Tag: Short Fiction

All Stories, General Fiction

Milltown by Martyn Clayton

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They call it the valley creep. A mire of mist slithers down the river bottom then seeps its way through the narrow terraced streets, climbing as far up the hillsides as it can travel before gravity calls time. Those who live at the top keep their distance. Their view of the valley is always from on high. Any problems up there are easily resolved. Those at the bottom bought in when they were in search of something that the cities could no longer offer. Some came to find themselves in this old mill town, industry given way to dreams of creativity and reinvention. Some fall between the gaps, others slide into the canal after a drunken night out. In the little bunting bound park the bewildered born and bred meet those who’ve blown in to tighten their arms and pierce their veins. Once a film-maker raised in the valley came back with his camera to meet them. He called out all the suicides, the blame getting put on the steep valley sides that hide the sun for months of the year. When it snows the roads in and out become impassable. The sun shines too though, and when it does the place comes alive with trippers from the nearby towns. People sit on the low old bridge and eat ice cream. Today it’s neither sunny nor cold, just a grey valley day.

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All Stories, Humour

A Lost Cause Part 2 by Adam Kluger

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“Hey Rudy-toot-tootie–How’s your kazootie?
It’s your ol’ pal Alfred Klumpner from across the pond just checking in again to see if you had any time to read over that short piece of fiction I sent you, “The Rain Washed His Underwear Clean.” I know that Pushing Down The Daisies only publishes poetry but I thought I should explain that the story is really what I would call a “poetic parable” and that the stain in his underwear represents his shame at being a loser and the shark that wants to eat him is really society wanting to kill him…pretty deep, poetic stuff, y’know, mate?

…

hi alfred
i think you and i are on different poetic wavelengths, im sorry.
i want the language to be something other than your content and stories. Too far afield for my taste.
sorry to disappoint.
best wishes
rudolf

…

“No worries, Rudolfo –with your nose so bright– one door closes– and another window opens… I’ve sent “Underwear” to a couple other lit-mags and I’ve got a good feeling on this one–will keep you in the loop as always. Later, pal. Alf!

…

goodluck, alfred
R

…

Dear Alfred Klupner,

Thank you for submitting to Olive Garden Explosion. We have decided not to publish your piece, “The Rain Washed His Underwear Clean.” Some Editorial Board comments:

“I wanted to like this but was confused throughout… the dirty underwear description was pretty gross and completely unnecessary in my opinion”

“I wasn’t drawn in by the overly-hypenated first paragraph, and the setup didn’t really spark my interest- This feels derivative but not of anything good… ”

“I found the writing stiff and awkward.”

” The overuse of hyphenation also makes that paragraph weighty. If I’d been glancing over this, I probably wouldn’t have read on. Also, what was the deal with the underwear?”

“I had trouble with specifics. I gather Azure De Columbus is a fictitious island, but if Madagascar refers to the city in Honduras, there aren’t going to be any islands just south of it, fictitious or not. (Also, my understanding of Columbus is that he never made it south of Madagascar, if it matters.) Roboskowitz also isn’t believably a Spanish name to me (Roboskowitz is Jewish and Tulli sounds Italian?). All that aside, this story was too sentimental for my taste, though it does seem to have sweet aspirations. I felt the characterizations were rather flat, and the wife seemed like a strawman. I’m definitely not a fan of showing non-Caucasian people as simple-minded and superstitious. Overall, this comes across to me as a pretty straightforward religious parable (not my personal cup of tea, and not really what Olive Garden Explosion publishes). Also, lose the paragraph on the underwear. Burn it- like I would like to burn it permanently from my memory if I could.”

“Slight confusion at the beginning, thinking that Tulli and Roboskowitz were 2 different people. The ending, where Tulli is enlightened was confusing as well–it was too abrupt and I didn’t really get the narrative point of it. This piece has a fable-like quality, with an emphasis on the stupid poor man (why must he be stupid?) and God. The man’s character could be better developed. I do like how he throws his dirty underwear into the shark’s mouth.”

…

“Dear Editors of Olive Garden Explosion:
Thanks so much for your terrific feedback on The Rain Washed his Underwear Clean as Ernest Hemingway once said, the key to being a great writer is having a fail-safe bullshit detector. You guys can be my copy-editors whenever I sell this puppy to Hollywood as a feature film script.
Thanks again!
Alfred Klumpner –spelled with an “M” by the way

…

Dear Mr. Alfred Klumpner:

Thank you for providing the opportunity to read “The Rain Washes His Underwear Clean” After careful consideration I have decided that it is not quite right for The Eyesocket Express Weeps Over Beethoven.

I am also declining the three submissions you sent minutes after this one, because as the guidelines clearly state, “Please send only one submission at a time. Please wait a week before submitting something else after you get a response.” You obviously knew this and decided to ignore it, so I will kindly ask that you do not submit anything here again in the future as they will be rejected without reading.

Regards,
Sultan Charnow
Editor

…

“Dear Sultan:
What an appropriate name you have— I feel I should probably bow down at the ground you walk on and thank you profusely for first, taking the time to actually read my short story and then to reject it so carelessly, (which, incidentally, another literary outlet much more well regarded than yours, Olive Garden Explosion, just raved about–as in specific regards to the dramatic, climactic scene between the protagonist and antagonist. In fact, we are in current discussions and correspondence about adapting “Underwear” into a screenplay for the big-screen) —- and then you banish me completely from your literary kingdom forever –right after I unknowingly broke one of your silly submission rules. Booooo… boooo on you… Sultan. You are not a fair and wise king you are a petty tyrant –a paper tiger who has been corrupted absolutely. I hope that The Eyesocket Express Weeps Over Beethoven folds in ignominy under your incompetent stewardship. So glad you are able to read other people’s minds and intentions—-you must be a psychic as well as a sultan. In fact, I think I will write a story about you one day–if I ever get really bored.
Sincerely,
A.K.
Alfred Klumpner, published author of works too numerous to list

…

Actually, Mr. Klumpner– thanks for the kind reminder. You were already told less than four weeks ago that any further submissions you make would be rejected without reading. Consider this your final rejection and our final correspondence.
Sultan

…

“Hey Sully:
Thanks for the “kind” explanation of your arbitrary and capricious submission and acceptance guidelines– I know that one day “The Rain Washed His Underwear Clean” will be a story title on everybody’s lips–but until then– enjoy your lofty position atop the literary universe.
“When people are no good at anything else they become writers.” -W. Somerset Maugham
That’s my excuse, pal.
Alfred Klumpner

…

“Hey Rudy:
A message to you….
Just thought up a whizz-banger of a new poem for Pushing Down the Daisies–It’s called The Sultan Banished Me From His Kingdom… Here it is:

the Sultan Banished me from his Kingdom
The Sultan Banished me from his kingdom
He took away my pens and paper
The Sultan banished me from his kingdom
I broke his rules and he could not abide
He reached for my words and he grabbed for my tongue
but all he got was spit.
The Sultan cried, “off with his head” but it was way too late
for any of that.
Cause Ruprecht the Rat had chewed through my hat
So that Sultan can just go roll around in Leaves of Grass
… and I cordially invite him to kiss my ass.

Ruper-Duper: I really like the end of this poem it has a lot of flow and power, if you know what I mean. I also subtly referenced American poet Walt Whitman to class things up a little. A little trick of mine. Anyhoo-hope you like this new one. Lemmeno Geronimo!
Alfred

…

hi alfred, ‘fraid we dont publish individual poems.
hope yre well
R

 

Adam Kluger

 

Header photograph: By Jcbutler at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

All Stories, General Fiction

Kyle and David by Logan Fuller

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His heartbeat thunders beneath flesh, muscle and bone. He’s sleeping now, I can tell by the steady rise and fall of his chest. He doesn’t snore, but I can hear a quiet whistle blow from one of his nostrils.

The windows of the car are fogged over, our body heat battling with the cold of autumn meeting winter. It hasn’t snowed yet, but it’s getting closer. I enjoy the first snow of the season. It’s a fresh start, a blank page.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Evan Stalworth’s Wealth of Words by Tom Sheehan

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I’ll have to tell the story because I’m the one most at fault here. I should have known better, I’m the new generation type. Even on the way home from the cemetery, going back to the house with my mother, my two younger brothers and my sister, it was me who should have known better. Lots of things should have tipped me off; instead of being bigger, having more room with a body gone from it, the house appeared smaller, at least to me. It felt smaller, smelled smaller, corners were tighter, the air cooler. I swore, after spending my first twenty-two years in it, it didn’t have its hand out for me, “Not a touch in the tally,” as my father used to say about things found useless, unproductive, too much emptiness to expend much-courted energy on.

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All Stories, Fantasy

A Snowman at Christmas by dm gillis

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The snowman smiled. He was driving a ’72 Lincoln with the windows down and the A/C on full. He smoked Kools and drank frosty cold cans of beer. The Stones played on the eight track. It was December 24th.

The Voice was speaking to him. It had been all afternoon. It was the same Voice he’d been hearing since he’d opened his bottle cap eyes and walked off of the abandoned lot of his birth. The Voice had told him to steal the car. It was nameless. The one that whispered. Sometimes it even spoke backward, as though in tongues. Now it was saying, “Smoke, drink and drive fast, for snowmen melt sooner rather than later. We have seen the future, and you are not a part of it.”

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All Stories, General Fiction

Song Writer by Ronald J Friedman

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He’d burned the titles of his hit songs into the planks that formed the stall where he kept his favorite horse, a high-stepping Paso Fino of no particular value beyond the curiosity of its unusual four-gaited step. A short length of pine tacked on the half-door of the stall bore the horse’s name in brass letters, Dominus.

Colin looked about. The stalls and tack seemed unfamiliar. He took a deep breath and smelled sweet feed and hay mixed with the sharper scents of leather and manure.  

“What the hell?”

A horse whinnied somewhere across the corral and Dominus stirred.

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Latest News

Literally Stories – Week 50

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A year is a long time.  Well a good three hundred and sixty-four days.  If you don’t believe me multiply the seven days we have in a week with the fifty-two weeks in the year. Anyhow, I mention the year as that is the time that has passed since our first ‘Post’ was published.  I wonder if Jenny Morton Potts realises that she is now part of our history?

We have had a ball.  It hasn’t always been easy.  To be truthful the submission numbers have at times been a bit of a disappointment and sometimes a struggle.  We have always kept true to our initial ideals.  We have only published what we thought was either interesting, unique or edgy. If we got all three of those, we were delighted.  The writing always had to reach the standard that we insisted on.

So to all who we have published, to all the friends that we have made and to everyone who has submitted, we can’t thank you enough!!!  It has been a pure privilege.  We hope that you have enjoyed this past year and being a part of the site.

Now to The Anthology!

We are delighted to be associated with this. This book is a  representation of the versatility of the stories from the site.

I think all of us who have worked on this must thank Diane especially.  She has worked like a wee Trojan Beaver Bee.  Her knowledge and input has been invaluable. She has grafted away for days on this and as I say, we must all thank her for her patience, skill and professionalism.

We have posted a page on the dynamics of the charity and would like to thank ‘The Book Bus’ for it’s acceptance of our proceeds.  Believe it or not, it is sometimes difficult to give money away!!  We wish them every success and hope we raise some awareness and funds for them.  Please help with a few purchases. The links and information regarding how to buy a copy is at the end of this post.

Now onto our stories.  Myself and Diane have put ourselves out there again. Fred Foote and Des Kelly have contributed.  Please check out their stories this week and their back catalogue as they are two very versatile and skilled writers.  We have a newbie to the site. Karl McDermott is a master of the short sentence.  His witty story is worth a look and we are sure that he will also have a back catalogue soon.

I hope that on the 17th you all join me and my fellow editors and take a moment to pour out a huge drink of your choosing, look to the sky and toast the site that is Literally Stories.  We will then look to the heavens and toast each and every one of you!!!  Our respective Ambulance Services are on standby.

THE ANTHOLOGY: OPPORTUNITY TO PURCHASE:

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So, yes it’s been hard work and time-consuming because we wanted it to be as good as we could make it.  Out of respect for our wonderful authors and to ensure that anyone who buys this will feel that they have bought a well presented collection of short fiction.  We hope that you approve.  For those of you who have pre-ordered — thank you and for anyone else this will be available for purchase from all Amazon marketplaces on our Anniversary 15th November.   Get it for your Kindle, your phone, your computer, your cat — oh your cat doesn’t have an iPhone — No problem.  In response to several requests we decided to take the extra step and publish the book in Paperback and so you can also have a copy to hold in your hand.  As with the e-book the proceeds from sales go directly to The Book Bus.  So, if you want a happy cat order your copy either from Amazon or directly from Createspace it’s your choice .  We do hope you like it.

Huge thanks are due to Angela at studioanjou for making us a beautiful all round genuine cover.

the-anthology-book-cover(PREVIEW-DO-NOT-USE)

A final note — the book is also enrolled in the matchbook programme on Amazon so if you buy both you get a “deal” one for reading and one to brighten up your coffee table!!

What’s not to like?

All Stories, General Fiction

Goodbye Blues by Frederick K Foote – Adult Content.

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Got the news straight from the horse’s ass. No fucking around at all. Dr. pull-no-punches, straight arrow motherfucker.

“The cancer done got you, boy. Got you good from asshole to elbows. Not much we can do, but wave to you as you go.”

“How about, chemo, radiation, experimental—“

“How about six to eight weeks to go? How about that?”

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All Stories, General Fiction, Historical

A Charming Couple by Des Kelly

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London 1929, a society sticking to the rigid values of the past, but only on the surface.

Such charm he had, Leonard. Such charm, elegance too. Poise, like a woman. He’d observe out of the corner of his eyes; feline, almost feminine. Everyone liked Leonard, even when the opinions expressed could be cutting. Acute observation.

People believed him blessed, and sought out his company at parties. He was rarely alone. Despite advances from both men and women, Adele was the only woman Leonard took home, but they weren’t lovers.

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