Thursday, January 31, 2013

Blaze Tuesday and a Taste of Murder (Part of the Blaze Tuesday World) by Kai Kiriyama


            “Sorry, what?” I asked, sounding stupid even to myself.

            My partner, Jackson grinned at me, the sun glinting off of his mechanical eye, and amusement shining in his normal one. “I'll bet you the murder was done by poison.”

            “Why do you always say 'poison' every time there's a murder?” I asked as he walked up the stairs in front of me. I trailed behind, rolling my shoulders and frowning. I wasn't very popular with the brass anymore, not since I'd exposed the scandal and the back-door deals that they all were making.

            “Statistically, murders are most commonly done with poison,” Jackson informed me.

Rice for the Birds by J. Luis Licea

     She hates him. If she could get rid of him—she has already tried everything. He knows every way there is to kill a man. He has protected himself. 

     Dinner must be ready before he gets home. Silva has to cook every day after coming back from work. Sometimes she whines, sometimes she does it out of fear. He has never abused her, but she has grown tired of him. Silva wants something new, something bigger, better—nothing like her bald, fat, hairy husband who goes by the horrid nickname of Pooh.

Batting 1000 by Kerryn Bryant

     Avah had had it. It was one of those days. It all started with the alarm being set for 6pm instead of AM and that affectively makes her late for work. Then the moment she walks into work, even more late because she caught every damn red light, her boss pulls her into his office to give her the “Let’s not make this a habit” talk- no shit Sherlock. By the time she makes it to the break room the only coffee left is not only burnt but isn’t substantial enough to make a full cup; and no one thought to make a fresh pot... oh wait, there aren’t any coffee grounds left, outstanding.

     As if it isn’t already a crappy day, every client and their mother wants to complain about something and it takes every fiber in Avah’s body not to cuss one of them out. Then for whatever reason the ‘ol cell phone goes on the fritz and has a lovely red line down the middle of the screen, what does that text say? Oh yes a text from the guy she’s sorta been seeing for the past three weeks doesn’t think things are going to work out; should have held out for two more dates.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Divorce Forever by Rory L. Aronsky

A president’s funeral on the small TV in the middle of the bedroom, a bedroom that doesn’t even belong to him. It’s temporary shelter against the increasingly violent war of words outside the closed door, in the living room, a boiling mix of resentment, repressed rage, and anger about moving to where one of them did not want to move.

            On the TV, the funeral procession is on a highway to the presidential library that talking heads on the news channels have spoken about for days, analyzing every detail of the somber occasion to come. Meanwhile, the war gets hotter, and while the bathroom fails to completely block out the noise, the shouting, there is at least a toilet for retching and for emptying out an upset stomach that has pulled the intestines in for an unwanted dance.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Excerpt from Mythology: The Wicked (Micah) by Helen Boswell

I wipe at my eyes with balled-up hands as I trudge down the hall to my room. One of my fingers reaches up and presses the sore spot on my forehead. Yeah, the bump is now officially a goose egg. Tripped over my own feet and fell down the stairs. That's what he wants me to say.

Banished to my room for the rest of the night. My stomach growls and twists, but there’s no way I’m going to risk sneaking to the kitchen. I climb into bed and pick up my library book from school. The binding is held together by masking tape, but the cover is cool – a boy on the back of an eagle, both flying towards faraway mountains. It’s for older kids, but I can read it.

I’m all the way to page twelve when the front doorbell rings. Dad warned me he was meeting with people tonight. I was supposed to stay at some crazy lady’s house – Mrs. Merriam – I called her Cruella in my head. And I paid for it for sneaking back home. I touch my goose egg again and wince.

Трубка Eater - The Tube Eater by M. Aamir Naseer

Agnieszka and Anton watched through their fluorescent-activated goggles, at the toddler sat down on a seat. It sat staring at them, those orange shape-shifting eyes. Potently glaring eyes, like projecting floodlights. Fixated on them with an uncanny smile. The lights flickered inconsistently. They stood near a yellow line "pole". The doors had been bolted, it seemed supernaturally. They couldn't leave. Did they really want to? Considering that they were paranormal investigators.

The outside view was quite disturbing, dark and light grey particles of ash floating everywhere like snow. No one except them was present. They know they've passed through an alternative version of The Tube-London Underground. It wasn't active as it usually is. Or even lively.

Monday, January 28, 2013

The Boy Who Cried by Donnie Kicklighter

                 The outside of the tent flap was whippin’ back and forth in a squall of moist Mississippi wind. Occasionally it would separate itself from the canvas just long enough to offer me a flash of the Miller boy’s face. They say he up n’ murdered someone, but the way I see it, this a war. Ain’t no murderin’ during war. Killin a’ plenty, but not much murderin’.

                ‘Sides that, he didn’t have the eyes to be a murderin’ man. Back home I saw my fair share of hangins, and all them boys had one thing in common: their eyes. They could be standin’ up there scared shitless or laughin’ like some kinda goddamn maniac, but in all those eyes there was a hunger. It’s like someone gave ‘em a good taste of a steak and then took away all the cows. They’ve done somethin’ new that the rest of us jus’ don’t know about, and that hunger never leaves the eyes.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

A New FLASHFICTIONRUN Event Is About To Begin!

That's right, folks--#FlashFictionRun Event No. 2 will be starting TOMORROW.  For all the gory details, see the FlashFictionRun Events page on this here blog. (It's up top on the links bar, but I've conveniently linked it HERE for you as well.)

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Right, So Damon Now Has a Twitter Account

Yes, because of insistent and unrelenting demand, Damon from the Amaranthine Blood series now has his very own Twitter account.  Follow him for fun and the occasional dropping of hints about the series.  Feel free to plague him with questions and ogle his gorgeousness. 

And for anyone who is wondering, model Andrei Andrei (yes, it's the same name twice) is whose picture that is on his profile. (Must give credit where credit's due!)  You can follow Damon here: @DamonMedici.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

I've Been Nominated for a Liebster Award! I Don't Know What That Is!

Right, so the Liebster Award nomination is apparently a blog award/blog hop thingy that has been attached to me via sticky substances by one Jason Cantrell.  There are rules, and this is what they are (I think):

I must list 11 random facts about myself (this could get interesting).

I must answer 11 questions from the person who nominated me (should be fun).

I will then nominate 11 people for the award (provided I can come up with 11 people to nominate), along with 11 questions for them to answer.

Nominees are required to follow the instructions exactly or else they will be executed.

Now, on to the 11 random facts about wonderful me:

Friday, January 11, 2013

Apparently, Bullies Don't Know When to Quit

So, my blog was linked to Goodreads, meaning any posts I made on here would show up there.  I have removed the link and will not be re-instituting it, for a reason.

Apparently, someone reported my blog posts about the 1-star revenge review as "abusive."  Makes me wonder if said people actually read the blog in question, or if it was perhaps the bully herself who made the report.  Regardless, let's address this one more time:

I didn't have a cow over someone giving my book a low rating.  I had a cow because someone who hadn't even read my book gave it a low rating because I called her out for being rude.  My blog posts were not inappropriate--they were the god's honest truth, there were witnesses to this bullshit actually happening, plus I've got the screenshots of the activity.

That's fine, I can get reported for it all day.  Don't really care, because I will stand behind what I did every single fucking time someone asks about it.  I was in the right, and continue to be in the right.  I will even suggest that what's way more concerning is that Goodreads actually allows behavior like that from users on its site.  Amazon already has a huge reputation issue due to reviewer abuse of the system, and I would think Goodreads would want to avoid that fate by actually preventing people from abusing their review system, as was done in my case.

Apparently not.

So, for the foreseeable future (and really, probably forever), all blog posts will be made here, and will only show up both here and on my Amazon author page (as Amazon doesn't appear to give a rat's ass what I post).  I was not asked to remove the link to my blog, but I have done so anyway, because I'll be DAMNED if I let anyone tell me when I can or can't stand up for myself.  I may be an author, but I'm also a PERSON, and I have a right to point out abusive bullshit when I see it.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

DUN-DUN-DUN--Epic Music for Epic Writing

Have you ever tried watching a movie without the background music?  The scenes aren't nearly as exciting as they are with the background music.  Ghost stories aren't as creepy, action scenes not as stimulating, and sad scenes not so sad.  While most people don't even pay that much attention to the background music in movies and TV shows, the fact remains that it affects your engagement with what you're watching rather profoundly.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I have playlists for my books.  My playlists aren't songs that I pick after the book is written that I think fit it--they are what I actually listen to, often on endless repeat, while I'm writing.

What does that do for me?  It sets the scene, that's what it does.  It fires the imagination and makes the scenes become so very alive in my head.  The music adds a sense of depth, action, immediacy, and urgency that I otherwise don't have without it.