Short literary fiction is one of my areas of writing interests, so I dabble in composing short stories and flash fiction from time to time.
Whistling Past the Graveyard
A Word from the Graveyard Whistler
Hey, it's Graveyard Whistler here again!
The following set of five flash pieces originate from a now defunct literary site called, "Stone Gulch Literary Arts." After I contacted the owner, whom I call "Stoney" because he does not want to be identified, he gave me written permission to use his stuff any way I want. Maybe someday I'll publish a facsimile of his statement; it's hilarious.
And I'll have to get another permission slip to do that, likely. It may keep me busy for decades. He had maintained the site from 1992 though 2016 and had added to it at least twice a week, so the volume is massive. I tell you when I discovered this huge treasure trove of works, I felt that I had just discovered the Holy Grail!
Five Flash Fiction Pieces
Please enjoy this penultimate installment of these particular, peculiar little flashes.
See You at the Movies
Jason wanted to play football for his birthday. Sussie wanted Jason to go to the movies with her. Sussie told Jason he could play football after they see the movie. Jason told Sussie they could go to see a movie after football. They decided to go take in a movie about football.
So, Do You Hear Me Now?
Merrielle played piano for church services. Barnabus wanted her to play the organ, not the piano. Merrielle practiced on the organ but didn't like it as much as piano. Merrielle had Lester relocate the organ down to the basement. Barnabus still insisted Merrielle continue to play the organ.
You a Little Thirsty?
Blair finished her prayers and slid into bed. Jibel drank a huge glass of water then slid into bed. Blair had a nightmare and yelled out to Jibel. Jibel came running with a bucket full of water. Blair mumbled her prayers again, and Jibel gulped down the bucket of water.
Arrested Ancestral Development
Lady Wickhamshire sipped her tea, awaiting a visit from another fake niece. Lady W had long ago learned how to dispose of these fake, money-grubbing "relatives." The Lady's assistant ushered the girl into the lady's drawing room. The niece began to bubble with excitement upon meeting her long-lost auntie. The bubbly girl did not expect the constable to be waiting to place her in cuffs and arrest her.
The Hammered Wedding
Marsy baked a cake, a big and pink cake, for Gertie Fay's wedding. Gertie Fay wanted a coconut cake though. Marsy became angry and smashed the cake with a hammer. Gertie Fay said she was glad to have the big, pink cake hammered. Marsy then baked a coconut cake with a hammer in it.
Afterword by the Graveyard Whistler
I have been amazed at how many people begin a literary career and then move on to something else. Most of the folks I've known to do that have gone from a university professorship to various positions in the business world. Also a number have become lawyers.
I guess I've paid close attention to this move from the literary life because I have continued to retain my own doubts about remaining on this path. At this point, I sustain myself through various short term contractual temporary positions at various universities. I teach various classes from literary theory to rhetoric/composition classes—usually with the idea of one day seeking a professorship myself. (I teach those courses even as I also fulfill my teaching duties as a doctoral fellow at my current university where I am a PhD candidate.)
But more and more, I see chinks in the armor of that profession. Don't want to go into it too deeply here for there just isn't time and space, but let me mention just one negative aspect that I observe at every university and college at which I have taught: the professors are all political hacks, spouting stereotypical garbage about the political class and politics. Those one-sided imbeciles consistently demonstrate that they are incapable of understanding one syllable of a political essay or treatise. Likely because they don't really have enough time to think critically about an issue, they just listen to the non-sense spewed forth nightly on cable TV.
So more and more, I'm wondering if that milieu would suit me, and there is the huge possibility that these loonies may not even have the brain power to cognize the true import and meaning of the literary works they profess to cherish. Thus, I am keeping a vigilant eye out for some profession that might suit me better.
Of course, the problem is that I do love literary studies, and that will not change; I am just beginning to despise the ideology of those who purport to study in the same field as I do, for I have noticed that so many of them are even interpreting their literary studies solely in terms of race, gender, and class. Art and identity politics are simply not compatible! The insertion of identity politics into literary studies is destroying that field. So that's where I am now. It may be a battle I just don't want to fight!
I'll keep you posted!
Some good whistlin' goin' on!! Enjoy!
© 2019 Linda Sue Grimes