NaNoWriMo

Yes, I'll be signing up again this year. I spent some time on the site's forums tonight. I'm not going to school as I had hoped, so I should be able to do something on NaNoWriMo. More than last year, I hope.

And now a word from our sponsor:

Not really. I just took a quiz and decided to share the results here, since this is my writing blog.

I am: Isaac Asimov One of the most prolific writers in history, on any imaginable subject. Cared little for art but created lasting and memorable tales.

Which science fiction writer are you?

As I posted on Hatrack, I don't feel like an Isaac Asimov. I think my writing style is closer to some other authors, none of which is on the list from this source. One of the first science fiction authors I ever read was R.A. Lafferty. I don't expect to be as good and prolific as he was, but I can hope to be as good as I can be.

The resemblance between my work and Lafferty's is quirkiness. I work toward the surprise ending. I would have to compare my work to Lafferty's in the sense that a child's drawing would compare to something by Salvador Dalí.

Flash Fiction Friday No. 5: Snakes ... not on a plane

(Author's note: I have seriously abandoned Flash Fiction Friday for the past few months - since Sept. 21, 2006, actually. I decided to try to catch up. So, here is my much-delayed entry.)

Snakes ... not on a plane

Lorraine loved her job. Well, most of it. She loved doing research on the various works of art collected by the Duncombe Art Museum. She loved organizing art classes for people of all ages. She even loved making catering arrangements for various luncheons and open houses at the museum.

The only thing she hated was walking in the door.

You see, just past the employee entrance was a fabulous exhibit - a demon serpent mask from Sri Lanka. It was on semi-permanent loan in exchange for a set of Native American bird masks. Lorraine had passed by the serpent mask for two years now and every time she did, she shuddered.

She imagined that she heard a faint noise when she passed by, a slithery sort of sound. Although she hated to look at the mask, she firmly watched and memorized the formation of snakes, their coloration and the number of them, just in case.

A letter arrived from the sister museum in Sri Lanka. The museum directors wished to terminate the temporary loan of their artifact and return the Native American exhibit. They said they must have the mask back within two weeks. The Duncombe's director was upset - this didn't leave much time to make the arrangements: packing, shipping and insurance. He told Lorraine to "get right on it."

Lorraine was relieved and upset at the same time. The mask would be gone soon, but she would have to actually handle it - something she had avoided so far. She knew that nobody else at the museum had the same reaction that she did to it, so she kept her fears silent.

She made the necessary phone calls and brought the original shipping container from storage. She knew that she couldn't do this alone, so she asked the maintenance manager to assist.

They worked quickly but carefully and the mask was soon packed away. The delivery driver came and the container was loaded on the truck. Lorraine watched the truck drive away.

She phoned the museum in Sri Lanka to leave a message that their mask was on its way. Lorraine expected to feel relief, but that feeling didn't come.

At the end of the day, Lorraine went home. Her dreams were restless and confused, and she woke up tired. She dressed slowly, dreading going to work even though she knew that the mask was gone.

As Lorraine went to work, she imagined the spot where the mask once was. The director had ordered a modern art piece put in its place. Modern art was something that Lorraine felt neutral about, so she thought it should be easier to go to work. She climbed the steps and put her key in the door.

Lorraine paused, then opened the door and stepped in, expecting to see a lite box painting by Bill Sherwood. Instead, she saw what was literally her worst nightmare – the demon serpent mask she had packaged and sent off the day before. This time, the slithery noise was not her imagination – it was the sound made as the snakes twined around and reached for her.