Diedra Black

Art and creativity are the only ways for us to cope with the absurdity of life and death.

Bitter Reflections

Okay, I’m not sure that this story is really “ready”, but when are they ever? This is another flash fiction piece submitted for Chuck Wendig’s weekly challenge. The prompt allowed for 1,000 words and requested a story based on one of the Seven Deadly Sins. So, I give you a short tale on Wrath.

A warning: slight NSFW language below.

Bitter Reflections

Graphic of an angry face

As Debra sipped the coffee, she could smell its acidic aroma. The restaurant dining area she sat in was sparsely populated. A couple sat across the room and to Debra’s left. They were at one of the tables lined up in a row against the wall.

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Secret Entrance Beginning

Hello everyone.

*stares into the empty room*

*Mom waves from the back*

Ahem.

As I often do, I attempted Chuck Wendig’s flash fiction challenge this week. Unfortunately, I failed the challenge since I don’t have a complete story ready. However, I did start the story, so I thought I would share with you the beginning, with the intention of posting the rest at a later date.

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Tuesday Taste Test: Beacon 23

Tuesday is the day to take a peek at what speculative fiction is out there to enjoy. Sometimes it’s new. Sometimes it’s old. Sometimes it’s obscure. Sometimes it’s popular. Readers opinions are always welcome, as long as you keep the discussion civil.

Nancy Hightower of The Washington Post released an article today suggesting the best new science fiction for February. Her first pick is from an author I’ve heard of but have not yet read, Hugh Howey. Interestingly enough, I heard about Howey through a book by James Altucher. I don’t think it was Choose Yourself, but it was in a similar vein. Perhaps a follow-up book to his famous Choose Yourself.

Anyway, the book she selected  is Beacon 23. The premise of Beacon 23 sounds interesting. An ex-soldier now mans a beacon, like a lighthouse in space, by himself. The book supposedly allows readers a glimpse into the eccentricities of a man left to deal with the loneliness of space.

Beacon 23 cover

The feel of the book, as Hightower describes it, reminds me of a short story I read by George R R Martin, “The Second Kind of Loneliness.” In it, a young man also deals with the loneliness of space from a one-man outpost. It might be interesting for a future post to compare the two.

Has anyone read Beacon 23? What do you think?

Squirrels

 

Photo of a squirrel

Photo credit

I’ve had an ongoing relationship with the squirrels in my front yard. This relationship even grew to include other squirrels throughout my neighborhood. I see them. They see me. *sees a squirrel outside the window* *knowing stare*

Needless to say I was thrilled when Chuck Wendig posted his first flash fiction challenge of 2016 (1,000 word limit) and I was able to compose a story based on this photo of a happy squirrel eating a pine cone. Enjoy!
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Writer Body: What Are You Eating?

Photo of walrus

This blog caters primarily to readers of speculative fiction, but every now and then I want to share information that is especially valid for other writers. This article is one of those. If you don’t write, you may still find this information useful–especially if your day job requires lots of sitting.

As writers, we spend a huge portion of our waking hours seated firmly on our asses. Because of this, it’s important that we find ways to take care of our bodies. Obviously, our work does little to improve our physical condition (aside from the fact that it may provide monies for food).

“Writing and travel broaden your ass if not your mind and I like to write standing up.” –Ernest Hemingway

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A Hulk, a Picard, and a Longshot

Originally posted on my earlier site on March 15, 2015:

A ship on dark waters

Chuck Wendig set the challenge on his blog this week to write a mini flash fiction–only 100 words. Here, for your enjoyment, is “A Hulk, a Picard, and a Longshot.”

Without my ocularia, I couldn’t see the sand, but my feet told me it littered the floor. It was cold and gritty against my bare soles, and I could hear the sound of grains rasping against the tile as I dragged my bruised ankle. We’d hidden too long, and now he was here—Father. But, I had gotten Semper aboard the picard. I expected a difficult voyage for her. The door exploded inward, wood cracking against the hinges. A strong wind? No, I sensed his hulk. Relieved, I eased myself onto the uninviting tiles, and his shadow fell.

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