Annie Q Syed

Discovered @Story_Craft on Twitter. They host #storycraft which is a weekly chat on Sundays about the craft of writing fiction.  You can check them out here. Their May 16th, 2010 Flash Fiction Challenge was as follows: “excerpts rather than short pieces complete unto themselves which highlight the craft of exposition. It must be under 200 words (though if it is more than 100 it better be DAMN good lol).”

I decided to use a “WIP” (work in progress) of my fiction manuscript titled Her Sizwe.

Sizwe is a Zulu word which means “nation.” It is also a name given to male children. So, naturally, it can mean Her Sizwe or Her Nation.

This is from the chapter titled “Broken Turquoise.”

Whoever wears a Turquoise may fall from any height and the stone attracts to itself the whole force of the blow, so that the stone cracks and the person remains safe. ~ J. B. Van Helmont

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Below is an excerpt from a short fiction story titled “Red Tape” which I am working on for the collection Augury.

Sharing it here after having discovered @Story_Craft on Twitter this week. They host #storycraft which is a weekly chat on Sundays about the craft of writing fiction.  You can check them out here. Their May 9th, 2010 Flash Fiction Challenge, which I took upon myself to push “Red Tape” along, was as follows: Tell a story in 300-500 words of dialogue.  Tags and action description are okay, but no exposition! Wordcount: 300-500.

Thanks,

~a.q.s.

Note: It did not make the challenge because it has to be a stand alone story. But I will leave it here thanks to the comments and feedback. Much appreciated.

“He says ‘shut up’ to me.”

“That’s why you are getting a divorce?”

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Preface to Nectar of the Ordinary stories.

I am not even sure if anyone besides the people to whom these stories belong will read what follows in the collection. Maybe even they won’t.  My sentences together serve as a frame to hold a snap shot of their element’s thumbprint on our big blue marble.  A statement persistently orbits my peripheral consciousness as I begin to write. Over a decade ago, more years than I want to count specifically, a Literature professor in college tirelessly told the students in his class, every time staring directly at me (perhaps unintentionally each time), that all writers have an audience in mind and most importantly they write because they must. As I already stated, I don’t have any particular audience in mind.  However, I know with more certainty than I have yet to know anything else that I must place these stories on a tangible medium instead of thought-provoking conversations over dinner and drinks with other soul-diggers that dissipate ever too quickly, leaving the longing for another fix to find our way around our selves. A dim flicker shines through the fractured spaces in these living apparitions’ tales, serving as a guide to tread upon expansive realms deep within ourselves where we are afraid to venture alone.

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I have been trying to write the words that follow since last week. Yes, last week. My anger (write faster, self! This topic doesn’t even require any thinking!), disappointment (you have written five sentences since last week on this? on this? It is a mere post for those who need to learn about what you have discovered in the wild web out there!), and inability (just put a damn hyperlink on your website if you can’t write about it and the rest will follow) finally brought a tsunami of tears this afternoon that left my sinuses dry, eyes swollen, and a headache I wouldn’t wish on any person, not even someone I might deem deserving of such a blastache when they have surpassed my tolerance for annoying folks.

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