Extreme Writing Now » extreme writitng

Stained Cloth | Flash Fiction

Alex Crabtree — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 15:37:02 +0000

Flash Fiction of fifty-five words is often harder than it looks. This one took me about a day to polish.

There they were, staring at him, eight by ten glossies of guilt. His one and only sin had become more than just another Kodak moment.

As he got the books and began to look for places he could skim the extortion money from, the priest realized for the first time, how tight his collar felt.

Thank you for reading this installment of Flash Fiction Friday.

Freelance Writer Or Crack Whore?

Alex Crabtree — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 16:01:19 +0000

Work is work, right? Especially if your a freelance writer and need five dollars for gas money so can get to Wally World and buy some Ramen noodles. Well, it’s either that, or the dog. But, five dollars for 300 words? Can crack whores do better than that for an hour?

Let’s work this one out. If you write 300 words at 60 words a minute, that’s a dollar a minute. Not too shabby. On the other hand,Crack whores might have to work for as long as twenty minutes to get that five bucks, which comes to .40 a minute. Pretty lousy for the mess and short high.

I hope the urge to mock me is setting in right now, because if it isn’t, I can point you to all the five dollars for 300 word jobs you want.

If you ARE mocking me, you know it takes a solid hour to get 300 words researched, drafted, finalized, and approved. No, that hour doesn’t happen all at once, but it does happen.

The question remains, What should we expect to get paid for 300 words? Ooooops. Trick question. The real question should be, what do we think our 300 words is worth?

The answer is all up to the freelancer. There is damn good money being paid to writers who deliver quality with every word. There is just good money passing hands to good writers, and there are the five dollar jobs. It all depends on what you think your work is worth.

I know it takes time to gain a reputation, but to take those cheap jobs, one after another, after another, and so on will dilute your reputation and self esteem. You are providing a solution to a problem, and that problem shouldn’t be the client’s cheap needs. Your solution should be to provide the client with the best work you can, and you’ll soon find that your work is worth more than five dollars an hour.

If you don’t think it is, you’ll be on the streets, turnin’ tricks and smoking the glass god before you know it.

Not A Damn Thing To Blog About

Alex Crabtree — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 22:13:25 +0000

I’m a million miles away from my blog at the moment and can’t seem to get a ticket on the next caravan back. I have started a half a dozen different topics and trashed each one. On the other hand, I feel all wound up, heart is pounding, and anxious. I need to write.

Nothing seems to be inspiring me today. There have been a million posts about 9/11 and I don’t think mine would be any different than half of those. Sure, I could write about how the world, not just America, changed on that day, but that’s like beating a dead horse. I could say what I feel about the dark era we were thrust into that day, but hell with that, we have enough finger pointers on both sides of THAT fence.

I almost wrote about how I nearly flushed this blog down the drain while trying something radically new to me. Watching the blog not reload after trying to to re-install the back up was frustrating to say the least. In the end, it all came back up and was really nothing to get excited about.

The dogs probably could have gotten some blog time if I felt motivated enough to give them the time. I mean, the little Amstaff, all thirty pounds of her, is baiting the ninety lb. Lab mix into a game of tag. Chloe, the Amstaff, runs up and jumps to nip at Pooh’s jaw, only to land in a ready to run position. Then Pooh lunges as Chloe steps just out of reach. All this on a hardwood floor, so there is a lot of action, but no progress.

I know if I went into Squidoo I could find a lens or two to write about, or maybe I could blog on about Factor Y, but nah.

There is one topic that touched me today, an ongoing one, and that is one that my dear friend JaguarJulie has been blogging about at her Topicality blog. Julie has be covering the topic of etiquette. In particular, online etiquette, and I think she is dead on when she states that we should behave the same way do online that we do off.

The problem I see is that some of us already do, always have, and always will. But, that doesn’t mean we can’t politely point out the fault in that behavior. We ALL have to share the same space, cyber or otherwise, so why don’t some of you grow up or get out.

So, I guess I need to find my creative genius to find something of value to blog about.

This image for this post is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License via Master Man

The Making Of A Tyrant

Alex Crabtree — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 04:45:48 +0000

“Give it to me or I’ll blast your brains all over that wall.”

“You ain’t gonna shoot me, you ass wipe.”

“What? You think I got this gun on your forehead just so Picasso can come along and paint a nice picture?”

“If you kill me, you won’t get it. You think I’m stupid or something?”

“I think you’re dead.”

Click. Click click click.

“CUT! CUT CUT CUT! Goddamn it, CUT! First you sons a bitchin’ actors can’t remember yer lines or cues, and now the fuckin’ props won’t work. Grip, get that gun to someone who can fix it.” Hans Thayer dropped his head to his hands and mumbled, “If I don’t quit this piece o’ shit film, it’ll be the death of me”

Rocko leaned in from behind Hans and said, “Remember. Mister Eberto has ensured that it’ll be da death of you if you do quit dis fine creation o’ celluloid art.”

Looking up at Rocko and Vinny, Hans asked, “Do you two guys gotta be breathin’ down my neck continuously?”

“We’re here as technical advisors,” Vinny smiled, and continued, “And a little added insurance.”

“Fuckin’ babysitters, to be blunt. Jesus. We get that gun fixed yet?”

“Somebody forgot to put the blanks in it is all that was wrong with it.” The Grip answered.

“Son of a bitch. All right, places everyone.”

“Scene seven, take thirty-five.”

“Roll’ em………..ACTION!”

“Give it to me or I’ll blast your brains all over that wall.”

“You ain’t gonna shoot me, you ass wipe.”

“What? You think I got this banana on your………shit,” laughter, “I’m sorry.”

Just then, Vinny appeared in the scene with a wooden chair. He stared to pound one of the actors with the chair.
“Give it to me you little weasel. Give me the ting, or I’ll beat you into a pulp.”

Everyone on the set was in shock, except Rocko, he was smiling. The beating continued as pieces of the chair went flying.

“Stop. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Pleaded the bloody actor.

“Hey Rocko, go out and get da nut cutters. This pile o’ horse dung ain’t cooporatin’.”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll give you anything you want.” The actor whimpered.

With that, Vinny dropped what remained of the chair, straightened his tie and walked towards the director.

“Bravisimo!” Applauded Rocko.

“Dat’s how dat scene has gotta work.” Vinny proclaimed.

“That’s it! I refuse to work on this project any longer. Take five everyone. I’m going to phone Eberto and see if I can squeeze out of this fuckin’ mess.”

***

“What did you say the name of this movie was?”

“It’s called A Tyrant.”

“Hear anything about it?”

“Plenty. Ended up being directed by a Rocko Viterelli, a virtual no name.”

“Ended up? Was there another one? Before him?”

“Oh yes. Hans Thayer. The Hans Thayer.”

“The guy who directed Valley Forge?”

“That’d be him.”

“Why did they replace him with a no name?”

“According to the rumors, he disappeared with one of the original actors. They supposedly ran off to some gay community in the South Pacific.”

“ Wow. Did they have to replace the actor too?”

“Oh yes. Replaced him with one Vincent Mancinni. Another no name, and the producer is Dominick Eberto.”

“Eberto? Where have I heard that name before?”

“You know. ‘Don’ Eberto. The Godfather.”

“You gotta be shitin’ me.”

“Serious. Cross my heart and hope to…….well…..you know…….die.”

“Kinda makes you wonder if this film is any good or not.”

“Must be. Harrington gave it five stars.”

“Harrington? Of Harrington and Raines?”

“That’d be the one.”

“What’d Raines give it?

“You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

“The night before the taping of the Harrington and Raines show, Raines jumped to his death. Police said he was pretty high on something. And, rumors say that he hated the movie. Thought it was absolutely horrible.”

“Wow. What’s this movie about?”

“It’s a gangster flick. Supposed to be about a Mob Boss whose influence becomes greater than the President’s.”

“How did you hear about it?”

“Some one who knows me said I had to come and see it, or else.”

“Or else? Or else what?”

“Can’t say. Won’t say. Would rather not think about it.”

“Made you an offer you couldn’t refuse, huh?” Laughing.

“Shut up and eat your damn popcorn, the movie’s startin’.”

Millions of crooked cops, bad gamblers, and shady characters went to see this movie, making A Tyrant the biggest grossing film of all time.