Change of plans!

Well, that ended up being a far more unproductive hiatus than I expected. I had plans of scaling back flash fiction entries to ramp up working on my novel, but that didn't really eventuate. As with previous book writing attempts, I lost impetus, and then started forgetting things (like the name of the big baddie and other important elements). Though I think I worked out what the problem was - all my attempts at longer pieces have taken themselves far too seriously. A corollary of this is they've often been far too sweepingly grand and epic in scope and scale, so I've ended up overwhelming myself. Instead of trying for a tome that you could use to bludgeon a burglar to death, I have decided I'm better off with a lighter, more comedic and thinner first attempt. So I think I'm about to declare it a wash out (for now), and start something more true to my normal style of writing. I guess in theory I could try plugging along, but I'm thinking it'd be better to shelve it instead. I do like the laid back 350-a-day pace - even though there have been days (or perhaps that should be weeks) where not a skerrick has got done so I will probably stick with that.

Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony Redux

I started this piece last year, here's a link to the original post. After I started it  I did some research, which made me not want to continue, as I banged into good old rule 34 (If it exists, there's porn of it). Instead, I extended the introduction to it (which follows after this) and left the story for a later date, which turned out to be today. I kept the paragraph from before, and added a couple more.

*****
As our school expanded, so did our playground areas, and our playground duties. I picked up one in a new area, which was forlorn and lifeless as it was just used as a thoroughfare. Practically my only companions there would be the occasional teacher passing through... and Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony. Our sports supplies arrived (nearly a term late, of course), and the area sprouted badminton nets and a basketball hoop, so there was an explosion in the student population. Through long months of playground duty, Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony stood vigilant guard with not just me, but other teachers on duty. Though I think she went largely overlooked. Incongruous, yet easy to miss... light blue, with a smattering of rich dark purple stars on her hind quarters and matching hooves. Her mane, flowing free in the wind of the ether. Her face was joyous yet solemn at the same time, and she had a wistful look in her eye. Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony had a coat that felt like suede. “Merely” a sticker, placed by some happy student on one of the windows, unnoticed by most. I always greeted her as I walked past, and waved goodbye when I went off duty. 

Its the little things, the silly things, that I keep looking for. Who needs a gorgeous sunset over a beach, or other magnificent sights on a grand scale, when you can have tiny patches of wonder. Lower the bar, and keep your eyes peeled for small gifts. Then your joys are abundant, and the payout is even greater when you do see something large and awe-inspiring.

I kept meaning to take a photo of Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony, and even though I always had my camera on my hip, I was hesitant to do so. It may have been I just wanted to hold her in my mind, pristine and ranging free, instead of corralling her in a soulless picture: slightly blurry, miss-filed and then forgotten. Then one week she was gone. That doesn’t mean she didn’t touch my life. A damp and miserable duty meant there wasn’t many kids to supervise, so I spent time daydreaming about her instead. Where she came from, and where she went, because she couldn’t have have been only a sticker. I started to write a short silly story in honour of Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony as a creative writing exercise one night, but then we went to bed after the first paragraph. Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony was in my mind as I was drifting off to sleep, and I couldn’t help but think there was something familiar about her.

A bolt from my subconscious jolted me awake... Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony was a My Little Pony! I wasn’t completely sure, but my hunch felt reasonable. So I started poking around, trying to find out if my suspicions were true. Her form seemed similar to the ones on their website, but I couldn’t find an exact match. Maybe a knock off? Maybe I was wrong? I tried an image search, with a few terms thrown in to narrow it down. I found her! How I wish I hadn’t looked! My poor Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony. Good old Rule 34 strikes again. At least it wasn’t too extreme. After that, the wheels fell off my version of happiness for her. My inner child isn’t just an inner child, but more of an complete unit... I don’t really have much space - or use - for an outer adult (except maybe to buy booze). I’m happy and confident with my inner child, and while I don’t mind rainbows and bright shiny colours, I wasn’t  so sure I can knock out a paean of happiness to Blue Belle the My Little Pony. To Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony yes... but it may take a little coaxing to get her to trot back into my life [it did, more than a year went past with the document sitting in my unfinished folder]. At the time I expanded this explanation as the writing exercise instead. That made two unfinished stories in quick succession. Let’s hope that someday, the publication deals come as thick and fast and easily!

Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony

The herd stirred, and nickered softly in the glow of the Aura of Happiness. It was time for them to go out into the myriads of worlds at different periods in the timestream, taking sadness from other beings. The stallion whinnied in benediction, and dismissed them with a flick of his tail. Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony galloped without motion, and after an infinitesimal moment that somehow seemed stretched, she began seeking her place and purpose. She was hoping for an improvement over last time, when the only way she had been able to bring joy and happiness was by being eaten. When she was depressed, she could still feel the tiger’s claws rending her. It had taken the herd many revolutions indeed to be able to summon her back into existence.

As her form became nebulous and malleable, Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony concentrated her will into a bright point of actinic fire. It seemed that it was her turn once again to be inanimate. She slowly solidified into a new form. Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony tethered her mind to what had once been her body, and slowly drifted on the astral currents, to better observe her surroundings. How cute! Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony cavorted amidst a range of cheerful flowers, mythical creatures and brightly coloured animals. Her essence pinned to the sheet of stickers, Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony was rather limited in what she could do, but in such a situation her mission - that of bringing joy - seemed to be almost over before she began. Being so small, her psychic influence would be weakened, but she was certain she wouldn't need it.  And she even looked a bit like her true form!

Later, a little girl skipped into the room, singing a nonsense song to herself. Upon seeing the stickers, she squealed with glee. Picking them up, she raced out of the room and Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony could already feel waves of happiness washing over her. Lying on a rainbow mat in another room was a baby, being attended to lovingly by her mother. The little girl sat down and began carefully peeling the stickers off one by one. She put them on the toys, showing each one to the baby and waiting for its smile before adding another. The mother stuck a cartoon mushroom on her daughter's nose and this was met with a flurry of giggles and stickers applied generously to all three. Sky-Blue Sparkle Pony was given pride of place on the baby's forehead and the camera came out to immortalize the fun.

Feeling the gentle tug back to the Plane of Joy, Sky-Blue Sparkle-Pony savoured a final moment with this family and coalesced under the rainbow stars. After resting for a while, she sought out the stallion for guidance. Pawing the ground in confusion she asked why she was sent on that mission - that family already had an abundance of goodwill, her efforts would not have had an impact. "My child, happiness was restored to you. Sometimes we must think of ourselves if we are to truly serve others."

Under a Mackerel Sky

Yet more finishing old stuff that I started but didn’t complete. I’m gradually getting their numbers down. I decided that I was going to start all projects in and Unfinished pieces folder and only move them after I've finished them. That way they gang up and glare at me balefully. So instead of skipping merrily off with a new project, I need to slink off shamefacedly, suffering the accusing stares of things that need just a few hundred more words, or a couple more paragraphs.

This challenge was was go to an online dictionary and pick a word or phrase you liked. I chose Mackerel Sky, thinking back of a photo of mine (which it seems I have lost due to my erratic system of backups... damn). My picture wasn’t exactly a mackerel sky - but a rainbow effect in the clouds that I’ve seen twice in Vietnam... without an overly abnormal amount of booze in my system.

To give you an idea of what a mackerel sky looks like here you go:

Obviously not my picture. Tho says I am a rank amateur with a camera. Picture taken from here

Under a Mackerel Sky

Old Man Johnson looked to the horizon. “Gonna be a damn fine sunset,” he said, and spat. The gobbet of tobacco and phlegm spattered on the wooden boards, causing him to smile. Lukey grabbed a twig, and started poking it - and that made him smile. Being only seven, Lukey was easily amused. He could find endless entertainment in this activity, at least until dragged away. Rita let him have his fun for the time being. The moment he began reaching out an inquisitive finger, she grabbed him by the shoulder and took him in back to “help” her get a top-up for the old-timer. When they returned, the stick and the sputum were forgotten. Old Man Johnson smacked his gummy lips appreciatively. As his rheumy eyes swung back to the clouds, the mug made frequent trips to his mouth, barely causing a pause in his rambling monologue. Rita, too, returned to what she had been doing - peeling potatoes. There were always potatoes to be peeled, and the repetitive action went well with the mindless background noise of Old Man Johnson’s slurps and mutters. “Keep where I can see you,” she said to Lukey. But just as she was only barely aware of her customers’ conversation, so too was the boy’s focus elsewhere.

Lukey loved the bar at this time of day - the lengthening shadows and random piles of scrap were adequate fuel for all sorts of adventures to his fertile imagination. Currently, he was hopping excitedly from stone to stone in the garden, tracking an early cricket that had started tuning up before the performance of the evening’s symphony. In his mind, he was stealthy - like a ninja creeping towards an unsuspecting target. His footsteps were hardly silent, and even if they were, his giggles would have given him away. Before long though his noble opponent had conquered his attention span. Here, by one of the paving stones, was the last wildflower of the season, small and blue but so easy to overlook. Reaching out, he plucked it from the stem carefully, to give to Rita later.

“Git yerself up here boy! Quick now, afore it goes!” yelled Old Man Johnson from the porch. Turning, Lukey ran, hopping and jiggering up their stairs on alternate legs his arms pin-wheeling for balance. Patting the stool next to him, Old Man Johnson had ceased his continuous ruminations to look up at the clouds. Lukey sat down, eyes nearly as wide as his open mouth. “That’s what I’m talking about boy. You remember that sort of beauty for the rest of your life. It’ll get you through some scrapes and scares that will.”


The heavy folder of the Antwerp account thunked into Lucas’s desk, derailing his happy daydreaming. “Report due Thursday,” his supervisor sneered, walking off. Shaking himself from the heady combination of nostalgia infused with daydreaming, Lucas tried to bring himself back to the world of spreadsheets, cubicles and grey dividers. Dragging some printouts towards him he reached for a pencil and tried to focus. He swivelled morosely on his chair, looking to exorcise joyful thoughts with numbers and order forms, before realising that he had things back-to-front. “After work I’m going to go visit Old Man Johnson,” he muttered to himself “and I’m going to walk in the park afterwards!” The guys across the walkway from him looked up at the sound of his voice but Lucas just smiled, happy with his new direction in life.

Imagozen

I’m going through my backlog of stuff I started, and finishing it. It took a while to fish out all the little scraps and put them all in one spot, but now I’ve got them nailed down, I can tick them off when I get them done. This one is from ages ago, July by the date in the link (holy shit, that can’t be right, can it?). We need an apocalypse, but a different sort from one that’s been done to death.

 

Imagozen

Everything was on the up and up. Things were going swimmingly... the Middle East wasn’t exactly at peace but there was some progress. The stock markets were up, logging of the rain forests was down. Man was on his way to Mars, and most amazing of all, Cleveland is in with a chance to win the World Series. See? Not too shabby. A shame that was all about to change...

For this is not the only place where life is to be found. Yeah yeah, I know what you’re thinking - those fine fella’s in the lab-coats haven’t found proof of what I’m saying, so why take me at my word? Just listen patiently, and when this story’s told think back and see if I’m right. I bet this is the last great tall tale ever told. That’s unfortunate on two counts... it’s not that great, and it’s the truth, honest injun.

Like I said, the Earth ain’t the only place where thought goes on, and humans are not even the top of the heap. Its not like they thought back in B-grade movies, they’re not coming here to eat us or mine our atmosphere. Nor is it going to be a case of Kirk making sweet love to a range of alien women each week. They won’t be bringing a message of universal peace love and happiness and all that malarkey. Apart from a few wild stories like mine that most likely won’t be believed (though they’re completely legit my friend) that’s about all the “evidence” there will ever be.

Those old black and white flicks were nudging towards the right sorta idea. Technically what those tentacled sumbitches are up to doesn’t hurt humans, its more a quality of life thing, see? There’s only so much imagozen sloshing around the galaxy - it’s a finite resource. And the bug eyed monsters don’t really feel like sharing. Scratching your head wondering what’s imagozen? I’ll tells ya: it’s that spark of inspiration and creativity that some people call a muse, or the bolt outta the blue. It’s the bit that made Edison so sweaty, Curie so curious, what gave Picasso his gumption and Henry Ford his moxie. James Joyce had the stuff dripping outa his ears if he turned his head too sharply. Elvis probably died of an overdose of it, the poor bloke.

A solid definition imagozen is a wee bit tricky... it’s hard to pin down kinda like how light is a wave and a particle - or how a cat is dead yet alive. Element? Nah. Force? Not really. Energy? Eh... kind of. Something spiritual or spooky... nooooo, not quite. But you get the idea of what I’m groping for, right? If not just nod your damn head so I can continue for the sake of the rest of the peanut gallery, attention spans these days are getting shorter.

Where was I? That’s right, cutting off the imagozen supply to Earth. It’s not fatal, but you can see its effects everywhere. Don’t believe me? You must not have cable TV my fine friend. I hear they now have a show called The Skunk Whisperer. Look at what the latest “innovation” was with the iPhone - releasing it in white. What a breakthrough! Didja ever hear tell of that infinite number of monkeys banging away on typewriters, trying to do Shakespeare? Seems they’ve run out of steam, and won’t ever get back up to speed. I tell ya, them aliens have won. I should know, as now the job of me and my colleagues is done, we can finally get off this ball of rock you lunk-heads call home. Not that it wasn’t fun at time, but I miss the good life that imagozen provides. Enjoy your reality T.V. and cookie-cutter boy bands.

Gumshoe

I started this one here, but didn't finish it. To recap: Based off this picture, write something. 

Now that this one is finished, I can move onto the next one. Progress, and baby steps towards getting in the habit of completing things.

Gumshoe

"Same again, thanks sweetheart" I say, waggling my empty coffee cup at the dame in the waitress uniform. She sighed, and came back with a fresh cup of joe. I'd had two already, and a third would mean no sleep for a week, but when you're on a stakeout, you gotta look the part. I slurped off a mouthful and then surreptitiously turfed the rest out in the potted plant. With a generous pour from my hip flask, I refilled the cup with the good stuff... just enough to counteract the caffeine high. In this line of work, you need steady hands. It's not so bad, being a private dick. Sure the hours are longer than back when I was on the force, but I'm my own boss. I don't have to answer to no-one no more.

I notice a twitch at the curtain to the room the mark is in, and like a shot I'm engrossed in the funny pages... head down, just a regular schmoe having a break. This dive of a flop-house is more up market than his usual haunts, so business must be on the up and up. I am sure the boys in blue would be interested in that, but they’d just scare off the big fish. In the reflection of the glass, I see him heading out the door, so I throw down a five spot to keep the waitress sweet on me tomorrow and hoof it after him. I've got a knack at being a subtle tail, after the time I put in down in the Bronx, but a New Orleans Jazz band could be banging and blaring away for all the care he's paying. Can't say as I blame him, as its bucketing down and the wind is making sure that your birthday suit gets soaked.

Down to the wharf, and into a little hole-in-the-wall bar... not his usual stomping ground, so maybe he is working tonight after all. I give the area the once over then head on in. I order a beer and a bourbon, and hunker down at a table with my back to him, but close enough so I can hear what he's saying, and fish out my deck of cards and get all engrossed in a game of solitaire. Our chum is getting nowhere fast with the skirt behind the bar, and I think the evening may be a complete washout. Then bold as brass, in waltzes one of Harvey's boys. So I'm back to earning my keep, as even if these hours ain't billable to my current client knowing what Harvey is up to is always bankable.

Next morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed, I'm warmly greeted by the dame in the diner. I take a stool where I can see the hotel out the front window, and order the blue plate special. I think I'm gonna haveta linger over coffee yet again, but once more there's the twitch to the curtain, so I shovel the last of the eggs and hash into my gob, and wolf it down. Telling her to keep the change, I'm out the door and after him like a flea on a dog. After last night's conversation, I definitely don't want to lose him so I stay as close as I can, doing my best not to be too conspicuous dodging the puddles. We go by Shanks' Pony over towards Brooklyn and in my head I'm already counting the notes, crinkling that filthy lucre in my fingers and trying to decide if I should pay my overdue rent or splurge.

He darts down an alley furtive all of a sudden, and I worried I’ve blown it. I turn my collar up and keep on walking, only glancing out the corner of my eye. Its not as bad as I thought, he’s just taking a leak on some trashcans. And there was me, thinking I was losing my edge! I lean against a nearby bus stop sign and get busy fixing a smoke. Before long our fine upstanding pillar of the community heads on out, doing up his fly.

We head east, and I for one am getting sick of all this leg work, but there ain’t nothing I can do but grin and bear it. Finally we get to the joint he’s interested in, and I walk on by. I come back a few minutes later and give some scratch to a couple of winos loitering nearby to get the lowdown on the building. The coherent bits of our conversation stink of Harvey all over, so I make myself scarce as he’ll have eyes all over the place.

Sooner than I thought I see him schleping past again so I down my drink and shadow him, all discreet. I figure I can knock off early today, as all he did is buy some hooch and head back to his two-bit flea-pit motel. Back in the office I start going through some paperwork with a few fingers of scotch as lubrication, when who comes knocking but O’Casey. Still drunk as a skunk since they took his badge off him. A damn shame about that kid, There but for the grace o God and all that jazz. I give him some simple shoe leather stuff outa sympathy, but I make sure it ain’t nothing that needs subtlety.

Later still the door bangs open, I holler we’re closed, but it’s the client I’m working for. I wasn’t expecting to see him for a while. Says he’s come to an arrangement and my services are no longer required. I start to protest but he wordlessly dumps a pile of cash on my desk, much more than what I would have racked up even with padding my expense account. It seems fishy to me, but who am I to argue with a big pile of dough? I bow to the logic that the customer is always right, and wave him out as I begin to count it. I only said I wouldn’t report to him, not that I’d lay off my lead. Tomorrow’s gonna be a busy day.