Sunday, December 2, 2012

Six Sentence Sunday: "The Occasional Beast That Is Her Soul."

Yes, time for me to catch up a bit.  There's been a couple stories published the last two months, an interview, and I even wrote some ad copy for a music release.  Amongst other stuff.  That other stuff being, lots of writing.  September saw the three week blur to completion of my novelette and probable title story for a collection, "Autumn In The Abyss." 14,000 words of true madness, all in search of whatever happened to poet, Henry Coronado.  It's a psychological funhouse, and unquestionably one of my best, at least by my estimation.  Last month, a shorter piece called, "Louder, Faster..." written after going to a metal concert and taking it all in and letting my brain run with it.  I enjoy writing fiction with a music slant.  Music plays a big part in my life, so why shouldn't it in my creativity, eh?  And just recently, I completed a short story called, "This Darkness..." (yes, the dreaded ellipses make appearances in both the last two titles, haha, though an  editor may rein in the second one, but for now...), another story I would qualify as one of my best.  A real excursion into darkness, but this darkness is sentient, sadistic...and hungry.  This was for the upcoming, For the Night is Dark anthology from a fairly new publisher, Crystal Lake.  On FB they had posted a great cover and asked interested writers to get in touch with them.  I did and joined an excellent TOC already taking shape.  I am really looking forward to this one.  Along with all of this, there's some other pieces in progress, the main one looking to be a short story called, "The Beautiful," which steps away from the tonal quality of the last two pieces that almost seem related, though they're not, they're quite different; I just noticed a similar feel, tonal quality, something...what-have-you.  "The Beautiful" is shaping up to be quite possibly my strangest piece ever, because of some elements I can't even let on about yet, primarily dealing with a main character who is quite...different.

As I say, Busy is Good!

So, now, catching up with a six sentence Sunday snippet from my story, "The Occasional Beast That Is Her Soul."  It's one of two unrelated shapeshifter tales I wrote back to back, the other being "Blood Echo Symphonies," up at the Freezine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. The initial idea for "Occasional..." was to put it in a steampunk world.  I wanted to experiment with that, but as I look at it now, those trimmings were barely acknowledged.  It is slightly futuristic, though any steampunk aspirations are slim at best.  At least that's my take.  Perhaps you would have a different take.  Nonetheless, both stories, the other one being in a slightly futuristic world amidst rock 'n' roll and love and sex gone sideways, allowed me to experiment with shapeshifters, something I'd never really done.  I was inspired by something fellow writer Zoe Whitten had written a couple years ago, kind of her guidelines to shapeshifters, something of that nature, and thought, sure, let's see what happens.  I can see experimenting more with the idea, because shapeshifters have so many possibilities, depending on how you come at them in a story.  And you know me, always into the possibilities...

So, here's the brief opening sequence, a bit more than six sentences, but enough to perhaps set the table and pique your interest to buy a copy of White Cat Magazine.

Enjoy!  Oh, and I did not see the edits to the story yet, should be receiving my copy soon, so it might be different than this, but shouldn't be too much.  Perhaps they got rid of my friends the ellipses. 


     Tonight she wished for wings.

     Thea at the window, wishing for something more than the wayward enticements of this earth, or the fickle fantasies that roosted glumly in the minds of her potential partners.

     Tonight there will be wings…

     It was not the first time Thea had nurtured this thought.  With the malleable condition of her body as shaped by the emotional resonance within her psyche, wings would be a much better transmutation than what has transpired so far; than what she always has become: a beast of ill intent...

     Talons to tear into the meat of her lover.

     Pincers to pluck out the cooling gray matter from the bowl of the cranium she had cracked as one would an egg, red runny yolk staining the carpet.

     Wings would be her only means of escape this evening, the dizzying height demanding something different.  Always running from something, maybe flight would bring her freedom.  But wings had failed her before, bony stubs along the parchment expanse of flesh so thin the wind tore from them the ability to glide along the invisible ether byways above everything.

     They would have to be strong wings, she thought, then frowned, a shifting of flesh with which she had actual control.

     Because her control was as much driven by shock and panic as by wish-fulfillment.  Shock and panic and the wayward imagination of her lovers, as muddled by that which resided within her.

     She had rarely become something more than the occasional beast that is her soul.  


Hmmmm, curious?  I quite like this story.  Where it ends up might just take your breath away; or at least make you go, ohhhhhhhh!  Or something, anything, but you won't know unless you pick up the magazine, so please do.

As for more catching up, next blog, and it won't be as long between them, I'll probably deal with another recently published story, "The Misfits Of Mayhem Meet Their Match."

See ya sooner than later.