I’m Jordan Brunelle, a fiction writer from Nashville, TN. And this is my blog.
The goal of Fiction Flashes is to produce one short story every week. The focus is upon stories containing elements of fantasy, science fiction, dark fiction, or satire.
The word count: 500-1,000 words.
A majority of these stories will be written by me — however, we’ll feature guest posts regularly. Stories written by friends and strangers and strangers who could someday become friends and even enemies (they write stories too!) So if you’re interested in submitting a story, whether you’re a friend or a stranger, please email me with the story attached: email@example.com.
Thanks for stopping by.
by Jordan Brunelle (989 words)
I yelled at them to stop, but they wouldn’t. They didn’t.
And Mom wonders why I won’t eat. She wonders why I sit at the kitchen table, next to my older brother, and I just stare at the meatloaf on the plate in front of me—that assortment of unrecognizable meats and meat-like things, topped with a red-black sauce, mixed together in a chaotic mess of edible mush. She asks why I won’t, just please, for her, eat it. It’s my favorite, she reminds me. Be a good son.
They’re so much stronger than I am, my brother Billy and his friends, and they had little trouble lifting me off the ground and carrying me over their shoulders like a potato sack. Billy’s in 8th grade, three grades ahead of me, and so are Johnny Frankfort and Allen Hicks, his best friends.
“Please, please, please,” I squealed, when I realized where they were taking me. “Please, just put me down.” I knew, when they started towards the woods to the left of the old farmhouse my family lives in, that my life would be changing soon. The patch of woods is thick with brush, difficult to pass through, and it only leads to one place. The Pond.
But that was last week. Now, we’re in the kitchen. My father is sitting in his place at the head of the table. He eats the meatloaf my mother made, in huge, heaping forkfuls, without looking up, and my brother does the same. He’s always taking after my father, his mannerisms, the way he mumbles his words and draws out his vowels and refuses to smile for pictures. I suppose it’s because they spend so much time together, getting up at 4 am every morning to milk the cows.
by Jordan Brunelle (940 words)
I remember when Wuff first appeared in my living room. I’d just finished breaking up with my girlfriend of six years and was far from desiring any confrontation with a stranger. Especially a stranger like Wuff.
I walked in to find him sitting on my couch in the nude. It was dark, but by the glow of the television I could see that he had the remote tucked tightly between his thighs, one leg crossed over the other. The next thing I noticed was the incredibly unnatural (or completely natural, depending on how you look at things) amount of black, wiry hair that blanketed his entire body.
“Wuff,” he said.
“What is your—”
“I said I’m Wuff.”
I walked closer, growing more agitated with my intruder, and said, “Okay, Wuff. What are you doing in my house? How’d you even get in here?”
Wuff rolled his eyes and shrugged sarcastically. “Oh, I don’t know, Jake. Maybe you invited me in.” He sighed heavily and pulled the remote out from his crotch before changing the channel.
“You’re getting hair on my couch,” I told him.
Wuff jumped to his feet.
“Don’t have me if you don’t like me for who I am, Jake. You’re the one who let me in, for God’s sake.”
And at that, I suddenly knew. I questioned how it had taken so long for me to realize who this black-haired, bearded, naked man was. He wasn’t a stranger at all. They warned me when I got him, that a mix of domestic dog and wolf can make for an unpredictable pet. A pet with sudden shifts in personality and character. A pet that lashes out at their owners sporadically and without warning. It’s like in the blink of an eye, they transform out of one thing and into something entirely different.
- Keep it a Nightmare (littlewritelies.com)
- Man’s Worst Friend (nickthiwerspoon.wordpress.com)
- Why I Like Writing Flash Fiction (pochp.wordpress.com)
- Flash Fiction: One Old Challenge and One New (nillunasserstelter.com)
- Homeschool Fun with Flash Fiction (athomeandschool.com)
A journal. A podcast. A blog. A revolt.
The Artificial Selection Project is open to fiction, non-fiction and art by anyone with a grudge and a set of writing to back it up. The work must be previously unpublished and the sole property of the writer/artist submitting.We are looking for fearless engaging work and are open to a variety of formal and narrative modes. Challenge us, surprise us, confound us, terrify us, but whatever you do, bring us with you. Also when submitting, please include your name and complete contact information.SUBMIT ORIGINAL WORK TO:THEARTIFICIALSELECTION@GMAIL.COM- The Guidelines -Fiction: 7,500 words max. Preferably between 10-15 pps, as space is limited. And we are open to flash fiction as well.Art work: A jpeg of your original work of at least 300 DPIWork submitted simultaneously to other publications is not a problem. Just let us know if some other folks accept it. We also do not accept previously published work.Upon acceptance, The Artificial Selection Project reserves the right to edit your work as we see fit, though we will seek your approval beforehand.The deadline to submit is August 1, 2013!- – –
The Artificial Selection Project is California’s breakout new literary publication featuring the work of authors and artists that the literary world has deemed unfit for publication. The Artificial Selection Project was born from a creative writing masters program in which students found themselves being berated for pushing envelopes and challenging literary traditions. This stifling of creativity in a program that was designed with creativity specifically in mind was a travesty, so the students decided to do something about it.
All too often, writers are told that their work is “too extreme” or “too experimental” and that they should tone down their writing. Perhaps focus on traditional frames of thought or some more well-defined story archetypes. The Artificial Selection Project has a better idea. We say write the madness in your head. Explore the darkest corners of humanity. Scream and cry dissent in ink on any surface you can get your hands on. And bring us along for the goddamn ride.
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borough of lost boys
frankie leone, just a man – 27 (williamsburg, borough of lost boys)
…pursuit of a truth
written by (frankie leone, just a man)
residing in williamsburg
brooklyn, new york 11211
referred to as a “missed connections writer”
these words are for (and by)
egotistical, romantic, loyal, deviant
ugly, obsessed, accepting, adventuring, afraid
awe-struck, longing, kind, disillusioned, precocious
desperate, beautiful, selfish, creative, (self) worthless
narcissistic, scarred, soul-sick, real, wandering
plastic, judgmental, envious, fascinated
soulful, affectionate, hope(ful/less)
on this block:
i want it shattered
but can’t afford another seven years
so i’ve lain down the hammer
to strike these keys
and write into my funhouse mirror.
(photo by chiara tiraboschi)
“sometimes we have the absolute certainty there’s something inside us that’s so hideous and monstrous that if we ever search it out we won’t be able to stand looking at it. but it’s when we’re willing to come face to face with that demon that we face the angel.”
— hubert selby junior, last exit to brooklyn
we opted against san loco (on 160 n 4th street) to get something more authentic at the taco truck on the side of n6th. – 28 (williamsburg, borough of lost boys)
When I first started writing seriously, all I wanted was to publish a novel.
I thought my intentions were honourable—that I wasn’t just another wannabe with dreams of making it big—but there was always that little part of me that still wasn’t ready to put in my dues.
I wanted it all, and I wanted it right away.
2. Writing short fiction can make you a more accomplished writer.
3. Publishing short fiction can make you a more marketable writer.
- The Future of Short Fiction is Looking Good (pageturnerblog.wordpress.com)