Well, today’s the day of the contest for 250 words, and I’ve written my story. (I can’t post it here for a few days, as per contest rules, but if anyone wants to read it sooner or offer me last minute beta-reading feedback [we’ve still got five hours!], definitely let me know!)
To those of you who always beta read for me, I just didn’t bother to send it out to anyone. I was feeling a bit disconnected from the contest, partly because of how much I hate the forum now, and partly because that leaves me with a burning desire to WIN WIN WIN the flash-fiction competition. But its finalists aren’t announced until early December. That’s where my mind is at present, not on today’s first round of the 250-words event. I want to make it to the finals of flash fiction so bad that… help me out, I need a metaphor here… I want to make it to the finals so bad that I… okay, I got nothing.
Also to those of you who beta read for me, if I make it to the finals, it’s exactly two weekends from now. Please mark your calendars, but keep in mind that I have a 3 out of 25 chance of making it. What is that, 12%? It’s the cut-throat round, for sure. But to remind you guys, anyone who beta reads for me will receive a cut of the prizes, should I win. And I’ve never been more eager to win than I am this year. I can taste the victory! I want it bad. So bad that I… so bad that I… okay, I’ve still got nothing.
Oh, wait. I’ve got an answer. How bad do I want it? I want it so bad that I’d be willing to harvest some honey from an active hive. WOO HOO! That’s what I’m talking about.
At any rate, my assignment today was:
- Genre: action adventure
- Included action: loading a truck
- Included word: unite
- Word count: 250 words (or less)
I was terrified by that assignment at first, because action/adventure isn’t my thing. Although, there was one time… I seriously need to preface this story by saying that I’m not proud of this. The memory makes me laugh, but I’m not proud of it, not really. Let me make that clear.
When I was around eighteen and my brother sixteen, we wanted to watch True Lies starring Arnold Schwarzenegger on VHS cassette. (Back in the day, you know.) However, our dad wouldn’t allow us to watch it due to its R rating, so we locked him in the basement.
Okay, I’m sorry, I need a moment. Yeah. He told us we couldn’t watch it and then he went down there to do some laundry, filled with the innocent belief that his loving kids would never use the slide lock on the basement door atop the stairs. Well, we locked the door, went into the television room, and put on the movie. This is, like, really, really horrible.
He discovered the locked door and muttered the cruder version of “Gosh darnit.” Then he knocked on the door. “Meg? Philip? This is your father. Let me out of the basement.” Oh my gosh. We were terrible teens. We fought off giggles and tried not to give into complete laughter. “Meg, honey? Philip? Let me out of the basement.” Knock, knock. “This is your father. Let me out of the basement.” He didn’t even raise his voice. It was hilarious. “Let me out of the basement.”
So, yeah, that came to mind because True Lies is action/adventure.
What?! We eventually let him out.
I swear, I was normally the most well-behaved kid out there, but there were a few times when mischief won the day. I’ve probably told you all about the time I pretended to fall off a mountain, and my mom really had that coming. Hmm… what else… Nothing else comes to mind.
Oh! This is sort of similar, but it doesn’t involve any horrid behavior on my part. My apologies to those of you who’ve heard this one. A few years ago (I’m not sure when exactly), my mom came over to hang out with me and listen to my piano music, that sort of thing. I was sleepy. She went into the bathroom and I warned her that I was losing consciousness. Well, the bathroom door stuck and she was trapped in there. So she knocked softly on the door and said, “Meg, Meg? I’m trapped in the bathroom. Let me out. Come and save me.” And she was speaking very quietly and calmly, so in my semiconscious state, I couldn’t rouse myself to go save her. And she just kept talking too quietly. I could hear her, but I couldn’t move to wake up. “Meg, I’m trapped in the bathroom. Can you let me out?” Tap, tap. “Meg? The door stuck.”
Eventually I managed to force myself awake. The funny thing, really, is that she was so calm and restrained. With my mother, you’d expect her to go into a histrionic meltdown over that sort of thing, but she was very composed. I have to give her props.
What was the point of this? Oh, right, action/adventure. Well, this has been adventures from Meg’s world.