Rafters (Flash Fiction)

Previously published in November of 2016 with The Violet Hour Press.

Maxine never looked up. They were hiding in the rafters.

In the mornings, she would find reels of rotten, grey skin on the stone floor near the edge of her bed. They watched her while she slept. She would wake up in the middle of the night and find fingers twisted in her hair. Their nails felt like knives, taking large swatches of her hair with them as they ran and giggled. Sometimes, she would find a discarded ring finger on her pillow, nail black and infected.

She never opened her eyes when she woke up in the night. Her nightmares told her what they looked like. Their eyes dark pinpricks and knotted hair tangled around impossibly long fingers. The nightmares showed her what they were. She didn’t need to look. Continue reading “Rafters (Flash Fiction)”

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Realistic Endings

I don’t like nice endings, not in my fiction anyways. I hate the whole ‘hero gets the girl despite all odds’ and ‘good guys always win’. Well, I hate it when it’s a constant. What I look for in a story: a good, solid, and entirely realistic ending.

If there’s a war and my main hero is throwing himself headlong into the fight, he better get scarred and he better lose a buddy or six along the way. He better be emotionally traumatized for life. On the flip side, if my hero ‘dies’ he better not come back (thank you action movies for ruining every dramatic moment ever).

When I read a story, watch a movie, or write a story, I want my ending to make sense and be as real as possible. Deal with the devil? Of course there’s going to be some nasty consequences and buddy boy who made the contract won’t feel nice about it afterwards. My horror stories don’t end with a pretty rescue. They may not always end in death (though they most often do), but there’s something left afterwards.

Clearly, this isn’t for everyone. I don’t expect it to be. But it’s what I like and what I prefer. Here’s why:

Continue reading “Realistic Endings”

Don’t Forget to Recharge

First off: Special Announcement! My sci-fi short, “Glitch”, has been accepted for publication! It should be out sometime in June, so more information as it comes.

Haha, so this comes from to you because of one thing: I recently went on vacation and saw the ocean for the very first time. I’ve never been before and was presented with the opportunity, so I took it. And damn guys, it was great.

Which leads us quite nicely into today’s topic. I’ve noticed that I constantly forget to let myself recharge. Both physically and mentally. I’m constantly pushing myself to get more things done and stressing myself out. Let me tell you right now, this isn’t a good way to live. One should always make time to recharge, especially as a creative writer.

Continue reading “Don’t Forget to Recharge”

Becoming Me: Know Before You Read

We is scared of Them. Sometimes, We turns into Them. We toss the turning ones from the nest, throw them out as they grow cold. They will destroy us. So We are terrified. We are always scared of something.
And sometimes, when We is sleeping, I think of Me and I am not scared. 

Becoming Me is a flash fiction piece that needs to be read to be understood. It is a literary tale that examines collectivism and individualism while being entirely surreal. Read for free here.

Alternative Story Telling

First thing I want to do here is clarify what I mean by alternative storytelling in this context. For today’s discussion, I mean medium that is not writing. Examples: film, video games, photography. I’ll be doing a post about alternative storytelling in fiction at a later date.

Now that we have that cleared up, allow me to rant.

I recently became obsessed with a visual novel on my PlayStation Vita. Novel in question? Here’s the trailer.  The basic story of the game: you play as a young woman named Cardia. She has a poison in her veins that makes it absolutely impossible for her to touch anything else or she’ll melt them. Even her clothing needs to be doused in a special chemical to prevent them from melting. While she’s about to be kidnapped by the government, a thief named Lupin steals her away. And so begins her adventure to cure the poison in her veins and find her father. Also, romance. There are five different romance options in the game, each of them exploring an entirely different alternative future for these characters. If you play all five (and trust me, I did), you’ll end up linking all of the potential futures and discovering some really interesting tidbits about the world.
Continue reading “Alternative Story Telling”

February Writing Challenge Week 2

This week was not as productive as I hoped it was going to be. Honestly, I was rather disappointed with myself. Despite that, I got some material to work with and I’ve got some stories down. The point of this is to write, and I’ve been writing. So that, in itself, is a success.

Even though I didn’t do the best that I wanted to do when it came to writing my own stories, I was able to get a ton of critting done on Scrib (probably my favourite writing community of all time) and revise one of my older shorts. I’m hoping to binge submit a couple of my stockpiled stories by the end of this month.

Oh! And one of my little flash fiction pieces ‘came out’. Becoming Me is a piece I personally fell in love with. It’s a literary flash fiction piece, my little odd ball baby, and I love it. Anyways! Results for my challenge this week:

Continue reading “February Writing Challenge Week 2”

February Writing Challenge Week 1

Long time since I’ve updated! Unfortunately, I’ve been stupid busy with work and everything like that. So I decided to pile more busy on top of it all! Because, never enough busy. Anyways, to today’s topic:

I’m one of those writers who has a little notebook I take with me everywhere. In this little notebook I have dialogue snippets, story ideas, titles, that sort of thing. Reason being: I’m not always in a place that I can write and I don’t always remember the little bits and bobs that I would love to write about or that inspire me.

So this book has become a saviour of a sort because it stores all of these random little tidbits that I haven’t used.

Here’s where the problem comes in. I have so many short stories I’m in the process of finishing and editing, plus the first draft of my novel, that I never get around to enacting these ideas.

Hence the birth of the February Writing Challenge. I’m going to write an entire (or as much as possible) short story every day for the entire month. Will I die? Possibly. But it wil get done to the best of my abilities. For the entire month of February, my blog is going to be focused on this challenge. So you’ll get weekly thoughts, feelings, and updates as to whether or not I’m failing or succeeding this challenge. Woot woot!

Continue reading “February Writing Challenge Week 1”

How Fickle Love Is (Flash Fiction)

She was made of circuitry and metal sheets. Each smooth plane of skin marred by the gentle swell and bubble of a weld. Oil glistened between each joint, her arms folded around my neck and she pressed silicone lips against mine. If I ignored the exposed wires on her fingertips sending shocks up my spine, I could pretend she was real. The coolness of her metal skin, coloured like flesh with strips of long-lasting paint, was something I could also ignore.

I wanted to name her, something soft and gentle. Something that would drip from my tongue and trickle down her chest. But I didn’t. She told me she was made to service me, not love me. Her hands dragged electricity down my chest, to the waistband of my pants.

I was looking for love. She wasn’t. I don’t think she understood what love was.

Delilah sounded soft enough for her. It matched her delicate intricacy. Her panels of chipped metal flesh overlapped like petals. As flecks of paint peeled, I could see the thousands of colours she had been painted before to match the desires of some John.

But I owned her now. She didn’t need to worry about a thousand paint jobs or unsanitary homes and hands.

“I think I love you.” I whispered against her perfectly dimpled chin. I eased my breath down her neck, felt the rough edges on my tongue.

She laughed, clutched my hair in her fingers and arched her back.

It happened every night, my half admission and her frail refusal. A metallic tinge to my tongue as I wished for more than physical pleasure. But she was a mess of circuits and wires painted like a perfect doll and I was a mass of flesh and blood with thousands of imperfections. I could spend years whispering my love into her molded ear and she would never hear my words.

It just wasn’t meant to be. My wants didn’t matter; my physical needs was the only things she understood. And every night I would hide away my emotions, wrap my arms around her cold, misunderstanding waist, and kiss fake lips with the hope she would understand my frantic passion.

She never did, her back arching in pleasure as my palms traced the welds along her hips and the inside of her thighs. Delilah, a flower sprayed pale pink and speckled with silver underneath all the layers. I traced each inch of her, felt her repeat my motions with her sparking fingertips.

I could pleasure myself with her all I wanted, but it would never be what I needed until she responded to her name and let me love her. I had never been this intimate yet so far away.

She curled against me, cheek against my chest. Her skin cooled my sweat. I brushed a lock of hair back behind a perfectly rounded ear. My delicate flower, one that would rust in the rain and never breathe.

Funny, how fickle love could be.

Real Doll: Know Before You Read

Jack is disgusting, twisted and terrible. He’s spent years wondering what it would be like to have sex with a dead woman and he knows it’s wrong. This isn’t something he should want, ever. But he does, he wants to try it at least once. It’s gotten to the point that he’s even tried roleplaying with his wife. Which, safe to say, didn’t end well. 

So he spends hours in his office instead, dreaming about what it would be like and fueling his desire even more. Jack can’t help what he’s turned on by, no one can help that sort of thing. 

Honestly, what’s wrong with a little bit of fantasy? It’s not like Jack would kill a woman to get what he needs.

Real Doll is a horror flash fiction piece written by George Spisak and featured in The Literary Hatchet. Grotesque and haunting, this tale isn’t for the faint of heart. It is a gritty look at the darkest pieces of humanity. Not every person is human.

Download the free PDF copy here or purchase a physical copy here. 

Writing to be Read

So a few weeks ago I covered the topic of writing to write and how a writer shouldn’t give up and the rough patches that can happen while working on the skill that is writing (you can read that post here). In that post, I mentioned how writers also write to be read.

Hold onto your seat, because we’re diving straight into that bucket of worms today.

I love writing. I absolutely adore it with a passion. But that does not mean I want to spend the rest of my life writing privately to myself. Sure, there are certain projects that won’t see the light of day. Certain projects that are much too personal for my comfort. There are going to be many projects like that over the years, that’s normal. Perhaps, in the future, they’ll see the light of day.

But we’re talking about the now, and the now is what we’re concerned about.

Writers can’t bottle their work away and be satisfied that it has been completed. There’s a huge part of us that is absolutely begging for someone to read and comment on it, someone to tell us that we did our job as a writer and hit them right in the feels. With a sack of hammers and a glass bottle of nails.

Don’t literally do that. This is writing, it’s all figurative.

That feedback though, that’s what a writer craves. Even if it’s a simple “Wow, I really liked this!” it can give a writer the motivation to keep writing for months. It doesn’t seem like much, but pointing out a chunk of dialogue that grabbed you or a character that makes you laugh means absolutely everything to the writer. So find a little writer near you and tell them that they need to keep writing because you’re there, quietly rooting for them to get published or get a favourite or a star or kudos for their piece posted online. You, as a fellow reader or writer, are completely in control of helping another writer out.

We all want to be read, we just need to know someone out there is reading.