Jim the Writer

a literary blog

Jim Anderson

The Dive

By

Here’s another excerpt from my NaNoWriMo novel, which uses the word for this week’s 100 Word Challenge at Velvet Verbosity.

Zina came up, sputtering, gasping.

It was there! She’d gotten a glimpse of the passage’s dark mouth under the ledge. She could make it. If her calculations were correct, the passage would be short and lead into the cave.

She filled her lungs — once, twice — then dove again, driving herself down and forward. The water darkened around her. Ahead it was pure black. She swam on, down and then up. The walls were close around her. She banged a knee, an elbow, then panicked when her head struck rock.

She reached up, searching for an opening.

Her fingers touched air.

Test Pilot Blues

By

He rocked down a few miles from where black smoke roiled into the desert sky. Not a bad ride, he thought. A little balky in the turns. On the ground, he immediately wriggled out of the parachute harness. Seconds later, a gust of wind filled the canopy, and the harness scuttled away across the white sands.

He took off his helmet. They’ll blame me, of course. How they are, the bean-counters!

It could be tricky — knowing when it was hopeless, knowing when to get out.

He started walking toward the smoke, thinking he had cut this one a little close.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #355 at Velvet Verbosity.

Bend, Don’t Break

By

That fall, Mark coached pee-wee football. On offense, his philosophy was “three-yards-and-a-cloud-of-dust.” Most plays, three yards turned out to be wishful thinking; so did hanging on to the ball. On defense, his philosophy was “bend-but-don’t-break.” The kids didn’t want to be bent or broken, and mostly got out of the way. The team lost its first three games by an average of forty points. Its only touchdown came after an opposing player muffed a punt. Mark’s wife suggested that he try a “punt-on-first-down” philosophy.

“That’s not a philosophy,” Mark said. “That’s ad hoc. I’d rather lose.”

And lose they did.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #354 at Velvet Verbosity.

The Chase

By

Here’s a snippet from my current NaNoWriMo effort, which just happens to use the secret word for this week’s 100 Word Challenge #353 at Velvet Verbosity. The novel is far-future science fiction, and the main character is a woman who must return to a planet where she experienced love, trauma and disgrace. She’s the main speaker in this dialogue.

“You went native on Gallygia?”

“Yes.”

“Rare in the Exploration Service.”

She glanced away. “So I’ve been told.”

“What happened?”

“I was observing a border tribe close up. I dressed like a hunter — breech-cloth, paint, not much else. Standard play-the-savage. I had the body for it. The tribe considered me insane, and let me come and go.

“One morning we were raided by a stone-age bunch. Four men chased me half-a-day, the classic pursuit, one pressing at a time.

“Even the wolves use it.”

“And the ES flew to your rescue?”

“I didn’t call them.”

“Oh?”

“Not for three years.”

Last Call

By

Larry told her before last call. “Your brother’s dead.”  Just like that.

Janay sagged against the bar.

“You OK?”

“For a bartender, you got shitty people-skills.”

“Take off, why don’t you.”

She shook her head. “He said he was invincible. I guess he believed it.”

Janay finished the shift. Later, her mother was predictable. “They shot him in the street,” she said. “Like a dog.”

“I never saw a dog shot.  How they do that?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“He didn’t deserve to be done that way.”

Janay wasn’t sure what he deserved.

“We gotta get out of here,” she said.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #352 at Velvet Verbosity.

Mr. Anonymous

By

She returned to the table after the drinks arrived. George smiled. Perfect timing.

“I’ve been dreaming about this all day,” she said, dropping the lime wedge into her gin-and-tonic. Then she looked at George and laughed. “Do I sound like a lush?”

“You sound like a woman who knows what she wants.”

“I wish!”

She sipped her drink.

What a lovely throat. He could feel his fingers closing around it.

“This isn’t Tanqueray!”

George rocked back. Before he could speak, she was up, marching toward the bar, glass in hand.

He swore, then hurried for the door and the night.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #351 at Velvet Verbosity.