There are a bunch of new stories going up at HOUSEFIRE at the moment to promote NOUNS OF ASSEMBLAGE and also just to have some damn good fun with words.
The whole process behind this and most of HOUSEFIRE’S projects are to challenge writers with prompts and see what the hell comes out of that dark mess of word and image association.
The title I was given for the book was A GANG OF ELK. I don’t want to give too much away – but I came up with something to do with migraines, sexual frustration, heartbreak and masturbation. Any of you reading this familiar with me aren’t surprised in the least, I know, but that’s the best thing about this party. You kind of get strapped down and ordered to write. The masochist in me likes that a lot. So does the control freak actually.
Anyway, some of the incredible writers featured in NOUNS OF ASSEMBLAGE were given the opportunity to take another collective noun – one that’s already been written and published in the book – and come up with a teaser of sorts for the website.
So far they’ve had gems from the likes of Riley Michael Parker, Tyler Gobble, David Tomaloff, Robert Duncan Gray, Len Kuntz, J. Bradley, Stephen Tully Dierks and Drew Swenhaugen.
Babes, the lot of them.
Oh and me. If you would like to jump right to my SNEAK OF WEASEL here you go – have a nibble, then a bite, and if you like the taste go and gorge yourself on the pretty shiny book, available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Image sourced from teannagrace
“Le cadavre exquis boira le vin nouveau.”
Here are two pieces me and my friend Kerrie wrote, drunk at the bar, intently folding the little scraps of blue and yellow paper over and over as we wrote our sentences, leaving only a word or two to continue. I loved the outcome so much that I snatched them up quick and hid them in my moleskin so I could check if they were just as beautiful sober.
The only thing I’ve added is a little punctuation and highlighted the only words we could see to continue the piece with.
I lost my thrill, it slipped through the cracks of boredom and repetition, and repetition, and repetition, and repetition and and and I’m not even afraid of keeping the sheets wrapped tightly around my neck. I could feel the fingers squeezing my larynx and the blood to my brain ceased to help. All that worked was her heart and her cunt beneath the fluorescent lights of the fast food restaurant. Would you like fries with that? Would you like my eyes with that? Would you like it hard, rough, soft, delightful? It’s all the same to me.
The constant drone of voices was like gravel rash in my brain. Nothing made sense, just fucking noise that sounded like nails down a chalkboard. I gritted my teeth and prayed to whatever, whoever god was. ‘Show me a fucking sign, make the lights flicker or the tap drip, drip drip. The sound kept me awake at night, it hounded me like a fucking doggy in the window. Woof, woof. The one with the waggily tail. How much is what I thought it would be? Blood? Crushed metal? Scared children? Even at such a young age most humans are designed to be cunts. The mother loves the baby and the baby decides the outcome in the end.