At the Midnight Hour: Flash Fiction '22

I entered NYCMidnight's Flash Fiction contest again this year. 

At this point, it's more of a tradition than attempt to win, which is a good thing considering I came in 14th out of 15 top entries. (not too far to fall completely off the chart) 

I was assigned to Group 71: Political Satire

We were assigned a smoke filled room for our setting and an umbrella for our prop.

It took me until the 11th hour to find an idea I even wanted to build on (story of my actual non-fiction life, too)

With our current political climate so rife with strife, I couldn't find anything that felt neutral or safe to skewer a little. 

I ran with the idea of personifying 'Just A. Bill' (you know, the one who lives on Capitol Hill) 

Back in June, one Sunday after church,  I  started writing around 3 PM  and finished the same evening just ahead of the midnight deadline by a smidge. With some time lost, no doubt, to bathroom breaks, coffee refills, the closing of Panera and my relocation to Blanchard Park (thank you for the WiFi, Columbia County- that's a nice park feature you provide) 

While I was running the marathon, I questioned my sanity for choosing to do this to myself when it was a perfectly good Sunday for napping, but now, as is often the case, I'm grateful for being challenged and for the cathartic afterglow now that it has ended. 

It is almost midnight. 

Round 2's prompt should be here any minute now. 

Here we go... again. 

You can read my story 'Just Bill'  here

(https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YSCkiSiuRVxhHkR__cZ2hFSy9uwcBjENMfH2AZjjUQI/edit?usp=drivesdk) 

You can read the judges' feedback and direction for better writing below ( all very sound advice,  helpful insights and much appreciated) :

••••• Just Bill'' by Kelly Brewer -     WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY - {1953}  The concept of (literal!) aromatic truth bombs is intriguing, and Ol' Bill is a compellingly drawn character: an apt blend of down-to-earth relatable qualities and cartoonish performativity.   {2035}  I really liked the idea of these smoke sessions being so vulnerable. My favorite part was probably the Pages complaining about it with one another; the lines about New Mexico were just specific enough to give us a taste of what it was like behind closed doors.  {2045}  The truth inducing smoke is a clever idea which allows for strong motivation of the actions throughout the story. Bill is intriguing and his demeanor is a nice juxtaposition with the power and influence he holds.   

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - {1953}  Why is Ol' Bill revealing these secrets to such a low-level journalist? I think he needs to articulate some of his motives and/or reasoning around this.

I was also intrigued by the Weather Underground connection, but I wasn't quite sure how Bill's

aromatic therapy connected with this legacy. Does he see his smokey deceptions as a kind of peaceful, nonviolent alternative to the actions of the weathermen? It would be helpful if Bill could articulate this reasoning a bit more clearly.   {2035}  To me, William Scrivner's role and authority in this space didn't quite feel clear. I think that playing around with why he's the person that managed to pull this all off would help readers see his role in the greater framework of the peace he brokered while showing readers why he was so willing to share his secrets with a journalist.  {2045}  Seeing the world through the reporter's eyes gives us a fresh perspective and opportunity to learn as they learn, however, it is unclear why this particular reporter has been summoned and wha the purpose of the interview is. Likewise, what is Bill's ultimate goal and how was he able to gain the power necessary to enact this truth plan? ••••

Home: Where We Laugh

:: laughter :: 

"Mom, come here and look at this one." 

We were killing time in TJ Maxx, waiting on Fisher to get off from work.

She held up a red mug as I took my receipt and joined her at the end of aisle cap.

"I saw this one and had to laugh" she said as she read aloud, 'Home is where Dad is.' 

Really? Is that where it is? 'cause I don't think so. Isn't that just too funny, mom? " 

I smiled at her. 

What do you say to that?

Surely not what I was thinking: "This is what comedians are made of- laughing at the hard stuff "

We had almost reached the car when she picked the conversation back up mid-sentence. 

   "...and I just think about everyone, you know, who doesn't have a dad in their life... having to see that...and you know, like, Father's Day and stuff..." 

Then, with the resiliency of childhood, she was on to sweeter things,  pulling a sleeve of just purchased pistachio macarons from her bag to share with me ( five for her, one for me) 

• ~ • ~ • ~ •

I wrote that a little over a week before today, Father's Day.

 I didn't feel like it had a sufficient ending and, not wanting to cause strife with her dad, I left it in draft. 

Because you see, she does have one, still living and in town. But, he gave her a pass on today. A clever little uninvite that got him what he really wanted for Father's Day: to be left alone. 

Same as last year. 

Isn't it funny? We just have to laugh.

...Love, Like Kudzu...

I love my pastor's heart for other pastors. 

He didn't realize a photo would be shared when he sent the text, he just wanted to encourage a fellow pastor as their church plant launched this morning. 

I am grateful for the understanding that others may not see: it's an authentic love. 

It's not some shallow attempt at networking or building a bigger platform. 

Here's how I know: 

Once upon a time, my pastor and I shared the same pastor. And he will always kind of be our pastor- he's our dad. 

 If you've never heard NeedToBreathe's 'Washed By The Water', go now, listen. It explains the backstory well enough. 

** If you are a fellow PK who finds this song relatable, you are my tribe. I love you. While it is sad and a shame there are so many of us, it is not a waste, my dear friend. And I'm here for you **

God has taken a season of hurt, betrayal and dismay in our family's life and turned it into a harvest of love, multiplied. 

Just like actual seeds, that stormy season scattered us into the presence and lives of others- only then did what would grow "for the good of us who love Him" begin to take root. 

One painful event, multiple rows of growth. 

Twenty years have passed- at least. 

Today, we had a meeting after church. Some matters of gossip amongst the Body needed to be addressed (our elders did a wonderful job). 

One of the underlying complaints of those who had begun to speak out of turn was that they wanted more transparency in the reasons why certain staff members transitioned out. They'd heard maybe some negative details were left out. 

How could my brother send them off with a blessing and a smile if there were disagreements or differing ideas ?  

I can tell you how. Love has grown through the torn out places in our hearts. He has learned to be gentle and graceful from a time when people were not.

And he got it honest; he's a lot like our dad. 

My dad is a quiet and humble man. He wouldn't brag about the ways he reaches out to encourage fellow pastors because he doesn't do it for credit... but love grew like kudzu in his heart, too. 

I've observed both of these men be graceful to those who are committed to misunderstanding them. 

As I sip my tea and listen to the falling rain this Sunday evening, I am steeped in gratitude for those who are just trying to make the world a little better, you know, shine a light. 

Especially my own pastors: my dad and my younger (smarter, better-looking) brother- not to mention their long-suffering, good, good wives. (one each) 

"Even when the rain falls, even when the food starts rising ..."