I have been recently been writing pieces at the cool site Thinking Ten. Here is a list of pieces I have done so far. Feel free to have a look...
Til Death Do Us Part
The Lovin' Spoonfuls
My Favourite Haunt
Memories On The Breeze
S'nuffin' But A Good Time
Accidental Bombing On The News
Sad Wings Of Destiny
Kill Me Again
This is two weeks worth of posts...will try to keep them a little more regular from now on.
If you have the time, pop in and have a look. Most posts are only 3-4 paragraphs, and the site itself is great practice.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
(Near) Death Of A Salesman
Last week, I failed to get a piece in for Friday Flash Fiction due to a number of reasons. This week, Cormac Brown is having a well-deserved week off so I thought I would use this time to write a story using last week's starter sentence which was supplied by none other than Paul D. Brazill.
(Near) Death Of A Salesman
The trouble with me is that I never realise how deep in the shit I am until I'm choking on the stuff. Right now, I don’t reckon I could have gotten any deeper – face first in the gutter, a boot on the back of my head, and a couple of shotguns pointed at me. Yeah, I reckon the shit was pretty deep right now.
Right from the get-go this morning I knew today was going to turn to shit. A flat tire kicked off my morning, the temperature was going to be in the high thirties, and my decidedly younger girlfriend had decided it was time to call it quits as her father had threatened that if he found out who was doing his teenage daughter, he was going to kill them – slowly.
I stopped in at the corner deli for a sandwich and a cool drink. Sitting in the air-conditioned comfort, I decided that today was going to be my last. Twenty-nine calls this morning and I could only convince one person to join up. I stared at the “best chance” cards in my hand and decided that one more would do and then I would hand in my resignation. The boss wouldn’t care – he fucking hates me anyway.
After lunch, I drove to my final door-knock in the insurance game. It was a huge place – a mansion, some would say. A circular driveway took me right up to the front door where I was greeted by two huge Dobermans, eager to take chunks of my flesh for their dinner. A man appeared at the doorway, whistled, and the dogs disappeared around the back of the house as quickly as they had appeared.
I got out of my car and headed for the door. The guy, dark hair slicked back, looked as if he had just recently stepped out of the shower – or a Hollywood Mafia film. Either way, I didn’t want to disturb him for any longer than I had to so I approached him and cleared my throat.
“Good afternoon, Sir, are you the man of the house?”
The homeowner didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded his head towards the door and ushered me inside.
The interior of the place was captivating; floor-to-ceiling mirrors, crystal chandeliers and leather couches. What caught my attention more, however, was the silenced pistol that had magically materialised in his hand.
“Who the fuck are you?” The stranger took one step towards me, expressionless as he lifted the pistol and aimed it directly at my head. “And what the fuck do you want?”
“Dude, I am just an insurance salesman – I just sell insurance.”
“Do I look stupid to you? Do you think I am a complete idiot? Is that what you think?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. The gun was making me nervous and I looked around, trying to locate any avenue of escape. He smiled at me, closing the distance between us until I could smell his cologne (or quite possibly what he had had for lunch.)
“So, you are just a lowly insurance salesman, huh? Life insurance, I hope – for your sake.” He looked me up and down, and seemed to realise that I was no threat to him. “Okay, I’m interested.”
I didn’t have the faintest notion how to sell insurance to a man holding a weapon and I could sense that he would use that gun with only the slightest provocation.
“Do you mind pointing that thing somewhere else while I get the paperwork out my bag? It is really making me nervous.”
The stranger chuckled and nodded, placing the pistol down gently on the end stand next to the couch.
Just as I started on the company spiel, a young, gorgeous brunette walked in the front door. She bounced into the lounge-room where I was and came to a grinding halt. The smile dropped from her face as she recognised me, and I her. She shook her head and gestured silence.
“Hi Daddy, how was your morning?”
I felt myself groan inwardly. Daddy? Oh, I am such a fucking dead man.
“Hey, princess. Been keeping out of trouble?”
“Always, Daddy, you know that.” Daddy could see me staring at his daughter; I hated to think what kind of expression was plastered on my face – didn’t take long to find out.
“What are you staring at, asshole?” He picked the gun back up and ran his fingers across the black steel. “Not staring at my daughter, I hope.”
“No, Sir, I wasn’t staring at Heather...” Oh shit.
“How do you know my...”
“Daddy, can I see you in the office? Like, right now?”
I could see Daddy was torn between the wishes of his daughter and wanting to find out how I knew his daughter’s name.
“You stand right fucking there and don’t fucking move or I will shoot you dead on the spot. I ain’t done with you yet. Capisce?”
I nodded dumbly, afraid to make even the slightest movement for fear of discovering just how serious he was.
Heather and her dad had been gone only a few moments when I heard shouts from the other room. All I could make out were the words bastard (him) and run (her). I figured that was my cue and made a break for the front entrance.
Flinging the front door open, I made a break for freedom. In my haste I failed to notice the two burly guys sitting on the bonnet of an Olds in the driveway, nor did I see them step quickly in my path. What I did see, however, was the giant fist as it careened into my face and knocked me on my ass. I struggled to get to my feet until one of the human tanks connected his right foot with my ribcage, sending me sprawling into the gutter.
So, here I lay - face first in the gutter, a boot on the back of my head, and a couple of shotguns pointed at me. Yeah, I reckon the shit was pretty deep right now.
(Near) Death Of A Salesman
The trouble with me is that I never realise how deep in the shit I am until I'm choking on the stuff. Right now, I don’t reckon I could have gotten any deeper – face first in the gutter, a boot on the back of my head, and a couple of shotguns pointed at me. Yeah, I reckon the shit was pretty deep right now.
Right from the get-go this morning I knew today was going to turn to shit. A flat tire kicked off my morning, the temperature was going to be in the high thirties, and my decidedly younger girlfriend had decided it was time to call it quits as her father had threatened that if he found out who was doing his teenage daughter, he was going to kill them – slowly.
I stopped in at the corner deli for a sandwich and a cool drink. Sitting in the air-conditioned comfort, I decided that today was going to be my last. Twenty-nine calls this morning and I could only convince one person to join up. I stared at the “best chance” cards in my hand and decided that one more would do and then I would hand in my resignation. The boss wouldn’t care – he fucking hates me anyway.
After lunch, I drove to my final door-knock in the insurance game. It was a huge place – a mansion, some would say. A circular driveway took me right up to the front door where I was greeted by two huge Dobermans, eager to take chunks of my flesh for their dinner. A man appeared at the doorway, whistled, and the dogs disappeared around the back of the house as quickly as they had appeared.
I got out of my car and headed for the door. The guy, dark hair slicked back, looked as if he had just recently stepped out of the shower – or a Hollywood Mafia film. Either way, I didn’t want to disturb him for any longer than I had to so I approached him and cleared my throat.
“Good afternoon, Sir, are you the man of the house?”
The homeowner didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded his head towards the door and ushered me inside.
The interior of the place was captivating; floor-to-ceiling mirrors, crystal chandeliers and leather couches. What caught my attention more, however, was the silenced pistol that had magically materialised in his hand.
“Who the fuck are you?” The stranger took one step towards me, expressionless as he lifted the pistol and aimed it directly at my head. “And what the fuck do you want?”
“Dude, I am just an insurance salesman – I just sell insurance.”
“Do I look stupid to you? Do you think I am a complete idiot? Is that what you think?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. The gun was making me nervous and I looked around, trying to locate any avenue of escape. He smiled at me, closing the distance between us until I could smell his cologne (or quite possibly what he had had for lunch.)
“So, you are just a lowly insurance salesman, huh? Life insurance, I hope – for your sake.” He looked me up and down, and seemed to realise that I was no threat to him. “Okay, I’m interested.”
I didn’t have the faintest notion how to sell insurance to a man holding a weapon and I could sense that he would use that gun with only the slightest provocation.
“Do you mind pointing that thing somewhere else while I get the paperwork out my bag? It is really making me nervous.”
The stranger chuckled and nodded, placing the pistol down gently on the end stand next to the couch.
Just as I started on the company spiel, a young, gorgeous brunette walked in the front door. She bounced into the lounge-room where I was and came to a grinding halt. The smile dropped from her face as she recognised me, and I her. She shook her head and gestured silence.
“Hi Daddy, how was your morning?”
I felt myself groan inwardly. Daddy? Oh, I am such a fucking dead man.
“Hey, princess. Been keeping out of trouble?”
“Always, Daddy, you know that.” Daddy could see me staring at his daughter; I hated to think what kind of expression was plastered on my face – didn’t take long to find out.
“What are you staring at, asshole?” He picked the gun back up and ran his fingers across the black steel. “Not staring at my daughter, I hope.”
“No, Sir, I wasn’t staring at Heather...” Oh shit.
“How do you know my...”
“Daddy, can I see you in the office? Like, right now?”
I could see Daddy was torn between the wishes of his daughter and wanting to find out how I knew his daughter’s name.
“You stand right fucking there and don’t fucking move or I will shoot you dead on the spot. I ain’t done with you yet. Capisce?”
I nodded dumbly, afraid to make even the slightest movement for fear of discovering just how serious he was.
Heather and her dad had been gone only a few moments when I heard shouts from the other room. All I could make out were the words bastard (him) and run (her). I figured that was my cue and made a break for the front entrance.
Flinging the front door open, I made a break for freedom. In my haste I failed to notice the two burly guys sitting on the bonnet of an Olds in the driveway, nor did I see them step quickly in my path. What I did see, however, was the giant fist as it careened into my face and knocked me on my ass. I struggled to get to my feet until one of the human tanks connected his right foot with my ribcage, sending me sprawling into the gutter.
So, here I lay - face first in the gutter, a boot on the back of my head, and a couple of shotguns pointed at me. Yeah, I reckon the shit was pretty deep right now.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Blog*Trivia*Challenge - At The Bijou
Everyone likes a challenge - Absolutely*Kate does things LARGE!
So when Kate fires up the ol' Bijou and issues a challenge, you can always be assured of one thing - it is going to be a blast!!
Head on over to and check out the challenge HERE.
As a side note, Absolutely*Kate has also included her list of Sunshine Awards here. Go and see who brightens her day - you may find a spot of sunshine for yourselves!
I would also like to take the time to thank Kate for her support of my writing and many other writer types. She works ceaselessly to promote others and deserves all the recognition that I can throw her way.
Kate, you are truly a one-of-a-kind gal...that's why we loves ya!!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Sunshine Of Your Blog...
"I've been writing not long
You be where I'm going
In the sunshine of your blog..."
Okay, I know that was bad but I had to try and think of something...
David Barber, a very cool and versatile writing dude, has nominated me for a Sunshine Award. The rules for me were pretty simple to follow:
1. Put the logo on the blog within your post.
2. Pass the award on to 12 bloggers.
3. Link to the nominees within your post.
4. Let the nominees know they have received the award by commenting on their blogs.
5. Share the love and link to the person from whom you received this award.
So, thanks David, I do appreciate it.
So, on to my list. It is as follows:
Absolutely*Kate & Amazing Ensemble - At The Bijou
Laurita Miller - Brain Droppings
Anthony Venutolo - Bukowski's Basement
Daniel Stine - Daniel's In China
Jodi MacArthur - Fiction Writer - Jodi MacArthur
Lee Hughes - leehughes.net
Erin Cole - Listen To The Voices
Mike Whitney - Livin' In The Hills
Michael Solender - Not From Here, Are You?
Tess Dickinson - Thoughts From Tess
Nicole Hirschi - CJT's Word Vamp
Paul Brazill - You Would Say That, Wouldn't You?
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Thinking Ten - A Writer's Playground
"Each weekday morning, a themed writing prompt will be posted. What improvised story ("daily flash") can you create in ten minutes?"
That is the introduction to Thinking Ten - A Writer's Playground. Created by Blake N. Cooper, I stumbled across this site from a link he had added at Six Sentences.
The Point
Practice—that's the point of Thinking Ten. My goal, here, is to create a place you can come to each day to get your reps in, learn from others in the ThinkingTen community, and, ultimately, strengthen your craft.
The creative process—more specifically, the art of preparation and practice—feels like it's fading and this site is my attempt to reverse the trend. Full disclosure: I want to be part of your day—if only for ten minutes. No matter at what level you consider your writing skills to be, it is my hope that you jump into the ThinkingTen world, practice your craft by participating in the daily (weekday) prompts, and offer some feedback to other writers putting themselves out there.
Do yourself a favour and go and have a look. It has certainly been a great experience for me so far.
That is the introduction to Thinking Ten - A Writer's Playground. Created by Blake N. Cooper, I stumbled across this site from a link he had added at Six Sentences.
The Point
Practice—that's the point of Thinking Ten. My goal, here, is to create a place you can come to each day to get your reps in, learn from others in the ThinkingTen community, and, ultimately, strengthen your craft.
The creative process—more specifically, the art of preparation and practice—feels like it's fading and this site is my attempt to reverse the trend. Full disclosure: I want to be part of your day—if only for ten minutes. No matter at what level you consider your writing skills to be, it is my hope that you jump into the ThinkingTen world, practice your craft by participating in the daily (weekday) prompts, and offer some feedback to other writers putting themselves out there.
Do yourself a favour and go and have a look. It has certainly been a great experience for me so far.
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