A New Writing Metaphor

A New Writing Metaphor

Or maybe it’s an allegory. Anyways, I hear a lot about the peaks and valleys of a novel. Rising action, increasing the stakes, adding tension. Your Hero is climbing a mountain, and must struggle to reach the top, which is the pinnacle of his achievement.

WRONG.

Let me introduce another metaphor. To play along, hover your mouse over the links.

Your Hero starts out in a nice forest, constantly pursued by a hungry tiger, but the tiger is kind of old, been chasing him for a while. He’d like to not have that damn tiger around…think of what he could do without it always messing him up. He’s tried to chase it away, maybe even kill it, but it just keeps coming back, growling, eying him, stealing his food and eating his women.

So one day he’s out, trying to avoid the tiger, and he sees this beautiful meadow in the distance. It’s a wonderful meadow, full of flowers, little sparkling steams, and of course—not a tiger to be found. How wonderful it would be to live in such a place! But there are no roads, no paths that lead there that he can see…except through a dark, cloud-filled valley. He can’t get there. Oh well, another day, another tiger.

Later on, he meets an old man. They get to talking. The old man says, “yep, that’s a tiger alright. You sure you wanna get to that meadow over yonder?”

“Well, it’s quite tiger-free from what I can see.”

“So, what are you waiting for? But be careful, only the strongest survive the passage through the valley.”

“Is it worth it?”

“What is anything worth?”

Pissed off by the old man’s simple-formula riddles, the Hero decides to take a quick peek down into the valley. But this is no ordinary valley. You see, for every one step in, it takes ten steps to get back out. Think of place with down escalators only. Before he’s taken ten steps, the clouds close in, the sun disappears, and the top of the valley vanishes from view. Before him he sees many paths, behind him only murk.

After stumbling around for a while, the old man joins him.

“This place blows,” says the Hero. “I wanna go home.”

“Good luck. Old Mr. Tiger is sitting up there and he’s pissed that you left.”

“Fuck. Then what the hell do I do?”

“There are two paths you can go down, but in the long run, there's still time to change the road you're on.”

“Did you just quote Led Zeppelin at me??”

The old man sits on a rotten log. “Son, listen. You ain’t alone in this valley. We call this here valley, ‘The Valley of the Lost.’ Many people have come in here, escaping their own tigers. Find these people, learn from them. Some will be friends, some will be deepest enemies. But at the bottom of this valley, where it’s hot and fiery, you will face your greatest test of all. If you fail this test, you will wander this valley for all eternity, but if you pass, you will achieve whatever you desire.”

“I preferred the Led Zep to that. Fine.”

So your Hero explores the Valley, learning where there lies food and shelter, finding the company of friends and women, and mastering skills he never dreamed of. But each step drops him deeper and deeper, and the clouds fall like a shroud to block any thought of escape. Friends come and go, some stick for the long haul, others fall by the wayside. Finally he arrives at a steep precipice. Boiling wind and the scent of brimstone blast out from the crevice at the bottom.

With only his most trusted allies at his side, he climbs down the sheer rock face, hands and feet burning, each step full of peril. They make it, scarred, but still breathing.

A wispy figure approaches. “Who dares disturb my sleep?” A Dragon emerges from the smoke. “Why are you here?” With one snort he could cook them like blackened catfish.

“I’ve come to get to the meadow, where there are no tigers. Now give me my test!”

The Dragon swallows laughter. “Good one. You do know what the tiger and the meadow represent, right?”

Your Hero has no clue. “Uhh, shut up and fight. I’m tired of riddles and games. I am sick of frickin’ tigers, this stupid-ass valley, and I’m sick of you.”

The Dragon checks his nails. “Be still, my petulant one. I will grant you all you wish, but only after you perform a simple thing. It’s nothing, really. All you need to do is slay all your little friends you brought with you, and I shall set you free! Go on…start with that chubby one. Daddy’s hungry.”

The hero looks at the chubby one, draws his sword, and cuts off the dragon’s head. For a split second, the clouds part, revealing the one path out of the valley.

So our weary band of the Lost whoop and holler and head back out of the valley and make it to the magical meadow they have sought…only to find themselves surrounded by tigers.

“WTF?” says your Hero.

The tiger that has stalked him all his life approaches and speaks for the first time. Behind him are all the tigers who have chased your Hero’s friends. “Well, well, well. So you made it back. And we are extra hungry. Now in your haste to jump into the Valley, you probably didn’t notice that you could have just walked around the long way and reached here anyways. Dumbass.”

“You woulda followed me,” says the hero sullenly.

“Duh.” He places a paw on the Hero’s shoulder and breaths stinking hot breath on his face. “Now I see you have a couple choices here. First, let me take you back home. You’ll be my bitch, of course, much worse than before, but you’re used to that. Second, you could go back down into the Valley, but I’d eventually find you there. Third—“

“Third,” interrupts the Hero, “me and my merry band can kick your furry ass. We beheaded the dragon, we found our way out, and you’re no match for us.”

The tiger laughs. “That is rich. But there is one thing you are forgetting. One small detail. Old man?”

The old man steps out from behind the tigers. He hands the Hero a hand mirror.

The Hero raises it. “Is this a special weapon? Should I smash them with it?”

“No, look in it.”

The Hero looks in it and sees a battle-scarred warrior. But behind the dirt and blood, there is something else.

He sees a tiger. He gasps. He looks at his fellows. All tigers. Well, the Chubby One is more of a pussycat but you get the idea.

“So,” says the Tiger, “do you understand all the symbolism now? Do you need me to explain in tiny, easy-to-grasp pieces?”

The Hero sighs. It is all clear now. “Yes. All this time, I’ve been running from myself. In the Valley, I learned to face my fears in a controlled environment. And now I’ve returned to finally overcome myself and fulfill my destiny.”

The tiger blinked. “Uhh…interesting, but no. We’ve chased you all your life because you have the potential to become strong, and we can’t have that. We paid the old man to lead you to the Valley of the Lost, because no one ever escapes. We are not your fears, we are the Rulers of the Meadow, and you are nothing, you never were, and you never will be. Now lay down your arms and surrender before we kill you.”

The Hero took one last long look in the mirror. “I am nothing like you. And we will defeat you, and free the world from your tyranny.” He takes the mirror and smashes it over the tiger’s head, and thereby begins the final battle.

So, my good fellows, what did we learn from this? The point I was trying to make was that stories move forward always. Every step leads your characters deeper into the Valley from which there is no turning back except once great tests are passed. Look at every scene, every page. Is your story getting deeper? Give your story a topology, and keep away from any flat areas. Good luck!

Armageddon Cookie – Friday Flash Fiction

Armageddon Cookie

There was no denying it. An asteroid hurtled towards Earth on an unstoppable collision course. Recriminations flew—how could such a threat exist undetected? Or was it? Are there evacuation plans?Who gets to live? Who knew what and when? Why weren’t we told?

Rioters burned NY and DC to the ground. All over the planet, law and order disintegrated as this devastating day approached.

My wife and I sat watching what little TV programming remained—pray-ins, mass suicides, tearful celebrities hugging each other, and live feeds targeting the approaching menace. Judgment Day was here, there was nothing left to do but cry or participate in the local sex-and-death orgies.

“Any last requests,” I asked her. Her eyes had darkened from days of crying and sleeplessness. We had run out of food—there was no one willing to distribute or sell it, not even at gunpoint.

She shook her head, then grabbed my hand. “Yes. There is one thing. Before it’s all over, I want—I want a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie.”

I blinked. “What?”

“That’s what I want.”

“Seriously?” We sat quietly.

“Yes. Please, can you go get me one?”

“You want me to go out, hours before The Strike, and find you a cookie?”

“Yes.” She stared at the floor. “You asked. That’s what I want. That’s my last request.”

I swallowed and looked at my watch. I flipped through the local channels. Gangs with guns or worse roamed the streets in an torrent of senseless violence. “I might not return.”

“That’s okay. I mean—” she quickly corrected, “that would be terrible, but I’d understand.”

I sighed. What else could I do? I didn’t want to go out of this world with my wife mad with me. So I threw on my jacket, jumped into the car, and headed towards the nearest shopping center.

The roads were suicide. No one obeyed a single traffic rule. Speed demons flew by, testing the limits of their vehicles. Many twisted cars lay in the ditch, some with bodies still inside. People hunted people, the ultimate rush. Couldn’t we just die with dignity? Must we revert to savages? Ahead of me, a group of youths surrounded a car, shot the driver, and stole the car, only to wreck it a block later. I turned onto a side street.

The mall looked like a war zone with smoke pouring from burning cars and buildings. The windows stood like gaping caverns, the glass gone. I tooled the car around, trying to find some sign of civilized life. I flipped on the radio. Some stations featured an automated countdown, so there was no mistaking the moment of impact. I found one station advertising an “end of the world” concert, featuring top rockers—and food! The mall seemed too dangerous, so I decided to check out this concert.

Big mistake. The roads had become littered with abandoned cars. Thousands of people converged on this end-of-the-world mayhem. After becoming trapped, I left my car and followed the crush of people. The crowd defied description. Drugs, nudity, gang rapes, gunfights, all next to a blaring amplification system. The concessions consisted of little more than cold hot dogs and government cheese—and barrels upon barrels of beer. No one cared about the atrocities. Since the asteroid would impact across the globe from us, we wouldn’t even die in the initial blast. They said we might even hold out for a day or so, until the Earth opened up and covered us with lava, or searing winds blew us away, or the sky filled with flaming fragments of rock. It wouldn’t be pleasant...so maybe a bullet to the head wasn’t so bad.

Then, in the far corner, I found them. Well, I smelled them before I saw them. Fresh baked cookies. I forced myself through the crowd, and stuffed them in my pockets and shirt. I bolted from this madhouse, shoving my way through the throng, wishing I could unsee some of the cruel images I had witnessed.

I located a car with keys and a clear exit. I drove it away, but a gang of youths chased me, pulled me out through the window, and beat me like a dirty carpet. I figured that this was the end, that I would never see my wife again, but a rival gang started shooting at them so they fled. And did I mention? They stole all my hard-earned cookies.

I picked myself up. My watch was broken. I had no idea how much time was left. I wondered if I could grab some more cookies, but time grew precious. I stumbled back home, a good six miles away.

I won’t detail that miserable journey. Suffice it to say that when my wife unbolted the door, I collapsed at her feet, bleeding, dehydrated, but alive.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I had them, but I was jumped. I’m so sorry. How much longer?”

She helped clean me up, and brought me our last bottle of water. “Not long. Thank you for trying.”

We sat down, watching the final minutes tick away. Cameras in Dubai televised the approaching rock, clearly visible like a little oblong moon that kept growing by the minute.

“Why did you want a cookie so bad,” I finally asked, breaking the silence.

“I kept it,” she said.

“You kept what?” Then it hit me. The first time we met. It was so casual. I had made cookies, and brought them to a party. I offered this beautiful girl one, and she accepted. Had she kept it, all these years?

She produced the cookie from its bag under the couch. “I thought you’d rather eat a fresh one, but this one will do. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

We split the rock-hard cookie, and each placed a piece in our mouth.  When the countdown hit zero, the sky over Dubai grew impossibly bright. The feed died. I held my wife’s hand, chewing the last morsel of food to ever touch my lips.

Christmas Sucks - #FridayFlash

Christmas Sucks Every Christmas, it would happen. We’d place our presents under the tree, we’d settle down for our long winter nap, and come morning—it was all gone. The presents. The tree. The cookies and milk. All gone. Like the Grinch stuffed them up the chimney to his lair high in the mountains. The police were baffled, our neighbors clueless, and my family distraught. This year, I was determined. I sat at the ready, cradling my shiny new Remington 870 Express on my lap. My wife snored on the couch as the wall clock ticked inexorably towards midnight. My eyes drooped but I choked down another Red Bull, willing myself to stay awake. I heard a jingling from outside. This was it—go time! I called to Martha, “911! 911!” I rushed through the door, waving my weapon before me. An old lady walking her dog screamed and ran, the jingling coming from the dog’s Christmas collar. “False alarm,” I called back to the house. “Martha? Hello?” No response. I sprinted back in, my shoes slipping on the ice, the gun almost wrenched from my grasp. The room was empty. No tree. No presents. NO WIFE. In the chimney, I saw movement. My wife’s foot! I dove for it, dropping the gun, banging my elbows on the mantle. My hands closed on the appendage which rose up the chimney. I felt my body lifted, sucked up the chimney like a dust up a vacuum. I felt weightless, surrounding by complete blackness, only the feel of my wife’s foot grounding me to reality. We were falling. I pulled Martha close to me as we tumbled through the air. A landscape lit up, full of shiny red and green objects. We impacted, wrapping paper and toys and Christmas trees softening our blow. We swam back up through the detritus and broke the surface. “I tried to stop it!” she cried, her eyes wide, glancing at the sea of Christmas paraphernalia that stretched as far as the eye can see. Cascades of trees and presents tumbled from the sky. “We need to find somewhere safe.” We pulled ourselves on top of the mess. I spotted something in the far distance, some kind of mound. “This way. Be careful.” Time lost meaning in this place of lost toys. We subsided on fruit cake and cheese platters, specialty cocktails and piles of cookies. It might have been days or hours, but we finally reached the mound, a towering fortress composed of candy and Legos. We found no entrance, but I had armed myself with a pack full of battery-powered tools. We went to work on the walls of the fortress. Some interminable time later, we broke through. We crawled through the structure which oozed of chocolate and tinsel. Red ropes blocked our path but I sliced through with my reciprocating saw. Voices carried to us. Our winding path opened up into some kind of large chamber, where old men in red and white uniforms huddled around large-screen computer monitors, conversing on headphones. A large wall screen displayed a countdown: 59 minutes, 23 seconds and counting—to what I had no clue. “Isn’t that your father,” gasped Martha, grasping my wrist. Impossible. My father passed away years ago. “Come on, follow me.” We hid behind a column while I threw sugar plums at the man. He pulled off his headset and looked around. We hid. He rose to investigate the source of the fruit. I grabbed him, holding my hand over his mouth. He struggled, but we dragged him down the hallway. “Were we followed?” My wife shook her head. I let go of the man and faced him. “What the hell is going on here?” “Bob?” he said quietly, raising his hand towards my face. I knocked it away. “I don’t know who you are, but I want to know exactly what this place is, right now!” The man downcast his eyes. “We’re—reversing Christmas. I’m so sorry, Bob. You’ve been a test subject for a number of years. Christmas, it’s—it’s lost its spirit, its purpose. We were inspired by Dr. Seuss, so we’ve been taking it away.” “What??” I felt like slapping this man. “Are you really my father?” He nodded. He didn’t look like my father, not like the shriveled old man I remember with tubes stuck everywhere. “Dad?” “I’m so sorry, Bob, but these orders come from up above. The Big Guy. This year, Christmas is cancelled. Forever.” My wife spoke. “The children. What about the children? Say this isn’t so.” My father shook his head. “Where the hell are we,” I demanded. “I guess you could call this the North Pole. We use space-time portals to open the chimneys. We direct robotic angels to snatch the goods. You’ll be better off without those presents. It’s His Will.” “Over my dead body,” I cried. “Martha, wait here, don’t let him leave. I’ll be back.” I remembered certain packages along the way. Long, thin, heavy packages. Guns. Thank God people still gifted guns. I returned with an armful, and raced into the chamber, riddling the ceiling with bullets. “Listen to me,” I screamed, the assorted men rising from their seats. “There will be no more stealing of Christmas. I want all of you to sit back on your consoles, and return every present, or I waste this entire building.” For emphasis I aimed a shotgun and blew apart a monitor. Those men got busy in a hurry. As the clock ticked down, my outside camera showed the huge sea of Christmas debris sagging, sucked away back to their sources. Just as the clock hit zero, bolts of electricity filled the air, accumulating right in front of me. A Voice spoke from the dazzling light. “Who dares reverse my orders,” thundered a Voice in a divine chorus of angels. I squinted at the retina-shriveling light. “It is I! You have no right to steal Christmas!” “And who the hell do you think you are?” Something dawned on me. “I’m frickin’ Santa Claus! Now get the hell out of my workshop, we have work to do!” The electricity collapsed into a point and disappeared. My wife slid her hand into mine. “Well, Mrs. Claus, you ready to make Christmas happen,” I asked her. “Just as long as we’re back in time to open presents.” “Okay, you! Work the Nintendos! You, on the crappy sweaters.” Yes, Christmas would never suck again, now that I was in charge.

 

LOL—Friday Flash Fiction

LOL

LnlyGrl275: Hey, u there? Just got on. dad thinks I'm sleeping

BigGuy800: hey. how was ur day?

LnlyGrl275: bad. hate school, hate life, world sucks
BigGuy800: that good, huh?
LnlyGrl275: yeah. it's like I can't wait til now so we can chat. u make my whole day.

BigGuy800: tx. me too

LnlyGrl275: wish u wern't 2000 miles away. ur my only friend

BigGuy800: I'm here for you. Wish I could be there too

LnlyGrl275: gd I hate boys. not u. u know what I mean.

BigGuy800: So theres someone ur crushing on o_O

LnlyGrl275: LOL yeah.

LnlyGrl275: but its like he doesn't see me. Just cause I'm not on cheer or dance.

BigGuy800: Is that a requirement for likeability?

LnlyGrl275: duh! I'm in the band no one likes band geeks

BigGuy800: hey-ur not a geek! I think ur kewl. And a sharp dresser

LnlyGrl275: LOL. rite. we didn't go school shopping this year cause of my dad's layoff

BigGuy800: ouch.

LnlyGrl275: so I'm in last years crap. barely fits.

BigGuy800: times are tough

LnlyGrl275: did u get that job u wanted?

BigGuy800: no gonna try again tomorrow. sux

LnlyGrl275: gd I wish sometimes...my mom....sorry...just been thinking a lot about her...

BigGuy800: ?

LnlyGrl275: don't mean to get teary-face...messes the keyboard

BigGuy800: go on.

LnlyGrl275: I miss her so much. My dad...he's like...he just shouts and screams about everything now...and he's here ALL THE TIME!

BigGuy800: yeah...BTDT

LnlyGrl275: dads are so lame. sometimes I wish mine would disappear. we say like 3 words to each other all week.

BigGuy800: he's prolly going thru his own shit, yknow. he's doing his best

LnlyGrl275: riiight...u haven't met him.  I think he's lost it.  I just wish sometimes...

BigGuy800: ?

LnlyGrl275: sorry...crying again. I know I shouldn't. I wish u were near so bad. I'm so lonely and its like im dying. my moms gone, my sisters married, and my dads a freak.

BigGuy800: {{{{LnlyGrl275}}}} u'l be okay. it takes time u know.

LnlyGrl275: I just want all this crap to stop!!!

BigGuy800: Me too.

LnlyGrl275: sorry sorry. taking breath. getting control. talk to me. tell me something

BigGuy800: k. I saw ur new FB pic. it's very cute

LnlyGrl275: OMG it's awful! LOL why did I ever put it up there? Is that really a human nose?

BigGuy800: aww...it's adorable

LnlyGrl275: ur just saying that but thanks. *sniff* I wish u had more pix up

BigGuy800: me 2 but I dont really take any

LnlyGrl275: bleh. u better or I'll come down there and take them myslef

BigGuy800: i'll try. say, how'd that test go?

LnlyGrl275: uhh....what test?

BigGuy800: the test? thing?

LnlyGrl275: I never told u about any test.

BigGuy800: the test u had

LnlyGrl275: wait. I never told u about any tests. I just looked at my history. Who is this??

BigGuy800: I was just confused. Nevermind.

LnlyGrl275: no! Are u in my class? Do I know u? WTF????

BigGuy800: I'm not! I mixed u up with someone else

LnlyGrl275: u tell me who u really are or i'll never speak to you again. I don't need this shit!!

BigGuy800: i can't

LnlyGrl275: what????

BigGuy800: i'm someone who cares about u. alot.

LnlyGrl275: nonononononononono. this is not happening to me

BigGuy800: i'm sorry

LnlyGrl275: OMG

LnlyGrl275: dad?

BigGuy800: that day when I first texted u...I was gonna tell u dinner was ready...I forgot I was on this new account...and we got talking

LnlyGrl275: i'm gonna hurl. omg omg omg

BigGuy800: i need someone to talk to too

LnlyGrl275: I like told u all my secrets! TO MY DAD!! I thought u were a boy! I kinda even--barf--if I blow ur cleaning it!

BigGuy800: I promise I will never share anything u told me. I couldn't stop myself. please, everything u said about ur mom...I want to be there for u. I know Ive been crazy. I know I've done terrible shit. just give me a chance. In a year u'll be gone like your sister. I just wanted a chance to get to know u once again, to talk like we used to.

LnlyGrl275: ugh. please

BigGuy800:  we can get thru this. I love u so much, Molly. I hate everything that's happening, but I don't know how to fix it.

LnlyGrl275: so u thought stalking ur own kid wud help?

BigGuy800: I'm sorry I deceived u. I couldn't stop myself. i really like talking to u like this. The person uv been chatting with...that's the real me, underneath the whole "dad" thing.

LnlyGrl275: i gotta go. I don't ever want to talk to you again.

BigGuy800: please don't go. I never meant to hurt you. I'm really lonely too and I need someone to talk to.

LnlyGrl275: oh gd. someone wake me up. or shoot me.

BigGuy800: I know it won't be the same, but maybe we can still try?

LnlyGrl275: what am I doing?? I'm Miss Pathetic 2009. fine..but I have some conditions.

BigGuy800: k

LnlyGrl275: first of all--I set my own bedtime from now on. I stay up as late as I want

BigGuy800: done

LnlyGrl275: secondly--u never ever breathe a word of this or I'm no longer ur daughter

BigGuy800: done. my lips are sealed

LnlyGrl275: third--I get the car whenever i want--with no curfew

BigGuy800: sigh. As long as u promise to be careful

LnlyGrl275: done.

BigGuy800: we good?

LnlyGrl275: i'm thinking about it. this is way creepy

BigGuy800: but in a good way?

LnlyGrl275: no.

BigGuy800: if I was still "BigGuy800" what would u say to him right now?

LnlyGrl275: I'd say, "Hey dude, guess what? I just found out my dad's a bigger loser than I thought! He's been pretending he's some guy who's into me. WTF?? Get a life!"

BigGuy800: and he'd say, "OMG, that is way out of line. I don't believe it. What ru gonna do?"

LnlyGrl275: LOL. and I'd say "Well I'm not gonna talk to him for like ever again. Creepo. But I got a car out of it"

BigGuy800: and I'd say "WTG! That's showing him."

LnlyGrl275: sigh. I do miss talking to you. {{Dad}}

BigGuy800: I miss you too {{Molly Doll}}

LnlyGrl275:DON'T CALL ME THAT!!

LnlyGrl275: So..."BigGuy800"...I wanna tell u about this guy at school...can u handle that? ur not gonna freak out and shoot him (or me?)

BigGuy800: What happens in AOL stays in AOL. Lay it on me.

 

The Lover’s Journey Part I

The Lovers’ Journey Part I

I had another epiphany out on my run the other day. I was thinking about the romance part of Dawn’s Rise, and I realized that the “Hero’s Journey” is really the story of the sexual encounter. (Or is it the other way around? We’ll see).

So, I’ve taken a stab at describing the “Romantic Journey.” I don’t write romance, but I feel that I’ve come close. I’ve written this from a male main character’s perspective.

I call this version:

“The Mythical Lover’s Journey”

The Ordinary World

You’ve led a fairly successful life. You’ve conquered many a foe, defeating them in pissing contests and proven who has the most powerful orbs, but you feel that something has eluded you. Something is missing in your life. You’ve heard about this mythical creature known as “Woman”.  People say that some of these Woman creatures possess a wonderful treasure, more valuable than anything else in the world, but this treasure can only be won* at a steep price. You’re intrigued, fascinated with the idea of winning such a treasure. You’ve perhaps interacted with these creatures, and found out the hard way that their gifts are not easily won.

The Call to Adventure (Inciting Incident)

One day, you come across the most exquisite Woman creature you’ve ever encountered. She’s beautiful beyond compare, alluring and mysterious. You feel that she must be hiding an invaluable treasure. When you first encounter this wondrous animal, she doesn’t immediately spear you through the heart. You decide you should pursue her, capture her, and win her treasure. Her pull on you is irresistible. You want to go on this adventure, but are you ready for it?

Refusal of the Call

You’ve heard many a time that Woman creatures are best left alone. You know of a brave knight who once tried to capture a Woman and she left him a bitter, angry loner. When hurt, they become the most deadly force in the universe. What would happen if a Woman creature captured you? She’d force you to impregnate her and raise her offspring. Not for you, no way. You would never be in that situation. No treasure is worth that. You’d rather just stay in the relative safety of the Man village.

Meeting with the Mentor

Still, you can’t stop thinking about this Woman creature. Something deep inside of you is calling. You ask your friends many questions: What’s with these Woman creatures? Is this so-called treasure really worth it? Is it really so awesome and magical? My King, how did you manage to wrangle one? How did Prince Joe? What are the secrets to capturing them? How can I tell the good ones from the bad ones? How do I avoid their traps? How can I escape from their clutches if I need to?

Crossing the First Threshold

Everyone tells you to go for it. You lay your first trap for the Woman creature. She falls for the bait! Now you must figure out what to do with her. You must keep reeling her in, because these creatures have a healthy distrust for Man. You must convince her that you’re “not that bad.” You move out of your comfort zone into a strange new world, a place you fear and dread, a place where you have limited or no experience. A place teeming with flowers and lipstick and white wine. You must interact with this strange animal and keep her “happy” and “interested.” Foreign concepts indeed.

Tests, Allies, and Enemies

The Woman creature is pretty tough, and no fool. She has others of her species ready to attack if you make the wrong move. She’s even turned some of your fellow Man onto her side (the traitors!). They are wary of your intentions. Compatriots of yours provide you with bad advice at times and you make some missteps, angering the woman creature. She’s hard to tame. You’ve thrown all your best moves at her, but she remains aloof. You must up your game. You must gather some allies for this assault. They run you through tests, letting you tackle woman dummies and practice courting mannequins before allowing you to approach the Real Thing.

Approach to the Inner Cave

At last, all your training has paid off. It turns out that this particular Woman creature has a weakness for Dark Chocolates and Red Roses, and you’ve used this to your advantage. You enter her lair, and even into her secret chamber. Danger lurks all around. One bad step here and things could get ugly. You stroke her, tell her how beautiful she is, anything to sooth her and keep her off her guard. You don’t want to reveal your true intentions.

The Ordeal

This Woman creature is defenseless before you. She has something you want, and you are going to get it no matter what. This is what you came for. This is what you’ve made all these sacrifices for. You are deep inside Enemy Territory, and she’s powerless against your onslaught. You are on your way to capturing this strange and wondrous creature!

Reward

She is yours! You have won her most precious treasure. You go home and brag to your friends. You display your victory like some scalp. You have been into the Lair of the Beast and survived. But, something doesn’t feel right. You go to show your comrades this Woman creature you thought you had captured, but she has escaped! Not only that, but you cannot find the source of all your power, your orbs. You are outraged! How can she have stolen them? Her treasure is no consolation. The victory rings hollow.

The Road Back

You must get your orbs back. You can’t stalk any other Woman creatures without them. You can’t work, you can’t hunt, you can’t fight your enemies. She taunts you with them, threatens to harm them, makes you do things you don’t want to do. She wants her treasure back, and you want your orbs back. Things seem to be at a stalemate and nobody is happy. All advice falls flat on your ears. You won’t give up the hard-won treasure, and she refuses to release your orbs. Something has to give, because you can’t live this way. You can’t capture her because she’s now fully on guard and won’t let you approach, even with chocolate and roses. This creature has become far more dangerous than anything you could have imagined.

The Resurrection (Climax)

You rail against the Woman creature, but she resists. You argue and beg. You try to enter her lair but you’re evicted. Even your own friends turn against you, not to mention your enemies who smell blood. At last, you realize you may never get your orbs back, so you head over to return the creature’s treasure, planning on begging for mercy. It’s not worth it any more. You realize you were wrong** to try to capture her, or win her treasure. But when you arrive, something has changed. You don’t see a frightening creature any more. You see a woman. A lonely, vulnerable, heartbroken woman. She doesn’t seem so scary anymore. She’s just a person, just like you. You meekly lay her treasure at her feet. She says goodbye. You grasp her hand. You tell her how much you love her. You kneel before her. You tell her everything you’ve been meaning to say to her. You tell her you can’t live another second without her, and you were wrong to act the way you did. You don’t even care about your orbs anymore.  You place her dagger at your throat, and await the death blow. Instead, she picks up her treasure and hands it back to you, willingly. You ask, what about my orbs? She points. Turns out you had them all along, you just didn’t know the right way to use them.

Return with the Elixir (Dénouement)

The Woman creature is a creature no longer. She hasn’t changed; you have. She is not tamed, she is not captured, she’s not anything more than a willing companion on life’s journey. You both have survived a brutal adventure through the Land of Intimacy and learned many important lessons. You have bequeathed each other your most valuable gifts, and you want to share those gifts with the world. You both share her precious treasure called “love” and are ready to defend it at every turn. You’re finally home.

 

The End

Or is it just the start of a new adventure?

I’m not sure what I’m going to have in Part II. It’s either a more modernized version of Part I or I’ll try to write it from the female perspective. Stay tuned!

*In a previous version I used the word “steal” instead of “win” but DW thought it sounded too violent/rapey. I do think “steal” is the more accurate word for a man’s thought pattern but I don’t want to upset anyone. Go ahead and read it using “steal/stole/stolen” instead of “win/won” and you’ll see what I mean. You can also substitute “balls” for “orbs” :).

** See my previous post describing how Your Character is Wrong

Friday Flash Funny

Friday Flash Funny

Here’s a little script I wrote yesterday called “I Break Up With My Dog”

I don’t know if it qualifies as Flash Fiction but it comes in at 941 words including title. I may try to rewrite it from the dog’s POV at some point as an exercise but I’ll just throw it up here for now. Maybe some of you Flash Fiction experts can tell me if this would qualify and suggest what I should do with it.

 

---

I Break Up With My Dog

Master: Hey, Missy, come here! Come here, girl!

Dog: Yes, master? Do you have a treat? Can I get a scratch? What is it? What is it?

Master: Settle down, settle down, sit. I just want to talk to you for a minute.

Dog: Okay. I'll sit. Mind if I chew a bone? I love bones.

Master: Go right ahead. Listen. I don't know how to say this. We kinda need to talk.

Dog: It's okay. I'm your dog. I'm here for you. Mmm bones.

Master: Yeah. That's kinda what I want to talk to you about. You see, when I first adopted you, I kind of was looking for something, I don't know what. Now, after a few years, I don't know, it's not quite what I expected.

Dog: Well, that's normal. You hadn't had a dog for a long time before me. I'm sure we can work out whatever it is. Bones.

Master: Can you stop with the bone already? That's the thing. I've been thinking. I'm just not sure that things are really working out—

Dog: Wait. Hold on a second. Oh my God. I see that look in your eye. Are you—are you breaking up me?

Master: No! Well, “break up” is a strong word.

Dog: I don't believe this! You can't just break up with me! I'm your dog!

Master: Just hear me out. I've been struggling with this for a long time. I've been wanting to tell you but I've been so busy and it just never seemed like a good time.

Dog: I know we've been growing apart, but I don't get it. What's changed? Do you need some space? Is there—is there another dog?

Master: I just feel like—

Dog: Gasp. There is another dog. Who? Is it that bitch Goldie? I see you two playing fetch sometimes at the dog park. I never said anything but—

Master: We didn't mean for it to happen! I swear. You're always so busy with your friends. One day we just got to playing, then—one thing led to another. Now we can't stop seeing each other.

Dog: I think I'm going to be sick. Goldie? What does she have that I don't? Just because she's a few years younger, and has that long thick coat. You masters are all the same. I should have known. God, I'm so stupid.

Master: Come on, it's not your fault.

Dog: What's wrong with me? Don't I warn you about strangers? Don't I help keep the floor clean? Don't I wake you when your alarm doesn't? Don't I do my business in the accepted spot?

Master: You're a great dog. No one can deny that. It's just, I've changed. I'm just looking for something else in my life right now.

Dog: Is this about your stupid fetish to have two dogs at once? Is that it? Fine. I can do that. Bring it on.

Master: Well, when you think about, it would give you more time to do your own thing. When you're tired, I can just play with the other dog. And you'd have someone to keep you company.

Dog: Fuck the other dog. I'm a one-master-one-dog dog. The thought of another dog licking your face, letting you pet her--I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I think I'm going to faint.

Master: I didn't want it to happen like this. A master has needs. You have to admit, you're just not as spunky as you used to be. Two, three tosses of the ball and you're exhausted. Some days you don't even want to play at all.

Dog: You bastard. What did you expect? I only live twelve to fourteen years! I get old quick! If you wanted something that lasted, why didn't you get one of those woman things? Ooh, that's right. You can't get a girlfriend. So you got a dog instead. And just like the women in your life, you're willing to throw it all away because you think there might have something better waiting in the wings. Let me tell you, the problem isn't "out there". It's you.  If this is really over, then I have nothing to lose by saying this. I've tried to be a good dog, to be supportive, but look at yourself. You don't shave. You don't brush your teeth. You don't wash your hands. You don't clean this shithole of a house we live in. You're a filthy slob, only worthy of the love of a dog.

Master: I don't need to hear this from a dog. It's over. I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I can put you out back for now, until you can find another place. I gotta go now.

Dog: Please, please don't do this. I can change. I can fetch balls. Look, here I go. Whee, look at me, I'm fetching.

Master: Stop. Stop! You're just embarrassing yourself.

Dog: What do you want me to do? I've been your dog for eight years. I don't know how to be anyone else's dog. I don't want to go to another family. Please. Give me another chance. I'll be better, I promise.

Master: Stop begging. It won't help this time.

Dog: Fine. But before I go, you should know this: Remember the time your girlfriend found another girl's panties in the couch so she dumped you? That was me. And I have plenty more stashed around. Think about that the next time you invite one over, you'll never know what they'll find. Goodbye, I never want to lick you again. And I'm taking the bones with me.

Free Plot Idea #53

Free Plot Idea #53

Has anyone else started finding themselves critiquing everything? Looking for turning points in movies? Studying the use of adverbs by their favorite authors?

Lately I’ve experienced a curious phenomenon. I’ve been critiquing in my sleep. Literally. The other night, I had a dream that can’t remember, but I distinctly remember thinking, “this would be a great plot. Good action, interesting characters, nice resolution. I definitely need to remember this dream.” Huh? Of course I didn’t remember it.

I’ve also caught myself editing in my dreams, working on my story. Unfortunately (or not) I don’t have implanted recording devices in my head like the characters in my story, so I can’t actually edit while I sleep. Wouldn’t it be great to be able to work on your WIP 24 hours a day?

Which of course brings me to my Free Plot Idea: Imagine a world where people “plug in” when they sleep, and their brains are harnessed to do all kinds of work. Think about it. You could write while you sleep, and then do whatever you want during waking hours. Basically a reversal of normal human activity. You could have a whole second career during sleep, your brain hooked up to a robot or something.

So then we throw in the requisite action/adventure elements and it’s a novel. Maybe during sleep, you’re a spy, or work in a classified position. You’ve uncovered a vast multi-layered conspiracy. During wake time, you tend flower gardens. [That means to write this story, you get to research flowers :)] One day you’re tending your gardens and you do something strange like cut off all the buds or mow a message into the lawn. It’s your nighttime self trying to contact your daytime self, but you don’t know that of course. Maybe nobody knows that they are being used this way. Your friends start acting strange. You become suspicious of people. Is your deli clerk really a mastermind of espionage? Is your spouse the enemy assassin? Is that annoying IRS agent IRL really your dreamstate lover and confidant? The possibilities are endless.

Of course things need to start unraveling. You discover that you are the enemy assassin, not your spouse. Your day and night selves are opposites. Perhaps the dream time persona is dealing with all your issues of childhood abuse or some other trauma that your wake time self has no recollection of. Your wake time self has to come to grips which who you really are, and make some choices about both your wake and dream time activities. Then the shit really hits the fan, because the conspiracy is real and they’re coming to get you. All the while, of course, no one believes you and you don’t even believe it yourself.

Wow, that was a lot of 2nd person writing there. Let me know if this inspires anything for you, because if anyone runs with this, I’d love to help. Or I may take it up at some point.

The “Modern Pentathlon”

The “Modern Pentathlon”

I was doing some research into Triathlons and came across a wiki page for an Olympic sport known as “Modern Pentathlon.” It’s a bizarre sport that combines running (not bad), swimming (okay so far), show jumping (uhh), shooting (waitasec) and fencing (whoa! Hold the show jumping horses!). It originated in 1912 as a contest utilizing the skills of the cavalry men of the time. Apparently, they’ve changed the rules this year and combined the pistol and running portion so you stop and shoot every so often (but not the horses).

So. I wonder why they didn’t combine all the skills? Say…shooting a target from horseback while fighting off attackers with your sword as the horse fords a river, then running alongside the horse during the “dismount” zones. I’m sure that would spice things up a bit.

Or, maybe it’s time to change the five skills to something more modern. Let’s call this the “Post-Modern” Pentathlon. The running has to stay. But it must be in full combat gear including boots, a 80lb pack, weapons, helmet and body armor. Maybe even a full-body chem suit and gas mask for good measure. No more horseback riding. What modern army uses horses? Now it’s a tank chase. You must guide your 67 ton M1A1 Abrams through mud and quicksand without throwing a track or flipping over. Of course they’re fully armed in case your competitors get too close. Fencing is of replaced with caged knife fighting. Take that, UFC! Let’s get real and make this event interesting. Swimming? For pansies. How about swamp survival? You’re dropped into alligator-infested waters with nothing more than a knife. You must fight your way out before the mosquitoes eat you alive. And last, we get to shooting. Well, let’s just say there’s only one medal given for this event, and whoever reaches the finish line first can claim it. If you’re not first, you’re dead.

Sound like an improvement? I’m sending this off to the IOC as we speak, I’ll let you know what they say.