Friday Flash - Flintlock Roulette

Tweet “Garrrh, poker’s for wenches!” said Captain Scarlight.

He knocked back the last dregs of his grog, slamming the tankard on the table.

“You do keep winnin’, Cap’n,” replied First Mate Swein.

“That I do.”

“I heard talk of a game of roulette in these parts,” said Swein.

“Roulette is for wenches, too!”

“It makes a change from poker.”

“True. Garrh, alright then, where’s this roulette game?” asked the Captain.

“A bar near here. The Rotten Pegleg,” replied Swein.

“Then we go to the Rotten Pegleg!”

* * *

The Rotten Pegleg stood at the end of the quay. Candlelight fought its way through the grime caked on the windows, throwing misshapen shadows across the wharf. A peg leg infested with woodworm hung from a pole outside.

A toothless hag sat at the piano just inside the door. Her gnarled fingers laboured through a mournful dirge in the quiet bar. Four men loitered near a round table in the middle of the room. A fat man with a mop of hair the colour of dishwater stood behind the bar.

“Barkeep! I heard there was a game of roulette going on,” said Captain Scarlight.

“That there is. Yer in luck, me friend. We needed another player ‘fore we could get going,” said one of the men. He grinned, displaying a mouth of black teeth.

“Have ye ever played flintlock roulette?” asked another man. Twisted scars snaked up his face and under his bandanna, encrusted with sweat and filth.

“Can’t say I have, I’m a poker man, myself,” replied the Captain.

“I don’t like the sound of flintlock roulette,” said Swein.

“Ah, ye brought a wench with ye!” roared the black-toothed man. Swein blushed.

“This is my first mate,” said the Captain. “But I must have a drink before we play.”

The Captain walked over to the group. His gaze fell on a rusty cage in the shadows at the end of the bar. A beautiful blue parrot sat hunched on a perch, too large for the size of the cage. It looked at him with doleful eyes.

“What a beautiful bird!” said the Captain.

“He’s supposed to be my main attraction. I got ‘im from a passing gypsy. Little liar told me ‘e was telepathic, but I ain’t ‘eard anythin’ to prove it,” said the barkeeper.

“All the same, he’s gorgeous. What’s his name?” asked the Captain.

He stuck his finger through the bars and stroked the bird’s head. The parrot leaned nearer, enjoying the attention.

“Dunno, never bothered to give ‘im one. ‘E might end up in me dinner if ‘e doesn’t do something useful soon,” said the barkeeper. He handed Captain Scarlight a drink.

“I’ll take him,” said the Captain.

“Ah ‘e ain’t for sale,” said the barkeeper. “But if ye win yer game, I’ll reconsider.”

“Are ye ready, strange cap’n?” asked the pirate in the bandanna.

“That I am! So how do we play this?” asked the Captain.

“We put the deeds to our ships in the middle of the table. We get blindfolded, and walk around the table. The hag tells us when to stop. Ye sit down, pick up the flintlock in front of ye, and fire,” said the pirate.

“Only one of ‘em has shot in it. If ye get the shot, ye keep the ship of the man ye shot,” said the black-toothed pirate.

“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” said Captain Scarlight.

“Are ye yeller?” asked a third pirate.

“No, I just like my head where it is, thank you,” said the Captain.

The pirate in the bandanna pulled out a pistol. He aimed it at the Captain’s chest.

“Ye join in, or I shoot yer now.”

“I guess I’ll just have to play then, won’t I?” said the Captain. He turned to the barkeeper. “But I get the bird if I win.”

The barkeeper nodded. Swein moved to the door.

The pirates put on their blindfolds. They walked around the table, arms outstretched. The hag shouted, “Sit!” The pirates reached for the nearest seat. Captain Scarlight fell into a chair by the bar.

The pirates fumbled around the table. Their hands found the flintlocks, and five hands picked up five guns. Five thumbs cocked five hammers.

I would suggest you duck.

Captain Scarlight started at the voice in his head. He looked around, before remembering the blindfold.

My name is Methuselah, and I am the bird on the bar. Please trust me.

The voice made the Captain’s ears itch. He shook his head.

“Ready....aim....fire!” said the hag.

DUCK!

Captain Scarlight ducked. The deafening crack of a flintlock filled the room, followed by the thump of a lead shot into wood. The Captain tore off his blindfold to see a smoking gun pointed straight at him.

Scarlight scrambled out of his seat. The pirate holding the smoking gun pulled off his blindfold. His expression morphed from triumph into anger when he saw the hole in the wall.

“Cheat!” he screamed.

“Captain!” cried Swein.

Captain Scarlight grabbed the bird cage and ran across the room. The pirate tracked the captain across the bar, pulling the trigger until he remembered flintlocks held a single shot. The other pirates pulled off their blindfolds to see the commotion.

Swein yanked open the door and the Captain darted into the cold night air. Swein ran after him as the four pirates fell out of their seats in the hurry to pursue Scarlight and the stolen bird.

The Dead Calm lay further up the quay. Scarlight and Swein sprinted up the gangplank. The crew hauled the board onto the deck. The pursuing pirates missed their footing and plunged into the sea. Scarlight’s crew jeered at them as they cursed the Captain from the dark water.

“What’s this then, Cap’n?” asked Billy the Bosun.

Scarlight stood up and opened the cage. The parrot hopped onto his forearm.

“This is the newest member of our crew, er...”

Methuselah. My name is Methuselah.

* * *

If you'd like to read more tales of Captain Scarlight and Methuselah, click here!

Photo Prompt 02

Tweet I've decided to start running my own photo prompts on a Monday in case anyone needs inspiration for their Friday Flash!

All I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! I promise to comment on any story that comes from this photo.

The second prompt is Money Pool.

Have fun!

Chinese Whisperings - The Launch

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After months of hard work and elbow grease, The Yin and Yang Books are finally here! My own story, The Strangest Comfort, is in the Yin Book, along with stories by these wonderfully talented women writers; Emma Newman, Carrie Clevenger, Tina Hunter, Claudia Osmond, Laura Eno, Jasmine Gallant, Jen Brubacher, Annie Evett, and Lily Mulholland.

Taken from the Chinese Whisperings website;
The Yin Book
In the international terminal of a large European airport, Monday morning is about to get a whole lot worse. At 7.35am Pangaean Airlines, one of Europe’s major carriers, is put into receivership grounding all flights, stranding thousands of passengers and impounding tonnes of luggage. But all is not as appears on the surface and the sliding-doors moment of one woman deciding to abandon her suitcase will ricochet through the lives around her.

But wait! There's more!

The Yang Book features the literary stylings of a fantastic cast of men writers, too. Paul Servini, Chris Chartrand, Tony Noland, Dan Powell, Dale Challener Roe, J.M. Strother, Rob Diaz II, Richard Jay Parker, Jason Coggins and Benjamin Solah have all contributed tales.

Taken from the Chinese Whisperings website;
The Yang Book
In the international terminal of a large European airport, Monday morning is about to get a whole lot worse. At 7.35am Pangaean Airlines, one of Europe’s major carriers, is put into receivership grounding all flights, stranding thousands of passengers and impounding tonnes of luggage. But all is not as appears on the surface and the sliding-doors moment of one woman deciding to retrieve her suitcase will ricochet through the lives around her.

Both books feature a prologue and an epilogue written by our fearless leaders, Jodi Cleghorn and Paul Anderson respectively. It's been an educational experience, and I feel privileged to have been part of such a fantastic project. It wasn't all plain sailing but then even Rome wasn't built in a day, and the end product is just simply awesome. A special mention also goes to Lucas Clevenger for his amazing work on the cover!

Carrie Clevenger, Tony Noland, Annie Evett and Jen Brubacher have already blogged about this, but I thought I'd had my thoughts to the melee too! If all of this has whetted your appetite, click here to buy the books!

Friday Flash - Fickle Fame

Tweet This story has been taken down as it is now out for submission!

How Do I Get My Ideas?

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Like any writer, I get a real thrill when someone reads my work. I love the feedback I get from other writers who understand the technical process behind the words, but it's often good for the soul to get comments from non-writers. I've noticed that the first response of a reader who does not themselves write is often "I don't know where you get your ideas!" Sometimes the response is coded in the question "Where do...?" and I thought I should perhaps cover this in a post.

In order to define my ideas, I think I want to clarify the statement to be "How or where do you get your ideas?" The basic summary answer is "I read, I listen, I watch and I think."

Read
Read everything that you can. Fiction, non-fiction - it doesn't matter. The bigger the range, the better, although I do place a lot of value on reading non-fiction in order to a) learn more about the world and b) add an extra dimension of depth to your work. Obviously it helps if you have a vague interest in the subject to start with, but try reading about something new. A throwaway line or footnote in a non-fiction book might just prompt an idea that might work for a flash, or it could be expanded into an entire novel. My historical horrors (e.g. The Resurrection Men, The Hidden) are usually inspired by things I read in non-fiction books, and it's the extra material gleaned around the central concept that provides the "oomph" for the stories to work. Without the knowledge, there is no idea. (I wrote more about this when writing about historical fiction)

Likewise, reading genres different to those in which you normally write can be invaluable for providing ideas. If you usually write sci-fi, try hardboiled thrillers. Maybe you can write hardboiled sci-fi! If you write romance, give steampunk a try. The new ideas you encounter might just spark off some of your own.

Listen
A writer is often a covert eavesdropper. Even a fragment of conversation can provide the seed of an idea. The writer can plant that seed and watch a throwaway line bloom into something they can use. If you channel surf at home, listen to the strange, disjointed sentences formed as you go from one channel to the next. Is there a prompt or even a plot in there? When you're listening to music, pay attention to the lyrics - do the songs tell a story, or do they simply inspire a plot in you? (Unforgettable, by Nat King Cole, did that for me).

Watch
I firmly believe that if you're willing to find ideas anywhere, then you will. Don't walk around with your head down, ignoring the world around you. Look at advertisements. Watch how people interact (but don't be obvious about it!) If you read the paper while commuting, pay attention to headlines. Read the 'Wanted' ads or personals columns. Even look at the problem pages - what could explain the erratic behaviour of Upset in Bristol's husband, aside from the obvious? I even wrote a post about this way back in January - check out my Creativity game!

Think
Make a list of the top ten cliches that most annoy you, and then think of a way to subvert them. Choose a character from either a work in progress or a finished piece, and then write down your top five most embarrassing moments - how would your character react in those situations? Think about the professions you wanted to do when you were younger and write about one of them now. Choose a favourite movie and think about its structure. What other stories could you tell using the same structure? Think about the plot of a finished piece, and consider how the plot would run if you told the story backwards. Finally, find a source of writing prompts (Eric J Krause runs them on his blog, as do Write Anything and Writer's Digest, while I've started a series of weekly photo prompts, starting with Old Bear) Can you combine two or more prompts to give a new plot?

If you exhaust these possibilities and need more ways to find ideas, Marelisa has some up on her Abundance blog. Take ten minutes to create something...and enjoy yourself!

Photo Prompt 01

Tweet I've decided to start running my own photo prompts on a Monday in case anyone needs inspiration for their Friday Flash!

All I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! I promise to comment on any story that comes from this photo.

The first prompt is Old Bear.

Have fun!

Friday Flash - The Hidden

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“This sorry specimen came to us late last month. Her husband brought her. The poor fellow was simply beside himself with worry. He is much improved now that he is confident in the knowledge that she is in our care.”

The warden gestured to the woman behind the bars. A tattered shawl hung around her thin shoulders. A brown mouse sat in the palm of her right hand, nibbling a crumb of bread. The visitors chose not to see the cracks in the wall, or the lack of glass in the window. They did not smell the fouled straw matting on the floor. They did not hear the drip of water in the corner.

“What is her condition?” asked the visitor. He adopted a suitable expression of concern, although his wife looked terrified by the mouse.

“I believe her to be simply melancholic, but the Physician believes her to be delusional. Her paranoia is at an advanced stage, although she is a quiet patient and keeps to herself,” replied the warden.

“What form do her delusions take?” asked the visitor’s wife.

“She calls herself Ann Crook, and believes herself to be the future Queen of England. She denounced her husband when he admitted her, telling us that he was a member of Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Her real husband, so she claims, is Prince Albert Victor,” replied the warden.

“How astonishing!” said the visitor.

“And there is no basis in her claims?” asked his wife.

“We believe not, although she is lucid when she tries to explain. Indeed, one might have trouble believing her to be insane, although the Physician has made this diagnosis, and he is never wrong,” said the warden.

“On what basis did he make his diagnosis?” asked the visitor.

“She ranted and she raved on admittance. She demanded to speak with her husband, and then the police, and she even called for a newspaper man. She has calmed since those early days.”

“Is it safe to speak with her?” asked the visitor’s wife.

“Good Lord, Marian - why ever would you want to do that?” asked the visitor.

“Curiosity, William,” replied his wife.

“She is entirely safe to converse with. I shall call her,” said the warden.

“No need, warden. I can ’ear all you say from ’ere,” said the woman. She looked up from the mouse’s antics.

“Pray tell me, madam. What is your name?” asked the visitor’s wife.

“Ann Crook, but everyone ‘ere calls me Louisa Smith,” replied the woman.

“Are you really the wife of a prince?” asked the wife.

“If I say yes, then I’m a lunatic, and I live in this ‘ell. If I say no, then I’m a liar, and I damn myself to ‘ell,” replied the woman. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll keep quiet.”

“Why would the Prince have you deposited here?” asked the wife.

“I dunno about you but I don’t think a Prince would abandon his wife. His mother, on the other ‘and...well if she’s a cold, uncaring sort who’s only interested in the future of her bleedin’ Empire...then she might well ‘ave somethin’ to do with it,” replied the woman. “She can’t ‘ave her son producing an ‘eir with a Catholic, now, can she?”

“You’re a Catholic?” asked the visitor.

“Not any more, I ain’t. God deserted me when I got dumped in ‘ere. So I deserted ‘im. See how he likes it,” replied the woman.

“Dear me, God does not desert anyone! He loves all of his flock. If you only reach out to him-”

“Pardon my language, my lady, but arses to that,” said the woman.

“Come on now, Louisa. Less of that,” said the warden. He tapped his keys on the bars.

“Or you’ll what? Bleed me? Purge me? Vomit me? The bleedin’ Physician does that!” said the woman.

“Gracious, does he really?” asked the visitor. “I thought such antiquated practices had long been abandoned by the madhouses.”

“I’m in no position to discuss that Physician’s practices, but he’s one of the most brilliant doctors in London. People literally queue to have their unfortunate relations placed under his care in this very hospital,” snapped the warden.

“And they queue up in ‘ere to get back out,” said the woman. “You pay no mind to ‘is blatherin’ on. I’m not the only one who shouldn’t be ‘ere. You stop and think about it - where’s the best place to put someone if you don’t want people to listen to ‘em?”

“William, I think we should be going,” said the wife.

She clutched her husband’s arm. He looked down at her and nodded.

“I really am terribly sorry for your plight, Mrs Smith,” said the visitor.

The warden led them away down the corridor. They didn’t hear the raving of the lunatics upstairs. They didn’t hear the sobbing of the melancholics, locked in their damp cells with only their own neuroses for company.

They didn’t hear the silent plea of an innocent woman.

* * *

This flash was inspired by a book I read about London’s infamous Royal Bethlem Hospital, known as ‘Bedlam’. Written by Paul Chambers, Bedlam: London’s Hospital for the Mad tells several tales of people imprisoned in asylums in the 18th and 19th centuries by relatives eager to get their hands on their wealth, or by people wanting to silence an outspoken individual without resorting to more nefarious means. The conditions, and treatment, described here are all based on documented evidence. The inclusion of Ann Crook is my nod towards Alan Moore’s Jack the Ripper epic, From Hell.

The image is from William Hogarth’s A Rake’s Progress, wherein a man falls from grace and ends his days a gibbering wreck in Bedlam.