Below is the beginning of a story I submitted for Vocal’s #200 Challenge. I had fun daydreaming about what would happen if I entered my writing study to find all my characters waiting to lodge their complaints against me.
“An Author Intervention”
Everyone tells stories. It’s part of being human. But some of us feel called to share our stories with the world, wondering if we might earn a living writing. If you’re one of these types, I warn you, friend, once others learn about your aspirations, they will pepper you with endless questions about how your writing is going until inevitably someone asks the evil, boss-monster of all questions, “Have you published anything yet?”
When this happens, you’d be wise to procure a mighty magic sword. Be sure it bestows daily confidence while being sharp enough to cut a path of clear perspective through any miasma, no matter how thick and rank it is, with fear, doubt, and self-loathing. Be ruthless with this archvillain, the bane of writers everywhere! Don’t hesitate to smite its ruin at first chance, dispatching it back to the hell with which it came, or risk opening the door to a host of inner demons and critics who will thwart every attempt you make to write.
This is precisely what happened to me this past year. Paralyzed by an internalized sense of incompetency, my writing repeatedly stalled until it reached a near-complete stop by year’s end. Thank heaven for the time-honored tradition of making New Year’s resolutions.
There is something beautiful about a fresh start, a new day, a new week, a new month, and the beginning of a new year! Discovering the theme for Vocal’s 200th challenge couldn’t have come at a more opportune time. I dove eagerly into the project, drafting my list of things to accomplish in 2024. I excel at planning but often need help recognizing when to stop prepping and start. My list was long, but I feared it was incomplete, so I didn’t dare begin writing. Frustrated, knowing I was falling into the same old trap, I paused to stand and stretch. When I reached for another sip of that most blessed nectar of the gods of motivation and achievement, coffee, I found my mug empty.
I shuffled out of my study to the kitchen, put another pot of coffee on, went to the bathroom, took the dog for a walk, grabbed a bite, and downed a cup of coffee before filling another. As I inched slowly back to my desk, desperate not to spill the overfull mug, I became aware of hushed voices from my writing study.
I froze and panicked momentarily until I remembered yesterday’s notice on the community bulletin board reminding residents that maintenance was working on this side of the building. Concluding the crew was working outside my window, I relaxed. Turning the corner, I found the door to my study closed. I trembled, knowing I had left the door open.
Bravely or foolishly, I opened the door to find ….
Follow this link below to find out what happened next!
The craft of writing is a journey replete with unexpected ups and downs, and an author is obliged to walk such creative paths with the often unwelcome company of the inner critic.
This autumn, I’ve turned my focus to improving my editing skills. (No easy task for someone prone to obsessively overthinking everything!)
The first “Cracked Stucco” version appeared on this blog site in April of 2022.
I’ve addressed the use of dialogue tags and point of view and fashioned a more robust sense of setting with this new version.
Here is a link to “Cracked Stucco,” 1st version published earlier on this blog. I invite you to compare the two versions to see what I hope is growth in my writing. Please leave any comments regarding the effectiveness (or lack thereof) of my editing changes.
“Cracked Stucco” 2nd Edition
A hulking young man and a petite young woman stood at the end of a desolate road beneath a flickering streetlight. Before them, a rusty sign declared the surrounding area private and promised unlawful entries would be prosecuted. Empty nip bottles, tire tracks, and a well-worn trailhead into the woods spoke differently.
Shaking his head, the young man retreated a couple steps, turned, and adjusted a thick pair of glasses to gaze back down the road.
“Think we parked the car far enough away?”
The young woman gently turned him around again toward the path, taking his hand in hers.
“Yeah, relax,” she said. “Just focus on the pictures I showed you. You’re going to love the place. What do you call that décor again, the one you’re studying now in your design class? I’m sure this place was loaded with it.”
“Art Deco…. oh, Zoey! Stop trying to distract me from legitimate worry! You know my parents will kill me if we’re arrested for trespassing.”
“I think the cops have better things to worry about, Ben.”
“You know investigating the paranormal is considered pseudoscience.”
“Says who?”
“Real scientists.”
“That’s because no one’s captured convincing evidence.”
“I don’t want to be around anything convincingly paranormal, Zoey. Besides, isn’t this place surrounded by razor wire now. How do you expect to get in?”
To continue reading the 2nd edition of this story use the link below to visit Vocal, a story-sharing platform designed to discover, support and reward writers.
Here’s another piece of flash fiction. It needs more work, but I had fun with it. Liked the idea of the woman being fearless while her boyfriend is the scaredy-cat! LOL.
“Sinister Muse”
Ben and Zoey slipped through the hole in a fence surrounding the abandoned estate. Legends of greed, untimely death, and cult activity attracted paranormal enthusiasts to the infamous movie mogul’s home like bugs to a porchlight.
The local authorities made some effort to keep the structure boarded up. Still, a new blog posting details of past investigations had revitalized interest.
“Think we parked the car far enough away?”
“Yeah, relax.”
“My parents will kill me if we’re arrested for trespassing.”
“I think the cops have better things to worry about.”
The couple crept across the overgrown grounds toward the rear of the building.
“This is a bad idea. I can’t see anything.”
“Come on. Don’t wimp out now.”
“I’m not. I’m just stating the obvious.”
“Want me to go back and get the night vision goggles?”
“You have night-vision goggles?”
“No, stupid.”
“Oh.”
“Honestly, you’re so gullible, Ben.”
“How am I supposed to know? You have an infra-red gun, EMF meter, and a voice recorder. I’m surprised you don’t have night-vision goggles.”
“You’re stalling.”
“By all means, then lead the way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you fall into a ditch.”
Zoey kissed Ben on the cheek.
“You’re so sexy when you’re frightened.”
“Wow. That’s dark. Were you a black widow in a previous life?”
“Probably. Now, help me find this poorly secured window someone posted about yesterday.”
A few splinters and a nasty scratch later, Zoey stumbled upon what she was looking for.
“Yes, told you. The plywood comes right off. It looks attached, but the nails are cut. See, just the heads are left.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Let’s just do this before I chicken out.”
They climbed inside, pulling the board back across the window. Thumbing their phone lights on, they began to explore. Zoey scanned the room with the EMF meter.
“Whoa! Zoey! This place is remarkably well-preserved! The furniture’s still here. Filthy, but still all here!”
“I knew you’d love it. I heard the family insisted on leaving everything exactly as it was on the day of the murder.”
“It’s like stepping back to the golden age of Hollywood.”
“Plenty of inspiration here for a set design intern. Still scared?”
“Yes. But, it helps feeling like I’m in a scene from Grand Hotel.”
“Take lots of pictures.”
“You know they debunked ghost orbs. They’re just motes of dust.”
“No, for your scrapbook. Crazy how the owners decorated the place. How much do you think it would cost nowadays to have all this carved wood?”
“Actually, it’s not wood.”
“What?”
“That’s not wood.”
“I heard you the first time. What is it then?”
“Stucco. It’s a kind of plaster. Very versatile. Easier to work with and cheaper.”
“Learn that in architecture?”
“Yep, and while working with my uncle during vacation.”
“Glad to see art school is teaching you something practical.”
“Hey, interior design is a respectable career. My uncle makes tons of money. And it’s safer than investigative journalism. I know you’re dying to cover a war zone someday. Pun intended.”
“Oh, you have no idea, Benny-Boy. I’ll be there in a heartbeat. I’m the next Clarissa Ward.”
“As long as you’re home for dinner.”
“Come on, Martha. Let’s check the rest of this place out.”
Ben followed Zoey out into a hallway.
“Need to find the main stairwell. It’s a hotbed of paranormal activity.”
“Great, now I’m anxious again.”
“Come on, baby. You can hold my hand.”
“I’d rather we went back to the car and made out.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s find the master suite.”
“Sure, because that doesn’t sound like the plot of every horror movie ever made.”
The EMF scanner chirped, startling both of them.
“Ooh, we’re picking something up.”
Zoey squeezed Ben’s hand as they shuffled forward. One by one, indicator lights turned on until the entire array blazed brightly. Before them, a large space loomed.
“Zoey, look. This is the formal entrance. There’s the grand staircase.”
“Loads of EMF activity!”
“Can we leave now?”
“Oh, come on, Ben.”
“I’m sorry. This is super creepy!”
“Just five minutes. I want to take a few temperature readings and try to capture an EVP.”
“Ah, fine!”
“Why don’t you explore the decorum. This part of the house is probably fancier. You know, first impressions and that kind of thing.”
Ben shone a light about the foyer at the bottom of the stairs while Zoey busied herself with ghost hunting.
“You’re right. Check out these wall sconces!”
“Uh, huh. Nice.”
“And the detail around the front door is absolutely exquisite.”
“Temperature’s cooler over here.”
Absorbed in taking photos, Ben stumbled unexpectedly over something.
“What the…? There’s crap all over the place. Watch your step.”
“Uh, huh. I will.”
Picking up a piece of rubble, Ben recognized the chalky, white material.
“Stucco.”
He flipped over another chunk, revealing the cracked visage of a woman.
“That’s a shame.”
“What?”
“Looks like someone decided to tear down and crush all this statuary.”
“Maybe an earthquake?”
“And dumped it all in a pile here?”
“Probably fell from the walls.
“Everything in here seems intact.”
“I don’t know then.”
“Me either. Are you ready to go? I like this place less and less the longer we’re here.”
“I want to go upstairs.”
“Come on. I’m bored and hungry.”
“And scared.”
“Yes, but I think I’ve made a lot of progress today. You’re not going to turn me into a paranormal investigator overnight.”
“Just to the top of the landing. I promise.”
“Fine.”
Zoey grinned and rushed over to give Ben a kiss.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“You better.”
Ben shivered, watching Zoey climb the stairs with the temperature gun in one hand and the EMF meter in the other. Her excitement grew with each step as her equipment’s sensors flashed and beeped with increasing intensity.
“You should come up here! This is amazing.”
“I’m good.”
The EMF meter’s lights silhouetting Zoey fell dark as she reached the last step.
“Damn! Can’t be the battery? I just charged everything.”
Frustrated, she examined the equipment.
“It’s a sign we should go.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let’s go.”
Ben huffed as Zoey lingered.
“Hey! There’s lots more stucco up here. It’s all over the floor.”
Her feet crunched as she moved onto the balcony.
“You said to the top of the stairs. Come on, Zoey! Let’s go!”
“I think I figured out where all your stucco came from. The ceiling’s covered with it. See, I was right. It must have fallen during an earthquake. Look.”
Her phone’s narrow beam of light illuminated a classically-garbed figure.
“Its face is missing. Are there more?”
“Yeah.”
Zoey highlighted another statue.
“Have your tactical flashlight on you?”
“Yes. But, I thought you were worried about attracting attention.”
“Turn it on for a second. I want to see more of the ceiling.”
“Ooh, babe! Risky! I like this new, brave Ben.”
“Shut up and just do it.”
An oblong patch of light spilled across the ceiling revealing elaborate decorations and multiple effigies of robed women.
“It’s the muses.”
“How can you tell?”
“Easy. That one’s Urania with the globe and compass. There’s Terpsichore with a lyre. That one’s quite damaged, but I can see the comedy mask and shepherd’s staff. That’s Thalia. Besides, there are nine figures, one for each Greek muse.”
“You think someone vandalized these?”
“I mean, I guess an earthquake could have, but only the faces have been damaged.”
Zoey headed back toward the staircase.
“Hey, Ben? Something’s odd.”
Zoey’s voice sounded tense.
“What?”
“Only five have been defaced.”
“So?”
“Someone did this on purpose. And I think I know why.”
“Why?”
“You probably can’t see from down there, but scratches connecting the destroyed heads are scored into the plaster.”
“Probably caused by whatever they used to scrape the stucco away.”
“Maybe.”
Zoey’s step quickened as she descended the stairs.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to scare you, but you know there’s one thing I don’t mess around with when doing an investigation.”
“You mean…?”
“Don’t say it.”
Zoey stood close to Ben, squeezing his hand tight as she peered up.
“Five faces destroyed. Look at the order, the spacing. The lines are difficult to see down here, but that’s a pentagram.”
“That settles it. I’m definitely not a ghost hunter.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Happily.”
Ben stopped short and turned.
“Put that crazy-ass light out.”
“No one’s going to see it. The place is boarded up.”
“Please turn it off.”
“Ok, ok.”
Darkness engulfed the room, surprising both of them.
“Turn your phone light back on!”
“It was on! Turn yours on!”
“I’m trying!”
“Stop fucking around, Zoey!”
“I’m not!”
“Use the flashlight again!”
“Give me a sec!”
“Zoey!”
“It’s not working either!”
The EMF meter squawked, indicator lights blazing.
“Zoey! The ceiling! Look at the ceiling!”
“Just run!”
Fleeing, Zoey glanced up. Unearthly eyes shone down menacingly from the five ruined faces forming the points of an eerily shimmering pentagram.
Observing the approach of twilight, Tony smiled. He was an avid, amateur astronomer.
Ah, nothing better than stargazing on a clear, moonless winter night.
Yet, unbeknownst to Tony, something even better was about to happen.
Cold air stung his lungs as he stepped outside. He wished he had remembered to bring a hat. Road salt crunched beneath his feet. Buttoning his coat tightly, hands deep in his pockets, he began his nightly walk around the block.
Rounding the bend, Venus blazed brilliantly, low in the western sky.
Hey there, Gorgeous!
Tony settled into a modest pace.
The twinkling lights from neighborhood windows paled in comparison to nature’s display above. Craning his neck, he greeted each constellation like an old friend.
Glorious! Simply glorious!
On his return, Tony noticed his next-door neighbor peering out suspiciously. Every night the older woman sat sentinel on her porch. Her presence always made him feel like an intruder. He imagined her scolding.
Don’t step on my lawn! Pick up your dog’s poop! Drive carefully! Don’t speed! Whose car is that? Who is this stranger? Why is that man looking at me?
Hoping to convey he was stargazing, Tony scanned the sky with exaggerated gestures like a man playing charades.
No interloper here, Gisele. No one is peering into windows.
Turning his back to his neighbor, Tony looked up across the street. An unfamiliar sight immediately caught his attention.
A long chain of blinking lights stretched across a sizable length of the sky.
What is that?
The lights resembled airplane headlights. Tony figured there were at least forty moving in close formation. But they weren’t moving toward Tony. Instead, they sidled slowly across the sky like a train.
It can’t be airplanes! Those lights are moving together as one object! I need someone else to see this!
Tony fumbled for his phone and called his daughter. Waiting for her to answer, he watched, mesmerized as the leading lights faded. One by one, the lights vanished like the portholes of a turning ocean liner.
“No! No! No! No! Come on! Wait!”
His daughter answered.
“Why are you yelling?”
“Isabel, come out here! Quick! Something’s in the sky. You need to see this!”
“Ok, ok! Give me a second. I’m in my pajamas.”
Isabel didn’t make it outside in time.
“They’re gone,” Tony said.
“What happened? What’s gone?”
Tony explained what he saw.
“Do you think it was a UFO?” Isabel asked.
“I don’t know. It sure wasn’t a plane. It was way too long!”
“How long was it?”
“It was as long as that house’s roof, but far away, up in the sky.”
“That long?!”
“Yeah. I wish you or someone else had seen it.” Tony said dejectedly.
“Wait. Look online to see if anyone else saw it.” Isabel offered.
“Nothing is going to be online yet,” Tony said. “Oh! Maybe, I could ask Mrs. Boulanger if she saw anything? She’s sitting on her porch as usual.”
“No, Dad. That’s a bad idea. You’ll frighten her. I’ll get my phone and google it.”
His daughter ran inside. Tony remained outside, hoping the lights would reappear. A few minutes later, she hurried back.
“Satellites? Guess that’s pretty cool, but it would have been even better if it was a UFO.”
Later that evening, sitting by the fire, Tony reflected. Forty years ago, before the advent of the internet, he would have wholly believed those lights were extraterrestrial.
December 2, 2021: The Pentagon, Washington D.C. – 10:48 PM
“Quick thinking, Colonel.”
“Yes, well, we sure as hell can’t have the whole nation panicking. Damn ETs!”
“Perhaps, tonight’s visitors were new? They certainly didn’t follow the protocols for a visitation. Should I place a call to the galactic ambassador?”
“Yes.”
“Should I file a complaint?”
“No. Don’t need to ruffle any alien feathers or scales. Politely remind them they need to prevent rogue excursions into the atmosphere. We still need to figure out how to disclose contact officially. In the meantime, we need the lead time to concoct a plausible excuse the public will buy.”
Mythos Creative Writing 