24/7

Mote’s posting about 24/7 got me interested in trying it out. The goal is to write daily for the first 24 days of August and then spend the last seven days revising several of your works. The formats are tweets for twitter, poetry (8 lines or fewer), micro fiction, flash fiction, and prose poetry of under 100 words.

So I joined late, and thought I’d share my efforts here as well as on the blog I tend to ignore more than I should.

August 1 was a tweet: 

Beginnings

Beginnings are always fraught with potential and fear. What wondrous thing might I accomplish? How badly might I fail?

August 2 was a poem:

Life Changes

Life changes

come at you at the most unexpected times

bringing shivers of anticipation

and shivers of anxiety

where to go next and who to be

what interests to pursue and which to set aside

what friends to cling to and which to let go

and embrace the change that is the only constant in life

August 3 is micro fiction horror.

The Last Dance

In the city, bodies lay in the streets, stinking in the heat. Rats and seagulls feasted. The source of the plague no longer mattered. Treatment, vaccinations no longer mattered. Humankind no longer mattered. So few survived.

He danced on the rooftop. Music soared from speakers dragged up from his apartment, lifting his spirit, lifting his body. He leapt and spun, balletic, graceful. Sunlight sparkled on the river, glinted from windows, dazzled his eyes. Still he danced. Tears slid unheeded down his cheeks.

The parapet drew near. He cried aloud and leapt once more. Up and over. And down.

REVISED VERSION

Mote suggested switching the first and second paragraphs, which I have done in my blog, and that is the version I have sent out as a submission to a magazine that publishes horror and is looking for microfiction. Here is the revision. I think it’s more powerful. Thank you, Mote.

He danced on the rooftop. Music soared from speakers dragged up from his apartment, lifting his spirit, lifting his body. He leapt and spun, balletic, graceful. Sunlight sparkled on the river, glinted from windows, dazzled his eyes. Still he danced. Tears slid unheeded down his cheeks.

In the city, bodies lay in the streets, stinking in the heat. Rats and seagulls feasted. The source of the plague no longer mattered. Treatment, vaccinations no longer mattered. Humankind no longer mattered. So few survived.

The parapet drew near. He cried aloud and leapt once more. Up and over. And down.

***

Let me know what you think.

On an unrelated front, there is going to be a science fiction/fantasy/comic convention in Halifax this year. My daughter brought me the flyer for it (I believe at knittingwomantoo’s urging–my daughter spent the weekend with this old and dear friend), and I went online, saw they were looking for volunteers, and sent off my application. Their response was "You sound like a good fit." I’m delighted. I haven’t been to a con in years and years, and the guests this year include Walter Koenig and Denise Crosby, among others. I’m looking forward to it very much. Life is certainly opening interesting doors, isn’t it?