You say goodbye, I say hello

For the last seven months I have had the pleasure of helping edit over at Trifecta Writing Challenge. But all good things come to an end and Trifecta is closing its doors this week. Before joining the team, I spent the summer, after moving to Luxembourg, taking part in its wacky and wonderful writing challenges. I loved its freshness and the real competition. They are many great writers walking its halls. As it ends I feel only glad to have been a small part of it and having had the experience of getting to read and know some very cool people. It was a sweet, sweet journey. These people; we have never met, and probably never will. And yet I will keep reading them because this world now, as it is, allows us. So no goodbyes, just more hellos. Keep spinning. Keep writing.

Connected

Parting we cannot,

We are already apart

Like the sun and moon. 

I'll have a P please, Bob

Happy New Year! Real people as well as Google and Microsoft tell me it's 2014. Wow. Brilliant. I never know which year it is. Students yell at me most weeks: "Um, Laura, it's not 1998" or "2003 was ten years ago" but at least for today, the second of January 2009 2014 I have it right. 

The first challenge over at Trifecta this year is a three-word new year's resolution. The prompt for this week was inspired by Michael Hess and his own three-worder, Just Be Nice. I love his sentiment, although I hate the word nice. Resolutions so far vary from the personal and prescriptive to the godly and sci-fi. It's all good. Some resolutions are words to be broken, others are fiction to be realised. I love them all from the inspiring to the downright stupid. It's always interesting to see what importance flows from our minds at the start of a brand new year. Like this one, 1991 2014.

So, onto my three words. I was thinking about a friend today while I came home on the train and how we have this running joke that she loves all foods beginning with P. Peas. Pizza. Pies. Pomegranate. Somehow, these thoughts got mixed up with my wishes for the year, which turned into verbs and so my new year's resolution for 2006 2014 is a field of Ps:

• Procreate (I hope my mum doesn't read this or she will not stop banging on about it)
• Publish (Like most people who write)
• Participate (Don't be a bystander)

Resolutions are hard. If they were easy-peasy we wouldn't even bother doing this. Have fun sticking to yours. I'll have a P, please, Bob (Thanks, Blockbusters fans). 

Click on the trike to read more entries in this week's Trifextra Challenge and vote on your top three.

Over your shoulder

It's that time of year when we look back at where we've come from, what we've brought with us, who we've got alongside us and slowly turn to face the turning of one year into another.

I'm going to keep this short and sweet because, really, I should be packing for my imminent Christmas and New Year ski trip.

Things I am proud of:

• Finding a wonderful life. OK, that sounds stupid, but the life my husband and I had at the start of the year wasn't our life. Patience was hard, there were bumps in the road. But perseverance won through and we now live in a great place, have made fun, new friends, are working on things we enjoy and have a life we both love. 
• Completing NaNoWriMo. This deserves a whole other post all to itself, but dedicating myself to writing a book taught me how with enough grit, rhythm and routine you can achieve a lot (of words) in a short space of time. 
• M&MRC Does Eastern Europe. There are people on this planet that are there to make your life better (and hopefully you do the same for them). Getting to travel with my partner-in-crime-running-and-therapy-friend-extraordinaire, Maria, through Austria, Croatia, Montenegro and Albania this summer was simply amazing, precious and, as always, too much fun. 
• An expanding family. Technically, I did nothing to help achieve this, but becoming an aunt for the first time on both sides of the family was a real joy. We've yet to meet one of our new nephews in person, but knowing there are new Alonsos and Milsoms in the world is a simple and beautiful happiness. 
• Not giving up. This isn't about me, but my grandma. After living in her own home by herself, she had a stroke recently, at 93. She's now in a nursing home and a shadow of the woman she once was. Although it was hard to see her like that at first, when I thought about her indomitable spirit, I realised there is something in her that just won't give up. I don't know if it's her Viennese constitution, or the fact she's a stubborn mule of a woman, but on some level I think it's marvellous. 
• Working on Trifecta. I joined this writing challenge website as assistant editor in the summer and have loved working with these brilliant ladies on a fantastic writing community and getting to know some truly incredible writers. Check us out: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/

Hope you have a brilliant festive season and that whatever you've got over your shoulder from 2013 brings great memories and smiles. Happy holidays!

In front of Wasserbillig, taken from Germany

Flash fiction - Himalayan Call

Today is that last day of NaNoWriMo and although I am meeting up later with other writers from Luxembourg, there will be a lightness in my step and typing as I passed the 50,000-word goal a couple of days ago. Hoorah!

So, this morning, I needed another reason to get creative, and what better than a Trifecta write? Don't know what Trifecta is? Get your arse over there right now: www.trifectawritingchallenge.com. Anyway, usually I am behind the scenes, but this weekend it's a community judged 33-word free write. Here's mine:

Himalayan Call

Flames swaddle the village, orange gashes the only colour against the black mountain night. Until later, the tiger steals through, searching, sniffing for charred meat. 

The warning bell tickling in the wind, irrelevant. 

33 words

Click on the bike to read some fabulous writers. Who will you vote for?

Flash fiction - Valley Girls Episode 4798

Greetings Trifectans and fellow readers. It's a perfect writing day today - grey and drizzly - and I thought it was time to post once more over at Trifecta. They give us one word, its third definition and 332 other words to write. Go over and have a read of the other entries. There are some brilliant writers over there: www.trifectawritingchallenge.com 

This week's prompt word is MASK:
3. a : a protective covering for the face
    b : gas mask
    c : a device covering the mouth and nose to facilitate inhalation
    d : a comparable device to prevent exhalation of infective material
    e : a cosmetic preparation for the skin of the face that produces a tightening effect as it dries

My effort is called Valley Girls Episode 4798.

Valley Girls, Episode 4798

The adverts arrived. That would have been 15 minutes, Doris decided. She tucked her thick, white nails under her chin and slowly, carefully, started to peel away. She wanted to keep the mask intact, like a peeled apple skin that winds back into the perfect fruit. 

Ralph glanced over and huffed. He felt giddy watching his wife taking off that thing – it made her a ridiculous mannequin, dead except for the eyes. She would usually have commented on Jean’s terrible behaviour in Valley Girls – Jean was always trying too hard – but Doris couldn’t speak. So Ralph had said something. It wasn’t right. He sighed. He didn’t like change.

Doris felt the flaky paper pull away. She hooked it around her jaw, up her cheeks. She imagined her wizened face being gently lifted away, leaving something wise and worn, but smooth and elegant. Valley Girls started again. She kept creeping her fingers underneath, keeping her old, ancient face whole. She listened to Jean from Valley Girls. She was behaving terribly again. Marcus the painter was never going be with her. She was being a fool. Poor Jean, suffering the same as every woman. Doris should be kinder. 

Ralph said, “Are you watching this or not?” His voice was low and faraway, childlike. He didn’t look at her. 

Doris laid her old face on her lap. It was creepy, staring at the dirt and little grey hairs. Doris patted her own face with her fingertips. Yes: plumper and firmer. Softer. She hadn’t expected that. She settled back smiling and finished watching Valley Girls. She didn’t comment on Jean’s silliness.

When the credits rolled, Ralph groaned out of his chair and shambled over to his wife. Already bent, he slid his glasses up his nose for inspection. Doris closed her eyes. 

“Well. You look exactly the same.”

Her eyes shot open. “No change at all? Oh, Ralph!”


Ralph shuffled towards the kitchen. “And that’s the way I loved you yesterday and will tomorrow. Tea?”

332 words

Strike, a little late

Moving house does two things. It makes you forget all about the other world - that virtual space you occupy. And it makes you wonder about the real space you've created around you. Why do I have so many mugs? How am I going to find a place for that? It's both refreshing and frustrating.

So, after moving to our house by the river in Wasserbillig, Luxembourg, and realising what a wonderful decision we made to live there now that we have a lovely new bed to watch the swans on the river from, Forest Bird is back. 

I've missed writing my flash fiction pieces, for Trifecta and Julia's Place. However, last Monday as I was waiting for my husband, parents and truck to arrive from England with all our things, I checked the week's prompt on my phone and set about writing something on my lap top, sitting on the window sill. I got about 80% of it down before they arrived and then the computer wasn't opened for another eight days. I finished it yesterday. 

Last week's prompt was turkey. The definition: three successive strikes in bowling.

Here is what I wrote. 

Dirty War

Act 2, Scene 3: Bar Wasserbillig, 1969.

Marta, older but still beautiful, is behind the bar. Wilhelm and Kristian are sitting at a small table. Stage right is an old jeux de quills. Wilhelm has just told a story. 

Kristian: [Laughing] Dear friend! I had forgotten that! Though I think you take advantage of my bad memory to make your stories end with you always winning. Isn’t it?
Wilhelm: Drink up. Let’s play. Once before my train.
Kristian: You’re going back? No! Stay! What, at this age, do we have to rush for? We must catch up. [Quieter and more serious] Properly.
Wilhelm: [Looking at Kristian] I know.  

Wilhelm goes to the bowling alley and starts putting the skittles in place. Marta looks at Kristian and smiles, raising her eyebrows towards Wilhelm as he struggles. Kristian nods, mouths thank you and goes to help Wilhelm. 

Kristian: Youngest first, am I right?
Wilhelm: Well then…

Wilhelm takes a ball and steps in front of his friend to bowl. It’s a strike. Marta claps and resets the skittles.

Kristian: As always! Beginner’s luck! 

Kristian takes a ball and does the same. He turns around celebrating.

Kristian: You have the pressure. Remember the last tournament of the war? 

Wilhelm smiles and throws. Another strike. 

Wilhelm: I do. Let’s see what you’ve got. You always surprised me somehow. [Whispers] Always. 

Kristian takes a ball and throws: no strike. 

Kristian: I tried…  He pats Wilhelm on the shoulder.

Wilhelm: I go for a goose.

Wilhelm makes another strike. Kristian claps loudly.

Kristian: You mean turkey.

Wilhelm: What? [He seems distracted and looks at his watch.] I am afraid I must go. It’s late and… Anja will be worried for me.

Kristian: Stay. They look intensely at each other.

Wilhelm: I… can’t.

Wilhelm bids farewell to Marta and Kristian follows him off stage left. You can hear short goodbyes. Kristian enters and sits on the first chair wearily.

Marta: Was that..?


Wilhelm: Yes. The love of my life. 


You can read other entries and winners from last week and check out this week's challenge by clicking here:

Flash fiction - Circles

This weekend's Trifextra challenge has taken a huge swing up The Happy, Hopeful Hill. Hoorah! 

The photo below is our inspiration and you can read my 33-word effort underneath. Click on the photo to read more entries and be sure to comment and vote - there's some wicked (as in brilliant) imaginations and writing over there. There's also a great 2-minute video showing the passing year. The photo is a compilation by Eirik Solheim of different days throughout the year, taken at the same location in Oslo, Norway. Enjoy!

Circles

Every moment before birth; trees smile, the sun winks, leaves cavort. They may rest, but they always return. Daily, monthly, yearly… Life is a rainbow. Open your eyes; you will be reborn, too. 

Flash fiction - Survival

Survival

Gripped by the terror encircling, he cried out one last time. The harrowing silence fell on pointed ears. He sat, limbs curled underneath him; frozen by history and the blinding winter. Old Grey smelt the end.

The cave provided time to think about his next move. He admired the pine trees, like statues ladled with snow. The birds had long gone. And they? Why had he stayed? Pride? His ancient love of living at the edge of life. Major had warned him. But then, Old Grey had always won. Until now.

The forest stretched out before him, his land of battles: for territory, for love, for his family, for his past and their future. The endless winters had broken into summers full of promise, but they now dwindled to nothing. Everything was on the move, and yet… they had remained.

But so had Red. Old Grey pictured those crimson eyes searching the forest’s dark purple corners.  He had to finish this before everything he had survived was lost forever. Red was stronger now, and quicker. Red’s time was soon.

But Old Grey knew parts Red didn’t. He knew holes and ravines and fallen branches that Red still had to find. He stood stiffly and sniffed the air. Trapped bugs, leaves hung with winter’s ice, and forgotten human footprints filled his senses. He closed his eyes.

Little Grey was safe. For now. But he would have to be moved before the next snowfall. Old Grey hated to use the word home, but this is what his horizon was. Major had wanted him to look further. He couldn’t grasp it then. He saw it now. Maj. Remembering her again swiped his breath from his lungs. He opened his eyes and looked out, barely able to face the journey ahead without her.

There was a twinkle in the distance, then two. He might have to say goodbye sooner than he wanted, but he could still save his last son.

He padded out gently into the woods.

The word we had to include was GRASP: its third meaning is to lay hold of within the mind, COMPREHEND.

There's more writing to enjoy; click on the Trifecta icon above. Comments welcome, reads appreciated! 

Flash fiction - 15 days to go

This week over at Trifecta, the word is WEAK and its third definition is:

Weak (adjective): Not factually grounded or logically presented.

I was in the middle of writing something, but then overnight my thoughts took a different course and ended up here. Surprisingly for me. Comments and advice welcome! Click on the icon below to read more entries.

15 days to go

I’m moderating tonight. It’s a surprise, but the guy from CNN’s wife is in labour with twins and was going to divorce him if he did this. I thought they might get some other hotshot to do it, but they chose little old me. Janice keeps texting me. She’s even made popcorn and that idiot neighbour with the big tits is coming over to watch the debate. Like she has a clue. She may have married that senator, but he died. Bet she doesn’t even know which party she’s supposed to vote for. 

It’s not the cameras. It’s not the audience. It’s those two asses I’m worried about. I can’t believe that half this country actually wants one of these loons to run it. And the rest are behind the other cheeseball. I know I’m going to have to resist the urge to knock their heads together.

The red corner: Big, Bad, Well-Oiled and Rich, it’s Red Dickk from Texas! (With two Ks? What is that about? All the better to kick you poor people with?)

The blue corner: Smarmy, Intellectual, Well-Read and Driven, it’s Blue Karl from Vermont! (Karl with a K? You know what his Mamma was thinking about with that one.)

“I believe education is key.”

“It’s what we need for a brighter future.”

“We can make that difference. Can you?”

“We got to be resourceful.”

“That’s weak and you know it. We’ve promised something tangible.”

“History is on our side.”

They keep going, verbally hitting each other with more of the ridiculous and meaningless. I keep them on track. Red Dickk sweats and repeats himself. Blue Karl rolls his eyes and laughs to himself like he knows some secret plan. I wish I had an ejector seat. 

At least everyone back home can turn off. I find out the next day that, incredibly, 50 million people stayed with them, with us; and I won’t be doing the next one.

I should have used my moment more wisely. 

Flash fiction - Decision

A little 33-word story from the photo prompt below from our friends at Trifecta. Happy reading and writing this weekend!

Decision

The moment before leaving the shadows is uncertain, vague. I crack, a delicate, empty vase, with the pressure of the decision: Who am I? Where to go? I step back. I can't, yet.

[ changó ] / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

Please read more entries at www.trifectawritingchallenge.com 

Flash fiction - The Secret

Here is this week's Trifecta challenge. Below is the word and definition we had to use. Click on the icon below to read other entries.

The Secret

They didn’t have words for what they couldn’t see. They knew the rains came; they knew the storms lashed their giant trees: they knew the lightening broke on the winding waters around them. They knew the sun rose in a whirl of misty yellows. They knew the sun set in a myriad of fiery reds. They knew everything about their world and its shadows. But they knew nothing beyond their green horizon. What they couldn’t see was simply the past.

Only Huachawaca knew, had seen. He would only speak of the time he fought the white man when his bones grew cold and he believed his ancestors were coming for him. They never did. He was as strong as the trees, and had seen as much.

The white men were ghosts, cloaked in different colours. They brought terrifying sounds. They moved differently; like they came from a forest which bore different fruit, different materials. They carried obscure objects. The white man was always looking for something. Huachawaca and his brothers gave them their poison. He didn’t know how many years ago it was.

Huachawaca’s great-grandson crouched on his heels, chin on his knees, facing the old man. His hands were tucked into his thighs. Puji listened. He wanted to know why he was afraid.

We band together against the white man because we are this forest. Like the vines that wrap the trees, making everything one and the same. White man doesn’t understand this. White man looks for something else. He doesn’t understand it is all this here: our soul, our land.

The fire crackled. Palms swayed in the breeze. Monkeys could be heard settling. It would soon rain.

Puji kept his hands closed. Inside he held a secret. He knew it was the first secret like it of his tribe. He had no other word for it. But the secret hurt. The green, jacket button pressed into his palm hurt; like a misunderstanding, a wrong footstep in the jungle. 

330 words

BAND (verb) 1: to affix a band to or tie up with a band

2: to finish or decorate with a band

3: to gather together : unite 

                                                                     

Flash fiction - The Moment

I think I'm just in time for this weekend's Trifecta Challenge: a 33-word piece that has a colour in it. Click on the Trifecta icon below to read more challenge entries and, more importantly, vote! Good luck everyone.

The Moment 

Plitvice National Park, Croatia

Delicate yellows hit the cyan waters, conjuring ripples of light across to the mossy emerald rocks. She inhales the morning’s sweet air and reads the water’s stories, its emerald lines reaching across eternity. 

Flash fiction - Super Trouper

I am attempting the short and sweet Trifecta weekend challenge today: 33 words including ring, water and stage. Click on the link below to read other entries or have a go yourself. 

Super Trouper

She doesn’t want this life, but this is her stage. She breathes. Double somersaults, through rings of fire. Carlos catches her before they dive into the invisible water. Cue applause.

Then, she quits. 

33 words

www.trifectawritingchallenge.com

Flash fiction - Overtime

Today I discovered a new flash fiction competition and inspiration has flowed. What a joy just to be and write. Over at Trifecta you are given a word and its third definition as it appears in the. This time you have between 33 and 333 words. Here's my first Trifecta attempt. The prompt and definition is below.

Overtime

She saunters into the room. All eyes turn to her. Her long limbs settle into a chair. She makes it looks like nothing to wear a dress like that. She folds one leg over the other and rests her hands in her lap. Her fingers sparkle with jewels from her travels. She only wears one earring. It’s so fabulous she doesn’t need two. She makes living look so easy.

Our boss starts talking. I am supposed to be writing, but all I can do is look at her. She is wide-eyed, looking at him with her head slightly tilted. She isn’t smiling, but she looks happy. She seems to be listening. I try to do the same. After a while my neck hurts. I obviously don’t tilt my head enough.

She stands and speaks. She doesn’t go to the lectern and use the microphone; she just stands there, amongst us all, speaking to us like she knows us. We’re all friends. Her hands often move about in front of her. One of her rings matches her lipstick and another matches her watch. Does she know this?

Later, she sends me an email. It’s about finance, but her writing is so open and friendly. She should have emailed my boss, but maybe she’s seen something in me. I start her request immediately. I’m not going until I’ve finished.

I’m the last one in the office, but I’m happy. I’ve done a good job and tomorrow she will see that. Maybe she’ll invite me for lunch. We’ll become friends. We’ll go shopping. We could go on holiday together. She’d be great to wander round markets.

I turn out the lights and stop by the toilet. Someone else is still here and she’s in a cubicle crying. It can’t be her. I peek through the crack in the door. It’s the boss’s fat PA with her head in her hands. Phew. It’s not her. I turn and leave, still happy. 

328 words

CRACK

1a : a loud roll or peal  

b : a sudden sharp noise 

2: a sharp witty remark : quip

3a : a narrow break : fissure      

b : a narrow opening —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out 

4a : a weakness or flaw caused by decay, age, or deficiency :unsoundness  

b : a broken tone of the voice  

c : crackpot 5: moment, instant 

Go to www.trifectawritingchallenge.com to read more entries.