Showing posts with label #FreeFictionFriday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #FreeFictionFriday. Show all posts

Friday, December 09, 2022

Experiment in Microfiction

It's #FreeFictionFriday ! Here's an experiment in microfiction - one a literary short first published by Every Day Fiction in 2008. The other a bit of alien fun. Titled "The Anniversary" and "Golden Anniversary" respectively. Hope you enjoy these two very short stories. Tell me which you like better!

The Anniversary

“Those three words,” I say as I pour her another glass of wine.

“Love you, too,” she coos. An impish grin flickers across her face.

I quickly refill my glass and snuggle back down beside her. The fire crackles in front of us. After all these years we’re still caught up in the romance.

“Perfect ending to a perfect day,” I murmur in her ear.

She takes in a deep breath and sighs out a yes that makes my heart jump. The wildflower bouquet we brought back from our afternoon picnic must be releasing its aphrodisiacal magic. I’m in love with the world.

“I love the fall,” I say. “The Flint Hills are gorgeous this time of year. We should buy this bed and breakfast and live here forever.”

“You say that every anniversary,” my wife teases.

“And you’d think after fifty years I’d finally convince you,” I say, smiling.


Golden Anniversary

Those three words, I say to her as I pour another glass of Rigelian wine.

Love you, too, she coos. An impish grin flickers across her fluorescent face.

I quickly refill my glass and snuggle back down beside my love as we wrap our seven free limbs around each other in tender embrace. The holofire crackles in front of us. After all these aeons were still caught up in the romance.

Perfect climax to a perfect century of celebration, I murmur in her ear.

She takes in a deep breath and sighs out a ‘yes’ that causes my four hearts to beat in syncopation. The Aurilian bouquet we brought back from our afternoon picnic must be releasing its aphrodisiacal magic. I’m in love with the universe.

I love this planet, I say. The Milky Way is in a spectacular rotation. We should buy this solar system and live here forever.

You say that every millennium when we vacation here, my wife teases.

And you’d think after fifty of them I’d finally convince you. I smile.

Also post on my Patreon Page and on my Substack Page. Copyright 2008 by Lyndon Perry.

Saturday, December 03, 2022

New Short Story of Mine Online

Hey, long time no chat!

A few weeks back, we snuck off to Las Vegas for a surprise wedding - our oldest daughter got married! Immediate family only, so we had to keep it a secret from our friends and extended family. It was a group elopement, kind of! ;-)

Then I attended #20BooksLasVegas, a huge writers conference that explores the business of being an independent author. Great learning experience. But coming home from that I had “conference crud” and was sick Thanksgiving week! Ugh.

Plus, my wife was away visiting her mom in Chicago, so I was a lonely puppy. But I had my 19-year old cat Charlie to comfort me. Then I got some good news! A story of mine would go live by the end of November. And here it is!

It’s called “Maysi’s First Assignment” and is a contemporary urban fantasy with a sword & sorcery, demon-slying vibe. Check it out at Electric Spec. I had a lot of fun writing it.

Welp, hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving and wish you great times as you gear up for Christmas. Enjoy this week’s free story and I’ll chat with you soon.

As always, thanks for reading. - Lyn Perry


Saturday, October 08, 2022

A Signal of Change - Fantasy Story

Here's a free S&S related short story available to read online or via PDF download for later viewing. (click this link) There's a bit of a backstory to Tauric, whose berserker tale will appear in Swords & Heroes antho (Jan 2023). The setting is the Citadel, and my grimdark fantasy "To Tame a Demon" (which is set there) will appear in Innsmouth Gold's Feast of Fools anthology coming soon.


The image comes courtesy of Iron Age Media.
Four stories follow this week's visual prompt.


Friday, February 04, 2022

Short Free Fiction & Writing Update

Happy Friday, y’all!

A real short #FreeFictionFriday offering below after this quick update.

I mostly wanted to share a brief note about my writing projects and the state of our family. If you haven’t heard, we’re planning to move to Puerto Rico later this summer! We are in the beginning of the furious stage of downsizing everything - selling things, giving items away, throwing junk out.

Why the big life change move? We’re semi-retiring in order to travel more, live the beach life, do some AirBnB for some income, and I plan to write full time. And I’ll need to write full time to finish all the projects I’ve started!

Including…

  • ·         Finishing a three-part Mister the Magical Cat series of novellas.
  • ·         Complete books 2 & 3 of Ma Tutt’s Donut Hut series, a cozy mystery set featuring a bakery and a magical cat. (The two series are tangentially related.)
  • ·         Write the 3rd episode of Max McCannor, a middle grade adventure, completing the story arc and publishing the whole thing with my friend T. M. Hunter.
  • ·         Finish my fan fiction triology based on Hugh Howey’s Wool - which may make it to the small screen next year. Not my stories, Howey’s on Apple+ I think. If you want to read my fanfic novella, it’s on Amazon and called The Last Prayer.
  • ·         Oh, and a weird space western novella Dan Devine and I are writing together, a sequel to a free fiction Friday story I posted afew weeks back. So that needs to be completed! Dang. So many projects to get to.

So what am I working on today? None of the above!

I’m actually trying to finish a story that I’d committed to last year for our Bible story app called Faith Journeys. (BTW, the app is FREE to download from the Apple Store and the Google Play Store.)

My role in this project? I’m the content editor, but I’m also writing a dramatized version of one of the disciple’s lives, Matthew, and telling the story of Jesus from his perspective - with a bit of non-canon dialogue, shall we say!

It’s actually really fun and I’d invite you to download the free app and read the two free stories, including Matthew - Part 1, which is in the Faith Journeys store. I’ll be adding Matthew - Part 2 in the coming weeks.


So that’s about it for my #writingupdate for this week. Hope you enjoy the space western and The Last Prayer (free for KU readers) and my Matthew story - lots of goodies to choose from today. 

Plus, here’s a short freebie: a 97 word micro-fiction called Silver Lining...

            I can’t think of a story that doesn’t invoke the old cliché, I type into my computer.

            It’s just a title, you don’t have to base a story on it, my computer responds.

            But isn’t that the purpose of a writing prompt? I reply. The moderator gave us ‘Silver Lining.’ What else are we supposed to do with it?

            You could write about the Comstock Lode, my computer types back.

            What does that have to do with anything? I ask.

            Just pretend you misread the title, the computer offers. And develop a good story about silver mining.


~*~
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This blog is reader supported. Thank you for your support!

Friday, January 28, 2022

More Micro-Fiction for #FreeFictionFriday

Hey, All!

Another end to the week and another Free Fiction Friday! Last time, I posted a short collection of micro-fiction (stories less than 500 words). This week, a few more short shorts, but also adding some speculative haiku called Horrorku (for horror) and SciFaiku (for sci-fi).

By the way, most of these were written about 15 years ago – as experiments or practice or just having a blast exploring, putting words together. They appeared in such online zines as MicroHorror, Bewildering Stories, Flashshot, Aphelion, Scifaikuest, Mindflights, Thaumatrope, Tales from the Moonlit Path, and Long Story Short.

Hope you have fun with them. Let me know which bit of doggerel you enjoyed the most. And make it a great weekend!

<>< 

Show, Don’t Tell

“Read to me what you’ve channeled so far,” she says.

I clear my throat. Death and destruction await the one…

“Cliché.” My muse frowns. “What else?”

I fumble at my manuscript and turn a page. Blindly, the Mummy exits the tomb…

“Derivative,” she says.

“But these are your ideas!” I protest.

“My ideas. Your anemic attempts.”

“This is my first stab at horror,” I rationalize.

“Ah, then,” she nods. “First rule of fiction—write what you know.”

“Could you tell me how?” I ask.

My muse produces a stiletto. “Here, let me show you instead.”

(The next poem is the same story structured as a horrorku.)

Writer's Block

death and destruction…

cliché my muse scoffs

      I falter once more

the mummy will rise…

banal she now cries

     I weep at her feet

respite I plead

she frowns at my prayer

     searing thoughts remain

the death of me

I’m now sweating blood

     she starts to smile

write what you know

my muse says with a knife

     and shows me how

<><

SciFaiku Collection

Au Naturale

denuded satellites

race across earth’s open fields

     streakers celebrate

Proposal

first stop Saturn’s rings

on to diamond-like stars

     alien engagement

Generation Gap

white hot, young sun boasts

super nova still on fire

     and replies, eat my dust

Our Christening

alien suitor

seed long forgotten

     orphan earth

star pollen falls

fullness of time

     human life

magi from space

showering gifts

     reunion

Courtship

suitors from space

scatter gifts to earth

     alien proposal

diamonds sparkle

against velvet heavens

     engagement announced

humans transcending

don Saturn’s rings

     cosmic wedding

<><

Twitter-Bytes (≤140 characters)

“I think our baby is a changeling!” I told my Stepford wife. So I wasn’t surprised when my doppelganger showed up and said I had to leave.

~*~

“Tell me how to write horror,” I beg my muse. “Write what you know,” she replies and pulls out a stiletto. “Here, let me show you now.”

~*~

I married a serial killer. Fortunately, he only murders strangers. But lately we’ve drifted apart; he said he didn’t know me anymore...

The Time Had Come

He sat in his chair and waited. She said she would come and he did not doubt it. She’d come for his roommate earlier and had taken him. Away. He knew it was only a matter of time.

He fidgeted. He wasn’t scared; he just didn’t want to go. But he couldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t have listened anyway – he’d seen her take plenty of others. Friends and acquaintances passed every so often. Most of them with smiles on their faces. He could never understand that. Where they were heading just wasn’t someplace he wanted to go.

You’ll see him again, she had said, laughing, when his roommate left. I know, he’d tried to respond. I know!

He soon heard footsteps; they were coming nearer. She was coming back like she said she would. For him.

“Time for supper, Mr. Grossman,” the aide called out, bubbly as ever. “Shall I take you to the dining room now?”

He grunted. What choice did he have? He’d had a stroke the previous year and couldn’t walk or talk. So the aide wheeled him down the corridor. He would see his roommate again as promised, at dinner. After all, she said she would come.

The Resignation

Dear Al,

I quit!

I’m sick and tired of being bossed around. We agreed on three wishes. But your last wish was always for three more. You could never quit. It was like a drug with you. "Your wish is my command." Yeah, right. My wish is my command now, baby.

Plus, you asked for impossibilities. Like wanting a plan for world peace. Or trying to understand the mind of a woman. You even wished for tasty jello. Unbelievable!

Al, from now on you'll be rubbing your own stupid lamp. I'm going into business for myself.

No longer yours,

Genie

All stories and poems (c) 2007-2022 Lyndon Perry

Btw, if you want to subscribe to these weekly stories so you get them in your inbox, 

go to my Substack page and subscribe. Every Friday, a short story. Free! What a deal!

~*~
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This blog is reader supported. Thank you for your support!
Find me on Facebook where I post nerdy memes and share about my writing projects.

Friday, January 21, 2022

Microbursts of Fiction

Happy Weekend, Everyone!

Your #FreeFictionFriday story this week is actually a collection of microbursts. Microfiction is short short fiction, typically less than 500 words. Flash fiction, as you probably know, hovers around 1000 to 1500 words.

Today, we have 6 short Experiments in 55 Word Fiction. I think all of these were written in 2007 or 2008 when I was learning to write precisely, edit for word choice, and just play around with ideas. I’m still learning those skills!

These stories appeared in various online zines at the time, including MicroHorror, Bewildering Stories, Long Story Short, Flashshot, and Pen Pricks. Hope you enjoy them. And feel free to comment below to let me know which one or two you liked the best.

Story #1 – The Proposal

“Are you giving her a ring?”

“No. It’s too bourgeois.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“It’s patriarchal. Chauvinistic.”

“It’s a meaningful tradition.”

“She’s liberated.”

“You’re cheap.”

~*~

“So, are you ready?”

“For what?”

“Marriage.”

“Is that a serious proposal?”

“I thought we were different.”

“Didn’t buy me a ring either, did you?”

“No. You’re liberated.”

“You’re cheap.”


Story #2 – The Engagement Ring

“Look at this diamond!”

“Now that’s a nice sized rock.”

“It’s not too ostentatious?”

“Absolutely not! A future bride like you deserves the best.”

“But what does it communicate?”

“It says, ‘You’re worth it!’”

“You’re right, I am worth it. Now I just have to find the right man who will buy it for me.”

 

Story #3 – Dear John

Writing on an envelope as you suggested whenever I felt feel the urge. Only have a few minutes before I leave. I was am sorry for the aggravation I caused you. You’ve taught me so much—especially about keeping my tenses consistent. You’re a great editor but I’m ready to go it alone. Sincerely, Lyn

 

Story #4 – Grand Prix Auto

He was going too fast.
She screamed for him to slow down.
The alcohol told him it wasn’t that sharp a turn.
The radar confirmed it: He was going to crash.
As he accelerated, the machine . . . ran out of time.
“Quick! Drop another quarter, I gotta see if I make this curve!”

 

Story #5 – Good News

“Verdict, Doc?”

“Bad news first?”

“Sure.” Jaw pain can’t be good.

“Two rotten molars. Pulling ’em beats a double root canal.” The dentist smiles.

“That’s good news?”

She shrugs. “Do you floss?”

“Nope.” Lecture time.

“Then you don’t have to floss if you don’t want.”

“Really?” I’m confused.

“Just the teeth you want to keep.”

 

Story #6 – I Won!

“Song request?”

“Sure,” the DJ says. “You’re also a winner.”

“I know.” Positive self-image.

“No, you won a lottery ticket. It’s at the studio.”

“Okay.” Radio station here I come.

“Yes?” the receptionist asks. She’s pretty.

“I won a ticket.”

“Congratulations. Sign here.”

“Sure.” I start to fidget.

“Anything else?”

“I never requested my song.”


So there you have it. Kinda fun, don’t you think? But wait, there’s more! For kicks and giggles, here are the last two stories as 100 word microfictions. The longer version was written first, by the way. After reading them, let me know which version you prefer.

Story #5 – Good News (100 words)

“What’s the verdict, Doc?”

“Bad news first?” she asks.

“Sure,” I reply, knowing that shooting jaw pain can’t be good.

“You’ve got two molars rotten to the roots. We pull the teeth and save you the trouble of a double root canal.” She smiles.

“Is that remedy supposed to be the good news?” I ask.

The dentist simply shakes her head. “Do you floss, by the way?”

“Nope. Never have.” I’m waiting for the lecture.

“Well, the good news is you don’t have floss if you don’t want to.”

“Really?” I ask, confused.

“Just the teeth you want to keep.”


Story #6 – I Won! (100 words)

“Can I request a song?” I ask the DJ.

“Sure. You’re also a winner,” he says.

“I know.” I have a positive self-image.

“No, I mean you won our lottery ticket giveaway. Come by the studio and pick up your prize.”

“Okay.” I hang up and drive to the radio station.

“May I help you,” the receptionist asks. She’s pretty.

“I’m a winner,” I say. “I won a lottery ticket.”

“Congratulations. Please sign here.”

I sign the receipt and start to fidget.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks.

“I never got to request my song.”


Experiments in 55 Word Fiction; All Stories © 2007 by Lyndon Perry

Btw, if you want to subscribe to these weekly stories so you get them in your inbox, go to my Substack page and subscribe. Every Friday, a short story. Free! What a deal!

~*~
(via PayPal.Me - an e-book from Tule Fog Press.)
This blog is reader supported. Thank you for your support!
Find me on Facebook where I post nerdy memes and share about my writing projects.

Friday, January 14, 2022

#FreeFictionFriday - Spam Fiction

This humorous (well, I think so, anyway) flash fiction piece first appeared at Every Day Fiction in Sept of 2007. I was writing a lot of flash and micro fiction back then, just to learn to write! This may not work for you, but if you got a chuckle out of it, let me know.

Spam Fiction by Lyndon Perry

“What was the setting?” I ask Alan, my co-author and programmer.

“Fifty words, Smittee.”

“Read it again,” I say.

“ ‘Nevertheless comb accident the incident I wonder,’ Jake replied. ‘A very burst respected ex-captain mad told me the story, and helpless a fine thing cough all is!’ He continued. ‘Could broken anything be more abominable osseous than the way he tense famous possesses irritate a dreamed good circle of friends?’ ”

“Hmm. Still sounds like spam,” I conclude.

“Yes, but my vocabulary algorithm cleaned up the word choice. And the recursive function took care of our earlier grammatical problems. Even the predictive parser is operating properly — I can catch the makings of a plot. I should probably re-sequence the punctuation superfactorials though.” Alan glances at me and I nod.

“Can’t hurt,” I reply. “Also, try setting the eff eff generator at 75 words this time.”

“Sure, let’s give it a shot.” Alan looks up and smiles. “Imagine! When we fully reverse code and appropriate this software we’ll make millions. We’ll be spitting out short stories left and right. Magazines will be lining up to buy anything written by us, ‘Alan Smittee.'”

“I have to admit,” I admit, “we’re harnessing great technology here. Those spam email programmers just don’t know what they have their hands on. They’re wasting their creative energies on advertising, for Pete’s sake — satisfied with simply probing spam defenses for word combinations that don’t ping the system.”

Alan picks up the thread. “But if they can penetrate the typical junk mail filter with just a few faux paragraphs of garbled sentences, then with a little tweaking we can create the perfect short fiction that even the choosiest editors will enjoy.”

We both smile and Alan finishes editing a bit of code. “Ready,” he says.

I punch the start button and the eff eff generator prints out a 75-word revision of the previous piece. I read it aloud.

“ ‘Nevertheless,’ Jake replied, ‘I wonder if the comb incident was an accident. A very mad, but respected ex-captain burst and told me the whole story. A fine thing that was, for a helpless cough is all it is!’ He continued in silence. ‘We could have broken anything that night. What can be more abominable than the tense way he dreamed of osseous tissue? The famous ex-captain possesses everything and irritates a good circle of friends.’ ”

“Getting closer, Smitty.” Alan can barely contain his enthusiasm. “We’ll be rich before you know it.”

I’m quietly hopeful. “Well, keep tweaking the software. It’s only a matter of time before our Flash Fiction Generator will spit out something worth publishing.”

Alan agrees. “And it sure beats trying to come up with an original story ourselves.”

Image by squarefrog from Pixabay.

~*~
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This blog is reader supported. Thank you for your support!


Friday, January 07, 2022

A Micro-fiction Horror Story

Here's a micro-fiction horror story in 175 words. Do you enjoy these weekly #FreeFictionFriday pieces? Don't miss a one - subscribe to my free Substack newsletter and get a story each Friday.

~*~

The Farm by Lyndon Perry

“Ol’ Mickey Donald had a farm, A-E-I-O-U…”

“Would you get it right?” Sissy’s brother yelled from down the hall. “It’s Old MacDonald – E-I-E-I-O.”

“Ronald McDonald had a farm…”

“Now you’re just being silly,” Brother said as he pushed open the door to his sister’s room. He looked at the farm animals grazing in the middle of her bed. “What are you doing?”

“Playing Old MacDonald,” Sissy replied. She moved the cows toward the edge of the covers. “They’re stuck on a mountain and can’t find their way down to the farm.”

Brother just stared at his sister and shook his head.

“Have to use your 'magination,” she said. “See, this cow is about to fall off a cliff.” She pushed the cow over the edge. Eeee.

“You’re nuts,” Brother said. As he turned to leave he muttered, “Sheesh. Old MacDonald…” 

But instead of walking back out the door, he stepped off the side of a mountain. 

“Eeee iiii…” Brother yelled as he fell.

“Would you get it right?” Sissy yelled from up above. “It’s E-I-E-I-O!”

~*~
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This blog is reader supported. Thank you for your support!
This story originally appeared in MicroHorror, September 2007.

Friday, December 31, 2021

#FreeFictionFriday - Hot Tub Graduation

Hot Tub Graduation by Lyndon Perry

Janelle stared at the seventies style medicine cabinet mirror and gave herself – and her black and white polka dot bikini – a final appraisal. She tried not to grimace. Trusting her counselors was part of her therapy.

The real test was what reaction she got from James.

She put on some cherry lip gloss, tasting the fruity flavor as she smacked her lips together twice. Wrapping a scratchy white towel around her, she slipped on her fluffy pink flip-flops, and headed to the back door of the girls cabin. The other three sophomore campers were still in their shared bunk room getting ready for their final day of their winter retreat.

Opening the door, a swirl of dusty whiteness bit at her toes. She shivered. The old stone barn with a new slate roof sat imposingly across the yard; the four inches of freshly fallen snow a seemingly non-traversable glacier separating her from her future.

Janelle pulled a strand of her long brown hair out of her face and curled her tresses into a loose knot that sat high on her head. It was now or never.

Bracing herself against the whistling January wind, she grabbed tight at her towel and made a beeline for the barn. Her toes pinched at her flip-flops to keep them from slipping off as she lifted her feet in a kind of high-step run, quickly crossing the camp’s common area.

The barn door was ajar and she entered with a gasp, pulling the door shut behind her to keep out the cold and snow. The newly renovated barn was warm and cozy and had an earthiness to it, a slight musty smell of old hay and damp stone which she found comforting once inside.

Lancaster County’s Youth Services had purchased the farm a few years ago, turned it into a retreat center, and offered various rehab programs for Philadelphia’s messed up rich kids. The old stone barn was now a recreation room that sported a pool table, ping-pong, foosball, and a variety of games students could play old school style. No electronics allowed.

The barn also boasted a hot tub in the corner.

Alone in the tub awaiting the rest of the campers, James waved his fingers. Janelle waved back and smiled nervously, making her way to the wooden paneled spa, the gurgle of the hot water inviting her to relax with her best guy friend in the whole world. The pulsating jet streams and bubbles offered to take her insecurities away and she decided to let the whirlpool make good on its promise.

“Hey,” she said as she walked up the steps on the outside of the hot tub. She kicked off her flip-flops, her cold toes matching their color.

“Hey back at ya,” James said, his dark eyes following hers. He sank to his chin, letting the bubbles play with his long blond hair.

Janelle stood fast, suddenly frozen, though the old barn was warm, well lit, and doing its best to be friendly.

“Big step today,” her friend said, suddenly pushing himself out of the water and onto the ledge where he sat smacking his gum. His skinny frame was not as skinny as when they’d first met at this same camp two summers before. He was making good progress and it looked like it.

Janelle nodded to herself. “Almost like graduation,” she replied, her thoughts scattered.

James smiled. Waited.

Janelle breathed in, held it, and let it out. Now or never. It had become a kind of mantra as of late. Taking the top edge of her towel, she untucked it and pulled it open. Her pale skin nearly matching the white fabric of her swimsuit, allowing the bikini’s black dots to pop.

Like her friend’s eyes! She blushed.

“Wow. You look great, Janelle. Really. You… you’re perfect.”

“Not fat?”

He frowned. “Am I fat?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

In her heart, she knew the truth. Her body type was perfectly normal. But her mind had played tricks on her heart for so long, it was hard to believe. But James would know. They’d shared this journey together for a year and a half. He was perfect. She was perfect. They didn’t need to purge or binge or hide or cut. They could just be.

She stepped into the hot tub up to her knees, her cold toes burning at the immediate heat. Surprisingly this gave her arms goosebumps as the air temperature seemed to drop. She quickly immersed herself to her shoulders and James got back in the swirling water. They moved close, eyes locked on each other. She put a wet hand to his cheek and as he leaned in she kissed him.

“Mm. I like cherry,” he said after pulling back and licking his lips.

“And I like spearmint.”

He grinned, took his gum out and proclaimed, “Doublemint, actually.” He put it back in his mouth and they both laughed.

A noise at the door alerted them to the other campers making their way into the recreational barn. Conversation and shouts and giggles accompanied the six other girls and guys, fellow students on their way to health and wholeness.

Janelle stole a quick kiss and said, “I’m glad we got here first.”

“Me too,” James said. “And even though I’ve sorta gotten used to this place since our freshman year, hopefully, this will be our last time here.”

“Happy graduation day,” she said, and kissed him again before the others joined them in the relaxing, healing waters of the hot tub.

 

Hot Tub Graduation © 2018 by Lyndon Perry

Originally appearing at Every Day Fiction, January 5, 2018.


Here's the story behind the story...

I wrote this flash fiction (about 930 words) as an exercise at being  more descriptive. A lot of nouns we read are throw-away words - flip-flops, mirror, swimsuit, barn. They describe nothing, really, leaving the reader to import what he or she thinks those objects look like. Writers can take more control of their story by describing more of the details of the setting and character to advance a theme or provide a certain texture to the story. At least, that's the premise I wanted to work on. 

So this exercise focused on barns, of all things. There are all kinds of barns. What just popped into your head when you read the word? A red painted, tin roofed country barn, with a faded Mail Pouch Tobacco ad? Or a rough-hewn, splinter-ridden horse stall? For me, it was a stone barn from Pennsylvania that I wanted to describe. You'll have to let me know if I succeeded. 

Oh, and the story? It developed from me simply describing the barn. I next imagined what was inside - all the cool games I mentioned in the story plus a hot tub! And what does that spa inspire? For me, relaxation. Peace. Acceptance. Who needs that kind of zen? Everyone, really, but teens especially. And teens with hangups even more. Which pretty much describes all of us at one time or another, I imagine.

Thus, Hot Tub Graduation was born. It seemed like a good fit for Every Day Fiction and I was excited that they accepted it for publication a few years ago. And as we 'graduate' from 2021 into 2022, I hope this story helps with the transition. Have a Happy New Year and may God's richest blessings be yours.

- Lyn Perry, Dec 31, 2021


~*~
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This blog is reader supported. Thank you for your support!

Friday, December 24, 2021

An Astral Advent - A Short Story for Christmas

 An Astral Advent

by Lyndon Perry

 

            The little shepherd boy called to the littlest lamb under his care. “Talya, come here Talya. That’s good. That’s a good little tal-yá.” The mostly black lamb, white patches gracing her face and tail end, scampered over the rocks to her child master, already familiar with his voice and her own name.

            The rugged grayish hills south of Jerusalem were already, reluctantly, allowing their stubbly texture to soften into the green of growth as the last of the winter rains fed the artesian wells and nourished the ground. Melki took up his striped and colored tunic in his left hand as he’d seen his elders do and with his right waved a small shepherd’s staff to guide the lamb along the rocky path back to the larger flock. Upon his way he gathered three more grazing lambs he’d been put in charge of.

            “Melki,” his father Hazaiah called when he saw the boy round the bend of a nearby foothill, “bring the little ones back to the flock. It is getting late and we must set up camp.”

            “Yes, father.” Melki, his dark brown eyes shining with the joy of life, squinted into the late afternoon sun, looming large and red along the horizon. Already he felt the warmth of the day start to slip slowly away. A gentle wind played with his black curls that slipped down from his cotton wound cap. With his shortened rod he herded the four young lambs back to their mothers.

            The affectionate animals were treated well, often as pets by their caretakers, and reciprocated by following their temporary masters from place to place, pen to pen, field to field, hillside to hillside. Melki smiled as Talya found her mother and began to nurse. His father had told him not to get too attached to this bunch. The Korreti would soon be taking them offworld.

Friday, December 17, 2021

A Sonnet - Love Lost and Found

They Still to Steal a Secret Kiss

Recent rains leave but shallow streams,
gone the wresting rapids of winter's end;
Through darkest glen where shadows teem
he follows fading paths from bend to bend.
A faint voice pulses, pleads to break pursuit
of love's past echoes now distant mem'ries;
So stumbles onward toward a hidden route,
wand'ring lost, surprised by sunlit valleys.
Far she seems, too far for certain joy,
yet in yon vale they meet, a timid wish;
Familiar strangers with hearts held high
they still to steal a secret kiss.
Found befriended as once before
accepting fin'ly this sweet amour.

(c) Lyndon Perry

I wrote the above sonnet about ten years ago, slightly modified for today's #FreeFictionFriday. It doesn't follow all the rules, but heh, it's free. Would love to hear what you think. I'm not an avid poetry fan or reader, but do enjoy the various forms on occasion - as the muse leads. 

~*~
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Friday, December 10, 2021

Silly Sci-Fi Microfiction

Okay, I admit right off that this is a groaner. A sci-fi feghoot that probably isn't worth the 250 words it takes to tell the story. lol. But, it will start your weekend off with a smile. Or a slap to the head.

Enjoy this #FreeFictionFriday entry titled, "The Ba'laxian and the Tche’klovian."

~*~

A Tche’klovian was visiting his friend in Ba’laxia. When asked what he wanted to do while on vacation, the Tche’k replied, “I would like to visit the Galaxy-renown Ba’laxian Zoo.” 

This was a wonderful suggestion and so the next morning the two set off to tour the famous zoological gardens.

As they were strolling through the zoo, they came upon an exhibit which housed a pair of super-sized, genetically altered gorillas from a distant planet called Earth. 

They were just reading how dangerous these animals were when all of a sudden, one of the gorillas busted out of its cage, ran toward the visitors, grabbed the Tche’k and swallowed him whole.

The friend barely escaped to safety and called for help. The zoo keeper arrived at once, but both gorillas were back in their cage looking innocent. 

The Ba’laxian explained what had happened, and the official immediately grabbed an axe and asked the man, “Quick, we don’t have much time before he suffocates. Which gorilla did it? Was it the male or the female?” 

The Ba’laxian couldn’t tell the difference. 

“Well,” the zoo keeper said, “the female is usually more aggressive so we better start there. I hope we’re right or you’re friend’s a goner.” 

He quickly killed the female ape and split the gorilla open but found nothing. 

“I’m sorry, it's too late now,” the zoo keeper said. “Your friend isn't in the female. It seems…”

“No, don’t tell me,” the Ba’laxian pleaded.

“Yes,” the zoo keeper explained, “I'm afraid the Tche’k is in the male!”

Image by Christian Dorn from Pixabay.

~*~
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Friday, December 03, 2021

Micro-Fiction: The Daily Brew

The Daily Brew by Lyndon Perry

He loved his morning espresso. In fact, he couldn’t jumpstart the day without it.

And his bride knew it. Either out of love or habit, she would wake up early every workday and prepare for him a special blend of dark roasted Arabica and finely ground Robusta—so as to elicit the perfect crema—and send him off with a small jolt and a smile.

He liked that little jolt. In fact, he couldn’t live without it. And his bride knew it. Either out of love or habit, she would wake up early every workday and crank the generator that powered the operating table on which he slept. Each morning he’d jump into action, down a demitasse, and greet the day full of verve and vigor.

He smiled at his bride as he waved goodbye. She really sparked something deep inside him. But he always assumed it was the coffee.

© 2007 Lyndon Perry (150 words) #FreeFictionFriday #Microfiction #Flashfiction

Image by Elias Shariff Falla Mardini from Pixabay.

~*~

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Friday, November 26, 2021

#FreeFictionFriday - West of the Texas Nebula

Here's a short story that a wrtier friend, Dan Devine, sent me back in 2008 - a space western that wasn't quite ready for publication. I had an e-zine back then called ResAliens and accepted stories that I liked. 

Well, I liked this story but felt it needed a bit more oomph. So I edited it and then edited it some more, bascially adding and changing so that this western set in space, West of the Texas Nebula, became a co-author type of thing. 

I asked the Dan if we could send it to another online publication called SpaceWesterns.com as a team effort and he agreed. It was published, we were paid, and it remains online today!

You can read it there at SpaceWesterns (published by N.E. Lilly), or download it here (free from Smashwords), or just read it online here on the blog (rest of the story below the flap). 

Only 1900 words. Enjoy your #FreeFridayFiction!


West of the Texas Nebula by Dan Devine and Lyndon Perry

I’ve heard it said that running away from your problems never solved anything, but I’ve learned to get out of Dodge before the shooting starts.

Only this time, I was almost a little too late.

Friday, November 19, 2021

#FreeFictionFriday - The Eagle, A Fable by Lyndon Perry

The Eagle, A Fable

by Lyndon Perry

It was raining in the forest. It had been raining for days, and all the birds and animals were drenched. The eagle, too, was drenched, and his spirit dampened as well, for his mate lay with a chill, a victim of the constant rain. He could not keep her dry, and so looked on with despair as her life slowly drained away. His tears mingled with the rain when she died.

It was raining in the forest. The eagle could not stand the rain. It brought back memories too painful for him to bear. He rose up from the trees, hoping in flight to escape his thoughts. Higher and higher he climbed until finally he broke through the dark clouds into the dazzling sunlight that shone above the despair. As the warm sun dried his wings, he suddenly realized that the healing sun had been there all the time his mate had needed it. The pain of knowledge learned too late was more than he could bear, and there were tears for the sun to dry.

Image by Sven Lachmann from Pixabay.

It was raining in the forest. It had been raining for days, and all the birds and animals were drenched. The rabbit, too, was drenched, and her spirit dampened as well, for her child lay with a chill, a victim of the constant rain. She poured out her sad tale to all who would listen, but the other creatures, too, were victims of the rain, and none could help.

An eagle happened by, and the rabbit began to tell her tale to him. She'd hardly started her story when the eagle suddenly lifted the rabbit's dying child onto his wings and began to circle quickly up into the dark and stormy clouds on an errand he did not take time to explain.

The End


~*~
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Friday, November 12, 2021

#FreeFictionFriday - For Pap by Lyndon Perry

For Pap

by Lyndon Perry

The acrid smell of burnt black powder drifted slowly across the battlefield, mingling with a late morning fog which the courage of the weak winter sun could not chase away.

The tranquility of the small valley tucked away in the Shenandoah hills had been shattered by vengeful shots of muskets and booms of canons; its serene landscape now a patchwork of blue and gray, the hundreds of dead and dying bodies making a mockery of its once peaceful panorama.

Private Jefferson Teeples grabbed at his chest, clutching the fabric of his uniform in an effort to stem the flow of blood. He gazed at the dead soldier slumped in front of him and considered the moment.

A voice and image from his past, like a specter insisting on breaking through to the corporeal world, flitted before and around him.

“You come back a hero, boy! Ya hear? You come back a hero or you don't come back at all.”

His pap's drunken words, the last words he'd heard before joining the war, were simply the final hammer blow in a long line of curses, slander, lies, and abuse young Teeples had allowed to condemn his heart.

Coughing blood and tasting copper, he accepted his fate with a decided equanimity. He’d joined the Rebellion in order to die, hadn’t he? Suicide by war is how he’d come to think it. And now his long, sad life – all twenty-two years of it – was almost over and he was glad.

And yet...

Image by Kim Shaftner from Pixabay.
Private Teeples stared hard at the Yank laid out before him.

For the first time in a long time he felt he’d accomplished something worthwhile, something his pap would be proud of. He’d gone hand to hand with the enemy and came out victorious. Or nearly so. He'd killed the Northern bastard just as he caught the end of the bluecoat’s bayonet with his chest.

As he slumped over on the rough and broken battlefield, his torso now slick with blood, he looked up to see a fellow graycoat run up to him waving his cap in excitement, now pulling out a canteen of water.

“Hold on Johnny Reb, don’t you die on me, ya hear? You’re a real hero now, Private, a real hero.”

The man put the tin bottle to his lips and Teeples half sat up and took a tentative sip. He sputtered most of it out and coughed, his body convulsing with pain.

Leaning back onto the fellow soldier's lap, Private Jefferson Teeples closed his eyes. Moments before eternity, he thought of his pap, and smiled.

The End


~*~
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Friday, January 24, 2020

Free Fiction Friday - She Raced the Waves

Here's a prose poem for your enjoyment. I don't write a lot of poetry, but when I do... ;)

Hope you have a great weekend! Let me know what you're reading. Email me any time.


She Raced the Waves by Lyndon Perry

She raced the waves as they crashed behind her
with thunderous applause
as if she’d won a gold medal at the Olympics.
When the packed, sea-heavy sand changed abruptly
to thick, ankle-deep grains of brown and gold
she flopped to the ground and basked in the sun’s warmth.
Her eyes shut tight against the sun’s glory,
she could still hear the roar of the waves
and every third or fourth pounding
felt the spray of the ocean beckoning her
to return and run and frolic along its expansive coast.
Making sand angels instead, she felt
the tiny rocks polish the backs of her arms and legs;
she could taste the salt and smell the drying kelp as well.
But it wasn’t the allure of any of these magnificent and sensual pleasures
that finally compelled her to return and baptize herself
one final time
in the crisp, rejuvenating waters a block from her home.
It was the call of her mother
for lunch
and
“don’t bring any of that sand in the house with you this time.”




She Raced the Waves © 2017 by Lyndon Perry
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