Ten days to write a thousand words. Stephen king says to write a thousand words a day. And I’m pretty close to a thousand for today. Buuuut it is late, and even though it’s saturday, I kind of want to go to sleep.
Also, furry website is down. I don’t know what they are up to, but there’s just no accessing it. I am starting to think that it’s dead. They said they were rolling out a new version, like, three months ago, and it still has not happened yet. Now this. I think maybe I should delete all of my shortcuts there. It’s just unnecessary frustration. Too bad, too. I met some cool people over there, but even when I can get into the site, most of them have left. I didn’t even get a chance to go on a lengthy hiatus like I usually do. I want to think maybe it’s not over yet, but man. This looks bad.
I wonder if I can write about people learning the dark truth about a new universe they’ve travelled to in fewer than a hundred fifty words. Without summarizing every single thing, that is, and with a nice little buildup. Ah, but flash fiction basically forbids build-up or suspense. I am happy we’ve gotten through the flash anthology. There’s something like ten or twenty. Two really impressed me, a further three or four I sort of enjoyed, and the remainder ranged from dull to annoying. Oh, and there was this absolutely wonderful one that started out with a graphic depiction of bunny childbirth, followed by a graphic depiction of bunnies getting eaten. I assumed it was by the bunny momma, but I did not keep reading in order to find out. When we talked about it in class–because of course we had to talk about that one in class–I found out that it was actually the dog eating the bunnies, but seriously, fuck you anyway. I also found out there was a bunny rape scene. Jesus. It left my previous most-hated flash crying with dust in its eyes.
And I watch zombie TV shows. I love zombies. On TV. I don’t really read books about them. I don’t know, it’s just different somehow. Loving and detailed descriptions of gory violence make me sick in a way that actually watching a head asplode doesn’t. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s how much more intense the fetishization gets when you’ve been going on for pages about just how fucking gruesome it all is. Or maybe I’m just crazy. But I am definitely putting the author of the bunny story on my “no” list.
And in case you’re wondering whether it better to think, this is boring and a waste of my time or to think god I really hate this shit, I got news for you. THEY ARE BOTH BAD. Both of them. Don’t do either one. “The opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s indifference.” No, fuck you, okay? Indifference is fine. Love is really really great. Hatred is bad. There is a certain way that opposites work, and it’s not the one you’re thinking of.
Now I’m going to have to start reading flash fictions that might not be good enough to get published. Yay.
Short stories can get away with brevity because a story is as long as it needs to be, and sometimes it just isn’t all that long. That is perfectly alright. Flash fiction seems to be mainly about trolling the reader. And a lot of noise is made about flashes having a “gut punch.” Frequently, the actual gut punch is the fact that something is this freaking short and you still have to slog through it as if it were taking you years. One description was to the effect that flash can be read in the time it takes to watch a commercial. Am I being trolled here? That is not a favorable comparison.
I’ve also got the urge to throw away all of the food in the house. Which is a bad urge. But I’m too tired to get up and do it. So there’s that. Blegh.
I might also be exaggerating a little. But my sandwich smells wrong to me right now and I am too exhausted to even eat it, so screw it. Good night.