Assignment #1: 2019 NYC Midnight Short Story Competition

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Our assignments for the first round of this year’s NYC Midnight Short Story competition arrived at midnight EST last night. I was violently ill earlier in the evening, and was blissfully asleep when they were posted. But it was the first thing I looked at when I woke up this morning (now feeling totally fine, thankfully). I just thought I share my assignment with you, since I thought it was funny. It will definitely push me to write something different than I otherwise would, which is the whole point, really. Even if it does seem a bit *ahem* cheesy *ahem*.

Genre: a Fairy Tale
Subject: Superhuman
Character: a cheese maker
Words: 2500

We have eight days to submit the first story (considerably longer than the 48 hours they give you for the Flash Fiction competition!) and I aim to get my first draft done this weekend so I have lots of time for revisions.

I think my story last year could have placed better if I’d had my first draft done earlier and had time to apply all the suggestions my writing groups gave me! You can read that one here if you want to: Flash Fiction Friday: “Tongue Tied” by S.C. Jensen. I am still going to do those revisions, though, and include the resulting work in the short story collection I plan to release this year. You know what, I’m feeling a bit inspired after reading this piece by Matthew Whiteside over at Seeking Purpose Today, so let’s give that a solid deadline. I plan to release it in September! <– Hold me to it, folks!

Anyway, I thought you all might get a kick out of this assignment. I wonder if I’ll be able to pull it off in my usual style–festering, my husband calls it. Are any of my fellow writers inspired by this prompt? Feel free to join me and post your own versions (link in the comments if you do!)

I’ll share what I come up with in 7 days, 11 hours, and 10 minutes. Stay tuned!

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Flash Fiction Friday: “The Foxhole” by S.C. Jensen

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Genre: Horror
Wordcount: 1154

Tobi crouched in the tall grasses that had grown up next to the old barn. The dun-coloured spears rustled in front of his face. He peered through them like a wary fox. A chicken feather, stuck to one of the strands, tickled his nose. Twenty feet away, more feathers littered the ground around the old well, like delicate white petals around an altar.

“I don’t see anything,” his sister whispered beside him. Her voice was as scratchy as the grasses, irritated. Irritating. He wanted to sneeze.

Tobi’s eyes fixed on the lip of the well. A sheet of splintered grey plywood lay propped across the mouth of the cistern. A chunk of ancient concrete weighted it down. To keep children and animals out; that’s what Mama said. Tobi had other ideas.

The plywood hadn’t moved. He was sure of that. A rusted twist of rebar, exposed by decades of prairie winds blasting against the concrete wall, made a perfect T with the edge of the wooden lid. It hadn’t budged an inch.

And yet something was different.

A dark patch blossomed against the light grey stone. Strands, like fingers, crept out from beneath the plywood cover. Tobi was sure it hadn’t been there before. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud and shifted the light with it. The dark patch glistened.

“There. Do you see it?”

Tina rocked back on her heels. “It’s wet.”

“Told you.”

“So what,” his sister said. A born skeptic, Mama called her. Typical first born. The pride in Mama’s voice came through in Tina’s confidence. “That doesn’t prove anything. It’s probably just condensation.”

Know it all, he thought. “Something is in there,” he said. “I’m telling you.”

“This is ridiculous.” She stood abruptly, breaking their cover and knocking Tobi on his ass in the process. She glared down at him like he was roadkill or something. Disgusted, the way only a teenage girl can be. “Why don’t you just admit that you left the gate open?”

“I didn’t!” He could hear the wheedling in his voice and he hated himself for it. “I swept the coop out, fed and watered them, collected the eggs, and I closed the gate, Tee. I swear I did.”

“Mama’s going to be pissed either way. You might as well fess up.”

Tina was probably right. He would be grounded until school started. Mama would never trust him with anything important ever again. It wasn’t fair. “Nobody ever believes me about anything.”

“Because you are a liar. You lie all the time.”

A born trickster; that was according to Mama, too. Just like your Daddy. Daddy, the good-for-nothing, layabout, joker. The story-teller. Capital L-i-a-r, Liar. “You can’t still be sore about your stupid doll.”

“You cut her eyes out and hung her in the cellar! Daddy gave me that doll.”

“I told you, that wasn’t me. Besides, it’s not fair. He never gave me anything before he left.”

“Is that why you did it?” The disgust in her eyes swelled and spilled out over the rest of her face. She hated him. Tobi had suspected so before, but now he was certain. “What’s your excuse for all the other stupid pranks and stories, then? I’m sick of it!”

It’s not my fault he left, he wanted to scream. But somehow the words wouldn’t come, because no matter how hard he tried he didn’t believe it. Tina backed away from him, stumbling toward the well as if whatever was wrong with him might be contagious. You fucking liar! Like father like son. Maybe it was contagious. Maybe it was a sickness. Because Daddy had always believed him.

…I heard a weird noise last night. I did too. There were green lights in the yard. I know, I saw them. I had the strangest dream. It wasn’t a dream, Tobi. Something bad is going to happen. It’s not safe for me here anymore…

There’s something in the well. I’m going away for a while…

Tobi stared at the dark patch of concrete. A downy white speck fluttered in the breeze where a feather had stuck in the liquid as it dried. The sharp white crescents of light reflected on the wet patch flattened and dulled. The patch didn’t disappear like it should. Instead of fading back into the light grey of dry concrete, the spot turned a dark, rusty red.

“Did you even actually forget the gate open?” Tina’s disgust escalated into rage. “Maybe that’s giving you too much credit. You probably let the chickens out on purpose just so you could—”

His sister’s voice faded into the background as he focused on the stain. The shape of a hand revealed itself on the surface of well with long fingertips trailing backwards, into its depths. If she would just turn around, Tina would see.

“—she’s got enough to worry about!” Tina was still going. “And you know we can’t afford to—”

“Tee,” Tobi said. “Stop.”

Tina stood in the midst of the feathers, her back to the well. Tears streamed down her face now. A rivulet of snot ran, like a tributary, into the tears and over her chin. Her angry eyes narrowed into swollen, red slits. “What?”

“I know you’re mad, but—”

“Stop looking at me like that,” she sniffed suspiciously.

“Just look behind you.”

“Don’t you try to scare me!” Her calf almost touched the well, but she couldn’t see. “I’m not falling for it again. I’m done with your stories, Tobi. Lying isn’t going to bring him back!”

The concrete block wobbled slightly. If Tina wasn’t crying so loudly, she would have heard it. She would have looked. The block jumped again and Tobi saw four raw, red fingers slide out from beneath the lid.

Tobi lunged for his sister.

So did the thing in the well. The plywood lid flipped back and, like a trapdoor spider, its red-streaked limbs shot out at them. Tobi jumped backward, staring in horror as the thing wrapped itself around Tina’s torso and yanked her over the edge. She didn’t have time to scream.

Tobi did.

Mama came running when she heard the commotion. She found Tobi standing behind the barn, surrounded by a flurry of feathers, like a fox in a henhouse. Speaking of which, the gate to theirs flapped against the barn door, for all the cats and coyotes and, yes, foxes, to waltz right through. And the lid of the well lay cocked into the grass; the old concrete block sat like a huge misshapen head beside it.

“Tobi, what’s going on?” she placed a hand on her son’s cold, rigid shoulder.

“You’ll never believe me,” he said.

Then Mama saw the blood; the cold seemed to seep out of his skin and into hers. “What have you done?”

Tobi’s hand absentmindedly floated before his face and he plucked a feather from his lip. He said, “I found Daddy.”

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Thanks for reading! Please leave your feedback, comments, and questions below.

 

 

 

NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge 2018

Hello everyone! Sorry for the long delay between posts. I’ve been busy this summer. Some of it was even with writing! I’ll update more on that later. For now, I’m getting geared up for Round Two in the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. We just received our scores and feedback on Round One, so I thought I’d share with you. My assignment was:

Genre – Mystery
Location – a skywalk
Object – a syringe
Word count – 1000 max

I placed #9 out of about 30 people in my category and will be taking 7 points with me as I go into Round Two tomorrow night. The feedback I received from the judges will follow the story. Please have a read and let me know what you think in the comments!

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“Via Ferrata” by S.C. Jensen

 

Amy startled awake. Shards of glass pressed against her cheek and she stiffened, terrified to move. No. Not glass. Cool air, thick with earthiness, permeated her senses. Rock. Sharp Rock.

Her fingers scrabbled against gravel. Amy tried to push herself off the ground. A shockwave burst behind her eyes in kaleidoscopic spirals of pain. She couldn’t think where she was; it was as if something has plucked her out of her normal life and dropped her in a hole.

Crevasse.

It came to her suddenly, like turning on a switch. Mount Tribute, Sam’s new-hobby-enthusiasm, the Skywalker Club. Had she fallen on a skywalk? The rungs of the via ferrata had looked like they were rotten with rust in places, but Sam had been certain everything was safe. You’re just being negative again. Why are you such a wet blanket all the time? Can’t you at least try to have fun?

Am I having fun yet, she wondered, bitterly.

“Sam?” Amy’s voice rasped. Her tongue filled her mouth like a lump of dry dirt. She swallowed and tried again. “Sam!”

No reply. Water trickled somewhere; the gentle susurrus made her throat ache desperately. How long had she been down there? Where was Sam? Probably gone for help already. He’d get her out of there. It was only a matter of time.

Amy peered into the darkness around her, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the thin, grey light at the bottom of the fissure. Pain screamed in her skull as she craned her neck to look upward. A crack of blue sky teased just at the edge of her vision. Then it disappeared in an explosion of black spots. Amy closed her eyes against a wave of nausea.

She wiggled her right arm underneath her chest for leverage and pushed hard against the rocky surface. Jolts of searing pain shot from her head down the left side of her body. Her left arm didn’t move at all. Amy rolled herself onto her back and slowly, excruciatingly, managed to sit up.

It figured she was the one stuck at the bottom of a hole. She hadn’t wanted to come on this trip in the first place. Sam insisted and, as always, got his way. It would build trust, he’d said. Bring them closer as a couple, he’d said. Why couldn’t they build trust at the symphony?

Amy needed water. And drugs. Insulin. When was her last injection? Was there ibuprofen in her first aid kit? Better yet, there was Morphine. It’s just a precaution. You never know. If she had her backpack she could find something. A jacket, too. Her whole body trembled. It was cold, and she was going into shock.

Why didn’t she have her backpack? Had it come off when she fell? That didn’t seem likely. She always had the chest and hip belts fastened. She hated when the weight of her bag shifted, pulling her this way and that. As if she didn’t already feel off-balance up there.

God dammit, Sam! This was the last time she’d give in to one of his schemes. She should have just gotten on the plane. New job, new city, new life.

Sam was livid when she’d told him.

But after he cooled off, he’d begged her to stay. Just one more month, he’d said. They’d join the Skywalkers. Do something epic together. Remember why they fell in love, he’d said. You’re always so quick to quit. Don’t the last five years mean anything to you? You can’t always just run away from your problems, Amy. Sometimes you have to stand up and face them. She’d heard it all before.

The guilt won out. It always did. He was right, wasn’t he? Sam tried so hard to make things work. When is the last time you thought about anyone but yourself? Not since her diagnosis, she could admit that much. Diabetes wasn’t fatal, but it made Amy consider the brevity of life. Was this how she wanted to spend hers? Was Sam who she wanted to spend it with?

A shaft of sunlight pierced the surrounding pitch so suddenly it startled her. The hot, white midday sun hovered directly over the mouth of the crevasse. Amy stared at it dumbly. Midday. When had she fallen? Morning?

She still couldn’t picture the accident. The last thing she remembered was dinner the night before. Sam helped with her injection; she was still squeamish about the needles, but it was something she’d have to get used to. You don’t have to be such a baby about it. Poor Amy. You’re lucky I’m here to take care of you. Didn’t think of that when you applied for new job without telling me, did you? Did you even consider how I felt? No. Of course not—

A flash of metal glinted at Amy from the darkness. Her backpack? The memory of Sam’s voice cut off sharply. How had her bag landed so far from where she had? Amy half-crawled, half-dragged her way towards it, desperate for water and something to eat. She needed to check her sugars. Oblivious to the pain in her arm and head, Amy pulled the bag toward her.

It was lighter than it should be.

No water bottle. No protein bars. No trail mix. A sweater, at least. She draped it over her shoulders, trying not to move her left arm too much. Where was the first-aid kit? Amy’s fingers scraped against the rough canvas of the kit bag and relief surged through her. There! But when she tore open the Velcro fastener, her heart stopped.

Her insulin wasn’t there. One disposable syringe, opened, lay at the bottom of the kit. Two empty vials clinked together. Morphine. You never know.

She remembered struggling against him, limbs leaden—

You want to be rid of me? Fine. You’ll never see me again.

—the impossible vertigo as he rolled her closer to the edge.

Have a good trip.

You never know. You just never know.

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Genre Definition as per competition guidelines:

Mystery

A story that frequently involves a mysterious death or a crime to be solved, though not always. The main character is often a detective who must consider a small group of suspects–each of whom must have a reasonable motive and opportunity for committing the crime. The detective eventually cracks the code by logical deduction from clues presented to the reader or filmgoer. Common elements: overt clues, hidden evidence, inference gaps, suspense, foreshadowing, red herrings. Mystery books include Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None and Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood.  Mystery films include Clue (1985) and The Usual Suspects (1995).

WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY 

{1597}  I liked Amy’s philosophy of life and how this diagnosis caused her to reexamine it. I thought you did a good job of portraying that process in her, and how it affected her relationship. I liked the way you interwove the past and the present.

{1771}  I enjoyed your emotional story. Very engaging. Good job!

{1837}  Amy’s disoriented sensations and memories throughout add a nice air of mystery. She has an interesting balance of panic and reflection as she pieces together what happened. Sam is a wonderfully despicable character and his dialogue is dripping with attitude and a very specific personality.

 

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK 

{1597}  One issue with this story as it is currently written is that I think it gives too much away, too soon. It’s clear from early on in the story that Sam pushed her. I think you need to lessen her sense that this hike was all Sam’s idea. I would also cut out the paragraph about building trust, as I think it gives too much away.

{1771}  I liked the premise of your story. But I would say it was a little unbelievable to me. The morphine was a little over the top for me.

{1837}  That final reveal of Sam’s plan is dark and dynamic. Is there any more to explore as her memory of his betrayal comes back? Any sensory details or emotion?

NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge: Update

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I’ve been meaning to update you all on my first round of the NYC Midnight Short Story Contest ever since we got the feedback back a few weeks ago. So here it is!

Some of you may have read my submission already. You can find it here, if you’re interested. I was really excited for my submission this time. I got a prompt that was right up my alley and I was quite happy with what I produced. So I had been awaiting the results of the first round with bated breath!

Unfortunately, the judges were not quite as enamored with my story as I was, haha. They actually prefaced this round with a note that competition was very stiff, and not to feel badly if we didn’t score as well as we’d like. That didn’t happen during any of the three rounds I participated in for the Flash Fiction contest, so I guess I’ll believe them.

Alas, I didn’t even place in the top ten for the first round! But all is not lost. The feedback was actually quite encouraging, and it gives me some direction for what to do with this piece before I start submitting it elsewhere.

Here is what the judges had to say:

Feedback for “Tongue Tied” by Sarah Jensen

WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY –

{1737}  Your narrative was complex, but perfectly executed. Your ideas were dynamic, but comprehensible. Your narrative landscape was intriguing!

{1772}  Suki has a clear outer goal that she pursues over the course of the story. The premise is original and keeps the reader engaged.

{1636}  The severity of the stakes is never lost, and even before clear conflicts arise, the tones does a good amount of work in terms of demonstrating the nature of the story ahead.  The world-building is also impressively done, especially in the early pages.

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK –

{1737}  Try to maintain the clarity of some of your more thoughtful or intelligible ideas.

{1772}  Suki’s inner needs should be developed more. She has a clear outer goal to save her career and patients, but what about her inner drive? By giving her something to long for (for example, she needs to prove herself to the world) and an inner conflict to deal with (her desire to punish Meeker vs needing him), the story will make a greater impact on the reader.

{1636}  The dialogue can be a bit stilted at tomes, and at others, overly expositional.  Additionally, much of the language (dialogic or not) is so internal and specific to the world being created here that it might be off-putting to readers. An example: “You know Blastocorp produces only the highest quality pluripotent cells from synthetic lab-engineered blastocyst embryos.”

So, what do you think? If you haven’t read it yet, head over to my Flash Fiction Friday section and give “Tongue Tied” a read. Let me know if you agree or disagree with the judges, and if there is anything you would add! I will be submitting this piece somewhere, sometime before summer hits. All critique is welcome!