Rejection? Pour Moi? C'est impossible!

Non.

C'est vraiment possible.

The fine folks at the 52/250 Flash have turned down another story of mine for entry into the marvelousness that is the Year of Flash. Not wishing to let my story go to waste, I present it here: "No Monsters", another 250 word story on the theme "broken shells".











I watched him running away from me, across the hard, wet sand, tiny lights on his sneakers illuminating each step. I had told his mother, with her black dress and red eyes, that Steven and I were "going to take a walk". I had to get out of there. She assented, probably because everyone in the house was afraid to say no to me. It helped her, too- with one less little head to track, the complex mathematics of mourning while watching kids would be made slightly simpler.

He never went far, always looking back at me for reassurance that I was watching him.

"Lookit," he said with a child's wonder. "Shells."

"Yes, buddy," I told him.

"They broken." The shells were fragments, chips and pieces scattered near the shoreline.

"Yes, they are."

"Who broke'em?"

"The water did, pal. I think. Unless it was a monster."

"Uncle," he said, frowning, "there are no monsters."

"You're right," I agreed. "It must have been the waves."

He ran a little further on, picking up a stick.

"Where Aunt Rachel?," he asked. My heart seized.

"She's not here, pal. She's gone."

"Why she gone?"

"She got sick. Her body was broken. Like the shells. Now she's gone."

"Who broke her?" Life did, I thought.

"I don't know, pal."

"No monsters," he said solemnly. He dropped the stick into the water at his feet.

"No," I agreed. "No monsters." I wished I believed him.

TED on advertising and marketing

I've become enamored with online videos again, specifically the TED talks, available for free at TED.com. Here is the latest one to catch my fancy, about advertising and marketing. 

Toss A Coin

Joe Posnanski on books and bookstores

The always marvelous Joe Posnanski , who writes about sports and wrote one of the best books I've ever read about Negro League star and baseball legend Buck O'Neil has a lovely piece up about bookstores, a part of modern life that seems to be fading away, and a part of modern life that I am inordinately, passionately fond of. Read it.




"Connection. That seems to be the thing that books can offer that is a little bit different from anything else ... a way to bridge that gap, a way to cut the space between us. Sometimes when I'm in a bookstore, I will see someone I don't know looking at a book I loved, and I want to run over and shout: "You don't know me but please buy that book! I don't know you, but if you are the kind of person I hope you will love it!"

Of course I don't ever do that. And nobody ever does that to me. Not even the person at the checkout counter."

100 Words: Obsessed by Twitter

This week, for Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge, I'm going a little different route. The word is "Obsession", and I searched Twitter for the word "Obsessed", and what follows is 100 Words of what people in the Twitterverse say they are obsessed with. This is going to skew young, and a little bit silly, of course, but I have curated and arranged it in a hopefully appealing way. All names are removed, of course. So what follows is a little capsule of this moment in time, inspired by Harper's magazine- 100 Words: Twitter is Obsessed With:

you
Justin Bieber
Phineas and Ferb
this dress
Jennifer Aniston
Taylor Swift
comparing football to baseball
the color red
the front seat of the car and the back seat of the bus
Ecco the Dolphin
ringtones for IPhone
avocados
babies
Jack's Mannequin t shirts
golden delicious apples
Twitter
Dancing On Ice
Randall nature videos
The Lion King
working out
fashion
money
extensions
boys
calling yourself the fat friend
their looks
quality of images
outlaw country
eBay
trucks
retweeting
eating crushed ice
guitar
straws
Sugarland
their phones
sneakers
Scott Pilgrim
the way he looks
the smell of new books
me

Friday Flash: When The Music's Over

This week's 52/250 Flash theme is "The Money's Gone". My story is called "When The Music's Over", and it can be found here

Surely there's some mistake

No, there's no mistake. And stop calling me Shirley.

The fine folks at 52/250 (52250flash.wordpress.com) graciously declined a story of mine- as is their right. It is their dojo, and I'm just a squirrel trying to get a nut. But so that it will live on, and not die in infamy, I will put the story here. The theme is "Broken Shells", and the title is "Won't Get Fooled Again".

I had missed her call- caught up in a basketball game, I had not heard my phone's silent summons. The message was incoherent- sobbing, broken up with an occasional clear word. He had hit her again. I was fumbling for my keys before the message had stopped playing, and I was already driving to her apartment when the message finally ended.

She had made me a key 3 weeks ago when I had to drive her home for the fourth time in one week. He never knew that I had it. I opened the door, hearing the TV blaring, David Caruso trying to solve another crime. She was laying on the couch, her head back, her eyes closed, utterly silent. She was beautiful- but she never let me call attention to her looks. I answered her calls because I liked her. And because I loved her, too.

She was naked, I noticed, under a fleece blanket. She wasn't making any of the sounds that sleeping people make- the snorts, the murmurs, the wheezes. On the table in front of her was a bottle of wine, three quarters empty, and a prescription bottle tipped on its side. There were empty halves of capsules on the table, along with traces of a white powder. I could see trails, like a finger had been dragged through the powder.

David Caruso spoke to us on the TV screen. "You don't have to pull the trigger to be the killer."

Four Balls For A Walk

The fine folks at You, Me, and Religion have published an interview with, well, me. Hard to imagine why, but it's there for your amusement and/or enlightenment.

***

It's been featured here a number of times, but Velvet Verbosity hosts the 100 Word Challenge, which is fun, educational, and could restore free breathing as fast as 15 seconds. You should give it a shot. It's fun.

***

I've told you Kelly is a force of nature to be reckoned with. Pieces like this prove my point.

***

Pitchers and Catchers have reported. It is spring, everybody.

100 Word Challenge: Yo, Iceman!

Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge, if applied liberally to stubborn driveway ice, will melt it in seconds.* This week's word is "engages", and my entry is called, strangely, "Yo, Iceman!," a joke that exactly one person, my wife, will get.





(* Offer not valid in time/space continua where ice contains frozen water)











You've heard the phrase "you had to be there"? It was one of those- something, probably heard on TV, engages something so deep in our brains that we were off and running. It started with a phrase and then we started riffing, like standup comedians trying to top one another, making the phrase more twisted and rococo with each recitation. It ended with us howling with laughter, tears coursing down our red cheeks, slapping thighs, abdomens aching. I remember things like that, and it's like she's still here. It's the only thing that makes me laugh.

What It Takes On A Friday

This week's theme is "password", and my 250 word story resides here

The Last Blog Post #LastBlog

Guy Kawasaki and Martin Lieberman, among others, have started a thing. This is called "Last Blog", and you are supposed to write your "Last Blog Post", a la Randy Pausch's "The Last Lecture"- a final blog post detailing how you want to be thought of/remembered. (By the by- if you haven't read, or at least listened to or watched, the Last Lecture, you need to. Like, now.) Maybe this isn't the best time to be posting on this topic, coming right after the previous one, but here goes:

The Last Blog Post

So, this is it, then. Running down the curtain. Bereft of life, may he rest in peace. Joined the Choir Invisible.

What have we learned? Or, what have I learned?

In order to not be verbose, let me boil it down to ten things. If you remember nothing else of me, remember these ten things:

1. Walks are important. Hits are nice. Hits get glory, and fame, and recognition, and praise. But walks are important. They keep the train running, and they keep the inning going, and they aren't outs. Sometimes, a walk is the best you can do- so just take it. Take what the defense gives you. Don't force it. You'll pop up.

2. Hold a baby whenever you get the chance. WHENEVER. Babies are excellent listeners, and they remind you how fucking fragile everything is. When you're holding a baby, you're not doing anything else.

3. Sit down. You may be walking or standing for a while. Always sit down when you can.

4. Taxes are the price you pay for living in a world with streets and police and fire departments and water and electricity. Shut up and pay them.

5. All politicians are liars. All of them. They take money from corporations and moneyed interests and do the bidding of those interests. Don't believe what any of them say. As my father used to say, "If Richard Nixon told me it was raining, I'd walk across the room and look out the window."

6. That being said, it's still a pretty good deal to be an American.

7. Call your parents. They have sacrificed more than you can possibly imagine until you have kids of your own. Call them.

8. It is almost always better to be honest.

9. A surprising amount of things are better in the abstract than the concrete. Like the outdoors, for example.

10. Keep the ball down and throw strikes.

Suicidal Tendencies

Suicide, or as the Bard called it, "self slaughter", seems to be a theme in my readings these days. There's Lori, who writes incredibly moving and emotionally real words about her attempts to cope with her husband's suicide. There's former Red Sox pitcher John Trautwein, who Dan Shaughnessy reveals is working to try and prevent teen suicide after losing his eldest son. And there's Papa, who saw his declining health and imagined declining skills and committed one of the most famous suicides in history.



There's this gentleman, of course, more recently a famous suicide. And it's not hard to find Kurt Vonnegut, the son of a suicide, talking about his life long habit of smoking Pall Malls as a "classy way to commit suicide". (Vonnegut attempted suicide, but died of natural causes, relatively speaking.)

There is a notion among the psychiatric community that talking about suicide means you are at imminent risk of doing yourself harm. Like all generalizations, this is partially true. Some people who talk about suicide eventually do so. Some people who eat sandwiches also commit suicide, so use generalizations with caution.

I don't think I'm in imminent danger of anything besides overeating. (And I'm nearly always in imminent danger of that.) I think we can talk about suicide without being in danger of doing it. I can't say I've never thought about it- I don't think any thinking person can honestly say they have never thought about it. I can't promise I will never think about it again, either.

But if you're reading this, and you're seriously considering this as an option, please go read Lori's blog. Pick up a Vonnegut book. Listen to a Nirvana song. Remember that the pain of those you leave behind (and there will be- you may feel alone, but I can guarantee you there is someone who will miss you) is unending and without surcease. Please think twice about it.

Lunch In A Flash!

This week's 52/250 Flash theme is "long distance", and my contribution is here.

100 Word Challenge: A Few Good Men

Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge, if properly appreciated, could probably end the turmoil in Egypt. This week's word is "honor", and my entry is called "A Few Good Men".










He watched Keifer Sutherland spit the words out in a thick Southern drawl.

"He died because he had no ON-NAAH."

Was that true, he wondered? Did you die from having no honor, from not having a set of maxims to live by?

Did you die because you sat in a tiny apartment, letting the phone ring, letting the mail pile up, drinking water from the faucet? He stared at the TV, playing the same old movie.

Did you die from having no rules, or from having too many?

He thought about that question, listening for pounding fists on the door.

I'm Not Usually The Guy Who Says, "Oh My God, You Have To Watch This", but...

Oh my God, you have to watch this!