An exciting day, as I launch the Hobson & Choi Podcast! Admittedly, not with full iTunes/RSS bells and whistles, due to technical problems that are dull. Hopefully they’ll be with you soon.
However, I didn’t want to disappoint after promising a Sunday launch, so episode one is up now on Mixcloud.
Picture the scene, if you will. I was at Latitude festival last weekend – evidence of attendance visible to your right – and arrived early for a talk in the literature tent. The previous speaker was still going. We had been sleeping in a tent and were quite tired (I pray thee cry us a river), so my girlfriend did the only sane thing under the circumstances and lay down on the floor, instantly falling asleep.
However I am a sleep-masochist, so stayed awake on the nice carpeted floor and listened to this man talk. And as I processed his words, something stirred within me. After some soul-searching introspection, I realised it wasn’t exhaustion or my lunch, but an idea. Not just a small idea either, a large one that I could write a fair bit of stuff on. Hell, this might even be another novel idea.
I already have one book I’m writing, another I’m sending out to people, yet another I might write next, and of course my detective serial Hobson & Choi continuing on top of all of that.
So, much as I enjoy a bit of inspiration, there comes a time when it all gets a bit much, and I think we’re nearly there.
Nothing personal, Shiny New Book Idea, you have a lot of potential, but I don’t want to start going off my current projects because I’m two or three items down the line in my mind. I have to keep myself grounded, focused and staying in the present, or I’ll never achieve anything. I’m already not doing that good a job of sending out my finished novel, because it’s just more fun to focus on the exciting creative process of writing new stuff.
Not sure what the solution is to this. Sell my new idea to someone else? Quit my day job, so I might actually have time to write everything I want to write? Work faster and stop typing ponderous blog posts when I could be churning out fiction? Spend less time on Twitter? Stop doing as much lurking on internet comics forums?
Yeah, let’s not get too crazy. But still, I need to lock the brilliant new idea away in its box for now, before it destroys the genuinely productive creative process I’ve built over the last few months. I’ve got nearly a third of the new novel done, I think it isn’t too shit, Hobson & Choi seems to be doing quite well, let’s not rock the boat, or indeed soak the tent with water up and down the walls. And, you know, there are worse things in life than having ideas, really.
So, end of the day, I’ve taken notes, so the brilliant new idea won’t slip away from me, and you never know, I may even get to write a few words of it by 2015. It saddens me that I’m already thinking that far ahead, but such is the slipping away of life.
Although the guy whose talk inspired me was an astrologer for the Daily Mail, so maybe it’s best this stays at the bottom of the to-do list.
Today is National Flash Fiction Day, and I thought I’d whip up a story.
So, below is my effort for 2013 – a superhero story, because that seemed to be where my head was at today. If you want to see some other flash work by me, I’ve included some links underneath the new story.
Lewis clipped the cape to his shoulders, placed the tiny domino mask over his eyes – it probably didn’t hide his identity much, but sure looked good – and opened his window wide. It was his first night out on patrol since graduating from Fire-Man’s Academy For Superpowered Youth, and he was so excited about finally being a proper superhero.
He scampered over the rooftop, hair blowing in the breeze, and ran up to the gap between buildings. With practised confidence, Lewis jumped. The extra energy within his muscles, amping up his every movement, pushed him further than any normal human could go. He wasn’t a student, apprentice or sidekick anymore – he was The Extraordinary Man.
Yes, it was cheesy, and yes, at eighteen years old he was at the younger edge of the “Man” scale, but legally it was fine. He’d done it. He’d arrived as a superhero now, he could feel it as his boots thudded down onto the next roof, collecting dust and filth
.It was about ten at night, and people were milling about in the street below, going about their business. The Extraordinary Man dashed to the edge of the rooftop, just like they’d taught him in class, and perched, dramatically and visibly, to let the citizens feel protected, make sure any nearby evildoers knew not to try anything.
That done, he made another leap to the next rooftop, feeling older than he ever had. Before he could consider his next move, though, he heard a yell of panic – a young man shouted from the next alley over. The Extraordinary Man paced over, knowing what he’d see before he even looked.
Sure enough, a group of scary guys in hoodies were chasing the victim down, shouting for him to give up his wallet. All of a sudden, The Extraordinary Man’s legs froze up, and he locked in place. Lewis stared, feeling his skin move beneath the mask, imagining the crash of their fists on his cheekbones, and finally, he pulled out his mobile and called the police.
Then, eyes still wide, he dashed back the way he came. One step at a time, he told himself. He was still closer to being a superhero than two hours ago.
Some of my best received other flash work includes…
In general, you can find my flash stories under this category. Read to your heart’s content.
This week’s Friday Flash is not really a direct sequel to the terrible 90s virtual reality movies, but does involve a man and a lawnmower. It’s also quite short, because I didn’t think it needed to be longer.
As ever, more Friday Flash available at the Friday Flash website.
“Honey, I’m just off to mow the lawn!”
“Phil, wait!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Ellie says she doesn’t want you to hurt the grass.”
“Hurt it?”
“Cut it down.”
“Okay, well, it’s seven at night, she’ll be asleep soon enough.”
“She might hear the lawnmower though.”
“Mandy, she’ll have to learn about grass decapitation eventually.”
“You could use the secateurs?”
“If you want the lawn cut one strand at a time, Amanda, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
“How about the electric carving knife? It’s like a tiny chainsaw!”
“… Actually, that does sound like fun.”
“You could pretend to be a miniature lumberjack!”
“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”
Another week, and this time, we’re off to Subway. This one wrote itself, and is probably odd, but I was happy with the tone.
More Friday Flashes on the Friday Flash site.
Steve and Yam were having a Subway. After the Subway, they were probably going to hit the pub. After a few equalising pints, maybe a game of pool, then home. It was six o’clock on a Thursday.
“What did y’think of the girl serving?” said Steve, jabbing his thumb at the sandwich area.
“Alright,” said Yam. He’d stared at her so hard whilst queuing for his dinner, he didn’t need to look round again.
“Better than alright,” Steve decided he did need another look, “I reckon.”
And then she looked up at him, and Steve quickly went back to looking at the sub.
“Maybe,” said Yam, pretending he hadn’t noticed that.Before either of them could finish their mouthful and speak again, the door slid open and a kid stormed in. Well, a young person, in a beanie hat and a big jacket. There were a few other people in the sandwich shop, and all of them turned around to look at the kid, including Steve and Yam.
He looked like he was talking to himself at first, pretty angrily, and the entire sandwich-buying public inspected his body as one, until they satisfied themselves that he was wearing a handsfree kit. But even though he had someone to talk to, he was getting weirdly agitated. “I don’t want to,” he’d say, before waiting a few seconds, then saying “No, you ain’t listening, I don’t want to! I just don’t!”
He got into the short line for a sandwich, insisting more of the same. He looked up briefly to say: “Yeah, footlong wheat bread, ham, no salad,” then went straight back to protesting down his in-line mike.
Not once did his eyes linger on the hotness of the girl behind the counter, Steve and Yam noticed that and exchanged glances.
“For fuck’s sake, I said I don’t want to, how many fucking times?”
He handed over his money for the sandwich, without looking up or saying anything, taking the change with a nod.
“Look, I seriously don’t want to, okay?”
The kid took a tall plastic table, a few across from Steve and Yam. They both watched him for a while, as he trotted out his unwillingness a few more times, but they eventually decided it was safe to turn their eyes back to each other.
“So, what do y’think?” said Steve. “Psycho?
”“Maybe someone wants him to go to Lloyds on the high street?” offered Yam.
“True facts, mate. That place is a shithole,” agreed Steve, who once slipped over on a wine puddle there and kicked his then-girlfriend in the crotch very hard.
“Or he just doesn’t wanna go back to whoever’s at home.” Yam pondered.
Steve slapped Yam around the head. “Come on, he’s too young for that.”
Yam glared at him, then back at the girl behind the counter. Then at the kid again.
“Look, please, I really don’t want to, can’t you just leave it?” His voice had dropped very quiet, Yam had to strain to catch that last one.
Yam took another look at Steve, then sucked the last few drops out of his drink. “Yeah, do you want to head down the pub? If we don’t get down there now, some prick will probably swipe our table.”
“Sure you don’t want to swoop in and give that kid a cuddle?”
“Sure I’m sure.” Yam said, and he really didn’t want to. They left Subway, and he beat Steve 4-2 at pool, then feel a bit better. He made sure to drink enough to put him to sleep.
SEQUEL UPDATE: Well, sorta. Fellow Friday Flash writer Kath Kerr has written her take on the other side of the kid’s phone conversation.
Always interesting to see someone else’s take, and also, does this count as my first fanfiction? Pretty cool either way, check it out.
This actually started as a nice Easter story about rebirth and stuff, although it seems to have changed since then. Never mind, at least it still has some mild science-fiction.
As ever, more Friday stories available on the FridayFlash website, and if you’ve enjoyed this piece, why not read my comedy-detective serial, which has a lot more jokes.
Anna was expecting drops of moisture inside the tube, but it was dry as a bone. Not that she’d ever touched a real skeleton, and soon she wouldn’t be able to feel her own. Or would she?
“So,” she finally muttered to Liam, “I guess this is it.”
“Yeah.” He was hanging back at the door, watching the tube nervously, as if he thought it would freeze him too if he came near. “I guess.”
“Come in, Liam.”
He glanced at the doorframe, as if checking for traps, and finally stepped towards her. There were six of the glass pillars in the room, four occupied and one open for Anna. The final tube was dead, not humming or lit up. Everything in here was so clean, and why? She’d be frozen solid, surely germs wouldn’t affect her?
After all, if cryo-stored people could still get sicker, why was she doing any of this?
Liam had finally reached her now, having made a two metre walk last as long as possible. And she duly collapsed into him, despite promising herself she wouldn’t make a scene – maybe she should’ve let him stay over there after all. Now she’d just embarrass herself in front of the six CCTV cameras.
“It’ll be fine,” he nodded. “They’ll find a cure and wake you up. The guy says it’s only a year or two away.”
She nodded her head against his shoulder without saying anything. Finally, she pulled away. Apparently she was going to compensate for the dry cryogenic freezing tube by moistening her own face. “And you can get me out of here whenever they’re ready.”
Liam sighed. “What if it takes longer than they think and I’m old?”
He looked really stricken by this possibility, so much she just laughed. “You’ll be able to show off your much younger girlfriend to the other wrinklies, it’ll be fine.”
“Mm.” He didn’t laugh.
And neither of them had time to say anything else, before the intercom on the wall binged a sharp noise, then hissed out a message: “Miss Parnes, please enter unit #3432E.”
Like many public announcements, it was sitting right on the line between human and automated robot, Anna cocked her head for a moment as she thought about which it was. There had been a quiver of annoyance in there which betrayed it as a real guy, she suspected, a bored jobsworth watching the CCTV, rolling his eyes and muttering at her to stop making small talk with her boyfriend and get in the damn tube.
“Okay, I guess it’s time to chill.” She gestured at the tube and forced out a smile, without making any movement towards it.
“Yeah.” Liam glared at a camera, seeming angrier than she was with the snotty nature of that announcement, but rightly didn’t waste their last few minutes together bitching about it. He was a practical guy, and she liked that. After all, she was being pretty sensible right now herself.
And it wasn’t really their last minutes together, after all, because she’d wake up.
“What if I just miss you?” Liam’s eyes slid back onto her. “How long do I wait for that?”
“They can’t re-freeze me,” she sighed, “so a while.”
“Yeah.”
The intercom binged again, but before it could utter a single passive-aggressive syllable, Liam looked straight into the camera above his head and told it to “kindly fuck off”. She almost didn’t jump on him and kiss him, until she remembered she might not get to do it again for a decade or two.
Then again, she thought, as she pulled away from him, that decade wouldn’t seem like any time at all to her. What a horrible selfish thought.
“Love you,” she added, mostly because she meant it and not just to compensate for that.
“Love you too,” he nodded back, with a amusingly inadequate small wave. And then, deciding that was a good note to finish on, she finally stepped inside the strange, dry glass tube.
She might feel a slight shock, apparently, as the cold took effect. The door hummed shut, and she suddenly realised something.
“Liam,” she said, pressing herself against the near-soundproof glass, “wake me, okay? Eventually, before it’s too late, even if they don’t cure… I don’t want…”
And then the cold came and Anna’s mind jumped out of her skin.