Silence
Thoughts nobody asked for, flash fiction, poetry, and micro news
Silence is the cradle in which the thoughts awake. Silence births thoughts and ideas. It’s the foundation of every question ever asked. Whether poison or cure, silence is a force. It can be used as a weapon, a proud silence of contempt or a way to seemingly win over an opponent. Make them shut up, go silent.
Speaking is silver, silence is gold - as they say around here. If used wisely, silence can be more powerful than many words. Or it can be a coward’s last resort.
Lately I have been thinking about my silence and my words. I know many would prefer my silence rather than my words. Are the questions, that my silence gives birth to, monsters? Do I speak too much? Am I too loud? Am I too much?
I’m not going to do a poll, but I would appreciate if you, the readers, help me understand how to find the balance between words and silence.
Please, tell me - should I stop with the non-fiction rants/questions? Am I sharing too much content (I hate that word!) in general? If I am too much, I will finish the projects I’ve started and share less here on Substack. I guess these are the questions I was afraid to face. But I can’t sit in silence and ignore them.
It’s hard to face unpleasant questions with dignity and respect. Even harder to take unpleasant answers. Whatever you prefer - my silence or my words, I will respect your choice and take it into account.
Before I am politely told to shut up, I’ll share some new flash fiction and a poem I wrote this week.
Chapter
“Mmm… wait, just one more chapter!” She said while he kissed her neck slowly.
“I think,” he replied, “we agreed - no phones, no tablets and no books in bed.” He resumed his attempts to seduce her, sliding the straps of her night dress down her shoulders.
“Wait, but… the chapter! I waited for this book for months and… and…”
“I waited for this all day long.”
“Yes, but he’s about to confess his love in this chapter…”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He grunted, laid on his side of the bed, turning his back on her.
“What?! Just one more chapter!”
Scam
“So, it’s a fancy scam?” She asked, smiling daringly.
“Oh no!” The young street magician replied, “it’s pure magic!” He made the card disappear before her surprised eyes, then took both her hands in his.
“But the magic you possess would convince me anytime.” When she opened her palms, the same card was there with a phone number written on it.”
She laughed, while the young magician winked at her and carried on with his street show.
Tea
I hate mornings. Crawling from my dark corner with my eyes all puffy, stumbling my way toward the kitchen for some tea - black and hot, a piece of summer’s night the wretched morning cannot take away from me. Tea - the healing nectar, the substance of the night I inhale with the fragrant steam, healing me from the cruel daylight hurting my eyes. I linger in the night.
Hearth
He watched her lying by the hearth. The warm light of the dying embers caressed her beautiful nude body. He was banished by his people, exiled to this tiny island with nothing but bushes and a smelly old shack to dwell in. All for her, and all worth it. He’d die for her, he’d live for her.
She opened her sleepy eyes. A smile invited him closer. He leaned above her for a kiss. Their nights by the dim light of the hearth made all the hardships worth suffering.
A small creature
I’m a small small creature.
A pathetic thorn in your side.
I hide from the light.
Because there’s nothing left
Inside me but stupid words.
It hurts. To be alive and un-loved.
It hurts to burn for love
When dead ashes is all
you get in return.
Some news and updates. I can’t believe I finally did it - I sent the manuscript of my novella The Last Daughter of Wolves to the professional editor for line edits. She did the work much faster than planned. But the best part is - she wrote she was so invested in the story she couldn’t put it down. If a pro editor (who also does developmental editing, but I asked only line edits) says she enjoyed the story (I didn’t even ask if she liked it), I think the story is okay. I might try to submit it to publishers again, but most likely I will try to self-publish it.
The plan for the upcoming week:
On Monday, July 29, I’m sharing the penultimate chapter from my urban fantasy Cirque du Macabre 2: Cabaret Sauvage.
Since July 31 is my Birthday, I’m planning to share a compilation of romantic short stories from other authors that have stuck with me since the beginning of Thorny Thursday. I am giving myself a present, I guess. I will share it on Wednesday or Thursday.
On Thursday, August 1, I’m sharing the next romantic flash fiction chapter from To Seduce a Scribe. Only a couple of chapters left.
On Friday, August 2, I’m sharing the next flash fiction chapter from my Sci-fi story The Gravediggers of Orpheus.
On Saturday, August 3, I’ll share the next chapter from my dark fantasy The Lord of the Lake.
Sundays are the days I usually drop a line with some random thoughts, new short stuff and news on my writing updates.
I usually share a surprise flash fiction or a non-fiction rant over the week.
So, as you see, I do post a lot. Most of it is short form fiction. I do apologise for stuffing your mailboxes with all of this. Please, tell me - is it too much?
Thank you for reading.
Love,
Kathrine
Please keep writing!
My advice? Write as much as you like. This is your space. As readers, we come here to see you. If we didn’t like it, we wouldn’t come here.
As far as the rants go, I completely understand the compulsion. When there’s a lot of anger/hurt/frustration inside, it’s easy to want to let it out on the page. And if that’s what you have to do to make sense of it, do it. Don’t apologize for that. And you don’t need to make excuses for it either. Like I said, this page is for you.
So please keep being you. Don’t let us hold you back.
Other than letting it out on the page, I usually find music especially helpful at quelling those hard emotions. My favorite song when I’m angry/frustrated is “Believer” by Imagine Dragons:
“Don’t you tell me what you think that I can be. I’m the one at the sail, I’m the master of my sea.”
https://youtu.be/7wtfhZwyrcc?si=b2KQfB0GKTwUVuF0
I rant all the time for myself and not an audience. I write books because the story is in my head and needs to come out. Writing/story-telling/poetry/ranting is all about expressing ourselves for our sanity. If people don't like it, they have the freedom to not read it. Don't let the naysayers tell you how to live your life.