It’s hard for me to be wordless. Oh, I have my moments, but they are few and far between. It’s a blessing and a curse, as anyone who has spent any time with me knows. Heh.

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A potpourri of sorts, today.

– I am very sad to read of the death of Captain Phil Harris. For those of you who are unfamiliar, he was the captain of the Cornelia Marie on the Discovery Channel’s show, Deadliest Catch. This program deals with fishing for crab on the dangerous Bering Sea, and once you see an episode, you’re hooked. I loved Captain Phil, he was my favorite. The guy was a force of nature. During one fishing expedition, he suffered a blot clot that passed through his heart and lungs…and kept on fishing. He didn’t know anything else, didn’t want to know anything else — he’d been fishing since he was seven years old, and at twenty-one was one of the youngest captains to run a fishing vessel in the Bering Sea. My condolences to his sons, Jake and Josh, and to the rest of his family. He was a mighty man, and will be sorely missed by millions.

– Women are a mystery, as many a confused male can attest, but these Women of Mystery offer that little something extra. Today, they’ve posted some very interesting flash fiction contests that might be of some interest to my fellow flashers. Check it out, I know I will.

– Speaking of submitting, Flash Fiction Online is accepting submissions and they pay for them, too! Publication here counts toward the requirements for membership in the SFWA, and that’s a definite plus.

– Speaking of flash fiction, I was able to polish up a piece I wrote a while back, and I’m going to post it Friday for #flashfriday. It started out as a romance and turned….well, twisted. I know, try to contain your shock. I actually giggled through most of it, which just goes to show you how twisted I am and why I don’t write romance. Heh.

– And, because no day is complete without a time-waster or two, not to mention if you’re as sick and tired of this nasty winter weather as I am, a friend of mine sent me this link to help lift the February doldrums. Anything that provokes a smile in February is a wonderful thing.

So much for a Wordless Wednesday, right? Maybe next week. Heh.

Instead of a prompt, this week I figured I’d give you a piece of flash that was published in the fifth edition of Fictitious Force. A fine publication; on hiatus now, but hopefully it will return soon.

The prompt for this little story came when I was a member of Critical Ms — one of the best workshops in which I’ve participated. Quite a stellar group of writers, and at first I felt over my head. One of the guys threw out the prompt — “garbanzo beans” and this little story resulted. It’s actually one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy it.

(Yes, I’m aware it needs another edit — I’m never “done” with a piece, but sometimes ya just gotta let them go.)

Learning The Hard Way

“Roberto, get that out of your nose right now!”

Miguel jumped at the sound of his mother’s voice, and looked over at his brother. Grinning sheepishly, Roberto folded the garbanzo bean in his napkin. Miguel giggled and gazed at his eleven year-old brother with respect. He never would have thought to put a garbanzo up his nose.

He looked over the stained tablecloth at Noni into her sad, dark eyes.

“No, Miguel. Just because Roberto tried it doesn’t mean you have to.”

Miguel blushed and hung his head. How did his Noni always know what he was thinking?

“Hush, Mama,” said the boy’s mother. “Miguel knows better.”

Roberto snorted, knowing Miguel certainly did not.

Noni sighed. It was a big sigh for her tiny, frail body. Miguel always wondered how someone so strong could be so small.

“Roberto should know better too, Rosa. Miguel will try anything Roberto does.” Noni turned her gaze on her grandsons. “I think I need to tell you two niño traviesos a story tonight.” Miguel sat up straighter in his chair and exchanged an excited look with his brother. They loved Noni’s stories.

“Mama, not that story. You’ll scare them.”

Noni turned her patient and sad gaze on her daughter.  “Rosa, I am their grandmamma. I will tell them what they need to hear.”

Rosa gave up. She had heard the story as a little girl and it had scared her ever since. Some things are tradition.

#

Noni tucked the boys into the bed they shared. They were both wriggling in excitement, giggling and getting comfortable under the well worn quilt that Noni had made with her own two hands. They loved their grandmamma’s stories. She didn’t tell them every night, so it was exciting and special when she did.

Her grandsons were her joy. Their beautiful liquid eyes; their chubby little boy toes; their sleek dark hair. Noni made herself comfortable in her special rocker beside their bed and folded wrinkled hands in her lap.

“Tonight I’m going to tell you a story about what happens when little children don’t listen to their mama.”

Both boys shivered in anticipation. Oh, this was going to be a good one. All the good ones started this way.

#

Once upon a time, there were two little girls who were sisters. Their names were Maria and Lucita, and they loved each other very much.

Maria was the elder of the two girls, and every thing that she did, Lucite wanted to do.

(Noni looked gravely at the two boys, and Roberto blushed.)

It wasn’t always a bad thing, such as when Maria helped her mama cook dinner and Lucita helped.  Maria assisted with the laundry because that is what Mama did to earn money, and Lucita would help too. But when it came to naughty things, or bad things, Lucita would follow right along with her sister and end up in as much or more trouble than Maria.

One night at the dinner table, Maria started to put a garbanzo bean up her nose.

(Miguel started to giggle, and Noni quelled him with a glance. “Do you want me to stop, bambino?”

“No, Noni, por favor.”

“Silencio, then.”)

Mama caught Maria right away, (like your mama caught you, Roberto.) But Mama didn’t see Lucita putting the bean up her nose, like Maria tried to do. Maria was banished from the table, and Lucita wanted to finish her enchiladas, so she didn’t tell.

At first it didn’t bother her, this bean. But it liked it so much in Lucita’s nose it swelled and grew bigger and bigger. You couldn’t tell from the outside. It grew inside, towards her brain and her heart.

Days passed and the bean grew and grew. It started to change Lucita.

One day, Mama said to Maria, “Maria, take this basket outside and hang up the clothes for me. Take Lucita with you to help.”

“I don’t know where she is, Mama. I haven’t seen her all morning.”

“That child is going to get a beating.” Mama sighed. “Get those clothes on the line before it rains, hija.”

Maria lugged the big basket of clothes to the yard, mumbling under her breath because Lucita always helped her carry the basket.

(“I get mad at Miguel when he doesn’t help,” said Roberto.

“I always help!” was the retort.

Noni rocked in her rocking chair until the boys fell silent. “Do you want the rest of the story?” Both boys nodded solemnly.)

Maria set about pinning up Mr. Lopez’s we, heavy work pants. As she turned and bent to get the next pair of pants, she caught a glimpse of her sister standing in the garden.

“Lucita, Lucita!” she called.

Either Lucita didn’t hear her of didn’t want to hear her, and Maria started to get angry.  She marched over to the garden and grabbed Lucita by the arm.

“Lucita! I called you and called you…” Lucita’s head swiveled around and Maria screamed. Lucita’s beautiful, brown eyes were now green and empty. It was like she didn’t recognize Maria at all. The loamy aroma of the soil was rich and fragrant in Maria’s nostrils.

“Lucita, what’s wrong with you?” Maria looked down and saw Lucita’s feet buried in the moist soil of the garden. “What are you doing? You need to help me; you need to come out of there. Pronto!”

“No, Maria. I need to be out here. When I go in the house I’m so … hungry.”

“Hungry? Are you loco? Mama’s been looking for you, and I have too. I thought you would help me with the clothes.”

Lucita started to cry. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Maria. I feel so strange. I don’t like it in the house, I don’t like it in the dark, and I hear whispers in my head.”

“Whispers? What kind of whispers?”

“I don’t know what they’re saying. Not yet. I feel like I could understand them, but I don’t. I hear them all the time.” The tears continued to fall. “I can’t sleep, the only time I feel better is when I come out here and put my feet in the dirt.”

Maria lost patience. “You need to stop this daydreaming and help me with the clothes. Come on, or I’ll tell Mama you’re not helping any more.” Seeing her sister cry harder made Maria feel sad, so she wiped Lucita’s tears with her apron and said, “Come with me hermanita, help me with these clothes and then we’ll get something to eat. Don’t cry, you’re probably just tired.”

“Don’t tell Mama, promise me,” Lucita sobbed.

“I promise,” said Maria.

The two sisters went to hang the clothes, and it wasn’t until later that night Maria noticed the green smudges on her apron. At first she couldn’t figure out what they were, and then remembered how she had wiped Lucita’s tears.

Two weeks passed, and every time Mama couldn’t find Lucita, Maria would go and pull her from the garden, never telling Mama because she had promised. But Maria was very troubled and didn’t know what to do.

They shared a bed (like you two,) and one night Maria felt her sister shaking with sobs in the darkness.

“Lucita, what’s the matter?” Maria put her arms around her sister and held her as she cried harder. When the worst of the sobs had passed, Lucita whispered, “Maria, I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“Something is happening to me. And I think I know what it is and why.”

“Does it explain why you’re barefoot in the garden all the time?”

“Si, and I’m scared. Remember that night you put the garbanzo up your nose?”

“Si.”

“I put a bean up my nose when you did, only I didn’t tell and I never got it out.”

“Oh, my God.” Maria peered at her sister in the dark. “In your nose?”

“Si.”

“Are you sure you didn’t get it out? I can’t see it.”

“I’m sure. I think it’s growing … inside me.”

“What?”

“Inside me. The only time I don’t feel hungry is when I’m outside in the dirt, with my face turned up to the rain and sun. The only time I feel at peace is outside. I think the bean is changing me into something.”

“Oh, you are crazy, loco!”

“I knew you would say that.” Lucita started to cry again.

“No, no, don’t cry anymore. We have to tell Mama.”

“No! We can’t! She would be so mad and what can she do? It’s in there now, so deep it’s not coming out! It’s never coming out, I know its not and I just had to tell you. I love you Maria, I want you to remember that.”

“I love you too, niña, but what do you mean? It’s never coming out? That’s it, I’m telling Mama tomorrow, we’ll get it out.” Maria hugged her little sister closer. “I’m telling Mama tomorrow.”

“It’s already too late.” The finality in Lucita’s tone chilled Maria’s heart.

(Miguel shivered and moved closer to Roberto.)

The next morning, Maria woke up in an empty bed. Her heart beating frantically, she ran through the little house looking for Lucita. She was nowhere to be found, and Maria ran to her Mama’s room and woke her up. She told Mama what she and Lucita had talked about the night before. Mama heard her out in silence and with tears in her eyes said,” Why don’t children ever listen? Do they think we know nothing?” Mama started sobbing.

“Oh my Lucita, we’ve lost you!”

“I think I know where she is, Mama,” and Maria started to cry.

Holding hands, Mama and Maria went to the garden where Maria had found Lucita day after day. In the middle, in Lucita’s favorite spot, was a beautiful bush with green, shiny leaves and fragile pink flowers just the shade of Lucita’s favorite hair ribbons.

The leaves rustled and Maria thought she heard them whisper, “Mama.”

#

The boys were silent.

“Is that a true story, Noni?” Roberto asked.

“You know I never lie, mi hito.” Noni pushed herself out of the rocking chair and bent over her grandsons to kiss them each goodnight. Miguel was unusually quiet, and he hugged his gandmamma tightly.

“Off to sleep with you. Remember, your Mama knows what’s best for you.”

“Yes, Noni, ” the boys chorused.

#

Noni made her way out of the bedroom, down the hallway and into the living room where Rosa was busy with her crocheting. Noni sat in her comfortable chair.

“All done with the story?”

“Si.“

“Did they believe it?”

“Si. I expect Miguel will come to you tonight.”

Rosa sighed.

“At least they didn’t learn the hard way.”

Noni sighed.

“You still miss her, don’t you?”

“Every day.”

I can’t believe it’s been so long since I posted a flash fiction prompt. Why didn’t somebody poke me?

It’s a good way to stoke the fire; take a break from other projects; warm up your writing muscles; stretch your imagination. Give it a whirl, even if your main focus is non-fiction, blog writing, or poetry.

Keep in mind that every word counts toward advancing your story. It’s like wearing spandex — you can’t hide a thing.

This week’s prompt is:

When you feel you have to criticize Sam’s meat, something is definitely wrong.

Use this as a jumping off point. You may include the sentence in your piece, but you don’t have to.

Try to stay within 500 words. The POV is up to you.

I’ll post mine on Monday. Post yours on your site, and leave a link in the comments and I will read, read, read.

Have fun!

This story was the result of a prompt from the best workshop in which I ever participated, For The Love of Writing. Administered by Stacy Taylor and Laurie O’Hare, two of the most brilliant women I know, it was probably the most prolific period of flash fiction writing I’ve ever had. Good times, and I miss it.

I never liked New Year’s. Since I work second shift in a shit hole, by the time I get off there’s not enough time to get a good buzz on by midnight. Not that’s it’s busy in this place, but the atmosphere is just the way I like it. I tell the bartender to line up the shots and I munch on the free pretzels in the crummy plastic bowl while his fat ass takes its sweet time.

I can see the piano dude is taking another break. Jesus, that guy breaks more than he plays. I wish I could work like that, but one fifteen-minute break at six and a lunch break at eight is all I get. I came in here right at the stroke of quarter after eleven, still dirty, sweaty, and smelling from the factory. One time, a girl at the bar slid over a bar of scummy soap from the bathroom and said, “Hey, give this a shot”. Some pick up line. This is the same chick that told Al she wanted desalinized water for her drink. I laughed fit to split at the look on Al’s face.

See that guy in the corner there? He’s always here. I look at him and see me sometimes, gives me the creeps. Always has a full ashtray and a full beer, keeps his eyes on the table like he’s looking for the answers to life. I asked Al what his story was and Al just snorted in his usual sensitive way and said,” He’s a closet ballerina.” I took that to mean the poor guy has a gender problem, but I don’t really want to know.

There’s not many more people here than on a usual night, even on this festive occasion. Looks like Al went the extra yard and hung streamers, and I can see some plastic champagne glasses on the back bar. The piano dude is back and he has on this funny looking party hat, all green and yellow. I wouldn’t wear that stupid thing even for all the breaks he gets to take. He’s taking the paper clip off the sheaf of music on the piano, must be we’re finally going to get some music in here. Oh wait, he has to take a call on his cell phone. I tell you, what a job.

I hate cell phones, how stupid is it to carry one of those things around? I bet they give you brain tumors and they sure do give me a pain in the ass. Nothing like putting the moves on a cute chick at a bar and getting put on hold while she answers her damned phone. There’s a nut cutter for you.

“I’m vacillating between a Rottweiler and a Doberman,” I hear the piano dude say into his phone. That pisses me off, and I yell “Hey! Vacillate this! Play some fuckin’ music, it’s New Year’s Eve for Chrissakes,” and I grab my crotch. He just looks at me with vacant eyes, and continues his conversation. The closet ballerina in the corner looks up, finally, with his eyes all squinted. I look at him with the don’t-even-go-there stare, and he goes back to studying his life’s lessons in the pitted and sticky table. What a life.

Al turns up the T.V. so we can watch Dick Clark’s balls drop. 3..2..1…big fucking deal. Al passes around the cheap glasses filled with cheaper champagne, and the few people that are here whoop it up. Me, I just want my double shot of JD – make that two. Nothing like bringing in a new year with a buzz on. They say the way you bring in the New Year is the way the whole year will go. I look around this dingy, stinking place and look down at the pitted and sticky bar. Maybe my answers are there, too.

I am  a Link Hound, a Research Ho, and I’m going to share with you some of the best links I’ve found on the ‘net the last couple of weeks. Hopefully, there’s something here that will inspire you, help you, or amuse you. If so, please leave a comment on the site you visit, or leave me one here . Enjoy!

Helpful:

A brand new forum of internet marketers, Simple Machines Forum promises to be THE place to be for all things related to getting your business off the ground and running. It’s in the early stages yet, but there’s the potential for a great meeting of the minds and an opportunity to get in on the ground floor. I’ll definitely be picking some brain cells here.

About Freelance Writing – Anne has a great website  for freelancers. She sends out a newsletter twice a week with the jobs she’s been able to scour from the ‘net. Definitely worth signing up, and I have never received any spam.

I advocate the use of social networking sites to get your brand and your name out there, and Twitter has been great for that. Using TweetDeck, an application that helps you manage your Twitter feeds, allows you to filter searches and connect with other people with similar interests. Of course, I must have my toys, and to make it easier for people to follow YOU, here are some free Twitter Buttons for your site and some free backgrounds to pimp up your Twitter profile.

Blogging Tips is a fabulous resource for bloggers. They have a cast of professionals publishing articles on everything from article marketing to how to set yourself up for 2009 looking for freelance work. Their newsletter is crammed with good information from some of the best in the business.

If you’re on FaceBook (if you’re not, you should be!) check out this freelancing group, where freelancers meet and share job links and information. There’s strength in numbers, and in the Wild World of Freelancing, we all have to stick together.

Insipiring:

Long Distance – I have been an admirer of this man’s work for some time, but this particular story tugged at my heart, and hard. I’m a lover of flash fiction, and this is actually the best I’ve read in a long time. Leave him some comment love if you have a mind — it’s really an excellent story. Flash can teach us a lot about writing in general, and to me, this is a brilliant gem.

Did you know most of H.P. Lovecraft’s work can be found online for free? Neither did I! Sure to steal at least a few nights of sleep, almost his entire body of work can be downloaded for your reading pleasure in a handy-dandy zip file. I am not responsible for the nightmares — enter and read at your own risk. (Thanks, Eric!)

I’ve loved this book since I read it in middle school. In my opinion, it should be required reading for every person. Here it is some thirty-some years later, and this story still resonates with me. That should tell you something (other than the obvious fact that I’m OLD. Like, O-L-D. *sigh*)

Amusing:

Let’s face it, we all spend a lot of time on the ‘net. A LOT. Every once in awhile, you have to let the brain cells rest, lest they overheat and cause a fire with smoke and flames. When I get to that point, I’ll meander over to Crazy Days and Nights for my celebrity-trash fix. The blogger is hysterical, pulls no punches, and it’s refreshing to read about people with money and fame that are worse of than I am, poor and unknown. Heh.

If that doesn’t blow your whistle, then I’d recommend getting a free reading from the Tarot. No, I don’t know what the hell it means either — I keep getting swords, and THAT can’t be good. Oye. You can earn Karma coins, although I’m not sure how, and I’m not getting that involved. I just like to peek in on the Universe and see what it’s up to.

Of course, one must have music to work. Open Pandora, and tweak to your heart’s content, creating a radio station that plays ONLY WHAT YOU WANT. How cool is that? If you’re all set with music, head on over to Jams Bio and read some spectacular memories other people have of the very same music you’ve heard. There’s plenty of inspiration there as well — it’s amazing to me how different, yet how similar, we all are.

Those are my top picks for this round. Leave me a comment if you’d like to see this as a regular feature, and I’ll make it so. Meanwhile, if you visit, don’t forget to leave a comment to thank those that put out such quality work. It encourages them to keep doing so, and we all benefit.

Karma, yanno.

To be a freelance writer, you have to possess the skills of a juggler, the flexibility of a contortionist, and have the thick skin of a rhinoceros. Oh, it’s a circus, make no mistake.

The definition of a writer, according to the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary:

Writer: (noun) One that writes.

That’s it. That’s all it says. It doesn’t mention the hours of work, the gallons of blood, the oceans of tears and sweat. One that writes. It doesn’t mention the fact you have to market yourself, that you have to have a working knowledge of the internet, how to run a blog, how to drive traffic or how to optimize your presence on the web. These all important skills we need as writers in order to be successful writers. (By “successful” I mean making a living. Even Stephen King has had to do book signings and promotional work.)

Okay. At least that is established – we write. Does it matter what we write? Fiction: Flash fiction, short stories, novellas, novels, screenplays, theatrical work? Non-fiction: Articles, web copy, ad copy, blogs, memoirs, books, biographies?

To embrace a label is to be not only defined by the label, but limited to it. If you are a competent writer, schooled in structure, grammar, and punctuation, does it matter what kind of material to which you apply yourself? In my opinion – no.

If you can write an article, you can write a novel. If you can write a screenplay, you can write copy. If you can write at all, you can write anything. You might be stronger in some areas than another, but don’t let a label set your definition of what you do. Editors and employers need a label in order to market your work; you may need them in order to market yourself. That’s fine, but don’t let a label or market definition interfere with the basic precept – you are a writer.

Honing your skills in different formats can only enrich the process as a whole. Writing fiction can teach you a lot about pace, structure and creativity. Writing flash fiction can teach you the value of the well-placed word and conciseness. Writing articles can teach you discipline, more structure and Mad Research Skillz.

Don’t be afraid to branch out into areas in which you haven’t ventured, because you’ve thought of yourself as only one kind of writer. You might not be successful in every endeavor you undertake, but often we learn more from our failures than we do our successes.

Think outside the box and take a chance. It’s fun, it’s a learning experience, and you never know what you will uncover once you take the label off. So, strip off the label and get naked – and write!

If you didn’t know by now, I suck at posting awards and stuff. However, when a goddess like Lala at Coastal Commentaries takes the time out to honor me, I can do nothing less than bow before the goddess.

First, the meme:

The rules are as follows:

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Post a comment and then tag five more people.

But first Raoul had to finish clearing the mess he had left behind.

It meant another trip to Germany.

He waited for the Imperator to leave.

This passage is from “Map of Bones” by James Rollins. This is not normally a book I’d buy to read, but my sister’s partner is also an avid reader, and passed this book and about five or six others of his to read. The first one I read was “Black Order” and I really enjoyed it. “Map of Bones” has been favorably compared to “The DaVinci Code“, so we’ll see if that is correct or said merely to sell books.

For this meme, I tag the following five people:

West of Mars
The Half-Life of Linoleum
Where The Long Tail Ends
Adventures In Freelancing
Broadway Matron

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Okay, now for the awards and tags:

For the Coolest Blog I Know

Menstrual Poetry: Opinionated and sharp as a knife. Love it.
Ryan Garns: Satirical funny at its best.
The Cult of Qelqoth: Demented, perverted, shameless and twisted. I dream of him at night. Heh.
Power and Stilettos: She has both and ain’t afraid to use ‘em.
The Worse Blog: Good for shits and giggles.

And one more award Lala saw fit to bestow upon me that I shall pass along:

Brillante Weblog Premio

Imagination Manifesto: Breathtakingly beautiful, with words to match.
The Half-Life of Linoleum: Thought-provoking and insightful. I love his ratios and his conversations with Jilly Nines.
Michael Writes: Honest and heartfelt, and very good about expressing it.
CopyWrite: Always informative and cutting edge, the quality is excellent.
Two Hundred Sacred Words: Nothing but flash. I think I’m in love.

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Do yourself a favor, and check these peeps out. You won’t be disappointed, I promise. If you are, Qelqoth promises everyone a refund. *snicker*

Thanks, Lala, for the awards. Spread the love around people — I’m sure you all know the drill by now. Show us your favorites, your can’t-live-blog-life-without blogs.

And thanks for reading.

Although my first love is, and always will be, flash fiction, the truth of the matter is it’s very difficult to make a living from writing flash fiction. However, it’s been a great training ground for an actual career in making a living for what I love to do most, which is writing in general.

The working life of a freelancer is full of ups and downs. I’ve had some success in writing web content and articles; the problem is finding a steady market. I did some work for a woman who owned several websites, but she insisted on keyword-stuffing the articles, and there were a couple of experiences with flash fiction that really helped me do this.

One was my daily blogging habit. As I’ve stated before, I’ve had a private blog since 2004 and I’ve blogged almost daily. This is great practice and even better discipline — think of it as exercising your writing muscle. Of course, as with any other endeavor, the more you do something (theoretically, anyway) the better you get at it.

The second experience that helped me was a writing exercise that was the brainchild of a very dear friend of mine called 3 Words. Initially, he would post three random words every day, and then the participants would write 50 words of a story incorporating those prompt words. We would write for thirty days and have a complete story to show for it.  After the first month, he decided (with the consensus of the group) to increase the word count to 100; the 50 word limit was a bit too confining. As a matter of fact, I had a hard time ending the stories on the last day — but I was allowed to carry over into the next month.

This was excellent experience. The first two stories I wrote were abysmal, but I seemed to catch the hang of it after that and I actually wrote a couple of stories that were readable. It was quite challenging to fit three words into your ongoing story, to gauge the pace in order to end on the last day, and to come up with an idea in the first place. It was a blast, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, never realizing how much good the experience would do me when it came to launching a freelance career.

Back to my first freelance job — Okay, this woman wanted her articles keyword-stuffed. (Remember, at this point I am but a neophyte, and had no idea about keywords or SEO practices. I’m not sure I get it even now, to be totally truthful.)  She wanted 45 – 55% of the content to be keywords.

Yikes.  I think if it wasn’t for my daily blogging habit and 3 Words, I never would have pulled it off. It was very difficult writing, but I ended up banging out 70 articles on the same subject for her. I then called it quits, because I was burned out and I just couldn’t do that anymore.

The second job was much better — this time for a company, and all they required was three or four keyword phrases sprinkled through the body of the article. After what I had just done, this was no problem at all. The problem was, there wasn’t enough work to sustain me, and eventually the company went through a re-structuring and soon I wasn’t getting any work at all.

I’ve had short-term jobs here and there, but nothing steady, which is the bane of the freelancer. Thus, I’ve been on a mission to find jobs that suit, with not much to show for it. However, I did find a place to post articles where shoppers for material for their websites could pick them up. No marketing, the money goes directly into PayPal, easy-peasy.

The site is called Constant Content and I’ve had good results, so far. I’ve posted rewritten content from articles already researched and written, and it’s a good way to recycle material I have laying around I probably won’t use again. Spin, baby, spin.

Check it out. While it might not provide a full income for you, or even make you rich, it is a good venue for material you already have just taking up hard-disk space. Cruise the site and take a look at what’s selling, what’s offered and think about the material you have at hand. Join up, post — and let your leftovers earn you some cash. You can thank me later.

Image by Sylvain Mercier via Flickr

I am enamored by the flash fiction form. (I think you might know this about me.)

It is also known as micro-fiction, postcard fiction, short-shorts, sudden fiction…the list goes on and on. It’s popular in China. Actually, it’s gaining popularity everywhere.

As far as I can tell, flash has been around for years and years. What are Aesop’s fables but brilliant flashes?

It has enjoyed a resurgence, and I believe the internet has had a huge influence. People’s attention spans are shorter, and I think that’s another factor. We live in the age of immediate information, deadlines and time crunches. In the time it takes to take a bus to work, wait for a doctor’s appointment or stand in line at Wally World, you can consume a flash or two.

There are sites that offer a subscription service of flash you are either emailed or you can download to a PDA. It’s amazing. Hey, whatever gets people to read.

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What makes a good flash piece?

Brevity.

And how do you get there?

This is what I do.

Write it out. Write it ALL out; don’t think about word count right now, just blat out what it is you’re trying to say. The scene, the situation, the emotion, the transition. Whatever it is.

Then get out the scalpel and go to work.

That means cut the adverbs cut the adjectives. Cut, cut, cut until you’re bleeding profusely. Slice and dice, baby, until you’re down to the bone. The bare, white bone.

Now, depending on your word count limit, add a little here and there. Make every single word count. If it doesn’t advance your story, it has GOT TO GO.

Choose your words carefully. Depending on the style of your piece, don’t use huge words no one knows. In a flash piece, you don’t want to interrupt your reader to go find the dictionary to ferret out what “bricolage” means. Not to say use only simple words, I’m just saying you don’t want to disrupt the flow.

Flow is very important. The story should roll off the tongue like honey. It should feel like singing a song. The words should “feel” right when you read it – I can’t explain it any better than that. They should settle in your brain and heart, fill all the cracks and crevices, for that one brief flash of time.

Don’t be cute, unless you can pull it off well. (Few can.) Don’t be preachy, and please, please, watch spelling, punctuation and grammar.

Writing flash is like wearing spandex. You can’t hide a thing. It all shows. You either know what you’re doing, or you suck like a Hoover and you can’t hide it.

It’s structured, but liberating. It’s difficult, but when inspiration hits it’s like snow boarding down a mountain.

If it just wasn’t for that rash from wearing the spandex….

Flash Fiction Friday

Ah, another Friday already. It’s amazing to me, and rather scary, how fast time can slip by. Last thing I knew, I was 19 and I still feel that way in my head. I just wish the rest of my body felt that way. Heh.

I hope you decide to try today’s prompt, even if you don’t post it anywhere. The original rules are here.

This week’s prompt is:

You have just taken in a roommate. Tell us about the first day, how you met, or why you had to take a roommate. Think outside the box!

Have fun!