The Butterfly Defect

711 words qualifies this for flash fiction. I wrote this by hand last Friday while sitting in a waiting area for an appointment.

As I closed the door, the bag of trash tangled itself between my legs such that when I turned to walk down the steps from the stoop to the street, I tripped, falling forward towards the stairs, the bag flailing chaotically around me. A small tear formed in the bag as it was jerked violently skyward, which served to launch several small objects in a graceful arc over me, some of them falling harmlessly around and some hurrying to meet me on the sidewalk below.

I momentarily recovered from hurtling towards the concrete, regaining control of my limbs when my foot planted itself firmly on the hard marble ball I was discarding – a gag gift I received during last week’s white elephant office gift exchange. Newly off-balance, the lateral force of my fall began as I rolled off the marble and launched the projectile down the sidewalk, rolling down the hill my apartment entrance lies atop. In a crash, my shoulder had the good fortune of landing on the trash bag, its torn side splitting under the pressure of my impact with it, divulging the rest of its contents in a splash of debris and trash from my home office.

I righted myself to a sitting position and heard the faint intake of air into the bag now that my weight was off it as I watched the marble’s impressive progress down the hill towards the cards stopped at the intersection at the bottom. My only saving grace now is the crookedness of the sidewalk that guided the marble through the occasional irregularly-shaped edge of a yard, the grass and dirt taking away from the velocity of the ball almost as much as gravity added.

I sprang to my feet and chased the errant ball cum missile down the block in the faint hope that I might prevent it from impacting against the side of the car waiting for the traffic light to turn, its driver obliviously leaning her head on her hand, her elbow resting on the open window frame. When I saw that no more patches of grass or jutting bits of yard remained between the marble and the woman’s Subaru, I ran headlong down the block with only slightly more guidance than the marble had on its journey.

By the time we got to the intersection, the ball was once again traveling at least as fast as I was after my downhill sprint. The ball fell off the curb and bounced far higher than I would have expected, aiming – like I was – directly for the woman’s window. As I leapt next to the car, I reached ahead, fingers outstretched, trying to catch the marble or at the very least deflect it so that it doesn’t cause any harm to the innocent bystander. Miraculously, the arc of the bounce led the ball through the open driver’s side window and the open passenger’s side window touching neither car nor driver in its traversal. I was not so lucky, my forearm catching the roof of the car as I launched myself upward. The drag of my arm started the aerial pirouette that sent my ass over my teakettle and my teakettle over the surprised driver and her car.

My shoulder touched the roof of the car as I rolled over into oblivion. “Oblivion” in this case was the name of the product displayed prominently on the city bus advertisement that I crashed into a moment after the errant chunk of marble. I took what felt like a slow slide down the side of the public transportation, looking around enough to glance at the faces o surprised pedestrians and drivers all around, among them the Subaru woman who was closest to the blur that crossed her vision a moment before. I landed on the street next to the bus with only the chunk of marble to break my fall – and my third and fourth rib on my right side. The Subaru driver was out in a flash and at my side, tugging on my arm to help me to a sitting position and making sure I could feel every broken bone and bruise I received since I walked out my front door thirty seconds before.

And that’s how I met your mother.

My Reading 2009 #2

The last book I blogged about was Dirty Play. I think that was before NaNoWriMo.

After that, I finished Hyperion by Dan Simmons on about December 15. In a word: Epic. I liked it a lot. I would like to find out what happens after the events of the book. It seems like the author spent a lot of time telling the reader about who the characters are. The question becomes: Then what happens? I want to know.

After Hyperion, I went for something a little shorter: Hannibal Rising by Thomas Harris. This is the story of Hannibal Lechter and how he became who he was in the Silence of the Lambs. It was well researched and the story was complete and entertaining. It had its moments, but it wasn't overtly gory or hard to get through.

Critique Me

Does anyone have an interest in critiquing my 2008 NaNo first draft? I need some critical feedback on it. I would classify initial feedback as "good, but really biased." If you're not sure what I mean, read what I've been told and by whom:

My mom wrote, "Wow! I just finished all 77 pages. It really held my attention. [...] Did you give it a title? I can see it turned into a film. Compelling."

Shelly (mother of two of my kids) wrote, "Very good! Kept me reading til the end. I couldn't stop reading it once I started...geesh."

Shelly also said a few more critical things about pacing and some story content, so it's not like it's all praise. My intent is to take it to a second draft next. To get there, I need to know what's wrong with it, what's right with it, and what needs to happen to make it better.

Getting back on the horse

Not that I've been thrown off or anything. The story is still pretty fresh for me, but it has been nearly two weeks since my last writing session. Tonight's writing session was spent more in trying to figure out a good point to begin expanding the climax and dénouement, followed by a little bit of writing. I'm currently working on pages 98 to 100 out of 110, I reached 351 net new words, though some words were removed in the process of cleaning up the text and getting started.

December 9:
Words today: 351
Words in December: 351
Words total: 64,412

Where From Here?

In general, I'm more satisfied with the story I wrote last year for NaNo, even though it's around 10k words shorter than what I wrote this year. This year's story just isn't quite what I would think of as finished, even as a first draft. I mean, it does tell the whole story, but the climax is dull and lifeless at this point, and my style of writing changes midway through. The dull climax problem is an issue to fix in the first draft. The writing style changes will be addressed in the second.

So what do I do? I am looking for people to give me comments on my story from last year, and I'll take a shot at a second draft of it when I hear back. In the meantime, I'd like to work on putting some more detail and action into the climax of this year's story. I don't like the fact that I haven't written anything in nearly two weeks. With the pressure of NaNoWriMo gone, I haven't set aside time like I did in November. Even an hour a day would be a huge step forward for me. I could probably get another 20,000 words a month written if I did that.

That sounds like a goal. Hmm...