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Flash: The Archer (Part 2) – The Reaction

Erin Penn

Image from freedigitalphotos.net

Rating: Mature

Banging open its doors, the metro bus traded another group of afternoon commuters with a tide moving out and a wave moving in. Susan stared outside hoping people would take the hint that she wanted to be alone. She still debated trading her car for cash. Now limited to public transportation, the trip between her apartment and her department store job went from a short fifteen minutes if lights were with her to over an hour unless she hit the transfer jackpot. Today the commute home was exceptionally bad after being on the wrong bus for five stops.

Someone in her peripheral vision paused by her row, dragging her out of self-flagellation.

“Is this seat taken?” a smooth baritone asked. Susan forced her eyes to look at someone directly. Her eyes started at the belt buckle and crawled up. Past the sweat stained shirt declaring a name of Billy working at DJ’s Recycling. Over the dark almost beard hiding the shape of Billy’s chin. Stopping a moment to trace the purple scars scratched into the man’s face. To finally focus on two of the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Her heartbeat stopped.

The bus lurched and restarted her heart. “No, please sit.” Susan tried to ignore her tightening breasts and moisture pooling in her nether regions as he took her up on the offer.

“Billy” he said, offering his hand. Susan stared at the well-scrubbed pink hand before gripping it. All she could think of was his callused tips dragging across her nipples. What was happening to her? Her fantasy life usually was limited to the camera and software at her apartment.  With her behind the camera, outside the action.

“Susan, Susan Freeman.” She responded before reluctantly removing her hand from his warm grasp. She half turned in her seat as his wide shoulders encroached on her area, bringing her wide thighs into direct contact with his uniform encased legs. The surge through her system sent her mentally inventorying her apartment for working batteries.

“Nice to meet you Susan … Susan Freeman.” He responded in a voice that made her insides crawl, and her hands itch for a sound board. What a great narrator’s voice.

“James Bond fan?” She responded, hoping to hear his voice again.

“More like movie fan.” He said turning his body towards her. His lips parted in a smile so perfect she would have given up a day of chocolate to film it. “You?”

“Oh, something much worse.”

The man’s expressive face shrank in pretend horror, the recent scarring hardly noticeable in his constant animation. “No, not a critic!”

“Worse than even that.” Leaning forward she shared in a whisper. “I am a wanna-be. A wanna-be-director.”

The bus came to a stop causing her to glance outside. One more stop, she thought.

The response of “Really?” had turning back to the first man she ever wanted in front and behind the camera. “How badly are you wanna?”

Very, very badly wanna, she thought. To think she wouldn’t have met him if she hadn’t daydreamed her way on the wrong bus. “Enough to sell everything I got to get my own RED. My friends think I am crazy.”

He nodded. “Art students usually are. Which school are you attending?”

She shook her head, her brown curls bounced off her plump cheeks. “Not a student. Remember I had to buy a camera. Students have resources.” Susan focused on the driver’s head four rows ahead. “I created a couple shorts using a camera phone I posted to YouTube. They got a lot of hits. I always loved movies and writing, with the Internet response the bug bit big time. Now I’ve sold pretty much everything and spent every cent on equipment and software. Don’t even have money for rent this month.”

She refocused on Billy as her depression came rolling back. “I’ve been so stupid.”

Consideration crossed his face. “How many hits?”

She almost reached up to kiss him. No one had ever asked that. Not her co-workers, not her friends, not her family.

“About 12 million between the two.”

His blue eyes blinked. “Twelve … million?”

Smiling happily at the first person who seemed to get it. “The Moonpie Werewolf got more hits, but I feel Vampire Twister is the better of the two. “

“Those were yours?” he gasped. “Hon, hate to break it to you, but you got talent. Stupid would be not trying.”

The brakes squealed indicated another stop. Double-checking, she stood to get off. He stood letting her by. Feeling reassured someone liked her work, she disembarked. Sure, twelve million hits indicated interest and the ton of comments helped – but actually talking to someone who like it! She started floating towards her apartment.

Behind her came the perfect rolling baritone again. “Hey hon.”

Her body turned to face him. The other commuters scurried away. She debated responding, but seeing his face again outside the bus made her heart race. In for a dime, in for a dollar – as she had been telling herself for months now. “Yes?”

“Look. I don’t normally come this way. Got some buds catching the game at a sports bar tonight and I need to get food before male bonding with alcohol. Want to grab some pizza?”

She smiled sadly. “Sorry, don’t have any money.”

“I’ve got plenty.” He waved a hand over his face. “Car wreck two months ago. Lawyers are still working out the details, but the other guy is rich and they don’t want it to hit the courts. I’m set for the rest of my life if I don’t live large. I just got to accept no woman will ever look at me again.”

Susan grabbed the fallen hand and started pulling him to her apartment. “No woman ever look at you again? Really? God, just wait until I got you in my sights.”

In for a dime, in for a dollar “And between my legs.” She added.

(Words 993; first published 12/12/2012; republished 2/10/2019)

Other Cool Blogs: Magical Words February 13, 2008

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

It’s February, the very beginning, and there are never enough hours in the day to do taxes and write and edit and eat and sleep and socialize enough to stay sane. Something has to give. I can feel sounds like impacts, and paranoia is rising every time someone walks by my tax location with a hand full of papers (are they tax papers? are they coming here?). Then I go home and my computer lights are blinking, asking me to write instead of sleep. Friends? I think I have some, maybe. Art? I’m actively not looking at my embroidery basket right now, and my garden likes its weeds better than me.

David B. Coe describes some of the things he did to stay healthy and sane as a full-time writer back in 2008 when he blogged at Magical Words with A Full-Time Writer’s Top Ten List. Central, of course, is treating writing like a Job – a Real Job. Otherwise things slip.

This applies even when working a full-time job, like taxes, and doing other stuff like sleeping.

Since I do editing and writing, why do I continue to do taxes and day-job?

  1. Money – Editing and writing don’t cut it yet. Not with car repairs, mortgage, and student loans. They might never cut it, however hard I work and wish it … but I still may do taxes because …
  2. Discipline – I’ve discovered I need to touch base with answering to someone else, clients and bosses, to remind myself how important showing up to work is. Day-in-day-out. Tax time provides me discipline and structure after losing both over the holiday season. And I do lose them, every holiday season. I come out of New Year’s wondering what happened to all the time since Thanksgiving, every.single.year.

As hard as these four months are, they allow me to focus on writing and editing the rest of the year. And during that time in 2019, I will approach editing as a full-time job. It nearly became one in 2018, and I will focus writing and editing for 2019.

David’s list is perfect to hone the focus during the editing season, and for any work-from-home position. Exercise and eating healthy seem like no-brainers, until you’ve stared at your screen for six hours without moving. Realistic Daily Goals to prod yourself to always move forward is not just good advice, the Goals are talisman against depression. Time off, away for the keyboard, allows you to bring new stuff to the keyboard. Look over the list and think about what top ten works for you. I need to make mine … later, after I sleep.

Again, you can see David B. Coe’s full list and the related comments here: http://www.magicalwords.net/david-b-coe/a-full-time-writers-top-ten-list/

Book Review: Mind of My Mind (The Patternist Series)

Erin Penn

Book Cover from Amazon

Mind of My Mind (The Patternist Series) by Octavia E. Butler

BOOK BLURB ON AMAZON

The baby’s name is Mary, and her father is immortal. For thousands of years he has orchestrated a selective breeding project, attempting to create a master race capable of controlling others through thought. Most of his attempts have resulted in volatile mutations, but Mary—whom he has raised in the rough part of a Southern California town—is the closest he has come to perfection. If he doesn’t handle her carefully, this greatest experiment will be his last.
 

As Mary comes of age, she begins to grow aware of her psychic powers. And when she learns of her father’s plans for her, she refuses to acquiesce. She challenges him to a psychic war, battling to free her people and set a new course for mankind.

Multiple Nebula and Hugo award–winning author Octavia Butler’s epic and thought-provoking Patternist series has fascinated generations of readers, exploring the effects of power and what it means to be human.

MY REVIEW

I asked my friends to recommend someone new and got “Octavia Butler” at the top of the list.

I can see why in this example of her writing. A very cool Gestalt psi story along the lines of Theodore Sturgeon’s More than Human (a personal favorite of my childhood – I guess I should book review that too – look for it in March).

The story is coming-of-age of an immortal trying to breed his equals. Problem is “daddy” is a tyrant and his children have been socialized to think his actions are normal. Now they ready to grow up and daddy isn’t ready to let go. 

Flash: The Archer (Part 1) – The Action

Erin Penn

Image from freedigitalphotos.net

 

The archer stopped just past the bus’ commuter card swipe. So this is what humanity has come to. They who challenged the gods. They who ripped deity from Olympus and claimed equality.

 

They who discovered the great burden divinity carries. To be responsible for oneself and others. Not a single face carried joy. Those by the dirty windows watched the grey world with defeat. Those in the middle seats fixed their eyes on the floor and bore holes to Hades’ realm. Reaching back to pull two arrows from his quiver, he compared what he saw with Charon’s passengers. Charon’s clients appeared more animated.

 

He had toyed with the thought of not following through with Lachesis’ request. After all, humans had pushed them away. But the Fate was right, even when the worshippers leave their gods, their gods cannot forsake their worshippers.

 

“I have a chance to add some brilliant color to the tapestry.” The Moirai had said when she had tracked him down in the marble halls. “If these two threads can just be twisted together, they will brighten a whole segment.”

 

She had played with the strands until they would be side-by-side for a moment and asked him if he could fix them together. He had agreed … for a favor. A favor from a being older than the Titians is something to be seized whenever possible.

 

The male Lachesis had manipulated came beside the empty bus seat and turned his head to examine the window seat occupant. The arrow’s shaft rested against the ash wood for only a second before its whistling release. No one noticed the missile’s flight or its piercing of the man’s back.

 

The archer had asked Lachesis what would happen if he did not bond the threads. With her typical pragmatic temperament, “Together the brown threads take on the Iris’ hues and bring attention to the colors around them. But separately … brown threads abound. My sister will need to cut one shortly, likely both.”

 

The seated woman raised her head from something the man was asking. A miracle as far as the archer was concerned. No one on the conveyance looked anyone else in the eye and his magic required eye contact.

 

Eros quickly loosed his second arrow and watched in satisfaction as it buried itself in the woman’s heart. Everything else is up to the would-be-gods. May they and others like them return the gift one day.

 

(words 405; first published 12/5/2012; republished 2/3/2019)

Blog: Everyone Can Write

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of ifunny.com

BMI Music License has the following ad campaign to encourage people to pay for licensing:

IF MUSIC WERE MEANT TO BE FREE
All Of Us Could Write It.

The point of the campaign is to get their artists paid so they have the ability to make more music we all enjoy.

While I agree with their intent, I am going to disagree with the actual statement. Everyone can write music, make music, draw, or – for my purposes of this blog – write fiction and non-fiction.

Not everyone can do it well.

Think. Every child sings and bangs on pans. They try to whistle and come up with jokes. They fib creating their first stories and draw pictures for the refrigerator. As adults, we’ve all listen to someone tell a story … badly, sing happy birthday off-key, looked at photos and selfies which scared us, and read memos with only passing resemble to the English grammar structure.

That is the free stuff. Children (and students of all ages)  learning if they can do an art (or sports or science or whatever their talents turn out to be). 

The children grow, the students get better – working on their art in all their free time – until, at last – the stuff they make SHOULDN’T be free. Because they are devoting their lives to it – they are spending their time testing, learning, and becoming better. The art – audio, visual, or written – is their day job. If a person needs to spend four to six hours a day – every day – on something, to create the things other people want to hear, see, or read – well then, they need to be paid for the things being created so they have those four to six hours a day to devote to the craft instead having their time devoted to, say, working as a cashier.

And that is what we pay for when we buy books instead of pirate them, pay for licensed music to enhance our videos instead of “borrow”, or any other means to send money toward the artist. We are paying for (1) talent and (2) practice to get and remain good.

Because remember … not everyone can do it well.

If you want someone to do it well on a continuing basis, they need to be paid for it.

With luck the person can find a patron. Historically royalty would support various artists: composers, portraiture painters, and calligraphy houses. The results produced were shared with entire nations and prosperity.

Now-a-days we call it “an audience”, buying the art in a commercial setting. 

(ASIDE: Or Patreon.com – where individuals can be sign up to support artists they love. I’ve picked up a vlogger, a couple webcomics artists, and an author to support. Why? Because I love their stuff and I want them to make more.)

In the meantime, remember music is free – ask any child to play pots and pans for you. Fictional writing is free – just read the last political tweet.

Good music … good writing … pay for it so the artist can make more.

(That includes me – go to my books section. I get the most benefit from my personal stuff. But under the “things I’ve edited” are books I get a royalty for – so if my stuff isn’t your cup of tea, look under the edited books.

New this year. I’ve added a patreon as well. If you get a benefit from my editing advice or writing examples, you can also support me through: patreon.com/ErinPenn)