Five Sentence Fiction Double Feature: Sick and/or Dying + Making Noise

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Why hello there. It’s been a little while, hasn’t it? I’d like to think it has been. Well, for the last few days I certainly have not been idle, I just haven’t been here. Well, I was sick for part of it. Sick with both a pretty nasty cold and a slowly-worsening case of senioritus. The fact that spell-check doesn’t acknowledge that word disgusts me. Well anyhow, I think (I think) that I’m very nearly done being sick. So now it’s just a matter of navigating all of the rest of the stuff in my life to keep my blog updated. And boy do I have some things to maybe share but in the meantime, here’s a special DOUBLE FEATURE of Five Sentence Fiction, one based on how I was feeling yesterday and one on how I was feeling the day before. Suffice to say, the height of my sickness was on Tuesday. And yet, the story based around Tuesday ISN’T the one about sickness.

Weird!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Word of Inspiration: Isolation

Word Count: 131

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Title: Sick and/or Dying

 

Here’s something nobody tells you about being sick; people like to ignore you. Just because I’m probably highly contagious and I may have physically coughed up a lung once (but I can only do it twice, I mean I only have two of them) doesn’t mean I want to just stay in bed all day. Hidden benefit to being sick though— you can just guilt a lot of your friends into helping you and they wouldn’t dare say no to you unless they just want to prove how terrible they are at friendship and life. What do you mean you won’t run to the store and buy me Nyquil, oranges, two more pillows, a personal fan, and a baby ferret? You know what, I’m probably okay enough to just get myself.

 

 

ALTERNATIVELY

Word of Inspiration: Isolation

Word Count: 153

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Title: Making Noise

 

There’s noise coming out of my windows— not from the outside but from the inside. The noise is leaking out from my room and it’s the sound of keyboard clicks, shutters clacking, whispering and yelling and laughing and longing, and thoughts put to paper and screen and whiteboard. It must be deafening because nobody can look up from their walking in the streets to even look up to see where it’s all coming from. And I can see them from my window (I have seen their looks and haste before, you see) and I remember those looks from men and women in suits holding invisible gavels as they stand over the sentencing bench of my life. I have been making noise my entire life and now that the university falls away around me, I can see that the noise I thought was being loud enough to deafen was just falling upon deaf ears.

 

 

 


 

 

Yeah, something else nobody tells you about being sick is that it makes everything else seem a thousand times worse. And what’s even more terrible about THAT is that if you’re stressing about things that are actually bad then it just makes you feel even more sick. It’s a horrible cycle of destruction that is only solved by a timely intervention of Advil, sleep, and good luck.

At least two of those things you can get at your local pharmacy. I’m not telling you which two they are.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

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Five Sentence Fiction: Ambrosial

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Well, I may not have done all of my schoolwork over this Spring Break (you should have seen the stacks of this stuff, it was redonkulous! I refused to do some of it out of pure principle and both hatred for Infinite Just [which is over now, thank you!] and love for Shogun 2: Total War) but I managed to get this done in time, darnnit! And wow do I find myself just going full self-introspection and playful (and almost punny) with these Five Sentence Fiction prompts. They’re a strangely cathartic release from the dark, broody, or character-internalized stories of Friday Fictioneers.

My Gemini-ness comes through yet again!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Word of Inspiration: Spoiled

Word Count: 137

Genre: Creative Realistic Fiction

Title: Ambrosial

 

 

It wasn’t even Thanksgiving but I probably wouldn’t believe anybody if they told me that. I had only been away for six months, two weeks, and fifteen days (because apparently the time just flies by when you’re at college). The turkey was the centerpiece but it all painted an ambrosial (look at me with my new college vocabulary, that’s $40,000 a year going to good use right there!) picture in my nose. The whole room smelt of smoked cedar, like everything on the table had been made by hand over the last three days by loving Russian Jewish mothers. And then my dad had to go and sneeze (but not just sneeze, he blew his nose too) and suddenly the feeling is six-weeks-too-old special kind of spoiled through a dark streak of mucus-green onto my nasal picture.

 

ALTERNATIVELY:

In honour of my desire for short, pithy sentences, allow me to show you my five-word five-sentence fiction entry:

 

Word of Inspiration: Spoiled

Word Count: 5

Genre: Creative Realistic Fiction

Title: I Refuse to Give This Story a Name

 

Turkey. Wafts. Cedar. Sneeze. Spoiled.

 

 

 


 

 

As it turns out, I lied horribly in my story. College does not go quickly. Even in retrospection, I feel like I’ve been in college for half of my natural life. My life-reshaping personal growth and revelations of knowledge I previously couldn’t even begin to comprehend may have had something to do with it, though.

Maybe. Probably. Possibly.

And also, I have no idea what cedar smells like when it burns but if it smells like its colours, I imagine is smells like my dining room with the molding-lights are on.

I hear literary folks eat descriptions like this up. Makes it feel very “real” and very “personal.” I would more call it, “Having no idea how to say something that is, by natural, indescribable.” Which is actually kind of “real” and “personal.”

I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing!

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

Friday Fictioneers (and M.N.P. Part 4): Author’s End

 

Previous Entry: Part 3 M.N.P.

Previous(er) Entry: Part 2 M.N.P.

Previous(est) Entry: Part 1 M.N.P.

 

Well my friends, acquaintences, and mortal enemies, I believe we have fully reached that point in this little narrative adventure where things are actually starting to move in a plot-like motion. I think I mentioned that last time too. But what do you honestly expect from me, consistency? No, no, no, you silly man, woman, or applicable third alien gender. That would just be ludicrous. Maybe when the next Five Sentence Fiction or Featured Fiction swings around, I can start moving these little plot whispers in motion. But until then, you all get a big bowl of vague soup!

I would tell you what it tastes like but I can’t quite place it. Naturally.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Photo Copyright: Sandra-Crook

Photo Copyright: Sandra-Crook

 

Title: Author’s End

Genre: Realistic/Surrealist Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

 

Ms. Bessmore, the most famous murder-mystery author in the world*, refused to release her newest book. She claimed, “[she] will not have [her] writing used as fuel for the growing discord between page-burners and book-muncher.”

But Bessmore wasn’t quick enough to avoid ironic death thrown at her from the audience. One of her own books smote her in the temple. She crumpled to the ground and, How I Murdered My Once-Hero, fell next to her

Her novels ended up floating down the river in tragic heaps. They slowly clogged the river, too scorned to eat and too wet to burn.

____________

*This statistic courtesy of the Bureau for Authorial Greatness and Success. It was composed eight months prior to Bessmore’s death and, upon completion, was swiftly devoured by its writer to preserve its knowledge forever.

 

An artist eventually rendered the fate of Bessmore's books. She was forced to publish it anonymously, however out of fear. The work was entitled, "Irony and the One Bizarre Thing We Have in Common." Image copyright: Random House

An artist eventually rendered the fate of Bessmore’s books. She was forced to publish it anonymously, however out of fear. The work was entitled, “Irony and the One Bizarre Thing We Have in Common.”
Image copyright: Random House

 

 


 

 

You could tell me that I cheated by adding that footnote but you could ALSO say I’ve cheated every time by adding those second pictures and the blurbs about them!

… Well, you probably wouldn’t be wrong. I just wanted to let you know your options when accusing me of cheating!

Maybe to make it up to everybody I should write my next entry in hilariously frustrating fragments and just say, “a book-muncher did it!”

Nah, I wouldn’t have the stomach for it.

*rimshot*

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

Hard at Work

Well hello there, we meet again, mysterious internet people. I’m not going to be belting out another Lorequest today, nor tomorrow for that matter. My last one took a lot out of me- eyestrain and cramped wrists due to my stupid keyboard and a case of the “oh god, I just wasted a quarter of the day in front of a computer” syndrome. Instead, I have eliminated one of those three things today by working my tail off to get my novel’s third round of editing complete!

Yes, you heard (or, read) me right, I am to be a published author soon!

 

Pray for yourselves. Pray for your children. You have been warned.

 

Yes, my first book entitled Garamoush will soon be available through Amazon.com and can be downloaded onto your Kindle for a small fee that I have yet to finalize! It will be less than $3, though. It’s not a terribly long book- 45,000 words all things considered. Now, as I am writing this, I am falling to my usual curse of multitasking and am also writing an impromptu page for Garamoush here on THIS VERY BLOG.

EMPHASIS.

Although I’ll be sure to include a link to the Garamoush page up above, I can relate a little bit of it to you down here. It’ll be our little secret. Don’t tell anybody else or else my feelings shall be most wounded.

Garamoush is a fantasy novel in which an aging man named Stenn finds himself in a world-within-a-world that exists inside of the shell of a giant slumbering god named Garamoush. Stenn has a completed history and has made plenty of mistakes in his past as well as plenty of attempts in the present to fix them. And yet, he finds himself at odds with ghosts of his past and opportunities of his present inside of that strange new world.

Garamoush is also the first of a series of three (maybe four?) books all taking place in the same land of Garaheim (it’s Garamoush and heim, the German/Norwegian word for “home.” I’m so clever!). What the series is actually called is something I have yet to establish. Maybe I’m here on my blog as a way to escape thinking about that. I’m really bad at titles and working under close deadlines. This is both of those things happening at the same time!

That is because Garamoush is set to be published tomorrow.

 

I warned you to pray, didn’t I?! Now it might be too late.

 

So, I’ve said my piece(s). I send you off with another reminder:

 

Garamoush releases tomorrow on Amazon.com on THE INTERNET.

 

I shall speak to you all, later!

 


 

 

Until later~

 

-END TRANSMISSION. GOOD MORNING, GOOD AFTERNOON, GOOD NIGHT-