1. What is the best piece of writing advice you’ve been given?
This is really tough. I'm a bit of a closet writer, so I've never really had anyone give me advice about it. I guess rather than being given advice, I take my cues from the people I love to read. Write what you want the way you want. I feel like AlbyMangroves (bless her) might have given me some pretty good writing advice, but I have a brain like a sieve and couldn't even tell you what it was.
Jack and The Robbers was the first book I remember being read over and over as a kid. If anyone can find a copy I'd happily pay through the nose for it. The last book I got viscerally upset about finishing was Days of Blood and Starlight. I threw the finished book across the room and sulked for a good half hour. And I know it's been said 5890243 times, but I'm still shoving The Fault in Our Stars in people's faces like "READ THIS IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!!" I can't even see the words self-aggrandizing without getting wobbly-lipped.
3. What's happening outside the nearest window?
The one window in this room faces the house next door - if I looked I think it would be considered rude.
Wow. I'd say moist, but I think it's probably *this* close to being scratched from the English language as it is. Maybe LOL, since it's addition to the Oxford Dictionary just highlights the rapid decline of our society and the awful misuse of the English language. (I use it totes too much - LOL - jokes).
5. Suppose you could travel to any place in time and history. When and where are you going?I would say my wedding day. It's hideously cliched, I know. I would make myself listen to my dad's speech after dinner. I was pretty tipsy by that stage and kept thinking about how long he'd been talking, rather than actually listening. It was one of those "OMG, Daaaaad!" moments. But if I'd known then he'd only be around for a few more months I would have paid more attention.
"Wowzers there was some serious gut-wrenching going on. I LOVE IT. I love that the prompt was interpreted so differently to what I thought it would. This was SO hard. I seriously loved them ALL. Can't we have thirteen winners and then thirteen prompts? Can I just have a first and a second and then eleven honorable mentions? No? Bummer."
*drumroll*
FIRST PLACE... @runtagua
I loved the little nuances in this one. I could SEE her. It was like James Bond's 'Casino Royal' but with this shit hot femme fatale in his place. I have no idea if that end hand even won her the money - I don't play poker - but I don't care! The little things like her tugging on her earlobe and stubbing out the cigarette as she blows out that last puff of smoke - WHO IS THIS WOMAN AND WHY AM I NOT HER?! She oozes nonchalance and cool and yes. I really liked this one.
She watches the dealer place the last card on the table - the king of hearts. She takes a drag off of her cigarette and idly tugs at her earlobe. She’s bored; or that’s what she wants the other players at the table to think.
A call and a raise – the betting goes around the table until it finally gets to her. She simultaneously stubs out her cigarette and blows the hit of smoke out into the stale air. She pushes her last fifty thousand in chips into the center of the table.
All in.
Her eyes flicker up, over the heads of the faceless men at the table, to the man across the room, and down again. He’s been standing at the door, watching her. Watching the cards. Just as the dealer calls for the players to reveal, he leaves. His job is done here; a plan to meet later.
This is it. This is what they’ve been working for all night.
The cards are turned out onto the table. A pair. Two pair. Three sevens. She sits up straight as she turns her two cards over.
Pocket kings.
SECOND PLACE... @AnnaLund2011
This spoke to me from the first few words. It really did. The idea that men are sometimes scared by strong, intelligent women has always been something I believe, and this just paints a perfect perfect picture of that kind of woman. Heck, she intimidates ME!. And this: "Are you leaving me behind?” SWOON. A strong, assertive female always gets my vote.
Is there not a one among them that measures up? She’s too intelligent, too beautiful, too much.
Most influential men are scared of smart women, and here she is, the epitome of brilliance and beauty.
There is not a one among them who dares approach her.
Lighting up her last cigarette, she leans her chin forward into her left hand, deciding to give it another 6 minutes of her precious time.
The curse of being a bright and beautiful woman is you often end up sitting alone at your table. Other women avoid you; the men are afraid to approach you.
She puts out her cigarette, gets up to leave, miniscule purse in hand, walking smack-bang into a young man who has been watching her a long time, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Are you leaving me behind?” he asks, with one raised eyebrow.
“Do you want me to?” she answers.
“No. I don’t. I want you to lead me out of here,” he says, looking straight into her eyes.
His long, shiny, black hair is twisted into a tidy ponytail and he looks like he might be 28.
That happens to be her favorite age on a man.
Most influential men are scared of smart women, and here she is, the epitome of brilliance and beauty.
There is not a one among them who dares approach her.
Lighting up her last cigarette, she leans her chin forward into her left hand, deciding to give it another 6 minutes of her precious time.
The curse of being a bright and beautiful woman is you often end up sitting alone at your table. Other women avoid you; the men are afraid to approach you.
She puts out her cigarette, gets up to leave, miniscule purse in hand, walking smack-bang into a young man who has been watching her a long time, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Are you leaving me behind?” he asks, with one raised eyebrow.
“Do you want me to?” she answers.
“No. I don’t. I want you to lead me out of here,” he says, looking straight into her eyes.
His long, shiny, black hair is twisted into a tidy ponytail and he looks like he might be 28.
That happens to be her favorite age on a man.
HONOURABLE MENTION... @CallMePagliacci
OMG. This one was lovely lovely. This; "a dandelion seed on the breeze", and; "locked in place like a sparrow in front of a rattlesnake". I wanted him to remove his arm from the booth SO BADLY. Beautifully written, and perfectly delivered.
He’s here. I didn’t come into this bar to find him, I didn’t seek him out. But he’s here. He’s here, and my plan to move on is shot.
The other men, all likely candidates for just-a-little-fun, cease to exist.
I glance over. Cigarette smoke floats by, a dandelion seed on the breeze. Only people this hip still smoke.
There. In a booth in the corner. The sharp, square line of his jaw flexes as he speaks. The other people at the table laugh. I’m staring, locked in place like a sparrow in front of a rattlesnake.
I study him, looking for the same circles that are under my eyes, the same tired slump my shoulders are bent under.
A woman walks up to the table and sits next to him. His arm had been resting along the edge of the booth above her seat. He doesn’t move it. I watch, and he doesn’t move it.
My gut twists. Heart pounding in my chest, I jump up and throw a ten dollar bill down on the table; it won’t cover my martini here. It’s nothing, I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m gone before I can find out.
The other men, all likely candidates for just-a-little-fun, cease to exist.
I glance over. Cigarette smoke floats by, a dandelion seed on the breeze. Only people this hip still smoke.
There. In a booth in the corner. The sharp, square line of his jaw flexes as he speaks. The other people at the table laugh. I’m staring, locked in place like a sparrow in front of a rattlesnake.
I study him, looking for the same circles that are under my eyes, the same tired slump my shoulders are bent under.
A woman walks up to the table and sits next to him. His arm had been resting along the edge of the booth above her seat. He doesn’t move it. I watch, and he doesn’t move it.
My gut twists. Heart pounding in my chest, I jump up and throw a ten dollar bill down on the table; it won’t cover my martini here. It’s nothing, I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m gone before I can find out.
HONOURABLE MENTION... Sherbert2011
I do love a good strong female, and if she's an undercover agent/spy then I might love her even more. Also, the words "Little black dress. Little black soul," kind of sucker punched me. And the line about keeping the shaking on the inside - that was brilliant too. Very very cool. Plus, any woman who turns down a man named Edward is a stronger woman than I, and for that I applaud her.
I don’t really want it, but light a cigarette to look the part.
Little black bag.
Little black dress.
Little black soul.
The bellini is almost gone, I’ll need something stronger, after. And breathe, to keep the shaking on the inside.
Warmth settles behind me, “buy a pretty girl a drink?”
I twist towards it, distracted by the voice, not the words. Behind him, the mark is on the move.
“I’m sorry, I was just leaving,” and glance, dropping a smile while the stub suffocates in the ashtray.
“Are you here for the convention?”
“Sure,” why not. The hotel is flooded with attendees, one more won’t matter.
“Technical or medical?” He points to himself. “I’m technical, robotics – you?”
“Medical, actually, but you know, I really was just leaving.” I reach for my bag looped over the chair and find my hand covered by his, warm and smooth. “I have a thing right now, but I’ll be back later?”
Breakfast conversations will carry the unexpected death of a noted scientist. Neither his dark past, nor the hypodermic in my bag will be mentioned.
“Will you tell me your name at least?”
“Bella.”
“Edward.”
In my head it sounds like alibi.
Little black bag.
Little black dress.
Little black soul.
The bellini is almost gone, I’ll need something stronger, after. And breathe, to keep the shaking on the inside.
Warmth settles behind me, “buy a pretty girl a drink?”
I twist towards it, distracted by the voice, not the words. Behind him, the mark is on the move.
“I’m sorry, I was just leaving,” and glance, dropping a smile while the stub suffocates in the ashtray.
“Are you here for the convention?”
“Sure,” why not. The hotel is flooded with attendees, one more won’t matter.
“Technical or medical?” He points to himself. “I’m technical, robotics – you?”
“Medical, actually, but you know, I really was just leaving.” I reach for my bag looped over the chair and find my hand covered by his, warm and smooth. “I have a thing right now, but I’ll be back later?”
Breakfast conversations will carry the unexpected death of a noted scientist. Neither his dark past, nor the hypodermic in my bag will be mentioned.
“Will you tell me your name at least?”
“Bella.”
“Edward.”
In my head it sounds like alibi.
CONGRATULATIONS @runtagua!
I look forward to seeing the prompt you choose for next week's #fanficflashfic.
Thank you to @katiewinkles for judging, and to everyone who participated.
See you all next week.
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