First, an update that I have neglected to post about for the last couple of weeks. My husband and I collaborated on another comic for the current issue of Magic Bullet.It's a free newspaper, so if you're in the Washington DC metro area be sure to stop by your local comic shop or independent book store and pick one up. Our contribution is called Threadbare and the character design pulls heavily from my last doll. Our comic, Concurrent, from the last issue is now posted in it's entirety under the writings section of my website.
A few months ago I purchased a book with 642 writing prompts. Initially my idea was to write a quick flash fiction using one of the prompts as a starting point once a day. Well, needless to say, the book has been collecting dust on my desk all this time.I kicked myself today, opened the book and picked a prompt at random. We shall see how many consecutive days I am capable of keeping this up.
I will post all of the pieces here on the blog - the tag 642 will be added to these posts.
Prompt : The talk-show host
Languishing in this rotting chair, my aggravation releasing in the form of sweat beading in my inner thighs. Self-loathing causing my skin to itch, burn. The television is deafening. Awful, coma inducing daytime programming. A woman on the screen bleats like a goat. Pulled, tucked, smothered by make-up and a dress two sizes too small. I chew my lip with the excitement of potentially witnessing her absurd stilettos causing her ankle to snap. The oversized fake eyelash desperately clinging on to her wrinkled left eyelid, flailing about as she incessantly blinks. Unnaturally bright teeth cause my stomach to churn. All of this effort gone to waste. These days with our high definition, there is no hiding that she is a withered shrew desperate to pass for thirty years younger. Her audience smacking their hands together like a group of dumb, blind seals makes me loathe her. I feel utterly assaulted by her.
But the remote… it’s out of my reach. And I just don’t care enough to move.