Flash Fiction

This is a short flash fiction I wrote about a year ago and just found in a notebook.

Rick carried his plate of meatloaf and pasta toward his table. The silverware clenched in his right hand beneath the plate made clinking sounds as he walked. Rick put his glass of chocolate milk down on the table first and then his plate and silverware. 
"Hey," Rick said as he sat down.
"What's up?" Jason said. 
"Nothing man, just glad this week's almost over. It's been a bear. You comin out with us tonight?"
"Yeah, I guess. I mean it - SHIT!" Jason's eyebrows lifted higher than Rick thought they ever could. 
"What the hell, man?" he said. 
"I think I just saw a bear outside the window." Rick's voice was serious. 
"You saw a what, where?" Rick flipped around in his seat. This was going to be one of those stupid, "made you look" sort of things, he could tell. But Jason had sounded so shocked that maybe just maybe - Rick felt his own eyes widen. The hinge of his jaw opened just enough for the bottom of his face to hang. It really was a live, freaking bear!
Rick leapt out of his seat and cringed at the sudden shrieking in the room. Other people had seen it, too. At least that meant he wasn't crazy. But it also meant he could become bear chow any second. Suddenly, Rick was being jabbed with elbows and assaulted by the screaming. 
Somebody shoved him into the table until his solar plexus met with wood and he slammed his face into the plate of meatloaf. Someone grabbed his shoulder and used the leverage to climb on top of his back. Rick screamed as three of his ribs cracked. He could hear neither his own scream nor that snapping pop ribs made upon breaking.  
Rick coughed, trying to pull some air into his lungs. He looked down. He didn't remember putting ketchup on his meatloaf. The thought was torn away as someone drove a spiked heel in between the tiny bones in his wrist. Rick could no longer feel his legs. The table began moving, pitching sideways. Rick tried to blink and focus on the dark cherry wood. He could no longer hear any screaming or see anything other than a small knot in the top of the table. His eyes blinked closed and refused to be reopened. 

The Result of Bribing my Muse

So, as I said this afternoon, it was time to bribe the Muse again by writing some Creative Non-Fiction. - Here it is.

Lobbing Lobsters at Red Lobster

You would think that a woman allergic to seafood would avoid going to a place which specializes in shell fish. Well, my mother is not one of those women. Allow her body or physical limitations to stop her from doing something? Never. Well this particular day she was tempting fate, it decided to give her a solid Bitch Slap (and I do mean that with a CAPITAL B).

So we’re sitting there in the booth, just beside the live lobster tank and she murmurs, as if in true sympathy, “Aww, they tape their hands closed.”

“Claws, ma, they’re called claws… and it’s to stop them from fighting.” I tell her.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dad replies.

“Well, if I were to go over and snatch one out of the tank and lob it at you, you’d be damn glad they had their claws taped up,” I say.

We all laugh, and then my imagination takes over… hmmm lobbing lobsters at Mom… it holds possibilities.... 

I look around the restaurant and wonder… what would everyone do if I plunge my hands into that frigid water and come up with one lobster in each grip? Only one way to find out… I leap up from my seat and dash to the tank. I push my hands into the icy wetness and snag a lobster in each grasp. I spin around, facing the filled entryway of shocked faces and gasps. I laugh maniacally at them all. Wide-eyes and open mouths greet me.

“Jo, what the hell are you doing?”

I twirl to face my mom, brandishing my wrapped-clawed beauties. I toss one in her general direction. She snatches it out of the air.

“En garde!” I holler. She is learning French, after all.

I hop onto a chair, my lobster swinging in my hand in front of me, ready for her to come at me. She charges, letting out a battle cry that Genghis Khan would envy, and it’s on like Donkey Kong. We slap lobsters together, the wet, hard clank reverberating through the hushed cavernous restaurant. Her lobster’s claws pull against the thin paper keeping my baby’s claws contained. They spring open, snapping and mashing at his opponent. I’m going in closer for the kill, almost there and…

“Jo… hello! Jo – your order?”

I blink my eyes rapidly, bringing the booth back into focus and stare blankly at the waitress.

“Oh, I’ll have the lobster.”

Plotting Problems!

So I've finally sat down to plot out my next book, the sequel to Jaded Hope, which is currently titled Jaded Past. And I'm getting stumped. I need more external-driven plot-points, more action, and a bit more romance. I've got my GMC (Goal, Motivation, Conflict) charts, a possible BBM  (Big Black Moment) a resolution and a few climactic scenes. I just need to fill in the middles. I know Points a-z, I just need to work on how to get from A to B to C, etc.
I think I may resort to bribing my muse... no sleep, lots of caffeine, food, some good reading and some free writing.
How do you bribe your Muse??

New Blog

Hello my cyber readers, 
I just wanted to share with everyone, in case you didn't know (because despite what some may wish, you're not all actually inside my head - which is probably a very good thing for you and maybe not such a good thing for me - it's lonely in there after all) I've started a new blog. And yes, I think I've fallen victim to New Blog Syndrome (kind of like New Baby Syndrome) where the newest, shiniest, funnest toy on the block overshadows and outwhines everything else (mixed metaphors, anyone?) So like all kids with a new toy, I've been playing shamelessly with the new blog, promising daily updates on the Countdown to Europe, redesigning the way it looks over and over again. But I assure you, the luster and allure of New Blog Syndrome will taper off soon and I will love them both equally (Yeah, right). But you'll always be my first blog, I'll always have had you longest, and honestly, more people like and follow you around than that silly new snot-factory called Jo's in France. I mean, really, who could compare you? Apples and oranges, I tell you.... there go the metaphors again.... 
At any rate, as my Writing Life takes a bit of a backseat to my crazy Travel Girl Life, I will be dedicating more time to freaking out over moving to a different country with no place to live than to plotting my next book, though truthfully I aim to do both quite thoroughly in the next 8 days. So if the Bloggerverse is in need of my constant neuroses, please visit the Shiny New Blog at http://www.josinfrance.blogspot.com/
Until we meet again, your (never Daily) Dose of Jo shall miss you.