Wordless Wednesday at Winter's End

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The Scent of an Ending is an annual contest inviting you to write the worst godawful stinker of an ending to an imaginary novel. Also, they need noses. Cash prizes and small entry free; fun-as-hell exercise: be sure to read their samples.

Giving the Old House a bit of Flash

As I've mentioned before, maybe several times, we're facing the huge job of clearing out our house and property in Ireland and shining it up, getting ready to sell.

Of course there's always the worry that after all that work and expense, the house won't sell, and our emigration will be on hold. Emigration is stressful enough without that worry, thanks.

So to help our chances, I thought I'd better put together a website as a sort of online showcase of our little farm, its old stone house and surrounding trees and the stream that runs through it. Hopefully somewhere out there in the big wide world is somebody who dreams of a homestead like this, but hesitates to plunk good money down on the single-photo-short-description properties in the local real estate listings, or to make a transatlantic trip just to househunt.

Surely, if that someone could take a 'tour' of the place online, there's a better chance?

Unfortunately, after new landscaping and the roof repair we've just paid for, spending lots of money on a website was out of the question. I was playing with blog templates again, until Quilly (bless her heart) mentioned making herself a free website complete with flash, and without needing any special expertise or training. The word that caught me was free, and sure enough, Wix.com lets you build your own site with drag-and-drop features, loads of free templates--including several for Real Estate, lucky me--and there's no programming required. Which is good, because I still have trouble with wind-up alarm clocks.

So, for everyone who's asked about our ancient house and the nearby Shannon, the pony and roses and 'what's-a-polytunnel', wish me luck and soon you'll be able to take a virtual tour of it all. That's what I'll be working on today...well, it looks like a lot more fun than cleaning the closet, packing boxes, or sorting old bills.

If you've shopped for houses online, what photos and information should I be sure to include? Or leave out? Or put on page one?

What a Novel Idea

My stupid passport went and got itself lost, so next week I have to turn myself in to the Authorities across the island in faraway Dublin, to beg for a new passport in person, instead of just mailing in the old one. Not fun.

But what is fun is using the trip as an excellent excuse to visit a serious bookstore while I'm there, or perhaps two or three of them. I've already snagged the Visa card before Himself thinks to hide it from me, and am making my wishlist of novels for reading on the train ride home.

Major Mariya Dolina died last week, and remembering her amazing life story made me wish I could find some adventure or wartime novels featuring lady aviators, or a tale of spies or soldiers of an unusual sort.

A decent novelisation of the story of Momotaro would be brilliant. He's the legendary Japanese boy who made several animal friends that helped him fight off ogres. I've seen this character in board games, dolls, picture books, etc. but what an adventure story it could be.

Something about a toy maker, or toy collector, would be nice...but not one that talks to the toys, or whose toys talk back. 'Endearingly conflicted' or quirky is something I like in a character... serious mental health issues, not so much. I had a story started about such a character some years ago, but it went nowhere. I might dig it out again someday.

I'd also be tempted to read anything at all that was inspired by a photo from People of Walmart. I need a laugh, any day.

Meanwhile, while I'm twiddling about and not writing any of the above because it's so much easier to just wait for someone else to do it (yeah, sure I'm ashamed...) I might think up something to submit to the first issue of Basement Stories. They're looking for fiction, art and poetry, fantastical, outrageous and otherwise, and pay 1c/word for the ones they accept.

Moonlight Tuber meanwhile is considering submissions of stories surreal, bizarre, absurd, or otherwise curious, preferably around 1328 words long. (Now you know what you're dealing with.) Payment is $50 AU.

I could use $50. I'd take it to the bookstore.

Any recommendations while I'm making the list?

Portrait of Words: Mama Mia

Time again for Portrait of Words, in which we're given a stack of photos once each month, to weave into an original story.

The pictures for today's story are the last photos chosen by Dr. John for POW before he passed away, and they're from his own archives. But Portrait of Words will go on, at its new and beautiful website PortraitOfWords.com: Mahalo Thom for that, and for all the hard work you've put into hosting it!



So here's my story this week:

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John couldn't believe what what he was hearing. After all these years, his mother's voice?  He switched the phone to his good ear.

"But Ma," he said, "Please. I'd love to see you, but does it have to be this weekend? I only get one weekend off all summer to go to Cedar Point, and this weekend's it!" He sighed, listening. "Now come on. You don't really need hanging flower pots, do you?" He held the phone away from his ear while she told him the answer to that.

Even after all these years, he knew everything she was going to say before she even said it: She was old, she said. She was his only mother, she said. Those damned roller coasters would be there forever but she wouldn't be, she said. He hadn't come to visit her in fifteen years, she said, though he knew that already. Did she forget that she was the one who'd thrown him out, fifteen years ago?

Blah, blah, blah.

"All right Ma, all right. I'll tell the guys I can only go to Cedar Point with them on Sunday, so I'll visit you on Saturday, okay? I'll stay until I get your hanging baskets planted and hung." He sighed. "Yes, all right. I can stay for supper." He shut his eyes. "And Jeopardy, okay. But that's all I can manage; the last bus leaves for downtown at 8 o'clock and I can't miss it."

Boy, she was getting forgetful – he had to explain over again how he'd lost most of his vision after that botched laser eye surgery, so he could no longer drive.

"Which reminds me," he said, "I'll never be able to see your house numbers from the street. What's your house look like again?"

"I'll hang your father's big flag from the front porch, so you'll know which one it is," she said. "and I'll see you Saturday morning!"

Click.

On Saturday morning John got off the bus at her street and looked around. Thankfully, only one house had a flag flying in front of it, so he walked up and knocked on the door. After a few minutes he knocked again, more loudly. He'd almost given up waiting there, when the door opened.

"Hello?"

Good grief, the old cow was shorter than ever. He gave her an awkard hug, then felt foolish. "Well," he said, "ready to plant up some hanging baskets?"

"Oh," she said,"well, of course, how lovely that will be! I haven't had hanging baskets for years. All the pots are in the shed out back, but ... oh dear. I don't have any potting soil."

Forgetful old bat. "Well, I could just go dig up some dirt, couldn't I, from the field over there?"

"What a wonderful idea. Then I'll just head over to the garden centre for some pretty flowers."

"What, you don't even have flowers yet?"

"Only take me 20 minutes, see you then!"

John shook his head as Ma pulled her front door shut to lock it, then he watched her little grey head bob down the porch steps and along the driveway, to her car. A moment later she sped off. She'd always been a demon behind the wheel -- some things never changed.

He made his way to the shed, and while she was gone he managed to clean out a dozen hanging pots and pack them all full of soil from the field. Funny, she used to be so particular about different kinds of flower compost. But well, he thought, maybe she'd mellowed in her old age. He had the pots all spread on the lawn, ready for planting, when she pulled up again with her whole car filled with pansies and petunias.

The afternoon didn't turn out half so bad after all. They planted the hanging baskets, he hung them up, and bless her heart she didn't once bring up the time he'd driven his pickup truck through her garage door, or that he'd set the attic on fire with his sunlamp. Maybe she was hoping for a fresh start between them, who knew? She even fixed his favourite supper of beef stew, and after that, it turned out that he could still beat her to the answers at Jeopardy.

"You should visit again soon," she said, as he was leaving. Weirdly, he thought he'd like to visit again, too.

But not tomorrow. Tomorrow was for the world's best roller coasters, down at Cedar Point. He'd been waiting all year for that.

"Hi John," Chuck said when he was back at their apartment. "How's your mother?"

"She's great," John said. "It was weird, but we had a really good day together. That never happened before, but I guess we're both older and wiser, huh? So how was Cedar Point?"

"Excellent. Wait 'til you get on the new ride they've got, the De-boner. No seats, they just give you a rope to hang on to, and during the whole ride everyone's slamming into each other and there's a hundred-foot drop at the end. It's awesome. Oh by the way, you forgot your phone this morning—it's on top of the TV."

"Thanks," John said, and checked the phone for messages. There was one voicemail message from nine that morning, from his mother. He listened.

"John," his mother's voice said, "I'm sorry this is such short notice, but I just remembered that I volunteered at the church bake sale today, which is just as well, because I couldn't find your father's old pirate flag anywhere. So what do you say you come over tomorrow instead, Sunday, and you can go to the park with your friends today? Don't worry about finding the house on Sunday, I'll just wait outside for you, about ten. You'd never recognise it otherwise, I suppose, now that I've fixed the garage door."

Click.

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One month very soon,

there will just have to be a few UFO photos,
or Godzillas or giant zombie-turtles, right?

Is it too much to ask??

Microfiction Monday #21

Welcome to Microfiction Monday,

where a picture paints 140 characters...or even fewer.

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Here's this week's picture, and my story to go with it:

He plays rude words in their daily Scrabble game,
while she strives for the 7-letter bonus.
Yesterday, they both enjoyed her
"B-O-O-B-I-E-S".

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To be fair to everyone playing, please only sign in to Mr. Linky if you've posted a Microfiction Monday story on your blog. If you need help fixing a link, just ask, it's easy and quick for me to do. Thanks!

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About Microfiction Monday

Microfiction means the shortest of short stories. Think Aesop's fables, comic strips, or even jokes: complete stories that can be told in under a minute. For this game, the limit is a tweetable 140 characters or fewer.

Every Sunday evening I'll post my own 'microfiction' inspired by a photo or illustration, and invite you to do the same. (If that degree of brevity scares you, feel free to use my own microfiction of the week as your first line instead, and spin something longer. )

You can leave your story in the comments here, or better yet, post on your own blog and leave your link in Mr. Linky.

Hate counting letters and spaces? Try Design 215's character counter, which will count for you as you type. Microsoft Word will count for you too, of course, as part of its word count feature under the 'Review' tab.

Photos will be from my own archives; illustrations are from Dover Publications' free clipart sample newsletter.

And finally, why 140? A whole new fiction market has arisen via mobile phone texting and Twitter, who limits 'tweets' to 140 characters including spaces and punctuation. It's fast, it's fiction, it's fun.

Want more? The following publishers accept 140-word stories, and some pay a dollar or two for stories they accept:

Nanoisms
PicFic
escarp
Thaumatrope
Seedpod
Tweet the Meat
7x20

For slightly longer works (some new ones here this week)

Pow Flash Fiction
10Flash
Flash Me Magazine
Flash Fiction Magazine
Flashshots
Flashes in the Dark
Flashquake
50 to 1

Next week's picture: