'A' Is for...??

The A-Z Blogfest is finally here!  And ‘cause that’s how we roll, Jessica Bell and I have teamed up -- once again -- as writing partners.  We decided to challenge ourselves with identical A-Z prompt words. 

Together, we created our list of twenty-six nouns, all of which are emotions.   Each day, we will each write a paragraph showing a character feeling that emotion.  It’s going to be fun for us to read what the other has come up with!  And, hopefully it will be fun for our blog visitors, too.  

Here’s how we want to draw you into our little fest: Say, for example, the prompt for A (today) was 'Acceptance' (it's not, btw).  You read my post, and then, awesome reader, you have the opportunity to GUESS in the comments what emotion my character portrayed.  After, click the link at the bottom of my post to visit Jessica’s blog and read her paragraph.  Still think you guessed the right emotion, based on her flash?  We’d can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Here's my 'A' Entry:

Caty screamed, at the pain, at the pain.  Relentless, it crashed in overlapping waves, drowning every corner of her mind and every inch of her body.   The world was one, giant, cruel vortex, pulling her down, down and inside-out.  She gasped, gulping the air, and screamed again.  From somewhere Gary’s voice floated, reminding her to pant.  She spat a string of stinging obscenities at him.  Another voice, commanding, insisting, announced that this was "it."  The voice called her name, twice.  It ordered her to focus now; now, now you push.  Harder, Caty.  That’s it, here she comes, Caty.  And Gary’s voice coached in her ear; his gentle hands held her under the arms, pushed forward on her back, his strength seeping through her skin and into her soul.  And she was one with the pain, the pain was one with her.

Gary eased Caty back against the pillows, as the doctor laid the baby in her arms.  Giant navy eyes stared up at her.  Caty stared, stared back.  The pain was gone.  Gary wiped a stringy strand of hair to the side of Caty’s brow, and a tear fell and mingled with her sweat when he kissed her forehead.  She couldn’t think, couldn’t process what her eyes saw, her ears heard, her heart felt.  Her daughter was here, she was her.  She was the most beautiful thing Caty had ever seen, and she was really here.

So, can you guess the emotion (a noun) depicted in this piece that begins with the letter ‘A’? (Hint: The prompt word I share with Jessica is gleaned from the second paragraph, but I can think of an emotion or two that fits the first paragraph.  Guess at both, if you like!)  All guesses and thoughts in general are welcome!  And please shoot over to Jessica’s blog to read her interpretation of our ‘A-prompt word.  Here’s the link!

                                    

You've Come a Long Way, Baby

Christine Hardy @ The Writer's Hole had a fun idea for today's You've Come a Long Way, Baby Blogfest.  Since the craft of creative writing is a journey, she thought it'd be fun to share some of our earlier work, illustrating just how far we'd come since, you know, back then.  So, below is a piece of flash fiction I wrote in May of 2008.

It was for a daily contest, which asked me to produce in 24 hours a 300-word (maximum) short story, incorporating the prompt words:  Rainbow, Bicycle, and Backpack.  (psst!  This entry actually won the contest that day!)

When I read this back, I have to smile.  There are FOUR -ly adverbs in the first paragraph.  But they're hardly noticeable, forced to share a paragraph with such garish attempts at lush descriptions, calling attention to themselves.  It's as if all those fancy words and pretentious phrases had little arms, waving at me.  It screams amateur. LOL.  I'm happy to say I opt for more concise descriptions now, simple words that pack a mean punch, more bang for the buck. Okay, 'nuf said.  Here you are; enjoy :))

Safe

         A rapt spectator of uninhibited childhood bliss, Alan hovered on the porch as his young son played in the yard, tossing a rainbow colored ball high over his head. Eyes tightly shut against the dazzling sun, the boy giggled as he reached up to catch the ball. It ricocheted off miscalculating hands, and bounced down the slight incline toward the street. Alan’s smile faltered and his eyes grew steadily wider as he saw his son turn in the ball’s direction. With surging dread, his eyes followed as the boy scampered after it. Alan tried to run, but his suddenly cumbersome legs wouldn’t budge. He shouted, but no sound issued from his mouth. Rooted to the spot by unseen forces, he helplessly watched his son dash into the street as an electric blue car with tinted windows crested the hill. Never decelerating, the car barreled straight for him. Alan stretched out his arms, groping, pleading. “NNNnnooooooooo!”

         He woke with a start. His heart was racing and beads of perspiration clung to his upper lip. Sitting up on the couch, he ran a hand through his hair, impatient for the dream to dissipate. He wanted -- needed -- to be with his son. 

         Standing, he called out, “Honey? Where’s Jimmy?”

         His wife’s muffled voice answered, “Outside!”

         Nudging shoes and a discarded backpack out of the way, he pried open the front door. Jimmy was riding his bicycle along the sidewalk. “Son,” he called, “wanna shoot some hoops?”

         “Sure, Dad!” Jimmy answered, hopping off his bike and letting it topple to the ground with a crash. A moment later, as Alan draped an arm around the boy’s shoulders, the tranquil air was disrupted by the swell of a rumbling engine. Looking up, Alan’s pulse quickened as an electric blue car with tinted windows came barreling into view.

*~*~*~*

Thanks for reading!  Please visit the other participants' blogs over the weekend.  The Mr. Linky list can be found HERE on Christine's blog.

Have a fantastic weekend!

                                    

Off-the-Cuff Poetry: Double Acrostic

I'm feeling lots of love and harmony in my universe today, mostly because my sweet friend and crit partner showered me with both on her blog today.  I hope you pop over to visit Jessica Bell today, to see first hand why such a talented writer is also an amazing friend.

I'm into Day #7 of the 15 For 15 contest at Writing.com.  Halfway there!  Each day, out of the 50 entries the contest judge chooses her five favorites as that day's "winners."  Top pick gets 1004 points, second gets 1003, and so on.  A scoreboard is updated every day.  If you miss two entries in a row, you're dropped from the competition.  At the end of the 15 days, the writer with the most accumulated points "wins."  (Prizes of the sites virtual tokens are awarded the first, second and third place winners.)  Of course, it's not about the points.  If you stretch your writing muscles, rising to the challenge every day and producing creative, inspired entries, you WIN.

That said, I won yesterday, earning 1004 points.  My entry follows, but first here's what I wrote for the current photo which will be judged today:

When I first saw it, I groaned.  I suck at fantasy writing.
I went the metaphor route, instead.

                                      Heinous  m ~ o ~ n ~ s ~ t ~ e ~ r   HatreD

                                      Asphalt black, arched back, winged warrioR

                                      Terrorizing, blow torched words; boiling anger-spA

                                      Rancor rooted in fearful heart    ~~   RaginG

                                      Extinguish your flaming snout! Spout no mO'

                                      Decide to love, even that which you have yet to learN

And here is yesterday's prompt. The squirrel in this photo is actually a Malabar Giant Sqirrel.  Lives in India.  Go figure! My entry is below.  

Miss Pamela Parrot, while grooming the long red feathers in her right wing, noticed movement below on the forest floor. She pulled her beak away and cocked her head so she could see better out of the facing eye.

What in tar-nation? she wondered.

A furry mass of vibrant blue and red scuttled to the base of a long-dead tree just opposite the tree Miss Pamela perched upon. Her pupil dilated and constricted, trying to better focus on it, as the thing climbed with lightening speed to the topmost nubs of broken trunk. It was only then that she could pinpoint what she was seeing.

"Little Scotty Squirrel? Is that you?"

Scotty Squirrel didn't answer. He stared straight ahead, whiskers twitching in concentration. At the same time the tip of his pink tongue snuck out the corner of his snout, he lifted three paws off his wooden perch. Wobbling wildly, he clamped his claws back down, righting himself before he tumbled into the airy void. Then, composed, he tried again.

"Scotty? Son, what are you doing there? And what's happened to your beautiful golden coat. Looks like someone tried to paint a canvas with your pelt!" She cackled at the thought.

Scotty almost lost his balance again and glared at Pamela. She eyed him again, and a thought dawned in her mind. Slowly, she lowered the leg tucked up against her breast and wrapped the talons around the branch, side-by-side with the other claw. Scotty seemed relieved and placed again all four of his paws on solid wood.

"I've come," he began, then cleared his throat. He began again. "I've come, Miss Pamela, to ask your hand in marriage."

Miss Pamela began to laugh, but caught herself just in time. Little Scotty's eyes were bright, hard. He was completely serious.

Miss Pamela tossed her head, then bowed it. Raising her eyes, she said, "I'm very flattered, Scotty. Honest, I am! But, dear, we are two very different species."

"But I love you!"

She stretched her wings, flapped them before refolding them at her sides. "You are the sweetest little thing! But we live different lives, eat different things. And besides, I'm so old, I remember when your great-great-great-great grandparents were born!"

Scotty Squirrel carefully stood on his two hind legs. A breeze threatened to topple him but he held fast. When he was sure of his balance, he looked up and into Miss Pamela's eyes. "It's okay. You aren't ready. I understand. I can wait...."

As he raced down the tree trunk headfirst, he wondered what on earth parrots ate...

Thanks so much for reading!  Have a fantastic day :D

    

                                

Off-the-Cuff Contest Entry #3

This is the exact photo prompt for yesterday's 15 For 15 Contest.  My strategy when drawing inspiration from these prompts is to avoid the obvious, and find the clever story hidden deep in the picture.  This time, for example, I didn't want to do a western-style story, a cowboys and Indians scenario, or a period piece from the 1800s.  Here is what I did come up with.  As always, forgive the punctuation and verb tense mishaps.  I wrote this in exactly 15 minutes (maybe going over by 30 seconds or so...)


Don't be too quick to judge, Lydia's inner voice chastised. She peered through the restaurant's front windows, but humidity fogged it from the inside. She took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

It wasn't so much a restaurant as it was a bar. This thought, too, dripped with conflicted disdain, and Lydia scolded herself again. This was what she'd expected, after all. She was meeting a man for the first time who she'd connected with on an online dating site. Of course the restaurant turned out to be a bar. And the hot guy in Stuart's profile picture would probably turn out to be George Costanza.

Her eyes scanned the scene that seemed to dance with the strobing lights. A hand shot up, waved. And there he was, standing and smiling, beckoning to her. Oh God, Stuart was even more gorgeous than the photo.

Talk of their work, her at the library and him in Delivery and Receiving, was brief. The dance floor called to them. They laughed the evening away. Her life as a librarian was turning upside down in a matter of hours. With each martini she decided with firmer resolve to stop living life in hushed tones. It was time for her to live out loud. Stuart, Lydia was pleased to learn, could really move his body. And there was a sense of humor to his style of dance, like he didn't take himself too seriously. She liked that. It was refreshing.

Hours later and after constant shushing of her prudent inner voice, they ended up at Stuart's apartment. He went to the kitchette to open a bottle of wine, leaving Lydia at the other end of the studio's main room. An armoire stood in the corner, its door ajar. Lydia shot a look at Stuart's back, muscles rippling as he worked the cork screw. She giggled, emboldened by the liquor, and swung open the armoire door. Her jaw dropped.

Costumes hung from one end of the armoire to the other. Sequins and leather, uniforms of every sort, handcuffs, whips, hats. She reached a shaky hand in and pulled a hanger out. Cowboy regalia including a gun holster, sheriff's badge, boots with spurs and chaps dangled before her shock-stricken face. Stuart's shuffled step sounded behind her. She spun around.

"What the hell is all this?"

"My work clothes," Stuart answered with a gleem in his eye.

"I thought you were in "Delivery and Receiving."

"Yeah, I deliver singing telegrams, sometimes. I also strip for parties. Bachelorette, birthday, retirement... Hey, you chose my favorite. This is an awesome act. Wanna see it?"

Lydia stared at his open, honest face. Pure joy shone in his eyes. There was no embarrassment, no shyness. No hushed tones. Her eyes dove down, scanned his body and then lingered on the items on the hanger in her hand.

Remember, her inner voice cooed, don't be too quick to judge...

                                    

Off-the-Cuff Contest Entry #1

This isn't the exact photo prompt from yesterday's 15 For 15 Contest (read contest explanation here), but it's close enough.  In the original, the trees have no leaves, taken in wintertime.  The following is my entry, written (per the contest rules) in only 15 minutes.  The goal is not to have a polished, typo-free piece.  There are plenty of places I would have liked to tighten up, but didn't have the time.  So, here it is, raw, by-the-seat-of-my-pants writing. :D

Marcus dragged on the cigarette pinched between his index finger and thumb. Numbing cold seeped through his britches from the park bench, despite its position in full sun, but he didn't mind. He'd rather sit here all day than return to work. When you rinse four star restaurant slop off fine China all day, you face your 'have-not' reality every minute of every hour. It wore him down. His fifteen minute break was more valuable to him than the restaurant's finest bottle of wine.

He blew a plume of smoke downwind and his eyes fell on the man making his way up the path. Marcus narrowed his eyes. The man's utilitarian clothing appeared too big for his frame and hung on his body like a sack. His bald head was dropped back and he stared straight up at the sky as he walked. As he neared Marcus's bench, the toe of his black rubber shoe hit a rock and he stumbled.

"Eh. Watch where you're going, dumb ass," Marcus said.

The man leveled his gaze. He was younger than Marcus had first thought. His drawn skin and stubbled chin suggested mid-forties, but now Marcus decided he couldn't be older than thirty.

"Yeah. Thanks," the man said. "It's just the sky is so blue. And those trees, well, they're things of beauty."

Marcus looked up. The trees looked dead to him. Leafless. Cold. "Whatever, man," he said, looking across the park to the restaurant. By his watch, he had five more minutes before he had to get back.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Marcus saw the man still stood there. He motioned his indifference.

"I just got out of the slammer," the man said, sitting.

An eyebrow shot up. He had Marcus's attention. "You were in prison?"

"Yeah, ten years, man."

"What'd you do?"

"I was convicted of attempted murder. But it was bullshit. Someone tried to whack my wife. They pinned it on me."

Marcus raised his chin. "No kidding. That sucks, man."

The man chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. "Shit. Ten years is a long time to not see trees. I can't stop looking at them."

"You served your whole sentence?"

"Nope. Turns out my wife's boyfriend did it. Thank God for all that fancy DNA testing they can do now. Found out a week ago, and today I'm free. Just like that."

"Your wife's boyfriend...?" Marcus asked while checking his watch. He had to get back. "That's some story. Glad you're out. I gotta get back to work." He offered his hand as he stood to leave.

The man shook it. Marcus took a few steps then turned to look over his shoulder.

"What's the first thing you're going to do, now that you're a free man?" Marcus asked.

The man smiled a churlish grin, cold as the trees. "First thing I'm gonna do is kill my wife."

                                    

Kowalski, progress report!

Update!

The speculative fiction short I wrote for a contest that I blogged about in Monday's post got me through to the Final Round!

When the contest began on August 30th, there were nineteen competitors.  Based on the entries in each of three rounds, participants were eliminated.  Now, there are just three of us left standing.

Tonight at 10:00 p.m. (EST) the final prompt will be posted.  I'll have two weeks to write my entry.  When the entries are judged, the winner will be announced, as well as second and third place winners.  Wish me luck!

And, for anyone dying to read my story (*snort*), here's the link again:

Controlling Nature

Happy Hump Day to All!

A Closer Look at Speculative Fiction

The challenge before me last week was write a short story contest entry in the Speculative Fiction genre, inspired by the following prompt:

Practice is nothing to be sneezed at.

This particular contest, hosted by WYRM, a writers group at Writing.com that promotes Spec-Fi, is one of my favorites.  I don't normally write speculative fiction, so the contest flings me far outside of my comfort zone.  Since I've been concentrating on the genre for the past month, I thought I'd share what I know here.

Speculative fiction is an umbrella category, under which fall stories usually incorporating elements of science fiction, horror, fantasy, paranormal, etc.  So what makes a story spec-fi, and not simply one of those genres? To answer, you have to focus on the word "speculative."

Speculative fiction premises ask the question, "What if...?"  What if a major world event had ended differently?  What if space aliens walked amongst us?  What if humans took an evolutionary leap, yesterday?  What if...?

I like to think back to the old Twilight Zone television series when I'm brainstorming for spec-fi story ideas.  My favorite episode starred Burgess Meredith as the man who just wanted peace and quiet so he could read.  Suddenly, in typical Twilight Zone fashion, the world ends and Meredith's character is the last man alive.  In his devastation and terror, he stumbles upon the ruins of the public library.  Salvation is his!  Until he trips on the library steps, breaking his coke-bottle thick glasses in the fall.

What distinguishes speculative fiction is that the story's supernatural or other-worldly facet is more than just a sidekick cat that can talk.  It is a fundamental element around which the entire plot swirls.  If you take out that element, the plot collapses.

J. Golden at Squidoo.com has provided an excellent list of sub-genres under the speculative fiction umbrella.  I use it here with permission:

• Alternate History
  Alternate History poses questions about different outcomes to historic events, and how that would alter our known world.
• Apocalypse/Holocaust
  Apocalypse/Holocaust is set in a reality where The World As We Know It ends or has ended.
• Coming of Age (as a species)
  Coming of Age stories redefine what it means to be human when we make an evolutionary leap as a species.
• Contemporary Fantasy
  Contemporary Fantasy has a realistic modern world setting with elements of supernatural forces such as magic or mythological deities occurring through access to another world, realm, or plane.
• Cyberpunk
  Cyberpunk is actually one of the more likely SF genres, with virtual reality & technology inundating every level of society, most of which still have a low quality of life.
• Dystopian
  Dystopian literature is set in dysfunctional utopias.
• Fairy Tales
  Fairy Tales tell a lesson story via human-like beings (fairies, elves), animals with human traits (goblins, trolls), and enchantments and charms, set in a rustic setting.
• Fantasy
  Fantasy is set in medieval or low technology environments with strong dependence on magic and other supernatural elements.
• First Contact
  First Contact stories are about how we react as a species when confronted with other intelligent life for the first time.
• Horror/Dark Fantasy
  Horror/Dark Fantasy develops from supernatural evil or human evil/mental disorder encroaching on ordinary people's lives.
• Magical Realism
  Magical Realism is set in a realistic modern world with the addition of magical elements.
• Science Fiction
  Science Fiction explores potential (far) future developments in technology, space exploration, and human evolution.
• Slipstream
  Slipstream is set in our world ~ almost. There are slight, uneasy making distortions in our reality or else the protagonist has fallen out of the consensual reality but is not insane in any way.
• Steampunk
  Steampunk gives the Victorian era modern technology.
• 
  

I submitted my speculative fiction contest entry last night.  It could be classified as Horror/Dark Fantasy or Slipstream.  It was sooooo hard to write; although, once the main character and plot solidified in my brain I found a rhythm that worked (I think) really well.

Should anyone be interested in reading it (3500 words), here's the link.  To whet your potential reading appetites, I will say this:  the title is a huge play on words that can be interpreted in (at least) three different ways.

Here's the link:  Controlling Nature

How about you?  Ever dabbled in Speculative Fiction?  What do you find is the biggest challenge in the genre?

Let's Talk Blogfest!

Shout-out to the lovely Roni @ Fiction Groupie, for bringing ninety-some bloggers together today for the Let's Talk Blogfest.

I hope you enjoy my entry below, which is a dialog-driven scene from an untitled novella I shelved about a year and a half ago.  One day, I'll dust it off and finish it!

Enjoy!

“One more, sugar?” Dani’s coquettish smile reached over the bar like fingers, caressing the middle-aged man slumped on the stool.  She didn’t wait for his slurred response.  He was a five-bucks-a-round tipper and he’d been here all afternoon.  What more could a girl ask for on an otherwise slow Tuesday? 

Keeping her legs straight, she reached down for the beer cooler below the bar.  The man leaned in for a better view.  Heavy-lidded eyes squinted, as if by sheer concentration he could will her shorts to stretch and reveal yet another inch of firm thigh.  As Dani’s hand wrapped around the handle she glanced up and froze. 

One person stood alone at the far end of the bar.  An explosion of adrenalin shot through Dani’s body, like she’d slipped on a slick floor.    She stared at the face that was both as familiar as her own and oddly foreign.  It’d been almost two years since Dani had last laid eyes on her cousin, Nina.   

Dani straightened, squared her narrow shoulders and jutted one hip, but it was too late to play off her surprise.  Nina smiled slyly, looking, Dani thought, like a satisfied cat with its paw on a dead bird.  Dani leveled her eyes and sauntered down the length of the bar.

The man hollered, “Hey!  Wha’ abou’ my beer?”

“I’ll be right with you, darlin’,” she said sweetly over her shoulder.  When her gaze fell back on Nina, she sneered.  “Well, well.  Look who it is.  You must be lost, or are you just slumming it?”

“Hey Dani.  You look great.”

Dani responded with a cold smile.  Nina rocked back and into the beam of light from a spot directly overhead.  The light cast a harsh glare, so that her face suddenly looked pale and gaunt, her eyes lost in shadow.  Dani’s smile melted as she sucked in her breath, taking in her cousin’s skeletal silhouette.  Nina had always been a plump girl.  How had she become this emaciated form?   

Nina straightened then and took a step forward to place her hands on the bar.  Now, freed from the harsh light and enveloped by the warm glow of a Budweiser sign hung on the wall, the illusion was lost.  Nina’s teenager curves were indeed gone, but Dani realized the caterpillar had become a butterfly.  

Dani brushed a curl and the disorientation from her face.  “Seriously,” she said coolly, “what are you doing here?”

“Come on, cuz!”  Nina smiled, showing her teeth.  “It’s been too long.  I missed you.”

Dani flinched as if she’d been slapped.  “Whose fault is that?” she spat.  “In two years, you haven’t returned my calls, answered my letters.  Hell, you scratched me off your fucking Christmas card list!”

“I know, I know.  I’ve been a bitch,” Nina said softly.  “I really have missed you.  I want you back in my life, Dani.  I need you --” 

Dani’s nostrils flared.  “Oh.  I see.  You need something from me.”

“No!  It’s not like that,” Nina replied quickly.  “I want you to come with me.  On a trip!”

Dani raised one eyebrow and cocked her head, her speech slowed by sarcasm.  “A trip--?”

“Hey Swee’hear’!  I’m gettin’ thirsty over here!” shouted the drunk at the bar.

Dani rolled her eyes.  To Nina, she muttered, “Just a minute.”  She walked away, cooing as she went, “Oh my God!  I completely forgot what I was doin’!”

When Dani came back, Nina was perched on a stool.  Dani placed a glass of cabernet sauvignon in front of her.  “On the house,” she said without emotion.

Nina grinned at the peace offering and looked into her cousin’s face.   “It’s really good to see you, Dani.”

Dani narrowed her eyes to mask her crumbling resolve.  “What’s this all about?   You wrote me out of your life.  I haven’t see you for years, then today --,” she shook her head, sending a long ringlet across one eye, “-- you show up here out of the blue and tell me you want me to take a trip with you?”  Her face froze in mock confusion.  “I don’t think so.”

Nina moved the untouched glass of wine to the side and leaned on the bar.  Her collar bone protruded noticeably.   “Okay, we’ve had our share of problems.”  Dani snorted impishly but Nina ignored her and went on.  “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much time we’ve wasted--”

 “We’ve wasted time?   Please.  I have reached out to you so many times since…well, all that happened,” she stammered.  “You shut me out.”

“I know.”  Nina suddenly seemed tired.  “That’s why I’m here.  I want to fix this -- thing -- between us.  I want my best friend back.”  The sincerity in her voice was unmistakable.  She was looking Dani right in the eyes.  “When we were little, we used to dream about going to the ocean.  Remember?  Let’s go!  It’ll give us time to talk.  To heal.  Come on.  Let’s go to the beach!”

Dani stared at her in disbelief.  “You think I can just pick up and leave with you?  I have a life, a job!  We don’t all have the summer off, like you teachers.”

“You can’t take a couple of days off?”  Nina said it looking past Dani’s shoulder, scanning the near empty bar.  She returned her gaze in time to see Dani’s eyes flick, almost imperceptibly, downward.  Nina pressed on, her voice more confident.   “Think of it.  You and me, relaxing on the white sand, cold beer in hand.  Working on our tans.  You know,” she added, “I’ve still never been to the ocean?”

“What?  Are you kidding me?”  Dani almost sneered.  “Why the hell not?  It’s only four hours away.”

Nina simply grinned, indicating with a raised eyebrow that she was still waiting for an answer.

Dani checked her fingernails, forcing boredom into her voice.  “Sorry, cuz.  Can’t do it.”

Nina sighed.  “Are you sure?  ‘Cause I’m going one way or another.  I’ve already paid for the hotel.  And,” she pointed theatrically toward the front windows, “I rented that for the trip.”

Dani followed her finger to a shiny red corvette parked in the lot.  Her eyes opened wide, “Shut up!” she gasped.  “We’re going in that?”

Please be sure to check out all the other blogfest entries today!  The full list of participants is HERE.

Alternate Version Blogfest Entry

I'm going to share my blogfest entry in a minute, but first I want to explain this photo. As usual, I was up and at my computer around 5:45 this morning. My daughter woke early, even though it's Spring Break, but I didn't realize she was up. When I came down from my office for a bathroom break, this is what I found. Sidney had transformed the hall bathroom into a crime scene. It's the first, I'm sure, of many April Fool's gags to come today.

Actually, this pic is a perfect illustration for today's post, since a crime has definitely been committed in this blog entry. The following exercise was prepared for Livia Blackburne's Alternate Version Blogfest. We were challenged to take a scene from our story and re-write it in another style.

Writing in other genres, or different styles, is hard for me! The grooves in my author's fingerprints run deep. But, in the spirit of trying something new and stretching the old writing muscles, here it goes.

This excerpt is taken from a short story called When Opposites Attract. I was already way outside my comfort zone when I wrote the story, which was penned for a contest that only accepted Speculative Fiction. Below is the original snippet, and then a new version written with the flare of drama/chick lit romance. (Although, even I don't think: (A)That's actually a real genre; and (B)that I hit my mark. :P)


Original Version

Marla caught up to him and matched his long stride. “No shit, Robb. But that’s not the point. The Federation did take over and you no longer have clearance to be here. Disobeying the Federation is an act of treason. If you’re caught…”

He spun on her, grabbing her arm in a vice-like grip. “Now why would I get caught?”

His tone was dangerous, threatening. How far before a stretched rubber band breaks? He’d already come close to the edge of reason with Marla recently, when he’d walked in on her and Steve. That day, he’d understood how people can snap, grab a weapon and take out a few well-deserving people. In the dark days that'd followed, he’d fantasized about tying Marla up, torturing her until she hurt as much as he did. He’d been pathetic, twisted by tormented emotions, but he’d gotten a grip on himself. He'd resolved to be content on hurting her in small ways every chance he got, with spiteful words and defamatory rumors, little pressure valve acts to release his emotional tension and avoid a massive explosion. But the pain was still fresh. God help her if she pushed him now.

Marla was the one to break his gaze. She looked away, hugging her files to her chest. He turned and marched on, though he was aware of her soft footfalls behind him.

Alternate Version

Marla caught up to him, the rapid-fire clacks of her stilettos echoing down the corridor. “Please, Robb! That’s not the point. You can’t be caught here; it’s too dangerous. You just can’t!”

He stopped and turned, his right eyebrow raised. “Now, why would I get caught, sweetheart?”

His voice oozed sarcasm. What did this pretty little thing know about Federation business? Not to say she wasn’t a bright woman, she was employed here, wasn’t she? His eyes drifted down from her face, settling on the rise of suntanned flesh peeking out of her low-cut blouse. Robb released a loud sigh, meeting Marla’s eyes again.

“I appreciate your concern, really I do. Hey, I have an idea,” he added brightly. “Why don’t I give you the keys to my Porche. You go on down and wait for me there, and when I’m finished here, I’ll buy you that drink we keep talking about.”

He noticed she didn’t blink her ice blue eyes. She’d turned down his advances twice already, but when you’re dealing with a goddess like Marla, it was worth another shot. His smile waned to a smirk in the vacuum of her silence. Time was wasting, but he gave her another ten seconds to decide.

Marla was the one to break his gaze. She looked away, hugging her files to her chest. He turned and marched on, though he was aware of the clickity-clack of her shoes behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you're interested in reading someone's entry who did a fantastic job with this challenge, visit Jen Brubacher @ Scribo Ergo Sum I loved reading her snippets and thought she really captured each different genre's style (she did three!)

And I hope you check out the other participants' blogs today. Find the Mr. Linky list by clicking HERE.

Have a fab day!