Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Oktober Ski: Fiction, Fiction, Fiction

After many beginnings in September, most having gone unreported here, we are into Oktober, which is always reserved for instant fiction. This year, the plan is to alternate between a few prospective books, adding some new work to each. The first is a fanfic I've just dreamed up, a gathering of stories that may or may not become interwoven, called:


 His wife was trying on earrings now. She'd picked up ten different pairs so far, holding them near her head in turn, assessing their effect against her perfect coif.

 Brennan sat heavily in one of the Overlook's leather club chairs, realizing he might have to wait another half hour or more just for the jewelry to get picked. Then she'd need to decide on shoes, and last of all, a wrap. All of this to go downstairs and mingle with the richest scum in America on a cracked ballroom floor under aging chandeliers, while they ate dried out canap├ęs and lobster that was sure to be overcooked.

 He grabbed a newspaper, bored already. His wife turned from her vanity mirror, hands on hips.

"What do you think about these?"

 He lifted his head from the sports section just as the first bullet ripped through her middle.


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