The Confabulator Cafe

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  • Charming

    Woodcut Our true selves are often not known to us or anyone close to us. Sometimes it takes a stranger to show us what is in our heart, and where our destiny will take us.

    The King and Queen had no other children, so when I became of age it was decided that I must join the royal court.

    “Charles, come with me,” said the King one morning as I arrived in the hall for breakfast. He arose from his throne and ushered me to the balcony behind the thick velvet curtains. The morning was bright and warm, a beautiful spring day lay ahead. Despite the fair weather, a storm hung over my father’s countenance.

    “What is it, Father? Is something wrong?”

    “You are becoming a man, and it’s time for you to increase your studies … if you are to be king someday.”

    He told me this as if it was a great honor, but I saw it as a punishment. I had no interest in becoming a king. I knew well it would mean an end to my freedom, as the duties of my office as prince would consume every last hour of my day.

    (more…)

  • Dawn’s Curse (Flash Fiction)

    Sibylline Academy was a school for the cursed. Or at least, that’s what every student who attended the private high school thought. Most of the time, they were complaining about the strict rules and archaic practices. Some of us, however, actually were cursed. Okay, well, maybe just me. Or at least, that’s what I’d always been told growing up. That I was cursed.

    My mom had two older sisters. I know, I know, what do my mom’s older sisters have to do with my supposed curse? Well, I’m getting to that.

    My mom had two older sisters. Her oldest sister was smart, kind, and did absolutely everything perfectly on the first try. My mom was always considered to be funny, charming, and absolutely gorgeous. Then there was my Aunt Mallory, who had the unfortunate luck to be the middle sister. Her teachers always compared her to Aunt Camille, who effortlessly achieved straight A’s and the boys always favored my mom over her. Apparently Aunt Mal had a huge crush on my dad, but he fell in love with my mom and not her.

    So she cursed me when I was born. Yeah. My aunt’s a witch. Supposedly. (more…)

  • The Curse of the Elves

    Jenna frowned as her husband, Frank, shook his head. No, they would not have enough money to pay the rent. Again. It was their last warning. Eviction would follow, so they’d lose not only the butcher shop, but their apartment above, as well.

    What was a poor couple in the midst of a recession supposed to do?

    What she did not expect for him to do was to give away a still good – well, maybe not good, maybe more like questionable but still sellable – hunk of cured meat to one of the homeless guys begging out behind the shop.

    “Goddamn it, Frank. We could have at least used that to feed ourselves. What are we supposed to eat for dinner?”

    Frank sighed. “It’s better this way. I ate some of that same batch for lunch yesterday and it gave me the runs.”

    They took stock of their empty larder, and went to bed with only a cup of ramen between them.

    “We’ll have to close up shop tomorrow,” Frank sighed as they drifted off to sleep. Jenna bit back bitter tears. This is not what she had in mind when she’d left her first husband for Frank four years ago.

    (more…)

  • Cindy

    Charles woke up tangled in his blankets, head pounding. It was January 1st, the start of a New Year, and the previous night was mostly a blur. There was an office party, a bar brimming with booze, and a band whose bass was throbbing between his eyes as he sat up. One thing stood out in his wakening memories though: a girl, blonde and beautiful, wearing a pale blue shirt and tight jeans. Her smile drew Charles across the room, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her the rest of the night.

    He squeezed his temples, trying to pressure the throbbing pain into submission. He hadn’t paid any attention to how much drinking he did before midnight, enchanted by this girl, and after the ball dropped, well… he drank even more. He wasn’t sure how he even got home. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom where the Tylenol, glorious Tylenol, waited. Sitting on the toilet for several minutes, head in his hands, he tried to not think. He failed.

    (more…)

  • Clowning Around (Flash Fiction)

    Sometimes, when it’s quiet, I can remember what my life was like before the circus came to town.

    Don’t get me wrong. It sucked then too, but nobody had died yet, so there were advantages.

    Now I know you’re probably thinking, “Oh, God. Not another spooky carnival story.”

    Well it’s not. So shut up.

    I’m sick of that crap too. If this was one of those tales, I would’ve rolled over and died already rather than face the idea that I might have to write about it one day.

    I promise you, no carnivals.

    This is more of a creeper clown kind of thing.

    (more…)

  • Piper

    From Are You Afraid of the Dark
    From Are You Afraid of the Dark

    The first time Eddie told the piper to fuck off it was about a quarter to ten. We parked the car down the street. Eddie said there was a government conspiracy to wait outside of Mickey’s Bar for drunks, and he needed to throw off the cops. That meant a brisk walk through the biting January air. I didn’t want to carry my coat around all night, so I left it in the car. The north wind tore through me within a half a block. I hate the cold. I’ve been cursing my dad ever since he moved us here from southern California when I was ten. What sort of asshole moves his family from paradise to Kansas? My dad was that sort of asshole.

    Loads of panhandlers hung out on the street on Saturday nights. Drunk college kids with money in their pockets were easy marks. Eddie hated beggars even more than he hates people, in general.

    “Jesus Christ,” Eddie said. “The city is pulling a shelter out of my ass and these bastards have the nerve to ask for money?” (more…)

  • Upgrading the Grimms (Week of 20 January 2013)

    The Brothers Grimm spent a lot of time gathering tales from Europe during their lives and then publishing what they collected. Others did, too. These stories were told around fireplaces or to children at bedtime and were passed from one generation to the next. Traditional stories are lots of fun because they’re familiar. They can also become tired. We aim to solve that problem this week at the Cafe.

    Universally acknowledged by the regulars here a few weeks ago as one of the fun parts of the Cafe, our monthly confabulations this time take a classic turn. On special this week is each author’s take on a fairytale. Some may be obscure (there might even be a new one in there somewhere) and others will have that creeping sense of being cautionary. There will be sex, food, death, and certainly a villain or two.

    So we present our versions of fairytales for you to enjoy. Don’t get hung up on which tale it is, but see if you can spot what we’re saying about the times we live in.

    We take no responsibility, however, for last minute kisses from princes. And if you take a bite from that apple the witch is offering you, you’re on your own.

  • Ephemera – Is the genre you write different than the genre you like to read?

    This week you learned what genre the Confabulators write in and why. Most writers tend to write what they enjoy reading, but sometimes they write genres outside of what they enjoy reading – Michael Crichton probably read more non-fiction as research for his novels than he ever read science fiction, and it’s rumored that J.K Rowling doesn’t read fantasy, let alone young adult – so the question we posed to the Confabulators was whether there was a difference in what they wrote verses what they like to read.

    Paul Swearingen

    I write nearly all YA fiction, but I read across nearly all genres (well, no romance or erotica and very little fantasy aimed at female readers). I do read quite a bit of YA, but I tend to read more adventure/action/thrillers/mysteries by British writers – Dick Francis, Victor Canning, Geoffrey Household, Nevil Shute, Robert Harling, for starters.

    Ted Boone

    Nope. I read SF almost exclusively, and that’s all I write, for the most part. It’s the only fiction that interests me, whether consuming or creating.

    Sara Lundberg

    I read and write a wide range of genres. I’ve been writing mostly horror lately, and I enjoy reading fantasy, urban fantasy, horror, science fiction, short story, mystery, and a lot of non-fiction in various subjects. Most of those genres I’d never try to write myself, but I enjoy reading them and respect the writers who can write them well.

    Christie Holland

    Whatever I’m reading is dependent on what I’m doing at the time. If I’m not writing, I’ll read anything. Murder mysteries, cheesy romance novels, non-fiction, etc. You name it, I’ve probably read it. If I am writing, I like to read books from my genre. I use them for inspiration, to get past writer’s block, . Artists, of all types, make the best thieves. We steal everything.

    Jack Campbell, Jr.

    It should come as no surprise that a large portion of my personal  library is horror, transgressive, noir, and other dark genres. However, in addition to that, I read a lot of classics and literary fiction. Nick Hornby is one of my all-time, top-five favorite authors, and he keeps it pretty light. I enjoy science fiction, but for whatever reason, I don’t really write it. The novel I am writing, Heaven’s Edge, takes place in a science fiction setting, but is a noir story at heart.

  • I’ll Keep It Light, Thanks.

    I write in unrealistic genres — science fiction and urban fantasy being my favorites, though I’ve been playing with more traditional fantasy as well. I like a good touch of romance and bittersweet endings. What it comes down to is that there’s enough realism in real life, thank you very much.

    It sounds immature. In a way, it is. Reading is escapism, after all; for me, so is writing. I’m discovering my story just as much as the reader eventually will. It just takes me longer and not always in the right order. (Writers are a lot like The Doctor in that way. We’ll see the whole picture eventually, we just might end up starting in the middle.)

    Thing is, I’m not the wisest or most informed writer in the world. Not even on this blog. I’m not interested in tackling the big important social, political, and scientific questions of our age. I’m not going to be able to write one of those heavy, hard books. I’m going to leave that to better writers.

    I want to tell stories about people. I want to talk about technology that interests me.1 I want to write love stories that touch on my feminist interests. I want to write about the magic under the dark and gritty skin of a world that is in equal parts beautiful and cruel. Horror, suspense, thriller — shit, there’s already enough of all that in life. I don’t want it in my fiction too.

    This isn’t to say that I don’t let real world issues and concerns slip into my (optimistic) genre stories. It would be a flat world if I did. You need those little touches of realism when you reach for the fantastical — the reader needs to know where the ground is before you break it out from under them.

    And in some ways, writing from an optimistic angle is a way for me to filter my experiences, interests, and fears through a safe outlet. My fears of being economically abandoned certainly slipped into my NaNo novel, where an entire undesirable suburb(?) is physically cut off from the city that the citizens need to survive. DREAMING OF EDEN is colored by my thoughts on a false sense of bodily and social autonomy. My sky-pirate novel will (in theory) touch on parenting and religious institutions.2

    A writer can use any novel as a place to discuss (and even promote) ideas that they find important or interesting. The genre is the coating, the canvas to tell a story.

    1. Honestly, I wrote DREAMING OF EDEN at the same time I was falling in love with Linux, and it shows. Hoo, boy, my feelings on DRM and locked hardware are basically that whole novel.
    2. Not to be confused with religion itself. I don’t mind writing on matters of politics, but I’m not interested in touching matters of faith.

  • The Genre Protocol

     

    While I'm not as fluent as the average protocol droid, I am constantly stating my positions on channels that more people seem to be tuning in on.
    While I’m not as fluent as the average protocol droid, I am constantly stating my positions on channels that more people seem to be tuning in on.

    The witness will take the stand. Do you swear to tell the truth the whole truth, so help you God?

    I will.

    Please say “I do.”

    I do.

    Be seated. Mr. Arnett you’re testifying today about your preferred genre. Do you understand your rights as they have been explained to you?

    Thank you, your honor. I do.

    The prosecutor approaches the witness box. He’s older than me, his hair grayer, and he’s clean-shaven. Respectable-looking. Good suit.

    Mr. Arnett – I understand you consider yourself a — Science Fiction writer. Is that true?

    Yes.

    And why is that?

    The prosecutor is prancing back and forth in front of me like he’s on TV or something. I can see him puffing his chest up and out for the benefit of the jury. He seems to be making a lot of eye contact with the forewoman. She’s definitely hot, not my type but she’s good-looking.

    I guess it’s probably because I grew up watching TV like The Six Million Dollar Man, Time Tunnel, and Star Trek. Going to movies like Star Wars and special matinees of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I read a lot of SF, too. Heinlein, Asimov, and the like. Lots of Twilight Zone reruns, too. (more…)