'Nathan Burgoine's Blog, page 78

Musings on what a forced return to an old curriculum means for teachers

Because it matters.

Creating Consent Culture

If you live in Ontario, you have probably heard by now that the provincial government announced a litany of education-related edicts yesterday. Among them was a warning to teachers: “We will not tolerate anybody using our children as pawns for grandstanding and political games. And, make no mistake, if we find somebody failing to do their job, we will act.”

Yesterday, I went on a Twitter spree, live-tweeting an analysis of the re-issued 2010 curriculum document for grades 1 to 8 (Notably, they haven’t replaced the document for grades 9-12). My tweet thread is here, if you want to wade through it, but I warn you, it’s pretty excessive. I’m going to try to break it down to a much more manageable piece of writing as a way to support teachers on the ground, afraid of what all this means.

PLEASE NOTE: I AM NOT A LEGAL SCHOLAR. I…

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Friday Flash Fics — Third Cohort

The latest Friday Flash Fics photo made me think of the “Cohort” series I’ve been working on throughout these weekly prompts, and so I decided to revisit the mischievous biologist, Constantinou (he who likes to name plants in a punny way) and Adamson, the Gentech telepath/telekinetic who made the Helios Project a possibility, but I wound the clock back a bit to the time of the Third Cohort, when things were still on schedule and Adamson was beginning to tell his fellow colonists about himself.

If you want to read these pieces in chronological order, they were: First Cohort, Second Cohort, then this one, then Fifth Cohort, Sixth Cohort, and then Helios. Amusingly, this is how I usually write: jumping all around in the timeline of whatever I’m writing in first draft, and then sewing it all up together after.

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Third Cohort

“I’m trying really hard to figure out exactly why this required my coming along, Giorgos,” Adamson said.

Constantinou’s reply was barely a grin at first, but he titled his head after a moment. “Protocols say no one goes outside the zone alone, and I was going outside the zone.” He lifted his sample kit. Adamson carried a similar package himself.

“Right, but I’m a physicist. If we’re collecting samples, why do you want a physicist?”

Constantinou mugged an offended look, putting a hand to the centre of his chest. “You don’t want to spend time with me?”

“You know I’ve seen you work your…charms on half a dozen people already, right?” Adamson said. It wasn’t even telepathy—Adamson would never use his Gentech gifts like that—it was just basic perception. And rumour. And Maxwell delighted in telling the story of Constantinou being shut out of Sinclair’s quarters, sans clothes, after what had apparently been a rather spirited discussion on the Second Cohort’s trip to this new planet from the Sol System. Sinclair and Constantinou had apparently made up, but she certainly hadn’t gone on any more dates with him.

“No you haven’t,” Constantinou said, shaking his head. He looked up at Adamson and Adamson had to admit, that grin of his was pure boyish charm. “If you had, you wouldn’t be questioning coming with me on this trip.”

Adamson rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help it, he chuckled. Why did confidence and good looks so often go together in men like Giorgos Constantinou? He supposed one created the other, really.

“Lead on,” Adamson said.

Constantinou winked, and led the way to one of the four-wheel electric scouting cars.

*

They’d been exploring a series of natural lakes and caves less than an hour’s drive outside of the growing colony. For all his flirtatiousness, Constantinou shifted into science mode once they arrived, kneeling and taking samples of some greens growing in the shallows near the entrance to one of the larger caves.

“It’s like Azolla,” Constantinou said, looking at the readout on his pad as the sample kit scanner did its work. “Which could explain the serious drop-off in CO2 levels we’re seeing compared to the ice core samples the pole team uncovered…”

“Azolla?” Adamson said.

“Ferns on Earth. They basically scrubbed the planet of CO2 fifty-sixty million years ago. They like nurtrient rich water. Give ‘em that, and they vacuum up CO2 in the process.” He winked. “They did us a big favor, making the Earth nice and cool for us.” He mopped his forehead. “Speaking of which, the minerals these guys are eating clearly come from the vents.”

It was warm in the cave entrance.

“They’re pretty. Nice colour,” Adamson said, feeling all the more like a physicist doing botany work by the moment.

“They also pack a great punch, nutrition wise.” Constantinou tilted his pad to show Adamson, who crouched low to read it. The botanist wasn’t kidding.

“That’s great.”

“If they keep up the parallels with Azolla, they won’t taste like much of anything,” Constantinou said, “but we can fix that. I know many ways to spice things up.”

Adamson shook his head, but Constantinou just grinned.

Then he started to undo his boots. “Okay. Now we go in. You brought your trunks, right?”

Adamson blinked. He had, since Constantinou had listed them as required gear for the project, but… “We’re going swimming?”

“More like wading. There are some luminescent lichens and fish I want to take a closer look at.” The man’s accent thickened back to his native Greek when he got excited about science. It was charming.

Adamson bit his lip. No, it wasn’t. Adamson was in charge of the whole Helios project right up until the Fifth Cohort arrived, and Giorgos Constantinou was a direct report. I mean, they were both adults and it wasn’t prohibited, but…

Constantinou was stripping off his shirt now, and the view derailed Adamson’s train of thought. Giorgos was all flat planes of muscle and smooth skin. He met Adamson’s gaze, and the smile came back. The one that gave him the hint of dimples and showed off the chiseled chin to great effect.

Fine. Two could play this game. Adamson was Gentech, and though he’d been slowly letting that be known, colleague by colleague, he was pretty sure Constantinou didn’t know. At least not yet. His DNA had been tweaked in many ways, not the least of which had granted him his telekinetic and telepathic abilities. But there had also been tagging to ensure muscle growth. Adamson generally wore a simple work shirt as his daily uniform, but as he pulled it off, he saw the moment Constantinou realized that beneath the shapeless cloth, Adamson was buff.

There was a moment of standoff, and Adamson couldn’t help but feel a small thrill of victory.

Right up until Constantinou grinned again.

“I just need to change into my trunks,” Constantinou said, undoing his zipper.

Adamson coughed, feeling his face burn, and turned around. He’d worn his trunks under his pants. He pretended not to hear Constantinou’s chuckle behind him as he shed the last of his clothes and waited for Constantinou’s okay to turn around.

*

Deeper in the cave, they first swam through almost hot water and then were able to walk near the edges. They didn’t need to light up their pads thanks to the tiny fish beneath them that glowed a pale yellow-white, and they carried the sample kits or let them float on tethers as they needed.

“Aha!” Constantinou said, grinning. “There. We’ve seen it in every warm water cave along the lakes.”

Adamson looked. Lichens grew along the walls here, above where the water steamed. And it glowed with a blue-green luminescence.

“Look up there,” Adamson said, pointing to the high ceiling of the cave. “It’s a different colour.”

Constantinou smiled up at the ceiling, spotting the patch of pale orange glowing there. “Different minerals, maybe, or a different species, or maybe even a different part of the life cycle.” He was grinning again, his accent thicker. “I’m not sure I can reach it to take a sample…” He bit his lip. “I could go back and get one of the poles.”

Adamson hesitated, considering.

“What’s wrong?” Constantinou said.

“Oh. Nothing.”

“Right,” Constantinou laughed. “Try again. You know, you’ve got a terrible poker face.”

“I can get the sample,” Adamson said. “I’m just not sure how you’re going to react. On the one hand, you made it through the screening for the Helios Project, so I know you’re open minded, but…” Adamson shrugged.

Constantinou’s amusement didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened. “You read my file?”

“I read all the files, don’t get a big head.”

“I am the embodiment of humility,” Constantinou said, with such blatant dishonesty that Adamson laughed out loud.

“But how?” Constantinou said.

Adamson pulled out the collector, took a second to focus, and then lifted it with his mind. It rose to the edge of where the orange luminescence began, and used his telekinesis to trigger the device. It collected a sample, and beeped. He held out his hand and lowered the collector until it landed in his palm.

Then, finally, he looked at Constantinou.

The man was grinning. “I’ve never seen that in person before. Only vids.”

The last bit of tension in Adamson’s shoulders relaxed. He blew out a small breath, and handed the collector to the biologist.

Only when their hands touched, Constantinou put his other hand over top, and squeezed.

Adamson felt tension return again, in a different way.

“You report to me,” he said, feeling heat on his face that had nothing to do with the steaming water they were standing in. “Also? Technically, I’m married.”

Constantinou didn’t let go. “That sounds like a story.”

“The Railroad. I married a Canadian to get out of the US. He was in on it, though. Volunteered, I mean.”

“Ah.” He still hadn’t let go. “So, I’m guessing he won’t be coming here.”

“No.”

Constantinou stepped closer, and Adamson swallowed.

“So, here’s the thing,” Constantinou said. “You and I both know there are no rules prohibiting the… interaction… of direct reports. This is a colony, and consenting adults. I am not looking for marriage. I am, however, looking around and seeing this amazing cave full of beautiful things, not the least of which is you, and thinking no one else has ever been here, and that it would be wonderful to make a very nice memory here.”

“I take it this is the charm I’ve heard so much about?” Adamson said.

“Depends,” Constantinou said. “Is it working?”

 

 

August Flash Fiction Draw Roundup

It’s August, and we’re on to the eighth collection of stories! Before anything else, though, this just gets more fun every month because so many of you give this a shot with me, so a big thank you to all the writers who wrote something. We even have some newbies this month, which makes me really happy.

Speaking of newbies, I recently did a conference, and there’ve been some pretty awesome discussions online about a few things of late, so if you’re new to my blog, it’s possible you have no idea what am I talking about.

Well, the Flash Fiction Draw is a randomized card-draw that spits out a genre, an object, and a location, after which writers have a week to come up with up to 1,000 words that fit the criteria. It’s meant to be for fun and inspiration, rather than for serious competition (stretching writer muscles, not stressing writers out). I make the draw on the first Monday of every month (the next draw will be September 3rd, if you want to join in) and post results the following Monday, updating the post as I find new stories writers have written.

These were the cards drawn (and what they meant):

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With “Ghost Story,” “an Earring,” and “Tobacco Shop,” what would the authors come up with? Well, if you’ve followed along at any point this year, you know some authors tend to deliver the laughs, others the shivers, and with a ghost story up for grabs, it was all the more varied. I hope you enjoy!

Here they are, alphabetically by contributor:

Lilly Amadu wrote “Up in Smoke.”

Jeff Baker wrote “A Good Cigar Story.”

‘Nathan Burgoine (that’s me) wrote “Ghosted.”

“The Dark Netizen” wrote “Smoke.”

Cait Gordon wrote “When There’s a Ghost of a Chance.”

Bruce D. Gordon wrote “Export, Eh?” A Canadian Ghost Story.

Jeffrey Ricker wrote “The Drag Queen with the Emerald Earring.”

E.H. Timms wrote “Pearls of Wisdom.”

Jamieson Wolf wrote “Family is Everything.”

Did I miss your entry? Let me know and I’ll add you to the list! And by all means join us next month, when I do the draw again on September 3rd. And if you want to see what people came up with for previous stories? The roundup for January (which was “A Fairy Tale,” “A Tattoo Machine,” and “A Prison”) is here. The roundup for February (which was “A Crime Caper,” “A Compass,” and “A Soup Kitchen”) is here. The roundup for March (which was “A Romance,” “A VHS Cassette,” and “A Firewatch Tower”) is here. The roundup for April (which was “Historical Fiction,” “Rat Poison,” and “A Dirt Road”) is here. The roundup for May (which was “Science Fiction,” “A Dog Whistle,” and “Above the Clouds”) is here. The roundup for June (which was “Fantasy,” “Hot Chocolate,” and “A Junkyard or Scrapyard”) is here. And the roundup for July (which was “Mystery,” “Typewriter” and “A Dam”) is here.

Ghosted — A Flash Fiction Draw Challenge

Here’s my entry for the August Flash Fiction Draw Challenge (the post for the original August draw is here). In case you didn’t know about this challenge, there’s a video here explaining (and showing the monthly draw), but the quick version is this: I use three suits from a deck of cards to randomly put together a genre (in this case: a ghost story), a location (in this case: a tobacco shop) and an object (in this case: an earring) and challenge anyone who wants to play to write something over the next week, with a maximum of 1,000 words.

I did some reading this month on what qualifies for a ghost story, and one thing that came up a lot was how often ghost stories don’t end well for the living. So, I decided that since this is the kind of story I never really write, and the whole point of these challenges was exactly that—to challenge myself—I’d try to write something in the style of those less-than-hopeful ghost stories.

But I still couldn’t resist a pun.

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Ghosted

PipeOtter was online.

Brant blinked at his phone, then typed a quick message.

Welcome back!

A moment later, the reply came.

User’s mailbox is full.

“Shit.”

Typical hook-up app. Brant bit his lip, tapping PipeOtter’s profile link. Hipster beard, pipe in hand, stunning brown eyes and most importantly—Brant believed in being honest with himself—that fine chest with the perfect amount of chest hair.

None of which he’d see in person if PipeOtter didn’t clear out his mailbox.

Brant reviewed their message history. It started with woofs—Brant first, PipeOtter responding in kind, which was kind given the woofiest Brant managed was a blond goatee. They’d chatted often, and most importantly, PipeOtter noticed Brant’s earrings.

Cool earrings. Typewriter keys?

Good eye. I make them. In a moment of daring, Brant sent his website. Using lost-wax casting, Brant kept himself stocked in unique earrings: tiny gears, screws, or various typewriter keys. The earrings modeled from the tiny metal pieces that flipped up to imprint ink on the paper through the ribbon were his bestselling pieces two years running.

After, he’d watched his orders like a hawk. There’d been an order for an O and a P, but the O went to an Olivia, and the P went to a post office box.

He and PipeOtter discussed maybe getting together…

Then PipeOtter went dark.

Ghosted. Wasn’t the first time; wouldn’t be the last.

He tapped his buddy list. After the day-job—slinging coffee for hours—he should sleep, but he was lonely. And horny. And—

PipeOtter’s profile was highlighted.

Brant stopped walking. He tried another message.

Apparently, you and I are nearby right now.

He waited.

User’s mailbox is full.

Damnit.

A few of the businesses still had lights on. Brant adjusted the distance slider to the lowest setting.

PipeOtter’s profile remained highlighted.

Not just nearby. Close.

Brant turned a full three-sixty, hoping to see someone with a lit phone screen. He saw a woman with her phone to her ear, and three other people walking, but no one with a lush beard or hair up in a man-bun, or…

Brant smelled pipe smoke. He whirled on his heel in time to see a door closing, just at the far corner of the block.

The sign on the shop was faded, but the lettering was legible.

Tobacco.

Brant sniffed again. No trace, but…

He glanced down. Still highlighted.

Nothing ventured...

An old-fashioned bell above the door tinkled as Brant entered. The herbal scents of the place were surprisingly pleasant. L-shaped, shelves of boxes, cannisters, and cigars lined one wall, while pipes and lighters and other paraphernalia Brant couldn’t identify filled cabinets and shelves.

The counter was empty. Most of the lights were off.

Brant opened his mouth, about to call out.

It happened again. A trace of smoke drifted past his ear. Earthy. Warm.

Brant whirled.

No one.

Brant swallowed, and looked down.

PipeOtter topped his buddy list, highlighted. Closest.

Brant stepped deeper into the store. He reached the countertop, then hesitated.

He stared at the door behind the counter for a good minute, unsure…

It opened, and Brant yelped.

This man was not PipeOtter. He did have a beard—definitely a bear—but he was older, and larger, and didn’t look at all pleased to see Brant.

“How’d you get in here?”

“It was open,” Brant said.

The man frowned, walking past Brant so closely that Brant took a step back, brushing against the wall of boxed cigars.

There was a tiny crunch.

Brant lifted his foot and stared at the carpeted floor.

“Guess I forgot to lock it,” the man said from the front. “I just closed a few minutes ago. Something you need?”

Brant put his foot back down, and snapped his gaze up, forcing himself not to react. The big man stared at him, and his frown returned. The scowl was…familiar. He’d seen this man’s face before…

The scent returned, and with it a wisp of smoke Brant could see behind the big man. It curled, and drifted down to the door and seeped through the crack to the outside.

Message received, Brant thought. Get out of here.

“You okay?” The big man smiled now, pushing off from the door to approach Brant.

“Shoelace,” Brant said, crouching quickly, fumbling with already tied laces. He moved his foot enough to uncover the earring, palming it. A typewriter key. P. Brant rose. “I can come back when you’re open,” he said, stepping around the large man.

But the man took his arm. “I’ve seen you.”

“Pardon?” Brant’s voice cracked.

“Online. His phone. His buddies. Did he fuck you?” The gravel in the man’s voice deepened with rage, and Brant shuddered. “Were you one of his buddies?”

Oh shit.

“N-No,” Brant twisted, and the moment his arm came free he made a break for the front of the store.

Smoke whirled in the air, a cloud almost man-shaped—then poured through the cracks of the door ahead of him, reforming outside. Brown eyes.

Hurry!

“He was mine!” The big man grabbed for Brant’s shirt, but he bounced himself off the wall to stay out of reach. A few more panicked steps got him to the front door and he pushed, then pulled…

Nothing.

A rough hand grabbed the back of his neck, pressing him against the door.

“This time? I’m sure I locked it.” He covered Brant’s mouth with his other hand. “Now. How did you know to come look for him here?”

*

Sean sipped coffee and considered options. He could catch a movie. Or maybe go to one of the museums.

He rolled his eyes. Who was he kidding?

He tapped his favorite app and waited for the buddy list to load. He grinned. Typeface, that cute twink with the goatee was finally online. And highlighted!

Sean typed a message.

User’s mailbox is full.

“Shit.”

Sean adjusted the distance flag. Typeface remained highlighted.

He grinned, picking up his coffee.

There couldn’t be that many spots to check, right?

 

 

Friday Flash Fics — Dibs

Today’s Friday Flash Fics made me think of a gay bar I stopped at for approximately four seconds in Louisiana once, many years ago. I was there for a literary conference, and I walked in, felt the entire room give me a look, and then pretty much scarpered out of there as fast as I could, and waited for the people I was meeting there to arrive so we could go in together. I had a great time, once I was there with friends, but there was no way I could have stayed there on my own.

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Dibs

“Dibs.”

Deacon frowned across the table at Boone. “Did you just say ‘Dibs’?”

Boone picked up his beer and took a swig. He nodded.

“You’re shitting me. Dibs?”

Boone put his bottle down. “Hey, if you wanted him, you should have called it.”

Tyler watched them both, his eyes going back and forth and his eyebrows inching higher.

“I did call it. When he came in.” Deacon said.

“No, you said, ‘Check out the new guy.’” Boone said.

Deacon leaned forward across the table. “That’s the same as dibs.”

“It’s not.”

Tyler blew out a breath. “Are you two for real?”

They both turned their annoyed glowers at him. Back when he’d first met them, Tyler might have been intimidated by it. They were both the kind of guy he found attractive, but that came with an admixture of worry and anxiety. After all, many blue color guys didn’t take well to being hit on by… well… another guy. Especially not guys like Tyler, who even on the best of days didn’t pass like they did. Lean and wiry, for one, and kind of soft looking, the way Tyler appeared was often enough, but if Tyler opened his mouth, his voice betrayed him. The whole world assumed he was gay, just by virtue of his lilt.

So, yeah. Talking to Deacon and Boone that first time had been terrifying. He hadn’t been in the states long, and he was sure someone at the somewhat rough-around-the-edges bar was going to take one look at him—or one listen—and tell him he wasn’t butch enough to be there. But it was a gay bar, so he’d plucked up his courage.

And it had turned out fine. Neither Deacon nor Boone had shown any romantic interest in him, of course, but the three of them had formed a friendship, and Tyler had found he enjoyed their company.

Most of the time.

“What?” Deacon said.

“You can’t call ‘dibs’ on a person,” Tyler said. Even if said person was smokin’ hot. He was definitely new. Maybe he was traveling? Just passing through? Either way, the chambray work shirt was tight across his shoulders and the plain jeans were worn in all the right places, and there was just something about a guy with a buzz-cut, no?

“Fine,” Boone said. “Not dibs.” He put his elbow on the table, and opened his palm.

“Really?” Deacon smirked. “That didn’t work out for you last time.” But he pushed up the sleeve of his sweater and put his own arm in place.

“Want to make it interesting?” Boone said.

Deacon used his free hand to flip open his wallet. A twenty hit the surface of the table. Boone added a wad of smaller bills.

Tyler rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave you to it, the testosterone is getting a bit thick in here.”

Deacon and Boone’s gazes were locked.

“Fine,” Deacon said.

“See you later,” Boone said.

Tyler got up, and took his drink with him. By the time he got to the bar, a small crowd of people were gathering to watch Deacon and Boone arm wrestle. It was by no means the first time they’d done it.

“Another G&T?” the bartender asked.

“Please,” Tyler said. He glanced back at the table when a chorus of voices rose. Boone had started to tilt a bit. But slowly, he recovered and they were once again straining against each other, fists clasped, more-or-less upright between them.

“Not a lot to do around here, I guess?”

Tyler turned at the voice, and then swallowed convulsively. It was Buzz-cut.

“They’re competitive.” Tyler squeezed the words out. “Friendly rivalry.”

“Doesn’t look completely friendly.” The man took a sip of his beer and Tyler watched his Adam’s apple bob. It was delightfully covered in stubble.

“Well, they’re like that. They’d take a bullet for each other, don’t get me wrong, but then whoever did would never let the other live it down, either.”

Buzz-cut laughed. A deep, rumbly sort of laugh. He held out his hand. “Cash.”

“Tyler,” Tyler said, shaking. “New to town?”

Cash nodded. “A couple of days now.”

“It takes some getting used to, but it’s not a bad little town.” The bartender returned with his drink and Tyler thanked him, leaving a few extra singles on the bar top for him.

“It’s bigger than where I was born,” Cash said.

“That’s terrifying,” Tyler said.

Cash laughed. “It wasn’t so bad.”

A mix of cheering and jeering rose again. They both looked at the table. Boone had Deacon nearly two thirds of the way to the tabletop… but then Deacon started to inch Boone back to the middle ground.

“They take this seriously,” Cash said.

“Well, they’re fighting over you,” Tyler said, and winked.

Cash blinked. “Beg pardon?” He had a bit of a drawl. It was a very nice sound.

“The winner will be coming over to introduce himself, I believe,” Tyler said.

Cash looked back at the table again, paying more attention than before. Tyler tried not to let it bother him, but on some level, he couldn’t help it. It was more or less always the same. Part of the small town thing, he supposed. The real men found the other real men, and that left… well, if Deacon and Boone and Cash were real men, he supposed that made him… well, what exactly?

He took another big swallow of his drink, deciding not to finish the thought.

“I guess I should be flattered?” Cash was frowning a bit.

“They mean well,” Tyler said, suddenly wanting to defend his friends. “And between you and me, They’re not used to being outclassed. You’re probably the finest looking man to come through that door in months.”

Cash’s smile tilted on one side a bit, and revealed dimples. Between the buzz-cut and the scruff and the dimples, Tyler stood by his assessment.

“Now that can’t be true,” Cash said.

Tyler put a hand over his heart. “I swear.”

“But y’all were already in here.” Cash gestured at the Deacon and Boone—and included Tyler In the gesture, too. “Which means you came through that door. So I already know that’s not the truth.”

Tyler’s mouth opened, but nothing came out for a couple of seconds. “Uh. I. I did?”

“Right,” Cash said, and nodded. Then that little smile returned. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m…” Tyler finished his drink. “That’s…”

Cash took a sip from his own bottle. Small lines appeared around his eyes. Amusement. “You don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?” he said, putting the drink down.

“Did you just tell me I was fine?” Tyler said.

“Where I’m from, we just call it truth telling.”

Tyler’s cheeks burned. Again. “Well,” he managed. “Thank you.”

Behind them, another mix of cheers and howls made it clear the arm wrestling match was at another close call, but the hoots and hollers that followed meant whoever had been in danger had once again recovered. Neither Tyler nor Cash looked to see who was in what position.

“So,” Tyler said, leaning forward just a little. “When they finish over there, one of them is going to come over and make a pass at you.”

“So you said.”

“Well, I’m thinking…” Tyler cleared his throat. “Y’know, to spare their feelings, it might be a kindness to have you…” He took a quick breath, and blurted out before he could stop himself. “Not be here. So as not to have to let them down in front of the whole bar?”

Cash’s lips did that little twist again. The dimples returned.

“Seems to me you care an awful lot about your friends.”

“I do,” Tyler said.

“Well then,” Cash rose from the stool, leaving his bottle behind. “I wouldn’t want to upset your friends none, either. I find it helps to have friends on your side if you’re planning to court someone.”

Tyler rose. “You know, I think that’s pretty wise.”

As the door closed behind them, they just caught the sounds of loud cheers. Someone had just won.

Tyler was pretty sure it was him.

 

August Flash Fiction Draw

I made it! Today is the first Monday of the month, so I dug out my Geek & Sundry playing cards and did the draw for August. Say what, you ask? The skinny is this: I set a challenge to myself (and anyone else who wanted to try) last January. It’s a year-long monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge. Using three suits from a deck of cards, and assigning thirteen genres to clubs, thirteen items to diamonds, and thirteen locations to hearts, I made a deck of prompts. Once a month, drawing three cards creates the challenge. No more than 1,000 words, and no longer than a week to work on it, and… ta-da! Stretched writerly muscles, fun, and zero stress. (And that last rule is paramount: if it gets stressful or stops being fun? Skip the month. There’ll be another challenge September 3rd.)

In January, we had Fairy Tales involving a Tattoo Machine set in a Prison! The results were fantastic. February? Crime Caper, Compass, and a Soup Kitchen was a challenge (though with awesome results). March brought Romance, involving a VHS Cassette, set in a Firewatch Tower (results). Then in April, we had Historical Fictions set on Dirt Roads dealing with Rat Poison, and the timelines involved in those results were all over the place. Or time. You get it. May delivered some Science Fiction in our laps, taking place Above the Clouds and involving a Dog Whistle. For June, it was a Fantasy involving Hot Chocolate, set in a Junkyard or Scrapyard (which you can happily sip here). And for July, we crafted Mysteries involving Typewriters set on a Dam (results here).

I made a video of this month’s draw, in between sweating in this heat.

The chart from which the draws were made was this (minus the cards from previous draws, greyed out):

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And the result for August? Nine of clubs, nine of diamonds, and seven of hearts. Which means anyone who wants to play along is going to write a flash fiction piece of 1,000 words within the following guidelines: a Ghost Story, set on or in a Tobacco Shop, and including an Earring.

If you do participate, please pop a link to this post, or to the Facebook video above so I can gather all the stories again for a round-up post next week.

But the most important thing? This is supposed to be fun and inspiring. If it’s not working for you, take a pass. There’ll be another challenge on the first Monday of September (that’s September 3rd), from the remaining items on the list. The “rules” such as they are are pretty limited: You have to use the genre, the item, and the setting (though you can play a bit fast and loose within those guidelines), no more than 1,000 words, and the piece needs to be finished by next Monday (August 13th). That’s it.

Enjoy!

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Ghost Story, An Earring, Tobacco Shop.

Romancing the Capital 2018

Hey! I’m still alive, lack of posts being evidence to the contrary. Things went a little—okay, a lot—sideways over the last couple of weeks, and then there was the brilliant Romancing the Capital conference right after, and between all that, I basically dropped all the balls.

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Huge thank-yous to the two angels who brought me a wee stuffed Coach. His Fluffy Lordship claimed it for himself.

First, a quick update on the sideways: His Fluffy Lordship, Coach, is not well. I spent twelve hours in an emergency animal hospital with him, had to leave him there, my husband had to cut a conference in San Francisco short since it looked like things might be ending, but then Coach rallied. Then he crashed again (this time only six hours in emergency). By the time this back-and-forth was done over the course of a week, tests and scans and more time at the hospital gave us pretty much the worst news any pet owner can get: time is going to run out, soon. Coach handled the surgery well to remove his spleen (turns out those are optional), but the cancer that made that necessary is going to mean we’re saying goodbye to the puppy bear in the next undisclosed while. The good news is he’s pain-free (and will re-main so, given the type of cancer and also the finest pharmaceuticals royalties can buy) and we’ll be able to say goodbye from the comfort of our own home. No more trips to the hospital or vet.

So. That sucked, continues to suck, and will still suck even more, and was why I went radio silent for a while.

Thursday!

Once we had his Fluffy Lordship stable and comfortable, however, it was time for Romancing the Capital 2018. Organized by Eve Langlais, this is an Ottawa reader-centric conference on all varieties of romance, and it is, put simply, a blast.

The conference itself took place over Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, cumulating in an open-to-the-public book sale and signing, and was the perfect counterbalance to one of the worst couple of weeks of my life.

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Elizabeth Lister and her Mini-Me, Gillian.

After arriving, Elizabeth Lister and myself (and her helpful and super-artistic minion Gillian) set up shop in the badge decorating room and had a blast with very sparkly gem stickers, markers, and what might have been the most resistant and difficult lipstick mark kiss stickers in the history of all of stickerdom. But, by the time people left, they were blinged up to the nth and sparkly for the duration of the conference.

The Thursday included more writer focused sessions for early arrivals and hopeful (and established) authors to gather and talk craft. Kobo and Direct2Digital were both there, and I sat in on a great discussion of shared worlds. Milly Taiden is hysterical and always offers up so much candid advice, and both she and her shared-world writing partner Marianne Morea must have said the word “contract” so many times it was very, very clear where the smart author should focus their attention before joining in a shared world project. And Susan Hayes was there with a more, uh, colourful history with shared world writing and some incredibly practical advice about world-building and tracking. (Also, I learned hair dye can be a branding write-off.)

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Me, being all queer and stuff.

After sneaking out for some food—which I was lucky enough to share with the lovely Linda Poitevin—I was up next with a quick workshop of my own—Queer Inclusive Writing. It went really, really well. My goal was to give authors a few guiding notes, a couple of a-ha! moments, and some recommendations of obvious pitfalls and tropes to avoid, as well as set aside some time for questions and an ask-me-anything session. Frankly, I feel like it hit all the points I was hoping for, and more than that, the feedback I got from participants for the rest of the weekend was really positive, so I wipe my brow with relief. I was also really, really pleased at how many of the questions came from a “I want to do no harm…” point of view, and a complete lack of defensiveness to criticism and discussion. It’s never easy to have a marginalized voice in romance, but sometimes Romancelandia really, really steps up and reminds you it’s full of people who want to learn, and use happy-ever-afters for good.

After dinner, I hustled my butt over to Viola Grace‘s 7:00p party. She was celebrating a milestone, 400 titles, and brought 400 cupcakes.

Yeah, you read that right. FOUR. HUNDRED. TITLES.

So, after opening my little bottle of bubbles to and cheering at four hundred titles—FOUR. HUNDRED. TITLES.—I grabbed me some vanilla and red velvet cupcakes and basically sank into the floor in gratitude. Cupcakes. Mmm.

(One last time: FOUR. HUNDRED. TITLES.)

Friday!

Friday morning brought my favourite time in the conference, when I got together with Sheri Lyn, A.M. Griffin, and Eve Vaughn, and got to take part in a panel idea I pitched: “People are Not a Sub-Genre.” In a word, it was awesome. We talked about the wince-worthy notion of identity-based categories in awards, pitfalls of writing characters outside your own lived experience and identity, the never-ending frustration of trying to honestly use the “category” systems to gain visibility for lesser-heard voices without being buried by those who use them as a quick way to hit a top-ten, and how dodging stereotype for layered characters (and supporting cast) can help world-building to be more diverse.

And we laughed our butts off, had solid questions from the audience, and—I hope—offered up some “a-ha!” moments for everyone present. Hell, I know I had a few myself, listening to these awesome authors talk from their own experiences.

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Myself, Sheri Lyn, A.M. Griffin, and Eve Vaughn.

After that, I grabbed a quick snack, then popped in to the “Family Feud” style game hosted by Sheri Lyn, Gracen Miller, Cassidy O’Connor, and Elizabeth Lister (all the answers were collected from RTC registrants before hand, and it was hysterical!) Then I joined all the other Canuck authors present for the “Canadian Author Meet & Greet” was was a fun Q&A session and chat with attendees where I met some awesome readers for the first time as well as catching up with some I’ve met before.

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It looks like the Triad boys need to watch out for moose.

Then it was time again for RTC Against Humanity, 2018 Edition. Just like last year, I made up decks of Cards Against Humanity cards out of blurbs from the attending authors. Every single author was in the deck at least five times (one black card and four white cards) and many were in there multiple times (tricksy pen-name authors, co-authors, etc.) and the end result was a room full of laughing people for an hour. We handed out chocolate bars and free books, and listening to people burst out laughing was music to my ears.

New this year was something I did based on last year’s feedback. Last year, many times I was asked questions about a particular black or white card from the deck (like, “Who wrote a book with Loki and Thor running a matchmaking service?” which was Sheri Lyn, by the way.) So, this year I put on my smart cookie cap and every card had the author surname on it as well. I was gratified to see people snapping photos of particular cards or writing down author names. I hope you found some awesome new books. Just watch out for unexpected moose.

Saturday!

Unfortunately, after that point, His Fluffy Lordship took a turn for the worse and I needed to get home to help my husband—things worked out, and Coach rallied and by the time the next morning rolled around, he was up and about and bright eyed (well, high-as-a-kite eyed) and bushy tailed and so I managed to come back.

I missed the play-doh event, but I was in time for Eve Vaughn and E.M. Griffin’s Totally Tubular 80’s Trivia and I even managed to win myself a prize! Who knew a sad and nerdy 80’s childhood watching movies and television would ever pay off? Although my music knowledge is terrible. Like, shame-worthy terrible. Thank all the powers that be for the inclusion of movies and TV trivia, is all I’m saying.

The important thing is I got to finish off the RTC weekend with the biggest and best part: The Book Fair & Signing.

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Time to sign some books!

Open to the public, the two-hour event was a constant stream of awesome people, laughter, and signing. I was really lucky this year, and Kanata Chapters had Light, Triad Blood, and Triad Soul at their table, so I got to focus on Of Echoes Born and Saving the Date (if you ever sign a book with Angela S. Stone, leave her lots and lots of room!)

The reception from the readers was fantastic, and it was so good to meet new faces and also catch up with some readers-turned-friends from years past. Everyone who came by, said hello, bought a book, or brought a bought for me to sign? Thank you. You make this whole writing thing possible.

And—of course—the biggest thank you goes to Eve Langlais, who organizes this fun, laugh-filled event that so perfectly connects romance readers with romance authors, and gives everyone a great time full of awesome memories.

Game On!
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One player’s finished card, complete with all side-quests and coven mates.

This year, part of RTC included a postcard hunt, and I embraced my nerdy side and came up with a game to put on the B-side of my postcard, ‘Covens of the Capital,’ and holy heck it was fun. In between sessions, attendees who were playing could stop and ask me for quests, and their characters—wizards set in my urban fantasy Triad world—could form covens to get stronger, and do their own mini-quests (like gathering author autographs or going to panels) to make their magic stronger.

To say it was a hit with my fellow gamer nerd demographic would be something of an understatement. Quite a few people went out of their way to finish all six quests, and the end result was—I hope—fun for all involved. Even better? I had enough prizes to hand out pride-themed chocolate bars from Peace by Chocolate and folded origami earrings (a tip of the hat to Handmade Holidays) to the people that played their way through Covens of the Capital.

I’d definitely do it again, and I’ve already got some ideas on how I could streamline it, or make it multi-author (y’know, if I got my butt in gear ahead of time). But the main thing? People liked Covens of the Capital, and it was a great way to get to talk to some readers who—like me—exist in the crossover of the Venn Diagram circles of “nerdy” “gamer” and “reader.”

You must write every day—my favourite BS notion.

Cait is right.

Spoonie Authors Network

I have been trying so hard to stay out of social media arguments these days, stopping myself from reading or writing comments. Mostly because I find it comes to nothing in the end and drains my spoons.

But then a thing happened this week I couldn’t ignore.

A quote appeared on my Twitter timeline from an account that purports to give writer advice:

Compel yourself to write several hours every day no matter how bad you feel.

WILLIAM H. GASS

Seriously. Several hours. Every day. No matter how bad you feel.

If you follow me, you know that I’m disabled because of fibromyalgia. Many days the pain in my hands is too acute for me to type. Sometimes the pain in the rest of my body becomes so intense, I can barely concentrate. Not to mention the debilitating fatigue that comes with sustaining all that constant pain. Sounds like the…

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Friday Flash Fics — Inspired

I missed last week thanks to an inner ear infection, but this week’s Friday Flash Fics inspiration solidly landed me back with Michel and Clive from “Pentimento” (which appears in Of Echoes Born, and who we’ve already visited once in a previous Friday Flash Fic piece, “Morning After, After Mourning” (which this piece follows a short while after).

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Inspired

After weekend late shifts at Chances, Clive always wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a large glass of water, and to fall into bed. Chances was closed on Mondays, and that meant Clive was always guaranteed to have the day off. Over the last couple of years, it had become the day he allowed himself luxuries. Sleeping in, grabbing a late breakfast out from somewhere and not considering the level of grease or nutrition involved, and then a day spent luxuriating in sloth with music or Netflix and zero other human contact. Mondays were also the only day he didn’t hit the gym, though he still often went for a run or a swim if the weather was nice.

He loved his job, and he was—if he allowed himself some hubris—a damned good bartender, but after the Friday-Saturday-Sunday stretch of closing the bar down, he was ready for silence and solitude.

Except right now he wasn’t.

He’d done the shower and dive into bed thing, but waking up there the following morning, he’d found his apartment too quiet.

Or, well, not too quiet so much as missing a particular voice.

He’d tried to shake it off, getting up, getting dressed, and heading down to his car. He tried to decide where to hit for takeout breakfast, but…

Clive rolled his eyes, pulled out his phone, and tapped away on the screen.

His thumb hovered over ‘send’ but it wasn’t like him to waffle like this. He tapped it, and his message: Are you up? appeared in a little green bubble.

The dancing three grey dots that told him a reply was incoming had him pausing at his car, waiting with his keys in hand.

In the studio.

Clive smiled, and tried not to think overmuch about how much he was smiling due to a single text. Had breakfast yet?

Not yet.

I have a theory that takeout breakfast is better shared. Want to test it? There. That was just flirty enough, but not too flirty, right? Clive blew out a breath, and tapped ‘send.’

It would be a crime against science not to. Back door is unlocked.

Clive grinned, and got in his car.

*

There were two reserved parking spots behind FunkArt, but only one was occupied. Michel’s little Mazda was there, and Clive pulled in beside it. Nerves hit his stomach then, and he blew out a breath, checking his reflection in the rear-view and then feeling like an idiot for checking his reflection.

After all, the last time they’d seen each other had been the morning after a wake, and neither of them had exactly groomed well. At least, not before they’d ended up in Michel’s bed and talking away most of the day.

Maybe that was it. All they’d done was talk. That was kind of new for Clive. They’d gotten to know each other pretty well, had exchanged compliments and numbers, and they’d already seen each other mostly naked and spent an entire rainy day together and, okay, there’d been a pretty great kiss near the end…

Then they’d parted with a promise to get together again.

Which was now.

Clive picked up the to-go bag from the twenty-four hour diner on Elgin, and got out of his car.

*

Above the gallery proper at FunkArt, Michel had turned one of the two apartments into a studio space he rented to artists for photo shoots, classes, or just for artists who needed a space for a major project. Climbing the stairs, Clive glanced at the other door, the one that led to Michel’s apartment.

The studio door was open a crack, so Clive came through, turning down the short hallway to the large open front space lined with windows and…

Michel was crouched on the ground, down on one knee, surrounded by bowls and bottles of paint, oils, and an array of paint brushes and water and pallet knives. His hands were stained with paint, and he’d shucked the top half of a pair of denim overalls, tying them in a knot around his waist. He was smooth and very lean—something Clive remembered well from their rainy day together.

He had a paintbrush held between his teeth, and it was one of the sexiest things Clive had ever seen.

He cleared his throat.

Michel turned, and smiled around the paintbrush, putting down a rag to pull it from his mouth.

That was when Clive noticed the canvasses. There were a half-dozen of them, some leaning and apparently waiting to dry, others still on easels. Abstracts, with emphatic colours and a mix of brush-strokes and pallet-applied paint.

“Breakfast,” Clive said, raising the bag.

“Hi,” Michel said, with a shy little smile. He reached for a t-shirt, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you coming up the stairs.”

“It’s fine,” Clive said, a little sad to see the t-shirt make its appearance. “It looks like you’ve been in the zone.”

“I haven’t painted this much since school.”

“If I’m interrupting…” Clive held up the bag of food. “I can do a drop-off.”

“No, no, not at all. I didn’t mean that.” Michel bit his bottom lip. Clive found himself staring at it, and forced his gaze back to Michel’s paintings.

“They’re really good,” Clive said.

“I don’t know about that.” Michel blew out a breath. “But they’re not mimicry. Or at least, I don’t think I’m doing that.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s something Hans said,” Michel said.

“Right, the master forger,” Clive said. He and Michel had talked about this on the rainy day. Hans had been Michel’s art professor, and had never been one to sugar-coat his feedback. According to Michel, Hans had been very clear that Michel had technical talent—he could mirror the technique of pretty much any artist—but not much voice of his own.

“But thank you,” Michel said. “They’re turning out the way I pictured them, so that’s something.”

“Hey,” Clive said, and waited for Michel to meet his gaze. “I may not know art, but I know what I like.”

“Yeah?” Michel said.

Clive didn’t look away. “Yeah.”

Covens of the Capital

Next month is Romancing the Capital, a brilliant reader conference put together by Eve Langlais, and as part of the event, readers can collect postcards from attending authors (they even get a little album to put them in, which is super-cool).

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Side-A, which has my face, my romance novellas and short fictions, and the contact info, and I love it so very much. Inkspiral is amazing.

Being the giant nerd I am, it occurred to me that the “B-side” of a postcard was a great place to put a game. At first, I considered something like “rock-paper-scissors” but—again, giant nerd—I did a quick poll of the attendees over whether they’d like something a bit more in-depth and RPG-like, and the answer was a resounding yes.

So, now, I can unveil “Covens of the Capital.” The postcard was designed by Inkspiral Design (they’re amazing), and while my mug and some book covers are on the front side, the back-side is, indeed, a character sheet for the game.

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The “Covens of the Capital” character sheet!

So, how does “Covens of the Capital” work, exactly?

Well, it’s all about magic.

In Triad Blood and Triad Soul, magic is aligned along the four elements, and all the supernatural world powers need to gather in groups of three. For this game, I focused specifically on the wizards. Wizards generally have a strength in some elements and a weakness in others, though some seek to balance out their abilities as best they can.

Starting a Character

Those strengths in magic are on the character pages as dots (hexagons and squares, six of them for each type of magic), and as the game progresses, the attendees will fill in more of the dots. And whenever the dot that’s filled in is a hexagon, they can pick a specialty to learn. Those elemental magic dots (the hexagons and squares) must be filled in in order, but the specialties may be chosen in whatever order they’d like.

To start a character, an attendee can pick any two elements of magic and fill in the first dot (which are hexagons—which means you’ll have two starting specialties in two different elements) or they can choose to focus on just one element and fill in the first three dots (which means you’ll begin with two of the three specialties in one element, since the first and third dots are both hexagons).

The Magic Specialties

As each wizard fills in dots for each of the four types of magic, they’ll colour in dots that are hexagons. When they do that, they can choose one of the associated specialties (in any order they’d like) from that type of magic.

Air Magic includes Geas (using binding symbols to force other supernatural creatures to do as you wish), Wind & Weather (because who wouldn’t like to smack the person dithering in front of them at Starbucks with a gale-force wind?), and Language (why waste your time with DuoLingo if you can magic up an instant understanding of anything you read or hear?).

Earth Magic includes Healing (paper-cuts can be gone with a gesture, broken bones take a bit longer, but it’s all way, way better trying to explain vampire bite marks to a doctor), Geomancy (a little bit of quartz might be all you need to knock a demon off his feet), and Wands (hawthorne wands make Vampires very, very nervous).

Fire Magic includes Illusion (yes, this is always what I look like first thing in the morning, why?), Pyromancy (because sometimes the answer really is ‘burn it all down’), and Charm (hey, buddy, would you do me a favour?)

Water Magic includes Divination (it’s not gambling if you check the future to see which numbers are going to come up), Scrying (give me a bit of your hair and I’m better than a CCTV network), and Water, Ice, & Cold (ever wanted to summon a Canadian winter at the tip of your fingers?).

Finding a Coven

To fit with the theme of “it takes three” that exists in the Triad world, if an attendee buddies up with two other wizards, they can attempt quests together, and use any specialty any of their coven mates know (more on that below).

Wizards may only belong to one coven, however, so they should choose coven mates wisely. There’s a spot to write down their names. Once they form a coven of three wizards, they’ll each find their magic grows a little stronger: they can fill in one dot of an elemental magic in which they already have at least one filled-in dot.

So, if when they started a character they chose to begin with one dot in both Fire and Air magic, now they’ll start with two Fire dots and one Air dot, or one Fire dot and two Air dots, and be a little bit closer to their next specialty in Fire or Air.

But more importantly? They can bring coven mates with them to any quest, and if they succeed, they all reap the rewards. So when I said choosing a coven mate takes a bit of wisdom, I meant it’s wiser to find coven mates who have different specialties—which gives them all a better chance at success with the quests.

Quests

What’s a quest? Well, there are two kinds. Some can be done without checking in with me. Those four are listed on the card, and include:

Get three author signatures (which lets them fill in one Air Magic dot).

Go to three panels (which lets them fill in one Earth Magic dot).

Collect three author postcards (which lets them fill in one Water Magic dot).

And post an R.T.C. photo on social media and tag @RTCOttawa and @NathanBurgoine (which lets them fill in one Fire Magic dot).

But there are also six specific quests (marked “A” through “F”) that an attendee gets from me directly. Those quests will have two specialties tied to solving the quest, and if the character—or any of the coven-mates present—have either of those specialties, they’ll all succeed and gain the reward. Here’s what a quest might look like:

A Wolf in the Greenbelt

While walking in the greenbelt, you come across a badly wounded lone werewolf, who’s carrying a strange document in a language you’ve never even seen before. Werewolves like this one have been known to traffic in illicit magics like a sort of black market, and whatever this is, it can’t be good. He’s already lost consciousness and whatever hurt him might still be nearby.

To Succeed: You can use Healing Earth Magic to restore him to health and find out who hurt him and who he’s here to deliver the document to, or you can use Language Air Magic to translate the document for yourself, which should lead you to the buyer, or at least figure out what’s going on. [Success: gain 2 dots in any magics you already have at least one filled-in dot; that can be 1 dot in two magics, or two dots in one magic].

Otherwise: The snapping and crunching in trees makes it clear you’re out of time. Your coven grabs the document. Maybe you can find someone later who can help figure it all out. In the meanwhile, you magic up cover and make a break for it. [Gain one dot in any magic you already have at least one filled-in dot.]

So if the coven brings the right skills, they’ll succeed, and if they don’t, they’ll still learn a bit from their adventure, getting a bit stronger. There are six quests to try, and each one will have two of the different specialties as solutions.

And that’s it! I hope the attendees who want to play have fun being wizards for a few days (as far as I’m concerned, they’re already magic). And hopefully finding some coven-mates and powering up their magic will be fun.

Oh, and of course, there will be a few prizes, too.