BMBR: Harmless Women by Rebecca Sharpe

I was a victim of "Just one more chapter" on this one, and now it's way past my bedtime.

Excellent thriller about a woman who steals, her victim who isn't what she thought, and a third woman searching for her daughter.

5/5

NBCWA Workshop: Contemporary, Literary, Women's Fiction Writing Salon

 The second Writing Salon from a week ago saw more writing sprints (which are freaking awesome), and since the genre focus of this salon was again different, there's a bit of a genre shift in the continuation of our story.

Part One (Horror) can be found here, and Part Two (Speculative/Fantasy) can be found here.

We did fifteen minute [15] sprints, and I'm not going to edit much as I type (no time, and I want to make this story bigger later, so yay, first draft)!

[15] means the break between sprints, and other comments in [these brackets] are my bracketed notes in the sprint. And yes, the writing sprints are long-hand. Have fun!

[Make the numbers cool]

    Seventeen. That's how old Lisa-May was when her world changed forever. Twelve, the grade. 4921, The house number. May 7th, the date. 

    Specifics forever burned in her mind.

    She'd been walking home from school, a month shy of graduation, a week away from eighteen, and a day away from the weekend.

    The day had been warm with the clouds trapping the heat of a pale sun. Muggy and mosquito-ridden, and unseasonable. Lisa-May [this thought was Not written down--it's current, and I am seriously rethinking using a hyphenated name. In longhand I can scribble LM or L-M quite quickly, but typing out Lisa-May is starting to suck. Lisa May. Lisa-May. Yeah, I'm dropping the hyphen.] was feeling overdressed. Not for the neighbourhood because you could never be overdressed for this part of town. You could be wearing four layers of clothes, finished off with puce coveralls, a grey-haired wig, a hairy wart glued to your chin, and food splattered down the front of your body, ad the inhabitants of this part of town would still try.

    [Later--input a why--inhabitants locked here except for the children. Prison? Camp?]

    Lisa May thought of taking the wooded path home instead of the cracked sidewalk. Was the sidewalk the edge of the 'hood? Or was it the edge, the border, of the woods? Tales of monsters that ate children in the woods were told, but Lisa May didn't know of anyone who'd actually gone missing in the woods. 

    Was that because nobody actually went missing in the woods? 

    Or was it because no one went in the woods? Maybe it was like how kids went missing less in general because parents turned into Helicopters, hovering machines that made it impossible to disappear, even if you wanted to.

[15]

    No, Lisa May was feeling overdressed regarding the weather, but naked in relation to the neighbourhood. She looked with longing at the woods. She'd take a bear over a man. It would be a quick death. Better than the alternative.

    One of her classes in grade six had been on How to Avoid the Gaze of Men. It was a girls' only class, and she didn't know what the concurrent boys' only class was. She thought it's title was actually How to Protect Your Woman, but it should have been How to Treat Women with Respect. Or something like that.

    Wasn't that a funny sentence to parse. How to Protect Your Woman, not ALL Women. And wasn't that the way of the world at the moment? [A backwards slide into an era that benefited Men at the expense of Women.] put this later

    Men watching other men beat up their wives, girlfriends, sisters even, and not doing anything because those wives, girlfriends, mothers and sisters didn't belong to them; they belonged to the men doing the beating. No right to interfere in that.

    That was not a world that Lisa May wanted to live in.

    She wanted to live in a world where ALL men protected ALL women. 

    Maybe if there were no men, women wouldn't even need protection? Well, not counting from the bears in the woods, she supposed.

    Monsters. Not bears. That was the creature in all the stories. Monsters.

    Monsters of no consistent description.

    What, then, were the men of the 'Hood, if not monsters themselves, preying on Women?

    Not children, though. Children were off limits. That was an unwritten rule, and it was also law.

    Rules were broken, and laws were bent.

    Not here. Here, the men of this neighbourhood were careful to stick to women. Not children, and not Underaged Women because those were still children in the eyes of the law. But children Lisa May's age could easily be mistaken for women. It's not like you were going to be carded before they touched you.

    But there were stories of men in other neighbourhoods who bent the laws. Who invited girls for dinner.

[15]

End of salon, and Lisa May's childhood is getting dark. Not sure where I was going with that, exactly.

NBCWA Workshop: Sci-Fi / Speculative Fiction Writing Salon

 I attended four events the other day, and this was the first.

The facilitator had us do writing sprints: fifteen minutes of just writing, five minutes of talking about it or asking questions or reading what we've got.

What I learned? I can get a page to a page and a half written (single-spaced long-hand) in fifteen minutes, so if I have fifteen minutes, I don't have an excuse to not write.

I continued with the story that I started in the Horror Workshop, which can be found here, and since this was a Speculative Fiction salon, there's a bit of a genre shift from Horror. [15] denotes the end (ish) of a 15-minute sprint. Note that I've typed up what I wrote with minimal edits or proofing

    Spencer l'Amoind was in love. Which was wonderful. With a human. Which was bad. He'd Followed lots of women-folk--human, Fae, demon, or whatever you can imagine.

    Where he was from, most Hounds referred to women as Females, but he hated that term. It was so objective, and could refer to anything from babies to children to adults, and he wasn't that much of an ass. If you ignored the part about him being a Hound: following, harassing, and often terrorizing women-folk for money.

    I mean, a guy's gotta eat, and buy flea-ridden blankets to keep him warm in his rat-infested, rent controlled apartment, which he also had to pay for, somehow, right? And it's not like he thought he was a good guy, even though his mama did. He was a good guy, but his job didn't make him appear so, and if he bought into the whole "you are what you do" thing, then he was not a good guy.

    But he wanted to be.

    H did have limits. No minors. "Underaged Woman" was the dumbest thing he'd every heard. Those are kids, and he didn't Follow kids. He also didn't rape or kill. One could terrorize just fine without raping or killing.

    And Spencer had Terrorized lots of women of all kinds. Fae. Demon. Dragon. Even a Kelpie once, which was hard because he wasn't a great swimmer. Kind of an important skill if you're stalking something that can hold its breath forever.

    Demons were his favourite because they were challenging. Dragons, well, he only Stalked and Terrorized one dragon, and he'd almost died. He was successful though, so now the offers kept rolling in, but he wasn't enough money to cover the stupidity of the idea, so, No.

[15]

    He was currently following a human.

    Humans were the easiest, and he felt bad for how easy. They just had to think, and they were afraid. It was almost not satisfying, and therefore boring, but because it was so easy, it almost made him feel like he wasn't such a bad guy because he didn't have to do the absolutely crazy shit that some of his colleagues went for, like actual rapes and torture and  (usually slow) murders.

    And this current human was the one that he was in love with. Inconvenient, for sure. Just. So. Inconvenient. He was being paid a moderate sum to make her so afraid to walk home in the dark, so afraid to walk home at any time, that she'd marry the worm paying him to Terrorize her, and she'd stay home, submit, have his babies, etc., etc.

    To clarify, Spencer's client wasn't a Worm. Those guys were into Following themselves, and didn't need Hounds. No, his client was just an Alpha-Bro Podcast fan, worm of a human male. Dude wanted a trad-wife, and he wanted this woman as his trad-wife (stupid term), but she was independent and happy living in her clean house with her two cats. He wanted her scared enough to never leave her house. His house. Dude probably wouldn't let her have a choice in where they lived.

    Spencer may have known how happy she was with her cats because he was thorough in his preparatory Stalking. Very, very thorough.

    Lisa May. Spencer breathed her name, and stubbed a toe on the root of a tree.

    She stopped. Again. Held her breath so tightly. He could see that in the set of her shoulders, and in how stiffly she held herself. So still, that Spencer wondered if she was in fact human, and not maybe Fae or part Fae.

    Chico made some noise on the other side of her, drawing her focus so that she wouldn't notice Spence getting closer on her left. But still behind her.

    She was definitely wary now.

    But, was she scared?

    Spencer wasn't trying to be noisy, but he also didn't hide his footfalls, giving Chico a chance to climb a nearby tree without being heard. Then they were both silent.

    Lisa-May started walking again, and this time with fortitude. Bravery. Not something Spencer expected, but something he appreciated. She was holding herself like she was supposed to be there. Which gave him pause.

    And maybe made him fall in love a little bit more.

[15]

    Lisa-May kept walking with purpose and intent and belonging. She wound around the tree on the footpath. She started swinging her arms with a bit more animation.

    She stubbed her toe on an uplift in the pavement, stumbled, and used the distraction to pull her pepper spray canister from her purse and tuck it into a pocket on her jacket. She loved this jacket for its pockets. For the big, square, hold-everything, easy-to-access pockets on the front. Pockets big enough to hide things. If it had been legal to carry a gun, that's where it would go. 

    Lisa-May kept walking, pretending that she was ignoring the noises behind her, which were getting closer. They were still being weird, too, like magical beings that could move silently or teleport at will. As she neared the exit to the park, she knew two things to be true.

    She had two stalkers.

    They never crossed the path behind her.

    They never moved, or made noise, at the same time.

    The silent one never fell behind, so they could move in silence.

    They were getting closer. 

    Okay, five things. Five things were true. She thought about it some more, but couldn't come up with any more things that were TRUE. Maybe it was only four things that were true. She maybe didn't have two stalkers. She maybe only had one that could fly overhead without a sound to switch sides.

    She stopped at the side of the street and debated which way to turn.

    Left was the way home. Forward.

    Right was back the way she came, albeit sideways and around. Not forward. Not home.

    She didn't want to lead whoever, or whatever, was following her home.

    But to the right was a sketchy part of town. 

    Sketchier than walking alone through the dark park by yourself. Sure, there was more lighting, but there were also more people, and while most people would say that more people was a good thing, the "more people" from this part of town tended to do very bad things to other people, especially women walking around alone. It didn't even have to be night. Or dark.

    Oh. Oh, for crying out loud. Lisa-May was in the Throes of the whole Bear vs. Man Alone in the Woods debate.

    Well, she was not leading anyone to her home.

    And she was not walking into a for-sure assault.

[15]

Spencer and Chico were right upon Lisa-May now. They were Right Behind her. Not that she could see them. No one could. Well, except themselves, obviously, because if they couldn't see each other, chaos would ensue.

    Spencer could feel the anticipation of scaring Lisa-May., the love of his life (not that she knew that). All she had to do was walk Left.

    The love of his life. Why was he scaring the Love of his Life?

    "Chico", he mouthed. "Why am I scaring her?"

    "Money," Chico mouthed back. He flicked his tail and Suspended them.

    "Dude," Chico groaned. "No doubts. We need food. Food costs money. We therefore need money."

    Spencer sighed. Nodded.

    Chico flicked his tail back the other way and unsuspended them. He flicked his tail too far. 

    Spencer sneezed.

    Lisa-May stiffened. Had she heard the sneeze?

    Chico's eyes grew wide in alarm.

    Lisa-May turned around. Not left. Not right. But facing back into the park. Looking right at Chico, who'd moved to Spencer's shoulder.

    "Squirrel," she said.

    Her eyes flicked right.

    Her eyes landed on Spencer's face.

    "Not a squirrel," she said. "Not a human."

    

[15, and end of the salon]

There are definitely parts to this that I want to flesh out more. Add more conversation maybe, and more details. Maybe keep the last thing LM said.

NBCWA: Comedic Writer's Workshop

 I volunteered for the second workshop that I went to for the NBCWA Literary Festival.

This was different from the horror one in that instead of writing prompts, panelists talked about their jobs as comedians / comedic writers, and then asked everyone why they were there, and then offered helpful suggestions based on the answers.

For example, one gentleman does documentaries, and he finds it very dictionary-like in terms of the writing. What hook could he use?

Not one person suggested that he watch Cunk on Earth as an example of a funny documentary. I mean, I'm not saying be that ridiculous if the doc is super tragic, but learn from it, because chef's kiss, really.

What was suggested was to soften the language. Speak with contractions, and lose the grammar.

Because I volunteered and was off to the side, I was skipped in the whole let's go in a circle and tell everyone why you're here thing, which is fine because I was not feeling brave at all today. But if I'd had to answer, it would be this:

• I love writing, and I want to write. I don't.
• Signing up for so many workshops and salons is my way of kicking my but into gear on the writing thing.
• Why the comedy workshop? I like reading all kinds of books (as long as they're well-written), and I have several genres of stories in my head just waiting for a font, and the books I enjoy the most are funny.
• I want to find a writer friend.
• I want all the tips.

And there have been good tips (general and comedy-specific) and take-aways:

• Just write.
• Make it a habit.
• Don't fix your draft as you write; write the whole thing and then go back to edit.
• As I listened to each reiteration of this point, I thought of the pottery teacher that told half the class to make one perfect vessel, and the other half to make 100 vessels. Perfection vs Volume. The Volume group had the better work at the end of it.
• So, don't make the one perfect vessel. Split your work into units. Lines/pages/chapters etc., and consider them like the 100 vessels.
• By the end, will it be good, and then you go back and make the first units as good as the last?
• Write what you know.
• Commercials are not written in a vacuum, and the story only has thirty seconds. Feels like a flash fiction to me.
• Make your own shame funny.
• Write it down. You will not remember it later.
• Keep a notebook on hand at all times, or a notes app in your phone.
• Conflict. All writing needs conflict or it becomes boring (and no, that doesn't mean just fighting).
• Eavesdrop on the messy coffeehouse drama.
• Use humour in the events surrounding the story / dialogue.
• Narrators can be sarcastic.
• Don't attack the person; attack the idea that makes you dislike them.

Why don't I write? 

  One reason could be that when I was young, two adults each made a single comment about why I shouldn't write (as a career). Those kinds of comments dig in deep, and I will NEVER tell my children to not go for a dream. I will ask them to plan out all the steps to make that dream a reality.

  Two is that I love it. So much so that it feels like a guilty pleasure. I'll put myself first and go to the gym, or read, or crochet, or have coffee with friends, and I'll be okay about that. But when I'm writing, it's too much for ME, and my brain tries to tell me to do something else. 

So, July is all about telling all the stupid voices to shut the fuck up.

What stupid voices do you need to silence?

NBCWA Workshop: The Graveyard Shift: A Horror Writing Workshop

 I signed up for a lot of the local writer's festival (lots going on in July), and tonight's was as the title says, and hosted by Lizzie Van Bakel.

She gave us three prompts: 
1. Buried alive.
2. Something is following you in the dark.
3. There's a knock on the glass, but not on a window--on a mirror.

Later, I was asked what was up with writing on tiny pieces of paper (because I left my notebook at home and this was in my desk at work); I quite like the process of it, I've discovered.
I was also complemented on how nice my handwriting is (it looks pretty); try and read it. Even I stumbled over it reading it out loud.
Yes, I read out loud. I am forcing myself to put myself out there. 
We were told to write about what makes you uncomfortable; maybe there's a horror story in there...

Without further ado, here is what was jotted down tonight:

    Lisa May walked home the same route every night. Alone in the silence was usual. Company was not. And Lisa May was sure that she had company.

    Her company was behind her, and to the left. Sometimes to the right. But never directly behind her, not even to switch from left to right, which didn't make any sense. And it was switches. For a very short time, Lisa May thought that maybe she had more than one company, but that wasn't right, either.

    The left and the right never made noise at the same time, and one never had to catch up to the other in terms of relative difference. The trade-off was swift, silent, and a well-oiled machine.

    She turned around, and as she looked at the behind her to the left, and to the behind her to the right, and to the behind her behind her, or in front of her now, but definitely not the way forward, she thought of the pictures going around online of the differences between what men see versus what women see when they're walking on a dark foggy street. Men see straight ahead. Like predators. Women see with great peripheral detail. Like prey.

    Lisa May nailed the peripheral vision test for good reason. And, she was using all of that peripheral vision power now. 

    Nothing. Abject silence. And a cool breeze that didn't even dare to ruffle a leaf.

    Lisa May turned around. Forward. The way home, not the way back.

    She stood still. 

    So, too, did her company.

    Maybe her company flew away. Maybe it had just been a bird.

    That walked behind her.

    "Well that makes no sense, Lisa May," she muttered.

    She started walking. Forward. Eyes straight ahead, but seeing almost 180 degrees, like her vision was a wall beside her, pushing on anything that she walked past. Her ears, if they could swivel, would have been turning behind her to hear the other 180 degrees. But of course, human ears don't swivel. They shouldn't. That would be creepy.

    Lisa May paused, took in a deep breath, and held it. Exhaled slowly. No movement. No noise. 

    One step forward on the next inhale. No noise. No company. Well, no evidence of company.

    No physical evidence of company.

    No outside physical evidence of company. Did the hairs standing up on the back of your neck count as physical evidence? Or was that something else? Psychic evidence? A hunch? A third eye?

    Lisa May's neck felt like that time she was in an MRI. One more of the many tests. But nothing else, so one foot in front of the other, Lisa May kept walking. She made it to the next turn of the path. Left, then right, around a tree that no one would cut down.

    Company, behind her and to the left. She focused. Company, on the ground, and behind her and to the left. Then, immediately and without pause, company behind her and to the right. But not on the ground. And not on the left. But definitely the same distance behind her as the Left had been.

    "Maybe I'm being stalked by a squirrel and a bird?" she breathed, quietly.

    Lisa May walked faster. Her company got closer, but this time, only on the Left, and almost imperceptible. She walked faster and with purpose, head held high. Head with the headache forming in the one spot above her right eye. The headache that was the reason for all the many tests.

    She read somewhere that if you walk without fear, chances are less that you will be prey.

                                                                ~

That's as far as I got. A few things to flesh out. There's a sentence on the third piece of paper that's bracketed and marked "later". Is it a bird and a squirrel. Or "not a squirrel! NOT A SQUIRREL OH MY GOD NOT A SQUIRREL!!"? Is it straight up horror of the human kind? Fantasy? Aliens? 

I don't even know yet what follows Lisa May.

BMBR: Seeking Persephone by Sarah M. Eden

 Social media has been flogging a TV series that's available to watch on Angel TV should you want to pay for another streaming service, which I don't, and somewhere along the way it was mentioned that it's based off a book, so I looked up the book, which led to reading the book.

The book was lovely. 

Regency romance with the tropes: no one knows anyone until the day of the wedding, he has to wed to produce an heir so that his useless cousins don't inherit, her family needs money so she agrees, he doesn't like feelings, and Beauty and the Beast.

No sex. Which was fine. It was still lovely.

Lots of crying. Not a how-to-be-strong-as-a-role-model character, but not a weak and useless character, either. 

The writing was a bit clunky at the start, but it got better, enough that I also read the second book in the series. 

Has it really been since November?

 I knew it's been a while, but I didn't know it's been that long.

Well, hi. And I hope you hear more from me.