Rish Performs "Of Men & Wolves" on Far-Fetched Fables

In the time since starting the Dunesteef, I've tried to accept any and all invitations to do voices in podcasts or audio dramas that come my way, even though I've really got to stop.  Soon.

I'll be frank witcha: I didn't like this story at all when I read it through. First off, I thought Gary Dowell, the editor of the then-forthcoming Far Fetched Fables podcast, was crazy to have sent me this story to narrate, a first-person tale of the newly-widowed wife of a barbarian.   The tale was called "Of Men and Wolves," by An Owomoyela, and I discovered that the main character wasn't exactly a woman (or exactly a man either), and wondered how I would pull it off (not to mention pronouncing the name of the author).

But I recorded it, doing my best to deliver an androgynous, accented performance, but also to bring some emotion to the table, and I'll admit that there were a couple parts I thought were pretty okay. After that, I had to edit the recording, and it was then that I picked up on some nuances and language craft that I hadn't appreciated before. By the time it was done, I thought "Of Men and Wolves" was a pretty high quality tale.

You can check it out over at www.farfetchedfables.com/far-fetched-fables-no-16/ and judge for yourself.

Rish

Rish Outcast 10: Fradenscheude

In this story-free episode of ye olde Rish Outcast, Rish ruminates on the success of his friend.  He promises a story for next time.  A whole new world awaits.

Right click HERE to download the episode, select Save Link As, and save the file to your hard drive.

Broken Mirror Shard - Day 7

While I have a bit of fascination with old men and women, I enjoy writing young people the most.  Children and teenagers, which is good, I suppose, in this era when every movie not made by Marvel Studios seems to feature teens, and every movie including those made by Marvel Studios are aimed at teens.  While I've technically been an adult longer than I was a child or teen, I don't yet feel that way.  And this story--"MagiClaw"--is about kids (a child and a teen, to be exact), which is easy.

A writer I read a lot also writes about children.  But his children are always brilliant, precocious, eloquent philosophers who just happen to inhabit the bodies of twelve or nine or five year olds.  I have no interest in this, and when I started a recent book of his only to discover that the protagonists are three lil geniuses who range from six to eight, well, I nearly put it down.  Sure, it seems to interest him to write about prepubescent Einsteins, and maybe my buddy Jeff and his cranially-endowed megaminds, but that alienates the hell out of me, and I can't relate to something like that, or long to read about their exploits.

To me, being a child was never knowing the answers, never understanding how the world works, never being able to have the upper hand.  Hell, the world STILL feels like that.  So I write kids that don't get the joke, that don't know the definition of some bonus vocabulary test word, and seldom have a brilliant retort or riposte handy.  I'm one of those guys who thinks up something clever to say two hours after the argument, but only manages to stammer in the heat of the moment, and that's after years of practice trying to be a smartass.

So, maybe too many of my characters are like me.  In my mind, there's something suspicious of the child who speaks or behaves like the grownups, and something ugly about a kid who acts like he knows all the answers.  I originally meant for Brekkyn, the villain of my last blogged story, to be one of those because the girl that inspired her was always a bit smarter than the kids around her when she was little.  But as she got older, she was so used to not having to try to find the answer, that she became lazy, and eventually, pretty dumb.  I figured Brekkyn, who never had to work hard and anything or do anything she didn't actually want to do, would be lazy too, and even though she's probably got a higher I.Q. than Tanissa, she seldom uses any gift but her magic. 

I didn't mean to type quite so much here, I only meant to preface my story writing for the day.  But reading that book about the eight year old that speaks a SECOND LANGUAGE so fluently that he tricks everyone into thinking he is an adult made me shake my head with the opposite of enjoyment, and made me want to write the kids in my story . . . as kids.

***

            They went out into the sunlight, the heat a sharp contrast to the cold corner shop, and Stewart took the piece of paper from his brother.  It looked like girl’s handwriting, a cute little note like you’d pass back in forth in class in junior high.  All it said was that one stupid word, and Stewart tossed it onto the ground.  Anthony went behind the bushes where they’d hidden his bike and Stewart’s skateboard.  He wasn’t sure why his big brother was upset about the paper—he thought “boobs” was a hilarious word, though he wasn’t sure whether it qualified as a swear or not—but he was pleased with the money in his pocket and a pretty cool story to tell.

            They finished their drinks before heading back home.  There was a hill between their housing development and the center of town, and Anthony had to stand up on his pedals just to keep moving forward, while Stewart seemed to have no trouble with it at all.

            They were just reaching their street when Stewart’s phone began to buzz.  It was a text message, and he coasted while pulling his phone from his pants, expecting to read the rest of the dirty cannibal joke (at last).  But the number wasn’t familiar, even though it was a local one.  Stewart paused on his board--Anthony still half a block behind him, peddling hard to catch up—and opened the text.

            It consisted of two words, “Enjoy, Greg.”  There was an attachment that Stewart opened, just by force of habit.

            It was Claudia Espinoza, a hot girl from school, using one hand to take the picture, using the other to lift up her t-shirt, exposing her naked chest.

            Stewart’s eyes went large and he nearly fell off his board, despite having one foot on the pavement.  He glanced behind to make sure Anthony hadn’t caught up yet.  He looked back at his phone.  Claudia was a popular girl on the drill team, and her boyfriend was Greg Mortensen, a douchey Sophomore/about-to-be-Junior with curly bleached blond hair. 

            The photo was a marvelous sight, taken in a bathroom, somehow accidentally sent to Stewart.  He wasn’t sure how this happened, but he was not going to look a gift rack in the mouth. 

            And then the dots connected in his head.

            “Bewbies,” he whispered, almost like a prayer.

            “What?” Anthony called behind him.  “Was that Mom?”

            Quick as Mercury, Stewart locked his phone, and stuck it into his now too-tight jeans.  “No, just . . . just a wrong number.”

            They went back to their little house and let themselves in.  Anthony started organizing his Pokemon cards, and Stewart locked himself in his room.  When Mom got home, Anthony regaled her with the tale of the ill-gotten twenty.  She was very tired, though, and not nearly as amazed by the story as she ought to have been.  Stewart, however, was a true believer, and knew where they’d be buying their drinks tomorrow.

 

Words Today: 498

Words Total: 3097

Broken Mirror Shard - Day 6

I got no writing done on Friday, as it was GUARDIANS day.  Which is not an excuse, but I chose to hang out with my nephew, cousin, and friend, and edited audiobooks when I was not.

However, I will endeavor to make it up to you.

Words, muse!  Give me words!

***

            The clerk did as he was told, giving the boy three fives, three ones, and eight quarters.  As soon as his brother had the change, Stewart said, “He won that twenty, from the claw machine.”

            “Really?  We just got it in last week.”  The clerk looked past them, at the big black machine, and did not look pleased.  “You know, those games don’t usually pay out too good.  You might want to quit while you’re ahead.”

            “A guy won gold a minute ago,” Anthony said.

            The clerk—whose name tag read Adrian, glanced over at it again.  “Yeah, well.  A lady I know claimed it had her car keys in it when it first came in.  But she dropped them back in, so we’ll never know.”

            “Yeah,” Stewart said.  “Those things suck.  You can’t even see what’s in this one.”

            “I see a baseball.”

            “It’s probably nailed on there.”

            The clerk snorted, pleased by the youth’s cynicism.  “Probably.  You want to pay for your drinks?”

            Stewart hadn’t realized they’d forgotten about the soda and the Icee, and he told his brother to pay.  “Since you have so much cash on you.”

            The boy was glad to, but as soon as that was done, they were back beside the MagiClaw, and Anthony was feeding two quarters in.

            “You gonna try for the baseball?”

            “Baseball’s lame,” the boy said, and moved the claw past the ball—which was old and scuffed, with “Robinson – 42” scrawled on it in blue ink.  He maneuvered the claw over to the right, and lowered it down out of sight, where the black partition hid it from view.

            Stewart felt his chest tighten as the claw descended, closed, and began to rise again.  It moved to the left, where they could see what it had captured . . . absolutely nothing.

            “Oh,” Stewart heard himself say.  He had—for a second there—believed it would scoop up something good.  He felt suddenly disappointed, not in the machine, but in himself.  “Come on,” he said, putting his hand on the boy’s back.  “Let’s go.”

            “Do you want to try?” Anthony asked.

            And Stewart surprised himself by saying, “Sure.” 

            He took two quarters from the boy—technically his own quarters, since he’d paid for the first game—and fed them into the slot.  The lights on MagiClaw began to flash, and a little countdown started from ten.

            Stewart used the joystick to move the claw over the trapdoor and into the mystery section blocked from view.  He couldn’t see whether something good lay below—the whole machine might have been empty except for the old baseball for all he knew—but lowered the claw.  It dropped, then began to rise, moving on its own back toward the vending door.

            The claw had a little white paper in its teeth, fingers, whatever.

            “More money!” Anthony cheered.

            “Not unless it’s a check, Annie,” Stewart said.

            “Hey!” his brother said behind him, unhappily.

            The paper dropped into the opening, and Stewart reached in and got it.  It wasn’t a check; it was just a sheet of unlined white paper, folded once.  He opened it up.

            BEWBIES, it read, in flowery handwriting.

            “Lemme see!” Anthony said, and Stewart showed him the joke.  For that’s what it had to be.

            “Bewbies?” read the kid.  “Is that how you spell—”

            “No.  It isn’t.”  Stewart’s back molars were grinding together.  He focused all his self-control on not looking toward the cash register to see if the clerk was watching them, maybe smirking.  Instead, he turned in the opposite direction.  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Word Count: 601
Word Total: 2587

Broken Mirror Shard - Day 5

Almost no writing done today, just a couple of minutes jotting stuff down during lunch at work. 

I think my story will be called "MagiClaw."

***

            He looked at the front and back of the bill, but it seemed totally genuine.  It was a 2014 bill, with the watermark and everything.  “There’s no way you won this from the claw!”

            “I did!  I swear!”

            “I’m telling mommy you swore,” mocked Stewart.  “Where did it really come from?”  He thought of the guy with the ear gauges.  “Did that guy give this to you?  The one with the stretched-out ers?”

            “No.  I put in your quarters, and that’s what I won.”  The boy sounded sincere.   

            Stewart handed the money back.  “I still say it’s fake.  Maybe the wrong guy’s on it or something.”

            Anthony got an idea.  “One way to find out.”  He went across the store to the cashier counter, where a young man was reading a textbook, ignoring them completely.

            “Excuse me,” Anthony said. 

            The man looked up, then down at the kid.  “Hello.”

            “Could I get some quarters please?”  He handed the clerk the twenty. 

            The guy didn’t even glance at it.  He just opened the till.  “How many quarters do you need?”

            Stewart appeared at his brother’s side.  “Does that twenty look okay to you?”

            Now the clerk picked it up again, held it to the light, and put it down again.  “Yes.  Was there a problem with it?”

            “Two dollars in quarters,” Anthony said.  “The rest just in fives.”

 

Word Count: 227

Total Count:  1986 (a pretty good year)

Broken Mirror Shard - Day 4

I only managed to write about fifteen minutes yesterday (not counting typing up what I'd notebooked and putting it here).  Big has gotten far ahead of me with his story.  But he says it's not a contest, just a game in which everybody who writes a story is a winner.

Which reminds me, here's a link to Big's blog, where he's writing a story called "Doctor Claw," and one to Bria Burton's blog, where she's writing one called "Little Angel Helper . . . Claw."
I also heard Algar Van Cluth was writing one called "Claude Ballz," but I have no link to that one.

***

            Stewart scoffed, but he had been nine once.  He remembered there being a claw game at the Toys R Us his uncle lived by, and that it looked so easy to win . . . until you actually tried.

            “Oh, man!” he heard Anthony shout across the store.  Stewart put a lid on his Mountain Dew, and walked toward the sound. 

            The claw game was called MagiClaw, and it was a big black glass box about three feet long and seven feet high.  This one was unique in that most of the glass had a black partition around it, so you couldn’t see inside.

            Stewart scowled.  Usually these things had an assortment of tempting prizes right there in view to get people to waste their money on them.  Not this one.  All that could be seen was the big mechanical claw, and a baseball sitting right on the edge of the trapdoor.  Stewart couldn’t help himself; he gave MagiClaw the finger.

            “Well, what you think?” Anthony asked proudly beside him.

            “I think you got yoursel—”  Then he looked at his brother.  The kid had a twenty dollar bill in his hand and was rubbing it between thumb and forefinger.  “What?” Stewart said.  He thought the boy didn’t have any money.  “Where’d you get that?”

            “I won it, Stewie,” the boy said, emphasizing the nickname.  Stewart hated that epithet more than Anthony hated ‘Annie.’

            “Bullshit.  You did not win that from the machine.”  He reached out quickly and snatched the bill from the seven year old’s hand.

            “Hey!  I’m telling Mom” Anthony protested.

            “Shaddup,” Stewart mumbled, and began to examine the twenty.  It looked brand new.  No way it could be real.

            “I’ll tell her you swore.”

            “Shut up’s not a swear, turd.  Mom’s not gonna care.”

            “Yeah, but you said shh.  Twice.”

            “Shit on that,” Stewart said with a smile.  “I said it three times.”

Word Count: 316
Total Count: 1759

Broken Mirror Shard - Day 3

Big and I talked again about putting out a collection of these Broken Mirror-type stories.  Honestly, between the two of us, we probably have enough for a collection with fourteen or fifteen tales no one has ever read.

But it's unlikely anyone ever will.

***

            “That claw game over there,” Anthony said, gesturing.  “Can I have a quarter?”

            “Nope,” Stewart said, feeling grown up.  “Those machines are rip-offs.”

            “Nuh uh, that guy just played it and he won a necklace of solid gold.”

            “Solid shit is more like it.  It’s a waste of money.”

            Anthony was adamant.  He was two steps beyond adamant.  “Not this time, Stewart.”

            “I’m not stupid.  You’ll lose, then you’re gonna be mad at me.”

            “Nuh uh.  Why would I be mad at you?”

            “I don’t know, Annie, but you will be.”

            “Don’t call me Annie.  Just give me a quarter.”

            Stewart shook his head, but unzipped the little compartment in his shorts and gave his brother a quarter.  It wasn’t long ago that he’d been a little kid, thinking that he could win prizes—or worse, worthless tickets at an arcade—because the machine looked so easy.  They all looked easy, that was the—

            Anthony came back to his side.  “It’s fifty cents.”

            Stewart rolled his eyes.  “Dude . . .”

            “Come on.”

            Stewart squatted down so he was even with the seven year old.  “Those games are rigged, man.  They look super easy, but the claw doesn’t close all the way, you know?  So whatever you’re after just slips right through.”

            “This one isn’t like that.  The guy with the ear holes pulled out a gold necklace, and the claw was closed on it.”  He made a claw out of his little hand to show him what it had been like.

            “Annie, you’ll be throwing away your money.”

            “Wanna bet?”

            “I’d be betting fifty cents, and that’s too much.”

            “If you’re right and I lose, we can go wherever you want tomorrow.  I won’t complain.”

            “What if we go throw rocks at lizards behind the old quarry?”

            Anthony squinched up his face.  He hated cruelty to animals, even jokes about it.  Then, his face went slack.  “Okay, even that.”

            “No shit?”

            “No . . . shh.  But if I do win, you can’t call me Annie anymore.  I hate that.”

            “You do?”  Stewart pretended to be surprised.  “You’re kidding.” 

            The boy was exasperated.  “It’s just a quarter, man.  It’s not the end of the world.”

            Stewart felt in his pocket.  There were at least two more quarters in there, but he considered claiming he had none.  Finally, he pulled one out.  “Alright.  But when you lose, your name’s Annie all week.  And no bitching.”

            “I’ll tell Mom you said the b-word,” Anthony threatened, almost automatically.  Heck, maybe it was even a joke.

            “And no bitching about language either.”

            “Deal.”

            He handed the money over.  “Okay, Annie, go throw away your money.”

            “Your money, actually,” his brother said, and scampered off.
 

Words Today: 451Words Total: 1443

Broken Mirror Shard - Day 2

I took my nephew to his karate class, and got quite a bit of writing done on this thing.  Big told me he already has a couple of thousand words of his story down, so I'd have to get up pretty darn early in the morning to pass that guy back.  But this ain't a race, it's a . . .

Okay, I don't know what it is.  I just know it's cool he's so psyched up about writing again, and I gotta admit: it sort of rubs off.  Kind of like when your roommate starts watching "Designing Women" all of a sudden, and then you start watching it too, even though it's not really your thing, and before you know it . . . both of you are pregnant.

Alright, not exactly like that.  But similar.

***

                The old Shop N Go convenience store was at the end of the block.  Stewart didn’t usually go there because his best friend Head got caught shoplifting there and was banned from the store.  But Head—or Shithead as Stewart now thought of him—was no longer best pals with Stuart, so he had no qualms about going there today. 

                The annoying bell dinged when they went inside, and there was a blast of cold air assaultimg them, quite a change from the ninety-seven degree weather outside.

                “What size can I get?” Anthony asked.

                “Size what?  Shoe?” Stewart retorted, very weakly.

                “I thought we were gonna get Icees,” he said, just short of whining.

                “Yeah, yeah,” Stewart said.  “Get whatever you want.”  With their mother getting so many hours at work again, he was confident she’d pay him back for whatever he spent on his brother.  Either that or raise his allowance to something a bit more in line with the 21^st Century.

                Stewart got a forty-eight ounce Mountain Dew, which was the same price as a twelve ounce Icee for some reason, and drank a third of it there at the fountain so he could fill it up to the top again.  Beside him, Anthony was struggling with the Icee machine.  Either nothing came out or it sprayed out like a fire hose, splattering on his hands and bare legs.  The boy made an in-over-his head sound, and Stewart filled up his cup for him, telling him to go in the bathroom and get himself cleaned up.  Anthony didn’t have to be told twice.

                Stewart took the dripping Icee cup and wiped it off with napkins, even wiping up the red spray on the side of the machine (though he didn’t really have to).  He glanced at the big mirror on the wall above him, but the clerk behind the counter wasn’t even looking at him.

                Stewart remembered he’d turned off his phone while skating, and fished it out of his shorts, turning it back on.  He’d gotten a text from Rupe McGavin, who always wrote so much it had to be spread over more than one message.  He had send a dirty joke about a shipwrecked crew on an island of horny cannibals . . . but the punchline hadn’t come through.  Rupert was probably technically Stewart’s new best friend, but the guy never ever showered, and was always pretty ripe.  Texting really was the best way to communicate with him.  Stewart tried to think of what the end of the joke would be, and texted back, “Unfortunately, we are all out of canoes,” which was almost funny.

                Stewart was halfway through a game of “Rest In Peace” on the phone before he realized his brother wasn’t with him.  He looked around.  Was Anthony still in the bathroom, or had he—

                Anthony was on the far side of the store, where the vending machines sat, talking to some strange guy.  The man looked to be about twenty-five, with long ratty hair and ear gauges, and was tying something around his neck.  He headed for the door, and Anthony, who still had cherry Icee on one of his arms, came running over to Stewart.

                “Stewart!  Did you see?”

                “Were you talking to that dude?”

                “I need a quarter!”

                “What are you talking about?”

                “That claw game over there,” Anthony said, gesturing.  “Can I have a quarter?”

Words today: 567
Words total: 977

Broken Mirror Shard (apparently) - Day 1

Okay, so I did write on this bad boy today, but in my notebook, as usual, which means I have to type it up to present it to anyone.  That's a pain, I realize, but I'll add more if I manage to scrape together a little time tonight after podcasting.

***

Untitled Claw Story

                Now that their mother was working full time again, it was up to Stewart to keep track of his little brother.  Anthony was seven, which isn’t that much younger than fourteen, but to Stewart, it was an uncrossable gulf of age that provided only irritation and annoyance.  Okay, and occasional affection, since Anthony just wanted to be around his big brother, do what he did, talk like he did, go where he went.

                Stewart rode a skateboard, though, and Anthony rode a bike, and not nearly as fast.  To see him pumping his little legs like the devil herself was behind him was amusing, however, and Stewarts friends got a kick out of watching him try to keep up.

                Then Stewart had ditched his little brother at the miniature golf course, and Anthony had been in tears, asking the employees for a phone to call his mommy . . . and Stewart was busted.  His mom had given him such an angry, tearful tirade about responsibility, and child killers, and him being the man of the house  now, that Stewart had nearly cried himself.  With Mom working days, he was only not grounded if he was with his little brother, and that meant right next to his little brother.  So, no more sneaking into construction sites, or breaking windows at the abandoned leather works.  Now he had to go to the mall, or the water park, or the pet store, and entertain his spoiled kid brother.

                Of course, Anthony was thrilled to be able to pick their destinations, and would often insist on holding Stewart’s hand, as embarrassing as that could be.  One time, he told him about the man who’d offered to give him a ride home from the golf course, and that had pretty much cemented Stewart’s dedication to his sibling.

                Today they had gone to the skate park, where Anthony had watched—with admirable patience—as Stewart jumped, slid, and tried to half-pipe with the other skaters, each trying to look coolest for the three girls who also happened to be watching.  Stewart wasn’t very good, but Anthony was enjoying his attempts, and vowed to make him teach him how to ride a board . . . when he got just a little older.

                It was a hot day, sunny and breezeless, and they soon got tired of the summer heat.  “Let’s go get a drink,” Stewart said, and they started down the street. 

Words today: 407
Total words: 410

Come On And Do It Again (Mini Broken Mirror Story Event)

So, Big went off to do his annual family reunion summer activity last week, but before he went, he told me he was going to live blog another story as soon as he got back.  Looking around me for inspiration, I challenged him to do another Broken Mirror story with me (which is what I call it when we both write a story based on the same suggested premise, something we actually did earlier this year, but quite accidentally*), and came up with the prompt:

"Despite being warned about them, someone plays a claw vending machine game . . . and wins big."

Big accepted my challenge, and went off to visit his many relatives wherever it is they go.  I figured I'd mention on Facebook that Big and I were going to be doing this, just in case somebody wanted to hold us to it, and said they were welcome to join in.  Unfortunately, my words must have been too vague, because people thought we were announcing a new Broken Mirror Dunesteef contest, and several insisted they were going to enter (somebody even asked which episode had included this announcement, thinking he'd missed a show).  Whoops.

But just like the live-blogging thing that we started in June, anybody is free to join in on this on their own blog, and Big suggested we even put links to the other blogs that would be participating.

It really is a cute idea, even if I'm not so sure the story I'm planning to write is gonna be all that cute.  Or good.

But you know me, I'd never claim it was good, even if I thought it was.  We'll find out starting tomorrow.

Rish Outfield, Writer

*A few years ago, we were tossing out suggestions for that year's Broken Mirror premise, and ended up going with Big's (which was "A child is proclaimed king, but it ends up being more than just a game").  Mine was something like "A bunch of kids make a 'Suicide' by mixing several flavors of soda at once . . . with surprising results," which wasn't as evocative as Big's suggestion . . . but he brought it up earlier in the year, saying he was going to go ahead and write a story about it.  When I heard he actually did so, I sat down and forced myself to write one too . . . and chances are, no one will ever, ever read it.

Rish Performs on Tim Pratt's "The Nex" on Audible

My buddy Marshal Latham (wherever I go, he goes) recently spent months putting together a full-cast audio production of "The Nex" by Tim Pratt.  It's a six hour production about a teenage girl who travels to a parallel world (actually the center of all parallel universes) where she makes a couple of unique friends, and encounters some nasty and/or powerful enemies.  If you know Tim Pratt's work, you'll surely dig this one.

Marshal demonstrated his madness in casting several of his friends and fellow podcasters in the production, including Renee Chambliss, Big Anklevich, Abbie Hilton, Dave Robison, Bryan Lincoln, Scribe Harris, Julie Hoverson, Dave Thompson, Veronica Giguere, Johnny Feisty, and Lauren Nicholson.  I got to voice the evil Regent, who is the crafty ruler of the land, and had lots of nasty lines to deliver.

Further proving the man is crazy, Marshal vowed to split the profits with us (after he split them with Tim, after Tim split them with Audible, of course), so the more copies he sells, the more pennies he'll send my way.  The audiobook is available for sale on Audible.com at this link: http://www.audible.com/pd/Teens/The-Nex-Audiobook/B00LSYYY7W/ref=a_search_c4_1_15_srTtl?qid=1405553371&sr=1-15 and is already up on iTunes. 

Rish