Got 3 Minutes?
Really, what can you do in 3 minutes? Brush you teeth? Check Face Book? Put in a load of laundry? Or… The 4th Round of ALL THINGS CONSIDERED NPR’s 3 Minute Fiction Contest is closed. The challenge this round was for writers to send original works of fiction that could be read in three minutes or less and to incorporate 4 words into their stories: button, plant, trick, and fly—used in any form.
With the help of 1st readers from the Iowa Writer’s Project, Ann Pachett, author of the novels "Bel Canto" and "Run,” is judging the more than 3800 entries. While the reading/judging is underway, Ann tantalizes listeners with “interesting snippets” from entries each week on ALL THINGS CONSIDERED. During, Sunday’s chat with host Guy Raz, Patchett noted that she is “pleasantly surprised” by the entries, “stories have a good shape, something happens in them…” Imagine all that in around 600 words!
Notable Round 4 entries are posted on the website: www.npr.org/threeminutefiction, along with finalist and winners from the 3 previous rounds of the 3 Minute Fiction Contest.
3rd Round: Writers submitted original works of fiction inspired by this photograph.
2nd Round: Submissions were original works of fiction that begin with this sentence: "The nurse left work at five o'clock."
1st Round: Submission rules were simplest: original works of fiction that could be read in three minutes or less.
Have 3 unscheduled minutes? Read some short fiction. You’ll be surprised, impressed and inspired!
Sometimes it is Just About the Fish
And sometimes it’s not? I have tried to ignore the pond, put it out of my mind entirely, just give up and leave it to Rohemon. I had nearly succeeded too. Many people who have outdoor water features don’t feed their fish. The idea is for the fish to eat what fish in the wild do. In fact, many people in Jakarta keep water plants in pots with fish, or ponds especially as mosquito deterrents. As is their way, the mosquitoes lay their eggs on the water, and as is their nature, the fish eat the insect eggs. This easy care mosquito reduction system which works great as long as you don’t care whether your fish are happy or starving.
We like fat, happy fish, so we feed them. Every day. We go through about a bag of fish pellets a month. Monday-Saturday Rohemon feeds the fish. And I feed them on Sundays—or did when I liked the pond fish. But ever since Rohemon stocked it with those pretty fish murdering monster lele, I have been trying to ignore the pond all together. Sunday before last, I lapsed. I was out back pruning as I do many Sundays, and took pity on the pond fish—even though I detest the rotten, slimy ugly monsters. I sprinkled food pellets over the water and watched.
A few lazy algae eaters drifted up to investigate--even took a few listless bites. But that was it. Where was the sudden flash of orange splotched monster fish? Where were the Ikan Lele? Thinking the lele might be too scared to surface; I took a giant step back and watched from a distance. Nothing.
The lele were gone—all of them, even the babies. I must admit, I was little disappointed and a lot put out. Rusnati tells me everything—or I thought she did—she had certainly made a point of telling tell me about the babies. And the high price of fish food. And how the thatch from my sun shelter clogs the filter. And when I discussed my idea about turning the pond into a fish spa by stocking it with those tiny fishlets that nibble the dead skin off ones’ feet at the price of 200,000 for 20 minutes, a dollar a minute, at specialized fish spas, she spent about 5 dollars worth of spa time sharing how when she was young and her mother would go to the garden, Rusnati used to sit with her feet in the pond and a fish net handy, enjoying a book or snack while the fish nibbled her feet. And if a large enough fish happened to come close, she’d swoop in with the net and catch it to cook and eat with rice. Why hadn’t she told me the lele were gone?
Had Rohemon finally fattened them up enough to eat? Or had Warjo, the pool man, poisoned them like he had other fish in the past? Or had they been sold off to the highest bidder?--would I ever know? Did I really care?--was it worth launching an investigation?
“Well, I’ll fix this,” I decided, determined to show everyone who was boss. Before leaving town last weekend, I gave Aan 100,000 Rp, about ten dollars, and instructed him to buy me 10 lovely, big, fluffy new golden pond fish.
First thing Sunday evening, I rushed outside to the pond, expecting to see graceful golden fish fluttering about beneath the surface.
Nothing.
I know, I know: There is more to life than a fish pond. And there is way more to think about, to worry about, to spend my days agonizing over than the state of my backyard pond. But….but…
Breakfast with Sid Fleishman
Sid Fleishman passed from this life on St. Patrick's Day, March 17th. I had breakfast with him today. We've breakfasted together many times before. Sometimes he was the Whipping Boy or the Abracadabra Kid. Always, he's a good friend, welcoming and honest and approachable. Our first breakfast together was in January 2009. The morning after a writing conference is always tough—like the morning after a wild party. I wake with a head stuffed with impressions, ideas, information, and a vague feeling that I may not have used my time as wisely as I could. While conference hangover may not come with a headache and dehydration, it always takes a few days to recover. The morning after the SCBWI-Florida winter conference in Miami 2 January’s ago, my writing bud Marty and I were sitting in the hotel restaurant, debriefing and nursing our post conference headaches, when Sid Fleishman walked in. Cheryl Zach had accompanied him to the conference, but for whatever reason, she wasn’t there now. He, Sid Fleishman, was alone, looking around, and, so it seemed to us, looking a little lost.
Maybe because Marty and I were staring at him like expectant pups, Mr. Fleishman smiled. His smile was warm and welcoming, like one you’d give old chums. A few minutes later we were sharing his table. Mr. Fleishman –I’d never be so cheeky as to call him "Sid", although that is what he asked to be called. Considering the high esteem with which we regarded him, "Sir" seemed more fitting—Sir Sid with his twinkling eyes and open, curious, interested countenance wanted to know all about Marty and me: where we lived, what we wrote, how we came to be writers….
The three of us shared Southeast Asian connections: Marty had lived in Indonesia, as I do now, and Sir Sid, had spent time in Singapore, Jakarta and other spots in Southeast Asia. We talked about our families, our lives, our children. He shared a story about his son, Paul, and how, after a lifetime of no apparent interest in writing, one day, out of the blue Paul handed his father a story and asked if he wanted to read it and how he (Sid by now), had taken it, expecting it to be a usual teen story, and was totally blown away. Having grown up surrounding by writers, hearing writers talk writing, story, dialogue, seemingly by osmosis, Paul absorbed all he needed to write fabulous stories. As he went on to share how Paul was always pushing himself, trying new things, pushing his talents the admiration and love in Sid Fleishman’s words was more than fatherly—it was writer for writer.
As it inevitably does when writers get together, the conversation turned to books and writing. To issues Sid was having with a story he was working on. (There is something so comforting about learning “real” authors have trouble writing, too.) This led to my writing, specifically to a novel draft I’d buried after a confusing critique. No telling how many conferences Sid Fleishman attended during his lifetime of writing, publishing, and award-winning, how many eager writers, like me, he had met (including the several hundred at this weekend’s event) and how many writer’s stories he’d heard, he still encouraged me to tell mine. He listened intently, showing genuine interest in me and my story and its problems. He asked questions, gave suggestions, and sent me on my way eager to dig my story out of the drawer, dust it off and get back to it.
At the end of our breakfast, which stretched to lunch, Marty and I shared goodbye hugs with Sid Fleishman, our chum. And we felt like chums, new-old friends. And now, we say a final goodbye to our chum, Sid Fleishman. How fortunate we were to share this journey with him.
We'll meet for breakfast again, soon.
Hatching Plans, Or Not...
I was reminded of a children’s book yesterday. Can’t remember the title, or much of the story, but it’s the one about the bird who sits and sits and sits on an egg, expecting a chick to hatch one day. Instead, what pops out is an elephant or dinosaur, or something equally outrageous. Remember it? That's sort of what has happened with my—THE—pond. (It began as my pond, but it’s not any longer. Yesterday’s revelation cinched it.) As you may recall from previous pond reports, after a difficult couple of years, which read very much like the pond world version of Russian history—poisoning, eye gouging, vivisection, deception, death and rulers being overthrown—the pond is now dominated by a school of slimy, white-black-orange splotched eel-like fish with beady eyes and whiskers. Not only are they ugly, they skulk in the dark recesses of the pond and only dart out to gobble food. The only creatures who have managed to evade their wrath are algae eaters, sapu-sapu, “sweeper fish” as we call them. They must taste really foul.
Rohemon introduced the lele into the pond about a year ago—and the evil monsters promptly killed off every specimen other than the aforementioned sapu-sapu. The only reason I could fathom for Rohemon wanting them is for eating. Ikan Lele is a popular Indonesian fish dish. Assuming he was raising them for future dinners—not a stretch as we have raised other fish that turned into dinner—and as the pond was bubbling along nicely as a stock pond, I decided to let the lele be. And came up with a plan…
The Plan was simple: As soon as the lele were fattened up, we'd slaughter them all, pop their nasty carcasses in the deep freeze and restock the pond with friendly little spa fish. All that would be left to do is edge the pond with colorful pillows, turn on soothing music, pour some wine and sip away with our feet dangling in the water, watching the spa fish nibble the dead skin off our toes.
Ever since hatching the plan, I have been monitoring the lele, watching them grow, waiting for the day they would be big enough to eat. Soon, I told myself, a few days back, they look dinner size. Maybe sooner…
Then, yesterday, Rusnati shared news that blew my lovely fish spa dream to smithereens. The pond is suddenly swarming with weensy, slimy, vile, skittish, bewhiskered baby monster lele. And so it goes with eggs and plans.
Pond, bahhhh. Rohemon can have it!
Round and Round and Round...
I’m captive on Joni Mitchel's carousel of time. “We can’t return/we can only look behind from where we came/ and go round and round and round in the circle game…" she wrote.
I used to sing that song loudly, with extra emphasis on the repeated round and round and round. Now I seem to just be going round, going through the motions, but without the song. I miss that music, but I dread it, too. For me, music makes everything faster. And I am captive on this carousel. I feel it ticking as it turns and would so like to get off. There is much I want to do, to see, to experience, to accomplish. I don't want it to proceed in three-quarter time. It's fast enough now--too fast. Maybe, once upon a time I believed the ticking clock hands where merely marking time. Now I feel those hands closing, squeezing together, pushing time out like toothpaste from a tube. Day to day, round and round, every beginning the same: get up and go through the brush, wash, rinse, tone, make-up, dress routine followed by the same water with lime, coffee, cereal while I check e-mail routine. So, what? ...should we stop the carousel? Remove the batteries? Unplug it? And if we succeed, what then?
"...and the seasons they go round and round/the painted ponies go up and down..."
Neighhhhhhhh.
Thoreau on Reading
"To read well, that is, to read true books in a true spirit, is a noble exercise, and one that will task the reader more than any other exercise which the customs of the day esteem. It requires a training such as the athletes underwent, the steady intention almost of the whole life to this object."--Henry David Thoreau* (1817-1862)
Thoreau and others like him are why we push forward with our writing, dig for the better idea, the best conclusion, the most surprising and satisfying endings. They, too, are why we suffer through revisions--including hurtful critiques and difficult rewrites. We must strive to create our best work so readers will have something worthy of their steady intention.
Those of us writing for children must try even harder. Writers of adult literature create for an audience already committed to the "noble exercise." Childrens' authors, however, must convince young people that learning to read well enough "to read true books in a true spirit" is worth the rigorous training.
*Henry David Thoreau's given name was David Henry Thoreau. Figures that he was a writer; his father was a pencil maker.
Download 'Em Y'all: Teacher's Guide and Activities for Dance, Y'all, Dance!
Dance, Y'all, Dance Teacher's Guides and Activity sheets are now available for your enjoyment on my website. You'll find them by clicking on the Activities Tab. Including!
Dance, Y'all, Dance Texas Teacher's Guide, created by author, teacher, creative goddess, fellow VC grad and hostess of the Simple Saturday Craft Days (which are grand fun for everyone!), Debbie Gonzales!
Dance, Y'all Dance puzzles, mazes, word searches of varying difficulties so children of all ages can enjoy them, created by author, poet and puzzle diva Doris Fisher
Dance, Y'all, Dance Teacher's Guide--Even More To Explore, created by Author and Literary Specialist Tracie Vaughn Zimmer. Tracie has a grand website with interviews for writers, book reviews for readers and Teaching Guides to hundreds of books, from picture books (Including Not Norman, Spider Spins a Story, and Sherlick Hound and the Valentine Mystery) to young adult which are created especially with teachers and book clubs/groups.
I Just finished....listen to me!
I just finished being interviewed by Naomi Giroux for her podcast "Coffee with An Author" which will air at 10:00 am central time February 15th, 2010. It was an hour-long interview during which I discuss writing, my books and read Dance, Y'all, Dance. Those of you who know me may not be surprised to know how easy it was for me to blabber on for an hour....there are lots of "ummmmms" in there, and mid-way through we lost the connection between Bryan, Texas and Jakarta, Indonesia--go figure! So there are a few fun moments of "are you there????? Kelly??? Hello, Kelly???" All in all, Naomi made it easier than I ever expected. The best part is that mid-way through I read Dance, Y'all, Dance--so if you like to hear an author read her/his stories, forward to the middle, open the book to scene one and read along as I read aloud! "Coffee with an Author" is an interactive, live Internet talk-radio show that focuses on authors and writers of all genres and mediums, and a feature on Ijustfinished.com. Host Naomi Giroux explores the careers, advice, writing style and personality of each guest. Callers are encouraged to call (646) 716-9724 to listen or ask questions. The stream and archives are available at http://blogtalkradio.com/i- just-finished . "Coffee with an Author" is live every Monday at 10am (CST). The show is hosted on BlogTalkRadio, by Ijustfinished.com, and available on iTunes as well.