'Nathan Burgoine's Blog, page 82

May Flash Fiction Draw Roundup

We’re at the fifth month, which means a fifth collection of stories! I’m so appreciative to everyone who takes part in this wee prompt/contest/what-have-you, so before anything else: a thank you to everyone who took part. Also? I’ve heard from a couple of the authors now that stories they wrote for this challenge are finding homes in contests or publications elsewhere, and that is freaking awesome.

So, what is this challenge?

Well, the Flash Fiction Draw is basically 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. I do a draw on the first Monday of every month (the next draw will be June 4th, 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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Given “Science Fiction,” “A Dog Whistle,” and “Above the Clouds,” where did the writers go? Some stuck around here on Earth (like me), but it turned out the sky was absolutely not the limit.

Here they are, alphabetically by contributor:

Jeff Baker wrote “Murder Above the Clouds.”

‘Nathan Burgoine (that’s me) wrote “KOA-YVR.”

Alex deMorra wrote “The Laika Project.”

Talia C. Johnson wrote “Whistle While You Hate.”

Cait Gordon wrote “The Ale-ing Brothers.”

E.H. Timms wrote “Dock 42.”

Jamieson Wolf wrote “The Light Within.”

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 June 4th. 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. And the roundup for April (which was “Historical Fiction,” “Rat Poison,” and “A Dirt Road”) is here.

KOA-YVR — A Flash Fiction Draw Challenge

Here’s my entry for the first Flash Fiction Draw Challenge (the post for the original May draw is here). In case you didn’t know about this challenge, there’s a video here explaining (and showing the fifth draw), but the quick version: I used a deck of cards (three suits) to randomly put together a genre (in this case: science fiction), a location (in this case: above the clouds) and an object (in this case: a dog whistle) and challenged anyone who wanted to play to write something over the next week, with a maximum of 1,000 words.

I was tempted to go urban fantasy on this one, but I decided I’d hold onto that until fantasy comes up on a draw, so I tried for something a bit more purely science fiction. And, like most of the science fiction I really enjoy, I couldn’t help but consider it from a queer angle.

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KOA-YVR

You can’t escape DNA.

The moment he saw the cross-and-helix, Hilo knew he was in trouble. At least Hilo was on one side of the plane, and the Bio-Essentialist was on the other.

Bio-Es were comfortable enough to wear their symbol in public? The pendant around the man’s neck was gold. It caught the light as the plane banked after takeoff.

The passenger beside Hilo had offered a brief polite smile, then logged her tablet into the plane’s network. The woman had a newsfeed strip running at the top of her screen. Hilo tried to glance at it only in passing.

Bill C-95 scrolled by. “Purity Earns Another Pass” was the pithy—if insulting—headline. Its supporters in the United Earth Government were still unable to get it through thanks to New Zealand, Norway, the Netherlands, and Canada.

Canada. He’d land in Vancouver in less than two hours. Once there, he could get to the consulate—it rained a lot in Vancouver, which was like the Quiesci homeworld—and a single gene-scan later he’d have what he needed.

A confirmed identity as one-eighth Quiesci. A way off-world.

Joseph would follow him via Vancouver, and then they’d be safe.

He twisted his wedding ring, guilt tightening his stomach. This was all his fault.

That the plan was to out himself as partially Quiesci didn’t make the Bio-E less dangerous. Until they landed, they weren’t technically in Canada. Even in Hawai’i, Hiding his DNA was a minor crime.

Hilo shifted, still keeping one eye on the Bio-E across the cabin.

“You okay?”

The woman beside him spoke softly, looking up from her tablet for the first time.

“I’m sorry.” Hilo didn’t have to affect a blush. “Never quite enough leg room on these things.” It wasn’t untrue. Being tall in a space designed for those of average height was never fun.

The woman nodded, then glanced across the cabin.

Shit.

Had she seen him eyeing the Bio-E?

He waited, but she turned back to her tablet. He pulled out his own, pulling up some medical research he needed to catch up on. Just a normal human doctor heading to a conference.

Almost an hour into the flight, Hilo had noticed two things about the Bio-E. One, the man regarded the crowd of passengers, and narrowed his eyes a few times when looking at passengers who, Hilo supposed, fit his bigoted and entirely unscientific conceptions of what someone with mixed DNA might look like. Two, he kept touching his pendant.

That he’d noticed the latter was the only warning he got. It was barely enough.

At the hour mark—the middle of the flight—the Bio-E raised the helix-cross to his lips, and blew on it.

The shriek would have made him cry out had he not recognized the danger just a second before it did. A dog-whistle. Not for canines, of course, but emitting a sound beyond the range of human hearing.

Pure human hearing, at least.

Hilo had inherited far, far better audial acuity than that.

He flinched in his seat, managing to grip his arm rests but maintain a blank stare at the chairback in front of him.

Beside him, the woman turned and said something. He had no idea what it was, of course. The painful shriek covered everything else.

It stopped a second later. He forced himself not to look. Instead, he faced the woman, aware sweat had broken out on his forehead, knowing she’d said something, but having no idea what it was.

“Sorry.” His own voice was muffled. His ears ringing. “I was daydreaming. What was that?”

She frowned. Her mouth moved.

Another shriek. Painful now.

Hilo managed a smile, waited for the woman’s mouth to stop moving, and said “I’m fine.” He didn’t hear his own voice.

Her frown didn’t stop, but she nodded.

He didn’t know if he could take much more of this. He clenched his fists, wanting to press them against his ears to drown out even some of the noise, and…

It stopped again.

Hilo exhaled, and risked a glance at the Bio-E.

He wasn’t looking Hilo’s way. He’d risen from his seat, and was in the first aisle, looking back down the length of the plane behind him. It was smart, really. He probably planned to blow his whistle multiple times, each time watching a different group of passengers.

Then the man turned his attention Hilo’s way.

Hilo inhaled.

“Could you not?” the woman said, rising.

The Bio-E’s smile was borderline feral at her challenge. “Could I not what?”

The flight attendants stirred, uncertain.

“I lost my hearing at Hellas Basin,” she said. “Your bigot-whistle is fucking up my implants.”

Now everyone was staring at the Bio-E, who looked off-balance and unsure.

“We have to know,” he said, still holding the pendant tightly in one hand. But in the face of a soldier—let alone a veteran who’d survived Hellas Basin—he apparently knew he was outclassed.

She drove the point home. “Sit down,” she said. It wasn’t a request.

“Sir,” the flight attendant closest to the Bio-E said. “I’ll need to take that.”

Once the pendant was in the attendant’s hand, Hilo finally exhaled. The woman sat beside him. For the first time, he noticed her tags.

“Thank you for your service,” he said, ears still ringing.

She smiled. Then she tapped on her tablet. Across the screen, large text appeared.

Are you okay? Can you still hear?

He blinked at the words, but he nodded.

She reached out and squeezed his hand.

“The Vancouver landing strip is pretty confusing,” she said. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to walk with you once we land. Make sure you don’t get lost.”

He had a pretty good view of her ears, and he was a doctor. There wasn’t the slightest tell-tale glint of metal anywhere in her ears or near them, no ports, no nodes.

“Thank you,” he said again. “You’re kind.”

The rest of the flight passed in silence.

 

 

 

 

In Thanks by ‘Nathan Burgoine

Giving thanks today over on the BSB UK blog…

Bold Strokes Books, UK

There’s a running joke among my author friends about how I never have a title. I’ve written novels before coming up with a title (I’ve even written a novel without naming a main character until the end). Titles (and names) are two things that always evade me the longest. My editors often end up titling things I’ve written, especially when they see what I eventually come up with. The gentle “Perhaps this title needs some work…” comments in edits from my first days as an author have given way to me leaving preemptive notes in submitted drafts saying “I’m aware this is a terrible title. Any ideas?”

Even putting a title on a blog post usually leaves me staring at the cursor, watching it blink.

This time? No different.

The ninth annual Bold Strokes Books bookfair in Nottingham was an absolute delight. Being surrounded by queer authors and queer readers…

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Of Echoes Born — Art for “There & Then”

Every now and then as a writer someone does something so above-and-beyond thanks to something you’ve written. This happened to me yesterday. Matthew Bright, the skill behind the brilliant Inkspiral Design (who did the cover for Of Echoes Born and In Memoriam), came to the Bold Strokes Books UK meet in Nottingham, and he picked up a copy of Of Echoes Born and he’s been reading it, and he made this:

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It’s a mock cover for the first story in the collection, “There & Then,” and it’s freaking amazing (and so darn perfect). That’s Dawn Solati, Bao Nguyen, and Christian Simon, three of the major characters that pop up in a few of the tales. The whorls of colour and shape (especially around Dawn) are pitch-perfect to the things Christian has begun to see in the air all around people. The track field, Dawn running, the crouching pose… GAH! It’s so perfect.

Thank you, mister.

Friday Flash Fics — Milo

Today’s Friday Flash Fic picture made me think of a waiting room. Then I wondered who’d dress like that for a waiting room (because, let’s be honest, he’s looking great), and the look in his eyes struck me as someone struggling with something. After that, it sort of fell together when I considered some of the waiting rooms I’ve found myself in.

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“Dr. Marshall is falling a bit behind. One of the other doctors is out today,” the receptionist told him.

“It’s fine,” Wyatt said. “I cleared my afternoon.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks. Take a seat.”

Wyatt picked a chair in the waiting area and told himself today was the day he’d have courage.

He knew he was full of shit, but for a little while at least, he could pretend he was a confident, self-assure man who could totally say more than “Hello again,” to the incredibly attractive bearded fellow who generally sat across the room from him.

He was here. In fact, despite the receptionist mentioning the falling behind, they were the only two in the room at the moment.

They had a similar schedule of appointments and had done since mid-winter. The bearded fellow was always here before Wyatt, and every time Wyatt was done with his visit, the bearded fellow was gone.

Over the weeks, Wyatt had been scrutinizing, trying to determine the potential for compatibility. The quickest deal-breakers had been dealt with first.

No wedding ring, first and foremost.

Then he’d made sure to add a small rainbow flag button to his coat before his next appointment, and though he’d intended to say “hello” on that appointment, it had taken Wyatt two more visits to get that far. But the man had smiled and returned the greeting, and his eyes—pale, lovely, grey eyes—had seen the button.

Wyatt was sure of it.

He’d also had a rumbly voice, which was great except it had surprised Wyatt and maybe he’d been so surprised he’d sort of jumped back and sat on the other side of the waiting room.

All things considered, it would probably take him another decade to get up the guts to say anything more than “hello.”

Another patient arrived, a young woman, and she went up to the desk. The receptionist told her about the wait, and she went to sit by the window.

Wyatt sighed. It came out a little louder than he intended, and he winced. When he looked up, the fellow was staring right at him.

“Sorry,” Wyatt said.

“It’s fine,” the fellow rumbled. “You okay?”

It was hard to concentrate when those grey eyes were aimed in Wyatt’s direction. And there was genuine concern. Given where they were, it wasn’t an unlikely thing to assume that Wyatt was worried about something.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he said, “Sorry. No. I’m good. It’s nothing major.” He tapped the side of his head. “Or, no worse than usual.” That wasn’t even untrue. He’d had a great couple of months.

The man smiled. Beneath that beard, he had a great smile.

“I love your bow ties,” Wyatt said. It was less a statement and more of a blurt, but he forced himself not to look away. The man generally wore a bow-tie each time he’d seen him.

The man smiled again. “Thank you. We try to match.”

Wyatt frowned. “We?”

“Milo.” The man nodded to the doors beyond the receptionist’s desk, and Wyatt realized he was a complete idiot. We meant someone else was in their appointment. Someone he was waiting for. Of course. Milo.

“Right,” Wyatt said, and then because his mouth was engaged even if maybe his brain wasn’t, he added, “I’ve only ever seen you.”

“Right,” the man echoed. “Of course.” Then he leaned forward. “Can I ask..?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind.”

The concern—or was it fear?—in the man’s eyes got Wyatt right in the heart. “Ask,” he said.

The man rose, crossed the room, and sat beside him. Up close, he was even more attractive, and Wyatt reminded himself, firmly, that this man was here with Milo, who was the luckiest damn Milo to ever wear a matching bow-tie.

The man even smelled good. That was so unfair.

“Have you had seizures your whole life?”

Wyatt nodded. “Yes. Since I was a kid.”

The man took a moment with that. “Sometimes he seems so sad.”

Wyatt blew out a breath. “When I was a kid… Other kids weren’t always kind.” He laughed. “Okay, that was an understatement. In some ways, I’m quite lucky. I have a very regular aura—does Milo have aura?”

The man nodded.

“Right. So you know what that is. Well, it means I can usually get myself to somewhere at least moderately safer, and I use my phone to let my friends know. It’s easier now that I’m older, and we balance my meds with how often I seize and…” He regarded the man, who was hanging on his every word. “I am sad sometimes, yes. But it’s not always about my wobbly brain. My ex…” He paused, considering if this was a bad idea, but then figured no one would ask about their partner if they didn’t honestly care. This man wasn’t Kenny. “Kenny, that’s my ex, he wasn’t a good match. He didn’t really understand the accommodations I needed, or how much it would impact our relationship, I guess. It took me longer than it should have to realize me feeling like a burden was something he was creating, and it wasn’t healthy.” He swallowed. “If you think Milo maybe feels like a burden, that’s worth talking about. So long as you’re going to make sure he realizes he isn’t.” He met the pale grey eyes with his own gaze. “Because he isn’t.”

“Of course he isn’t.” The man’s rumble lowered. “And forgive me, but your ex sounds like an ass.”

Wyatt offered a wan smile. “Well, yes. But he, too, had a pretty beard. It’s a weakness. Though yours is better. Milo’s a lucky guy.”

The man blinked, but then the receptionist called Wyatt’s name. He rose.

“Good luck,” Wyatt said.

His appointment with Dr. Marshall went well, and though he tried, Wyatt couldn’t help feeling a bit of a funk as he shook her hand and left her exam room. He’d banished thoughts of Kenny for the most part, but talking about him had brought him back to mind.

Wyatt wanted to believe the fear and concern the bearded man had shown weren’t the same things Kenny had felt—the selfish urge to dodge a life that would occasionally be inconvenient.

“Let it go,” Wyatt muttered, pushing through the door to the waiting room.

The first thing he saw was a pair of pale, grey eyes looking his way.

“Oh,” Wyatt said.

“Hey,” the bearded man said. He glanced down, and Wyatt noticed a young boy, maybe five or so, standing with him.

It took him a moment longer to notice the bow tie the boy wore.

“This is Milo,” the bearded man said. “My nephew. We were about to head out to get some ice cream, and I wondered if you’d like to come with us.”

“Oh.” Wyatt grinned, looking down at the little boy. He had the same grey eyes as his uncle. His uncle. “Well, I’m not going to turn down ice cream.”

“Uncle Ray says you’re like me.”

“I’ve had a wobbly brain,” Wyatt said. “Ever since I was your age.”

“Uncle Ray thinks you’re cute,” Milo said.

Wyatt’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Milo,” the bearded man—Ray—said. He was blushing. It was a good look.

Milo just grinned.

“So,” Wyatt said. “Ice cream.”

“This way,” Ray said.

 

The Post-Con Crash

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Catching the first train from Nottingham to London, on the way back to Ottawa.

I had a brilliant time in Nottingham, both at the Bold Strokes Books three-day writing retreat (of which I only blogged two days), the free day on Friday where Cari Hunter decided to show me how to live dangerously in the Peak District (another blog pending), and the two-day 9th Annual Bold Strokes Books UK Festival, which was freaking amazing (and that’d be another blog pending).

But right now? Right now, the jet-lag is kicking my butt. I can feel the creative battery buzzing with a full charge, even as my social battery is blinking dangerously low alert messages into my forebrain in Comic Sans (no, really, that’s how bad it is). There’s a kind of white-noise in my head, and I just want to sit, and ponder, and take a breath before I dive back in to writing, reading, and all the other pieces in motion that make up publishing.

I’ve walked the dog, done the laundry, and had so much tea.

So, I’m going to listen to the white noise, as it were, and the low-battery warnings, and tell myself it’s okay to step back from such an amazing experience and take a day or two to let it settle.

But I will say this: being surrounded by queer authors, in a queer setting, is—despite my physical, jet-lagged state—so revitalizing. On the train-trips and plane flight home, I scribbled down so many ideas, and I think I’ve finally untangled the knot that was keeping me stymied for Triad Magic, as well as some issues I was having with “Faux-Ho-Ho.” Bold Strokes does an amazing job of making everything feel so much like a group, family effort. For a process that is so very often done alone, it’s not one that ever feels lonely, and the sense of support lingers.

Even with a five hour time change.

May Flash Fiction Draw

I’m home! Today was a bit of a whirlwind day, getting up at 5:15a in Nottingham, England to get home for about 5:00p in Ottawa, Canada. Which is sort of like 10:00p to my brain. But! it’s the first Monday of the month, so…

The background: as a kind of challenge to myself (and anyone else who wanted to try), last January I started a year-long monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge.

The first draw (which was a Fairy Tale involving a Tattoo Machine set in a Prison!) and the results were fantastic in January, and February’s draw (Crime Caper, Compass, Soup Kitchen) was a challenge (though with awesome results). March‘s Romance, involving a VHS Cassette, set in a Firewatch Tower led to a great range of results. April gave us 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.

I made a video of this month’s draw, which included guest card drawings from Jeffrey Ricker, given we were in a hotel room in Nottingham at the time (you can go check that out on my Facebook page if you want).

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 May? Two of clubs, five of diamonds, and ten 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 science fiction story, set above the clouds, and including a dog whistle—which, as Jeffrey noted, could be metaphorical, rather than literal.

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 June (that’s June 4th), from the remaining nine 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 (May 14th). That’s it.

Enjoy!

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Last Day! 9th Annual @boldstrokebooks UK Book Festival

I can’t believe it’s been a week already.

Today is the last day of the 9th Annual Bold Strokes Books UK Book Festival here in Nottingham, and I’m stunned at how fast the time has flown by. My throat is sore from laughing and talking yesterday (ah, the life of an introvert) but I imagine we’ll be laughing just as much today.

You can see the schedule below, and it’s packed full of goodness. If you’re trying to track me down, I’ll be at the Waterstones Author Autograph Session/Snacks at 12:15p to 12:45p today, as well as Moderating a panel at 1:00p on the author-reader connection, and then apparently I’m on a quiz team, which will be terrifying, and that’s at 2:15p to 3:15p.

Then the whole shebang closes down and we mingle at the New Foresters Pub from 3:30p to 5:30p, and say our tearful farewells for another year.

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Today! 9th Annual @boldstrokebooks UK Book Festival

It’s here! In less than an hour, registration will commence for the Bold Strokes Books festival here in Nottingham! I’ve more-or-less recovered from my Peak District Walk with Cari Hunter yesterday (there will be more on that, I promise) and now it’s time to shift into author mode alongside dozens of other BSB authors for the next two days.

If you’re looking for me specifically today—and, aw, bless you, aren’t you sweet—I’m on a panel at noon at Waterstones discussing the writerly life, and at 2:45pm I’ll be at the Mercure for a paranormal themed reading, where I’m going to be reading from the first story of Of Echoes Born, which is actually available here at the festival, a whole month early!

After that? Well, there’s an author Q&A with all the authors at 3:45pm in Waterstones (and to be honest with you, I have no idea what that’s going to be like, and I assume hilarity shall ensue), followed by a two-hour after-party to close down the first day of the festival at 5:00pm, which is at Faraday’s.

I’ll be carrying maple candies throughout this day, too, so if you’re in the mood for something sweet and Canadian, you don’t have to settle for me.

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Living the Life — @boldstrokebooks day two in Nottingham

Really, as Christian Baines pointed out, it was like a particularly stereotypical queer scene out of rom-com. We three queer fellows had left a room full of queer women talking the trade…

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New hat.

To go shopping.

Myself, Jeffrey Ricker, and Christian were standing in a Nottingham Marks & Spencer, and I was asking them to let me know if the hat I was trying on was right (it wasn’t, but we found a better one) and Jeffrey needed a new rain jacket because his brolly had blown inside-out and then—OH!—those socks! They’re so cute!

Anyway. In our defence, we’re going on a three hour hike on Friday, and I needed a hat and Jeffrey needed a coat. Also, it was after lunch and before the afternoon workshops.

(Aside: does anyone else miss rom-coms? I miss rom-coms.)

So! The second day of the Bold Strokes retreat today was just as great as the first. We started today not with pitches but with tonnes of wisdom from Carsen Taite and Ruth Sternglantz about what it takes to put together a successful writing event (be it a book launch, or a book-fair, a bookstore visit, or some mix thereof). The major takeaway from this, for me, was of course the emphasis on prep-work, but perhaps even bigger than that: taking time to really cogitate on what “successful” might realistically mean in the first place. My background in the bookstore has definitely given me a particular point of view about signings, but it occurred to me that I was forgetting to consider other angles.

Then, five brave editors got on the stage to talk about the author-editor relationship, and there was much hilarity to be had. I tried to take notes throughout this panel—so many pieces of brilliant insight were being shared—but it was hard to keep concentrating what with all the laughter. But one giant take-away from this? Editors with a publishing house are so freaking invested. It’s a partnership with many levels: yes, between the editor and the author, but also between the author and the publisher as a whole, between the book and what that book can mean for the brand of the publishing house, and so many other connections that were coming rapid-fire throughout the panel. It may be a cliché aphorism, but a rising tide does indeed lift all boats, and that’s pretty apt for a publishing house. They’re watching a whole as well as all the moving parts.

Now, I think I’ve said this before, but I quite like writing blurbs. Apparently this makes me the alien in the room, because when Sandy Lowe got up to talk about blurbs, the room more or less made it clear that “blurbs” were on most people’s enjoyable activities lists somewhere between “fingernails on a chalk board” and “just shoot me.” Sandy then proceeded to dissect a blurb into brilliant, manageable chunks and her examples were so freaking clear and clever that even a blurb-lover like me was scribbling notes to myself about things I should be giving more consideration.

In fact, that’s been a repeating (and heartening) theme of the retreat thus far: it’s never about getting everything perfect. That’s impossible. It’s about picking up new pieces each time and getting stronger in new ways. And y’know, that’s something I’ve always felt at every step of the journey with my writings with Bold Strokes Books: they want to help me write the best stories I can tell, and that’s always going to be a moving target.

There’s a way forward.

A gentle reminder, too, that this weekend, the 9th Annual Bold Strokes Books UK Festival will be happening, and you can meet a freaking tonne of the BSB authors, hear us talk, and pick up our books at the awesome Waterstones Nottingham.