Success or Failure?

Time

Wow. It is almost time. Twenty-seven days doing the Story A Day challenge. What have I accomplished? Well, along with the few life lessons I will share below, I wrote some stories. In a writer's life, these tips can form strong roots in the craft:

• Set Realistic Expectations - No one can stomp on your dreams. But you can ruin your chances by chasing the wind (I probably should have followed this advice getting ready on May 1st). My completion rate is currently at 70.37%. I am not proud of that but I will change it in four days. Life gets in the way of writing and there will always be valid excuses but thirty-one stories in thirty-one days is still an attainable goal. I will conquer!
• Love Your Writing Community - This is an underrated weapon in any writer's arsenal. Whether they prod you, inspire you, intimidate you, or critique you - their voices are better than silence. Without my new StoryADay and Twitter buddies I wouldn't be motivated to complete this journey and I want to cross the finish line with them. Thanks peeps!
• Create and Share - The reward is worth it. The feeling I get from having written, from coloring a blank page with words, is energizing. Every time the guilt crept up and reminded me that I was so many days behind, the memory of joy would follow. When I get your comments it makes me feel like my dent in the world means something. Create and share, keep the joy going.
• Write, Right Now - Whenever you get the urge, write! Walk with a notebook on your person. Use your cellphone, record yourself, whatever! Keep writing no matter what. You are the only one who can tell your story and I realized ideas wait for no (wo)man. 

Thanks to everyone for keeping my company during the Story A Day challenge. I met some cool characters and been to some places I will be revisiting and revising later. This month was hectic but it was awesome. Four more days till I taste glory or defeat. Well, I'll be tasting something...

Beach Dudes

Story A Day Challenge continues:


I am learning so much! Since I started this challenge, I've been introduced to Twitter fiction, 55Flash fiction and now a Drabble. I am slowly cresting the Summer School speed bump this week. I am behind on my stories but I will prevail. Once I get my rhythm back it will be on! I hope you enjoy this little 100 word attempt.


May 12 Prompt: Beach Dudes

Three men sit on a shore, each one waiting for his woman. The men face three different directions, with expectant looks and roving eyes. They twitch at pairs of lifting bosoms, smile at disappearing bikini cloth. The first looks toward the ocean, shielding his eyes to view tanning babes. The second guy watches a couple nearby tickling each other, laughing hard as their toes toss the sand. The third man searches yonder, probes the beach with a craning neck till he sees her. The men sigh in unison, no longer alone. Each sigh a different tone of regret, remembrance, love.

Nifty Thieves

Story A Day Challenge continues:

Here is an attempt I am really proud of, or that I like a lot. It may need some work, all my stories from this challenge do, but I don't have fresh eyes yet.

May 9 Prompt: Light and Shadows

We live in the shadows – every shadow. At noon time we burrow. At night we flourish. And we are not like you. As we age we become mischievous. The great shadow of the Scottish pine trees lends us shelter. We speak in the wind. We always want more.

Our acute sensitivities sniff out trespassers. The young ones fear you and are cautious. But the weathered Shadow Dwellers like me ride in your wake and ape at your back when you walk this beaten path. I watched you for ten years. You trudge through our woods, heavy feet. You listen to everything but the wind. You act as if nothing frightens you. Today is my eighty-sixth birthday. I am anxious for you to walk by, friend. I hail from the mightiest of all Shadow Dweller clans: the Mudflicks. We own these woods. I can own your shadow. And I will.

You are late. Your feet are not so heavy today. I lurk behind a shady brush, waiting to morph into your shadow. When you pass, I hurl myself into your darkness and surf the forest floor. The fir cones massage my back and I stretch my being to match your gait. I don’t care what you are chasing but your speed impresses me. I’ve saddled you before, on one of these shopping trips, but your haste is my birthday present. I feel the warm asphalt on my back, then sidewalk, then commercial linoleum.

Once inside, I feel the air passing through me. I am a florescent reflection now, small and light. I let you get your supplies, feeling as if I should remind you to grab orange juice. I let you forget, thinking of the sure victory to come. We pay the cashier and leave. The ride back is always the best. Cracked sidewalk. Burning asphalt. Home.

Your plastic bags cover my rustling. I am getting up, form fitted and elongated with the forthcoming sunset. Yes, my friend, I am stealing your shadow. You will be our new house. But first, I want to try you out.

I prepare to detach from your feet. If you turn around now you will disturb my progress. I call to my brothers resting in the branches: “Mudflicks rise!”

Your shirt flags in my speech.

“Here is our friend, brothers, who carried our hope in his travels. For ten years, we have waited for a mobile abode. We plunder, but we often fail. And now, Shadow Dwellers of Falkirk, Mighty Mudflicks, rise!”

I hop on an independent shadow leg, and cry out, “Seize what he barely remembers, what cannot hurt him, and what will never fail us!”

A rising wind gathers the entire clan. Leaves and twigs raise their heads, approving their advance. Mudflicks charge toward me, filling your shadow. The communal stretching will free us from the hold of your left foot, right foot rhythm. You go on ahead, friend, walk. We stand free in your shadow, you leave the woods a little lighter. You have no idea. The wind rushes aged cheers at your back. 

Story A Day

These daily challenges have caught me in a vice. Since I missed the first one (Poem A Day) last month, I have been trying to stay up to date with the blogosphere just so I don't miss anything again. I came across an interview with blogger-poet Robert Lee Brewer and thus, I have entered myself into another challenge.

The Story A Day site is a writer's playground. There's lots of other writers to connect with, stories to read, and always prompts to help you get going. They declared May as the month to do this challenge and boy, it is kicking my booty.

What have I done!?

I cannot vouch for my determination, because, as far as success is concerned, it doesn't matter if I'm not putting forth all my efforts, right? I am doing alright though. Here are some samples:

May 2 Prompt: Obituary

The school didn’t want her to teach, they needed her. Their easy acceptance of her indiscriminate résumé was the first clue. Then, when the bell made its first clang, both sound and sight startled her. The children liberated the school gates, like a landslide of cotton and cornflower, in their blue checked tunics and smart tie ensembles. She felt overwhelmed. They hired her. Mrs. Swanson, the principal, shook her hand and told her, “You begin on Monday a week from now. Summer vacation is only for the children.”

Now she stood on her front porch with her father’s briefcase and a skinny strapped purse, hastening her heartbeat at the sound of churning gravel.

May 3 Prompt: Tech Convention

They called it “The Tree”. It was no more than a few millimeters in diameter and a little slimy. Too many of us had already fondled it the wrong way, stopping our hearts short when it threatened to slip. One candidate ruined his chances when the room turned to the sound of fiber crunching underfoot. We had only primitive prototypes to examine, but they were still expensive samples.

This was the gathering of a nerd herd. Sweater vests were in full swing. Last year it was tightly buttoned polo shirts. I was wearing a blue one. Rick Weston slid his glasses up his nose in a pensive way.

He turned to me and said, “I don’t think they need us to optimize this.”

That was a sure sign he didn’t want the job. 

 May 4 Prompt: Mad House

The iron gate creaked open to my childhood. Through my adult eyes the garden was outgrown and miniature. Weeds and creeper draped a carpet over the driveway. I walked up to the house fingering the hem of my shirt, unsure. When we lived here it was white, with the occasional stain of red dirt hiking up along a vulnerable side. It was a grayish-yellow now. Years and subsequent owners did that, but the red stain remained.