Blog

Flash: The Greatest of All Superpowers – The Mom-Hood

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature (Language)

Tyler liked his cousin DeShawn alright most days; the money had rolled in since he had gotten superpowers and started knocking over banks. But kidnapping Power Fists’ mother? That was fucking serious. Still true ice when DeShawn boosted Power Fists cell phone during a fight and returned it same dust after decrypting and duping it. Serious balls on Black Rod.

 

Being about midway up in Black Rod’s gang, Tyler scored guard duty in the room with the captive. Just not in the middle with the four gang lieutenants. Okay by him. Shadows along the wall suited him fine. He was trusted family and got important shit like picking up the old bitch. Bastards could keep their superpowers; put the idiots on the front lines when Power Fists tripped the trap. Those bros were going to take some bruising before they brought him down.

 

The dork got the phone set up with that freaky six-way speaker mike crap for main-man business rooms. Tyler straightened up, lifting his streetsweeper to bad ass position. The machine gun was set to three bullet bursts to save on ammo, but he was ready to flip it to full auto when the show hit town. He tried to ignore the homeless cart ranch behind him ditzing on his cool. He kicked butt today and was ready for some more.

 

The conference phone was set loud, so Tyler hear it as it began ringing. Black Rod knew how to set a scene. The only strong light was on the center of the derelict store, highlighting the leaders and the bitch. Damn that woman had evil eyes glaring over the duct tape. When the snooze gas had worn off in the van, she had struggled like a cat in a bag, but by the time they got her indoors to the chair for Black Rod she was chill. DeShawn had only zip-lined her wrists in her lap.

 

Tyler’s gut said that was not enough. But the boys got Powers.  It’s all good, he told himself.

 

Someone answered the phone. “Hello, this is Mel.” Everyone snickered quietly.

 

“Hello Mel,” DeShawn’s voice carried throughout the cavernous room. “I can call you Mel, right? This is Black Rod. I have your mother.”

 

“What the fuck?!?”

 

“Really, is that the language you use in front of your mother?” inquired DeShawn smoothly. “Let me put her on.”

 

Bloodband, who had been standing behind the woman, ripped the tape from her mouth. She screamed as bits of her lips came away with it.

 

“Mom! Oh God, Mom, are you okay?”

 

“Melvin, boy, you better come right now!” The gray-haired woman shouted at the phone. “Don’t you go making me rescue myself! I will slap you so hard your dentures will be rattling when you’re seventy!”

 

Fuck, Tyler blinked. No wonder Power Fists was so bad ass.

 

“Mom, it’s okay. I’m coming to get you.”

 

Okay, maybe Power Fists is a pussy.

 

“Damn straight you are.” The hag commanded. “I’ve got an appointment with Tamika in four hours and I better not miss it. These nails don’t do themselves.”

 

“Where are you?” Tyler could hear wind from the speaker now. The superhero was flying.

 

“Locust and Grant – look for a boarded up store with a huge pineapple. Marcus tagged it good.”

 

“What the fuck?!? Put that gag back on!” Black Rod yelled as he slammed the conference off button, destroying the device with his super strength.

 

Bloodband tried to retape her mouth, but the woman twisted sideways. “What? You idiots don’t think I wouldn’t recognize the store?” Strike came at her front to hold her in place for Bloodband and got rewarded with a kick to the balls. “Shopped here for years. Best bargains on meats in the city.” She swung her head back, breaking Bloodband’s nose.

 

The fucker had spent a dime before the Change and picked up two tears; he dropped like a stone.

 

For some reason Power Fists breaking through the ceiling did not scare Tyler half as much as the superhero’s gray-haired mother standing up. Sure her hands were still tied, but the bitch had already eliminated two of the Powered before getting out of the chair. Tyler threw the gun away and crawled to the old grocery cart corral, hoping to hide as the concrete and bullets started to fly.

(Words 716 – first published 1/16/2013; published in new blog format on 1/1/2017)

Blog: New Year 2017

Erin Penn

Gone Writing

Image stolen randomly from the web

A new year, 2017 … Time to set up a new set of goals.

2016 (Last year’s) goals:
1. Restart the blog — Met!
2. Start a newsletter — Done!
3. Start a website — Oh, yeah!
4. Get a new self-published novel (or two) out. – well, maybe not

Bonus actions

5. Self-publish two flirts – not
6. Attend a convention as a panelist – COMPLETED!
7. Submitted to two anthologies (ended up being four and got accepted once)

Wow, that is going to be a hard set of resolutions to follow. You know I would be plenty happy just to pull that off again.

2017 Goals

Completely under my power

  1. Continue the blog with three posts a week (unless get feedback to cut back)
  2. Continue the website (… I am going to dump the newsletter, too much extra work)
  3. Publish (either by company or by self) a novel and two flirt
  4. Submit to three anthologies.

Depends on other people for some results

  1. Be a panelists at a convention again.

What do you think? Is this a good set of goals? Should I change anything?

BLOG: End of the Year

Erin Penn

Snowflake Icon Stock Art

Image courtesy of lekkyjustdoit at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Hey all, one last fifth Thursday of the year and the last posting for 2016. Can you believe I just finished an entire year of the new format? And not a single time did I need to apologize for falling behind.

New Year’s Resolution 2016 Unlocked!

Quite cool to have reached this. Took a lot of work.

So what do you think? In 2013 when I started this blog, I was writing one flash a week. In 2014 I was doing two flashes a week, most of the time, until I didn’t. In 2015, I did a lot of writing exercises, for about two months. This year I had a huge mash-up of previously posted flashes, new flashes, book reviews, editing rants, author spotlights, writing exercises, and pointing to other interesting blogs I have run across.

And not only did I keep the blog going, but I got my website up and running and started a quarterly email newsletter (that one didn’t work out). The Facebook page continued to get little bits of news. Plus I submitted to several anthologies, and even got accepted into one.

Now I need feedback.

FOR THE BLOG: Was the new version of the blog good for you? Would you prefer it to return to being only flashes. Please note if it is only flashes, I will only be able to post once a week – is that enough? Are there any features you especially like, or ones that just don’t work for you? Do you like learning about authors I have met; how about the writing exercises?

FOR THE WEBSITE, NEWSLETTER, FACEBOOK, AND STORIES: What do you think? Is this too much or too little? Everything takes time, so if something isn’t working please let me know so I can devote that time to the things you do want to see. (I’m going to remove the newsletter in the upcoming year.)

Again, thank you for a wonderful ride this year. Next year, hopefully…definitely, will see a continuance of all the things started this year. Maybe even completing that novel I keep talking about.

I really hope to reach over 200,000 words between all the formats again, same as 2016.

2017 resolution is keeping this level of activity up. More on that January first.

Wishing you all some great holidays. Stay safe and well.

And please, stick around to see if I can unlock this achievement two years in a row.

Erin Penn

Writing Exercise: Unexpected Consequences

Erin Penn

Tech Grid Hand Stock Art

Image Courtesy of pixtawan at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

First Step, Initial Worldbuilding – Second Step, Unintended Consequences

Basically one part of worldbuilding is taking the change made in the world and parse it out to additional layers. Only when a writer commits to the consequences of those first choices does the world become real.

Example: Punk cuts off arm and replaces with cyber arm. We know the back muscles will also need replacement for the strength modification and likely the leg bones to support any additional weight carried. It will need to be charged, lets say solar thread replaced hair, plus a nighttime recharge against a wall. Yea – change and then additional change.

One step further, I had a friend with a missing body part – her daily calorie count was about 300 less than one would expect for someone her size (and she was small) – so her calorie count needed to hover about 1,200 except for special days. Not a diet to lose weight, but the meat missing from her body mass that no longer needed to be repaired, heated or function required her to take in less energy producing products or gain weight quickly. So this huge cyber punk guy guy with the cyber arm, replaced bones and adjusted muscles likely eats like a bird! … Oh, and additional question with 3 out of 4 of his limbs missing natural long bones – how is his body making all the blood necessary – is it necessary with the missing body parts – does he make more than he needs now?

WRITING EXERCISE: Okay – so for your present work – come up with one unexpected consequence and explain it below. Now you don’t want to do this all the time because you can spend forever on worldbuilding, but having one or two of these takes you beyond – well, the dude can fly, the wand makes magic. 

Flash: Thebe gets her Nymph Mask

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of voraorn at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Thebe reached into the bag and pulled a mask out. The small domino was black and green. Nature. She had been hoping for sky-blue and white and be celestial like her friend Rhene. Well, at least the green would look great with her hazel eyes. As she moved out of the way, the next girl approached the table. The females behind the table all had red and yellow dominoes; last year winner had been fire and the hostesses at Nymphs and Satyrs had worn the colors all year.

Walking past the growing group with azure and violet masks, those who would be playing water nymphs in the competition, Thebe snapped on her mask. She approached the north corner of the plain room where women in matching masks to her black and green were already in deep discussion. They frowned as she joined their group, and Thebe crushed her inner shame. Her body could not be helped. Two full-time jobs left little room for healthy eating and gym time. Fast food made up all her meals, the ones she didn’t skip because she had fallen asleep. The mask hid the bags under her eyes.

Most women in the room had bodies screaming of youth and vigor or money and privilege. She would need to see if Rhene had bribed someone to get her two-hundred forty pound ass through the front door and onto the list. Sure her six-foot height distributed the weight enough to prevent her from being a complete butterball, but her budget-and-time-driven diet was quickly propelling her Rubenistic proportions from healthy to hefty. Her tendency to fold in on herself only made her look fatter.

Thebe pushed back her shoulders and straightened her spine. Now towering over her detractors, she met their eyes. Tonight was not the night to be a shrinking violet. One million dollars was at stake. Enough to get her out of debt – all her student loans and credit card bills disappearing in one swoop instead of slowly building despite her best efforts with cheap food, Goodwill excursions when clothes could no longer be repaired, and nearly one-hundred-hour work weeks when the commutes were included thanks the capriciousness of public transportation. Her budget was squeezed until pennies whimpered. Nothing helped.

She had to seize the chance.

The week-long contest wasn’t like playing the lottery. Only fifty-four girls were chosen to enter from thousands of photos. These were then assigned to four teams representing the four elements. Even if Thebe didn’t personally win, if she was on the team with the winner, she would be looking at a new job as hostess. A job paying double what her two current jobs paid combined and only taking about thirty hours per week, counting commute from the apartment she shared with four other girls on the other side of the city.

A job with perks like a full-time gym and spa. A job with a clothes budget and meals during the four nights the club was open. A one-in -four chance at catching up and, maybe, getting ahead. A one in fifty-four chance of being set for life.

As a bonus, each day she survived in the competition she pocketed $1,000. If she was knocked out today, just getting this far would mean all her interest payments for the month would be met for the first time in eight years, instead of her shuffling money around like someone running a Ponzi scheme. She smiled at her team. There was no way a girl like her could take first place but she would do everything in her power to make certain her team won.

(words 604, first published 12/25/2016)