What I'm working on - June 2013

I've decided that at least for the summer, I will try to crank out at least 1,000 words per week. I'm not promising lovely 1,000 word short stories - in fact, this is probably going to be raw randomness that comes into my head. The point is that hopefully if I keep on writing randomness, something worth working on will come up and then I can flesh that out into an actual story.

We will see how this actually pans out.

At the moment, I am working on a story involving people from my floor at UCLA. It started out with me sleep talking, and now I'm trying to explain the gibberish that my subconscious spews when I am asleep. It's quite entertaining actually! What started out as gibberish is turning more into a tongue-in-cheek representation of our dynamic and wonderfully insane floor :) I probably won't post that story on the blog because it will have so many inside jokes that it won't make any sense to anyone else reading it.

I'm also tossing around a couple of ideas around in my head, which I will post about later.

Flash fiction: All bets are off

The prompt was to write a humorous 200 word story (or less) that involved invisible ink. Enjoy!

Flash fiction: Coffee Grounds

This is my most recent story. It's more of an exercise or a sketch than a full fledged story - the rules were to write a 200 word story about any topic of your choice and then shorten it to 150 words or less (a 25% reduction!). Anyways, here it is:

200 word version:

"Have you considered my offer?" Trisha took a sip of her coffee and replaced it on the counter top, staring expectantly at the young woman across from her. The wide teeth-baring smile that stretched across her face began to lose its glamour as her eyes hardened.

"I have," Leslie responded. "Good. Then we can start with the paperwork right away." Trisha bent to retrieve a large leather purse and began rifling through it.

"I didn't say that I had accepted." Trisha froze, glanced up. "Why, Leslie dear, you can't possibly expect me to believe -"

"I'm afraid my daughter is not for sale."

 "Goodness! This isn't a sale, it's an adoption! Think of the poor child, and you without any means to support her. We at the Mulligan Corporation are just what your child needs. We can give her everything she needs and more - all we ask is that she participate in a few of our...projects. Tell me, Leslie, what can you give her that we can't?"

Leslie stood up. "I can be a mother to her." She walked out of the cafe, leaving Trisha with a frozen smile and the taste of bitter coffee grounds in her mouth.

150 word version: 

"Have you considered my offer?" Trisha sipped her coffee, replaced it on the counter. She stared at the young woman across from her, her teeth-baring smile losing its glamour with each second.

"I have," Leslie responded. "Good. We can begin the paperwork immediately." Trisha bent to retrieve her leather purse and began rifling through it.

"I didn't say I've accepted." Trisha froze. "Leslie dear, you can't possibly expect-"

"My daughter is not for sale." "A sale! It's an adoption! We at the Mulligan Corporation are just what she needs. We can give her everything she needs - all we ask is that she participate in a few of our...projects. Tell me, Leslie, what can you give her that we can't?"

Leslie stood up. "I can be a mother to her." She walked out, leaving Trisha with a frozen smile and the taste of bitter coffee grounds in her mouth.

Short story: Converging on a Red Balloon

This story is told three times, each time from a different perspective. As the title suggests, the common thread between them is a little girl and a bunch of balloons.

One instant she was right beside me, her pudgy little fingers clenching my own. The next, the pressure vanished and I was left alone, staring across the sea of rapidly moving people. My heart starts pumping wildly, and I turn my head frantically in all directions, seeing everything and nothing at the same time.

“Have you seen – “ I call out, as another indifferent shopper brushes past me. They all just keep moving, without a glance edgewise. Some stop to stare at this frantic father, shake their heads, and move on with their lives.

Short Story: Hall of Mirrors

Disclaimer - this short story is the longest one I've written, clocking in at 2,952 words. It's about what happens when you are forced to live in a world of nightmares, and whether you will ever be able to wake up.

Hall of Mirrors

She has never been afraid of the dark. After all, it is all she has ever known.

For twelve of her seventeen years, she has been in this world of shadow, where her fantasies and memories swirl together until she can no longer tell what is real and what isn't. Sometimes words come to her consciousness that she doesn't quite recognize. Sunshine. Birdsong. Laughter. They brush at the edges of her memory, weave themselves into her dreams. They are words that she once knew the meaning of, but now those meanings have slipped away. These words are no longer part of her world.
 Her world is this world of shadow, the maze of her own mind.

***

Short Story: Attaining Perfection

This story is the first one I wrote as a contest entry. Attaining Perfection was for the "The List" contest on Figment, in which you were asked to write about someone who was considered "pretty" or "ugly". I chose to write about someone who could be considered both of these things. I also explored the concept of identity and how we define ourselves. Here is the story:

                “Step right this way, Natalie.”

                I follow the nurse silently into the operation room. She wears a mask over her face, so I cannot see her features, but I know they must be beautiful. After all, when you spend your days molding flesh and sculpting bone, how could you settle for anything less than perfection in your own face?

Short story: Artful Deception

This is actually a short story adapted from an exercise we did in Vertigo (Lynbrook High School's literary magazine) a few years ago. If I remember correctly, we were supposed to think of a character, then write about his/her past and then about one day in their life. There was a third part but I don't remember what it is...

My character was a con artist in Victorian Europe. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to be a convincing con artist (and consequently, can't write about a convincing con artist) so this is going to be pretty cheesy.

            My footsteps echo on the cobblestone street. With an easel tucked under one arm and a bag of paints in the other, I stride to an inconspicuous corner. Once there, I set up my painting supplies and prepare myself for the day ahead.

             I am an artist of a particular sort. I walk the streets with gusto, my artist’s eye filtering the subject from the background. With a flourish of my green cape, I invite – or rather, lure – my subject to be part of my newest masterpiece. My imagination is my paint palette, my tongue is my brush, and the stories I tell are the strokes that make my work come to life.