By G. Russell
"Can I make love to you in my true form?"
"Baby, yeah!"
"Thank you, my love. This means so much. Close your eyes."
"Okay. They're closed," he said with a wolfish grin.
A modest, yet sensual pause. Then, timidly, "I'm ready."
Spaceman Jones stared.
The huge mucus ball tinkled, "My sexual orifice is here, at the back of my head. Please insert your penis when you're ready, my love."
Dribbling a greyish green mucoid detritus, the salivating opening, winking like a crazed eye glazed with a fiery cataract, beckoned winsomely to the startled astronaunt.
"Um...Okay, Deirdre. I gotta check the coolant pumps first."
"Why are you putting on your spacesuit?" asked the oscillating alien.
"I'll have to go outside. The valve's on the outer hull."
She fell silent, thoughtful.
"You'll come back?"
"...Sure!"
Deirdre quivered with delight.
"I'll be waiting," she said, and added; "I love you!"
© Nov 2003, 2011 Gary Russell. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or in part without written permission from the author.
• • •
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Born in the 60's, Gary Russell gained his considerable reputation whilst living underneath a magical bridge and riddling passers-by for gold dubloons. Whilst interred he was denied access to visitors, writing implements, and sharp metal objects. His present whereabouts, following the explosion that destroyed the facility, remain shrouded in mystery.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
New York
By Nick Nicholson
ON JULY 18, 1953, four weeks after the electrocution of the Rosenbergs, the temperature in New York reached 101 degrees and within the crumbling walls of his apartment, after fucking his girlfriend, Latisha, from behind, Wesley Washington declared, “Damn dog days is a motherfucker,” which subsequently, and famously, became the first line of the first poem he ever wrote. On October 13 of that year, Latisha was murdered, shot. The police conducted an investigation of sorts but the killer was never found. Latisha’s death moved Washington to express his grief in words. He remembered the ferociously hot summer. He remembered lying naked with Latisha beneath the slowly rotating ceiling fan. Then he remembered the line that had sprung from his lips. He wrote it down and thus began Washington’s illustrious poetic career. Washington was prolific. By 1962, he had become a revered underground literary cult figure with a raw, urban voice that spoke to a generation of black youth. His fame eventually declined, however, and on July 4, 1977, Washington was found dead from an overdose of heroin. According to legend, an unfinished poem was discovered in his pocket and the last words he’d written were these: We all dogs.
------------------------
© Nick Nicholson 2010, 2011. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or in part without written permission from the author.
------------------------
This is the second part of Nick Nicholson's theme-adventurous, eight-part Travelogue. Subsequent segments will be published here in upcoming months.
Next Travelogue story: Tokyo
• • •
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Throughout his life, Nick Nicholson has pursued a variety of creative vocations: music, photography, painting and, in recent years, writing. He lives in Australia.
ON JULY 18, 1953, four weeks after the electrocution of the Rosenbergs, the temperature in New York reached 101 degrees and within the crumbling walls of his apartment, after fucking his girlfriend, Latisha, from behind, Wesley Washington declared, “Damn dog days is a motherfucker,” which subsequently, and famously, became the first line of the first poem he ever wrote. On October 13 of that year, Latisha was murdered, shot. The police conducted an investigation of sorts but the killer was never found. Latisha’s death moved Washington to express his grief in words. He remembered the ferociously hot summer. He remembered lying naked with Latisha beneath the slowly rotating ceiling fan. Then he remembered the line that had sprung from his lips. He wrote it down and thus began Washington’s illustrious poetic career. Washington was prolific. By 1962, he had become a revered underground literary cult figure with a raw, urban voice that spoke to a generation of black youth. His fame eventually declined, however, and on July 4, 1977, Washington was found dead from an overdose of heroin. According to legend, an unfinished poem was discovered in his pocket and the last words he’d written were these: We all dogs.
------------------------
© Nick Nicholson 2010, 2011. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or in part without written permission from the author.
------------------------
This is the second part of Nick Nicholson's theme-adventurous, eight-part Travelogue. Subsequent segments will be published here in upcoming months.
Next Travelogue story: Tokyo
• • •
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Throughout his life, Nick Nicholson has pursued a variety of creative vocations: music, photography, painting and, in recent years, writing. He lives in Australia.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
In Sepia
By JL Martindale
Jared dreamed in black and white. When everyone else carved "Brown Pride" on their binders, he wrote "Sepia pride" and told me I should do the same to mine because my eyes were brown even if my skin was leche sin cafe.
Jared offered me his elbow like a gentleman when we strolled home from school. He tipped his bowler and bowed slightly when strangers would stare. In public, he embraced me and clung with conviction, quoting lines from Casablanca and Rebecca.
But I wasn't his girl. He never would have me as his girl.
Jared was in love with Arika Vasquez. She was paler than me and had thick, wavy, black hair that cascaded down the side of her cinema star face, framing her full red femme fatale lips in such a way that made Jared and me both giddy with delight and envy.
Jared believed Arika was the Ava Gardner to his Burt Lancaster. He called her his only desire, his one weakness. Jared boasted that I was his best friend, his girl Friday.
Arika served us Brown Cows in frosty metal tumblers at the diner where she worked after school. When it was time to pay, she winked and said only Jared had to pay for his, that mine was free because I had prettier gams than Marlene Dietrich and the irresistible cuteness of Joan Fontaine. Later, Arika said I could be the Gretta Garbo to her Lilyan Tashman if only I'd leave Mr. Olivier at home.
Arika dreamed in black and white tinged sepia too, but she kissed in technicolor and Jared never knew.
Copyright ©2010 JLM StrangerUpstairs.com All rights reserved.
• • •
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
JL Martindale is a thirty-something geeky girl writing, blogging and existing somewhere in Southern California. She is the Stranger behind StrangerUpstairs and the Jaelyn who was anthologized in Cream: The Best of Erotica Readers and Writers Association.
Jared dreamed in black and white. When everyone else carved "Brown Pride" on their binders, he wrote "Sepia pride" and told me I should do the same to mine because my eyes were brown even if my skin was leche sin cafe.
Jared offered me his elbow like a gentleman when we strolled home from school. He tipped his bowler and bowed slightly when strangers would stare. In public, he embraced me and clung with conviction, quoting lines from Casablanca and Rebecca.
But I wasn't his girl. He never would have me as his girl.
Jared was in love with Arika Vasquez. She was paler than me and had thick, wavy, black hair that cascaded down the side of her cinema star face, framing her full red femme fatale lips in such a way that made Jared and me both giddy with delight and envy.
Jared believed Arika was the Ava Gardner to his Burt Lancaster. He called her his only desire, his one weakness. Jared boasted that I was his best friend, his girl Friday.
Arika served us Brown Cows in frosty metal tumblers at the diner where she worked after school. When it was time to pay, she winked and said only Jared had to pay for his, that mine was free because I had prettier gams than Marlene Dietrich and the irresistible cuteness of Joan Fontaine. Later, Arika said I could be the Gretta Garbo to her Lilyan Tashman if only I'd leave Mr. Olivier at home.
Arika dreamed in black and white tinged sepia too, but she kissed in technicolor and Jared never knew.
Copyright ©2010 JLM StrangerUpstairs.com All rights reserved.
• • •
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
JL Martindale is a thirty-something geeky girl writing, blogging and existing somewhere in Southern California. She is the Stranger behind StrangerUpstairs and the Jaelyn who was anthologized in Cream: The Best of Erotica Readers and Writers Association.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Naples
By Nick Nicholson
The highlight of Edward Gray’s life occurred on the night of November 20, 1971, when he slept with the twins, Adrianna and Arietta Ferrara, while holidaying in Naples. Edward, a postal worker from Manchester who secretly harboured pretensions of culture, was driving a rented Fiat back to his hotel after attending what he considered to be a somewhat lacklustre performance of Rigoletto at the Teatro di San Carlo. Rain fell in cascading veils over the old city. Edward spotted the girls huddled together in a doorway on a dark street. They had no umbrella so he stopped and offered to drive them home. The twins accepted, thankful for the unexpected kindness. Upon arrival, they invited Edward into their tiny flat where they shared a bottle of Chianti and smoked cigarettes. Then they led him into the bedroom to properly express their gratitude. Unlike most Italian girls, Adrianna and Arietta weren’t especially beautiful, but it didn’t matter. To Edward, they were angels, the rarest of miracles. Compared to that magical night, the subsequent unfolding of Edward’s life was pointedly uneventful. He never married and died 35 years later, at the age of 67, his heart too bored to beat any longer.
------------------------
© Nick Nicholson 2010. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or in part without written permission from the author.
------------------------
This is the first part of Nick Nicholson's theme-adventurous, eight-part Travelogue. Subsequent segments will be published here in upcoming months.
Next Travelogue story: New York
• • •
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Throughout his life, Nick Nicholson has pursued a variety of creative vocations: music, photography, painting and, in recent years, writing. He lives in Australia.
The highlight of Edward Gray’s life occurred on the night of November 20, 1971, when he slept with the twins, Adrianna and Arietta Ferrara, while holidaying in Naples. Edward, a postal worker from Manchester who secretly harboured pretensions of culture, was driving a rented Fiat back to his hotel after attending what he considered to be a somewhat lacklustre performance of Rigoletto at the Teatro di San Carlo. Rain fell in cascading veils over the old city. Edward spotted the girls huddled together in a doorway on a dark street. They had no umbrella so he stopped and offered to drive them home. The twins accepted, thankful for the unexpected kindness. Upon arrival, they invited Edward into their tiny flat where they shared a bottle of Chianti and smoked cigarettes. Then they led him into the bedroom to properly express their gratitude. Unlike most Italian girls, Adrianna and Arietta weren’t especially beautiful, but it didn’t matter. To Edward, they were angels, the rarest of miracles. Compared to that magical night, the subsequent unfolding of Edward’s life was pointedly uneventful. He never married and died 35 years later, at the age of 67, his heart too bored to beat any longer.
------------------------
© Nick Nicholson 2010. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or in part without written permission from the author.
------------------------
This is the first part of Nick Nicholson's theme-adventurous, eight-part Travelogue. Subsequent segments will be published here in upcoming months.
Next Travelogue story: New York
• • •
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Throughout his life, Nick Nicholson has pursued a variety of creative vocations: music, photography, painting and, in recent years, writing. He lives in Australia.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
SUBMISSION GUIDELINES
UPDATE, 2013: Microstory A Week is no longer accepting submissions. The site may be accepting them in the future, and for that reason I'm keeping the guidelines up. In the meantime, happy writing. =)
GENERAL GUIDELINES
Polished fiction stories only -- no poetry, please.
Word limit: 700 words or less. Flasher-length works (e.g., 200 word stories) are welcome, also.
Email submissions only, please, with the word SUBMISSION at the start of the email title line.
Send manuscripts to this address: arterialgush@yahoo.com.
One story per submission, please. Please don’t submit another story until you’ve heard back about the previous one. I’m also a working writer, so I’ll get back to you A.S.A.P. about your work, within two weeks (probably less).
If you’re submitting a simultaneous piece, please let me know.
I accept previously published works, as long as they're not currently published on the Net. If submitting a previously published piece, please include its publishing history in the submission email.
Novel excerpts are acceptable, as long as they work as stand-alone pieces.
If you want to be published under another name, let me know.
Authors retain the copyrights to their works. All I ask is that work published here is allowed to remain on the site, and that it remains “exclusive” here during the week I publish it. Also, if you republish the work elsewhere, please acknowledge that it was published here first.
Please be sure to include this statement in your email: “I am the sole author of this story. No one else holds the copyright to this work.”
COMPENSATION
There is no financial compensation for authors whose work appear here. (If I could pay people, I would!) What this site is about is exposure for writers, who, in addition to publishing their stories, may submit a 75-word bio and an author-related link or two.
STYLE, GENRES, ALL THAT JAZZ:
I’m open to any story subject and style, as long as it’s story and not just an extended scene (i.e., there must be a plot, some semblance of characterization and motivation, and a conflict/problem to resolve, etc. ). In short: I don’t care about genre (for the most part), I care about quality, and an adherence to the submission guidelines.
Caveat: I am not a fan of religious-inspirational or Hallmark-flavored work. Nor do I want sexually explicit works here – I’m going for a hard-“R” rating (at the most extreme) on this site. That said, sex may be a present element in submitted works, as long as it’s an integral part of the story.
Any rejection notes will be constructive in tone, and, time permitting, be accompanied with a reason why I’m not accepting the work in play.
FORMATTING
Include story in body of Rich Text email – no attachments, please.
No paragraph-start indentions. Double-space between paragraph breaks, and space your lines at 1.15.
If there are italics or bold-face words in your story be sure to make that clear.
ANY SUBMISSIONS THAT DO NOT FOLLOW THESE GUIDELINES WILL BE AUTOMATICALLY REJECTED.
PUBLISHING SCHEDULE
I will publish one story per week, each Wednesday. This will be a first-come, first-serve gig, so get to it. I look forward to reading your work. :)
GENERAL GUIDELINES
Polished fiction stories only -- no poetry, please.
Word limit: 700 words or less. Flasher-length works (e.g., 200 word stories) are welcome, also.
Email submissions only, please, with the word SUBMISSION at the start of the email title line.
Send manuscripts to this address: arterialgush@yahoo.com.
One story per submission, please. Please don’t submit another story until you’ve heard back about the previous one. I’m also a working writer, so I’ll get back to you A.S.A.P. about your work, within two weeks (probably less).
If you’re submitting a simultaneous piece, please let me know.
I accept previously published works, as long as they're not currently published on the Net. If submitting a previously published piece, please include its publishing history in the submission email.
Novel excerpts are acceptable, as long as they work as stand-alone pieces.
If you want to be published under another name, let me know.
Authors retain the copyrights to their works. All I ask is that work published here is allowed to remain on the site, and that it remains “exclusive” here during the week I publish it. Also, if you republish the work elsewhere, please acknowledge that it was published here first.
Please be sure to include this statement in your email: “I am the sole author of this story. No one else holds the copyright to this work.”
COMPENSATION
There is no financial compensation for authors whose work appear here. (If I could pay people, I would!) What this site is about is exposure for writers, who, in addition to publishing their stories, may submit a 75-word bio and an author-related link or two.
STYLE, GENRES, ALL THAT JAZZ:
I’m open to any story subject and style, as long as it’s story and not just an extended scene (i.e., there must be a plot, some semblance of characterization and motivation, and a conflict/problem to resolve, etc. ). In short: I don’t care about genre (for the most part), I care about quality, and an adherence to the submission guidelines.
Caveat: I am not a fan of religious-inspirational or Hallmark-flavored work. Nor do I want sexually explicit works here – I’m going for a hard-“R” rating (at the most extreme) on this site. That said, sex may be a present element in submitted works, as long as it’s an integral part of the story.
Any rejection notes will be constructive in tone, and, time permitting, be accompanied with a reason why I’m not accepting the work in play.
FORMATTING
Include story in body of Rich Text email – no attachments, please.
No paragraph-start indentions. Double-space between paragraph breaks, and space your lines at 1.15.
If there are italics or bold-face words in your story be sure to make that clear.
ANY SUBMISSIONS THAT DO NOT FOLLOW THESE GUIDELINES WILL BE AUTOMATICALLY REJECTED.
PUBLISHING SCHEDULE
I will publish one story per week, each Wednesday. This will be a first-come, first-serve gig, so get to it. I look forward to reading your work. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)