Flash Friday #10

Blade Master

Water fell down a short drop into a large pond. Fish swam lazily in the waters. The gardens were peaceful as students filed in. Noble men and women, here to study beneath the famed Blade Master.

This rite of passage, widely celebrated for all people of high birth. Their coming of age required a sword dance. They needed the Blade Master. The students gathered around the pool, dressed in their white dueling pads.

The day wore on, then on. Noon approached and there was no sigh of the Blade Master. The children of the great and powerful waited, dipping their feet in the water.

Then, suddenly bushes were parted and a wild looking man in red velvet. A branch poked from his hair. His eyes burned red. The smell of whiskey followed him as a cloud. “Ah. Students. Good.”

He walked impressively out onto the waterfall, his boots sinking into the water. His blade hung loose from his belt. “Here stands the flower of our city. The best of people.” His head swiveled with large movements to see them all. “Your future husbands are here. Your future wives. Look around. Some of you are already betrothed.”

He drew his sword and lumbered off to his right. The first student shook as the Blade Master advanced on her.

“Draw your sword,” he commanded.

She obeyed. He lunged at her in a slow, drunk motion. She flailed her sword up and parried. The Blade Master stumbled off into the bushes. He slowly collected himself. None of the students rushed to help him. The woman who parried looked around wildly to her peers.

The Blade Master picked himself up. He leveled his blade at her. “Well done. You have passed.” He stumbled towards the next student, who drew their blade. “See I can’t fail any of you because then your fathers would kill me. If all of you pass, then there is no reason to study that culture that made you great.” He lunged and again was parried.

“You pass. It means nothing to you. Not to any of you. How could you care? You care for nothing real.” Each weak parry was defeated by subsequent students. Each success was named successful.

“Soon you will be presented to the world. Little lordlings. Little ladies. None of you could fight a battle. You have grown weak. Soft.” He threw up his hands. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t matter. There is not one of you who could do this properly.”

His students said nothing as they watched him, stunned. They had been looking forward to this day, to becoming adults. This was more than they bargained for. The Blade Master lunged again and stabbed the next student through the heart. The young man slid off his blade and fell into the water. Blood painted the water crimson. The others gasped in horror. The Blade Master looked down, surprised.

He looked to his blade. “That was a man dedicated to the craft,” he said.

A Million Words

A million words.

Looking over what I’ve written since graduating, I think I’m approaching a million words of fiction. It helps when I write every day. This was just a thought, so here’s the tally to see if I was right.

  • The Ring of Dain Thar Duin ⸻ 210,000 words (that a long epic fantasy epic poem)
  • The Quintilogy ⸻ 150,000 words (space cowboy available on Kindle)
  • Howl ⸻ 121,000 words (The first novel I wrote. I’ve been posting it only to try to get a following, but haven’t had much traction other than people spamming me for art commissions.)
  • The Rider ⸻ 220,000 words (This is a black powder fantasy that has a lot of problems)
  • The Worth of a Stone ⸻ 134,000 words (a fantasy that I am trying to find an agent for)
  • The Peacock ⸻ 53,000 words (a historical fiction based on the East India Company’s conquest of India)
  • Firella ⸻ 50,000 words (a historical fiction based on calcio storico)
  • Short Stories ~ 60,000 words (this is a guess but I have quite a few of these)
  • Current projects ~ 80,000 words (I’m jumping between things based on what I feel like writing that day.)

I’ve probably missed a couple of things, but this count comes out to 1,078,000 words. This does not include my professional ghost writing.  I think at this point that I can say I’m not an apprentice writer anymore. I am a journeyman. I am confident in the quality of my work. Now I just need to convince the world.

Thanks for reading,

Michael

Flash Friday # 9

Chef Gaspar’s Gastric Gastropod Grief

Anthony slouched into the kitchen, a yellow ticket waving in his hand. Another one. They never stopped coming in this place.

“What!” Gaspar snapped. “Don’t just stand there. Tell me what I have to make!”

Anthony looked taken aback. “It’s not my fault the staff are all sick. They undercooked the fish, not me.”

Gaspar grabbed hold of him. “And yet you got the easy job and I’m in here with all this!” He waved his hand at the chaos behind him. A chicken squawked. He pulled Anthony close and growled at him. “What do they want?”

“The seafood platter. Lobster and mussels.”

Gaspar let go of him. Lobster, muscles. Done. He ran through the kitchen searching for them. He loved the hotel, he really did, but he was a valet, not a cook. How were they to know the prime minister would be in today.

He pulled out steaks. Meat was muscle. He lay it out and looked over it. Lobster went with this? He shrugged and began marinating the meat.

The door opened and Anthony came back in. He paused. “What are you doing?”

“Preparing the muscles.”

“No! Mussels. Bivalves.”

“Lobsters, by valve?”

“Yes!”

Gaspar put the beef away. He reached into the lobster tank and pulled out two disappointed looking lobsters. He turned to the kitchen. Valves. Valves. How did he cook lobsters by valves?

Looking up, he saw a pipe running through the kitchen. There was a handle on it. That was a valve, the only one in the kitchen. He followed the pipe to the dishwasher. Well, it was the only valve.

The lobsters tossed in, he ran it and turned. Right that was sorted. He returned to the salad and took it off the stove. Seared-served salad, was it? Good.

There was a crunch from the dishwasher, steams billowed into the ceiling. Done already? This cooking thing was easy.

Anthony ran in, wild-eyed. “They want a baked Alaska!”

Gaspar felt faint. Alaska was halfway across the world. He couldn’t get any in time.

The Quest # 20

One in and one rejected. So be it. Still haven’t reached out for a children’s book agent, but that’s locked and loaded. So far this year I have written a thousand words each weekday. A friend of mine has begun to query and has been sending me some agents that she comes across. Nice to have some company on the quest.

I have a lot of little booklets where I write down various ideas. One of these is for interesting words that I come across. They are not necessarily new words. Someone used the word attentive around me and I thought that it was a good word, so I wrote it down for later use.

Also in there are ocean zones, zones of the atmosphere, various old coins and Latin phrases. Once I hear a great word, or read it, I put it in the booklet and keep it mind. It’s a good strategy for remembering new words or information to bring into books. Maybe next time I will talk about the other ideas books.

Thanks for reading. The Quest continues!

Michael

Flash Friday #8

Rory Kaufman: Dentist to the Stars

A heavy pirate ship stole across the void. It was coming right at Rory. He wasn’t sure why they wanted him, but there was no avoiding it. He was in a little rock hopper. They had nukes.

The two ships drifted towards each other on intercept course. He could run, but that seemed stupid. Whatever these pirates thought they were going to find, but they were going to be disappointed, and that meant he was going to get hurt.

Rory’s only saving grace was that he was bonded and insured. Everything he lost today, apart from maybe his life, would be replaced.

So all he had to do was keep his life and most things would come out okay.

His ship was taken by the pirates, and docked violently. Rory straightened his uniform and walked from the bridge into his office/living space/bed. It wasn’t a big ship. There he waited for the day to end.

The airlock was hacked open an in poured a hoard of hairy, dirty barbarians. These men made their living robbing the stars. They weren’t going to take showers.

“Hello. Welcome to my practice,” Rory said.

“Practice? What’s a practice?” one of the hair masses said. “Aren’t you a gold transport?”

Rory balked. “Gold? I wish. I’m a dentist. I work with teeth.”

The pirates didn’t trust him, naturally. They tossed the place, throwing his fine tuned instruments all over. Rory could do nothing but watch. At least they weren’t killing him.

“What are these?”

Rory looked around and saw a pirate holding a box labeled crowns. Couldn’t they read? “Those are crowns.”

The pirates grew excited. They tore the box open. Crowns spilled out. Confused, they turned to look at him. Rory saw anger there.

“What? Those are crowns. I’m a dentist, not some warlord or smuggler.”

“So, you fix teeth?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been telling you.”

The pirates smiled wide. Their teeth were terrible, rotting. Rory nodded. There was gold in the stars, you just needed to know where to look.

The Importance of Reading Garbage

I think when making art, it is important to see bad art too, not just the masterpieces. Of course, I don’t mean to denigrate what people make, but lots of art does not resonate with people. Finding an audience is an important part of making a career in art. Some people don’t like the Mona Lisa.

If the only paintings I had ever seen were the Sistine Chaple frescos, then I would never pick up a paint brush. It would be too intimidating. I have read some amazing books, but if that was all I read, I don’t think I could put a word to the page. The way they get their characters to work just right.

Conversely, I have read some books that I hated. Some have been important, or popular, or just plain terrible. Those books were important to my writing journey too. After reading them I would think ‘Man, I can do better than that.’

Read enough terrible books in a while and suddenly I had enough confidence to write. My work might not be the best things ever written, but they are better than the garbage I’ve read. A million books are published every year. Plenty of them are terrible.

Reading greatness gives me something to strive for. Reading terrible stuff gives me the confidence to get started. So don’t give up on bad books, let them fuel your drive.

Flash Friday #7

Call

The pair of them were bathed in the blue light of their phones as the bar tvs blared the game. All around them people were going about their drinking moving on or forgetting their lives. That didn’t really register with them. For Chuck and Dale, this was quality time. 

“He’s going to make the next shot,” Dale said.

“No he won’t,” Chuck answered.

They both entered their corresponding bets, five dollars each. Neither looked up from their phones, they would get their answers soon enough.

Chuck winced.

“Told ya,” Dale said.

“So what, he give up a basket after getting one. Every time.”

They entered their bets and waited. On the bar top, two beers slowly approached room temperature, forgotten in the blue light of the phones.

As one, their phones dinged.

“See.”

“Guess he should work on that,” Dale said.

“Man, he’s going to get cut in the off season.”

They both checked their phones, but that wasn’t something they could bet on.

“I’ll take that action,” Dale said.

“Standard fair?”

“Yup.”

“You’ll remember?”

“Of course. When have I ever forgotten?”

Chuck smiled. “When you lose.”  

“Uncalled for. You always get this way. Defensive and shit. You’d rather sit in a relationship you hate cause it’s easy.” There was a beat. “Sorry.”

“Is it true?”

“I mean, yeah, kinda.”

“I’ll break up with her right now and start again.”

“No you won’t.”

“Bet?”

“Yeah.”

Chuck closed the app and called Miranda. “Hey. This isn’t working out. We’re done… Because I’m not happy and I don’t see a way to be happy. We’re done, it’s done.”

He ended the call and reopened the app. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. He’s going to make the next shot.”

“No he won’t.”

The Quest #19

Well, I’m down one but I’m not surprised. I queried with the previous letter that I wasn’t happy with. I have yet to Query this year. I’ve been networking and seeing who I can talk with in my area. My mom found someone who knows some writers, so I’m hoping I can get some good tips that way.

Side Quest: A few years ago I wrote a children’s book for my nephew. It was a big hit and I’m going to start querying to find a publisher for this little book. I know there are a lot of children’s books on Amazon, but I don’t want to go the self-published route just yet. I want this book on bookshelves.

I have been writing more so far this year. We will see how long I can last, but so far so good.

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading.

The Quest Continues,

Michael

Flash Friday # 6

With the Terror Beast of Akuma Seven

            They were with the Terror Beast of Akuma Seven. With, trapped by, same difference. The large slug-like creature pulled itself off Emer, portly mother of two, and began oozing its way toward its last two victims. Emer lay screaming on the ground, just like the other fifteen member of their safari group.

“So, what have we learned?” Bobrick asked his protégé. She was enthusiastic, but not authoritative enough to run safari group on her own. That’s how they got in this mess to begin with.

“When someone on the tour asks to stop for a bathroom break, don’t stop at the Cliffs of Despair?” Marymay offered up. She was white as a sheet, watching the oozing terror approach. Bobrick didn’t blame her. This was a worst-case scenario, one which was fortunately covered in the tour waver, but still. People on Akuma Seven all shivered at the mention of the Terror Beast, and he had only seen glimpses of the beast while guiding groups. This was one thing he had never wished to see firsthand.

“That’s a good lesson to take out of this,” he said, stepping out in front of her to shield her. Of course, she had no chance of escaping, so he was really just delaying the horrific experience. Unless, it got full as it ravaged his mind. “Remember, every member of your safari group will be an idiot, and try their best, through their ignorance, to kill the entire group.”

“What’s it going to do to us?” she asked, her voice full of the fear which he felt inside himself.

“It’s going to eat all the hair off our heads and neck.” It was grim, alright.

Marymay relaxed visibly. Rookie. “Oh, is that it. Does the hair not grow back or something?”

“No, it does…after a time.” The hairs on his arm were standing up in a grim salute to those hairs which were going to be eaten.

“A long time, or…” The tone of her voice was incredulous. Easy for her to do, the slug was crawling up his boots.

“A regular time.” Bobrick answered. It was coming, oh lord, it was coming.

“And this drives people to insanity?” It was passing his belt now, getting its massive oozing frame off the ground.

“No, that is a side effect which lasts twenty minutes at most. The first members of our party to fall should be feeling better soon.” The Terror Beast was as ugly as they came, its beady stalk eyes focused on Bobrick’s beautiful hair.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Why is it called the Terror Beast.” The slime was soaking his shirt. The moment was at hand.

“Because, rookie, as it eats your hair, you are forced to experience drivers ed. all over again.”

Marymay screamed from the horror. Bobrick would have liked to be kinder, but everyone had to learn one day. The thing crawled over his head and darkness consumed him.

He woke up behind a steering wheel.

Flash Friday # 5

What Eats the Sun and Moon

            It was months of work through the caves just to stand here. Beyond that, it had been fifteen years since Sven set about trying to discover the lost treasure of the Oa’Koto’kiti people. Three times various teams he’d hired had given up and quit the job. Well, those students weren’t going to get a reference from him. The current team was comprised of students who hadn’t heard about the previous expeditions and locals, the descendants of the people whose work he was trying to discover.

Things were finally looking up. It had taken quite a lot of digging, but he had discovered the caves which the natives carved on. That had caused a sensation. Sven was on the cover of magazines worldwide. There was even talk about him becoming Time’s Person of the Year. Of course, there were natives who wanted to take over the site to “protect” their heritage. But Sven had gotten the government to give him the rights to any discovery for a full year. He had to drive past protesters every day, but that didn’t matter. Besides, the intricate carvings which covered the cave walls was nothing compared to the treasure which legend spoke of. They could have the cave, once he had the gold.

That was the real treasure, the reason he was still bothering with the dig. You don’t spend fifteen years getting mocked and then just turn over your discovery. No, for eleven months Sven had been digging through the caves, searching for the location of the Crypt of Kings. Let them have the caves, but they would never get the treasure. That was going to be his. His team was out at the bars today. They thought he was being a good boss, but in reality he was going to take the gold and run. The students would get letter of recommendation and their pay. What else could they want.

He stood before the great circular seal. Legend said it was the prison for a dark god. Sven knew a misdirect when he saw it. The curved Knife of the Gods in his hand, he pricked his finger and smeared the blood against the stone, all the while proclaiming that he would never serve What Eats the Sun and Moon.

At once the stone rolled away. Sven gave a whoop which echoed into a growing darkness. He was right, he had always been right.

Flashlight in hand, he stepped into the hidden vault. The light bounced of gold, more gold than he could have ever imagined. It went on forever. Sven picked his way through more gold than he could ever move himself. Maybe if he brought it out in pieces.

The path he was on suddenly cleared. In the darkness there was an altar, catching the light and turning it red. A ruby. Sven couldn’t resist. He ran there and ran his hand over the altar. His hand stung from the cut.

“Blood on the sacrificial table. I will eat him.” The voice filled the room.

“Who’s there,” Sven shouted into the darkness.

“What Eats the Sun and Moon. You are in my prison and have given your blood to me. I will eat once more.” Sven screamed as mouths descended from the darkness.