Wherever the muse may take me

I have been remiss about keeping my words written meter up to date.

There are a couple of reasons.

First, I’ve been spending a lot of my spare time working on 10Flash, the genre flash fiction e-zine I’m starting up July 1st. That is moving along quite well. I’ve received six of the issue’s ten stories, and have them entered and formatted, with the other four promised “soon”.

Just five more weeks and I am chuffed about that.

Second, I’ve been writing, but I’ve only finished one story since mid-April, a piece of flash I wrote Thursday night I am calling, We Who Are Ernest Now Salute You.

I do have three others in the works, though, hopscotching from one to the other as the Muse strikes me.

Doctor Sue’s Dr. Seuss is about half-way home, at 2,700 words; One Last Kiss, at 4,900 words, is all but done and A Prayer to Saint Barbara is about 3,000 words away from being finished. I’ve got 5,300 words written there.

But I keep getting interrupted by ideas. Good ideas that I just can’t tell to come back sometime next Thursday afternoon because I’m busy at the moment. If I say that, they may go away and never return.

And it is so strange, don’t you think, where ideas come from. If I had to explain, I couldn’t do it. I had another one hit me last night. I’m calling it Alice, When She’s Ten Feet Tall. I did 1,500 words, with another 1,500-2,500 to come soon — I hope.

Here’s the start:

Most days, Alice felt as if she were sneaking about in a world overrun by midgets.

It wasn’t just that she was so much larger than everyone else, even at her smallest. Everyone seemed preoccupied with their little worries, as well. No one had time to offer sympathy for Alice’s big problems. All they did was look up at her and run away, screaming. Such petty behavior.

Tom Petty. Serengeti. Try to hold it steady, Betty.

That was the other thing that Dodgson’s pills had inflicted upon her. A repetition and rhyming of certain words, over and over again in her mind until she had to say them aloud or go bonkers. It was called obsessive- compulsive behavior; Alice knew that, she had read it once in a book. And it wasn’t always easy to read these days. But Alice stuck with it, even when the books were smaller than the palm of her hand.

After all, it was the one thing she had to do to pass the time.

So, I’ll catch up my meter first chance. And I have stories soon to be published — one at Big Pulp, another at Flash Fiction Online and a third at Morpheus Tales. I’ll let you know when they’re available for you to peruse.

Hope those of you who live in the States have a swell Memorial Day weekend and that the rest of you have clear skies and warm weather.

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