly. I’ll be cheering from the corner.

For the last two months, I’ve invited another writer to participate in Wednesday’s Word of the day. E. Victoria Flynn started us out. Ann M. Lynn braved the second round. And, tomorrow,  I welcome my friend Dot Hearn.

Dot and I met through Ariel Gore’s Lit Star Training online writing course. During introductions, we discovered we were both new to the NaNoWriMo madness that year, that we both recently embarked on a serious commitment to write, and that we were both sign language interpreters. Of course, I connected with Dot right away.

But, it wasn’t until after Ariel’s class ended, when we embarked on a project together, that I understood the true depth of her commitment to writing and her unconditional support of other writers.

Dot and I, along with a small group of other Lit Star graduates, designed and self-published an anthology (On the Fly: Stories in Eight Minutes or Less) of quick writes that resulted from several writing exercises in Ariel’s class. We were all amazed at the kind of writing that came out of one prompt and an eight minute time limit, and we wanted to share that magic with others. The anthology project gave us all a taste of the publishing world and an even more solid connection to each other.

Dot continues to work with the same spirit and determination. She maintains a website called The Writing Vein, where she posts her own writing prompts every Friday – The Razor’s Edge. I love reading her prompts, as they tap into several avenues of inspiration by combining a written prompt with an image and a song.

I could blather on and on about Dot, but I’ll let her tell you – in her own words – how she came to love writing:

Writing has been one constant throughout my life. Sure, I’ve taken a little time off here and there, but I wrote my first stage script at age 9 and hand-wrote my first novel – all 72 pages – at age 10.

As a teenager and during my early adult years, I submitted poems and a few of them were published. My early college days were spent in journalism, the middle college years brought a sign language interpreting degree, and my most recent college degree included a minor in theater and a minor in writing.

Right now I have one novel in revision; a memoir still being written; short stories and flash fiction and poems floating around on editors’ and contest judges’ desks; a produced radio script, freewrites galore – and more. And I am into the fourth year of a ten-year commitment to write no matter what; I think writing is becoming a habit I don’t want to shake.

I am a writer in the spaces between work and working out. Current projects are completion of a memoir and revision of a mystery novel, alongside writing short stories and poetry. I hope soon to tip the balance of work and writing life, so that work will happen in the spaces between writing and outdoor adventures.

Thank you, Christi, for giving me this opportunity to step outside of my box to participate in your Wednesday’s Word. I’ve been a fan since it’s inception and I’m excited to be able to participate in this way. You are an inspiration.

Thank you, Dot! I can’t wait to see how you wrangle Wordsmith into a crafty creative submission tomorrow!

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Becky Levine and the Basement of a Mall

A while ago, I ordered Becky Levine’s The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide.  Because I ordered it to be delivered along with the more-than-popular LEGO Star Wars: The Visual Dictionary (on back order for all you hard-core LEGO and Star Wars fans), I didn’t receive the book until last week.

I’m not far into Becky Levine’s book yet, but I read just enough to carry me through my first meeting with a local writing group this afternoon.

She writes:

Take care to make the meeting worth your time and money. Talk to people. Too often, at these events, writers give in to their nervousness, shyness, or just their uncertainty about their own writing.

…[R]emember: This is your writing. It’s important. I’m not advocating shoving yourself into the middle of someone else’s discussion or waving a red flag in the bathroom line, but put yourself out there (pgs. 14-15).

The woman who runs this particular local group emailed me the room information, said I was welcome to attend, and mentioned that they would all be bringing a sample of their work to share.

Yesterday, I worked a split shift at my paying job and was gone most of the day. My daughter cried both times I had to leave, so the decision to steal away for another two hours today wasn’t easy. Add, to that guilt, the anxiety about sitting in a room with strangers and reading a short story out loud (for the first time to someone other than myself), and I could have easily backed out. But, something in my gut told me – and Becky Levine’s words encouraged me – to go to this meeting.

When I got to the building, I came upon another woman looking for the meeting room. She smiled, told me her name, and immediately set me at ease. We made our way to the basement of the building and walked into the meeting together. She introduced me to her friends as a “fellow traveler.”

It was a small group, and I mostly just listened. When it came time to read our samples of work, I hesitated. A few of the members were aging adults, and the conversation, in the beginning, drifted from writing to assisted living. In the story I brought to read aloud, a young woman visits her grandmother in a nursing home. I thought maybe they wouldn’t like the story, that they would think I was rude to read that kind of story to this group. Worse yet, I worried they might not like my writing style.

Then, I remembered,

This is your writing.
It’s important.
Put yourself out there.

So, in the basement of a shopping mall, I sat around a table with six other writers and read my work. My face grew hot and my voice wavered. But, I pushed off that feeling of insecurity and panic and kept my eyes on the words.

After I finished, one person noted a place where I might change the wording to make it more clear. Everyone else sat quiet. Someone got up to leave. I tried to interpret the silence, then I decided, Oh well, at least I took the action.

I can’t control their response.
Nor, can I assume I know what it means.

And, isn’t that the way it is with every story a writer sends out into the world?

Before the meeting ended, the woman who introduced me earlier offered some kind words about my story. The man across the table suggested my published works will be filed in the group’s archives one day. I left the meeting with a few phone numbers and an invitation to come back.

I don’t know that I had much in common with the people there today, other than writing itself. But, when Becky Levine talks about finding a writing or critique group, she doesn’t mention we should search for people like ourselves: with kids or without, working day jobs or not, old or young. Instead, she emphasizes that we follow our gut instinct.

Find a group where we feel welcomed and supported – a group that will meet our writing needs.

My gut tells me that I found several good souls sitting at a table in a mall basement today, who passed kind words around the circle and who didn’t kick me out after my first reading. I can’t wait to go back.

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