The Chrysalis Experiment - 85,000 words

This year, some friends and I started the Chrysalis Experiment, which I referred to as a year-long foray into the art and science of short story writing. We've posted 36 prompts so far this year, and so far I've written 36 short stories to go along with those prompts. We've had a steady core of participants who have continued to produce stories. Some have fallen behind but have not yet given up. We've got 16 prompts to go (16 weeks), and then we'll earn that sparkly shiny badge up there. But for now, a reflection on how the year has gone for me so far.

I did a word count yesterday, and I had about 86,000 words worth of Chrysalis stories. Yes, some of them blew out beyond 'short story' territory - one story is currently 22k, and not finished - but still, all of them started as a 1k-10k Chrysalis story. My latest story, titled "Case o' the Crazies", is posted on the Chrysalis blog for the world to read.

One of the things I've noticed so far this year is that I tend to write a lot of short stories that feel more like 'beginnings' of larger works. My co-hosts have said the same thing quite often. We've even got a few drafts of novels out of this whole thing. One participant has told us she thinks she's doomed to write flash fiction because she often doesn't make it to the 1k mark. I've discovered a tendency in myself to write post-apocalyptic scenes. I've written a few stories that could potentially belong in the same world.

At the end of this year when I've got 52 stories written, I'm going to take a closer look at all the things I've written about and report on the stats. Genre, word count, number of stories finished as opposed to those begging for more to be added. That kind of thing. I look forward to comparing notes with my fellow Experimenters at that time.

All in all, it's been fascinating, challenging and rather exhilarating.

My first 'meme'!

I'm confused. But that's okay, because others have been confused before me, and still more will (or may) be confused after me. This is my first meme, and no I still don't know what the hell that word means. Care to enlighten me, anyone?! Anyway, thanks to Brooke R. Busse for tagging me and making my brain hurt. A lot. But here goes:

Are you a rutabaga?
a) I don't know what a rutabaga is, but I have a vague recollection from seeing Brooke's answer to this question that no, indeed I am not. I'm perfectly unvegetative. Even if I'm sort of a potato (the stuck-to-her-couch kind) right now. b) No?

Which member of Def Leppard do you have the biggest crush on?

source

You're seriously making me CHOOSE?

Upload a heartwarming picture of something that makes you smile.

source

What were you famous for in high school?
The Satanic cult I was apparently a part of (pssst. It's called being shy, people. No Satan required).

How many people have de-friended you from Facebook?
My friend numbers seem to go up and down on a daily basis, so I think people are messing with me - adding me, deleting me, adding me, deleting me. Messin' with my miiiiind, you see.

What is the weirdest/most disgusting job you've ever had to do?
Ha. Easy. Worked at the rubbish tip. For one whole day. That's longer than most people last, or so I'm told. At least I wasn't there on a day when people's dead pets turned up in their trash (not even kidding on that one).

Where da muffin top at?
I ate it.

Describe yourself using obscure Latin words.
Octogenarian (minus about 50 years).
Okay so that one wasn't 'obscure'...sue me!

And I'm done! Now to pass this little ditty on to some folks who no doubt know much better than I what the heck a meme is:

Jenni Merritt
Deniz Bevan
Julie Musil
Charlotte Jane Ivory

P.S. I don't know about everyone else, but I choose not to track my own blog stats, as in my own visits to my own blog, blog pages, etc. So it annoys me just a little bit that every time Firefox updates itself, my settings for not tracking blog visits from myself are reset. Yes, it annoys me very much!!

First Campaigner Challenge!

Yes, I surely am! And it's time for the First Campaigner Challenge. Dude, sometimes it's not easy saying 'campaign' instead of 'crusade', but I'm doing my best to get used to it! Anyway, the challenge involves the following: Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “The door swung open” These four words will be included in the word count.

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), use the same beginning words and end with the words: "the door swung shut." (also included in the word count)

For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!

Now, before anyone leaps upon my post accusing me of being a liar, my story is precisely 200 words...in Scrivener. I don't know what it is in your word processor, but I have no doubt at all it's either over or under 200 words. But I SWEAR to you that Scrivener tells me 200. So, without further ado, here's my little ditty, all glorious 200 words (and by glorious I mean forced and unpolished and all that stuff, yeah):

---

The door swung open and Elsie staggered through, crystal glass flying from her hand. Bennett's heart stuttered then swelled. Elsie hit the ground seconds before her glass. The crystal came apart as if in slow motion, glittering shards spraying out. Mother and father care more about the family crystal than they do a human life, he thought. But now wasn't the time for bitterness.

It was time for Elsie.

She was all he cared about. And she was here, alive. With him.

"Elsie! Oh God, I thought— I thought they'd…"

Bennett trailed off, staring at her still form. She hadn't stirred since landing, and she lay so still. Too still. Fighting back fear, he sank to his knees beside her and reached out a hand, scared but compelled to touch her. "Elsie?" He gripped her shoulder and shook her, first lightly, then harder. "Elsie?"

Then he saw the dark tide of crimson pooling beneath her, and he knew. They'd got to her after all.

"Oh, how sweet," came his mother's voice behind him. "You two, together at the end." He looked up into her haggard, bitter face, and knew it really was the end. Behind them, the door swung shut.

Travel Series: AUSTRALIA

I do actually live in Australia, though I was born in the U.K., but just 'cause you live somewhere doesn't mean you know everything about the place. I learned a bit more about my country of residence in 1998 when I set out with my father and uncle on the first leg of a 6-month journey with my Dad.

This leg took us across Australia, from Perth to Sydney. We drove that little car you see in the photograph above. It was February, the height of the Australian summer (did I mention I hate summer?). And I was seventeen.

We drove from Perth to Laverton through numerous small towns in the WA outback, including Kalgoorlie. Along the way, I got my driver's licence. From Laverton, we headed into the desert, setting our sights on the opal-mining town of Coober Pedy in South Australia. Dad had calculated to the mililitre how much petrol we would need for that desert trek. We didn't take any extra.

It took us 4-5 days to reach Coober Pedy, and while I burned with teenaged hatred for much of that time (4-odd days without a shower? In February?!), I also had numerous amazing, breathtaking moments. I got caught in desert storms, crossed broad brown-gold-red plains, and learned that deserts can be incredibly lush and green even in

the burning summer months.

I saw creatures in our headlights that looked like tiny veloceraptors. I still don't know what the heck those things were, but they were cool and...prehistoric-looking! I saw rolling hills and dusty dirt roads and wonderful trees. In short, I saw a side of my country I never knew existed. A side I can never forget.

My Dad is the kind of guy who likes to live on the edge. Prior to our departure from Perth, my mother's side of the family had concerns for my safety. Mum had travelled with Dad before, and she knew better than most what might be in store for me. Basically though, my Dad was notorious (and still is) for his love of living on the edge. Edge of a glacier, edge of a desert, edge of a war-torn region - you name it, he's been there. At seventeen, I'd heard the stories, but I soon learned that it's one thing to hear them and another to experience them yourself.

The trip across the desert in February 1998 gave me a good taste of what was to come for the next few months. I think back on it now and still get inspired. I could go on all day about it, really. I could try to count the number of times I rolled my eyes or sighed or did any of those teenaged girl things.But instead I'm going to say that it

was amazing. Especially that shower in Coober Pedy - being clean never felt so good!