Write...Edit...Publish JUNE challenge -- BRIDGES. My flash fiction, A Bridge too Far.

Here is my flash fiction for the WEP BRIDGES challenge for June. Open to all creatives who wish to join us. I've literally re-vamped a previously-published story to fit the challenge.

It's Shakespeare time again in my teaching schedule. Othello and A Merchant of Venice are on the menu. If you're a fan of The Bard you'll probably recognise some references. I've chosen names from random Shakespearean plays, but of course, Macbeth is always my favorite.

A Bridge too Far

‘Take me with you, Dad.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart. If there was any other way, we wouldn’t leave you here.’

Here was the International School of Exchange, one of the best Norweyan schools—big, ostentatious, gothic. 

‘Listen, sweetie, look at our separation as just another bridge to cross on your journey towards world domination. And, uh, it’ll be good for you to mix with humans for a change, to see them in another light.’

Dad so got it wrong. 

Bellona is loitering at the top of the stairway with her group of besties looking for all the afterworld like a row of creepy gargoyle statues. I have to pass these weird sisters to get to my next class. But, hey, they can’t put the fear of God into me. Bellona I can handle, but flanked by Portia and Nerissa, she looks scary indeed, even without a beard. I will need all my craft to survive.

‘Something bothering you, Emilia?’ Bellona’s voice wafts down the stairs like fog and filthy air. ‘I was just telling the sistas that something wicked this way comes. You look like you’re going to puke. Come along up. Wouldn’t want you to choke.’

I massage the banister knob with my left hand, feeling the silkiness of the aged wood smooth under my magnificent marble skin. I could glide up the stairs and float right through the lot of them, bitch slapping them while I pass, but my cred would be shot if I took that route. 

Maybe this is a place where I can belong, but there's a bridge to cross before that happens. 

Bellona. 

In my Adolescence That Never Ends, I’ve discovered every school has its ghoul!

‘Come on up, you swine,' she says. 'New girls have to pass the test.’

‘What test?’ Why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut? Now she can't wait to get her long claws into me.

‘The test to see if you belong.’

Why do they suspect I don't belong?

Hmm. I shouldn’t have deliberately stepped on her shiny black Doc Martens when I cut her off at the classroom door. But that was pretty tame considering the way she’d baited me all the way through the Shakespeare class, jealous little warhorse. Not my fault I knew all the answers to Lady Macbeth’s questions (well, Ms Opine acted like Lady Macbeth in her sleepwalking stage, floating about the room in her long skirt, stroking her long red tresses, curling her dark red lips in disdain at the students’ stumbling answers to questions about Macbeth’s motivations). To tell you the truth, all she was missing was the candle in her hands.  

'Hey, Ms Opine,' I imagined myself saying. 'I knew old William personally, dig that? We used to chat after the shows in the Globe. I even suggested a few characters in history he might use for his next play. Where do you think he got the idea for Macbeth and King Duncan, hmm?'

Yep. I know every one of the Bard’s plays by heart, Ms Opine, in ye Olde English, not the modern crap you let students read these days. Like which sounds better--'Killing pigs' or 'Killing swine'? No contest.

‘Get off my boot, you weirdo,’ had been Bellona’s reaction to my little stomp attack after ckass. ‘Take that!’ She’d swung her long blonde mane (yes, she was very horsey. I thought it unusual in a Norweyan public school) and delivered a stunning blow to my solar plexus.

‘Ouch!’ I’d yelled, surprised at the power in her dainty little fight move. 

She gave me a strange look. 

Did she feel my flesh as hard and bony as her elbow? Is that what gave me away? Still, I couldn’t resist another stomp on her boots, grinding my rubber soles as hard as I could without breaking her foot. 

If you’ve ever tried to hurt someone by stomping on their Docs, you’d know it takes a lot of girl power. Those babies have pretty good toe protection. I put as much oomph as I dared behind that stomp/kick/grind. Bellona’s face turned as white as mine and her jagged breath concerned me for a minute as I wondered if I’d gone too far. The tears in her big baby blues were a bonus, looking quite dramatic hovering on her smoky fake eyelashes. But she was a tough chick for a human, or kinda human. 

Now, she’d rustled up reinforcements. I was facing a Birnam Wood Comes to Dunsinane moment.

Oh, great! An army gathered against me. I have to think fast or my first day will be my last day here. If I use too much power, I’m out. Too little, and these weird sisters and their cronies will make my life a misery just like the hags did to poor old Macbeth.

Was it worth taking the ‘test’, or should I refuse to listen to them, get back on my metaphorical charger and gallop away?

As Bellona and I played at outstaring each other, I thought of another school, another Bellona. Turned out that chick was a vamp like me. She didn’t want any competition. There could only be one Queen Lilith, so she demanded I take the test. I’d refused, but lived to regret it. I could have beaten that wispy vamp in a heartbeat, um, well. Well, I don’t have much choice this time, do I? I can't always run away. I’m here forever. If I’d passed the last test I would have been Head Girl at Cawdor by now. Hmm.

Avaunt! I race up the stairs, two at a time, holding my ridiculously long serge skirt like I'm some simpering Regency heroine. Those weird sisters step back as if they’ve seen a ghost. Well, you have, stupidos. Bet they’ve never bullied a ghost before.

Soon I’ll be Head Girl of the International School of Exchange. Pretty cool.

Hey, Dad, sometimes we’ve just got to decide which bridge to cross and which bridge to burn.  

WORDS: 995

FCA

I hope you like my story for the WEP BRIDGES challenge. Anything goes, as you can see. You have until June 21 to post - flash fiction, non fiction, poetry, artwork...The entry that catches the eye of the judges wins a $10 Amazon Gift Card.

Please click on the names in my right sidebar with DL (Direct Link) next to the name, or go to the WEP website limked in previous paragraph.

Roland Yeomans. Whistle stop at the DON'T BUY MY BOOK! blog tour. Roland comes in from the cold...I have a photograph of Mystery Man!

Beware!

Some blogger/authors are a tad insecure about blog tours. This was evident when Roland Yeomans sent me a blog tour request. Not surprising, when you see how many cover reveals, book tours, new titles there are out there! 

When we release a new book, we're certainly a little fish in a big pond. 

How do we get noticed? 

We've worked so hard on our writing, been scrupulous with editing, either self, paid or unpaid, sweated over formatting...then comes the big release! That's Roland's position today!


But before Roland kicks off, thanks to Alex J Cavanaugh and the co-hosts of IWSG this month.

Alex's awesome co-hosts for the October 5 IWSG are Beverly Stowe McClure, Megan Morgan, Viola Fury, Madeline Mora-Summonte, Angela Wooldridge, and Susan Gourley! 

After you read Roland's guest post, please visit the co-hosts and click HERE to visit other participating bloggers.

And if you're up for a writing challenge, Write...Edit...Publish is now accepting submissions to the October WEP--CONSTELLATIONS or HALLOWEEN. More info at WEP or at the end of this post.

Thanks for stopping by at my DON’T BUY MY BOOK Blog Tour.  

One of Denise's most recent posts was on poetry, so I'll begin here with a poem which I'll explain later...

“Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me:

I am fire and air; my other elements
I give to baser life.”  

- Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra quoted by Meilori Shinseen

Now, why do I call my Blog Tour: DON’T BUY MY BOOK?

Have you ever noticed how many people DON’T buy your book when you do a blog tour?  This way I will at least get what I ask for, right?

But if you don't buy my book, you will miss one heck of a ride:

One is the first Air/Steamship, Xanadu, on its maiden voyage taking the newly-weds, the undead Captain Samuel McCord and the alien Empress, Meilori Shinseen, across a turbulent Atlantic to France and all its deadly mysteries.

In its fantasy pages you will find Sidhe, a kidnapped Princess Victoria, a vampire Benjamin Franklin, Captain Nemo, 11 year old Nicola Tesla, Mark Twain at the start of his tempestuous career, an insane Abraham Lincoln …

Clashing Vampire Kingdoms, evolved raptors, werewolves of Paris, and

Dragons … both at the beginning and at the end in a dizzying, wild aerial combat around the Eiffel Tower and above the Louvre! 

Along the way you will discover that history lied, for it was written by the survivors, anxious to whitewash their legacy.

Take the Kensington System which was a strict and elaborate set of rules designed by Victoria, Duchess of Kent, along with her lover, Sir John Conroy, concerning the upbringing of the Duchess's daughter, the future Queen Victoria, so that they could rule England through her.

Victoria’s “protector?”  William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne.

His wife had a quite public affair with Lord Byron where she proclaimed the poet, "mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

One of the famous passengers aboard the Xanadu is Byron’s daughter, Ada, in fact.

But back to William Lamb, Victoria’s “protector” –

The historian Boyd Hilton writes, "it is irrefutable that Melbourne's personal life was problematic. Spanking sessions with aristocratic ladies were harmless, not so the whippings administered to orphan girls taken into his household as objects of charity."

Outraged?  I am. How about you? So let's have a closer look.

Outrage:

Samuel McCord is the target of outrage from many notables: Louis Napoleon, Queen Victoria, High Fae Queen Oyggia, the undead Empress Theodora, the Azure Dragon, Qing Long to name but a few.

Outrage:

It means you haven’t been paying attention.  Outrage comes from being asleep in life and being jabbed awake.  It’s a sudden, shocking awareness that you have not been minding your surroundings, your world.

If you are wise, you know that the shock will pass.  The more you see the world and the people in it for what they truly are, both good and bad –

The better you will be able to assess life and to understand it rather than being outraged that the world does not center around you.

The outrage of the powerful, both political and supernatural, towards McCord comes from their being totally self-absorbed.

McCord is a Texas Ranger, not indifferent to their plots and to the dangers to him, but he goes out and does what must be done to protect those innocents he sees in harm’s way … for no one was there to step up when his helpless sister was killed.

Intrigue and Betrayal:

Think Game of Thrones … in fact, there is even a chapter in this Steampunk novel entitled, RED WEDDING.

Why did I quote from Antony and Cleopatra at the start of this post?  McCord sees himself and Meilori as the two star-crossed lovers:

{As Samuel sits by Meilori’s bedside as she lays exhausted by recent efforts, he tries to reassure her}

“You can rest safe now.  The Great Mystery knows, this honeymoon has all the earmarks of being even bloodier than Cleopatra’s and Antony’s.”

Meilori nestled deeper into the satin sheets and murmured, “Shakespeare entitled the play: Antony and Cleopatra, if I recall.”

I shrugged.  “What did you expect?  He was a man after all.”

She opened one sleepy eye.  “You see yourself as Antony?”

“He probably looked better in a toga.”

That one emerald eye looked about to lose its struggle to remain open.  “His love for Cleopatra led to his death, Beloved.”

I smiled sadly.  “They both died.  At least that way neither held a grudge against the other, right? And though they walked in the dark, at the end, they found they didn’t have to walk it alone.”

Her heavy-lidded jade eye was almost closed, and her words were faint.  “They died alone, Samuel.”

My smile grew sadder as I looked into the encroaching darkness.  “We all die alone, Meilori.  But if we meant something to someone, if we helped someone, loved someone and was loved back …  who knows?  Even if only one soul remembers us, perhaps we never truly die at all.”

I’ll end with the poem that starts out the chapter where this exchange takes place:

“And while she was fire,

So fierce and so wild,

I could only hope to be for her;

The forests and the winds to carry her flame.”

– Morris R. Gates

Buy on Amazon
Amazon Author Page

“Roland Yeomans is funny, charismatic and fun to read..."Mary Kirkland 

And Roland is the king of videos to deepen the atmosphere. This one is gorgeous! I've been listening to it on repeat while I prepared this post. 

Roland Yeomans!!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Roland Yeomans was born in Detroit, Michigan.  But his last memories of that city are hub-caps and kneecaps since, at the age of seven, he followed the free food when his parents moved to Lafayette, Louisiana.  The hitch-hiking after their speeding car from state to state was a real adventure.
Once in Louisiana, Roland learned strange new ways of pronouncing David and Richard when they were last names.  And it was not a pleasant sight when he pronounced Comeaux for the first time.
He has a Bachelor’s degree in English Education and a Master’s degree in Psychology.  He has been a teacher, counselor, book store owner, and even a pirate since he once worked at a tax preparation firm.
He has written thirty-four books.  
You can find Roland at his web page: www.rolandyeomans.blogspot.com  or at his private table in Meilori’s.  The web page is safer to visit. But if you insist on visiting Meilori’s, bring a friend who runs slower than you.

Follow him on twitter: @rxena77

• I hope you like this post of Roland Yeoman's and you consider doing the opposite of what he asked: PLEASE DO BUY HIS BOOK!
• Are you insecure when requesting a guest post? Releasing your new book?

Now Roland is a founding member of the great WEP writing group. 

On October 1, the inLinkz sign up for the new Write...Edit...Publish challenge went live. Check it out at WEP or here in my sidebar. Consider writing for us. Genres are wide open. It can be as simple as a photograph or image. This month there is a choice of themes: CONSTELLATIONS or HALLOWEEN, or if you're very, very clever, a combination of both! So get your little sci-fi, fantasy or horror brains around the next challenge. SUBMIT between Oct 19-21.

Holiday Celebrations that are Out of this World - my science fiction #ff for the #WEPff December challenge.

Here we are! WEP's final challenge for the year 2015. Today we have been asked to present our entry with a science-fiction flavour. That was a big ask, so Yolanda and I asked the ninja, Alex, to do a guest post on writing in this genre. It helped my feeble efforts, so I hope it helped others.

But my default genre is romance, so, sure, I think I cover some of the science fiction tropes, but I meandered off into the realms of romance, mixed up a little with ironic words from George Orwell's 1984. 

I hope you enjoy my foray into sci-fi. Click on the badge to read more entries.

The Pod Faded to Black

Rachel was skinny, wan, with hair dank brown, darkening to black. Her eyes were grey mist, inviting closer scrutiny. Edward wondered why he felt a strange emotion on seeing her. It grew in his chest and moved upwards, causing his throat to tighten. When he spoke, he sounded like a schoolboy. 

Edward didn't understand Rachael's attraction. He didn't understand attraction, full stop. Random attraction wasn't encouraged on Xcelsior. But Rachel. He counted it as extraordinary luck that he worked side by side at the Ministry of Literature with a legend. She was probably the greatest writer of this generation. 

They met regularly at the Xcelsior Social Gathering of Like Minds for New Reincarnates. Both had been teleported to Xcelsior--she from Bandanland, he from Paradox 21--to prepare for the Annual Holiday Gathering and End of Year ReBooting of Minds. Edward was a poet. They needed his pen to create uplifting, soulful words for the Season of Celebration of Technological Miracles.

Rachel was already quite famous on Bandanland and beyond for her romance volumes which were widely distributed in special reading pods throughout the galaxy. Her exquisite words filled a void in the population who suffered from a surfeit of technology, whose regimented lives permitted no idle time for reality romance. Indeed, Rachel’s first lecture addressing the New Politic had been revealing: she’d waxed eloquent on the need for love and romance in people’s lives to make a sterile world more palpable. Edward, always a coward, had studiously kept his face passive, as he’d seen the Grand Enforcer and his minions frowning at her tender words. Finding partners for the population was their domain.

During the Social Time that followed, he found Rachel had not read any of his poetry. Few people had. He was a pedant, but the poems he penned on his stylistic device were empty, soulless, utilitarian. The poems in his head, they were a different thing entirely. Thirty-first-century poets in the Poleaxer Galaxy were obscure, even more irrelevant than their predecessors on the defunct planet Old Earth from which the Reincarnates sprang.

Rachel and Edward. They were the only people at the Social Gathering who were not involved in the intricacies of the New Politic skirmishes. The two of them often ended up in a dark corner, talking about their shared love of the literature of Old Earth.

‘I do miss having someone who knows who Shakespeare was,’ Edward hissed, well aware he had just committed Thoughtcrime. ‘I recite his sonnets by heart every morning. It helps me retain a fragment of my soul.’ He beckoned her to follow him and they leaned against a wall of glass impregnated with bright rolling lights which reminded him of drunken snakes. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined a bright picture of the Bard instead. The lights were meant to stimulate your mind, but they unnerved him, and his glass of Health-Giving Herbal Tincture trickled down his once-pristine white jacket much like the edicts from the New Politic trickled down into his mind, displacing the finer things of his life.

Edward hated who he’d become. He felt the person he’d been, his reincarnation, was of a farmer on Old Earth, happily tilling soil and gathering real food.

“Looking around me,’ Rachel whispered, as to be heard speaking words that typified Ownlife was dangerous in this company, ‘I don’t see anyone who appears to have a soul.”

Rachel’s face, when she looked at him, seemed lacking. Her muscles and tendons didn’t really support her face frame. Odd. Was she a reincarnation or a robot?

“The only thing I find scintillating is literature and –”

“And?’ There was that unfamiliar pumping feeling in his wellspring, a strange bellyfeel. ‘Why don’t we move away from these drunken snakes to OurSpace?”

Edward knew then that he was going to love and romance her, despite it being a Sexcrime and despite her odd face. He knew they would make Goodsex together. But partnering was ordered by the New Politic. They would be relegated to the status of Unpersonhood if discovered.

They settled on an ugly plastic couch which could be impregnated with listening pods, so he spoke quietly. If the Love Ministry heard his next words he’d be subjected to ReOrientation Activity class after work each day. He’d be locked away until early in the Year Next because everyone would be busy practicing Relaxation, ReCommuning and Mindfulness to prepare for new technological discoveries.

“So we have to do something about this dearth of literature,” he said. Both knew to substitute “romance” for “literature.”

Rachel smiled. At that moment Edward understood why her face seemed curious and incomplete. Her face was a superstructure which until now had never supported a smile.

They did not, of course, return to his pod and sleep the night clasped in each other’s arms, although that was what Edward had on his mind. Instead, he invited her to join him for his Early Rising Feast the following morning. It was Xcelsior’s Annual Holiday Gathering and End of Year ReBooting of Minds’s Eve, so they would be offered a glass of historic Egg Nog that had originated on Old Earth. The eggy drink would be followed by Xcelsior’s chef’s attempt at pancakes created with nano-blasted cereal pellets drowned in manufactured sweetener mimicking honey found on Old Earth.

***  

Those first moments as they found their table for the Early Rising Egg Nog and Pancakes feast were a new, exciting dance. Sipping their fat, yellow drinks that brought a sparkle to Rachel’s cheeks, Edward thought: This is what it feels like to be alive. I never knew this feeling inside before. Rachel and he were like two ballet dancers executing a new move. Touch. Swirl. Touch. He dreamed of lazy hazy days in the country, running through fields of sweet grasses. 

Something sparked between them. Satiated by a full stomach, he asked her to join him at the Simulated Ozarks’ pod to see the flaming maples. Rachel accepted. In the Ozarks, Edward would be himself, his best self.

When they were surrounded by a particularly fine farmhouse amid crimson and vermilion foliage, he whispered to her his secret poems on country life.

When he finished, they kissed with a careful passion. This was going to be the best Annual Holiday Gathering and End of Year ReBooting of Minds in history.

Then the pod turned black.

WORDS: 1064

FCA

Thanks for coming by and reading my story. I hope you check out more stories. Not so many this month! 

Write...Edit...Publish flash fiction - TAKING CHANCES - Macbeth fan fiction

 Hi everyone!

Today I'm having a little fun with the WEP challenge. I've been teaching Macbeth for years--and here we go again--I'll be teaching it for the next few months. I wrote this flash at writing group, but it is barely recognisable. I've Macbeth-ed it up.

If you'd like to have a little flash fiction fun, or non-fiction fun, you're welcome to add your name to the list in my sidebar and post a story by Friday.

Taking Chances

Alicia was waiting with her group of besties, blocking the top of the stairway outside homeroom. I had to pass these weird sisters to get to my next class. Not that I was overly afraid--Alicia I could handle--but flanked by Natalie and Phoebe, she looked scary indeed, even without a beard. I would need to be crafty to survive.

‘Something bothering you, Michelle?’ Alicia’s voice wafted down the stairs like a bad smell. ‘I was just saying to the girls that something wicked this way comes. You look like you’re going to puke. Come along. Puke on my boots if you dare.’

I massaged the banister knob with my left hand, feeling the silkiness of the aged wood smooth underneath my skin. I liked this place, even though it was a school. I could glide up the stairs and float right through the lot of them, bitch slapping them while I passed, but my cred would be shot if I took that route. I’d finally found a school where I wanted to belong. Or so I’d thought. That was before I met Alicia. Every school has its ghoul!

‘Come on up, girlfriend. We’re waiting. New girls have to pass the test.’

‘What test?’ Oh, why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut? She couldn’t wait to get her long claws into me.

‘The test to see if you belong.’

Did they all suspect I didn’t belong? I shouldn’t have deliberately stepped on her shiny black Doc Martens when I cut her off at the classroom door. But that was pretty tame considering the way she’d baited me all the way through the Shakespeare class, jealous little cow. Not my fault I knew all the answers to Lady Macbeth’s questions. Well, Ms Opine acted like Lady Macbeth in her sleepwalking stage, floating about the room in her long skirt, stroking her long red tresses, curling her dark red lips in distain at the students’ stumbling answers to her questions about Macbeth’s motivations. To tell you the truth, all she was missing was the candle in her hands. She was one of the most frightening sights I’ve seen in awhile, and I’ve been around a looong time. Bet she’d faint if she knew that I’d met old William personally. Used to chat after the show; helped him clean up the mess. I even suggested a few characters in history he might use for his next play. That’s where he got the idea for Macbeth and King Duncan. Yep. I know every one of the Bard’s plays by heart, in ye Olde English, not the modern stuff they read these days.

‘Get off my boot, you weirdo,’ had been Alicia’s reaction to my little stomp attack. ‘Take that!’ She’d swung her long blond mane (yes, she was very horsey, not unusual in an English public school) and delivered a stunning blow to my solar plexus.

‘Ouch!’ I yelled, surprised at the power in her dainty little fight move. She gave me a strange look. Did she feel my flesh was as hard and bony as her elbow? Is that what gave me away? Still, I couldn’t resist another stomp on her boots, grinding my rubber soles as hard as I could without breaking her foot. If you’ve ever tried to hurt someone by stomping on their Docs, you’d know it takes a lot of girl power. Those babies have pretty good toe protection. I put as much power as I dared behind that stomp/kick/grind move. Alicia’s face turned as white as mine and her jagged breath concerned me for a minute as I wondered if I’d gone too far. The tears in her big baby blues were a bonus. But she was a tough chick for a human, or kind of human. The tears stayed where they hovered on her smoky fake eyelashes. The fire in her blue eyes was enough to set the door alight. Now, she’d brought the reinforcements.

Oh, great! They were gathered against me, to destroy me. I have to think fast or my first day will be my last day here. If I use too much power, I’m out. Too little, and these weird sisters will make my life a misery just like the hags did to Macbeth.

Was it worth taking the ‘test’, or should I refuse to listen to them, get back on my horse and gallop away?

As Alicia and I played at outstaring each other, I thought of another school, another Alicia. Turned out that chick was a vamp just like me. She didn’t want any competition, so she demanded I take the test. I’d refused, but lived to regret it. Well, I don’t have much choice, do I? I’m here forever. If I’d passed the ‘test’ I would have been Head Girl at Willoughby by now. There was once a chance I didn’t take…hmm.

*Avaunt! I raced up the stairs, two at a time, nearly tripping on my ridiculously long serge skirt which weighed a ton. What was it about my face that had the weird sisters stepping back as if they’d seen a ghost? Bet they’d never bullied a girl like me before. Bring it on!

I’m taking a chance today.

Soon I’ll be Head Girl of Dunsinane.

                                             

Thanks for reading my story. No critique necessary. I just wrote this for some YA enjoyment and for WEP. You can tell me if you enjoyed it though!

And don't forget to check out the blogfests in my sidebar. Deniz Bevan has a few more in her current post.

*advance 

Please click on the names in the sidebar to read more entries