writing

November 7, 2024

Death and Destruction Await

My life has never been wonderful. On that same note it hasn’t been terrible either. I would call it balance. Any trials I have endured have only made me stronger. However… I am waiting for the moment that my only trials are “am I going to have enough time off for my vacation” as opposed to “are they going to round me up into a camp because I’m a degenerate?”

There was a brief moment at the beginning of 2019 where everything was looking up. I had finally passed my exam to get my license (after a 6 year journey) and I graduated with my AA from the community college Summa Cum Laude. Everything seemed so achievable. Then in July the world took a nasty fucking turn and all of it slipped through my fingers.

It began with the chaotic path my mother led us down. Her “kookiness” became more severe and we took her back to the neurologist who had previously claimed she was just “stressed.” The second effort produced her alzheimer’s diagnosis. The friday after my father fell, hit his head on the bathroom counter, and died. I had to figure out what to do with my mother who could very clearly not live on her own, and who INSISTED she would not live with me and my husband because we weren’t “christians” as she put it.

That august when my husband returned to teaching he was starting to show signs of his ALS. It would take an entire year, during a fucking pandemic, that would reveal his terminal diagnosis. So I was left to care for my dying husband and my mentally incapacitated mother, all during a fucking pandemic that could have been avoided if Trump hadn’t been such a giant piece of shit.

And here we are… in the face of all of this people voted for the convicted felon over the prosecutor. Voted for the man who has said repeatedly he would weaponize our government to suit his needs. For his own benefit. Yet… “when he was president things were affordable!” Jesus, people are fucking stupid.

Because of his win I have entered, what I lovingly refer to as, my villain era. I have gone through emotional hell, all on my own, only to watch my friends and family betray me for their own self interest. I genuinely hope he does everything, EVERYTHING he said he would. I want him to burn this fucking country to the ground. Make everyone suffer. Don’t hold back trumpy. Do it. Fuck them. I no longer care about my own self preservation. I eagerly await the christian nationalist hellscape he WILL create. Because at the end, I’m fucked regardless. Might as well enjoy some popcorn before the entire theater burns to the ground.

I will have zero, ZERO empathy for anyone. And the moment one fucking person says “I didn’t know” I’m going to shove them to the fucking ground and say, “yes, you goddamn did. Because I fucking tried to tell you. Everyone did. But you were just too fucking selfish to think of the bigger picture.”

In the face of all of this turmoil and sadness throughout the last 5 years of my life, I have found the peace to accept and welcome death. My expiration may or may not be dictated in the stars, but I like to think that it is. Through all my soul searching to comprehend all of this chaos has brought me to the belief of reincarnation and that everything is genuinely happening all at once. There is no such thing as time, just the prism in our mind that refracts and reflects it into a single finite moment. So, as I am typing this I believe I have been born and have passed. And ultimately, the world will go on without me. I was such an insignificant part of the overall tapestry of existence, but knowing that means I can be and do whatever I want. Whatever brings me joy.

My final thought on life is that, we are here to find understanding to the human condition. To comprehend life and it’s static fragility.

Everything I have loved has been taken from me (apart from the BF) and I’m still here. Life goes on…

September 13, 2024

2024 Flash Fiction Entry #2 – From the Depths

Welp… another tower fell on 9/11… my chances of moving onto the next round. (Was that distasteful?) Anyway, I genuinely was so proud of this story. I wrote it earlier than I ever have done so in previous entries and edited it from the passenger seat on the way to Santa Barbara the day it was due. Unfortunately I only placed 15th. I needed to get 8 or higher to have enough points to proceed. Oh well. I have never written an “action” style story before and, even though I am a novice in this particular arena, I really enjoyed writing this piece. From the commentary from the judges (posted after the story) they seemed to like it too. Their critiques were right on the money.

The challenge: Genre – Thriller; Location – A black-tie event; Object – A wet-suit

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“From the Depths”

Agent Joel Salvador blended seamlessly with the other waiters dressed in their loose-fitting wet suits, matching the nautical theme of the event. Carrying a tray with flutes of champagne, he snaked his way through the crowd of Washington elites toward the dais on which the presidential candidate Douglass Troupe was scheduled to speak.  

Smiling politely, he bowed and offered a senator a drink as he watched the last elevator of guests arrive out of the corner of his eye. Dressed in their best black and white attire, the twelve politicians entered the party as another server stepped inside and disengaged the lift. 

Just as they said, Joel thought, as he spun and offered another drink.   

The exclusive black-tie event was held within a wine bottle shaped hall of tempered glass, twelve miles off the coast of Virginia Beach. The elevator shaft, of the same make, rose up from the center of the room toward the surface of the Atlantic Ocean sixty feet above them. The sea water was thick and dark as ink just on the other side of the transparent walls. 

Regardless of the stock on their trays, the servers stood dispersed among the crowd as instructed by catering. None of the guests paid them any mind. Joel stuck to his position and waited. His heart pounded in his ears. He could feel the weight of the gun strapped against his left rib cage. 

Douglas emerged from one of the five rooms off the main hall and walked to the edge of the raised platform. Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his thinning hair. The conversation and laughter echoed through the chamber drowning out his call to attention. 

Flicking his index finger against his glass, Douglas cut through the noise and brought them to silence.  

“Good evening,” he said with a raspy voice. “I want to welcome you to celebrate the already guaranteed win.” His bulging eyes surveyed the room. 

Half of the guests reluctantly applauded. 

“We have gathered you here to thank you. Your efforts swinging the election have been perfect. No one has ever been as complicit. We could not have accomplished our plans without you.” 

Unease swelled through the hall. The politicians looked nervously around the room at their peers. Some leaned and whispered to their neighbors. 

Douglas held out a hand and from the same room, from whence he came, in walked a feeble old man. His back arched forward, clutching a cane in one hand. The incumbent president joined his opponent at the edge of the stage. 

“You ready, John?” Douglas asked. 

Movements slower than a sloth, the president looked up with a wicked grin. 

Almost there. 

As John stood to his full height, he dropped his cane. The sharp snap made the crowd jump and drew all eyes to the two men whose features began to undulate. The candidates’ appearances morphed before the throng into lean, pale, human-like creatures dressed in Armani suits. Their amber colored eyes slanted down from the outside corner, reaching toward the tips of their wicked grins that revealed two sets of fangs in their mouths. Their tongues flicked from their bulbous lips like gasping tape worms. 

Shrieks filled the room and lifted into a crescendo as every waiter, but Joel, transformed to match the things on-stage. The politicians scrambled and rushed toward the elevator, but the creatures beat them to it and formed a line, pushing their prey back.  

“Don’t even try,” Douglas cooed with a new voice like silk, “the elevator is disengaged.” 

A chorus of panicked voices and cries rose up from the trapped politicians. The air in the chamber crackled with terror. 

“Shut up!” John cried out, “You got everything you wanted! This is just congratulations on a job well done. Unfortunately for you we shall reap the rewards. After we drain every one of you, we will be able to duplicate your appearances. We will rule this country.” 

The servers lunged at the nearest victim and, secured in their arms, plunged their fangs into a neck. Their tongues hungrily sucked up every drop of blood. The free guests scattered toward safety.  

This is it! 

Joel pulled his weapon from within his wet suit and fired a shot into each of the candidates’ hearts. With everyone distracted, he pressed the alert button inside the left leg of his suit. Joel backed toward the elevator. 

John and Douglas mirrored the other as they looked down at their smoking, bloodless chest wounds. Their lips parted into vicious sneers.  

“We’re shapeshifting vampires, idiot,” Douglas growled. “Bullets don’t kill us.” 

Joel pointed his gun and fired five shots, in a plus formation, into the glass wall. The bullets lodged halfway through. 

The people around Joel scattered, clearing a path to the lone exit. 

Joel got into the elevator. With his eyes fixed on the enemies around him, he yanked the set of maintenance keys hanging from around his neck and set the compartment to neutral.  

The creatures rushed toward him as the doors began to close. 

“You might want to look,” he said, pointing to the pierced glass, as the lift doors consumed him. 

From the black emerged the round nose of a grey submarine charging full steam into the center of his marks, shattering the glass.  

Joel crouched low and gripped the wood railing close to the panel, prepared for the abrupt change of pressure and the moment to strike. 

As the ocean water flooded the chamber, the escaping air pressure launched the elevator up the shaft and slamming into the facade of an oil rig at its end. 

The agent struck his hand out like a snake engaging the elevator brakes. The doors opened as the entire rig lurched to the side. 

Spraying up triangular wings, a speed boat rushed to the sinking platform. The craft pulled alongside long enough for Joel to leap onto the vehicle and then speed off into the night. 

“Another success?” the driver shouted over his shoulder. 

“Mission accomplished.” 

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”From the Depths” by Joshua Hensley –    

WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY –

{2038}  I enjoyed the concept of an underwater, wine bottle-shaped hall made of tempered glass. Joel’s move — marking the glass so that the submarine could shatter it — was clever. The ending lines brought the story to a satisfying close.  

{2320}  The reveal that we’re in an underwater complex was great. That immediately heightened interest and it deepened the danger that Joel was in (he can’t just walk out of the building. He’s trapped, so his plan has to work). “Spraying up triangular wings” was an amazing visual description for the speedboat’s arrival. It gave it the quality of an angel coming to rescue Joel. I was not expecting the twist that we were dealing with shapeshifting vampires, but it was a treat when we got there. The other waiters being vampires as well was a good choice. It makes Joel feel even more isolated (the harder you can make things for our hero, the better). I was nervous for him when the bullets didn’t pierce the glass, and the submarine moment was awesome. 

{2026}  What a timely and topical premise: vampiric creatures overthrow the corrupt American election during an underwater celebration party. With the talks of election fraud in the media, this story feeds into existing news and preys on existing fears. I especially enjoyed the shapeshifting nature of this piece, which is genre-blending and unexpected. My favorite part was the description of the setting–an empty bottle under the ocean. I can really picture it! The tension is high in this piece from the very beginning, and you do a good job relaying the layered dimensions of this for various groups present. Thanks for sharing your writing with us!  

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK –

{2038}  I wanted some brief understanding of what was at stake here, politically — was the presidential candidate a member of the same political party as the current president? I’d suggest naming either Joel or John differently — having two four-letter names, both starting with “Jo,” made it hard to remember which was which. I wasn’t sure what Douglas meant by his announcement (“your efforts swinging the election”) — could you be more specific? Were these legislators who had gerrymandered their districts? Also, if they were helping Douglas and John to win, why would Douglas want to kill them? When Douglas and John initially turned into vampires, your description made me imagine them more as demons (I think it was the flickering tongues). Perhaps you could specify their nature, or cut the part about the tongues.  

{2320}  Small logistical question – if the shapeshifters already have the body of the “incumbent president” under their control, why did they need to rig the election? They already control the White House. Is this his last term? You might want to specify that. Keeping the vampiric nature of the targets a secret for some of the story was a great choice, but you might consider revealing Joel’s mission right away so you can play with our expectations. Usually, you don’t want to keep your main character’s goal shadowy because it can mess with pacing. If we don’t know what a character wants, we have no way to gauge the story’s progression. You might explicitly tell us that Joel is here to assassinate the candidate (so we know when the story ‘begins,’ if that makes sense), but mislead us about motivation. Rather than calling him “Agent Joel,” you could just call him Joel. That way, we’re in an unsteady place of not knowing if we should root for him or not. Why does he want to kill the future president? That question will keep us hooked and the uncertainty on our toes. You can still have your big twist, but you’re not hiding the character’s goal from us. If you reveal his plan to assassinate the man right away, then you can have Joel setting up, getting in position, weighing options. There was a lack of actions from him for a while in this story. He’s our POV character, but he faded into the background a little while the politicians were speaking. If we know his plan to kil them but not why, you can take us on more of the journey with him (again, without spoiling the reveal). You might want to diversity the names “John” and “Joel” more. They start with the same two letters and are the same length. This means that readers might mix them up a little at the beginning, mistaking who is doing what at a glance. 

{2026}  Although the premise is really topically relevant and charged for today’s readership, which is great to engage the reader, I wonder a bit about the set up. For instance, the speech opens with admitting rigging the election. However, this feels like a believability snag to me. This would be super hush hush if so, and wouldn’t ever be announced at a public event, even if all attending were involved. Caterers, for instance, might record or overhear and spread news to the media, risking protests and international intervention. Thoughts to consider for a future version of this should you choose to revise! For an optional challenge, consider keeping your word limit in place if you do revisit this.

July 23, 2024

Read It To Me Once More…

There is no way to deny that I am a vain person. When I guest hosted this facebook “show” I would love to watch the entire episode, focusing primarily on me and my reactions. There was nothing I enjoyed more than watching myself. Or so my husband would joke.

This past weekend I competed in the second challenge of the “2024 Flash Fiction” competition. My assignment this go around was: genre – Thriller (that’s a first for me), setting – a black tie event, and item – wet suit. Initially when I read the specifics of my group… I was at a loss. I had never written a “thriller” before and… In reality they kind of handed us our stories on a silver platter. Well, there will be a lot of spy stories in the vein of James Bond. At least, that’s what came to my mind first.

In the morning, after receiving the assignment, my mind exploded with a fireworks show of ideas. Ones in which I genuinely debated submitting them to the competition for fear that someone would steal them. Which is a silly thing to think. Of course they are. There are no original thoughts left to think. Every story has been told. All that matters is style and content details. Someone can have a brilliant idea for a story, but if they lack the chops to do it then their narrative will be secondary.

At the behest of my BF I wrote a draft that day (a first for me) and then spent the drive, the following day, to Santa Barbara (to visit my niece) editing my submission. This was a first for me. Usually I wait until the hour before the deadline to bang a story out. I work well under pressure, is what I always say. And what I have since discovered is that particular character flaw is a symptom of ADHD. Fun!

While I edited my piece I discovered this feature available in the iOS Microsoft Word App. An A.I. will read it to you, like an audio book. I was hesitant at first. I thought the idea was silly. Why would I need to do something like that? Well, let me tell you, I fell in love with this feature. Hearing my own words back to me, gave me chills. And of course my first thought was “Damn, I’m a good writer.”

I joke with my BF that I got a boner from hearing my own story. Which… is true from a certain point of view. It was just a mental/emotional one.

The following day I dove head first into listening to the A.I. read my novel. Again… Chills. It had a beautiful pace and rhythm to it. What’s even more amazing is when a sentence didn’t quite work, I could stop, revise, and then have it read it to me again with the change. Phenomenal.

I’m sure I’m late to this party. Most of the time I shy away from these features because I feel like it detracts from own “skills.” However, what I found is that hearing my story from another person changed everything in terms of my future editing process.

My one complaint… The audio of the woman narrator versus the male… very telling. The woman was audibly smiling. The man sounded like a balding 45 year old with a gut and jowls.

July 16, 2024

Saga Of A Completed Manuscript

I’m sure most, if not all, have gotten tired of reading the phrase/sentiment “I miss my husband” in almost every one of my posts since his passing. At least, I would be if I were on the other end. But I’m also a heartless dick. If you are not exhausted with it, continue on.

On Friday I finished editing my novel. THE novel I have been editing and honing into a polished gem ever since I completed my first draft on my husband’s birthday in 2009. For those of you who can’t do some quick math, that is nearly 15 years working on this bitch. I have started and stopped countless times, either because life got in the way or I got in my way. The only credit I can lend to these individual endeavors is that whenever I would pick it back up, with all the enthusiasm of a teen girl at her fave artists concert, I would start in a new place. The logic being that maybe working on another piece wouldn’t wear me out or overwhelm me as it had before. Ultimately I would give up all over again from the aforementioned reasons.

At one point around 2012-2014 I decided that I was going to give up on being a writer. After each failure it wore away at my self-esteem to the point that this remained the only logical step. In addition it was just destroying my self-worth. Because I wasn’t hitting this high bar I set for myself, I thought that I was less than trash. To stop it, I gave up on that dream. I couldn’t get my shit together. Every time I tried, I failed.

Yet time does wonderful things for my ADHD brain. I tend to forget. Granted, I didn’t forget that I had given up on my desire to be a published author, I just decided that if I were to write it would be for me. To have fun! Which I did. I would enter the NYC Midnight contests for short stories or their flash fiction challenges. These little exercises tested my abilities and showed me that I may not be “THE BEST” I was still good. Published good? Maybe not. But I still had the talent.

For whatever reason I returned to my work in progress (WIP) a few years ago, right around when Charlie was diagnosed. I don’t remember the reason. All I know is that while on a road trip with my polycule I forced them to listen to my WIP. As my bf and I took turns reading it, I was astounded how much of it was already complete. Had I really done that much, I kept asking myself. Clearly I had. It was all there in black and white. Just a few short minutes before we got home I finished reading it to them. I felt this sense of pride. It was good. There were still inconsistencies and a couple chapters that needed a lot of work, but overall it was nearly there. I could see the finish line, however fuzzy it may have been.

When we finally got home, my husband said the one thing that, out of all of our wonderful memories of us together, this one shined the brightest. My husband looked up at me and said “Your story is really good, dear.” It came from nowhere, unprompted, and nearly knocked me off my feet. I said “Thank you” not sure if he was being nice for nice sake (he was DYING afterall…) and he reaffirmed “I mean that. You need to finish it.”

On July 12th, 2024 (12/7 the reverse of when I finished my first draft on 7/12) I finally finished editing my manuscript. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. I was elated and in disbelief simultaneously. I have dedicated so much of my identity into this ONE story that it was weird that it no longer existed in it’s original form. Immediately I wanted to call and tell my husband. Then… it all set in. Instead I told my BF and then my brother-husband. They were proud of me, but it didn’t fill the void I craved. So, I shared it on all my socials to lackluster response. My own high expectations ruining it of course.

To “celebrate” my achievement, I decided to leave work early and pick up my pre-orders from the Star Wars Unlimited TCG. On my way… I hit my husbands speed-dial on my car and called him. His familiar voice answered and I immediately cried. The line beeped and I barely got out “Hey punkin, I finished editing my book.” I was a mess the entire way to the store. Thank Taylor that it’s so hot, at least that gave some excuse to why my face was wet and red.

Now, I am left with the next step: writing a query letter. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

At family dinner on Sunday, I told my in-laws and they asked what was next. I told them the auto response (as shown above) and then told them my dream scenario. I said, that if I did magically get it published I would want, more than anything, a blurb on it with my husbands quote. “It’s really good, dear.”