Flash Fiction Friday--A Life Story

 Interviews   

KRISANN GENTRY

It’s an interesting question, and honestly not one I’ve been asked before, so I’ll give you one for finding that. But no, you’re right. My real name isn’t Shane Amos.

It’s Seamus McLeod. I’ve always hated it.

Kids were mean, you know? And they’d say the most idiotic stuff, not even being bright about it, like, ‘Seamus is a shame-to-us. Seamus riding on the bus.’ Dumb kid stuff that shouldn’t matter.

I told my mom I wanted a cool name. I’d be going by Sam from now on.

She didn’t even turn to me. “You were named for your great grandfather,” just kept scrubbing at some dishes or some such.

Irish guilt is wily and strong. I can’t shame a dead man by not accepting at least part of his name. There I’m trying to escape this idea of shame and it’s coming right back, shaming me into keeping it around.

So I told her, “Fine. Samus, then. Sam for short.”
But I wasn’t allowed to play video games. I didn’t know there was a game called Metroid with a hero called Samus. I didn’t know SHE WAS A GIRL.

So, yeah. I didn’t go by Samus very long.

Shane Amos was what I started using in boarding school. It stuck pretty well, and since I found nearly all my bandmates there, after I’d been doing open mics in pubs and such, we formed the group around the sort of stage name that became the only name I heard myself called by.

So that’s how we got our band name too, Shane Amos and the Blanks. If we’d known then we were gonna be inducted into the rock & roll hall of fame all these years later, we probably would have thought about it a bit longer, I think.

---

Read more stories from this prompt!
Linda's submission
Josiah's submission
Jonathan's submission
Moody's submission

Want to make one of your own? Next week's prompt is NON-FICTION.

Write a short essay from the starting point, "Family Traits." 

Welcome Back! Writing challenges begin again next week.

I've missed writing these short weekly pieces, so let's get down to it!

After lots of feedback from various members and participants, I've altered our agenda a bit.

The first and third week of every month will still be reserved for Flash Fiction Friday. Prompts will be introduced, and without too much reworking or editing, take a bit of time each Friday to complete your offering and share it, either on your own blog (which will be linked up here), or submit it for publication on the Flash Fiction Friday Tumblr.

The second and fourth weeks will be non-fiction essay prompts, with a similar purpose to the flash fiction assignments: get it done quick and dirty if you need to, but just keep writing! This way, though, you can choose to write all month with me, or just pick a focus, and participate in either fiction or non-fiction, as you feel so inclined.

Any month with five weeks will be offering some quirky and surprising creativity challenges on the last Friday of the month, to keep us all on our toes and hopefully, to inspire the sense that creating every weeks begins to come naturally and flow freely.

I look forward to everyone's submissions for our spring session! Give me a heads up if you'll be joining us, and do leave feedback often. Everybody is here to grow.

First Flash Fiction prompt for next week is:

Fully create a character and then tell their life story in 300 words or less.

2013 is weird to write.

This break has been marvelous, but back into action we shall soon go. Nothing to fully report just yet, but missed being here. I hate the idea of writing a "throwaway post," so I shan't.


Watch this instead. Drool with me. Oh, sweet baby Baz Luhrmann, who made you so great?

See you next week.

Best of 2012, because everyone else is doing it.

Between participating in a secret writing club (for realsies) earlier this year and the Flash Fiction Friday efforts of the last three months, I had quite a lot of options to sort through, and asking loved ones for nominations was no help at all, because not a single one of them chose alike the others. Thanks for that, friends.


My Favorite Poem of 2012, though most of my poetry this year followed a similar theme and it was quite hard to choose. I suppose 2012 could be called "the year of encouraging myself," because I seemed to need to do it, and then actually do it, a lot.


I chose two favorite guest fiction pieces from a whole slew of flash fiction participant entries.
Kindra's story is from the week we all wrote from the "Creature Catalogue" prompt, and Keri's is from "Basketball Socks."


My own Flash Fiction:
The one that made me cry while writing it.

Favorite Allegory.

The only one that turned out just like I pictured when I sat down to write (they usually surprise me, which I love, so this one is included for its unique result).



Bonus: My favorite non-fiction this year. It's a bit longer than most, and autobiographical, and therefore quite personal, so open with care.


Happy New Year to all! I hope you'll join us when our writing challenges return in late January.

Halibut & Mint

For nearly three months I created a little fictional for-fun piece every Friday and it seems to have done it's job--it's Thursday now (but will be Friday when I hit "publish"), and though I've been bogged down with tiny people's vomits all week, I'm already itching to write something. I've no structure in place for something this week, so this little on the fly number will have to do.



Her suitcase was not romantic, but practical, and much lighter when compared with the vintage trunk she'd imagined herself lugging across the globe. "Nothing works out exactly like you'd pictured," she allowed. There wasn't much that could argue with that sentiment. Still, she'd collected stickers from most ports, hoping to find some kind of not-too-cheesy way to display them all at the end of the succession of journeys. They were still waiting in the brown paper bag in the bottom drawer.

The case and the ordered chaos of the contents about to be loaded into it splayed across the entire bed; she had to finish before she could sleep. Time for some tough decisions. Five pairs of socks and underwear. Two sweaters, eight favorite shirts. Jeans x2. Boots, runners... the flats she'd wear. Journal, computer, cash, phone, and passport, in carry-on. Toothbrush and deodorant and favorite solid perfume fell into their place in her bag--the rest she'd buy after landing.

She reached for the bottle and considered it carefully. It was wrapped and ready, still earmarked to be the beverage she would enjoy when she celebrated the completion of this mad journey. She felt the weight of it in her hands carefully, almost as though she were weighing something unseen within herself with each gently heft of the package. "Not this time. We're not done yet." She placed the bottle back in its box and zipped her bag shut, ready for whatever tomorrow would show her.


Looking forward to having our community of participants back in action in late January for more Flash Friday pieces. Do let me know if you want to join, and I'll add you to our list.

Flash Fiction Friday--Secret Santa

Seasons greetings! Flash Fiction Friday is on Winter Break! Our break for Holiday festivities with loved ones will be much appreciated, and we'll be back to the writing action in January. When we reconvene, it will be with a slightly new format, so watch for the news on that. Before we sign off, enjoy this last offering of 2012. 

 Many Happy Returns  

KRISANN GENTRY

"Somebody call 911!" Brad coughed out his orders, choking on the thick dust still cascading down from the ceiling like a fresh snow. "Are we under attack? What in the heck is happening?!"

"I don't know!" Molly, the clerk, still clutching the receipt from her last transaction, wiped muddied, stinging tears from her eyes, trying to see where his voice was coming from. "I was just about to put this in their bag, and-"

"Holy hell, guys." Sam was back from his break, making his usual, unaffected commentary from somewhere outside the perimeter of their ground zero. "Did you know the ceiling's kinda, um, open, Brad?"

"Sam! Lock down the front door until we can get to the bottom of this. Don't let anyone loot us!" Brad's loyalty to his duty as store manager was, as ever, in tact--swimming in debris though he may have been, he still had his priorities straight. "And call the police when you - what the heck is this?" He suddenly spat a large chunk of sparkling, tinselly confetti out of his mouth. A deflated, dirt-caked yellow balloon made its way down and landed on his shoulder. "Oh. Oh, it can't be..." Memories of Brad's early training manuals suddenly surfaced, and a long-forgotten footnote now announced itself to his consciousness.

"Molly! Molly give me that receipt! Who was that?"

"I don't know! It was a woman and her kid."

"Go, find them! Find the woman that was here!"

"She ran out as soon as that stuff started falling on her!"

"Sam, you locked the doors, right? Bring the customers to me one by one."

Only three customers remained, most having left their carts full of goods behind in favor of avoiding the attempt at being unlawfully detained by the zealous shop manager. Brad went by each one, inspecting their bags, trying to find the match for the all-important receipt in his hand. Molly apologized for the confusion to each one as they were dismissed. As she began to sweep the glittery dust storm, Brad interrupted her efforts.

"We've got to find the woman who matches this receipt!"

"Is she Cinderella?" Sam's usual humor was wasted on Brad's seriousness and Molly's mood.

"She's the millionth customer!" Brad's reddened eyes grew larger, his already hoarse voice rasped loudly. "Jim and Elba, rest their souls, when they built this place, they had an idea for a prize to celebrate getting their millionth customer. I didn't know they actually did anything about it! The, the trap-door in the ceiling, oh my God, I had no idea. But we have to find her! We've got to give her her prize!"

"Okay, um, call the news?"

"Sam, you're a genius. Whomever can bring me the exact contents of this receipt, and match the identity Molly remembers, can claim it! You just earned yourself a raise, young man." Molly scowled, still sweeping thanklessly.

She came forward a week later. Her picture plaque still hangs on the wall by the cash register. "Jemma Blackner, 1,000,000th customer." She spent her $10 gift card on another bottle of shampoo, the last one having been spent on the efforts to get the dust out of her hair.

Want to make one of your own? Come back in January for more prompts. 

Happy Holidays!

Les Miserables Medley. Like A Boss.

In honor of the upcoming movie release (so excited! tomorrow!!), here is a jerk. I'm serious; God dipped the cup into the talent barrel a few too many times when he made this one. Let's all agree to hate him (after the shock from what you're about to see wears off) for his range, shall we?

Also, his O Holy Night is not too shabby, and y'know, seasonal and all. Spotify.