Flash Fic Friday

**My Ivan, he challenged me to double drabble.  So inspired by him, here’s 200 words.  Enjoy**

 

The house was silent, which fit his morose mood. It had been a bad day of epic proportions, proceeded by several bad weeks. Murphy’s Law was hard at work.   His luck had to change soon.  He had been trying so hard to do the right thing, the good thing, and everything he touched seemed to backfire. He pulled off his tie and threw it with vehemence across the room. With a heavy sigh, he sat on the couch. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and rubbed hard.

The soft strains of music reached his ears.  It took Christopher a minute to realize something was playing. He sat up straighter, straining to hear. Gradually the volume rose, until he could make out the chords. Instantly, his eyes welled up and he closed them tightly to savor the lyrics. The tears leaked out, tracking down his cheeks. A soft touch on his face had him leaning in. He knew who it was, and he knew why his boyfriend had chosen this song. Christopher curled into John’s arms and let Art Garfunkel’s voice wash over him, knowing he was cared for and he didn’t have to face this alone.

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Flash Fic Friday

**I was issued a drabble challenge. I picked up the gauntlet.  Enjoy.**

 

Adrenaline pulsed through his veins.  With careful movements, he took in his surroundings.  The warehouse was abandoned but he could hear movement.  That didn’t bode well.  A cautious step forward, weapon clutched tight in his hands.  The door was fifty feet in front of him.  He could get out if he didn’t attract attention.  He picked up his pace, gaze trained on the exit.  He wasn’t fast enough.  The creature attacked him from the side.  He swung his weapon, and nearly screamed when the deep voice said close to his ear, “Turn off the video game and come to bed.”

The Fight

I’m pretty lucky in that when I sit down to write, the words flow fairly smoothly.  It might only be for an hour or two, but when I’m writing, the words come out of my fingers with seemingly little direction from me.  Then I eventually hit a point where they stop flowing, and that’s where i call it quits for the night.  That’s not to say that it isn’t work, just that it’s pretty easy for me to get the words on the page.

Except when it isn’t.

It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, I don’t know how to handle it.  I’m working on my latest WIP and I’ve put roughly 300 words on the page in the last two day.  I’ve fought for every single one of them.  I’m not sure if the problem is with me or with the story, but my writing mojo is lagging right now.  And the thing that frustrates me the most is that I can see so clearly what is next, what I want to write, and yet, the words are just not flowing.

I’m failing in this assignment and it’s pissing me off.

But I’m not going to stop trying.  I have to wander off to the day job, but when that’s done, I’ll be back at this computer, pounding away at the keyboard, trying to make my guys come to life.  It’s just a rough patch.  And I can make it through.  I hope.

Anyone have any advice for breaking writers block?  My usual methods don’t seem to be working.

A Needed Break

Sometimes, unfortunately, life gets in the way of the words.  I try to write anyway, no matter what’s going on, but sometimes…well, sometimes it’s just not possible.

Last week, there was stuff going on in my life, some stressful stuff, and I couldn’t concentrate on much of anything else.  Thing were neglected.  And I let them be.  I had to, or else I would have a bit of a breakdown.  And no one wants that,   So I didn’t write anything, though I still did a bit of brain plotting in the quiet times.  I didn’t even write posts last week because I just…couldn’t.

And even though this week is shaping up to be more of the same, it’s at least a bit less stressful, and I can refocus.  I spent the weekend catching up and getting ahead on some of my responsibilities so I can focus my attention again on where I want it to be.  Eight hours a day are taken up by work, and they have to be, but the rest of the time, that’s mine.

I’m working on something new, and I’ve barely broken ground.  I already realize a bit that needs to be fixed.  And that’s good.  I can do this.  I got this.

I just had to remind myself that it’s okay, once in a while, to ignore the writing, and to focus on other things.  I’m adept at working on works in progress, and sometimes the WIP is me and not what I’m writing.  Last week was solely about me.  This week, I can get back to focusing on the bigger picture.  And I’m looking forward to it.

Flash Fic Friday

“I can’t go another day without a shower,” Isaac bit out, his voice hard and cold as he stared unblinkingly at his partner of thirteen years.

Dylan flinched and looked guilty, but his resolve was all over his face.  He shook his head and actually moved so that he was blocking the bathroom door.   Not that Isaac knew what was going on in there.  The door had been shut for a week, and work was only being done while Isaac was out of the house during the day.

There was a part of Isaac that thought it was sweet.  When he’d started complaining that the bathroom needed updating, Dylan had jumped at the chance to fix it up.  But Dylan had also decided it was going to be a surprise, and Isaac was never one for surprises.  And he was really, really tired of washing up in the kitchen sink.

Isaac eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his thin chest.  “I heard you in there last night.  You came out all wet and clean.  That means the shower is working.  I want to shower!”

Dylan actually held his hands out, warding Isaac off.  “One more day.  Please, baby, just one more day.  It’s just about done, let me finish.  Tomorrow, okay?”

Isaac opened his mouth to protest, to insist, but he saw the look in Dylan’s eyes and he faltered.  Dylan was so proud of himself, and he’d been working so hard.  Isaac could handle one more day, couldn’t he?

He scowled anyway.  “Fine.  One more day,” he agreed grumpily.  Then stalked off to the kitchen to wash up.

 

***

The blindfold was completely unnecessary, as far as Isaac was concerned.  Really, wouldn’t just opening the door be a big enough reveal?  But he played along, because in the end, he was finally getting to see the bathroom.  More importantly, he was finally going to get a shower.

He heard the door open, and then Dylan gently tugged his hand.  Everything smelled like new paint and a slightly of plastic.  He stood still, waiting impatiently.  With a flourish, Dylan pulled the blindfold from Isaac’s face.

Isaac blinked for a moment, his eyes adjusting.  The lighting was soft, though, only the bulbs above the new pedestal sink illuminating the room.  He swallowed hard as  his gaze tracked around the room.  The walls were now a light, soft gray, and the floor tiled to match.  The toilet and sink were both new, their positions slightly different and crammed in close to the small window–which had new coverings.  But when Isaac turned to look at the shower, his heart actually skipped a beat and he sucked in a fast breath.

It was a huge walk in deal, with a small bench along the back wall   There were mulitple shower heads–two that were removable and another that hung above so that it would rain down on him.  It was all chrome, and tile, and glass.  It was the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long time.  Probably because he wanted to be inside so badly.

The very best part was that it was big enough for two.

Isaac’s grin stretched his wide mouth as he reached out to grab Dylan by the shoulders.  He hauled the man close, kissed the ever living daylights out of him, and then pulled back to breathe.  Seeing Dylan all dazed and pleased made Isaac laugh.  He turned on the water, letting it warm up.  He started stripping off his clothes at record speed.  When he was naked, he went to work on Dylan’s.  Then he stepped inside, and with a hand around Dylan’s wrist, pulled the man in after him.

Dylan’s grin was huge.  “You like?”

“I love,” Isaac said reverently as the water pounded against his back.  He gave a decadent groan.  “And I love you.”

Dylan reached for the soap, slicked up the washcloth, and set to cleaning Isaac.  “Told you it would be worth it.”

Isaac could only agree.