Perhaps nothing is as delightful to a writer than when his work is acknowledged by those who appreciate it. And it must be gratifying for the fan when a suggestion is incorporated into the writer’s work.
Fiction: Birth Order
“Kristen’s escaped.”
Sub-Proctor Anne’s mouth was tight, as though she were braced for me to gloat.
“Oh,” was my entire contribution to the conversation; it was the most Christian thing I could think of to say.
“I thought you would want to know,” Sub-Proctor Anne said, still guarded. I nodded politely at her, and she moved on to resume her work.
I wasn’t surprised. How many times had I warned everyone that Kristen would remain here only as long as she wanted to? The church’s Joliet Maximum Assistance Rescue Ark hadn’t held her during a previous pregnancy. She slipped past the dogs and the guard towers and the electrified fence as though they didn’t exist. So what chance, I asked, did the minimum assistance-level St. Reagan’s Birth Assurance Home have? An electronic gate and a simple nine-foot chain-link fence with a thin strand of razor wire on top meant nothing to someone like Kristen.
Quotable 54
The SF writer sees not just possibilities but wild possibilities. It’s not just “What if” – it’s “My God; what if” – in frenzy and hysteria. The Martians are always coming.
– Philip K. Dick
haiku 165
storm clouds pass –
universe returns
to night skies
Author’s Note: Memorial Day
I’m taking the holiday off. Pen to Paper will be back next week. The weekly haiku, quotation, and short story will still be posted, though.
You could reread this from last year’s Memorial Day, if you cared to.
Have a safe and pleasant holiday.
Fiction: Reindeer Games
She was the sexiest reindeer at the Memorial Day festival.
Cori wore a brown crop top, brown short shorts, and high-topped suede boots. This would have been sufficient to draw plenty of attention. But she also wore a green sash with sleigh-type bells sewn onto it every few inches that jingled when she walked. The end of her nose was painted black, and she wore a headband with felt antlers attached.
Many people stared at and after her, but not many spoke to her. When they did, it was to ask the obvious question: “Why are you dressed like a reindeer on Memorial Day?”
She would smile and say, “I’m looking for someone.”
Cori wasn’t sure the person she wanted to find would be at the festival, but it was her best chance. So she walked through the crowds of families and friends scouting for a face she hadn’t seen since February.
Then she got the break she needed.
OT: Double Secret Probation
Do you fans of National Lampoon’s Animal House recall this exchange?
Quotable 53
“Being a writer” is itself a weird idea, really, as though there exists a permanent state of glorious writerliness, when in fact writing is not a state of being, but an art, a craft, a set of technical skills.
– Kate Pullinger
haiku 164
thunderstorm –
hailstones garnish
dog’s food
Pen to Paper: He Said, She Averred
“Hello,” he lied.
– Don Carpenter, quoting a Hollywood agent
Danielle’s comment on my most recent story prompts this foray into the world of dialog(ue) tags.
When I was a young copy editor, I learned to chop “ue” endings off of words. I also learned that in newspapers, everything is “said” or “asked”; one doesn’t wax poetic in news stories.