Or another title ~ I’ve been bitten by the Flash-ing bug.
As I enter my seventh month of Flash-ing, the snowball only grows, roll by faster roll. And currently? Serial Flash-ing, or continuing the story flash-by-flash, is a new passion I find myself devoting more time to and spending my precious energy on.
Heck, will I eventually need a War and Peace-type literary intervention, since I’ve succumbed to this cyber bite-sized writerly addiction, which only gets bigger and longer in its creative scope.
Aahhh, there’s nothing like getting ‘some notice’ for your heart and soul efforts at creativity. I recently realized there was a definite rise in views for my blog on MySpace, whenever I added more installments to one of my first serial flashes, Blocking My Sun ~ Nope, I won’t be posting that torrid flash here. There is no over 18 warning.
Hey! I thought *insert lightbulb here* why not give the audience what they seem to want, and enjoy doing it? Yep, I still have brain cells that fire up, even without caffeine. However, chocolate is an absolute must.
But wait! I’m way ahead of my story.
How did it all begin?
Hmmm...picture a blurry fade back to the beginning...before the hundred word obsession...er...fun began...back to February of this year.
I’m a newbie about-to-be-author, and not only that, I’m all new-penny shiny to the cyber world of e-authors. Okay, I have no idea what flash fiction is...yes, I’ve seen the term used in my internet venturing. Now, I discover one my publishers, Liquid Silver Books, has what they call Flash Fiction Sunday on their blog ~ yep, you can catch it every Sunday.
Then, I get the invitation to join in, from Nina Pierce, new author of The Healer’s Garden at the time. Currently, Nina has The Tilling Sister’s series and a new novella, Blue Moon Rising in the anthology Flurry, Fluffy & Wild (shifter lovers rejoice) available from Liquid Silver Books...yeppers, I know this sounds like a promo for Nina. In truth, even though she deserves it, I merely wanted to introduce Nina as a flasher extraordinaire, who gave me my first shot (like a drink?) at penning Flash Fiction.
Yeah, I know you just can’t wait to enjoy and superbly entertain yourselves with my first Flash...but, I have to tell you, it was like stepping out into the ocean while not knowing how to swim...for me.
She inspected the splendidly muscled racing stallion, sliding her experienced hands all over his sculpted sleek body. The more she stroked over him, the more the blood bay stallion she thought to use for her mare, arched his neck and stood at attention. "You’re perfect," she softly crooned, her breath touching his cheek. "Where’s your master? – So, I can make arrangements for your services."
She frowned, impatiently shaking her long diva-red hair. Her favorite mare had come into heat. Where...?
That deep unforgettable voice.
She whirled toward the man who had abandoned her on their wedding night.
Yesterday on my blog, just for my own *writing kicks*, I wrote the next flash for Sherrana. Yes, as I observe my own psychology, I think part of my *fun* is the challenge of creating the story, one hundred words at a time, in a way that will, hopefully, captivate me and the reader.
Because honestly, once I’ve finished the flash, it’s complete in that moment, and I usually don’t know where the story is going next. Or, if I do know, it ends in the following two or three flashes. And I’m at blank again. Or staring at the blank page, the blank canvass.
Then, when I return to add to my serial flash, the challenge, the creative excitement is to continue what I’ve begun from a stopping point, without having a clue about how I’m going to do that.
There’s magic in the moment, for me, as the next flash comes forth in the art of one hundred words. No matter if my brain is smoking like the back tires of a drag racer by the time I’ve finally triumphed.
And here’s one example ~
Cruelty can take many forms. I sit in the dark. In the back. In the corner farthest away from the gorgeous young women strutting their stuff beneath the pink-shimmering illumination inside the intimate private ballroom of a Caribbean mansion, belonging to a mysterious man everyone called the Vampire.
The lingerie designs they model not only excite the libido to a painful level, but each one is exquisitely unique and incomparably beautiful. I lust over most of them, my breath hitching ridiculously. God, I wanted to wear them. As I could have once. But, I’m too old. Too ugly. Too fat.
"May I offer you a drink, madam?" The man’s voice behind me was deep, impossibly deep, and definitely amused. I had no idea why he would find me amusing. Unless he found old and fat some sort of sick private joke? Yeah, mess with the fat woman and tempt the oldie into believing a man found her ‘interesting’. That’s a good one. Haha. Only I’m not laughing, creep.
"I believe you will find the mango sangria particularly refreshing."
"Mango sangria?" Stupid, stupid! Why take the bait? I should just ignore him. Damn.
"A sip. I wish you to try it."
"Wish all you want. No thanks." Go away. Go find another victim. Irritated, my cheeks flushing...thank god, it’s dark...I return my attention to the filmy glamor negligees. I wish I could feel the silk and lace, the sheer whirl of color as it swishes and slinks over my hourglass curves, as they once were. Not so many years ago. I want to look in the mirror again, admire my own beauty. Maybe be admired. If it’s the right man. Passion untamed...god, yes.
"Please, I need your opinion."
Suddenly, he’s sitting beside me. I blink like an owl.
"My opinion," I nearly stutter. No man can soundlessly move that fast, can he? His voice had come from my left. Now he sat on my right, his gaze focused on me as if he intended to feast on my face. Maybe he was, in a way. Maybe it was my blood he was after. I stifled a shiver, and chastised myself. The Vampire. I only recognized him because the magazine I freelanced for on the island, often featured him on the society pages. "Oh, I get it. For the magazine’s drink recommendations."
"If that pleases you, then, yes, Sapphira."
"What else?" Damn, why had I said that? I’d just opened the door...
"I wish to know your palate." Leaning back, he suavely crooked one finger.
I swallowed as if my life depended on it. I’d never heard of the Vampire interacting with anyone at his fantasy fashion shows. Yes, he attended the island’s elite social events, a stunning woman attached to his side, cleavage down to her navel. But not...
With debonair precision, a waiter from out of nowhere, it seemed, deposited two tall shapely glasses. The Vampire lifted his while I stared.
"To your health, Sapphira. Please taste."
Okay, Cici, the mag’s owner would kill me if she found out I hadn’t ‘tasted’. Besides, it would be a coup of a society story, even though I’d only agreed to write up the fashion show because her usual reporter retched with morning sickness.
I pick up the cool curvy glass, then convince my hand not to shake as I slightly raise it. "To your health, Mr. Vorragozi."
"Tell me what you think," he encourages.
Are his eyes sparkling strangely? It’s not real blood, is it? Sangria...doesn’t that mean blood? God help me, if I’m remembering right, it does.
I sip. It’s so perfectly yummy-mango, I sip again. And again. Four sips. Five. I force myself to set the glass down. "Amazing. Very amazing, Mr. Vorragozi."
"I prepared it just for you."
"Why?" My head begins a pleasant swim. I smile.
"Tell me, what’s your favorite lingerie?"
"Baby dolls," I blurt out as if I can’t contain myself. "Truth serum?" I ask, and hold up the glass.
"What would be your favorite color to wear?" His eyes glisten like black pearls.
"Red." My tongue is utterly disobedient.
"Yes, I must have you in red."
"Blood-red! What kind of cruelty..."
CONTINUED ON AUGUST 31, 2008 ~
"Cruelty?" He inquires a moment after I’d firmed my lips, despite the maddening urge to blab like a chic lit heroine. I think his eyebrow is raised, but the darkness makes me wonder. Still, his tone is cool as his restaurant’s giant freezer. I know I’ve been in it, writing an article for Cici.
He waits with a patience I admire, or perhaps, he simply enjoys my mouse-like torture as I scurry in my mind to think of a way to escape.
"My age. I think it’s cruel." So there, Vampire. Maybe that will turn you ice cold with revulsion.
"How old are you, Sapphira?"
Do I hear the faint drumming of his fingertips? God, I’d love to take another drink. The glass taunted me like a singing Siren.
"Please tell me," he coaxed. Very persuasively.
It was either grab the glass and sip...or..."Fifty-eight." I harden my jaw, then avert my face. "Satisfied? Happy?" I slice my tone quite effectively, I believe.
"Would you care to guess my age?"
Neutral, his voice, yet tempting, a caress of black velvet. Oh yes, there’s that underlying amusement.
I gage my chances at shutting him down. Not damn likely, I realize.
Still...I’m a sucker for the right challenge.
"Forty something," I fling at him, tightly gripping my hands together. The Mango Sangria beckons and my mouth begs to taste ambrosia again.
He laughs...melodic and deep. Frissons of ecstatic pleasure seize my nerve endings. I sit paralyzed. Wishing I could move. But I couldn’t. I truly couldn’t.
I couldn’t even blink.
"I’ve been told thirty-five. Often." He made no attempt to hide his amusement. The hypnotic glitter of his eyes danced in the dimness, and felt like a gentle stroke on my face. Odd.
"Actually, I’m one thousand and forty-one."
What the hell kind of drug had he put in that drink?
Maybe, it was blood. His blood? Vampire addictive blood. Hadn’t I read that somewhere? Some romance novel from years ago...however my brain is too fuzzy to remember, as if I’d indulged in drinking a Fuzzy Navel. Damn.
I finally blink. "Forty-one?"
"You’ll enjoy the dark side, my pretty Sapphira," he promises.
"The dark side," I mumble. Straightening my spine, I announce, "I don’t do the dark side."
"Do?" He leans forward slightly. "I believe you’ll enjoy ‘doing’ me. As much as I will passionately enjoy ‘doing’ you."
September 7, 2008
Shocked to my core...wherever that was, I scoot my chair back, then attempt to stand. It wasn’t happening. My legs have transformed to rubber. "I am leaving." My chin high, I press down on the table to shove myself upwards.
Instantly...before I can even think about blinking, he is beside me, his hand on my arm as if he intends to escort me somewhere.
"Go away," I snap, only able to raise myself part way. My temper emerging, I confront the devil vampire, "What drug did you put in my drink?"
"No drug. Merely a special flower essence."
"What? The flower of Bloodroot?" I emphasize ‘blood’ while trying to pull my arm out of his gentlemanly grip. And why the hell does he smell like patchouli and expensive cigar smoke, some exotic mixture of the two which intrigues me more than it should.
"Several blooms from our local flora," he calmly purrs. Again amusement hides in his voice, highly irritating me.
"Let go." I stiffen.
"My Sapphira." His tone humors me. "I will not have you harmed."
"And spiking my drink with ‘special’ essences won’t harm me?" My tone goes for his jugular.
"It will only enhance our risque’ pleasures."
September 14, 2008
"I’m not risque’ pleasuring with you," I storm.
I would have tried jerking my arm away. But damn, I knew he wasn’t letting go. The horrid, overly sexy man.
"Yes, you will." He’s leaned down to my ear, his tone intimate dark bait I yearn to leap for like a silly fish.
"No, I won’t." Righteous temper is not confined to youth. "I don’t care what ‘special essence’ you put in my drink."
"My Sapphira," he vampire purrs. "Yes, you will."
In a fit of temper I stomp on his foot. Though, really, I’m not wearing tramp chic spiked heels.
Yeah, my marshmallow-sole sandals are going to skewer his foot. He laughs, a low chuckle, just for my ear.
Damnit, I like the virile sound. My insides turn all buttery fluttery.
"I’ll scream," I warn.
"I’ll kiss you," he warns.
Kiss...it skitters through me like a thousand landing butterflies, their wings flapping.
I wiggle my arm in his grip, a useless exercise. Useless like me trying to run on the beach every morning. The only thing it got me was severely sore knees.
"Do you drink blood?"
The words dare their freedom before sanity claims them back.
TO BE CONTINUED...
What do you think?
Do I have to hear the once popular Susan Powder say, stop the flash addiction!
Then again, maybe, I’m just having fun.
Liquid Silver SEx blog ~ http://liquidsilverbooks.com/blog ~
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ http://savannakougar.com ~