Announcement – Nanowrimo

This year – after a few years of wanting to – I’m finally going to take part in Nanowrimo!

The novel I’m planning to write includes the Ruon, of which I have written before, but I’ve changed the world it’s set in quite a bit. I’ll give some updates during the month, as well as links to the worldbuilding elements I’ve either kept or changed.

In the meantime, an early synopsis of the book can be found here, and fiction about the Ruon here.

#114996234 / gettyimages.com

Vonkfiksie: "Red Balloon"

Geo-Writing het hierdie jaar (2014) deel uitgemaak van die Brighton Digital Festival. Skrywers kry ’n tema volgens hulle GPS-koördinate en moet daarvolgens ’n verhaal van minder as 300 woorde ty skryf. My tema (vir Johannesburg) was “’n foto van ’n rooi ballon op Facebook”. Die ander verhale kan hier gelees word. Hier is die oorspronklike, Engelse verhaal.

Red Balloon

My parents told me that I was a soul they found floating above a stretch of grass next to the highway on their way to Johannesburg. My mom said I looked like a red balloon, and that she caught me before I could snag on a wiry tree or float down into the prickly winter-brown grass.

I never quite understood how I went from a balloon-shaped soul to human, but I knew I was different. In time the balloon became a silly bedtime story to grow out of. I acted like balloons didn't scare me. I carried balloons around because other children did. Balloons would slip from their fingers and disappear into the sky, but I could never let one go.

When I turned thirteen my parents told me that I was given up by my biological parents. Parents who, like so many others, had left the country. As if leaving me wasn't enough. As if I wasn't enough reason to stay.

It took a lot of time to find her name. On Facebook was a story of her new coffee table book set in Brighton - a far-away world of strangers. Snapshots of her, a red balloon and two toddlers. A photo of a lone red balloon above Brighton.

I choked as my soul spilled onto the floor with my tears. Mom caught me and snapped the laptop shut.

If only I were a balloon. Then I could float away. Then I could disappear. 

#182122396 / gettyimages.com

Flash Fiction: Keeping Up Appearances

This flash piece was written for the 24 October2014 Flash! Friday competition. The photo and “bankruptcy” was the prompt. For this one I delved into the Norse mythology a bit.

Title: Mr. Hydrick, county supervisor, and Mr. Melody Tillery examining mouth and teeth of his mare, which has mule colt. Pike County, near Tray, Alabama. Public domain photo by Marion Post Walcott.

  

Keeping Up Appearances

“Best horse ever born.” He grinned and glanced to where his partner stood scowling. But the magic held and the horse seemed normal as long as you didn’t look too close.

“Fast?”

“Like the wind. Could outrun the law if it had to.”

The man shoved a wad of banknotes in his hand. It had to do. He stuffed the payment in his pocket and walked back to his partner as the man sped off.

“That was unnecessary.”  

“The horse will return when the fool reaches his destination. Or the spell wears off. He’s imprinted on his mother.”

“Hilarious. You don’t just go selling people’s sons.”

“Meat, mead, and maids. It costs a fortune to maintain a feasting hall.”

“It’s not my fault your father bankrupt your whole family. It’s my son!”

“It’s the least you can do, Loki.”

“If that robber kills my son when he sees he has eight legs I’ll kill you – god of Thunder or not.”

Title page of Prose Edda (Snorri's Edda), 18th century.

Geo-Writing Flash Fiction: Red Balloon

Geo-Writing's prompts were based on your location. My prompt (in Johannesburg, South Africa) was 'a photo of a red balloon on Facebook'. You can read all the stories over here.

Red Balloon

My parents told me that I was a soul they found floating above a stretch of grass next to the highway on their way to Johannesburg. My mom said I looked like a red balloon, and that she caught me before I could snag on a wiry tree or float down into the prickly winter-brown grass.

I never quite understood how I went from a balloon-shaped soul to human, but I knew I was different. In time the balloon became a silly bedtime story to grow out of. I acted like balloons didn't scare me. I carried balloons around because other children did. Balloons would slip from their fingers and disappear into the sky, but I could never let one go.

When I turned thirteen my parents told me that I was given up by my biological parents. Parents who, like so many others, had left the country. As if leaving me wasn't enough. As if I wasn't enough reason to stay.

It took a lot of time to find her name. On Facebook was a story of her new coffee table book set in Brighton - a far-away world of strangers. Snapshots of her, a red balloon and two toddlers. A photo of a lone red balloon above Brighton.

I choked as my soul spilled onto the floor with my tears. Mom caught me and snapped the laptop shut.

If only I were a balloon. Then I could float away. Then I could disappear.

#182122396 / gettyimages.com