In A Purple Sky: now appearing at the Xeroversary

A super-bomb of flash fic went off at John Xero's place, and unlike San Diego, Xero kept the fireworks bursting in the sky in a timely, rockin' manner all this past week. I'm thrilled to be part of the finale -- the last fic up: In a Purple Sky. Twelve-year-old Jake waits for the bus each morning, counting the days until school is out...Until, in an abandoned field, a myth steps out from the shadows and changes his life forever.

(need an intro the Xeroversary? I've got a little one here)

And I made this for my story. It's what I imagine Jake sees when he looks across the street:

 Why won't this rotate correctly? Grr. Sorry for your neck twistiness.

This was my first diorama. (right now, I here all three of you reading this saying, "No shit.")

It was loads of fun, and forced me to slow done and think about things in a different way. I also made lots of mistakes, so in the future -- because, oh yes, there will be more dioramas! -- there will be improvements. For instance, apparently, scales matters. Who knew. And also, diorama glue is serious business. There is no wiggling things around. You glue something, stick it on something, and BAM! It's on there. No matter if you want it to be there or not. The good news is that the gryphon isn't glued down, so I get to take him out and play with him whenever I want.

Admit it. You are so jealous right now. Wait until I get a hydra for my next one! It will be myth war in here, bitches!

Thank you so much for reading my story and not saying what an absolute dork I am for building a really awful diorama for it.

xx

RS

PS I just found out that Chris Allinotte made something way better for one of his stories: a frickin' video! With an adorable zombified mummy guy with pins sticking out all over, reading it. So if you like thrillers read by voodoo mummy dolls, check it out.

The Xeroversary

What is the Xeroversary? Let's see, shall we?


Year Xero

"I thought you'd be happy."

He fingered the rose, black petals even then dropping onto the floor.

"I am, Sia. It's..." He swallowed, willing the words to come as naturally as possible. "A new world. We are born again in their love."

She nodded slowly, staring at him as if reading his thoughts. Of course she couldn't. She was organic, as was he. They would have to fool each other the old-fashioned ways. But when he left the apartment, it would indeed be a new world. And fooling the mechs would be much more difficult than lying to one girl.

She grasped his hands. "Say it with me."

"Year Xero," he intoned with her. "The year we were raised up. We praise our lords, the X77. May they rule always, in our hearts and minds. May they show mercy on our sub-standard existence."

He was disturbed the light in her eyes as she said the words. More disturbing was the new tattoo on her wrist, a circle of flashing data. She was linked to them now, a verified follower. A true believer.

"It's beautiful," he said.

She hugged him. "Isn't it, Hart? Don't you want one, too?"

"Oh, I do," he said. "But not right now. I'm not feeling well. Thank you for the roses. I think I need to lie down for a bit."

Out the door he guided his transformed girlfriend, her hair cut neat and short, her tattoo winking in the gloom of the corridor. He locked it behind her and went to the window, watching rain fall from a dark sky. Glowing spires blinked, transmitting information across the globe. In the street, the gleaming bodies of mech agents of order glided along, stopping the random pedestrian without a tattoo.

It was a new day. A new world. Year Xero.

Hart Sklar took the ragged roses from the sill and put them in the rubbish bin. And then he went online for the last time, just to send out one last message across the subdued message boards of the world:

Today is year one. 

He signed off. He had no idea, exactly, what he'd meant. But they'd be here soon, to investigate. He got his things together and slipped out of the building and into dark rain, trembling. First stop: the used bookstore in district two.

If he made it.


*

This week is the Xeroversary, a celebration of flash fiction at the blog of esteemed host, John Xero. Seven days, seven new worlds to string you up by your heels.

One of 'em might be mine.

Fantasy and speculative fiction, darkest horror and sci-fi myth and madness.

It starts off with Marble, a singularly disturbing tale of a young king and his mother, who brings him a present unlike any other. I loved this -- run and read now!

xx

RS
  

Scenes From an Exceedingly Boring Romantic Daydream

Scene from my imagined life: I'm in a cafe, light rain drizzling outside, everyone shaking off umbrellas. Steam from my coffee rises between my hands. Dark-haired stranger catches my eye; we look away, slowly look back. Over shoulders. Between other people moving through the cafe. He gets his coffee and stands, awkward, blue scarf looped over his chest. A woman rushes in, brushing rain from her face. Smiles. They embrace, and I pretend to write in my notebook, trying to see him without looking up. Trying to figure out, in a desperate few seconds, if she's a sister or a lover. They make their way to the door.

He looks back one last time. I watch him leave, wait for my heart to start again. It does, with a thud.




If anyone ever says I'm a romantic, I will gut them with a plaster-of-Paris unicorn horn covered in obscene amounts of glitter.

If anyone ever tells me that my daydreams are mundane, unoriginal, hopeless and silly, I will agree.

My next scene: Bumping into dark-haired stranger at the library, where we reach for the same book.

See: "If anyone..." part two.

Remember when I tweeted that if just one person told me that they liked my work, got it, thought it was awesome, that I would be happy? Today is one of those days. I'm giddy. You'll see it soon, and maybe one of you will also like it. I don't think I'll die if you don't, though, so it's okay. You can find it trite. But remember that faux unicorn horn.

Now, someone please tell me how to end my epic short story that I have been working on for ONE YEAR. Please. The story is good, I promise. But how to end it? Maybe I'm afraid of ending it. The same goes for two other stories. This is a problem. Taking suggestions.

But not hugs. Please, anything but that.

Beautiful Chaos!

Do you ever say, "I never win anything"? I do. But last week, I was happily surprised to find that I'd won a contest jointly held by Theme Fragrance and EcoShag.

From EcoShag, I received a gorgeous, luxurious handmade ocean blue infinity scarf -- which of course it's been far too hot to even consider wearing, but it's so beautiful.

And from Theme, I decided to choose something completely different than my usual scents: I chose Beautiful Chaos based on name alone. :)

Fresh, green woods blended with jasmine, a nice touch that takes the flowery scent to a more sophisticated level.

I already have Amuse and Sarong by Theme, and I have my eye on a few more scents. I'm highly impressed by Theme; the shipping is crazy fast, and not only are the perfumes handmade, but the packaging is sweet and she always includes little extras, such as gorgeous postcards, a sample of her handmade lip balm (to die for -- and I'm a lip balm junkie), and this time, a darling little hairpin with a purple flower. Also, I've got to say that while I previously ordered perfume sprays, this time I chose a roll-on, and I adore it. I'll stick with it in the future.

Thank you so much, Theme Fragrance and EcoShag. You really made my week.

*

In other news, I caved to the massive time-suck that is Pinterest and got an account. I've got barely anything on my boards, but if you want to check mine out -- and Pinterest in general -- here ya go.

I had already bookmarked six different Pinterest accounts that I checked out every couple of days, so I figured it would be easier to just sign up and follow them. :) Plus, now I'm looking for cool pins everywhere. It kind of reminds me of Deviant Art, in a way, as it resembles how I've got my faves collected over there. But you can't beat the way they're displayed on Pinterest.

All right. My new reward for writing is Pinterest -- no Pinterest unless I write xxx words! And blogging doesn't count. So I'm off like a prom dress.

Much love from the beautifully scented chaos girl herself,

RS

Ohio Peeps!

Are you in Ohio? Would you like to meet me and buy me margaritas and/or Godiva truffles? You would? Oh, you crazy. ;)

Two things:

It appears I'll be part of a book signing in Cleveland, OH in mid- to late July for the anthology, "Etched Offerings: Voices from the Cauldron." The date is still being firmed up, so I'll let you know the details as it gets closer. In the meantime, here's a link to the book and an excerpt from my story, "The Black Oak":

This was the realm of the Mother, the heart of a forest that had once lain its body across thousands of acres. The magnificent kingdom now poached into tatters, chopped by asphalt, with precious few bits reserved for those who brought their children to see its hawks or to walk in the quiet with all that had lived here for ages. It was a heart closely guarded, kept unto itself.

     A heart fiercely protective of what little it still had.

Second, Context is a writers' convention happening at the end of September in Columbus, OH. It's for anyone interested in sci-fi, fantasy, horror, speculative fiction, anime, manga... You get the idea. The price is great for a convention, and the list of workshops is awesome. The editors of Misanthrope Press  (publishers of Etched Offerings) will be there, and I hope that some of you will be, too. If not, I'll just make new friends.

My stomach just flipped writing that. The truth is, I've got serious social anxiety. But I keep trying, even though my hermit ways want me to stay home and never talk to anyone but on the computer. :)

All right, I've got two stories to finish this week, so I'm off like a prom dress. See ya around, peeps.

PS Misanthrope Press has also published two other anthologies recently, one of werewolf stories, and another with dark forest tales. Check them out, too. 

Microfic: digging; and brief thoughts on Ray Bradbury

digging


Dirty paws turn me to jelly. I watch his bulldog digging up the rosemary while he talks of mortgages. “Hey,” I say, “want to go inside?” But he’s still talking about interest rates and terms when we go in, and the dog is still swinging away in the sun, too far away, beyond the sliding glass patio doors.


*


Ray Bradbury died. Of course, my favorite story of his is "The Veldt." Or maybe it's, "Boys! Grow Giant Mushrooms in Your Basement!" That's actually one of the scariest stories of all time. 


Or maybe my favorite is any one of those where people have come to Mars, found the remains of a civilization, and moved into it as if they could ever inhabit it. As if the Martians have truly gone. 


The Martians are never gone. If you don't believe me, cut open your chest and look inside. 


I don't like Fahrenheit 451, except for the end, particularly the movie ending, where we see people walking around in a shady forest just beyond the reach of society, hands behind their backs, repeating to themselves over and over the particular book they've memorized. 


I would memorize Jane Eyre, but everyone will memorize that, so it should probably be something else. Something less known or less loved. Loren Eisley's The Immense Journey, which I've reviewed here before. 


I have already memorized the short note that Mr. Bradbury wrote to me when replying to my fan letter in the early 1990s. That will always stay with me.


And I will always be wishing for one more story, Mr. Bradbury.


With love, 
Rebecca

Antiquing in Purgatory

My ringtone -- Make it so!

 


This is the most fabulous thing ever. EVER.

BTW, I have not yet seen the season finale of GoT, so don't say anything about it. We'll be watching tonight, I do believe, if B can be dragged away from smoking an Ashton in the garden. He does love his Ashtons.

We didn't see the finale because we've been gone on a little break. We went to Bay City, MI and stayed at the Historic Webster Inn. One of the most memorable experiences we've had, absolutely superb from the exquisite breakfasts to the homemade cookies we found on our bed each night. We stayed in the Magistrate Room, chosen for its skylights. I've got a secret love of skylights, and to be able to sleep under two of them (there were four total in the room) was a delight. A DELIGHT.

(The other couple staying at the Inn said everything was a "delight, superb, exquisite," at all times. We couldn't figure out if they were genuine or found themselves a hoot. I'm inclined to believe that the gentleman, at least, thought himself hilarious. He had that clean-cut, preppy college look and attitude which suggests one comes from a privileged background and finds amusement in the toiling of others)

Other than eating cookies and staring up at the sky? Well, we drove/meandered around, scoured antique shops for their most bizarre items, and looked at houses. And what, you ask, was the most bizarre item we found?

Not the album cover with two 70's dorky lovebirds next to the huge letters proclaiming, "IT'S CALLED LOVE." Not even close.

The unintentionally satanic Mr. and Mrs. Snowman that freaked the hell out of us when we came upon them on a shelf? Nope. (Unintentional? One wonders...)

What about the 1891 wedding photo of two people that I am POSITIVE are actually aliens?

No.

It's this:

Someone had the vision -- the vision -- to create a series of three-foot-tall scenes depicting barn animals getting ready for Christmas.

Using actual animals.

I have to wonder if they thought creating a Nativity scene with taxidermied donkeys and sheep was crossing the line, or just too much work. The scale, you see. And where would they get a baby Jesus?

So they used little hens and baby goats and for the sheep -- those lucky sheep! -- just wool glued to a black sheep form. And lots of little yellow fluffball chicks. Those damned chicks were in every scene. Helping make the popcorn garland. Stringing lights on the tree. Getting in the way of the sheep's knitting. Tucked under the enormous fake plastic icicles that looked like Yeti snot.

It was a magical interlude in our lives, friends. How we wish you could all have been there to share it. Here are two of the sheep, one sitting upon the other's head in order to reach the highest plastinated branches of the tree. Almost all the pictures I took with my camera phone but this one came out with some sort of fog over them. As if the spirits thought I was the one finding inappropriate amusement in their domain.

next Christmas, I want to sit on someone's head while decorating the tree! wait, did I say that aloud?

Good day, Sirs and Madams!