Posts Tagged ‘Writing’

NYCMidnight started up their "Tweet Me a Story" contest again last night, and once again I'm taking a swing at it. Rules: entrants must write a 140-character-or-less story using the supplied word. Entrants had 5 hours to come up with up to three entries. My group's word was BETTER. Here's what I submitted, with titles added here for the fun of it:

Self-Improvement

“Dammit, could you be a better man just once in your life?”

"Oh, sure," he laughed, lunging for her.

“Could you hurry?” she said, and fired.

Memories

From my blanket, I watched the surf. "It doesn't get any better than this."

From his time machine, me from 2023 sighed. "No, it doesn't."

Dying to Know

"That's it, I have to know. You've been with me and with Mike. Which one is the better man?"

I smiled. "The one who didn't have to ask."

I'll keep you posted on the results, because you know you're desperate to know. And here's one that didn't make the cut:

Keeping Your Spirits Up

"Are you feeling better, hon?"

"A little."

"Did the nap help?"

"No, but finding the poison you used on me and slipping it in your tea did."

Written for the "A Thank You for Dollhouse" book compiled of fan messages for the cast and crew of Joss Whedon's "Dollhouse." The book was delivered Friday night, Dec. 4, just as we were watching two of the best episodes of the season so far.

National Novel Writing Month is over for this year, and it's time to look upon my results.

Yeesh.

Monday night I was idly wondering if I was close enough to cheat until I added up how many times I'd have to copy what I'd already written and paste it in again to win, and gave up.

My excuses this year? I was caught up just before my Save Hiatus buddy Adam Levermore showed up to stay for four days so we could attend the STS-129 Shuttle Atlantis launch Tweetup at the Kennedy Space Center, which was an amazing experience.

Plus I had to show him around a few spots in Daytona (OK, one spot) (OK, the speedway) and then I figured it would be rude to ignore him while I wrote even though a) I knew he wouldn't mind and b) at least one evening he was busy ignoring me to write his own stuff. But hey, there was a guest in the house.

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Final challenge of NYCMidnight's Creative Writing Championship. Now down to 40 writers left, all with the same restrictions: "Genre: Fantasy, Location: car wash, Object: kitten." Stupidly I thought I'd pop in and watch the Emmys just long enough to see Dr. Horrible, ended up watching all of them and having only an hour left to polish my first draft. Damn you, maddeningly entertaining Neil Patrick Harris! Here's what I submitted.

The Kitten, the Flame Demon, and the Car Wash
by C. A. Bridges (1,000 words)

Jess watched from the car wash lobby as the screaming flame demon roamed the streets. It wasn’t charging yet, but it was definitely rampaging in their general direction.

“The heat is on, ladies,” she said. “Maybe this can happen faster?”

“Gimme a second, OK?” Amanda said, before turning back to kneel in front of the weary young girl they’d rescued the day before. She was maybe 7 years old, but her eyes now belonged to a very old, very tired woman.

They had found her in an abandoned mall surrounded by roaring flames and smoldering bodies. She didn’t respond to them, wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. She’d been utterly silent and listless since they brought her back, as if she knew she was already dead and was vaguely wondering when she would fall over. “Honey?” Amanda asked her gently. “I need you to listen to me.”

There was an explosion. “Just torched the McDonalds,” Jess called.

“That thing, that fire thing that attacked your… that you saw? It’s coming this way. No, no, hold on,” she said soothingly as the girl stiffened. “We can stop it, but we need your help. Do you know where those horrible things came from?”

A pause, and then the girl shook her head.

“Do you know what magic is? Casting spells?”

A nod.

“Well, some very foolish people thought they could teach a computer to do magic. They thought they could program it with all the spells, the knowledge and the rituals of thousands of years, and then push a button. Do you think that was a good idea?”

The girl looked out at the angry towers of smoke rising from all around the city and shook her head violently.

“That’s right. They learned how to do magic, but didn't understand that power without wisdom is dangerous. Last year they accidentally called up a host of demons, and we’ve been fighting them ever since.”

“The boutique’s gone now,” Jess yelled. “If we’re gonna do this, we need to do it now!”
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Second round, challenge three of NYCMidnight's Creative Writing Championship. New writing group, new restrictions. Mine were: "Genre: Romantic comedy, Location: arcade, Object: coffee pot." And we're off…

The Final Score
By C. A. Bridges (1,000 words)

Being a coffee shop barista, even an emergency temp one, was everything Aly thought it would be. “Here you are sir, have a nice day, die in a fire,” she muttered before turning to her mother, who was filling the large catering pot. “How do you keep from murdering your customers?”

“That gets you talked about,” her mother said. “Try making terrifying designs in their latte cream instead, that always cheers me up.”

Aly sighed. Helping out her mom was one thing, but she couldn’t take being back in this town for long. At least she didn’t have to go near—

“You know where Electricland Arcade is, right?” her mother asked suddenly. “I need you to run a delivery… Aly? Why are you hitting your head?”

—

Matt stood ready, his hands dry, his shoulders loose, a retired gunslinger here for one last battle. Looming in front of him was his old archenemy.

“So, Donkey Kong,” he said grimly. “We meet again.”
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NaNoWriMo 2009 badges are out!

OK, yes, granted it's still a few months till November when National Novel Writing Month attacks, but they couldn't wait and frankly I can use the nudging to get ready. I started strong in my first NaNoWriMos but my performance the last few years has been sad.

Getting psyched already…

Well, it is a review, but mostly it was a contest entry for McSweeney's recent columnist contest. I didn't win so you get it as a blog entry. Here's what I submitted:

Life Lessons, by C. A. Bridges

My columns, should you choose to accept them, would be a variety of subjects with the common thread being the real life lessons I take away. Example:

Review: “The Graveyard Book,” by Neil Gaiman

Ordinarily one might think I have no reason to read a children’s book, as I am no longer a child and frankly wasn’t much of one to begin with. But there are lessons to be learned from all books great and small, and I loathe missing the chance for enrichment in any form.

This particular form is currently garnering all the praise it can get. Hordes of critics, writers’ organizations and librarians, working in shifts, have been feverishly devising new awards to quickly bestow upon this lively (ha!) tale of a small, recently orphaned boy raised by ghosts in a graveyard. Morbid as the subject may be, the lessons the boy garners are valuable ones indeed. Lessons of bravery, common sense and deduction, stories of responsibility and valor. Lessons valuable enough, in fact, that even after only a few short chapters I judged them worthy enough to be passed to all children.

I started small, with a nephew.

Jimbo, as he was unfortunately known, was a particularly sticky and noisome boy, with an equally annoying family (sorry, sis). My intended program of involuntary personal growth could only benefit him. But I decided, upon reflection, that it would be unnecessarily cruel to actually murder his parents, as well as being too much work. Instead I offered to feed and water him for a weekend so that his newly emancipated mother and father might enjoy the bliss of a quiet house, and then, once he was in my clutches, I merely informed him that he was now an orphan.

I had been concerned that the lack of physical violence in his presence might fail to suitably traumatize him for my purposes but as it turned out, detailed, step-by-step description of his parents’ fictional, horrendous demise was quite enough, especially when I added the appropriate gestures and sound effects. This was an excellent sign! A traumatized child is a child ready to learn. It was off to the graveyard!
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Second challenge, round one, of NYCMidnight's Creative Writing Championship. This time my group was given "Genre: Fantasy, Location: Travel Agency, Object: Lobster." Well, that seemed pretty obvious…

"TransmogriVacations, Inc."

by C. A. Bridges (1,000 words)

“A lobster? An actual crawling around, dunk it in butter lobster?”

“It’s what we have available right now in your price range, sir. Lobster, beetle, or vulture. Live your dream, sir.”

“What kind of beetle?”

“Dung.”

Parkleman sighed and slumped in the chair. “I’m in accounting,” he muttered, looking around the travel agency. “Dealing with balls of crap ten times my size is precisely what I’m trying to get away from.”

The sign over the door read “TRANSMOGRIVACATIONS, INC.” and in smaller script underneath: “BE ALL SOMETHING ELSE CAN BE.” There was an enchanted logo next to it depicting a cartoon man changing into a lion, a dolphin, an eagle, and then a man again, over and over. Parkleman stared at it for a long moment.

“You can really change me into anything I want to be?” he asked again.

The mage behind the desk raised an eyebrow.

“Anything I can afford, I mean?” Read the rest of this entry »

The West Port Book Festival is hosting their first Literary Twestival in Edinburgh on August 14th. But you don't have to be within a thousand miles of the place to participate…

Just post your short-short-short story to your Twitter account and include the hashtag #wpss (for West Port Short Story). The best will be presented ay the Festival, as people on site are invited to create their own on the spot. Or submit a Collective Noun for their approval (such as "A wunch of bankers," " ______ of mime artists,"A whorde of prostitutes," etc).

No prizes (that I know of), just the fun of stretching your mind in a little tiny space. And check out the ones already submitted here.

This should not come as a shock to anyone, really. But author Bev Vincent — male author Bev Vincent — was just told by an editor that "she" couldn't write convincing male characters.

Two years ago Vincent was asked to write for an anthology. He did so, a very personal story closely drawn from his life, and his editor went over it with him and produced a finished draft they both liked. The contract was signed. Then, just weeks before the anthology was supposed to go to press, it was handed to another editor who sent it back with lots of criticism… of this female writer.

The editor says: “The story seems far too personal, introspective and emotional for a man . . . It is hard to imagine a fellow from a place like [the setting] uttering the following line.” The editor then provides three sentences from my story as examples. He or she continues, “And I can’t think of many guys from [setting] who call home every Sunday afternoon to talk to their family” [Emphasis his or hers]. Another brilliant insight: “Most men don’t think deeply about the dewy greenness of nature.” The ultimate conclusion: “She [sic] needs to write more convincing [sic] from a man’s perspective.”

Don't know why the work was passed to a second editor, although I'd suspect office politics. But I'll bet had it been submitted under "Hank 'Beefy' McMann" those crits would never have been made.

Go read his story, and how it ended, and try to act surprised. I can't.