Still working on the coif. I added some embroidery thread – blue and brown.
Art Project: The Coif Continues
Month: December 2019
Flash: Dumped
Image courtesy of KROMKRATHOG at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Rating: Mature
My neck hurt. My chin rested on my chest; I must have fallen asleep in a chair. A stupid plastic molded one, no cushioning at all. Oh, I needed a backrub. I rolled my shoulders and find my hand tied behind my back. My eyes burst open.
The room is lit by a bare lightbulb held aloft at the end of a ceramic elephant’s trunk not three feet in front from my downward looking eyes, flaming agony through my skull and frying my pupils. I snap my eyes close and roll my head around. God and goddess, I hurt. My mouth feels like a thousand cotton balls had been stuffed into it, after they had been used to clean ear wax.
I cautiously reopen my eyes. The room’s white walls reflect every bit of the luminescence rating the bulb is generating. The shadeless lamp set directly on the highly polished reflective white floor is plugged into coverless wall socket.
I squint against the pain and look anywhere but the eyeball searing light. My chair is surrounded by a mound of white granulates; considering my crowd, I am betting salt. A circle of salt. Why the fuck am I in a circle of salt?
And drenched. I realized I am soaking wet and freezing when I start shivering. That is when the drip line starts tapping my shoulder. I snap my head around, cracking several vertebra for some mild relief. A pole with a clear bag of, I squint again to read, dextrose solution is behind my back on the left side. Suddenly I want to itch under the tape I feel stuck on my arm, and I bounce between the itch, the throbbing ache of my shoulders, the burning flame shoved in my skull, and the absolute urgency to stretch, to escape sleep or drug or whatever has happened to me. My full bladder is very, very far down on the list of things to fix. I shake my head and lean back.
Above are inset light fixtures found in office and industrial buildings everywhere, but they don’t have the long bulbs yet and the wires are sticking out either side like the installation isn’t complete. The strong paint scent, adding to the headache, tells the other half of the story indicating the room is either being remodeled or … newly built. It feels new, like it had never been anything before and not sure about becoming a prison with its first use. Poor thing. I’m facing an empty wall and the sullen room echoes like empty rooms do with the lamp’s electric hum. On my left is a doorway with no door. On my right, behind where I can fully rotate my head is blue painter’s tape over some black plastic. Potentially a window. I wonder if I can scoot the chair over.
The salt circle is worrisome. Is it to keep something in or something out? Barely visible against the white-veined floor, I see something else. I rub my bare feet against the cool surface and decide the floor is real marble, not vinyl. Powder tickles my feet. Crunching my head down as far as it can go, I try to see the floor directly under the chair. I thought I had saw some … yep, chalk lines inside the circle. With me in the circle. Really, what the f’ing hell?
It’s not like I’m magic. Sure some of my friends do the hand-wavy thing – and get results when they do – and I’ve dated a couple, but aside from being an albino and a damn good crystal cutter and jewelry maker, I’m nothing special.
There is a second group of lines with some sort of runes outside the immediate chair circle now that I know what to look for. I stare at the wall and think I see stuff there too. Definitely stuff on the ceiling.
What happened last night … I was at a party for the Fourth of July, thrown by Fergus and Summerfrog. Everyone in town and about half the state dropped by including … oh, no he didn’t.
“Bloody Hell!” That thrice-cursed wizard did not roofie me.
Goddess, why did I ever date the fucker?
Speaking of fucking, I shifted in the chair. Nope, nothing feeling sore or raw other than really wanting some cushioning beyond whatever caused a small crinkle, and the arms free, and the headache gone, and everything else. But nothing wrong down there. Considering his size, one of his best traits making me forgive and forget things I shouldn’t have, I would be feeling all kinds of stretched.
Behind me comes footsteps on the marble floor. “Ah, my angel, you are awake.”
The squishy part of me flutters at the smooth deep voice. I crunch my eyes close and shove the unwanted feelings down as far as I can and lock them up tight.
“I fixed your hair.”
I remember now. He had exploded when he saw I dyed my hair black. Just lost it. Fergus made him leave after we started throwing things – me, stuff from the BBQ cooking area, and he, magic. The Tutors’ hated bullies; me versus a level-four wizard wasn’t a fair fight even if I held my own once the turning fork had sunk into his thigh and I grabbed the lighter and lighter fluid.
Things got hazy shortly thereafter.
He stroked my hair from behind. I twisted my head away from the petting, growling, “Don’t touch me.”
I searched my memory for anything else, recognizing the effects of the spell at last. He used it every fight we had from when we started dating at Christmas, aftereffect included forgetting about everything that happened as much as two hours before the casting. It took a while before he used it once too often and caught some Christian time in the forget-window. Christian isn’t a guy who lets things slide and contacted me the next day about a phone call I had never returned because I had been in the middle of something. I had nothing. No memory of the event, although my cell phone recorded three minutes and twenty-four seconds.
Even so it took me nearly a month before I dumped the jerk. Gaslighting X-treme. Christian and I backtracked all kinds of issues before I could admit the problem wasn’t me. Yeah, he had made me that screwed up.
The fuckard had walked around to my front while I was taking stock. Backlit by the lamp, he was as impressive as always. His typical three-piece white suit unlocked the gushy in me. The waistcoat hinting at his perfect abs, the white silk tie in a Windsor just below an Adam’s apple begging to be nibbled, and pressed linen and satin-silk striped white pants hiding the part of him I loved the most. My dry mouth salivated at the thought of sucking him.
I scrunched my eyes closed, dropped my head to my chest, and dug my nails into my palms, fisting my hands behind my back. Not me. Whatever these thought are, they are not mine. My head shook side to side as I try to lose them. Sure, they were my thoughts only last week before I finally broke up with him four nights before the party, but they shouldn’t, couldn’t WON’T be my thought now.
Another spell. Had to be.
I felt rather than saw him crouch before me. His voice laced when concern when he asked, “Are you all right, my dear?” The scent of his aftershave wafted to me as I inhaled through gritted teeth, tightening my stomach and loosening things lower. I loved that scent. Even bought incense to burn when I worked at home so I could remember our good times. We had so many good times.
No. No we hadn’t. Only times I been enchanted to think were good. I thrown those incense sticks down the apartment’s compost chute right before I went to his place to break up the second time.
“No, I’m not.” I lifted my head, refusing to bow before him and drilled my red eyes into his blue ones. “Let me go.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” With a few quick hand movement by him, the zipties holding back my arms released.
My arms swung around of their own volition. Nothing magical there. Holding arms in one position, say tight against person’s torso, mean when the pressure is gone, they rise slightly against missing pressure. Every inch of the automatic movement made me want to scream from the pain lancing across my shoulders and back. I fought vocalizing anything, not wanting to give this fucker, handsome and delicious though he …
No.
I attempt to leap at him but couldn’t move out of the chair. Good thing, because I forgot the IV line. The slight movement my aborted leap moved the catheter. Agony. I couldn’t help moaning this time. My whole body is still shivering.
“Easy, easy.” Removing his monogrammed handkerchief from its pocket, he drops it on the floor and starts wiping away the outer rune circle.
While he does that, I pluck the tape from my arm and carefully remove the plastic tube. Some liquid and blood overflows from the inflamed opening dropping on my white slacks. I don’t recognize the slacks. Nor the shirt, a silk and lace poet shirt.
Looking up after erasing the arc in front of me, his blond eyebrows meet. “Oh, you are going to need a bandage for that. I’ll be right back.” He stood smoothly and flowed around behind. I turn in the chair to watch him move, sighing.
Really … really?
I should have taken Christian up on that necklace he offered to make.
I manage to stand shakily. My legs barely support me, even when I lean on the chair’s back. How long had Marv kept me here? Well, not a moment longer.
I step outside the salt circle.
And immediately fall back into the clear plastic chair. Standing again, I slap the air in front of me and can’t go beyond the salt line. I try shoving the chair out, but it can’t move either. Obviously the runes he erased weren’t enough. And I got the answer of whether the circle kept thing in or out. He reached through it just fine to pet me.
Waiting for him to come back, I finish looking around the room. I see a box of adult diapers in the corner…
(Words 1,743; first published 12/29/2019)
Other Cool Blogs: Five Common Dialogue Mistakes
Image courtesy of Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
I keep coming back to dialogue, don’t I? That is because there is a limited amount of ways to present information to the reader – the narrative, the backstory, the action, and the dialogue. Dialogue is where narrative and action meet, and concentrates on what 50% of your audience thinks is the most important part of the book – the character. The other half think the plot is the most important part – and this well-research scientific statistical split which I just made up has a slide bar for each reader and each genre.
Today the way-back machine returns us to October 2015 on Xterra Web – Five Common Dialogue Mistakes Writers Make – written by Kelly Hartigan (an editor).
She starts off with one of my biggest peeves on her list of five mistakes: Every character sounds the same.
Some people are over-educated, other people got expelled from the school of hard knocks, and still others are pedantic within the speech patterns. Where they lived, what jobs they held, who they are talking to, and why the discussion is taking place all have impact.
“Yeah, Jay-Jay be a handful at times. All you gots to do is text me and I’ll whoop his ass for you when he gets home. I’m 100% behind you Teach. Hell, me and the old man ain’t working mornings, waitressing tips best at dinner and he got third shift after I get home. If you need classroom help, we can be there when we drop the boy off.”
“I don’t understand why Jerard’s grades dropped this semester. His last teacher gave him all ‘A’s’ in first grade. Maybe I should take this up with my friend on the school board, Ms. Stiles? I know you are new to teaching and may not have a grasp of who deserves special attention.”
Dialogue matters. How much of a picture do you have of these two mothers? How about the teacher they are talking and the teacher’s facial expression and mannerisms and thoughts – even though there is no narrative clues whatsoever?
There is a really cool graphic about five positive dialogue traits and five negative dialogue traits which you might want to download. Again the weblink is here: http://editing.xterraweb.com/writing-tips/five-common-dialogue-mistakes-writers-make
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a dialogue-only scene. No speech-tags, no narrative.
Writing Exercise: Movie Retrospect
Image courtesy of digitalart at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
A friend of mine Facebooked a question of what movies to show to her teenage daughter. You often see these requests on social media.
It is an interesting exercise to see what you value. In previous writing exercises, I have suggested assembling a list of childhood favorite books to see what common threads draw you into a story and a review of things you have written to see what your personal writing style is, specifically what skills you use and what you need to work on.
Movies are a different medium than writing on several levels: (1) Writing usually involves one person (not counting the editor); (2) Dialogue can be nuanced with the voice in movies; (3) Visual really makes a difference. But at the heart, both books and movies are still about story and characters.
WRITING & READING EXERCISE: Assemble a list of movies which you have watched and would recommend to others for enjoyment, not educational purposes. What are their common themes? Do these match fictional books you enjoy and/or your personal writing style? What would you like to take from them to enhance your writing? How is your movie watching and your reading different?
***
My initial recommendation to my friend: Big Trouble in Little China (1986), Bugsy Malone (1976), and Johnny Dangerously (1984). What do all these have in common? They created new and consistent worlds, had amazing characters and even more amazing dialogue, and solid humor based on just being alive.
Johnny Dangerously had some meanness to it. Another Michael Keaton movie also is humorous, character-driven, and crazy-worldbuilding, but the meanness crosses the line and I never really enjoyed it. You may have a different opinion about Beetlejuice, but I would not recommend the movie. Comparing these two movies side-by-side you can see where my personal line of “meanness in humor” is.
After my initial recommendation, I had a long drive and come up with several more selections:
GENERAL MOVIE: Beverly Hill Cop I & II (1984, 1987), Ferris Bueler’s Day Off (1986), Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988), Cool Runnings (1993)
FANTASY/SCI-FI: Star Wars: A New Hope & Empire Strikes Back (1977, 1980), Indian Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), Dark Crystal (1982)
MUSICAL: Sound of Music (1965), Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968)
Grouped together, the world building screams out. While I have seen several character-driven movies, I need world-building before character building kicks it into the next level. On the other hand, having an amazing world is not enough – if the characters and humor don’t work, for example, The Matrix is an amazing world but the characters and humor are lacking. As always creating a writer’s exercise has taught me a lot about what I value – upbeat, hopeful, smiles, and a working world.
Happy holidays, everyone.
Flash: Chich-a-whoo Feathers
Image by saphatthachat at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
“You know hon, you really should wear pants if you are going to take taxis in this part of town.” The rhino driver commented in conversational tones, when looking over her shoulder as they approached the noble’s stop, hoping not to be heard. “Or, at least, underwear,” she muttered under her breath. She did not need to know what designs the woman trimmed into her short hairs.
“What?” The noble mouthed unheard over the animal’s stamp through the wide streets set aside for transport. She likely stated in the lackadaisical accent they all adopted to imitate the spacers from the far-flung worlds of the Empire.
Saba kneed Mai-mia to a halt. “We are here, Your Eminence.” The driver quickly crawled up the steps, adjusted her skort, a combination of shorts for modesty and skirt as required by Lavinian law, thankful once again for the length exemption granted to drivers. Otherwise, with her caste, she would be covered from head to foot, long-sleeves, scarves, hat, and full undivided-skirts – who wanted to live that restricted?
Helping her client stand on the steady animal, Saba got another eyeful of boobs and butt she could have done without. She helped the Important Person down the primary steps to where the ladder started. In deference to the stature of her passenger, Saba snapped down the secondary when something startled Mai-mia, sending them both stumbling.
Saba held onto the woman’s waist, swinging her around. Using the strength she with which she could control the rhino when Mai-mia got cranky, Saba pulled her back on the animal instead of the woman falling and getting trampled. They both fell forward onto the animal’s head, with Saba spread eagle over the noble.
The weight and touches on the head behind the ear told Mai-mia to move at a trot. “Don’t move!” Saba yelled at the white dressed woman.
Of course, the noble started struggling, trying to free herself. Mai-mia interpreted the movements to run. “Don’t move!” When the woman continued, Saba sat up, straddling the woman at the waist and slugged her several times until she went unconscious.
Keeping the limp body on the rhino took every bit of skill Saba had developed transporting the morning vegetable to all the vendors on Hiss-Hot alley.
“Just like Bindle’s daily bag of melons.” Saba muttered, while touching and maneuvering around Mai-mia’s head until the animal came to a stop. Once still, Saba took in her surroundings. They were nearly to the Markers’ farm, just outside the gates. Taking out her crop, she looped both ends around the rhino’s ears indicating it should remain still, like she should have done the first time. She had gotten lazy; Mai-mia and her had been together a long time.
Once satisfied the rhino would remain in place, Saba carried the woman back to the patron seat and tied her in. Sometime her older clients and the extremely young needed the additional support. And the drunk. Mostly the drunk. Lots of drunk on her runs. Saba looked over the damage. The woman would have a black eye and several bruises across her chin, but no scratches and she shouldn’t have any scars. Most importantly, the woman was still breathing, and not coating the hooves of the rhino.
Climbing down, Saba did an even more through examination of the rhino, finding two darts, with the gray-blue-purple feathers of the Chich-a-whoo bird. The darts smelled of Hurt, the best antiseptic on the planet that lived up to its name during initial administration no matter what method was used in its application and the doctors tried everything: suave, injection, oil. The initial sting was blinding in pain, but two second later, the injury site would be numb and healing. Nearly half of the population passed out from the pain, the other half vomited. A rare individual was immune to the pain, but Saba had never met one.
“I’m so sorry, Mai-mia.” Saba rubbed her rhino’s sensitive horn. Unlike the Earth’s version of the rhino, the horns on Lavin rhino provide them the ability to predict weather, migrate, and communicate over distances. The animal moo’ed and snick’ed back, seeking comfort from its human and asking forgiveness. “I know, I know. It wasn’t your fault. Not your fault.”
Swimming up to the head seat, Saba removed the halt-crop and slid back off the animal to guide Mai-mia to a balboa grove about two hecto outside of town, the one with a pump well her caste could use for their animals. Two dramas, something that looked like a cross between a dromedary camel and a llama from old Earth, were being watered by the four youngest Marker children, between water fights.
When they ran to Mai-mia in greetings, Saba stepped between them and her animal. “Careful, she’s had a fright. Move slowly, like around old Grissizzie.”
“Someone scared Mi-mi?” Dhruv asked, the second youngest, eyes so round they barely fit in the head.
“Scared and hurt her. She needs some water.”
“We can help.” Prisha gathered her younger siblings around the pump and they all quickly went to work, as only farmer children could when things were serious. The lever swung high enough to pull the youngest two from the ground, but the combined might of the four children too young to attend school, at least for their caste, had water gushing before Mai-mia had settled enough to drink.
Climbing up her animal, Saba set the halt-crop between the ears once again, then went to inspect her passenger. Wiping the blood and grime from the noble’s face using a cloth she had wet before climbing up brought the woman around. Her eyes tracked quickly and the only reason the noble didn’t attack Saba were the restraints.
“How dare you, you banthie?!? I will have you killed for this! Do you know who I am?”
“Not a clue, Your Eminence, but next time you are on a taxi’s head and the driver say ‘Don’t move,’ I would recommend not moving.” At this point, Saba was sure she was dead, in fact, she had accepted the outcome while she was pulling the woman back to the rhino, but she hoped she could save Mai-mia to be sold to another owner and not be put down.
“You kidnapped me.” The woman pulled on her restraints.
“I did no such thing, Eminence.” Saba studied the woman’s face, neck, and exposed skin – so much exposed skin, even for the highest of castes, the woman had to be a slit-slip – for bruises; all the ones she thought would develop were developing, plus one on the arm where she vaguely remembered grabbing the woman, and one on the leg which matched the one Saba could feel on her knee where the driver had landed on the split-slip when they both tumbled onto Mai-mia’s head.
“Then, what did you do banthie?” She spat.
“Saved your life, Your Eminence.” Saba pulled the darts from where she tucked them into her belt and opened her hand so the fetching would be visible. “Might this lowly Bane of Lavin ask why the blessed creature we are on was injured in your service.”
The noble prostitute examined the damning fletching, used exclusively by the Unclassed Guild, her rare blue eyes shining with intelligence and consideration. A careful frown, one which would not add wrinkles, turned down the edges of her painted lips.
(Words 1228; First published 12/22/2019)