New story published today

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A story about collapsible umbrellas and love…

This flash fiction story is appearing today on the pages of Flash Fiction Magazine.

Are You Crazy?

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17 Comments

  1. I probably walked past your home last week as we marched along the road between Fort Catherine and St. George. Grand and tragic love story, Prospero. Theft is the spice of life, after all. Out of curiosity, which flower whispered this tale to you?

    Liked by 2 people

    • Indeed, I saw you walk by. Naturally I was going to invite you in for a cup of fresh papaya leaf tea, but I was in the middle of a Pokemon Go game. I’m sure you understand.
      (still, a shame I missed you)

      Which flower whispered this tale… The African Tulip Tree (Spathodea campanulata). It’s a rare tree in Bermuda. It grows about 10 meters tall (see, I remembered you are from Canada, which adopted the metric system some years ago, on a lark) but is said to grow up to 25 meters tall in Africa. I grew mine from seed imported from Africa.

      But now that you have read a story about kleptomania, your quota for such stories has been met for quite some time–probably till Canada decides to go back to feet and inches, for example).

      Liked by 1 person

      • I was 7 years into formal education when wise Trudeau the First decided Canada should be metricified consequently I speak a measurement patois – I measure distance in kilometres, height in feet and inches, baking measurements in ounces, cups and spoons, and weather in Celsius. How does one measure quota in klepto stories?

        Liked by 1 person

      • Tads and smidgens.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Pinches, too.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I ask myself—and am often asked by others—why I don’t read fiction, especially novels. I did read them in youth but grew bored with most of them about fifty years ago. I think it’s because story by itself is usually nothing surprising to my own imagination. “Real life” has enough plots and characters for me to think about as it is.

    What is surprising and delectable to come upon is writing which truly loves our language and has found a unique way to use it delightfully, surprisingly, thrillingly even, and still not be egotistically, hermetically surreal and obscure….a question not so much of WHAT is made as of HOW it is thought about and made. I can usually trust perfectly that this kind of craftsmanship comes from a serious and curious worker, a bright mind, and a heart that has long paid very honest and careful attention to living things.

    The writing may be about the most ordinary or universal of subjects, but it comes from an unconventional place called “original” and tells of our longing, with beauty and truth.

    Since you promised it, I have been looking forward to the publication of this story, Prospero, and reading it this morning, I wept. Don’t ask me why.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Well, I think I know why you wept. We are approaching August, a most difficult month for you, a time when you feel loss most acutely.

      When I started writing this I didn’t know it was going to be about death and crippling loss. But that’s the strange thing about writing–something wants to be expressed and, strong-arming the writer if necessary, that something finds its way onto the page.

      I want to thank you sincerely for all the kind things you’ve said about my writing today–and in the past too. One day I may actually start to believe that I merit such praise, and I might even, in unguarded moments, think of myself as a real writer. But till then, it’s a question of staring at a blank page–again. How lonely is that?

      (thank you, Cynthia)

      Liked by 2 people

      • It is indeed very lonely. But I hope you will continue.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Continue! Why yes…unless I embark upon another career. As you know, molecular biology has been a passionate interest of mine, and I’m just waiting for the right opportunity to jump ship. Words are all very nice, but there’s something really edifying about mitochondria.

        Liked by 1 person

      • I can totally understand that (sort of) escape into the physicality of the world. It’s calligraphy, for me, if I can get back to it. It soothes the urgency toward words even as it uses the hands and odd substances like paper and ink in repetitive gestures, to quiet the mind. I need to find my goose wing feathers and assorted fallen leaves again. Not too much of a chance, though, now that I’ve seen Paree.

        Liked by 2 people

      • Now you’re giving me some new career options: calligrapher for the stars. I could start small, maybe writing up wedding invitations for Christie Brinkley or Martin Scorsese–should the need arise, again. I think I have a gift for this sort of thing–and I’ve always liked goose down. Thank you for the wonderful suggestion, Cynthia. I won’t let you down (pun intended).

        Liked by 2 people

  3. Cracking, and that’s not through any bias regarding the clouds references either.

    “I half-smiled and then had a frightening thought: By the time the light from her face reached my eyes, she’d be older. The notion of irretrievable loss was a visceral truth, and it was unbearable.

    We were so different, so maddeningly different. Nevertheless, I’d rather play solitaire with her looking over my shoulder than being be watched by a galaxy of throbbing stars snickering in the granite sky.” – This my favourite bit *nods a great deal* Everything about this is very, very good.

    I’ll be placing this very comment both on here, and over there *points at the link above* because I feel both places should hear about how enjoyable an experience this is.

    – esme the spoon collector upon the Cloud

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh yes, tsk, and I too found it moving at the end. In the blink of an eye can be lost.

      – esme looking thoughtful tinged with melancholy upon the Cloud

      Liked by 1 person

      • I am very happy to hear this. I am on cloud nine.

        (of course)

        Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Esme. As you know, it’s hard enough to get people to read your stuff let alone write something about it (and in two places!) I thank you warmly.

      Like

      • You’re very welcome Prospero *smiles*, and you’re right too. I’ve read a huge amount of fiction on WP since first alighting here upon the Cloud a few years back and there’s tons of utter bobbins out there. I went looking, back then, to try and find others who’s work I not just enjoyed, but that I got a creative kick out of too. Random searches came back to me with empty hands, and it’s only of late I’ve found a couple more that fit this bill (like a dove’s glove!), to add to my small collection of writers and poets, and that was through one of my favourite writers here –

        http://theoldboysnetwork.com/wp/ (I recommend his ‘about a blog’ strongly)

        – where I saw Matty commenting on his work, and then I saw you comment on Matty’s pieces, and here we are! I follow lots of other kinds of people too, because inspiration comes in many guises, but my love of wordplay is rarely matched out there *gestures wildly with both arms spinning* so I get overly excited when I do find another wordy soul such as yourself. *laughing, but tis true*.

        I try and say something about a piece because feedback makes a huge difference, even if only to your mood that day, but ideally to the whole creative process. If there’s a particularly juicy line, word or paragraph I’ll pull it out (then dance with it, buy it a chippy tea, go to the cinema and all for the price of a ten bob note) and say how good it is. But any words at all in comment form, (as long as they aren’t mean or abusive gah) make one feel a little lighter of wings I find.

        I also like people who don’t mind, and even join in with my lengthy wandering comment affliction. You sir, fit that bill.

        Hahahahaha. *nods*

        -esme signing off whilst waving from upon the Cloud

        .

        Liked by 1 person

      • Thanks for the Museworthy man tip. I’ll study it later–after purchasing for myself a set of pens and learning about calligraphy, of course. I’m so excited about this.

        It is, I reckon, hard to find like-minded poets, bloggers, artists, writers, calligraphers.

        But artists in general are interconnected, like the roots in an aspen copse. It’s just a question of realizing it.

        Thank you, Esme.

        Liked by 1 person


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