Mind Games

Update to this post from 16th July - 6S Mind Games is now available on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk

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My entry in the Six Sentences Network's 'Mind Games' anthology comp has been accepted - and published!

There were over 300 entries and my piece (below) appears alongside those of fellow Writers' News Talkbackers A.J. Humpage and Pixie J. King.

A.J.'s is one of of my personal favourites in the collection, as well as Sandra Davies', Thomas Mundt's, Grey Johnson's and the winning 'six' by Kip Hanson.

Mind Games by Lily Childs

I thought them ferns; tall penile stems, their tops weighty with verdant coils just waiting to unfurl and release their fertile spores into the density of the hot forest.

Tickling their tendrils with soft affection my fingers instantly freeze in pain, agonising pulses of electric colour seethe through my brain as the tightly-bound spirals whip open, unleashing a thousand needles into my skin.

Voices call my name as if from a distance yet faces swim before my eyes; some familiar - my husband, group members, our priests; others are screaming beasts, terrifying in aspect, violently teasing my senses as they rush at me, possessing and vacating my body at speed.

Then white - I travel through clouds; burnt umber and red ochre crumble at my sides as I linger in moist earthen caverns until the blackness of gushing blood carries me back to the safety of my throbbing heart.

Missionaries attend to me over the ensuing days but I see them for the demons they are as they slap me with leeches, desperate to wipe the smile of bliss from my mouth, frantically forcing the creatures to suck out the poisons that play so prettily with my mind - but they are unable to stop me returning again and again to the beautiful wildwood deities that have forever lent me their power; and to think I thought them ferns.

I am at peace - I am shaman.
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The Corporate Cabaret

Over at me more genteel blog, is the story I've submitted to the Six Sentences Network - 6S - of my mate Olivia who walked away from the corporate monster yesterday. Power to you, Liv. F*ck 'em.

Here it is: http://micheleranger.blogspot.com/2010/07/corporate-cabaret.html

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6S - The Mysterious Dr. Ramsey

I'm well chuffed that my entry to the marvellous Six Sentences network's comp 'The Mysterious Dr. Ramsey' has been accepted for publication in a 6S anthology.

We were presented with a photograph of a veiled individual - male? Female? And invited to write six sentences inspired by the photo, under the title of The Mysterious Dr. Ramsey.

My entry, published with permission, is below:

They ride pillion. Twenty six chests ram hard into the backs of twenty six bikers, hearts pounding with exhilaration - and the fear they won’t make it in time.

Desert dust turns to greenery so lush they can taste it. The capital looms ever closer, the target destination clear in the riders’ minds whilst the seconds tick, tick, tick by until time is gone, lost forever.

The Fifty Two charge the gates, resolved to carry out the attack together; three, two, one… Screams fill the auditorium as they hit - it's the moment of truth:

"Ladies and Gentlemen it's the new Black, please welcome our models to the catwalk, wearing innovative designer Doc Ramsey's Backseat range for Harley boys and girls."

Fellow writers AJ Humpage, Anthony Cowin and Ellie Garratt were also selected. Congrats to them.

You can buy the anthology for $24.95 from Amazon.com or £16.55 from Amazon.co.uk

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6S - the Six Sentences network

Thanks to spotting a post on the horribly marvellous Erin Cole's blog - 'Listen to the Voices', I have joined 6S - the Six Sentences network at http://sixsentences.ning.com/.

Say anything - in six sentences, fact, fiction, rant. Members comment live.

It's fun and also a challenge. Join online, and wait (in my case about 18 hours) to be approved.

My first (fictional) piece is:

State of Grace

Collapsing, heavy on the bench Grace passed me her bottle-in-a-bag.

“Share it with me Jimmy, I can’t do this anymore.”

The fat in her legs glowed purple, straining from the top of broken shoes; chins moved independently with every word she spoke. She belched, a rank eruption from a rotted gut, her apology left unuttered.

She told me once, how it was to live under the pressure of that name; “to eat, to drink, to drink and eat”, she said was “at fourteen the counteraction, the reaction”, “the gutter a place of shame” into which it was safe to escape.

Never would her mother see the ballerina Grace would never be.