flash fiction

The Prevention of Sasquatch

She misses the forest in her shorts, but, you know, the wolf. There. Waiting to make pretty girls dogs in the dark.

Once, we heard about a woman with sasquatch under her arms. My friend came with me, on our bikes to see. Gross. We looked through the launderette window and saw a fat woman make change, sell suds and empty machines. She stopped, slipped one hand under her arm to stroke sasquatch’s head, calm as petting a cat.

‘Do you think it feels soft?’ my friend said.

I didn’t know. Something like that could bite a hand. Undergrowth must be controlled. On the way home, we stole Nair from the drugstore. Smooth. We thought it would be easy, but losing the forest we heard hair like felled trees. Rustling. Rabbits ran for cover and found no place. The log cabin burnt. The wolf sloped, tail between legs. We are safe, but some nights, stroke fur on our sleeves, lonely for wolves serenading moons. I know my friend misses leaves, red streaking through shade. Just knowing the wolf’s there is something, red cap on its tracks, cape held above her head like she’s made a kite of her arms.

This is an entry for the Mookychick blogging competition, FEMINIST FLASH FICTION 2011. Enter now.

("FEMINIST FLASH FICTION 2011. Enter now" should link to http://bit.ly/femflash)

feminist flash writing competition

The Incident

The night of Miss Military Beauty, we crossed the line. A brick wrapped in a blanket, our baby, hushed a smashed window, in we went. Beauty rushed past us, girls twirling the baton of talent, smiles bikinis strung over flaws. Feet tap-danced towards nodding Gods, judges with scorecards of how easy they were to love. Then, there was us.

We rushed the stage, faces drawn, not our best sides, just what was fired onto the spot. Here, once, only, us, no captive of appraisal’s loaded gun. Our skin held its match to oil paintings we’d never be, triangles ironed between our legs. Odd mouths, lipstick pink scars took tiny bites out of the lean meat of vanity. We just couldn’t hide the cut of evenings we wore, the pearls of burns, glitter in our bones. Blink, and miss our speeches; they were scored to our face.

Only one woman spoke. Veil lifted her veil to bare roses, corsages scalded to her breast, she said only, ‘I forgive.’ We waited, for applause, bouquets, to accept cuffs on our wrists gracefully as being lead to dance.

We lowered our heads for tiaras of broken glass, tears in rust smelling rooms, our crown.

This is an entry for the Mookychick blogging competition, FEMINIST FLASH FICTION 2011. Enter now.

("FEMINIST FLASH FICTION 2011. Enter now" should link to http://bit.ly/femflash)

Why Write Poetry?

Fresh

I haven't been here for what feels like a long time. Things have been peculiar, sorting I think. I've done alot of that this year, and some things you never find a place for, some questions will never be answered. My confidence hasn't been great alot of the time, but I've certainly been working on it.

There is work being done to the house too, the ceiling got ripped down and the room is in the middle of being reassemled- slowly and messily! But my office, is feeling like a reclaimed space. It's as it after years of dicking about with writing I've finally accepted this odd little habit of mine. I've looked round my room and thought- why do I sit at a desk I had to buy off an ex boyfriend?! I went out and bought my very own desk,and spent a week stripping the old paint off it. It is my desk now, yes, I thought, I deserve my own desk, that has the positive association of knowing I made good of something old. I repainted my room and got rid of anything that has a negative association, and filled it with things that have happy memories (or else are just strange little things I love- these things always look like crap to other people :) I finally accepted - that I'm going to write- regardless, so I may as well embrace it and give myself a nice place to do it. I've been big in giving myself treats, congratulating myself on small accomplishments instead of beating myself up about failures, as if I am a dog that I can train into co operation.

There still seems to be alot of junk to sort though- mainly files, piles of paper. I think they must breed. One amazing thing that has happened this year is that in March I wrote a short story. I suppose this seems quite ordinary, except that I gave up on them 6 years ago, following the MA. They feel like secret mini holidays. I'm finally saying, if that English teacher on the MA said of my stories ' yeah, they're interesting but no one will ever publish them' I don't have to listen. Then, maybe. Not now. If I enjoy writing , I can do so. I can consider the soure of the negativity and realise it's not gospel. Instead I remind myself of the few small bits of encouragemet I've had. Mostly I can just write, and say to hell with it.

Acually I'd like a fresh start. I want to leave Newcastle and just start over. I am doing what can do right now though, making room in the place I am in, until that day comes.

sadness

february is crushing. My dad just died, then today found out a friends mam died.
wjat else to say?

Hurray!

Happy New year ! I'm so pleased I've been able to finally remember which email address I use here, and struck lucky on my password after so many attempts! This time I'll write them down, instead of relying on my computer (which has crashed 3 times last year) to remember them for me. Third time's the charm.

2007 was a good year in many ways- book out, nearly pulled by me, then actually out, got married, finally had a holiday, reached target weight. On the down side, I had alot of self confidence issues, and addressing them was hard work, and I wasn't able to launch Strip (a weird feeling, all that work than out without so much as a whimper or a single friend to see it and feel happy with me at the time.) I'm not sure what his year will bring- no holiday- but now I've been somewhere I really want to travel again. It is also seeing the end of mumus for me as i sort through my clothes and finally accept what fits and what just doesn't. (Took so long to do this.)

Finally i am having a belated launch for Strip in February- mostly because I didn't celebrate it at the time, and it seems as if people expect or want me to- they are right. If I only hide from people there is alot I'm mising out on potentially, as well as being sheltered from. I only sold 2 copies of Strip in Newcastle, but on the plus side I've heard of one or two people who liked it, which was lovely and encouraging to hear.The Crack gave Strip book of the month.

I was also thrilled to end 2008 with one of my poems being selected for analysis by Freida Hughes in The Times.

Me? In a newspaper I didn't print off on my computer? How weird is that?

Happy 2008 everyone- may all your dreams come true (except the weird ones involving finding yourself naked in front of your class mates!) :)

Ax

practise

I'm practising how to read my work, I bought a mic but it was so awful i had to return it (seriously gave me a really bad lisp and was very muffled.) I'm going to borrow a better one. I've been listening to Paul Mckenna every day, and trying to read a poem out loud in my kitchen most days, sometimes 2 or 3. To start with I've just been doing short poems, and then poems that are a little longer that I can't wait to read. I've found a good exercise is to think of some poets you know and how they read, then try to stand like them, and read your work like them. We guessed who each other was doing this, and most poets could be guessed in less than two lines- just by how they stood and how they pause between words. It was good fun, it was interesting to male poets who stand with a 'my testicles are too damn big' stride, interesting to see how the work becomes chatty with some poets tone, mystical with others. Just standing like someonelse feels alot better. The next stage of the exercise is I then tried to read my poems incorporating bits of the other poets into how I'd read it, and some bits of how I woulda done it- the tone definitely felt more upbeat, which is a lot better than my Wednesday Addams diary entries.

The book cover issue is still unsettled, so I'm thinking about making some crabapple jelly or lemon curd to keep myself happy (I've never made either, but the apples and lemons are piled high, and i like the idea of something i can make a label for :) Also I have fuzzy felts arriving in the post tomorrow (hopefully). I got to thinking about fuzzy felts of my youth, and had nothing but good memories of them. All those bright colours and rearranging, so I decided to buy a set to keep by my desk that I can rearrange in the same way men in the 80's used to play with metal balls and mini snooker (ah, primary colours, nice composition, now back to work.) I couldn't find circus fuzzy felts though, I remember them from the 70's- but there is no trace of them anywhere now, so I'm wondering if it is something I remember that didn't exist. These nice distractions and chutney envy are keeping the balance right :)

Proof

Life has been a bit manuscript focused all in all. I've been working on getting the Strip manuscript in the right order, cutting things, and now proofing.

I'm onto my 4th proof from the publisher, and I keep reading it to find those little words some sort of formatting goblin takes out, sentences he stashes away, and the odd word he'll put in just to keep me on my toes. I'm trying to focus on that, and not the fact that I'm a bit worried. I'm not worried that I haven't done enough work on the text, I'm more at a funny stage of feeling a mixture of excitement and fear. The excitement comes from being able to see the book take shape more each day. The fear is what people will think of it, and if anyone will buy it.

None of this is helped by the fact that I've been on a waiting list at my GP's since Christmas, in order to see someone who will help me have less negative thoughts about myself. I don't want them, it is just a reflex. Part of me will think- a new book, you've worked at it to make the poems take shape- great, get it out there! Part of me thinks 'Oh no one likes you, it doesn't matter what you write because you are so unpopular and lacking confidence as a person that it just puts everyone off and no one will give the work a chance.' This is no good to me at all. It is making me wake up early each morning, just so I'll have longer to think pessimistic and unhelpful things about myself.

I wish I was a nice shiny girl, a sparkly one, who knows what to say to people, so I could service the work better. I wish I was funny, and had a nice accent. (Even these thoughts are unhelpful.) I'm trying to think of what I can do to become someone more appealing, but I'm a bit limited, still waiting on that list. (The answer of course is I need to stop thinking I'm so unappealing, and I'll feel a a lot happier and be allowed to enjoy things.) In the meantime, the poems themselves has really taken shape, and for the first time the cover is being thought about. (I didn't let myself think about this for a long time, because technically it's not my call, but I can't help thinking about it now. I dream of dolls and sparkly shoes...)

Covers are exciting, it's the bit that made me excited again. They sent me a very nice cover, but somehow it didn't look like the contents of the book, so inbetween proofs I've been trying to think about covers, and had fun dicking about with dolls. That, and blackberry picking , are keeping me sane :)