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  • Something Something NaNo Season

    It never fails.  No matter how much I try to prepare for my NaNo novel, I always find myself making up a ton of stuff at the last minute.  I always forget something.  Yesterday was no exception.

    Now, part of the problem is that I’m a pantser for life.  If I start outlining my novel, it loses all of its magic and mystery, causing me to lose all interest in writing it.  So it’s not like I’m surprised by my need to make stuff up as I go.  But I like to at least start with an opening scene in mind, and maybe a few followup scenes to serve as guideposts on this crazy journey.

    And you’d think that would have been simple, given that the introduction to this novel is based on a short story I wrote ages ago.  The uncle of the main character dies, making him the last male heir in the family, and all of the ancient responsibilities fall to him– and also the ownership of the family familiar.  The catch is that after his father’s death, his mother swore to hide the existence of magic from her children.  But none of the main character’s cousins are old enough and/or male enough, so… the main character will have to learn about magic whether she likes it or not.  Shenanigans ensue.

    Did you notice the  problem with the above opening summary?  If you noticed that I kept referring to all of my characters by using unwieldy noun phrases and relationship titles instead of names, you figured out the problem I didn’t realize I had until… ohh, 11:30 pm on October 31st.

    It’s all good now, though.  Most of the important characters have names, and… despite some bad news on the extended family front, I should be ready to rock and roll!

  • November is National Novel Writing Month

    It’s November, and that means National Novel Writing Month. For those of you who don’t know, NaNo is a writing contest where you try to write 50,000 words in a month.

    Most of the Confabulators participate in this contest every year, so our format for November switches from monthly flash fiction to weekly liveblogging our progress.

    So follow along with us this month as we all set off on the great writing adventure that is NaNoWriMo.

    Flash fiction will return in December.

    So, best of luck to you if you are participating in NaNo, and we’ll see you on the flip side!

  • Party at Pinehurst

    For the first time in three generations, Pinehurst Mansion felt vibrant and alive. The annual interfraternity council Halloween party packed the place with more students than a Psych 101 lecture hall. Sexy police officers danced with black and white striped prisoners. Vampires necked with mobsters, their plastic tommy guns forgotten in dark corners. A neon green liquid flowed liberally from a punch bowl bigger than a laundry basket.

    I swam drunkeningly through the ballroom floor, tripping over my own feet, hoping to find a bathroom or at the very least a rough equivalent. I had hoped that tonight I would finally profess my infatuation to Keri Wilson.  Elegantly, of course, with poetry, song, or one of the other sickenly sweet romantic devices that I had concocted. Instead, I got drunk and put it off for another day–the right day–I told myself. Some day when I didn’t need to find a place to puke. (more…)

  • Alexandra’s Halloween

    “Alexandra, wait. Where’s your hat?” Jean caught her arm as she tried to barrel out the door.

    The hat was big and floppy and it made her feel foolish, but her grandmother was so proud of it. Grudgingly she reached behind the sofa where it had “accidentally” fallen behind and plopped the thing on her head.

    Jean clasped her hands together with a great jingling of her jewelry. “You look perfect! Do you have your candy bag?”

    “Grandma, it’s a senior dance. I think we’re a bit old for trick or treating.”

    “Oh, yes, well, be safe then my young witch.” Grandma Jean stood back to admire her handiwork on the costume. She thought it was the grandest joke in the world for a Firestarter to be a witch on Halloween. Not too long ago most humans would have considered them witches, and if they had been especially unfortunate they would have met the hot end of a bonfire.

    “I’m always safe.” Alex gathered her long black skirt around her and shuffled to the door before Jean could give her any further warnings. But she wasn’t quick enough.

    “Not always.” (more…)

  • Beneath the Waves

    The boards of the pier were rough beneath her hands as she watched the sun sink lower, turning the water fiery red. Her hard mulled cider sat untouched by her hand, long since chilled by the evening air. A stiff breeze cut through the thin sweater she’d pulled over her sexy pirate costume. The wind brought with it the smell of the beachside bonfire and the raucous laughter of the revelers.

    “Hey—Emily, right?”

    Her feet jerked mid swing and she swore as she banged one against the post. She hadn’t heard his approach. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be alone right now.” (more…)

  • The Murder Cabin

    “Babe, how far is it again?” Peter asked, looking out the window as they turned onto another Missouri county road. Their two-car caravan would carve its way through rural Missouri from Oak Grove to Jeff City, then on to Salem.

    “About five hours,” Samara said.

    “Okay, well wake me up when we get to Jeff. I’ll drive from there if you want.”

    “I can also drive at some point if you need a break,” Jackie said. She was stretched out in the back seat and flipped through a magazine with her head propped on a pillow.

    “You guys just relax and sleep. I’d hate to put you out.” Samara said and laughed.

    “Aw you’re so sweet,” Peter said, digging in a duffel bag at his feet. “Hey, I made a playlist for the occasion.” He shoved the CD into the slot and smiled as “Holiday Road” started playing.

    #

    The last turn took them from a gravel road to dirt, and Peter sat up with wide eyes. “Where in the hell are we going?” (more…)

  • Secrets of Passages

    The door was stuck. Not the first time it’d happened to me but no less infuriating for it. There should have been an instruction card near to hand for the occasion so I thumbed on my flashlight app.

    The light popped on just above the bridge of my nose. I furrowed my brow so that the beam would be tighter. Less chance of it shining through the cracks around the door. I moved my head back and forth methodically.

    No card.

    Damn it, Boston. You’re crap at details.

    “It’s one of the Great Houses,” you told me. “That shit always works.”

    Not this time, apparently.

    I smooshed the the heel of my hand against my forehead to shut off the light. Now there was a chance this whole thing was some kind of trap. In the dark again, I ran my fingers up and down and around the frame. Along the top were two latches. Locked from the inside. I wondered who passed through here last and why there was a need to lock the door after.

    Some small effort was rewarded with both latches flipping open though neither wanted to. Rather than barging out, I listened for sounds of anyone near the other side of the door.

    Nothing.

    I pushed the door open a crack and waited. Still nothing. Deep breath, slow release and I went through.

    Nice hallway. I didn’t recognize the portraits on the wall opposite me. A quick glance left and right. I was alone in the hall.

    “Welcome.” A female voice. Nice. Quiet. Another voice and another until there was a mob of voices welcoming me. I was still alone in the hall. The dull red carpet, the white walls yellowing at the top, the brass sconces that needed dusting and the portraits were all the company I had.

    Of course, the portraits. The owner had infused the voices of the subjects into the house system. I supposed there’s a certain comfort in being surrounded by people you knew all the time. At least they’d never talk back.

    “Jimmy Cavanaugh,” a strong lady’s voice said. “I thought never to see you again.” (more…)

  • Harvest Party

    Hansen Calloway looks up from hammering the last electrical spike into the rich earth of his family’s cemetery to see the sultry, raven-haired Sarai Blackriver heft a bloody cow haunch over the stone fence. She blows him a kiss before disappearing into the nearby woods.

    “What the Hell?” Hansen calls after her. He is wondering how the tiny woman is even strong enough to lift that much cow when a shriek sounds overhead. Turkey vultures circle gracefully in the crisp autumn sky above him.

    Hansen’s normally open and friendly features contract into a lemon-sucking face. So that’s how she wants to play it. Tempting carrion birds to the Calloway family cemetery on Revival Day is dirty. But family feuds have no rules and the Calloway/Blackriver feud is old and bitter. (more…)

  • Birdie

    Birdie and her family left their home after the great cooling came. Food was scarce and they hadn’t been fed in so long. The light was fading. Once bright and white, it had turned a golden color that plants couldn’t seem to tolerate. Their leaves changed to a sickly yellow color and fell. The days were getting shorter. Soon there would be no light left at all.

    It wasn’t so much a decision to leave as, well, one day some of them started walking. The rest followed and they didn’t see any good reason to go back. There was no one around to stop them.

    They didn’t stop until they came to a great field of corn. The stalks grew taller than Birdie’s head. She looked up at the fading light through their leaves. It was the first time she’d seen green in what felt like forever. The leaves here were already tinged with yellow, though, and turning brown at the tips. Some of the stalks had fallen to the ground under the weight of the ripe cobs. It was the first food they’d seen since leaving home and her brothers and sisters stopped to gorge themselves. (more…)

  • October Stories at the Confabulator Cafe

    October is a wonderfully colorful and crispy time for writers to write. There are all sorts of associations with October and fall: pumpkin spice, sweaters, pie, haunted houses, Halloween, autumn leaves, death and decay, zombies, ghost, ghouls…ok, maybe that’s just us.

    This month, the Confabulators were asked to write about either fall and/or Halloween to fit with the mood of the season. Some of these stories might not be for the faint of heart.

    We hope you enjoy, and leave us feeling cozy and…haunted.

    New stories go live on Mondays and Thursdays this month. Here is the lineup. Don’t miss a day!

    Thursday, October 8: “Birdie” by Dianne Williams
    Monday, October 12: “Harvest Party” by Emily Mosher
    Thursday, October 15: “Secrets of Passages” by Jason Arnett
    Monday, October 19: “The Murder Cabin” by Sarah Bredeman
    Thursday, October 22: “Beneath the Waves” by Eliza Jaquays
    Monday, October 26: “Alexandria’s Halloween” by Anita C. Young
    Thursday, October 29: “Party at Pinehurst” by Jack Campbell, Jr.