#vanrambling

It was such a rare occurrence that the midwives had a ritual for it.

The body was prepared and carried by the husband to the place it was meant to be cremated or laid to rest.

Meanwhile the midwives wore swords at their hips arounx them.

As warriors plunged down to try to take the body from them.

It wasn't a mock battle.

It was a full fledged battle to protect the soul of a warrior woman who died trying to bring life to this world.

Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial ​ for the weekly prompts.

John stirred awake. He could hear the sound of ice clinking in a glass. 

“They say it’s best served cold...” A familiar voice spoke in the darkness. 

He heard him sip and enjoy the drink.

“...They are mostly right.” He placed the empty glass on the table in front of John. 

Everything was dark, but despite that he could see the outline of the person. John tried to move, only to find restrains holding him back to the chair. 

“Imagine my surprise,” the man said and lighted a candle “when I arrived home and saw you sitting right there.”

He recognized the canine smile. The raven black hair. The black eyes. But John shivered when he saw the scars on his face. 

Last time he saw him... last time he saw him John made sure he was covered in gasoline and-

“Well, I guess you can imagine how surprised I was... I guess it was as surprising as finding out I was alive?” His laughter was coarse, like someone who had smoked his whole life, or someone who had burned his throat with smoke and fire. 

“Cake?” He pushed a plate in front of him, it had a little candle on top of it. “You didn’t get to taste the one I made for our one year anniversary.”

John’s ex-husband, Victor, smiled with pearly white teeth and his charred face.

“He keeps saying that he doesn’t like sweet things,” Another voice resounded behind him. John heard steps circling him.

“I guess you already met my new lover-” Victor said. 

One hand went over John’s shoulder, he knew that cologne. The cologne of his newest target. John gulped. 

He remembered he was celebrating last night, his new venture, a new life. The money. He took a sip from the cocktail Xavier, his new business and life partner, prepared him. 

Then everything went dark.

The man walked away and hugged Victor from behind. 

John’s eyes darted from Victor to Xavier and back to Victor. 

“Did you like your anniversary surprise, honey?” Xavier said and kissed Victor’s cheek.  

John sighed.

“I loved it.” Victor said caressing Xavier’s hair. 

“Go ahead, blow on the candles, make a final wish” Xavier said with a timid smile.

John took a deep breath and blew on the candles, wishing they wouldn’t take their time.   

I made it one of my New Year’s resolutions to make more time to write something new every time I get the chance. And @flashfictionfridayofficial ​ just keeps giving great prompts to keep practicing. 

I hope everyone enjoys this week’s story inspired by the prompt #FFF83 Everyday Hero.

TW: Blood. 

Wordcount: 620 (aprox.)

The dagger slid softly out of the target as Esteban retrieved it. He cleaned the blade and picked the full pocket out of the blood-stained robe. Finally, he snapped the collar they asked for as proof of a completed contract.

His job made him no hero in the greater play of the kingdom, but he liked to think that every fulfilled contract for a rich noble helped the revolution. Even if he took contracts for both sides. He needed all the coin he could get.

Esteban heard horses approaching. The bodyguards would not take long to find him.

But there was a glint that called his attention under the moonlight, ephemeral, like a shooting star. It was the polished reflection on the cover of a leather-bound book.

Esteban heard the bodyguards so close he could listen to the rattling of the swords against their armor. He stepped back from the window and into the room. Grabbing the book, he smiled.

A knight broke down the door, barging into the room only to see the cape of the assassin leap into the darkness.

It was a close call, but he knew it was worth it.

Running through the alleys and sliding down to the gutter, Esteban held his breath as the Watch trod the stones above his head. His cape would pick the surrounding stench, helping him lose any hounds that they may send his way.

Esteban walked warily over mud, urine, and feces; holding the cloak over his nose and mouth to shield him off the stench. In the dark, under the streets, he found his way back home.

The light was on, as always. He sighed.

He took off his boots and left them at the entrance along with the clothes stained with blood and shit.

He washed his face and all the smell he could manage with a water bucket. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

The door creaked, Esteban restrained his impulse to throw one of his knives. He was safe. He was home.

He stood frozen in place as wood creaked under slow steps. He didn’t turn but threw his gloves over the kitchen counter and kept his breathing slow and relaxed despite his spine warning him of the incoming attack.

The steps picked up the pace, running towards him.

At the last moment, he spun. The shadow jumping on top of him, arms spread.

“Boo!” Yelled Casey, the assassin’s daughter, hugging him.

“You got me little mouse.” He laughed, embracing the child. “What are you doing up so late? I thought I left you asleep.”

“I woke up when you left.” She hugged him fiercely. “You make a lot of noise when you leave.”

He returned the loving embrace. None of his victims ever heard him come, but this child was the only one in the realm that could notice the absence of his presence.

“We should go to sleep.” He patted her head.

“I don’t want to. I want to hear one of your stories.” She said, looking up at him.

He smiled. “You are in luck. I got a surprise for you” From behind her, he pulled out the leather book. Her eyes went big with awe, as if he had just made the greatest magic trick. “Daddy got you a new book tonight.”

Casey caressed the shiny cover of the book and slit it under her arm. 

The two of them found their way to her bed, holding hands. She got comfortable under his arm in bed. He opened the book showing her the detailed illustrations and began reading her stories about dashing knights, princesses, and dragons.

It’s been quite a quarantine, huh?

I’ve been away for quite some time. My laptop charger just died about a month ago and just now I could get a new one that wouldn’t cost me a third of a kidney. 

But that has been just the tip of it. 

I am Mexican, and with the pandemic, turns out there is more than one nationalistic idiot that wants to be a dictator. 

News from over here haven’t been kind either, and the fever, or more likely, the dismissal of the fever, that began with the orange in chief spread all the way here. Our President follows the same path as the one in the North and he just wants to make dumb decisions that will damn us all. 

And you may say, well what does all of this have to do with writing? isn’t this a writeblr? 

You are right, this is my writeblr, and I am getting to that. 

Sometimes I am prone to what people in the past referred to as “melancholy”, aka, depression. 

I had managed to overcome most of the dread and some of the executive dysfunction that I am not sure if it’s ADHD or depression. 

But I found solace in art, in my work, in writing. 

I tried painting, and while it is interesting to play with colors, I get frustrated and it ends up being more detrimental than helpful. 

Recently I took to learn guitar, just 10 minutes a day and it has helped me a lot. A boost of serotonin to fight the imposter syndrome and the small bumps I find while writing...

A week ago I realized I had lost a paragraph of the work I had already finished. I did not want to keep revising in fear of having lost more than that. 

So I’ve been working on other projects. 

Recently I got a bit, nostalgic...

Things are hard, but I will make an effort, I want to share some short stories. Shots for Ganymede is an idea I had been reluctant to share, but that’s not the only one. 

There is Jack in Blue. Short stories inspired by music, stories that take place in a fictional bar, with a touch of magical realism, with a special jukebox that will play anything according to the occasion, from rock, pop, country, heavy metal, fusion, hip hop, rap, Motown, operetta, show tunes, polka, salsa, Caribbean, reggae, and even in one occasion, Mariachi, anything but, and I regret to say, banda, which has not been, is simply not, nor will ever be played in said venue. 

And I have begun to work in something new. An old idea of a fantasy story set in something like America, (the Continent, North and South). With different magical races, empires and nations. More of this in another post. 

And I will be doing some more blogging. More posts like this, more self-promotion, more tips...

Hopefully. 

So. There is nothing left to say but, let's keep working on all of this, the world of entertainment has come to a standstill. 

As I watched a Tolkien symposium on youtube there was one thought, one idea that really resonated with me. 

“People are fighting in the front lines, doctors, nurses, first responders, essential workers... But there is also people needed in the back, they need people to make food,, the soup, not just for their body, but for their souls. 

Keep making that soup.”

It may not feel essential, but stories are what make us human, it’s how we have learned, it’s how we have shared knowledge and how we continue to grow. 

It is what inspires us. 

And our stories will be the ones that will help us during, and after this crisis. 

Let’s keep writing. 

Sharing stories. 

Making soup. 

This one is hard. 

I have read a lot about this. And tried almost everything. 

What helps a lot is managing things in smaller chunks. 

I know I want to write my book. And I want to see this published. Sometimes this things are motivation enough. 

Sometimes they are not. 

Dan Brown said something like “print a dust cover of your book” one of those that hardcovers have, and put it on a hardcover that you already have and think, “this is how it’s going to look like.” 

I have not done that. 

But I like to go to bookstores and see the best sellers and this gets me motivated in two ways. “This thing is a bestseller???” and I think, yes my book will be taking one spot instead of this trash. 

I live in Mexico, and I am a bit ashamed to see that, having a very low literacy and reading rate, a lot of what is sold is, well, garbage, most teen best sellers are reality star-youtubers, literature is relegated to bad minecraft/dbz fanfiction. Don’t get me wrong, there is good fanfiction. This bestsellers are not. 

So I get back to work and write. I know I can write something better than that. 

But then there is the problem. How to sit down and write. 

First get rid of distraction, set the phone aside and lock it with an app like Forest, use a page blocker in the computer. Leave mail, facebook and whatever you’re reading for a different moment. 

I  have talked about the magical journal thing to get rid of the blank page. 

And sometimes I play lo-fi on the background since the semi-looping beats help with the writing process. It is no longer dead silent that way and the girl with the infinite journal on the screen is a nice companion. 

Depending on how I feel I pick a different kind of the drink. 

If feeling restless, there is a cup of lavender tea by my side. 

If feeling uncreative, there is a glass of some kind of wine. 

If the act becomes a dredge where I cannot get myself to write. 

Coffee. 

Coffee always helps. 

Weeeell... except at night. Which is when there is more quiet at home and hence the best time to write. 

In those cases it’s better to have something to snack handy, I said before that a plate of olive, ham, cheese and strawberries is my go-to when I sit down, since more sugary things will end up making me feel restless and more easily distracted. Buuut... sometimes cupcakes and chocolates or donuts are not bad...even if I end up regretting them later, they do tend to help with a dopamine rush. 

A change of pace helps at times, take a walk to get inspired, to get out of the routine get to a new cafe or a park or a library. But make sure you get to do the thing, otherwise you are just procrastinating. 

It is hard to get down to write. 

But no one else will write this story. So make it fun, make it manageable, and with things to help along the way. 

Day 2 of the #writeblrlifeweek.

Cannibal’s Ball is my main WIP. 

Gentre: Science Fiction / Thriller / Buddy cop 

Themes: Acceptance, Hope. 

It takes place seven hundred years in the future. 

Humanity has come and gone and survived it’s own self-salvation and self-destruction. 

And in the aftermath the world has gone a lot of changes, mostly, a great part of humanity has taken shelter in unified city states that expand through a great deal of what is left of the continents, the habitable sea, and a part of the sky. 

Most of the land has been overrun by monstrous beast roaming the wildlands and the sea, and as such the cities have taken measures to protect themselves leaving a few nomad tribes outside their walls. 

London is the capital of the Soaring Lands Association, a conglomerate of enterprises that developed technology to raise the former United Kingdom from the sea and into the skies for “it’s own protection” severing ties from the continent and most of the world. 

It is here Homer and Virgil live, two young detectives and heirs to The Families, the elite groups that control the economy of the city. It is also here our story begins, after they are tasked with finding out how an unusual murder of a Parisian worker was carried out in one of the edges of the flying city. 

In their research they will find Cybelle, a mysterious woman that they can’t fully describe and who will become integral to their lives. 

Through the book they will be chased, find a conspiracy of drugs, monsters trying to break through the walls of Paris and the monsters that are already within the city. 

This is a series I have been working on for a long time and first part of a bigger universe, with a diverse cast of other lgbtq characters that I will be introducing and reintroducing in later dates.  

Homer is bisexual, Virgil is pansexual, same as Cybelle. 

There are also themes of refugees and immigration. 

Most of the cast as I said are POC, Virgil and Homer originally being refugees and survivors from assassination attempts. 

I have always wanted to see a more globalized world in media, a world with more people of color interacting, Latinxs with Asian people, middle eastern, people from the Pacific Islands, from Northern Europe. Africans, everywhere with everywhere. But it wasn’t until Sense 8 that I saw something similar, progressive but still tentative and cut short, and previously a few glimpses in Anime and a even less cartoon shows. 

And I believe some of the most globalized cities in the world could come to represent this vision, but also think that a more familiar setting could help, than say, Guadalajara. Which we will get into, eventually. And also why Homer chose to tell the story himself for this first part. 

It is written in 1st person from the POV of Homer, him being a tad bit more cynical and detective-like voice than Virgil, and a bit more down to earth. 

Progress: 70,000 words.

Revision of the second(ish) draft.

You could take this as dystopia but I have always thought of this as post-post apocalypse, and how humanity just is stubborn and can always fix things and mess it up again. 

As for inspirations. I have always liked Anime, Get Backers and Cowboy Bebop being the ones I draw up the most.

Movies. Lethal Weapon is the archetipical buddy-cop movie. I draw from some Del Toro Movies like Hellboy II and Pacific Rim. V for Vendetta and Firefly (yes I know it is a TV show but Serenity alone is not enough)

Books. Good Omens, Sandman (later on) and Dresden files are some of the biggest influences within my work, followed by Latin American works like Pedro Paramo, 100 years of solitude and Rayuela. 

Games. Transistor. Bioshock. Although I had the idea for London comes not from Columbia but from a Power Rangers series. Bioshock inspired me in other areas. 

Finally, not inspirations, but... if you like Discworld’s The Watch books by Terry Pratchett, Altered Carbon, or any of this series and books, you might like Cannibal’s Ball.  In the meantime...

Here is a playlist I used to inspire myself and set a bit of the mood to write Homer’s Voice:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1OMPsE5yXLAH7uO9LuSQfH

Day 5 of my daily tarot practice.

Another member of the court of pentacles came to visit.

As I said yesterday, pentacles are associated with money and fortune.

Day four of my daily tarot exercise.

Another court card, this time the Queen of Pentacles.

Pentacles are often associated with good fortune, some other variations of tarot have coins instead of Pentacles.

I guess it is a good sign, and if we tie with the previous days it might mean that good fortune may be coming my way and my efforts will pay up.