Category Archives: Fiction & Essays

Brother No More: Story Share Literacy Project

http://hokustory.com/books/view/535

What an amazing, fantastic, wonderful idea!

This was my first thought when I heard about the Story Share Contest. A product of the collaboration of a group of partners, including Benentech, CAST, the National Center for Learning Disabilities, Orca Book Publishers, Motivate, and Jabico Enterprises, the goal of the contest was to amass a library of short story books for teen and young adult beginning readers. Stories for beginning readers are created in Tar Heel Reader, while those at the intermediate (3rd or 4th grade level) are placed in the Hoku library.

What makes the Story Share concept special is that its focus is on collecting works that contain subject matter of interest to teens and young adults, but which are written for a lower reading skill level. How brilliant is that? It seems so obvious now, but it never would have occurred to me how difficult it must be for an older person who is trying to learn to read to find reading material that actually interests them. I mean, Dr. Seuss is great. The Berenstain Bears are great. But if an eighteen-year-old is stuck reading books like these just because those are the kinds of books that are available for people at his or her reading level, they’re rather rapidly going to lose interest, which is no way to encourage young adults to learn to read.

Anyway, as soon as I heard about the contest, I knew I wanted to write something for it, and the story-book I’ve linked to above was the end result. Brother No More is a dark but ultimately uplifting tale of a young adult drug dealer with loose gang affiliations whose twelve-year-old sister is accidentally killed in a drive-by shooting. The hero, George, copes with Mary’s death not by seeking revenge on those who killed her, but by secretly seeking to undermine the very system that makes it possible such tragedies to occur.

I won’t kid you – it was no mean feat putting this story together. First of all, it ended up being over 7,200 words, which is quite a long short story by any standard. Second, it took a great deal of effort to make it work for a lower-level reader. Fortunately, the Hoku guidelines are pretty informative about how best to ensure that the target audience will be comfortable with your writing. For example, you’re supposed to construct short, simple sentences without multiple clauses, and use words of no more than four syllables. Using short sentences was easy enough once I got the hang of it. It actually came out somewhat flash fiction style, I would say – without a lot of fancy verbiage, and no unnecessary modifiers. The vocabulary was tougher. Unless you’re an elementary school teacher, it’s difficult to know what kinds of words would be recognizable to a student at the third or fourth grade reading level. And besides that, your readers are not going to be eight- and nine-year-olds, but teenagers. They probably have decent speaking vocabularies; they just don’t necessarily know what those words look like on paper. So chances are good you can get by with somewhat more sophisticated language than you would use in an actual children’s book, even though on paper the reader is at the same skill level.

Thematically, too, I felt it was important to speak to the audience on a more adult plane, within limits. For instance, I would not have elected a loose, fragmented style of writing, or chosen a topic that was too subtle, simply because I would worry that if the reader had to struggle to understand it, they might think it was their comprehension that was at fault and not the complexity of the writing or subject matter. Encouraging a reader to stretch their limits is one thing, but pushing them to the point of frustration accomplishes nothing. However, I didn’t think my particular story ran into this problem. A couple of times I decided to change the details of a scene because I couldn’t get my point across without using words I thought might be too advanced. But that, of course, is part of the challenge!

The other challenge for me was in the formatting and the use of images. The formatting is the only aspect of the Hoku book design that I would complain about, because it is not compatible with Word and you can’t simply copy and paste from one to the other without having to reformat. This is a serious problem, because editing within the Hoku format isn’t practical, which means you basically have to write and polish the story in Word and then re-create it, a few paragraphs at a time, in Hoku. I totally understand why they use the format they do – in the end you really have a product that looks like a book rather than a text document – but it was time-consuming. I spent nearly four hours just transferring my file onto the ninety Hoku pages so that it would display properly. Someone needs to call up Bill Gates and see if he’ll create an app for that.

The design tools, however, were quite easy to use and went a long way towards enabling the writer to create a polished, nice-looking digital book. Adding images was especially simple, as the individual pages have blocks set aside for pictures and you just click whether you want to add an image on that page or not, and you can upload straight from there. They naturally encourage the use of images, which are certainly simple enough to acquire nowadays even if you’re not artistic (which I’m not). I did take my own photos, though. I actually would have liked to use more images, but since I was worried about how long my story was going to be – 100 pages was the limit – I didn’t want to risk having to reformat the whole thing all over again if I went over.

Anyway, formatting issues aside, creating my story was an overwhelmingly positive experience. I actually really enjoyed the special challenge of writing it, and I’m looking forward to completing a sequel – and possibly another after that – in the next few months. I do hope, though, that I’ll get some kind of feedback on whether the readers like my story or not. With over 500 entries submitted, I’m not foolish enough to get my hopes up on winning a prize in the contest, but it would be nice to get some opinions on my story-book before I start writing more like it. I can really sort of see this becoming a long-term thing for me – my author pro bono work, if you will. I’ve always thought that if I had a lot of money, I’d like to donate it to a library. Well, here I can actually help to build the library. And in the end, I suspect that will be much more satisfying.

You can find out more about Hoku, Tar Heel Reader, and the Story Share Contest at http://storysharecontest.com/about.php or on Twitter @StoryShareCntst.

Cover Image for Brother No More

Flash Fiction: Night Falls

My short-short “Night Falls” has been published in Every Writer’s Resource:

http://www.everywritersresource.com/shortstories/night-falls-lori-schafer/

I originally wrote this short-short for last year’s Flash Fiction Chronicles “String of 10” Contest. The premise of the contest is a list of ten randomly generated words and a suggestive theme. You’re supposed to use at least four of the words and your interpretation of the theme to create a story of no more than 250 words. Here was the prompt for last year’s contest:

EVENING-QUARRY-ACCENT-ROSE-TEAR-MINUTE-GRAVE-CLOSE-ENTRANCE-BOW
I want to put a ding in the universe. –Steve Jobs

http://www.everydayfiction.com/flashfictionblog/string-of-10-five-flash-fiction-contest-begins-now/

I decided to use all ten words – I figured that was part of the challenge – and I interpreted the Steve Jobs quote quite literally. The result was “Night Falls,” an interesting if somewhat bizarre little piece that’s totally unlike anything else I’ve ever written. Guess that proves that writing prompts really do provide creative inspiration!

If I have time, I’d like to write something for this year’s contest, too. I may have to compromise on the ten words this time around, though. It’s hard to imagine a 250-word story in which “bookmark” and “catastrophe” both appear.

LITTER-ENTRANCE-SAFE-SPIRITUAL -SPOTLIGHT-BOOKMARK-CATASTROPHE-RAZOR-FAULTY-ULTIMATE

I prefer the errors of enthusiasm to the indifference of wisdom. -Anatole France

http://www.everydayfiction.com/flashfictionblog/string-of-10-six-flash-fiction-contest-begins-now/

The deadline is February 4th. I’m looking forward to seeing how other writers tackle the premise. For that matter, I’m interested in seeing how I’m going to tackle it!

Night Falls Moon and Stars

Romance Flash Publication and Author Commentary: Delayed Connection

My flash fiction romance “Delayed Connection” has been published in Romance Flash:

http://romanceflash.com/stories/81-delayed-connection

Kind of a funny story behind this piece. It started out as a story I was writing for The Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette, to which I am a somewhat regular contributor. The original version, which will appear in the Gazette in March, is called “Missed Connection,” and, like much of my erotic flash fiction, it deals with the subject of lost love and is correspondingly dark in tone. Well, when that was done, I liked the idea behind it so much that I wrote another piece with the same premise – a chance meeting at an airport – but in an entirely different style, and with a bona fide happy ending to boot. Similar story, but in two versions: one “dirty,” and one “nice.” I confess I was somewhat surprised at how sweet the “nice” version turned out. Hmm, maybe there’s a romantic in me after all!

I loved the scenario of running into a former love interest at the airport, with one person about to get on a plane, and the other just getting off one. We’ve all been there, right? We’ve all had that fantasy of bumping into someone we once cared about in an unexpected place, and having all the things we always hoped would happen finally happen. It rarely works out that way in real life, of course. You never run into Mr. or Ms. Lost Love ever again, or if you do, it turns out there were solid reasons why you never hooked up in the first place. Still a pleasant fantasy, though. And like Billy Joel says, sometimes a fantasy is all you need.

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Anything Can Happen: A Novel Excerpt

What was it with brewers anyway? I wondered, squinting through my peephole at my good friend Dave and the burgeoning mass of bristles that had been protruding haphazardly from his chin ever since he’d taken that assistant’s job. They all seemed to be walking around with piles of crazy facial hair, a fact which, if you attended as many beer festivals as we did, became perturbingly apparent. Of course, I’d never seen one as ridiculous as Michael’s; a foot-long, narrowly-pointed monstrosity that ought to have repelled me like a flea collar. If I were the flea, instead of the one with the itch.

Michael, I snorted irritably to myself, leaving Dave waiting cold and snow-flaked in my foyer while I bundled up in a bulky sweater and one of those loathsome turtlenecks that keep out the cold but then keep themselves amused all day attempting to strangle you. Turning my back on the mean mirror that kept refusing to lie about my age, I plastered my long-johns on underneath my fat jeans and prodded my feet into some rancid rubber galoshes, perfecting the picture of my hideousness. I told myself it didn’t matter. I wasn’t trying to seduce him, right? I sighed internally. I was strong enough to be practical enough not to wear some cute skimpy outfit and be miserable the whole day, but not enough not to be depressed about it. I am woman, hear me roar. Rrrr.

I tried not to look for him. Much. I drank my beer and chatted with Dave and his equally-bearded brewer buddies and periodically scanned the festival crowd in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner. It was late in the day when I finally caught the dreaded glimpse – it was hard to miss that bright red hair and chest-length beard. It was even harder to miss the attractive young blonde he was hugging when I saw him. Unfortunately for me, Dave spotted him at almost the same moment.

“Look, there’s Michael,” he said, failing to see me wince at the mention of the name. “Let’s go say hi?”

Dave didn’t know, of course, about me and Michael. I’d been too mortified to admit that after months of impatient waiting I’d shamelessly tackled him just days after his divorce was final. Or that I wanted to punch something every time I recollected his early-morning speech about not wanting to get involved.

“It looks like he’s with someone,” I answered, compromising and kicking the floor instead. “Maybe we should leave him alone.”

“She looks familiar,” Dave responded, oblivious to the damage I was inflicting on the hardwood. “I think she works at the brewery.”

Even worse, I thought. She has access to him eight hours a day; probably after-hours, too. I only get to see him once every few months, and I’m already forty and getting older by the minute. How can I possibly compete? I felt a jealous rage swelling within me, and impulsively I wanted to smack the alleged little tramp out of my way. Fortunately, the logical part of my brain kicked back in and I caught myself. I breathed deeply. It was not a competition. For what it was worth, I’d already had Michael. I had no right to expect him not to move on to someone else. It wasn’t her fault, and it wasn’t his either. I could be a grownup about this, couldn’t I?

“I suppose it would be rude not to say hello,” I grudgingly conceded. Dave meandered over to where they stood, not thirty feet away, and I trudged along behind him, feeling enormous, ugly, and ancient. The blonde scrutinized me with pity. It’ll happen to you! I wanted to yell, but she was already walking away, leaving Dave and me alone with Michael. Dave shook Michael’s hand but I merely nodded and averted my eyes, my brief dream of behaving rationally fading quickly in his suddenly very tangible presence. They talked on about beer while I seethed silently, excoriated myself for even caring, then seethed silently some more. I couldn’t tell if Michael was even aware of that, because I wouldn’t look at him. He doesn’t care, I reminded myself viciously. He never did. He was just using you to – to get his feet wet, I thought, among other things. Remember how he blew you off? Wanted someone younger and prettier, no doubt. He was probably picking up all kinds of women now. Who knew what number blondie even was? I was well shut of him. I had refilled my taster while the boys were chatting, and I was so consumed with brooding that I didn’t even notice when Dave stepped away to fill his, leaving Michael and I alone.

“How’ve you been, Kate?” he was saying, casually reaching out to touch my arm. I started, then realized who was talking to me and pulled out my best contemptuous sneer.

“Fine, thank you, and yourself?” I answered coldly, jerking away from his touch.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “What did I do?”

His ignorance of his wrongdoing infuriated me even more.

“Who’s the blonde?” I spat it out like a curse.

“Excuse me?” he said with affected innocence.

“You heard me. How long have you been seeing her?”

“You mean – you mean the blonde I was talking to a little while ago?”

“You seeing some other blondes, too?”

“She works at the brewery,” he answered calmly.

“You’re dating someone you work with?” I snapped scathingly. “That sounds smart.”

“I’m not dating her,” he reiterated. “She works at the brewery; that’s how I know her.”

“Oh.” I was still too mad to be embarrassed, but I could sense that that was about to change. I figured I’d better backtrack fast before he started thinking I liked him or something. But it’s hard to backpedal when you’ve got your foot in your mouth.

“It’s really none of my business,” I said coolly. “I just don’t want to see you – ruin your reputation.” Really? I confronted my addled brain. That was the best you could come up with? I thought you were supposed to be smart. But it was out and I would have to stick to it now.

He didn’t buy it anyway. “I haven’t been seeing anyone. In case you were wondering.”

I knew it might be a line but it sure didn’t sound like one, and his expression was sincere and his eyes were maybe even a little sad, and I was suddenly aware that he was standing very close to me and it was almost like old times, before that night, only more so because I could do a much better job of picturing him naked now. And had I not known that it was finished between him and me, I might even have believed that the anticipation was starting all over again, the wonderful wondering of what just maybe could possibly happen if the planets were somehow aligned perfectly right, a feeling I had sorely missed those last few months. Because when we exchanged our farewells and his eyes met mine, I knew that in spite of what he’d said, in spite of how he’d hurt me, I still liked him as much as I ever had. And what was more, I thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way.

© Lori Schafer 2013

Originally published in e-Romance, April 2013.

“Anything Can Happen” is an excerpt from my novel My Life with Michael: A Story of Sex and Beer for the Middle-Aged that has been modified to make it self-contained. It made for a good short story, I thought – chock full of frustration and foiled desire. It’s strange, though; I seem to have a penchant for main characters who perpetually make asses of themselves when it comes to love. I am absolutely certain that there is nothing in the least bit autobiographical about that.

My Life with Michael is scheduled for release in paperback, eBook, and audiobook on February 6th, 2015. It will be available for Kindle pre-order on November 7th, 2014. For more information, please visit the book’s webpage or subscribe to my newsletter.

“Anything Can Happen” is also available as a FREE eBook; you can find more short story excerpts from My Life with Michael at your favorite eBook retailer.

         

“Fluffy Robes and Slippers” on Every Day Fiction

My flash fiction piece “Fluffy Robes and Slippers” has been published on Every Day Fiction:

http://www.everydayfiction.com/fluffy-robes-and-slippers-by-lori-schafer/

This piece was the result of one of the very rare occasions in which I’ve been inspired to write a story by random brainstorming. It was winter, and I was standing in front of the kitchen sink washing dishes and trying to come up with an idea for an ultra-short, and not having very much success, I’m afraid. Then I looked down and saw that I was wearing… Well, I suppose you can guess what I was wearing :)

I’ll admit I was surprised when I saw Every Day Fiction’s Table of Contents and learned that they had me scheduled for the 28th, which is Thanksgiving Day here in the U.S. (Normally EDF posts holiday-themed stories on appropriate occasions.) They included this explanation in their announcement:

“We did not receive any specifically Thanksgiving-themed submissions, but Lori Schafer‘s story “Fluffy Robes and Slippers” is about relationships and having company, and delivers the right sort of message for a holiday that brings families together, so we’ll be sharing it with you on November 28th in honour of the holiday.”

However, most readers will probably never see that explanation, and I wonder how reading the story on Thanksgiving will affect people’s interpretation of it. I don’t know – the scene of the final gathering; it could be a bit depressing for what’s supposed to be a day of celebration.

But maybe it isn’t such a stretch, at that. Perhaps there is an element of gratitude, of appreciation for one’s loved ones; for the warmth and ceaseless devotion of one’s family and friends. How often do people who are on the verge of extinction long for just one more Christmas, one more birthday, yes, even one more Thanksgiving with those they love best? How often, too, are they most sorely missed and most fondly remembered on those very occasions, those special times in which our attention is particularly drawn to the people whose lives we have shared?

Maybe my story was about Thanksgiving after all…

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Moving In, Moving Out, Moving On: A Memoir

My short memoir “Moving In, Moving Out, Moving On” has been published in Foliate Oak Literary Magazine:

http://www.foliateoak.com/lori-schafer.html

Although this piece now forms a part of my memoir On Hearing of My Mother’s Death Six Years After It Happened, I was originally prompted to write it for the 2012 Ladies Home Journal personal essay contest. The theme was “The Day that Changed My Life.” Boy, was that tough. Very few of my life’s big changes can be traced to one day. The day I nearly drowned a few years ago was a contender, but I don’t think I was ready to write about that yet. The day I ran away from home would have been an obvious choice, but it didn’t make for much of a story. But then there was this day, the day I became aware that my mother was mentally ill, and that, I thought, had possibilities. Still, I suppose it would be a stretch to say that that particular day changed my life; rather, it was more that it marked a turning point in my theretofore comparatively carefree teenage existence.

It’s an interesting idea, though, isn’t it? Every day, people are faced with calamitous events that, in a flash, change their lives forever: accidents, natural disasters, illnesses, deaths in the family. You can’t even prepare for those kinds of changes because, unlike the string of fairly predictable events that make up the majority of modern life – going off to college, finding a job, getting married, having children, retiring – you don’t know they’re coming. Perhaps that’s why these kinds of stories fascinate us; there’s something wonderful in the way people respond to unexpected challenges, sometimes even something heroic. And while none of us wants to suffer a sudden catastrophe, maybe deep down we all hope that we would have the strength and courage to handle one if it came our way.

 

My Short-Short “Poisoned” in The Journal of Microliterature – Thanks to an Editor’s Wonderful Feedback

My flash fiction story “Poisoned” has been published in The Journal of Microliterature:

http://www.microliterature.org/poisoned-by-lori-Schafer

This was a very tricky piece to put together. It was actually inspired by an incident that occurred in the course of my mother’s psychosis. One day she took me to the hospital, complaining of chest and abdominal pains. I was naturally concerned, but I also recall being hopeful that having a doctor examine her would lead to the (I thought) inevitable revelation that she’d lost her marbles. No such luck. But anyway, they took her complaints seriously, because although she was in fairly good health, at forty-one she wasn’t exactly young anymore, and was a smoker besides, so there was legitimate reason to believe there could be a problem with her heart. They gave her the requisite battery of tests, but couldn’t find anything wrong. Now, as an adult, I can pretty easily guess what they must have told her – that she’d had an anxiety attack, which she probably had – but at the time I had no idea such a thing even existed. In fact, I wondered more if perhaps it was all in her head; she was imagining a lot of strange things in those days. Then the doctor left the room and the interrogation began. And that’s when I began to be afraid that she’d somehow manage to pin the blame for her mysterious illness on me.

The first version I wrote of this piece was mostly reflective of that – my terror over being falsely accused and probably convicted of poisoning my own mother with some substance of which no one could prove or disprove the existence. I sent my story off to Microliterature, and a few weeks later I received a response from the editor that basically said (politely) that I had ruined an otherwise good piece by changing the tone halfway through. He was absolutely right. The story ended in hysterics, with the husband being dragged away by the police, which, while it carried the plot in an interesting direction, utterly wrecked the dreadful calm of the first half of the story. He did, however, say that if I ever did a rewrite, I should feel free to resubmit.

So I rewrote it. I changed the second half of the piece entirely, including the ending, making it more about the relationship between the husband and wife than about the consequences of the wife’s accusation. And I was careful to maintain the tone of the first half of the piece throughout, which worked worlds better than the original version. And here you see the results. How grateful I am to that editor! With one brief sentence he nailed what was wrong with that piece and clued me in as to how to change it from a so-so story into a well-done one. I realize, of course, that few editors have the time to address the defects in the submissions they receive. But I hope that those who do make the effort are aware of how much we writers truly appreciate their feedback, and of what an impact a few choice words can make on the quality of a writer’s work.

Addendum: After this story was published, I also composed an alternate version, a nonfiction piece also entitled Poisoned, which is written in the first person and is featured in my memoir On Hearing of My Mother’s Death Six Years After It Happened. It received an Honorable Mention in The Avalon Literary Review‘s Spring 2014 Quarterly Contest and may be downloaded as a FREE eBook at your favorite  eBook retailer; I have also posted it here for those who are curious to compare the two versions.  Needless to say, I was very careful to maintain a consistent tone throughout!

Guest Blog Post: Selling the Dollhouse up at Wow! Women on Writing

http://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com/2013/11/friday-speak-out-selling-dollhouse.html

I have a guest blog post up today at “The Muffin,” the blog of Wow! Women on Writing. This is the first time I’ve done a guest post, but I definitely like the idea of doing more.

“Found Money” in Burningword Literary Journal

My short-short “Found Money” has been published in Burningword Literary Journal:

http://burningword.com/2013/10/found-money/

Like many of my flash fiction pieces, Found Money is based on events from my own life; it’s even featured in my memoir On Hearing of My Mother’s Death Six Years After It Happened. And, like some of my other autobiographical pieces, at first I wasn’t sure if it really worked well as a fictional story. It actually started out as a considerably longer piece, seven hundred words or so, but somehow I just couldn’t get the middle section right. It sketched out the background of what had happened in the weeks before I found the money, which was itself a story worth telling – in fact, I eventually expanded it and turned it into a separate section of my memoir without fictionalizing it. But to someone who didn’t know the original story was taken from true events, I think the longer version came across as overly dramatic, or at least overdone. After it was rejected by a couple of journals, I took another look at it and decided to cut out the middle altogether. This shorter version I think works much better.

What’s conspicuously and intentionally absent from this piece is any kind of emotion. I don’t think you can afford to have feelings when you’re quite literally starving, and during most of this period in my life, it’s safe to say that the emotional part of my mind was effectively switched off. But I cried when I found that money. Oh, how I cried.

I will never forget the people in that restaurant, either. They only spoke to one another in Chinese, so I have no idea what they said about me, if anything at all. But they went out of their way to be kind to someone who was obviously homeless, and probably very dirty and smelly, and that touched me deeply.

That day marked a turning point in my young life. Not because I found five dollars; a loaf of bread and a small jar of peanut butter later, it was gone. The more important thing I found on the sidewalk that day was something I hadn’t even realized I’d lost. Hope.

* * *

“Found Money” is one of the stories featured in my autobiographical short story and essay collection Stories from My Memory-Shelf: Fiction and Essays from My Past (only $0.99 Kindle, $5.99 paperback). To learn more about it, please visit the book’s webpage or subscribe to my newsletter.

Found Money

Author Commentary: Baby and Me

My humorous flash fiction piece “Baby and Me” has been published on Every Day Fiction:

http://www.everydayfiction.com/baby-and-me-by-lori-schafer/

This was the first story I published following my fifteen-year creative hiatus. I’ll admit I was very surprised when I finished it. It’s funny, I thought. That seemed strange. I’m not funny; I’ve never been funny. And then Every Day Fiction published it and their readers thought it was funny, too. Well, what do you know?

I’ve been asked if this was based on true events. The answer is, Not really. I’m at an age where I’m surrounded by a lot of marriage and baby talk and that’s what prompted me to write this piece: the horror of watching other people grow up all around me while I’m still struggling with the disbelief that we can possibly be old enough to be creating a new generation already.

Many people, including the editors at EDF, were very surprised by the ending. I thought that was funny because to me, there would have been no story without the ending. Or, rather, it would have been an incredibly dull and formulaic story if it had come to the expected conclusion. I myself was most surprised by how tolerant people were of the anti-offspring stance of this piece; I expected a bit more indignant horror. It’s good to know that readers can be entertained by a story even if they don’t agree with its premise. Just as I can be amused by the new parents and children springing up all around me.