Putting it in Writing

Long ago and far away I got the idea that I could pursue fiction writing. Like, letting other people read the stuff I wrote. It has been a journey for me to identify who I am as a writer, and I haven't arrived at a clear answer yet, but I've made progress.

I started entering online contests a number of years ago and started making good connections with many talented writers. I've watched as a number of them, namely Jamie Ford, Jaye Wells, and Sarah Hina, have achieved great success in the world of publishing. My name became one recognized to other writers in a ring of blogs.

I struggled with differing aspects of my life, however. Writers were coming to my personal blog and getting an online journal. I felt bad for making them wade through personal narratives and baby pictures, and like any mystique I'd gained was lost. Also, I'm ashamed to admit, I didn't want the fact that I'm Mormon to influence the perception of my writing. I wanted other writers to see only my words without any stigma. On the flip-side, I was sometimes scared to share my writing on my personal blog. I felt like my Mormon friends and family might not understand when my characters did and said things that Mormons try not to do.

So I created a new blog, using a pseudonym when associating with other writers. Eventually, my pseudonym became known on the blogs. I liked the anonymity. I liked having that private aspect in my life.

But time marches on and we all evolve in the process. I'm done dividing myself. I'm to a point now where I'm ready to ditch the pseudonym (Hoodie) and lay bare my writing for the eyes of whomever will read. My confidence often wanes and I wonder if "being a writer" is a vain dream. I'm ready now, however, to face who I am as a mother, a wife, a depressed maniac, a Mormon, a vain dreamer and a writer, and let them all be the same person. This is my formal plea to those that read to judge my words for their own sake. I can take it if they, alone, fall short. From now on this blog will serve as any scrap of info I choose to post, be it journaling, writing, photos or any other snippet that captures my fancy. You may, as they say, take it or leave it.

That being said, I'd like to share my recent submission to a contest at Clarity of Night, hosted by Jason Evans, whom I respect highly. This is flash fiction. Contest rules stated 250 words or less. Head on over to Jason's if you are interested in reading any of the 101 other entries.

All We Are

The tock-tock of the grandfather clock echoed beside her as she slumped against the wall, twisted carpet between her fingers. Large swaths of afternoon light cut through the living room windows and she let her head fall back, fixated on the illumined dust particles and their lazy drifting. What was dust, anyway? Flour so fine it had escaped the inferno? Kicked up dirt, meandering its way back home? Perhaps, she realized, it was itsy bits of people, flaked-off pieces of themselves transcendent enough to defy petty laws like gravity.

Was she, right now, breathing in parts of herself? Of Jeff?

Of Lily?

Maybe, at this very second, she was surrounded by teeny little pieces of Lily, still floating, silent, everywhere.

The AC kicked on.

She heard Jeff’s slow step down the stairs behind her, knew he spotted her legs jutting out from behind the clock. Silence. She felt his stare, the weight of speech growing on his tongue.

Finally, he sighed. “Mel, you can’t-”

Her words, quiet, were measured in teaspoons. “Please. Go. Away.”

Another long silence. The garage door opened. Shut.

A robin hopped across the porch, its rusted belly plump as a bean bag. She watched it through the plated window of the storm door.

And then she saw Lily’s handprint, greasy and perfect, like stamped butter on the glass.

Crawling to the door she nearly touched it, withdrew her hand, and the AC chilled fresh trails on her cheeks.