Short Story

Wrote this a few years ago. It's one of the few I actually finished.

The Shield of the White Cat

Jennifer A Carrigan

White cats are unlucky, they told Jolie. With a calm shake of her head, she fired back the same reply every time, “I’m not superstitious.”

Every time Jolie said this, Crossie, perched on her shoulder, curled his snow-white tail around her neck and stared at the naysayer with his intent golden eyes. Without fail, this had the effect of forcing them back a step, and mutter an apology. Then, Jolie would laugh, and reach up to stroke Crossie’s chest, eliciting a powerful machine-gun purr. She loved his purr.

Jolie’s husband wasn’t fond of Crossie. “He gets hair all over,” he grumbled, “and smells.”

“You would get hair all over, if you had any left to lose,” Jolie would retort as she sashayed out of the room, Crossie following her heels with a lazy swagger of his own.

Crossie found Jolie one day crossing an intersection. He stopped her on the yellow line, weaving around her feet. A moment later, a huge roar and rush of wind raced past her. Jolie scooped him up, decided he was her savior and said grandly, “I dub thee Crossie.” He clambered up onto her shoulders and curled up, as if he belonged there. After that day, the odd pair went everywhere together. Church, grocery-shopping, even to the beauty parlor.

All her days were golden. Even the rainy days. With a swell growing in her belly, and the machine-gun purr in her ear that never ended, she was content. Her worries disappeared. She no longer fretted over pleasing her husband, nor keeping her home clean and orderly. While chaos and discontent brewed around her, her bliss grew, blinding her.

Her eyes saw was a perfect, golden world.

Her husband pled with her weekly. When his cries fell on deaf ears, he begged and cajoled daily. Even shouted. “The cat isn’t good for you.” “That cat will hurt the baby.” “The cat will suffocate the baby, or make you ill.”

Jolie, like always, ignored him.

Crossie did not. Every time the husband begged her, Crossie stared at him. Hard. With cold malice. He was frightened. But he loved her. So he continued to beg and plead with her daily. On the eighth day of the eighth month, he stopped. Jolie didn’t notice. She basked in the gold.

Rrrrratatatata! Ratatatata! Oh, how Jolie loved that purr!

***

One dark morning, she woke alone. It was cold. Thunder and lightning raged overhead. Her naked belly sagged like a half-deflated balloon. She ached. Fog plagued her head.

White lightning jagged across the sky, illuminating the room in its full horror.

Filthy chaos! Shattered glass from the windows scattered across the mud-crusted floor. Black splotches of mold and grime stained once pristine white walls. Ragged paper scraps scattered over furniture fouled by feces. The table upon which she laid was covered in dried blood and gore.

“Where’s Crossie?” she wondered first, and then, “and the baby?”

Cradling her hollow belly, she ran into the dim living room and found the walls drenched in black sticky blood. Panting in terror, she whirled around twice. Lightning lit up the room, casting stark shadows. Her husband laid in his beloved easy chair with his chest ripped open, guts and entrails pulled out and hung erratically around the room like festive birthday streamers.

His tongue stuck out of his mouth, black and swollen.

Her hands began to tremble violently as she struggled to comprehend. Last she remembered, she was huge with the baby. And the house did not look like this. A series of lightning went off like flashbulbs popping in her face, and she saw that her hands were thickly encrusted with black, dried blood. A glimpse of her memory came into her mind, an image of herself straddling her husband on the chair as she ripped his organs out, laughing and screaming all the while.

“No…”

Jolie staggered into the nursery. She flicked the light switches, but none came on. A small, dark window was all she had. Again, lightning blazed across the sky, and Jolie saw the baby. A swath of dark hair on his head. She half sobbed in relief as she rushed toward the crib to take the baby in her arms. Her misshapen, deformed, rotting baby.

His lifeless eyes were open; they were a bright, intent golden color.

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Still here.

And a lot of people are still here. Darn. I was hoping the religious fanatics would be taken.

I've been fairly busy. I started a new novel - now about 20k words - and I'm enjoying it much more than the 1930s detective noir one I was working on a couple months ago. I was struggling with it and kept getting bogged down on trivial details. Like "is this gun appropriate for the period? How strict should I be with period details versus detective noir/pulp stories written back then?" And I was also struggling with the language from that era. Sure, I've read a lot of books around then, but they aren't necessarily good representations of how people spoke back then. I'm a stickler for details, and when I see a modern term used in a period piece, it's quite jarring. Angst! I was at the point where just getting 500 more words was agony. When I realized that, I knew it was time to set it aside.

In addition to that, I'm also writing a bunch of short-short stories (under 2k words) and am tinkering in my head with two new ideas for novella-length stories (around 7k-8k words). I'll probably either A. submit them to contests for fun, or B. self-publish an anthology of short stories. We'll see, haven't decided yet. They all will need editing before I can even think of what to do with them.

On top of that, I'm still doing the 365 photo project (scroll down a bit to see the thumbnails and click on them if you're so inclined). It's somewhat irregular in frequency, but I enjoy it. I'm trying to do creative photos. Some are flops, some are great. Experimentation is good, I enjoy the process and I now have a few photos for my portfolio. I'm tempted to try get some work as a commercial-ish photographer, but truth be told, I have no experience in that industry. So I'm half holding out hope that some ad agency bigwig will see my pictures on Flickr and say, "hey, we gotta hire her!" I've heard of it happening to others. Why not me?

Never know!

With the summer - er...more accurately, spring (there's barely a summer here in Seattle) - coming, it's starting to finally warm up. The azaleas are in full bloom, it's a riot of colors in my neighborhood. We're starting to have more sunny days, and with the season change, I'm starting to think about shooting outdoor. I don't want to shoot the usual bird, flower and tree pictures, so that leaves me with people pics. I'm not a big people person, but still, I've come up with some creative ideas for outdoor shoots. I placed an ad on Craig's List for people with costumes and/or props and a desire to be photographed.

A lot of people fancy themselves being models, and they often will grab at any experience that helps them practice and if they get good pictures out of their time, all the better.

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Another unfinished short

Katie stared at the flotsam swirling languidly on the lake’s surface as she listened to her boss, the owner of the camp where she worked at. She could’ve sworn she saw a dead fish’s silvery belly, but it disappeared before she could get a better look.

“Don’t let the kids in the water this summer,” he said, worried furrows slicing across his forehead. “It’s polluted from the chemical plant across the lake.”

Sickened by the slimy appearance of the murky brown-green water, she spoke incredulously, “You’re kidding us? Half of the reason these kids come here is to swim and we don’t have a pool.”

Mike, a fellow counselor and a good friend, asked, “Is the company going to do anything about it? What do we do if one of the kids jumps in?”

I vaguely remember this one. If I'm remembering right, this was inspired by a movie I saw many years ago where someone was transformed into a mutant by tainted lake water at their camp and proceeded to terrorize the campers for many years. I think The Simpsons spoofed it as well. And the Swamp Thing parallels that movie. Damned if I can remember the name, though.

If you read a lot, you will eventually notice that many stories have common themes and plots, and it might pop up in your own works. That's okay - it doesn't mean you're being unoriginal, as long as you give it your own interpretation and throw in new interesting plot devices.

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Bad blogger

Been a little busy writing, photographing and other stuff to pay the bills. I'm back on the wagon though. Keep an eye out in the coming weeks for more entries.

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Today's unfinished story: The Pyro

Vash managed to roll her eyes and glower at her parents at the same time. She sat on an easy chair, watching her parents alternate between pacing and shouting. They were quite simply being annoying. She came home with her first ‘B’ paper today, and this was their reaction. Lectures. Weeping. Hysterical accusations of drug addictions. Satanic music. Sex.

“Look, you don’t understand.”

“No, I understand!” her mom shouted, “you’ve never brought home a B before! There’s something wrong with you!”

“That’s not mature,” her dad intoned as he wagged a finger, “you need to manage your time better.”

Vash sighed, and tried again, “Listen—“

Her mom interrupted, “Vash! I don’t understand! How could you get a B?”

Totally irrational. Insane. Vash pinched the bridge of her nose.

“We’ll get her a tutor, Pam.”

“I don’t need a tutor. If you’d just let me explain—“

“Vashana is smart. She doesn’t need a tutor. Maybe a psychologist?”

“Mom, dad! I don’t need help!”

“She’s been argumentative.” Dad looked over his spectacles at her, “and surly. Backtalking.”

“I was not!”

“Ah! Ah! Don’t interrupt!”

Vash groaned, running her fingers through her straight black hair in frustration. She rarely got angry, but she would lose it soon, she knew.

“I’ve heard of this, but I didn’t think it’d happen to Vashana!”

“What, dear?” he indulged his wife.

“The teen angst!”

Vash struggled to keep a straight face.

Her mother continued her rant, “It’s the music she’s listening to! It’s a bad influence.”

Exasperated, Vash groaned, “Mom!”

“George, reason with her!

He fanned himself, then loosened his tie, “it’s getting warm in here. Why don’t we take a break, and cool down…” He paused to chuckle at his own pun, “We can talk about this more later.”

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Mold, pollen and spores oh my

Probably interesting to nobody: I have different allergy symptoms in different parts of the country. Here, my eyes feel so itchy and dry and I just want to close them and keep them closed forever and forever. Ok, not that long, but at least until the itchiness abates.

Makes it difficult to get work done.

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Photographing Families: Tips

It can be a challenge for people to think of how to photograph their families in a creative way and get near-professional results. How many of us have photos like this one (below)?

Disclaimer: not my family

I remember my own family photos as a kid. My mom felt they were important and forced us to go to a studio annually. I didn't quite understand why we had to do it. Why did I have to smile so much? And my clothes, in which my mom made us dress up, were so itchy! My siblings and I always squirmed and fidgeted and quarreled and ended up pissing off my mom and the photographer. Eventually they'd say "Ok, whatever, that'll be the picture." And we'd invariably get a picture back from the photographer where one of us was making a funny face, not looking at the camera or having fits.And me looking like a maniac deer in headlights with my eyebrows as high as they could go, grinning madly. I made the same face Every. Single. Year.

With the advent of digital cameras, photographing people has gotten easier to screen before printing. That's awesome. But people still have trouble getting great family photographs. It's usually because the parents still insist on posing their family the way they had experienced it when they were children.

There's nothing wrong with the traditional family portrait, but most of us won't remember much about that day, aside from a sense of discomfort. The truly stellar family photographs are the ones where everyone is their true self and enjoying the experience.

Here's some tips on how to achieve that.

• Bring the camera along on a family activity. You're much more likely to cherish this memory than a stiffly posed one.
• Do consider the other elements of the photography - rules of thirds, distractions in the fore or background, and so on (more on that another time.
• Expect to shoot many many photos and choose only a few - most pro photographers do this anyway. Don't be afraid to ask everyone involved to repeat an event. Make a game out of it. If need be, bribe them.

• Shoot from an unexpected angle. Side, above, below, behind.
• When shooting small children, try getting down to their level, and shoot straight on. This is often an overlooked angle with children.

• Do lightly pose your subjects. Ask them to sit in a certain location, facing a certain direction, and then encourage them to interact with one another. 

• Pay attention to the light and time of day
• The above picture is great because it was taken during the "golden hour" - early morning or very late in afternoon when the light is warm and soft. 
• Overcast days are also an excellent light condition
• Midday photo shoots when it's bright and sunny are the worst because people will squint in strong light, and the shadows are unflattering.

Credits: All photos are from Stock.xchng.

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Hooks

I can't find the file where I save my practice hooks, so I whipped up a few on the spot. As my interests tend toward fantasy, supernatural and the weird, these reflect that.

As Doreen walked down the aisle next to her father, she looked at the love of her life, and saw Death's superimposed over his face.

Ok. Little wordy, could be better.

Doreen looked through her gauzy veil and saw Death's face instead of her fiance's.

Shorter, stronger, better. But the usage of look and saw weakens it.

 As Doreen lifted her veil, her eyes met Death's face in place of her husband's.

This is much better. It uses different, stronger action verbs, and is more interesting overall. It tells the reader that a wedding is taking place, and begs the question of what's going on. Is she marrying Death himself who had been posing as a mortal man? Or is this some kind of omen she's seeing? What's going on?

This hook needs editing and polishing, but if I were going to start a story, I'd go with this.

Another set of hooks.

Yvonne ran down the path.

And??

Yvonne was out jogging and ...

Passive verbs - avoid them if you can! It takes practice to break the habit of using passive verbs.

Yvonne jogged down a path through the woods and a dog tackled her.

Better. But kinda boring. However, it's ok to have two or even three sentence hook sometimes.

Yvonne jogged through the wood and something tackled her. She crashed with a yelp, and then heard, "I need help!" There was nobody else around, except for a big red dog.

More interesting. Yvonne is out jogging, gets tackled by a dog and it apparently talks. It still needs polishing, but this is the best hook out of the bunch.

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Oh and: OMG, another cop shooting!

That makes 10 in the year I've been here in Seattle.

 Suspect attempts to elude police, gets shot and killed. Details fuzzy

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Literary Hooks

You know how when you first crack open a book and read the very first sentence? Oftentimes that single sentence is what "hooks" you onto the book. It's what keeps you reading the next sentence and the next and ... It can be the deciding factor of whether to purchase and continue reading the book.

That's why it's important for a writer to start off a book with an effective hook. The old cliche made infamous by Peanuts' Snoopy, "It was a dark and stormy night," came from a real life book. It was written by English Victorian novelist, Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton in his book, Paul Clifford, in 1830. It was such an effective phrase that it was borrowed from, reused, reinterpreted and quoted for the next 200 years.

As mentioned in a previous blog entry, one of the exercises I use to bust writer blocks is involves writing hooks. At very minimum, it flexes your creative brain. And sometimes a hook you've written in this exercise can spawn a new idea for another story. Challenge yourself to write 10 hooks in under 10 minutes, and then take 15-20 minutes to examine each one and ask yourself this: Is the hook effective? Does it make you want to read more? What can you do to improve it?

Check back here tomorrow for a sampling of hooks I've written.

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