C.D. Wight's Blog, page 3
May 9, 2019
TOKYO GREEN: The Revision
In April of 2017 I pulled the heavy stack of paper out of the drawer and put it on a shelf. For a while I was afraid to take a look. I finally read it, and it wasn’t as bad as I had feared. In fact some of it was pretty good. However it was clear that it needed a lot of work. In the end it would take every scrap of my free time over the next eight months to revise. I used Holly Lisle’s “How To Revise Your Novel” (HTRYN) method, which was thorough (to say the least), grueling and extreme.
The...
TOKYO GREEN: The Manuscript
Back in Japan, I resumed an online course by Holly Lisle called “How to Think Sideways,” the first ten weeks of which was a holistic approach to discovering one’s own true story that needed to be told. I probably had twenty thousand words of notes, world-building and character sketches before the real writing even began. I pounded out the first scene in August of 2016, and maintained a good pace of about 1,000 words per day for several months. I did most of the writing in the ungodly morning...
TOKYO GREEN: The Concept
TOKYO GREEN was published in the spring of 2019. It was about three years in the making, though in pure writing and revision time it took a total of fourteen months. A few friends asked why (and how??) I wrote my first novel during a time when I should have had zero time for anything outside of family and career. Here’s the official story for anyone else who’s interested. It might also benefit other new writers who want to embark on this crazy journey, too.
It should go without saying that my...
April 26, 2019
Why I Avoid Social Media
Technology is a beautiful thing. For the past twenty-five years I’ve been striving to make tech work for us, because that’s the way it should be. Tech should free up more of our time, and give us more agency over our lives. Most of all it should be cool. I would never suggest that someone stop using a tool that meets the above criteria, but I think we can all agree that in the past decade social media has fallen short of all three.
By social media I mostly mean “Goobook,” though other apps li...
January 24, 2019
Good Honest Work
Marta twirled a strand of her hair and avoided looking at the spindly-armed lie detector across the conference table. Its sensors probed her like unblinking eyes.
The door opened and HR lady entered. “Thanks for waiting!”
Marta patted her damp palm on her skirt and stood to shake hands.
“Please, take a seat. Sorry to leave you alone with this thing. It makes some people uncomfortable.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I’m getting used to it,” Marta lied. The interviews had been unnerving. There was nothing comfortable about a machine intelligence analyzing her every inflection, judging the truth of every word.
HR Lady sat next to the machine and folded her hands on the table. “Well, Marta, congratulations are in order.”
Marta’s heart skipped a beat.
“Your credentials are stellar. The hiring manager tells me you’re his top choice. You’ve reached the final interview, and it only involves one question.”
Marta slid her fingers over the good luck charm that had given her strength through the previous interviews: a locket with a photo of her mom at the community garden, where they had worked together all summer. The job hadn’t paid much, but the experience had been rewarding and fun. She sat up straight and made a conscious effort not to fidget. “One question?”
“Don’t worry, dear. Based on what we’ve seen so far you’ll have no problem. Are you ready?”
“Yes?”
HR Lady grinned. “As with the other interviews, you are free to comment, but verbal response is not necessary. The machine will know.”
Marta nodded. “Understood.” This was her big chance. She had worked so hard for this.
“Okay. The final question is … do you want the job?”
Marta stared, unable to reply. Wasn’t it obvious, after all she’d been through in the interview process? Hadn’t she expressed her enthusiasm? “Sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Let me put it another way. If money was not a concern, would you still apply the dedication this job requires?”
Marta willed her business demeanor to the forefront and gave the only acceptable answer. “Yes.”
HR Lady’s smile broadened. “Excellent. Please wait while I review the results.” A moment later the smile disappeared. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Marta. You failed to register a truthful response.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”
Marta began to rise, but HR Lady received an incoming call and motioned for her to wait. “Yes? Is that so? Yes, of course.” After a few moments she ended the call. “Well, Marta, we have a little confession to make. None of the other candidates answered the final question truthfully either. All things being equal, the hiring manager would like to offer you the job. Congratulations!”
Marta bit her lip and then realized she was still clutching the locket. She opened it, gazed for a moment at the photo and looked back at the interviewer. “You know, I’m going to have to decline the offer. I’m looking for good, honest work.”
END
THANKS FOR READING! This is part of a forthcoming series of Twenty-Nine Flash Fiction Stories examining the oddities of working in the modern world.
If you this is your kind of thing, please SUBSCRIBE so that I can serve your future entertainment needs. I’ll send infrequent notifications about upcoming publications, maybe a few emails per year. Either way I’d love to receive your feedback through my CONTACT form. Thanks again! CW
Blog Hop, January 2019
Morning Has Broken, by Katharina Gerlach
Bad For Business, by Gina Fabio
The Last Friday, by Raven O’Fiernan
Lost And Found, by Angela Wooldridge
Bia Trevi’s Worldly Eats, by Barbara Lund
Hunting Bob, Vanessa Wells
Don’t Drink The Water, by Juneta Key
Duty, Elizabeth McCleary
The Footnote, Karen Lynn
The Monster Under The Bed, by Nic Steven
Field Trip to the UFO Museum, by Bill Bush
Demon of Spring
Kafoonshō skidded through polished halls of the middle reaches of Hell, late for his annual performance review. “Apologies, director…” he began, entering the spacious office of his superior. But there was someone new behind the great desk.
“Ah, Kafoonshō, demon of spring, please enter,” the unfamiliar devil urged. Behind him the curtains were pulled back to reveal a splendid vista of the cubicle farm abyssal, office workers stretching into infinity.
“Greetings, sire. Will my director be joining us?”
A vortex opened above the cubicle farm, sucking up a section of poorly-rated workers in a torrent of paperwork, chairs, and office equipment.
“No. I am Gortoc, summoned by auditors of the Ninth Plane to boost numbers in this division,” declared the new boss. “You’re familiar with the More Hell on Earth initiative?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Very well. Your performance will be rated in accordance to its principles. Tell me, demon of spring, what torment and suffering have you brought upon humanity this year?”
Kafoonshō composed himself. He had worked damned hard to get down to this level of Hell, and would not go up easily. He summoned a vision sphere on the desk between them and cleared his throat. “Behold the scourge of spring! Frigid winds eject the demon seed from trees, grasses, and weeds; saturating respiratory systems of the weak and winter-weary. Millions suffer sneezing fits, irritated skin and burning eyes. Their happiness drowns in a river of snot!”
“Excuse me,” Gortoc interrupted, putting down a file folder. “Only one quarter of humans are vulnerable to these discomforts?”
“Ah, yes, but more are afflicted each year. Some of our best progress has been in Japan, where we’ve managed to push back the peak impact of the vicious cypress pollination to coincide with flu season. Such misery!” The vision globe showed Japanese children rubbing their puffy eyes and wailing for relief, faces awash in mucus and tears.
“Bah! Japan is no good for your numbers,” scoffed Gortoc. “Hell is unknown to these godless people.”
“Please also consider long term effects and residual fallout,” Kafoonshō backtracked. “Days of discomfort turn into weeks of exquisite torture. Sinus infections, ear aches, fatigue – even back problems caused by sneezing. Family relations are strained. Sick days rise. Economic production is slowed. Bloodshot eyes lose sight of a bright future!”
Gortoc lifted one hand off the desk to halt the presentation. “So, effects are isolated, temporary, and non-contagious, with an end result that includes beautiful meadows filled with wildflowers? This effort hardly qualifies as pestilence, and I’m afraid your numbers fall just shy of our expectations.”
Kafoonshō swallowed hard and prepared for the worst.
*
Somewhere in the outskirts of God-fearing Knoxville, Tennessee, in the bowels of a warehouse mega-store, worn down by weeks of itchy eyes, congestion and non-stop sneezing, Sally Creel wiped her nose with a tissue and exclaimed to all the shoppers around her: “Lord, I hate spring. God damn it to hell!”
And a demon of middle Hell kept his job.
END
THANKS FOR READING! This is part of a forthcoming series of Twenty-Nine Flash Fiction Stories examining the oddities of working in the modern world.
If you this is your kind of thing, please SUBSCRIBE so that I can serve your future entertainment needs. I’ll send infrequent notifications about upcoming publications, maybe a few emails per year. Either way I’d love to receive your feedback through my CONTACT form. Thanks again! CW
The Quantum Gamble
Darkness gave way to consciousness, confusion, and fear. My arms and legs were strapped to a leather chair. I sat across the table from a media judge in a studio confession chamber, robotic cameras peering at me through the darkness.
“We’re live again in twenty seconds,” the judge said.
“What?” I asked behind pounding heartbeats.
A wall-sized display panel behind the judge showed the still video frame of an elderly man sitting on a park bench.
“Three, two, one, and … we’re back with Ultranet marketing mogul and murder suspect Paul Freeman…”
“What?!” Suspect meant guilty. A murder charge meant I was dead. “Hold on …” I tried to protest.
A hubbub of laughs and whispers arose from the audience in the darkened studio behind me. “He doesn’t remember!” someone announced with glee.
“Order!” the judge demanded, placing a heavy black revolver on the table. He wouldn’t use it before a decision was reached.
I struggled to breathe. A name came to me: Decker.
“The victim was none other than controversial quantum physicist Alan Decker,” the judge continued. “He entertained us with theories of time and the power of collective consciousness.”
The audience fluttered with mild applause.
“Some called it scientific slight-of-hand, but there’s nothing theoretical about what happened to him last week.”
The display screen showed a live close-up of my wide-eyed, bewildered face, and minimized it to a top-right, picture-in-picture frame, Doctor Decker on park bench in the forefront.
“You’ve all seen the gruesome photos of the incident,” the judge said. “The dismemberment, the maniacal blood lust. A guilty verdict is inevitable. It’s time for you – the Ultranet jury – to render an official decision with this exclusive video evidence – filmed by the sadistic murderer himself and left behind for all to view.”
In the midst of thunderous applause I marveled at the magnitude of the spectacle despite my imminent peril: two celebrities, a hideous crime, and solid evidence. My execution would score billions of hits and set the Ultranet on fire.
“Again, the kind of extreme violence in this video should only be viewed by tax-paying citizens of legal age,” the judge declared with theatrical sobriety. “Without further delay, behold the evidence, and let the polling begin!”
A sidebar of popular insta-news agencies scrolled down the left side of the display, each with its own innocent-guilty, live-feed pivot bar. I steadied my facial expression. It would be my only defense.
The video began with the professor eating lunch on a sunny day in a park. A bead of sweat rolled down my face in real time. The cameras caught it and guilt meters pegged red for all agencies.
“Here comes the murderer,” the judge narrated the video. “This is hard to watch,” he added, but no one appeared on the scene. Doctor Decker continued eating his sandwich. It became evident that something was amiss in the studio, and the judge signaled his staff.
The frame slow-zoomed to the professor. He dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief and smiled. “Hello world,” he began. “You are witnessing the successful outcome of a most remarkable experiment. In this version I am alive and well. Paul, thank you for your distribution expertise. I’m sure the authorities will find no reason to keep you detained.”
END
THANKS FOR READING! This is part of a forthcoming series of Twenty-Nine Flash Fiction Stories examining the oddities of working in the modern world.
If you this is your kind of thing, please SUBSCRIBE so that I can serve your future entertainment needs. I’ll send infrequent notifications about upcoming publications, maybe a few emails per year. Either way I’d love to receive your feedback through my CONTACT form. Thanks again! CW
December 5, 2018
Never-Ending Non-Fiction
There’s no end to the journal writing. Almost none of this stuff will ever see the light of day, and everyone can be grateful for that.
A few completed works might benefit others eventually, like “Leisure Maximus” (a 90,000 word examination of why we are better off working to live, rather than living to work), and “A Brief History of Economic Me” (a 60,000 word autobiographical account of how a stoic slacker can reach the upper ranges of debt-free, American prosperity).
Twenty-Nine Flash Fiction Stories
A collection of twenty-nine flash fiction stories that focus on odd human adaptations to a fast-changing professional workforce in the early 21st century.
As of January 24, 2019, I’ve got around 20 of 29 stories written.
Here are some of the completed stories.
Company DogAging salaryman endures rejection, humiliation, and a tightened leash, and struggles to keep his humanity in check.
Marijuana Train
In 2048, Japanese prosecuting attorney seeks death penalty for the so-called “Monster of the Shonan-Shinjuku Line,” and gets unexpected help from an unbiased AI.
Debt Heretic
A young woman new-hire with zero debt endures persecution, suspicion, and peer pressure from her new colleagues.
Thank God It’s (Only) Tuesday
Overworked salaryman has an existential nightmare about the sacrifice of his creativity at the altar of wage slavery, only to be awakened by his boss.
Good Honest Work
Young woman puts honesty first in the final phase of a grueling interview process at her first corporate job.
Prince of Peace
American pro football player with divine powers fights intense public persecution to do the right thing for humanity.
The Third Choice
Salaryman struggles with notions of free will during his daily commute, and executes an exception to his routine.
Plantation for All
Nineteenth century plantation owners in the southern U.S. embark on a one hundred year mission to enslave everyone to commerce.
The Commuter
Salaryman commuter notes the odd habitual behavior of a crazy guy on the train, only to discover another kind of madness.
Resignation Denied
Salaryman struggles to overcome the supernatural pressure of the CEO in a fight to take long-term paternity leave.
Birthday in Paradise
A supernatural being tells the tale of how he helped a man named Victor escape all his worldly woes.
Afraid of Rain
A big black crow notes the peculiarities of a salary woman, only to find she’s weirder than he first thought.
Demon of Spring
A corporate demon from hell struggles to get increase his annual count of damned souls by intensifying the effects of seasonal allergies.
Quantum Gamble
(This is an awesome story, but at the moment I can’t remember what it’s about.)
Crazy Mike
An unplugged party-crasher seeks to take advantage of doped media freaks, but is tempted to push his luck.
Rex Dominus – A Future Novel
A fun, insightful novel with the working title “Rex-Dominus” (or maybe “Clarity: Bad Ass”), about a hard-edge operative (REX) from the far future, doomed to serve infinite life sentences as a wage slave in early 21st century America.
In the summer of 2018 I got about 15,000 words into the initial manuscript of Project One, the “Clarity” novel, when real-life demands got too intense. I adapted, and began devoting my narrow daily window of free time to writing quick stories that didn’t require all the world-building and character development of a novel.
Writing for “Clarity: Bad Ass” should resume in the spring of 2019. I love this developing story and I’m very much looking forward to immersing myself into it now that real-life demands have leveled off.
