Too many books???

Welcome to Fionajeeves.com on this very cold and wintry evening.

Now, age old question, is it possible to have too many books? I have a few friends who would argue definitely not. However, I have recently come to acknowledge that there can be too many books for my current home. If I ever move to a castle (big dreams!) then I fully plan to become a gluttonous bibliophile and Gorge on all of the books. ALL OF THE BOOKS!

In the meantime, some tiny books have arrived! That’s right, my piece of flash-fiction has been published in miniature and the books are here. Honestly, they’re the cutest thing ever – look! They’re so teenie tiny – and there’s my flash-fiction on page 43!

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In other exciting news, there’s an additional book to buy! A second piece of flash-fiction has been published and is in the Sensorially Challenged anthology below! This is available from amazon – just click on the picture and it’ll take to you the right place:

Paperback: here for £6.99

E-book: here for £2.49


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I went to get the picture and ended up purchasing a copy myself…as soon as I have received it, then I’ll be putting up a review. Remember that for every copy purchase £1 is donated to the National Literary Trust.

Hopefully this is enough exciting news for one evening!

Let me know how your writing endeavours are going – I’d love to hear from you!

Happy Reading!

Fibi xxx

A little flash-fiction to start the day…

I stumbled across a competition at Carrot Ranch, I’m feeling suitably autumnal this morning and so here is my response.

November 2, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story a chair on a porch. Why is it there, and what might it mean? Think about using it as a prop or the main thrust of your story.

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They put it out in the spring with the white-wash still drying on its arms and legs. Shoots of grass sneaking through the gaps in the porch.

She spent long summer nights watching stars fall from a sapphire sky. Propped up with floral cushions that sank between thin spindles.

Gold leaves gathered at the feet. A pumpkin perched on the seat and scowled at passers-by. Until it started to rot, and the nose caved in and the lid fell down.

Frost coated the peeling flecks of paint; silent and still.

The chair was brushed, painted and set out again.

 

If anyone else wants to enter then all of the rules are: here

Are you attempting Nanowrimo this year? I won’t be but I’m always happy to cheer you on!

Happy Writing,

Fibi

xx

 

News Update

Even more exciting news!

First off, another piece of flash-fiction is going to be immortalized in an anthology with proceeds going to charity; hooray! I submitted to Christopher Fieldens’ Sensory Writing Challenge and I’m excited to see another snippet of writing in print.

Following previous publications of the same type, this anthology should be available for purchase on Amazon during pre-release – super exciting! I’ll be sharing the details once they’re available, so keep an eye out.

Secondly, the target for pre-sales for the Third-Word anthology has also been reached. This was due to be in print before Christmas, and I’m excited to get my hands on the teeny-tiny book that is being created. I think it will make a lovely present and suspect I might end up buying a few more copies…

Finally, as promised work is going ahead with Burning Embers. It’s been officially sent to a professional Editor this afternoon and I’m feeling a bit giddy. The manuscript should be returned to me by the end of October and then…then it’s simply a matter of publishing! Eeeeek!

In the meantime, before I burst with excitement I can at least promise to share the cover with you in the next few weeks. Yes, the picture featured might be a bit of a teaser…Also, as I’m no longer following a traditional publishing route with Burning Embers, I can share some of the writing with you. I hope that you enjoy. Leave me a comment!

Extract from Burning Embers #BE – Due November 2017

In the heartbroken depths of night, exhaustion overcame her tears and Feia slept. It was a fitful restless sleep on cold hard ground and she woke when the first rays of light touched her. The world was replete with layers of autumnal colour. She lay on leaves of copper, geranium, magenta, burgundy and cerise. The leaves still attached to the tree were in the middle of transformation.

With arthritic movements she sat up. She pulled off the leaves that had fallen on her during the night. Her eyes and throat itched, her clothes were damp through and she was chilled to the core. She could smell the forest pine mingled with the waxier scent of the tree she’d sheltered under. Poking through the pile of cast off foliage were stalks of lush grass and a plant with purple and maroon berries that twined around the base of all the trees she could see, linking them. Feia pulled her cloak round to inspect it, realising that she’d lain on the vine. She found berry stains mottling the grey cloth like a bruise and she felt a rueful smile pulling at her mouth. Perhaps it was an improvement. She’d never liked the colour grey anyway.

She could hear the river in the distance and the trees rustling above, shaking final drops of rain from their branches. Gradually, she became aware of another sound. Crackling and spitting then a louder pop. Why had she not smelt smoke? She sniffed the air, purposefully, drawing it in, but the forest scent kept its secrets. Dread wrapped around her like a cloak. She wasn’t alone. Please do not be a man. Please don’t be Bill. She sent her silent plea to the Spirits. However, Feia suspected that if they had ever been listening they weren’t any longer. She was no longer a child.

Happy Writing,

Fibi xxx

Now for something completely different

There has been a change of plans…

Now, you may see this and roll your eyes. Gosh, she’s been absent for a while and here she is again, getting back on with the writing. Well, that is partly true, but I still have a plan and I’ve been keeping up the writing, just less of it!

First up, is that I’m going to be a Fibi-Mom – hooray! Short term it means that I’ve been coming home from work, and going to sleep, waking up for dinner, and going back to sleep. No really time for writing, and combined with a constant nausea, no concentration for it either. The best way I can describe it, is that it’s been like having the flu for a couple months. Thank you, new Inhabit (-ant. And there is my sly ping to the daily prompt!)

Long term, it means I worry about the time I will have in the future for writing and starting/finishing new projects and the projects that are currently in development. Mostly though, myself and Mr lovely are very excited.

But back to the writing – as I said, plans have changed. With Poisoned Well, I managed to write myself into a corner, or rather a brick wall. With 2000 words to go before I reach my original target and bam. No more words.

I think there are a few reasons for this and I’m going to try and explore them below, without giving any of the plot away. Because no one wants to know the end of the book before they start reading!

  1. I know that I’ll need to write a few thousand words beyond my original target. This is a positive thing and I’m pleased about it. It means that the story has developed and in order to tie it up, I just need a few more words. (Well a few thousand.)

Why would this stop me writing? – Because the goalpost has moved. Even if I reach my intended target, I’m not quite there yet. Then there is the editing (all of the editing) and the re-writing and the editing and I’m way way behind where I thought I would be and … and the guilt has made a return.

How to move on? I just need to start writing again. I’ll go back to my mini plan of doing 100 words, then maybe 200 and slowly, I’ll be chipping away at that word count! I’ll do it! Just, not this weekend because I’m seeing family. Wednesday. Wednesday next week will be my day to kick myself into writing mode for the poisoned well. There I’ve said it, I has to happen!

  1. I knew what was going to happen in the story. That at some point my protagonists were going to go from point D to E and X was going to happen. This was always going to be the ending of the narrative. I dreamt many of the details, conversations, scenes and emotional arcs between points A to B to C etc and all the little things that need to happen in the middle.

Why would this stop me writing? Well I KNEW that D to E and X was going to happen…but because I KNEW this…I didn’t put the extra thought into exactly what D to E entailed. How does that get underway, how many chapters does it take? If I write it in one, have I rushed the complete ending?

How to move on? Well, I’ve actually written the majority of D to E now, but it’s been an uphill struggle. Mr Lovely will argue that those struggles tend to give me my best writing, but…they’re still a struggle and having reached the crest of this particular hill, I felt exhausted.  I’ve needed to spend some time dreaming about what happens at E, and exactly how I visualise X. This is where the flu-symptoms and lack of concentration have been a particular hindrance. If I have a little day dream and try to work out what’s going on, quite frankly, I fall asleep. However, I’m now feeling better and I’m hopeful that I can finally devote some time to unpicking these important moments in the narrative and feel more confident writing them. Then it’s just the downhill slope to roll down.

Hopefully.

In other news, you can still pre-order the teeny tiny books where a piece of my flash-fiction is being publishes as part of an anthology! They’re so small! They would make perfect stocking fillers and the art work to accompany the flash fiction is gorgeous. Order a copy now, while you still can! They’re only £4.00 plus p&p. Third-Word

Look – it’s so tiny and cute!!!!

Finally, having reached the conclusion that Poisoned Well is going to take a bit longer…I’ve agreed something with myself. I’m going to self-publish Burning Embers, my fictional baby. Designs for the front cover are underway and will be shared as soon as possible- Sqeeeeee!

Watch this space for teasers from #BurningEmbers, and a publication date…

And on that bombshell…

Happy Writing

Fibi xxx

Exciting News!

I haven’t dropped off the face of the planet again, I have been writing – honest! The Poisoned Well is so nearly ready, I can almost taste it! So close… *mutters and carries on typing and editing like a fiend*

However, earlier in the year I was so excited to win a prize for a piece of Flash Fiction! A Prize for Everyone has been selected for a small anthology and is going into print – sqeeeeee!!!

The anthology is available for pre-order until the 21st of August – ONLY. If you would like a copy of wonderful short fiction, with proceeds going to a good cause then please do follow through to Third-Word and make sure you place an order.

A House of Music & Other Stories is available to pre-order online from our website, for a month only, until 21st August!

A collection of eighty-word works from published, aspiring and casual writers from around the world, including the award-winning authors Joan Byrne, Sam Palmer, K S Dearsley and Hannah Froggatt.

This anthology showcases sparks of imagination from the fantastical to the obscure, celebrating the spice of flash fiction.

Sold in support of the homeless, each copy sold online subsidises the printing of 3 copies for the homeless (or homeless organisations) to sell.

There seems to be a veritable list of authors included in the anthology, and I am so proud to be included among them.

Happy Writing Everyone!

Fibi xx

 

Roses stretch like weeds

In a response to today’s daily prompt I incorporated the word Spike into my flash fiction challenge.

This is the final contribution to my series of seasonal flash-fictions of 99 words each!.

A thousand petals like fallen snow, gather on the ground. The sun peers through growing buds until the rain blasts the ground, the fades. Bright skies return and the tarmac steams. Blackbirds chatter at the cat as she crouches, patiently, hopeful that the grass gives camouflage to her black and white fur. The roses have stretched like weeds against the garden fence, thorns that cover the stems in belligerent spikes. The cat sinks further, nose and tail extended.  The garden is growing, bursting forth; but she remains still. Nose twitching, eyes narrowed on target. A sparrow hops towards her.

I have to admit that I’ve really been struggling with this image as there are so many clichés that just felt unavoidable. The challenge was meant to explore the seasons in slightly different ways and give a unique texture or taste to them.

Please find the further three contributions below; but which piece is which? Leave me a message and let me know if you’ve managed to work them all out!

One:

The sky is a tapestry of falling rain and threads of smoke. Leaves drift in slow spirals between heavy drops. Grey puddles spill off the path and into sodden grass, tramped with muddy boots and wellingtons. Water gurgles in the roadside drains and steals away with sycamore seeds. Conker shells burst, shining chestnut nestled between layers of bronze, amber and fading green. Interwoven clouds in faded lines and jagged blue tears. Pale sunlight peers through the cracks and paints the tarmac gold. The umbrella snaps to attention, stolen from a desperate grasp, whipped up, away, lost to the tapestry.

Two:

Spires of bright fuchsia sway. Scattered bursts of buttercup, daisies and dandelions dance on the meadow. Waves of long grass whisper and break on the fence line. The thump and trundle of an antique tractor approaches, rumbling over hard-baked earth. The driver bounces from window to window over the dips and furrows of the ancient field. A blast of Heart FM twists across the boundary. Bare toes wriggle on the fresh-clipped lawn. Wide-eyes fixed on cracked blue paint. Pigtails and tiny fingers stick in fresh varnish. The metallic beast makes a slow spin, grumbling, puffing, ready for the next charge.

Three:

I love it when the air smells like ice. Dark green pine sways between barren branches and then mountains rise behind. Cars crunch salt, engines purring. It’s an experience, negotiating ice in six-inch heels; challenge accepted.  Coffee cup clutched tight to my chest. The bitter taste of rising steam is mellowed with double cream. Hat pulled low on burning ears and sunglasses paint the sky in gentler hues; lines of pink and gold across frozen blue. There’s another flurry on the horizon. Feet slip without warning. The ground is harder than it looks and less forgiving. Must buy boots.

Four: 

A thousand petals like fallen snow, gather on the ground. The sun peers through growing buds until the rain blasts the ground, the fades. Bright skies return and the tarmac steams. Blackbirds chatter at the cat as she crouches, patiently, hopeful that the grass gives camouflage to her black and white fur. The roses have stretched like weeds against the garden fence, thorns that cover the stems in belligerent spikes. The cat sinks further, nose and tail extended.  The garden is growing, bursting forth; but she remains still. Nose twitching, eyes narrowed on target. A sparrow hops towards her.

Looking forward to hearing from you!

Fibi

An Alternate Reality

I love it when an plan comes together. I’ve always been very fortunate to have a loving family and generous friends. Minus a few scary hours, in Montreal, I’ve always had a safe place to sleep. Even if it was in a tent…with bears in the nearby woods.

Recently however, I entered a flash-fiction contest  at Third Word and won. I was delighted, because the project intends to help homelessness. So here it is, a shock to the system. A Jolt of today’s daily prompt.

I asked the lovely Helena, who is running the competition, and what had prompted it’s creation, and this is the response I received:

I, the founder of The Third Word Press, had the idea late one night.  It was the culmination and drawing together of various passions – to run my own project, to support the homeless and a love of literature and writing.  I had designed and submitted my first project for funding whilst in Sri Lanka, in the aftermath of the conflict; it was a peace building project through dialogue based around photography.  I did not get the funding, and left the country a short while later but the idea of running a project remained.  Upon returning to the UK, I started work at a photography CIC, a relatively new organisation running projects with disadvantaged individuals, where I observed the workings, struggles and strategies of setting up and running projects based upon a passion for the arts with charitable bent.  I’m not sure when I started to want to work with homeless people, but it quickly became the group for whom I wanted to provide relief, and designed a project to lead craft making sessions with them, another passion of mine, to make sellable items.  Having set up the organisation, and in the process of applying for funding, I came across a selection of short stories I had written some years ago (I had more recently moved to writing screenplays) and I discovered that I wanted to do something with them, to get them published would have been the ideal, so I wrote to a number of publishers.  Unintentionally, one of the publishers I wrote to was a self-publishing outfit, and they, quite predictably, showed support for my work, but I was not inclined to proceed with them.  Frustrated, I was convinced that I was by no stretch alone in wanting to see my work in some medium that went beyond my Word documents, and I thought of drawing together like-minded individuals to publish works collectively.  Publishing these works in mini books appealed to my love of all things dinky, and such a medium would be novel, suit shorter works, and, in a flash, I saw would also be something that homeless people could market without being overly burdened (physically), something that could engage them, share glimmers of imagination and other worlds.  I went to sleep very happy that night.
So far, we’ve received up to 17 stories a day, from all over the world, it has been incredibly exciting to wake up and discover new literary gems every morning.  We’ve got enough high quality stories to proceed with the first edition, but are following up a number of contacts and applying for funding (which takes 10 weeks to be processed) before we compile the first edition.  We have our fingers tightly crossed for the funding, but with strong support from our authors, we can irrespectively proceed with a smaller edition.  Our winners to date have shown huge support and willingness to help us market the books across their networks once they are available to buy online and this is hugely stimulating.  We should have the first edition available by the end of the summer, and look forward to it!
It’s been difficult to select winners, we’ve been amused, tugged, surprised by the works, we feel that our initiative nurtures the belief that everyone has a story.
It’s my intention to enter the competition again and I would encourage everyone else to join me. It’s only 80 words! Imagine how much fun you can have with an 80 word story!
Thank you to Helena for answering my questions with such enthusiasm.
Sometimes it takes a jolt, to help us see beyond the realms of our own worlds.

When the air smell likes ice

Following on from my self-set challenge, here is the third in a series of seasonal flash-fiction. Again, I’m not going to tell what the season is, but I really hope that you can guess.

I love it when the air smells like ice. Dark green pine sways between barren branches and then mountains rise behind. Cars crunch salt, engines purring. It’s an experience, negotiating ice in six-inch heels; challenge accepted.  Coffee cup clutched tight to my chest. The bitter taste of rising steam is mellowed with double cream. Hat pulled low on burning ears and sunglasses paint the sky in gentler hues; lines of pink and gold across frozen blue. There’s another flurry on the horizon. Feet slip without warning. The ground is harder than it looks and less forgiving. Must buy boots.

Part One and Two can be found respectively.

Once part four is thrown up here then I’ll compile them together into a post. I’ll probably even tell you what seasons I was originally aiming for. Fingers-crossed that I’ve managed to avoid my natural inclination to the abstract. I have a tendency to think flash-fiction and then jump across to poetry. So you may have noticed some rhymes sneaking in.  The only problem is, that my abstract is often too abstract for most people to make any sense of it.  So what I’ve been learning is to write simply. Or rather…more simply. If I have an image in mind then just say what I see without trying (and usually failing) to be clever.

Unexpected

I’ve set myself a challenge to create a series of flash-fiction. Just four pieces of 99 words each and representing the seasons. Here is the second piece, aptly named, number two. I’m really hoping that you can work out which season is which!

Seasonal Flash-Fiction: Two

Spires of bright fuchsia sway. Scattered bursts of buttercup, daisies and dandelions dance on the meadow. Waves of long grass whisper and break on the fence line. The thump and trundle of an antique tractor approaches, rumbling over hard-baked earth. The driver bounces from window to window over the dips and furrows of the ancient field. A blast of Heart FM twists across the boundary. Bare toes wriggle on the fresh-clipped lawn. Wide-eyes fixed on cracked blue paint. Pigtails and tiny fingers stick in fresh varnish. The metallic beast makes a slow spin, grumbling, puffing, ready for the next charge.

I’ve been finding these pieces harder than I expected! For only ninety-nine words they’re taking me far longer than it would take to write 500. When I start writing a new chapter I like to set a scene. With the seasonal flash-fiction I’m trying not to be overly direct and say ‘this is spring!’ etc and the idea of flash-fiction is maybe to do more than just my usual flowery openings that then develop into a story. The flash-fiction is a mini story in itself and I don’t really have the time, or the words, to provide an expansive introduction and explore a character.

So I start with a few opening lines and then as I struggle to piece those together I’m searching for the twist or just the question that the fiction can raise. So far, two down, two to go and I’m satisfied I’ve been able to full-fill my own criteria. I hope that you enjoy them.

The first piece can be found here:

Seasonal Flash-Fiction: One 

If anyone wants to join in the challenge, I’d love to read your pieces. Just 99 words of flash-fiction inspired by a season. Drop me a comment or e-mail me at fibijeeves@gmail.com.

Responding to the Daily Prompt Outlier. I hope that I’ve been able to challenge a few expectations in the fiction and provide something unexpected.

Denying Winter

I’ve had twenty years of winter and no it’s nothing to do with GOT, sorry! Twenty years is roughly how long I’ve been dreaming up Burning Embers, writing the universe, drawing the characters, scrapping it all and starting again, and again and then going into fine-tuning and comma placements – before scrapping all of that! It’s been a big project and definitely one of those that’s taken on a life of its own and one day, very soon, I’m going to share it with you.

In the meantime, Burning Embers is set on the cusp of deep winter. It’s a harsh, cold and unforgiving environment and I purposely studied in Canada for a year, so that I could really understand snow. Having been born and raised in Middle-England and the modernish equivalent of Hobbiton, fields, gentle hills, farmlands, small streams, traditional pubs, more fields, snow wasn’t something I experienced much of. Rain on the other hand, is a different story. I’ve grown up feeling like a rain expert and that’s probably something to do with the wide vocabulary that the British have developed to describe water falling from the sky, or sideways – because sometimes the rain is sideways.

Still, working on Burning Embers for such a pro-longed period of time, has meant that mentally, I’m in Narnia. It’s always winter and never Christmas. Descriptions are of frost-covered trees and the crunch of deep snow. So when I decided that I was going to start a new project, it perhaps isn’t a surprise that it’s set in summer. There will be blue skies and butterflies! There will be warm weather! It’s been refreshing to explore a new season and so I thought that I’d combine that thought with my current attempts at flash-fiction.

This has been a very long introduction for a short project, so I hope I’ve kept your attention so far. I want to try a series of flash fiction for the changing seasons.  I’ve given myself exactly 99 words for each. A different season is going to be posted up in the next four blog posts.

I hope that you’ll be able to work out which season is which, because I’m not going to label them, let me know in the comments!

So here they are, my escape from winter, followed by the inevitable return.

Seasonal Flash-Fiction – One

The sky is a tapestry of falling rain and threads of smoke. Leaves drift in slow spirals between heavy drops. Grey puddles spill off the path and into sodden grass, tramped with muddy boots and wellingtons. Water gurgles in the roadside drains and steals away with sycamore seeds. Conker shells burst, shining chestnut nestled between layers of bronze, amber and fading green. Interwoven clouds in faded lines and jagged blue tears. Pale sunlight peers through the cracks and paints the tarmac gold. The umbrella snaps to attention, stolen from a desperate grasp, whipped up, away, lost to the tapestry.

 

Tied into the Daily Prompt Denial