“Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?”
― Sputnik Sweetheart
Footprints and Bike Tracks in thin mud on concrete path, Trinity River Bottoms, Dallas, Texas
There were people here once.
Obscurity or fame. Everyone here craved one or the other.
—-Gail Anderson – Intersection, Transit and Rose
Decaying wall, Ladonia, Texas
I had plans for today. It’s the last nice day before a cold front barrels through. So I mapped out a long bike ride into a part of town I rarely ride now – but remember well from decades ago. Also, I have some ideas and itch to write some fiction so I was going to re-start my old “Sunday Snippets” – and squeeze out something new, original, and crappy.
But getting out of the shower and going to put my cycling clothes on I stepped with wet feet on the cheap imitation wood flooring, which is like snot on ice when damp, and went down in a naked heap. I did save the coffee cup I (for some unknown reason) had in my hand – throwing it into the hamper while I spun to the floor. A clumsy lifetime has taught me how to fall. I’m okay but this getting old shit is not for the faint of heart. My knee is twitchy and my hip is sore and I don’t think I should go very far in this state. The sheet of pain (again, I’m fine but it really hurt for a while) wiped my mind and now I can’t really come up with the lies I need for fiction right now – maybe next week. I’m essential, so it’s another week of work starting tomorrow, too.
So, at any rate, here’s a tasty piece of flash fiction (literally flash fiction) that won the Best of Winter 2019 award from Reflex Fiction. Mystery of its own and action inspired by Hitchcock – what else can you want?
Read it here:
from Reflex Fiction
I’ve always loved the electric hum/whine/screech a Sunpak flash makes while it recharges.
My mother spends all her wages on cigarettes. My mother, a waitress at a café in the center of a suburban residential area at the edge of the world. In the afternoon, the café is filled with ladies. They are housewives coming from elegant houses at the edge of the world, killing time.
—–Hiromi Suzuki, A Longer Trip Back Home
Stray Christmas Ball in the Trinity River, Dallas, Texas
Does a story have to have a classical plot? Does the protagonist have to want something? Is the story always about if they get it or not?
I didn’t know that a French word for mock strawberries was Fraisier de Duchesne. That sounds like a good name for a character – maybe an evil aristocrat or a kindly old neighbor, Fraisier de Duchesne.
Read it here:
from 3AM Magazine
“The places where water comes together with other water. Those places stand out in my mind like holy places.”
― Where Water Comes Together with Other Water: Poems
Galatyn Park Fountain, Richardson, Texas
There is nothing more irritable than departments, regiments, courts of justice, and, in a word, every branch of public service.
—-Nikolai Gogol, The Overcoat
Poppies, by W. Stanley Proctor
Liberty Plaza
Farmer’s Branch, Texas
(click to enlarge)
Yesterday, I wrote about George Saunders and his story – The Red Bow
I included this Youtube video of George Saunders and some writing tips.
The first question is “What is your favorite short story?” and he answered “The Overcoat” by Nikolai Gogol. He said, “It’s funny and sad and I think it’s the way that God actually thinks of us if he in fact does.”
I have had the story “The Nose” by Gogol as one of my short stories before.
Like “The Nose” – “The Overcoat” is written in an older style – more telling than showing – but it is as genius, funny, and shattering as Saunders says it is. I had read “The Overcoat” before – long ago – but didn’t remember all the details… only the sadness and feeling of helplessness. Reading it again it was even more heartbreaking, knowing what was going to happen to the hopeless protagonist.
Read it here:
from East Of the Web
The next question on the interview is “Best piece of writing advice?”.
He replies that a mentor Tobias Wolff told him, “Don’t lose the magic.” Great advice.
I am a huge fan of Tobias Wolff – if you ask me Wolff’s story “In The Garden Of The North American Martyrs” is my favorite short story (or at least one of them) and one of the best ever written.
I’ve used a couple of online Tobias Wolff stories for my stories of the day before:
On both of those entries I wrote about my favorite Tobias Wolff story:
I remember one time, years ago, he was giving a talk at the Dallas Museum of Art as part of the Arts & Letters Live series. Well, I’m poor and can’t afford the full price ticket to these lectures, but, for a lower price, you can attend and sit in an auditorium off to the side where the lecture is beamed in on a screen. I was sitting there, waiting with a few other people (the main room was packed) when I looked up and there was Tobias Wolff, walking between the rows talking to us. He said he didn’t think it was fair that we had to sit in the other room and had arranged for an extra row of seats to be installed down across the front. We all marched into the big room and saw the live lecture, right up on the first row, thanks to the author.
It was really cool and thoughtful of him – and I’ll never forget it.
Don’t like that man, Uncle Matt said as we left the Rectory. Never have and never will.
And I knew that. They had gone to high school together and there had been something about a girl, some last-minute prom-date type of situation that had not gone in Uncle Matt’s favor, and I think some shoving on a ball field, some name-calling, but all of this was years ago, during like say the Kennedy administration.
—-George Saunders, The Red Bow
Deep Ellum, Dallas, Texas
Cathey MIller, Cathedonia
(click to enlarge)
As I’ve said before, I’m watching Youtube videos that contain fiction writing tips and such while I ride my spin bike for exercise. Some of my favorite clips are interviews with the writer, George Saunders.
I have written about and linked to George Saunders short stories several times already:
A Lack of Order in the Floating Object Room
Today’s story is particularly dark, awful to contemplate, and appropriate to the disaster coursing around the world today. How do you respond to a tragedy? Do you respond with a sense of honoring the dead or with preventing it from happening again? Or both? How do you define mercy in uncertain times? Where do you stop? When does the cure become worse than the disease? How do you get through the day when you know it is going to get worse before it gets better? How sure are you that it will get better?
Read it here:
From Esquire
I shrank back to the corner of the bed, shouting desperately, “I’m not a philistine—and I’ve got the books to prove it.”
—-Yu Hua, As the North Wind Howled
The Sweepers
Wang Shugang
Cast Iron (2012)
Crow Collection of Asian Art
I have been collecting playlists of writing related YouTube (hints and interviews) videos and watching them while I ride my spin bike. An hour a day. One video was a (long) list of things that distinguish an amateur, begining writer. I remember one was, “Don’t start your story out with your main character waking up in bed.” Well, Kafka would disagree.
So would Yu Hua – that’s how today’s bit of flash fiction begins.
Read it here:
From the New Yorker
The city at night sounded like his ribs when they broke, his body as it caved in on itself and snapped in half so loudly they heard it downstairs and thought it was a gunshot, another bullet hitting its mark, eating into the flesh of another broken soul, unwanted — unwanted, yes, disowned, in a room no warmer than the frigid air outside, shivering under layers, skin stretched too tight across bones.
—-Monica Robinson, “anatomy of a burning thing”
Time Exposure, Night, Downtown Dallas, Ross and Olive
Point of View – Stream of Consciousness – Reliability of Narration
You can play with this stuff… if you have the chops.
Read it here:
from Blanket Sea
“My soul is a black maelstrom, a great madness spinning about a vacuum, the swirling of a vast ocean around a hole in the void, and in the waters, more like whirlwinds than waters, float images of all I ever saw or heard in the world: houses, faces, books, boxes, snatches of music and fragments of voices, all caught up in a sinister, bottomless whirlpool.”
― The Book of Disquiet
Old photo of the Trinity River in flood stage, Dallas, Texas
Back home, we’d be treated for space sickness and starlust, our brains scanned and studied for signs that our grey matter had deteriorated in the vacuum. We’d be swaddled in hospitals, kept barefoot and away from the night sky until we stopped dreaming of plumed nebulas and stopped thinking we could hear the music of the spheres in C minor.
—-Lina Rather, Last Long Night
Time Exposure, Night, Downtown Dallas, Ross and Pearl
I’m picking streaming movies out – looking for clickbait web articles like “Ten Netflix Movies You Never Thought of Watching” and carefully copying names, reviews, and synopsis into text files for safekeeping. Then I watch them while I ride my spin bike. Candy and a friend were drinking wine a couple months ago and ordered new big flat-screen TV’s on a whim. When it arrived I took the old big flat screen and mounted it in front of my spin bike – filling my view. It’s a way to watch stuff and still get exercise.
Last night I watched High Life – an odd science fiction movie with Robert Pattinson and Juliette Binoche directed by Claire Denis.
I’m of mixed feelings about the movie. It is a unique vision – done with a lot of talent. It undoubtedly has amazing moments (Willow growing up, for example) and offers up a lot to think about. Ultimately… I don’t know… worth a watch but not completely satisfying.
Today’s flash fiction is very similar in setting and theme to the movie. Reading it made me think of the movie right away. I think I like the story better… partially for the fact that it has a similar reaction for a much smaller investment (in money and time). It is distilled.
Read it here:
from Flash Fiction Online
Bill Chance 