Foil the Forti Flash Fiction Contest!

After being summarily vanquished last week, you'd think I'd retire from the field.

But NO!

I had to spend a good deal of Thursday supine upon the couch, blowing my schnozz. What better use of time than to think of ways to Foil the Forti?!

The usual rules apply:

1. Write a story using 100 words or fewer.

2. Use these words in the story:
pogo
slugo
fargo
get-go (yes you need the hyphen)
logo

If you are Steve Forti, or want to Be Fortissimo, you must also use:
Zanzibar
xerox

3. You must use the whole word, but that whole word can be part of a larger word. The letters for the prompt must appear in consecutive order. They cannot be backwards.

Thus: fargo/far gone is ok, but fargo/fear going is not.


4. Post the entry in the comment column of THIS blog post.

5. One entry per person. If you need a mulligan (a do-over) erase your entry and post again. It helps to work out your entry first, then post.

6. International entries are allowed, but prizes may vary for international addresses.

7. Titles count as part of the word count (you don't need a title)

8. Under no circumstances should you tweet anything about your particular entry to me. Example: "Hope you like my entry about Felix Buttonweezer!" This is grounds for disqualification.

8a. There are no circumstances in which it is ok to ask for feedback from ME on your contest entry. NONE. (You can however discuss your entry with the commenters in the comment trail...just leave me out of it.)

9. It's ok to tweet about the contest generally.

Example: "I just entered the flash fiction contest on Janet's blog and I didn't even get a lousy t-shirt"

10. Please do not post anything but contest entries. (Not for example "I love Felix Buttonweezer's entry!")

11. You agree that your contest entry can remain posted on the blog for the life of the blog. In other words, you can't later ask me to delete the entry and any comments about the entry at a later date.

12. The stories must be self-contained. That is: do not include links or footnotes to explain any part of the story. Those extras will not be considered part of the story.

Contest opens: 3/09/19 6:16am

Contest closes: 3/10/19 9am

If you're wondering how what time it is in NYC right now, here's the clock

If you'd like to see the entries that have won previous contests, there's an .xls spread sheet here http://www.colindsmith.com/TreasureChest/

(Thanks to Colin Smith for organizing and maintaining this!)

Questions? Tweet to me @Janet_Reid

Ready? SET?

Not yet! 
ENTER! 

Too late! Contest closed!

flu and cold season..back to the couch

Sorry readers, I've been felled by some sort of germ that has driven me to the couch for tonight and most likely tomorrow.

I'd like to blame someone else so I'll start with everyone who gets on the subway with a cold.


In the meantime, I saw a fun thread on Twitter that asked people to relate the nicest thing a stranger had done for them.  I'm not sure if it was hashtagged, but GoodStranger might be it.

The stories were GREAT!

I'd love to hear more of them from all y'all as I sit here soaking my head.

mea culpa

I inadvertently submitted queries for the same manuscript to two different agents at the same agency. The first one was last October to an agent I read about via a pitch party. (No response yet.) The second one was to an agent I read about a couple of days ago in a publishing newsletter I subscribe to. She's relatively new in the field and is trying to build her clientele.

Since my ms. fits one of the categories/genres she reps I did a bit more research and decided to query her. I keep a file of agents I query, but didn't realize until after I sent this query that, while she wasn't on my list, another agent at her agency was.

I'd like to apologize, but don't know if that's the appropriate thing to do. If it is, I don't know how. Since I queried through QueryManager, the only email address I have is query@QueryManager.com. Do I use that address and put the ms. title in the Subject line? I could guess at her email address based on the addresses listed on the agency website of three of the other six agents there, but just don't know if I should try to contact her. What do I do? Thanks!

First, get off the rodent wheel.

You're running yourself into a frenzy when you don't need to.

Look at the timeline: you queried Agent A in October.
That's more than 30 days ago.

Thus, Agent A has passed by default.
You're well within the parameters laid down in the Gentleperson's Guide to Correct Querying if you query the same agency some months later. PARTICULARLY someone new and building  her list.

Thus, you don't need to apologize for anything. Although, should the need arise, correct apologies are written, in your own hand, in black ink on white or cream colored notecards of quality stock. No kittens. No scalloped edges. Nothing that starts "if I offended you."

Now, for the sake of tormenting you further -- cause blood sport is always called for on Wednesdays -- let's assume you queried Agent B 29.75 days after you queried Agent A.

What to do?

Nothing.

What? What? I've violated at least 14 of the Rules for Civility in the Gentleperson's Guide to Correct Querying, and here is list of where you can find them in page order. 

 Did you call the agent a dodohead after she passed on your query?

No.

Did you subscribe the agent to Fecal Matter of the Month - the merchandising arm of the space farmers at Uranus.org?

well..no. (But, do you think they're on Etsy?)

Did you make a simple mistake that won't actually hurt anyone?

umm...yes? 

Right.
Stand down
Quit worrying.

There is no black list of writers for things like this.
Stuff happens.
Even stuff that the space farmers sell.

If this is the biggest mistake you make this week, or this year, you're doing well.

I'm here to tell you no one on the other side of the desk will notice or care.

What we DO notice and care about is if you query every agent at the agency at the same time.
You didn't do that. You didn't even come close.

So, what aren't you looking for?

A recent #AskAgent on Twitter, hosted by the Fierce and Amazing BookEnd Ladies (and by ladies I mean agents who ride unicorns and slay dragons, and no that's not a metaphor) generated a tweet from a writer who said he liked lists of what agents are NOT looking for. It's so much more helpful.

That's probably true.
If you know I'm not looking for SF and you write SF, well, you know not to query me.

Except.

I want you to query me. With anything. Agents who carp about writers querying them need to remember who writes the ransom notes** around here. It's not me.

And
What if you have the category wrong? At least 35.24% of queries have what I'd call the wrong category listed in their queries.

Aw c'mon SharkForBrains, you say. Surely we all know what SF is? 
So, is Patrick Lee's The Breach SF? Is Runner SF or a thriller.

Is Steve Forti's account of his time in the flash fiction pits of Carkoon a memoir or a dystopian thriller?

This is one time where you really don't want to assume you're right.

And
And what if I say I'm full up on horror writers, repping as I do two of the very finest, but you're a writer with a contract in hand, and as it turns out I love your voice, and you're a pretty hilarious guy...well, yes, I want you on the list and aren't I glad you ignored "no more horror."

I think the don't query me for lists are helpful, but way too many of you self-select out of my query pile.

That's my loss.

Again, that's MY loss.
And if you think I like that, well, you're new here, aren't you?

There's literally no cost to querying me.
Even if I say no, you haven't shot your chances with any other agent here at New Leaf. We simply ask you to query us one at a time, with 30 days between queries.

"I don't want to waste your time/an agent's time" is something I hear when I've said this kind of thing before.  Please pause for a moment so I can bop you on the bean with a nerf bat.

You're not wasting my time if you send me a thoughtful, well-written query. Not now. Not ever. Not even if it's for dino porn, kale haiku, or the Annotated Lyrics to Louie, Louie.

Since a picture is worth a thousand words:

when asked what writing paid best, Harry Zimm famously replied "Ransom notes" 

which I think is so funny I try to work it into a blog post at least once a year.

Also if you don't know who Harry Zimm is, we can't be friends anymore til you fix that.

The Stymie Steve Forti Flash Fiction Contest RESULTS!

This flash fiction contest was the perfect diversion for this weirdly cold, then sunny, then snowy and sunny, then cold weekend.  Thanks to all of you who took the time to write and enter.

Words I had to look up: scry (Kregger)

Special recognition to Lennon Faris for a superb illustration of a reverse poem.

Special recognition to Cecilai Ortiz Luna for her hat-tip with a twist to The Godfather!

Special recognition to Cynthia Mc for her superb use of a prompt word:

"For tis sim...o shoot!"

Special recognition for CED, for an entry I didn't understand at all but I think is pretty

funny if you do.

The Duchess of Yowl award for good taste and acumen: Will McPhail

Special recognition to french sojourn for a great line

Florida, it’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity.

that I think is part of a story that holds more truth than we might realize

I'm fairly certain FlashFriday's entry is brilliant, but I didn't get it.

I think it's something about Snow White??

And the main event, the headline in tonight's Thunderdome of Words: Steve Forti

“I need to suck life’s marrow. A reason to exist beyond mere mimicry. There’s so much I haven’t done yet. I wanna build an igloo, see the northern lights. Develop custom AR. Zip a new cable across Viamala Gorge.”

“Sounds ambitious. I’m terrified to even switch a vocation.”

“Why not? Live a little. Let’s do G’s,, pull G’s, whatever, in a fighter jet. Tell me, where do you most want to explore? I say some ancient Roman fort.”

“ISS. I mostly dream of space.”

“Perfect! What’s stopping us?”

“Barbara’s staff meeting in ten minutes?”

“Oh. Yeah… Meet you in there?”

and I toss in the towel, tilt the king, surrender the fort, beaten so completely I don't have words to describe.

Timothy Lowe is clearly giving Mr. Forti a run for his money:

You call that a contest?

Horrible grammar!

Zip!

And zero talent!

Poorly encrypted prompt words!

Complete havoc!

Some war! Hey, what do you call someone who creates her own personal Waterloo?

Sent packing!

*chortling*

What’s his prize? You know, the winner? Forti?

SSI, most likely.

What?

You heard me.

Why?

Turns out, flash fiction doesn’t pay very well!

*guffawing*

What about the shark?

You mean, the underdog?

*sniggering*

You didn’t hear? She’s going on SSI, too.

How come?

She went blind reading entries!

*Statler and Waldorf slapping backs in the balcony*

*Cue Muppets Theme*

Here is the short list of standouts

Jennifer Delozier

Love, Jim Jones

November 18th, 1978

Cyanide tastes like marzipan, if you close your eyes. While you cry your last tears, the almond-scented confection wages war on your Temple, wreaks havoc on your lungs, and loosens your bowels. As rabid dogs foam at the mouth, so shall you. You’ll become one with God.

How do I know? Not by personal experience, of course. I’m preaching this lesson, after all, and not even a reverend survives Rapture by cyanide. A friend’s sacrifice showed me the way. So drink your Kool-Aid, my loves, and, eyes closed, tell me—was he right?

I don't think you can parse this out to what works/what doesn't. Or point to any one thing and say "this is a perfect sentence."

It lets the reader figure out what's going on and what it means.  

And in the end, it does the only thing a story needs to: it stays with you.

  

It's the kind of writing that Shirley Jackson did in The Lottery.

Very plain.

Very tidy.

And you're never the same.

Richelle Elberg

“The fuck was he doing out there? Shouldn’ta been out there!”
I stare at the dead coyotes, the dead man—the worst of the dogs.
I cry, convincingly I think.
“Hard ta say who hit him,” Billy says. “It was havoc.”
“Call the sheriff,” Jack says. “Hell, it’s just a hunting accident.”

Home, Sheila bounds out of the kitchen, three beers in hand, her long hair loose, gleaming.
“Where’s Dale?” she asks, looking past me.
I explain. My wife’s smile fades; she collapses. Wails.
I hold her through the unwarranted reaction.
“Hon, come with me to the next coyote hunt.”

 I love this cause it takes a minute to figure out what's going on.

I love that kind of subtlety.

JustJan

The War of the Worlds started the day after I asked my girlfriend to marry me.

“Cathedral mass,” said one mother, crying.

“Backyard ceremony,” the other sniffed.

“Seven course meal.”

“Vegetarian pot luck!”

“Vegas?” I asked.

“Islands,” my fiancée corrected.

So we cut loose and made our vows, serenaded by a pack of stray dogs and a justice of the peace.

“Blissful.” I sighed.

“Magical,” my wife agreed.

Back home, havoc reigned. One father, an attorney, scrutinized the marriage license. The other, a dermatologist, bemoaned our tans.

Nine months after our planets collided?

Peace treaty. 

This just cracked me up.

K

No "Hello, Osen" today. Instead Father greeted me with, "The barn has scorch marks!"

I waited, face impassive. Marzipan wouldn't melt in my mouth.

He'd blame marauders. But if Father wanted guard dogs, I'd object. Not around Bertha. I scratched the cat's fur as she twined through my legs.

Then Father surprised me. "It wasn't marauders."

What did he know?

"Arson. It was arson," he said.

My unvoiced cry of fear dissolved. Father didn't suspect the true cause: Bertha vocalizing. Like all growing dragons, attempted fortissimos created flames.

Someday I'd tell Father the truth about my cat.

Just not today.

 Her Grace the Duchess of Yowl has decreed this entry to be one of the finalists.

The reasons we agree of course are different.

She's glad you realize cats are mighty creatures.

I think it's funny.

We both agree it's the winner.

K, if you'll email me with your preferred mailing address I'll get a prize to you.

And Steve Forti?? 
We shall meet again my friend!!!

 

-->

the moral of this story?

Recently the news carried the story of a Bend Oregon man who was stuck in his car for five days when he got stuck in the snow.

Here's the story

You'd think the moral of this story is carry a shovel and cat litter to dig yourself out.
I disagree.

The moral of this story is: a clean truck just might kill you. Those leftover taco packets you didn't toss out right away: lifesavers.

Also, always take your dog to gas up the truck!

Don't even THINK about taking the cat!