Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 124

Photo Prompt 03

I've decided to start running my own photo prompts on a Monday in case anyone needs inspiration for their Friday Flash!



All I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! I promise to comment on any story that comes from this photo.



The third prompt is Angel.







Have fun!

Friday Flash - Flintlock Roulette

"Garrrh, poker's for wenches!" said Captain Scarlight.



He knocked back the last dregs of his grog, slamming the tankard on the table.



"You do keep winnin', Cap'n," replied First Mate Swein.



"That I do."



"I heard talk of a game of roulette in these parts," said Swein.



"Roulette is for wenches, too!"



"It makes a change from poker."



"True. Garrh, alright then, where's this roulette game?" asked the Captain.



"A bar near here. The Rotten Pegleg," replied Swein.



"Then we go to the Rotten Pegleg!"



* * *

The Rotten Pegleg stood at the end of the quay. Candlelight fought its way through the grime caked on the windows, throwing misshapen shadows across the wharf. A peg leg infested with woodworm hung from a pole outside.



A toothless hag sat at the piano just inside the door. Her gnarled fingers laboured through a mournful dirge in the quiet bar. Four men loitered near a round table in the middle of the room. A fat man with a mop of hair the colour of dishwater stood behind the bar.



"Barkeep! I heard there was a game of roulette going on," said Captain Scarlight.



"That there is. Yer in luck, me friend. We needed another player 'fore we could get going," said one of the men. He grinned, displaying a mouth of black teeth.



"Have ye ever played flintlock roulette?" asked another man. Twisted scars snaked up his face and under his bandanna, encrusted with sweat and filth.



"Can't say I have, I'm a poker man, myself," replied the Captain.



"I don't like the sound of flintlock roulette," said Swein.



"Ah, ye brought a wench with ye!" roared the black-toothed man. Swein blushed.



"This is my first mate," said the Captain. "But I must have a drink before we play."



The Captain walked over to the group. His gaze fell on a rusty cage in the shadows at the end of the bar. A beautiful blue parrot sat hunched on a perch, too large for the size of the cage. It looked at him with doleful eyes.



"What a beautiful bird!" said the Captain.



"He's supposed to be my main attraction. I got 'im from a passing gypsy. Little liar told me 'e was telepathic, but I ain't 'eard anythin' to prove it," said the barkeeper.



"All the same, he's gorgeous. What's his name?" asked the Captain.



He stuck his finger through the bars and stroked the bird's head. The parrot leaned nearer, enjoying the attention.



"Dunno, never bothered to give 'im one. 'E might end up in me dinner if 'e doesn't do something useful soon," said the barkeeper. He handed Captain Scarlight a drink.



"I'll take him," said the Captain.



"Ah 'e ain't for sale," said the barkeeper. "But if ye win yer game, I'll reconsider."



"Are ye ready, strange cap'n?" asked the pirate in the bandanna.



"That I am! So how do we play this?" asked the Captain.



"We put the deeds to our ships in the middle of the table. We get blindfolded, and walk around the table. The hag tells us when to stop. Ye sit down, pick up the flintlock in front of ye, and fire," said the pirate.



"Only one of 'em has shot in it. If ye get the shot, ye keep the ship of the man ye shot," said the black-toothed pirate.



"That doesn't sound like much fun," said Captain Scarlight.



"Are ye yeller?" asked a third pirate.



"No, I just like my head where it is, thank you," said the Captain.



The pirate in the bandanna pulled out a pistol. He aimed it at the Captain's chest.



"Ye join in, or I shoot yer now."



"I guess I'll just have to play then, won't I?" said the Captain. He turned to the barkeeper. "But I get the bird if I win."



The barkeeper nodded. Swein moved to the door.



The pirates put on their blindfolds. They walked around the table, arms outstretched. The hag shouted, "Sit!" The pirates reached for the nearest seat. Captain Scarlight fell into a chair by the bar.



The pirates fumbled around the table. Their hands found the flintlocks, and five hands picked up five guns. Five thumbs cocked five hammers.



I would suggest you duck.



Captain Scarlight started at the voice in his head. He looked around, before remembering the blindfold.



My name is Methuselah, and I am the bird on the bar. Please trust me.



The voice made the Captain's ears itch. He shook his head.



"Ready....aim....fire!" said the hag.



DUCK!



Captain Scarlight ducked. The deafening crack of a flintlock filled the room, followed by the thump of a lead shot into wood. The Captain tore off his blindfold to see a smoking gun pointed straight at him.



Scarlight scrambled out of his seat. The pirate holding the smoking gun pulled off his blindfold. His expression morphed from triumph into anger when he saw the hole in the wall.



"Cheat!" he screamed.



"Captain!" cried Swein.



Captain Scarlight grabbed the bird cage and ran across the room. The pirate tracked the captain across the bar, pulling the trigger until he remembered flintlocks held a single shot. The other pirates pulled off their blindfolds to see the commotion.



Swein yanked open the door and the Captain darted into the cold night air. Swein ran after him as the four pirates fell out of their seats in the hurry to pursue Scarlight and the stolen bird.



The Dead Calm lay further up the quay. Scarlight and Swein sprinted up the gangplank. The crew hauled the board onto the deck. The pursuing pirates missed their footing and plunged into the sea. Scarlight's crew jeered at them as they cursed the Captain from the dark water.



"What's this then, Cap'n?" asked Billy the Bosun.



Scarlight stood up and opened the cage. The parrot hopped onto his forearm.



"This is the newest member of our crew, er..."



Methuselah. My name is Methuselah.



* * *

If you'd like to read more tales of Captain Scarlight and Methuselah, click here!

Photo Prompt 02

I've decided to start running my own photo prompts on a Monday in case anyone needs inspiration for their Friday Flash!



All I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! I promise to comment on any story that comes from this photo.



The second prompt is Money Pool.







Have fun!

Chinese Whisperings - The Launch

After months of hard work and elbow grease, The Yin and Yang Books are finally here! My own story, The Strangest Comfort, is in the Yin Book, along with stories by these wonderfully talented women writers; Emma Newman, Carrie Clevenger, Tina Hunter, Claudia Osmond, Laura Eno, Jasmine Gallant, Jen Brubacher, Annie Evett, and Lily Mulholland.



Taken from the Chinese Whisperings website;

The Yin Book

In the international terminal of a large European airport, Monday morning is about to get a whole lot worse. At 7.35am Pangaean Airlines, one of Europe's major carriers, is put into receivership grounding all flights, stranding thousands of passengers and impounding tonnes of luggage. But all is not as appears on the surface and the sliding-doors moment of one woman deciding to abandon her suitcase will ricochet through the lives around her.



But wait! There's more!



The Yang Book features the literary stylings of a fantastic cast of men writers, too. Paul Servini, Chris Chartrand, Tony Noland, Dan Powell, Dale Challener Roe, J.M. Strother, Rob Diaz II, Richard Jay Parker, Jason Coggins and Benjamin Solah have all contributed tales.



Taken from the Chinese Whisperings website;

The Yang Book

In the international terminal of a large European airport, Monday morning is about to get a whole lot worse. At 7.35am Pangaean Airlines, one of Europe's major carriers, is put into receivership grounding all flights, stranding thousands of passengers and impounding tonnes of luggage. But all is not as appears on the surface and the sliding-doors moment of one woman deciding to retrieve her suitcase will ricochet through the lives around her.



Both books feature a prologue and an epilogue written by our fearless leaders, Jodi Cleghorn and Paul Anderson respectively. It's been an educational experience, and I feel privileged to have been part of such a fantastic project. It wasn't all plain sailing but then even Rome wasn't built in a day, and the end product is just simply awesome. A special mention also goes to Lucas Clevenger for his amazing work on the cover!



Carrie Clevenger, Tony Noland, Annie Evett and Jen Brubacher have already blogged about this, but I thought I'd had my thoughts to the melee too! If all of this has whetted your appetite, click here to buy the books!

Friday Flash - Fickle Fame

I peer down into the courtyard. Fourteen photographers swing their long lenses in my direction. They call my name, begging me to do something. I hurl an empty bottle out of the window. I can't tell the exploding glass from the flurry of camera flashes. I scream at them to piss off, and duck back into the room. I curse them. I don't even know how they found me, but those frigging parasites turn up everywhere.

You grow up watching TV, reading celebrity magazines, hearing about the crazy antics those famous people get up to, and you never think it'll happen to you. When you become famous, you'll be nice to the paparazzi and they'll treat you with respect. They won't follow you halfway across town when you sneak out at 4am to buy whiskey and cigarettes after pledging on Oprah that you'd given up both. They won't appear out of nowhere when you're taking your Labradoodle for a walk and snap you cleaning up dog shit. They won't stop your boyfriend of three years coming to visit by blocking your drive at all hours and following him home when he does drop by. But they do. So you treat them with about as much respect as they give you.

There's a magazine open on the floor. It's a double page spread about the great Marlena Blake, star of the hilarious sitcom set in a lawyer's office. I drop cigarette ash on the assorted photographs of myself. I wonder what the photos will be tomorrow. Marlena Blake, drunk again, throwing bottles at the paparazzi. Cursing my agent for sending me to that audition, I drift into unconsciousness, cradled in the arms of Jack Daniels. I remember wishing the pilot of Slander had never been picked up.

* * * 

An alarm clock wakes me. I knock it to the floor with a satisfying thud. Moments later, the door opens. A red-haired girl sticks her head into my room. She looks familiar.

"You'd best get up or you'll be late for work."

"What? Who are you? Where am I? What work?"

"Seriously, Jane, I worry about you sometimes. Now get up and get to the diner or Joe might follow through on his threat to fire you."

The girl disappears. I climb out of bed and look around the room. I don't recognise anything. I gave up cheap furnishings and tacky souvenirs from roadside stands when I left college.

A uniform hangs over the back of a plastic chair. The nametag confirms that I am Jane. No one has called me Jane since I left Ohio. Apparently I work at the Old-Time Diner. In the absence of anything else to wear, I pull on the mint nylon blouse and matching skirt. My skin protests; it longs for Gaultier or Westwood.

I head to the kitchen. The red-haired girl sits eating cereal.

"If you're finished breakfast in the next five minutes, I'll give you a lift to the diner," she says.

"What diner? Shouldn't I be at the studio today?" I ask.

"What studio? Oh, did you get a callback? How did that audition go last week?"

"Audition? I haven't auditioned for anything since I got the Slander gig," I say.

Tina. I remember her name is Tina. I lived with her once. Apparently I still do.

"What are you talking about? The channel never picked up the show," says Tina.

"Heh, I know. I'm just kidding," I say.

I flash a fake smile. Tina grins back and returns to her cereal. Nausea pounds my stomach as I grip the edge of the counter.

* * * 

I climb out of the car and into the heat of a Wednesday morning. Tina shouts her goodbye as she drives away. I stand in the parking lot, feeling lost. The Old-Time Diner stands before me but I know I have never been here before. The uniform disagrees, and I head inside.

"Ah, Jane! You're actually on time for once," says a burly man behind the counter. 1950s chrome and formica stretches out before me.

"Yeah, I got a ride," I say.

"Well get to it then. The couple in the corner need more coffee."

I worked in a diner before I got the part on Slander so my body falls into the rhythm of the job. I pour coffee, take orders, serve breakfast, and avoid Joe's wandering hands. Not a single customer knows who I am, aside from those regulars who greet Jane as an old friend. Marlena Blake is a stranger to them. Slander is still just a legal term.

I leave the diner as soon as my shift ends. A battered VW pulls up to the kerb. Ronan waves through the window. I screech a greeting and clamber into the car. I smother him with relieved kisses.

"Hey, a guy could get used to a welcome like this!"

"I missed you so much!"

"Missed me? You only saw me yesterday."

Ronan holds me at arm's length and looks at me. He smiles another of his megawatt smiles, and I realise he is smiling at Jane, not Marlena. Ronan hasn't smiled at Marlena like that in months. He pulls me into a bear hug.

"Want to come back to my place?" he asks.

* * * 

Ronan lives in a cramped apartment above an occult bookstore. Photographic equipment covers every available surface. I flick through the prints on his desk. He has been shooting macro shots of snakes at the city zoo today. The shots are beautiful. Ted Benjamin, one of my Slander co-stars, has a python.Would have had a python, I remind myself.

Ronan orders Thai take-out, and we enjoy our spicy feast with a bottle of red wine. Black-and-white horror movies play on TV, the sound turned right down. Ronan makes me laugh by adding his own dialogue in various comedy accents. I fall asleep in his arms sometime just after midnight, happy and content.

I wake to the sound of camera shutters.

* * *

This one came from Eric Krause 's prompt, "No one remembers who you are". The photograph is my own.

How Do I Get My Ideas?

Like any writer, I get a real thrill when someone reads my work. I love the feedback I get from other writers who understand the technical process behind the words, but it's often good for the soul to get comments from non-writers. I've noticed that the first response of a reader who does not themselves write is often "I don't know where you get your ideas!" Sometimes the response is coded in the question "Where do...?" and I thought I should perhaps cover this in a post.



In order to define my ideas, I think I want to clarify the statement to be "How or where do you get your ideas?" The basic summary answer is "I read, I listen, I watch and I think."



Read

Read everything that you can. Fiction, non-fiction - it doesn't matter. The bigger the range, the better, although I do place a lot of value on reading non-fiction in order to a) learn more about the world and b) add an extra dimension of depth to your work. Obviously it helps if you have a vague interest in the subject to start with, but try reading about something new. A throwaway line or footnote in a non-fiction book might just prompt an idea that might work for a flash, or it could be expanded into an entire novel. My historical horrors (e.g. The Resurrection Men , The Hidden ) are usually inspired by things I read in non-fiction books, and it's the extra material gleaned around the central concept that provides the "oomph" for the stories to work. Without the knowledge, there is no idea. (I wrote more about this when writing about historical fiction)



Likewise, reading genres different to those in which you normally write can be invaluable for providing ideas. If you usually write sci-fi, try hardboiled thrillers. Maybe you can write hardboiled sci-fi! If you write romance, give steampunk a try. The new ideas you encounter might just spark off some of your own.



Listen

A writer is often a covert eavesdropper. Even a fragment of conversation can provide the seed of an idea. The writer can plant that seed and watch a throwaway line bloom into something they can use. If you channel surf at home, listen to the strange, disjointed sentences formed as you go from one channel to the next. Is there a prompt or even a plot in there? When you're listening to music, pay attention to the lyrics - do the songs tell a story, or do they simply inspire a plot in you? (Unforgettable, by Nat King Cole, did that for me).



Watch

I firmly believe that if you're willing to find ideas anywhere, then you will. Don't walk around with your head down, ignoring the world around you. Look at advertisements. Watch how people interact (but don't be obvious about it!) If you read the paper while commuting, pay attention to headlines. Read the 'Wanted' ads or personals columns. Even look at the problem pages - what could explain the erratic behaviour of Upset in Bristol's husband, aside from the obvious? I even wrote a post about this way back in January - check out my Creativity game!



Think

Make a list of the top ten cliches that most annoy you, and then think of a way to subvert them. Choose a character from either a work in progress or a finished piece, and then write down your top five most embarrassing moments - how would your character react in those situations? Think about the professions you wanted to do when you were younger and write about one of them now. Choose a favourite movie and think about its structure. What other stories could you tell using the same structure? Think about the plot of a finished piece, and consider how the plot would run if you told the story backwards. Finally, find a source of writing prompts (Eric J Krause runs them on his blog, as do Write Anything and Writer's Digest, while I've started a series of weekly photo prompts, starting with Old Bear) Can you combine two or more prompts to give a new plot?



If you exhaust these possibilities and need more ways to find ideas, Marelisa has some up on her Abundance blog. Take ten minutes to create something...and enjoy yourself!

Photo Prompt 01

I've decided to start running my own photo prompts on a Monday in case anyone needs inspiration for their Friday Flash!



All I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! I promise to comment on any story that comes from this photo.



The first prompt is Old Bear.





Have fun!

Friday Flash - The Hidden

"This sorry specimen came to us late last month. Her husband brought her. The poor fellow was simply beside himself with worry. He is much improved now that he is confident in the knowledge that she is in our care."

The warden gestured to the woman behind the bars. A tattered shawl hung around her thin shoulders. A brown mouse sat in the palm of her right hand, nibbling a crumb of bread. The visitors chose not to see the cracks in the wall, or the lack of glass in the window. They did not smell the fouled straw matting on the floor. They did not hear the drip of water in the corner.

"What is her condition?" asked the visitor. He adopted a suitable expression of concern, although his wife looked terrified by the mouse.

"I believe her to be simply melancholic, but the Physician believes her to be delusional. Her paranoia is at an advanced stage, although she is a quiet patient and keeps to herself," replied the warden.

"What form do her delusions take?" asked the visitor's wife.

"She calls herself Ann Crook, and believes herself to be the future Queen of England. She denounced her husband when he admitted her, telling us that he was a member of Her Majesty's Secret Service. Her real husband, so she claims, is Prince Albert Victor," replied the warden.

"How astonishing!" said the visitor.

"And there is no basis in her claims?" asked his wife.

"We believe not, although she is lucid when she tries to explain. Indeed, one might have trouble believing her to be insane, although the Physician has made this diagnosis, and he is never wrong," said the warden.

"On what basis did he make his diagnosis?" asked the visitor.

"She ranted and she raved on admittance. She demanded to speak with her husband, and then the police, and she even called for a newspaper man. She has calmed since those early days."

"Is it safe to speak with her?" asked the visitor's wife.

"Good Lord, Marian - why ever would you want to do that?" asked the visitor.

"Curiosity, William," replied his wife.

"She is entirely safe to converse with. I shall call her," said the warden.

"No need, warden. I can 'ear all you say from 'ere," said the woman. She looked up from the mouse's antics.

"Pray tell me, madam. What is your name?" asked the visitor's wife.

"Ann Crook, but everyone 'ere calls me Louisa Smith," replied the woman.

"Are you really the wife of a prince?" asked the wife.

"If I say yes, then I'm a lunatic, and I live in this 'ell. If I say no, then I'm a liar, and I damn myself to 'ell," replied the woman. "So if you don't mind, I'll keep quiet."

"Why would the Prince have you deposited here?" asked the wife.

"I dunno about you but I don't think a Prince would abandon his wife. His mother, on the other 'and...well if she's a cold, uncaring sort who's only interested in the future of her bleedin' Empire...then she might well 'ave somethin' to do with it," replied the woman. "She can't 'ave her son producing an 'eir with a Catholic, now, can she?"

"You're a Catholic?" asked the visitor.

"Not any more, I ain't. God deserted me when I got dumped in 'ere. So I deserted 'im. See how he likes it," replied the woman.

"Dear me, God does not desert anyone! He loves all of his flock. If you only reach out to him-"

"Pardon my language, my lady, but arses to that," said the woman.

"Come on now, Louisa. Less of that," said the warden. He tapped his keys on the bars.

"Or you'll what? Bleed me? Purge me? Vomit me? The bleedin' Physician does that!" said the woman.

"Gracious, does he really?" asked the visitor. "I thought such antiquated practices had long been abandoned by the madhouses."

"I'm in no position to discuss that Physician's practices, but he's one of the most brilliant doctors in London. People literally queue to have their unfortunate relations placed under his care in this very hospital," snapped the warden.

"And they queue up in 'ere to get back out," said the woman. "You pay no mind to 'is blatherin' on. I'm not the only one who shouldn't be 'ere. You stop and think about it - where's the best place to put someone if you don't want people to listen to 'em?"

"William, I think we should be going," said the wife.

She clutched her husband's arm. He looked down at her and nodded.

"I really am terribly sorry for your plight, Mrs Smith," said the visitor.

The warden led them away down the corridor. They didn't hear the raving of the lunatics upstairs. They didn't hear the sobbing of the melancholics, locked in their damp cells with only their own neuroses for company.

They didn't hear the silent plea of an innocent woman.

* * *

This flash was inspired by a book I read about London's infamous Royal Bethlem Hospital, known as 'Bedlam'. Written by Paul Chambers, Bedlam: London's Hospital for the Mad tells several tales of people imprisoned in asylums in the 18th and 19th centuries by relatives eager to get their hands on their wealth, or by people wanting to silence an outspoken individual without resorting to more nefarious means. The conditions, and treatment, described here are all based on documented evidence. The inclusion of Ann Crook is my nod towards Alan Moore's Jack the Ripper epic, From Hell .

The image is from William Hogarth's A Rake's Progress, wherein a man falls from grace and ends his days a gibbering wreck in Bedlam.

I've been tagged!

I have been tagged! Yes, it's an electronic tag, but not in a Lindsay Lohan way. It's a virtual tag, and Jen Brubacher got me. I get to answer eight questions and tag five other bloggers. Will it be you?!



1. If you could have any superpower, what would you have? Why?Teleportation. Like Nightcrawler, only not blue. Or Dr Manhattan, only not blue. Hey, wait a minute... No seriously, I would. I'd never have to use public transport, and visiting people would be so much easier. It would solve a LOT of problems for me!



2. Who is your style icon?

I don't have one. I don't emulate anyone's clothing style, and I have favoured authors but I don't seek to emulate their styles either. I can name people who I think are A style icon, but not for me.



3. What is your favourite quote?

"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." Groucho Marx



4. What is the best compliment you've ever received?

Probably when a guy who'd read one of my stories on Everyday Weirdness emailed me to say how much he'd liked it, and that my style reminded him of Neil Gaiman and Ray Bradbury. That, or that one of my male gay friends told me I'm the only girl whose Facebook photos he'll look through because he loves my style.



5. What playlist/CD is in your CD player/iPod right now?

Nothing. I'm doing this at work, so no music. My mental DJ, however, has chosen to play Huey Lewis & The News all morning.



6. Are you a night owl or a morning person?

Morning, very much so. I often stay up late at night but I'm far more productive between 8am and 1pm. Once it gets to 4pm, it all starts to go downhill.



7. Do you prefer dogs or cats?

I like things about both of them but I have a natural affinity with cats, so I'll say them.



8. What is the meaning behind your blog name?

Icy's Blunt Pencil? It's actually a crude reference to the mathematician who is having issues with constipation and choose to approach it the same way he does his equations - by working it out with a pencil. I've also been writing for around twenty years and a lot of my first efforts were done in pencil. It's a tool of the trade, and it being blunt rather than sharp is to signify how much use it gets. Blah blah blah.



TAG! You're it.



Grace Crone

Sam Adamson

Adam Byatt

Pamila Payne

Danielle LaPaglia

News from Vertigo City

I've been doing a lot of thinking about my Tales from Vertigo City project, and after much discussion with my favoured creative confidantes, Carrie Clevenger and Jimmy Misanthrope, I have decided to pull The Second Tale. Initially the concept worked well in outline form for the serial, but now I've started writing, it's blossomed into something much larger than my chosen serial format will allow. Therefore I will be working on it as an illustrated novel.



This has also forced me to rethink the entire concept behind the Tales from Vertigo City project, and I have had to redefine this, too. Originally the plan was to have nine different tales, set in alternate versions of the City (in effect, my own multiverse), yet all starring Liss as a recurring character in her form of the Spirit of Vertigo. This has become too unwieldy and I would rather not do it at all than get halfway through and realise it's not working.



In addition, I've become too attached to the characters and world I created with The First Tale. It would be unfair to them, and myself, to leave them as they are in order to move onto the next incarnation of Vertigo. Therefore the Tales project will now consist of the adventures of those characters you've already met, in the form of novellas and regular flashes about them.



The Second Tale will still proceed under the heading of Tales from Vertigo City, albeit a Vertigo City a century or so after the original First Tale. It will have a name change, and I'll post snippets on the Vertigo City blog. I hate to be a tease, since The Second Tale had received a good reception, but this way, I get to do these stories justice.



As a result, I'll be bowing out of the Tuesday Serial for the time being, unless any shorter stories demand to be told in such a way. In the meantime, I recommend you check out Carrie Clevenger's Crooked Fang, Grace Motley's Fire and Water, Jason Coggins' The Courage of Others, and Sam Adamson's UCF Chronicles.