Thursday, September 20, 2012

Begin (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images. I own nothing.



The word fell ominously in the icy air, as if it held our judgements and decrees in a single hand.

I dared not look up at the grandmaster, but rather, turned my quill to the faintly damp sheet of parchment. I should have taken more pains to keep it stiff and dry, but at least, my dull quill will most likely not rip it to beices.

I think.

I hope.

I am not really ready for this prize. I am not sure what I would do with the crown of Iversole. I don’t know anything about ruling–well, no, that’s not quite true. I do know something of it, I just prefer not to make that public knowledge.

It seems that will be inevitable in the near future.

The bell in the courtyard tolls, the chime falling three times.

I must begin.

I really do not wish to.

It seems so unfair. But I have no choice, I have paid all that I have to my name, to enter this contest. I should hope that these royals can honor their word.

“Begin!” The cry is repeated.

This time, all who were frozen, begin to move, feverish fingers, trembling from the cold, gripping every manner of writing instrument to put together their priceless essay.

I can feel the grandmaster’s eyes on me. I can almost hear the words in his big head, he would want to know why I have yet to move.

It is because I only feel it is fair to give the others a chance.

Someone is counting aloud, somewhere.

I can hear the voice, old, wizened and loud. It is used to shouting.

These dear people…

The time is nearly passed when the final call rattles through the air.

It takes a scant second to press my quill to parchment and scrawl out the line that will secure my future.

Whatever freedom I have known will soon be locked inside a gilded cage. But I have no heart to lament it.

My scrawl, is perhaps, more legible than the elegant scripts of my fellow participants. There is one line. It is the answer to this riddle, but few are thinking of this as a challenge within a contest. They are blind. Good-hearted, gentle and hard-working, but blind.

Perhaps I shall do this for their own good.

I would fit the crown of Iversole, because I do not wish to be King.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Despite (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images. I own nothing. This cake inspired this ficlet snippet.


“…and so, despite all odds, ladies and gentlemen, I give to you, the first, seven-layers of heaven, dark-chocolate and buttercreme cake.”

Shona elbowed him fiercely in the side.

The young chef half-stumbled and straightened, not so stubly elbowing her back. “Pardon me, a slip of the whipped cream, I meant that it was a dark-chocolate and cream-cheese." He squinted down at the index cards in his hand. "Er, there are milk chocolate curls, shaved around the-”

Shona rolled her eyes again and this time, her physical accompaniment was masked by the thick, heavy table cloth over the presentation stand. From the immediate shift in the young chef's stance, he now favored one leg.

"On the pedestal to the left, we have a three layer fudge cake with white sugar flowers and-"

There was a discreet cough at his elbow. Shona's lips twitched faintly. The audience of assorted family members hid an assortment of snickers, chuckles and well-knowing grins.

Her student paused in mid-monologue again, this time, to give her a look of complete long-suffering. “…and despite my best efforts, it seems as if I have not done these lovely creations justice.” He intoned, dryly. “As my dear mentor and teacher, our Shona, the kitchen fairy of pastry, has deemed my description to be horribly inaccurate and-”

“-and” the renowned patisser nudged her protege out of the way, “And that is why, despite my best efforts, you have all suffered in hearing such a mismatched address.” There was a flicker of warmth in her voice and this time, when she rested a hand on his white-jacket, he didn’t shrug it off. “I suppose, I can’t help it. He’s perfect, isn’t he?”

The hall errupted in cheers.

The speech was pointless, but the result was exactly what they had desired.

Seven glorious layers of rich, thick, dark chocolate cake, with decadent frosting in voluminous swirls, topped off by metallic shimmers of chocolate curls.

And proof that the lovely affianced couple would handle the pastry shop with the charm, skill and chemistry that had put Harrowind Sweets on the map.

Sara Harricharan ^_^

Monday, September 17, 2012

Together (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images. I own nothing. (I believe there is a splendid writer's app though, titled "writer's muse" with this same image on it...)


Together, we can do anything. I swear it.
Do you so solemnly vow?
I do.
I do not.
We both shall, we both should.
Now then, again. Do you solemnly vow to uphold this? To stand by each other in thickness of head and logic, in thiness of creativity, cashflow and living space?
Do you?
You do.
How very wonderful. Tell the nice people now and thank them, for they have been witness.
Thank you. I do.
Thank you.
As of this very special day, my muse and I shall continue to create, craft and support each other–together. As you have witnessed, let it be noted.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Quotable Thoughts

Doesn't this look like the perfect writing hideaway for brilliance? I do not own this photo, found on Google Images.

"Those who say it cannot be done should not interrupt those doing it.” ~ Chinese proverb

I should warn you, this is most likely going to end up as one of those rambly posts that may or may not have something deeper beneath the surface of said rambles.

~_^ You should know me well enough to handle this by now. If not, take a breath and then try again. There's something here worth reading, something to make you think, at least.

As some of you know, the fall semester has begun for me and ironically, while it may seem like summer is the best time in the world to be writing my fingers off, it seems that only when I have absolutely no time to write--that I end up writing the most.

This particular quote is honored to be the little spark that started off today's wonderfully rambling post. Read it and think about it for a moment. No, really think about it.

How many times have you actually started something, all excited and hyper about it (yes, I actually do "get" hyper about really lovely, creative things and I'm told my randomness etches up a few notches), and then you just can't wait to share it.

After all, there's nothing that says it must be kept a secret and you're absolutely dying to share your brilliance with the world, so you're excited to share it with whoever can spare an ear at the moment.

So off you go, rushing about, so very thrilled with this new idea of awesomeness and just to be sure about it, you seek out one person--whose opinion you value--and then you launch into your spiel.

But it doesn't turn out the way you expected. In fact, as you're about halfway, no, not even that far, say, a third of the way, you realize that what you're speaking must be an entirely different language, because they're not matching your enthusiasm and they don't look anywhere near as happy as you felt.

Definitely felt.

Because by the time you've finished, your lovely, pretty idea has been neatly ripped to shreds by the fingers of self-doubt and haste. Suddenly, your happy, sparkly little bubble feels like it's nothing more than a dirt smear on a concrete wall. Dirty, unworthy and pointless.

Ah, been there?

It's a rather lousy place to be.

The most obvious solution in the world would be not to share your idea at all, but that's no fun. The next would be to have a friend as off-the-wall as you are, to bounce such randomness off of, but they are rare, far and few in between.

You could write it out--but sometimes, as a writer, the last thing you really want to do when you pounce upon a half-formed idea, is to write it down before it's done, you just want to voice it aloud, seeking whatever kind of validation for it that you can get your grubby little fingers on.

Okay, fine, no one's fingers are grubby, but you get the picture.

So what to do?

How about nothing?

No, I don't mean period. I mean, how about you don't do anything right away. Live in the moment, savor the thrill, the raw excitement and the pure creative energy and tackle that new idea head-on with nothing but you, your wits and your nerves of steel.

Know that idea inside and out, poke holes in it. Fill the holes up. Think about writing it out or putting it on paper. Do or don't. Laugh when it dares you to speak it aloud. Then iron out the little kinks, wrinkles and seams until you like the way it dances in your head.

Inside your head is the most perfect place, because your mental workshop will have absolutely everything you need to straighten out pesky plot holes, nagging characters and lame endings. In your mental workshop, you can make it into something you're proud to show off.

When you've got it down to that, then take a shot.

Write it down. Voice it aloud. Scream it from the rooftops, if you must.

And realize that the outcome is decidedly different.

Whereas before, you weren't quite sure about your idea, of making it work and all of that fuzzy, newborn, word-vomit stage---now you have something better. You have something that is already the product of your best thoughts (seriously, do we ever bother with our mediocre thoughts? Hmm? No. I didn't think so. It's always the bright flashy ones.), something that has already endured your worst--think of all of the tinkering you did in your mental workshop, that was you ripping apart all the unworkable bits and shaping it into something better.

Now you have something that can defend itself when you share. Now you have something that you aren't puzzled over---*cough* Validation *cough*--now, you can stand tall and proud when you share your idea. Even if it is about giant squids, purple inkpot plants, fuzzy notebook covers and five wheeled bicycles.

Now you have something different--you have confidence. Sometimes, it's the really crazy ideas and people that change the world. We've seen evidence of it, especially in history that seems to repeat itself quite regularly. So, go ahead, try this the next time you're getting smacked about the head, just because you spouted a mouthful of randomness.

Just think of it this way, just because everyone else doesn't understand it, doesn't mean that it's stupid or useless. It just means that you'd better hurry up with creating the language that explains it and to start training a few other translators to help share the workload.

It means that when you're doing something impossible--don't stand with your mouth open, your eyes all wild and crazy, little pitter-patter heart shattered because some nameless idiot just told you that it was impossible.

The best answer to that, would be to smile and keep on doing your creating. Maybe they're right, maybe that particular draft won't work, but hey--you'd only know that for sure after you finish it, wouldn't you? And only you would know how to take apart said horrible draft and either trash it, salvage it or cannibalize it into something better.

Only you.

Happy writing.

Sara Harricharan ^_^

Saturday, September 15, 2012

New Nano Merch!

Have you seen the new stuff in the NaNoWriMo store?


Would you like to?

Okay, go ahead. I'll wait right here for you.

And you're back. Wonderful!

Guess what I have my eye on?

NaNoWriMo Travel Mug 2012 edition. (I do not own this pic)
Isn't it lovely?

Shiny stainless steel, spiffy black lettering and guess what? The ingredients list is pure ROFL.

Pop on over and check it out--and if you get one, let me know. I'd like to know how it affects your word count. :P

No, seriously. It says 1667 words per serving...


Thursday, September 13, 2012

Asthma (Flash Fiction)

Image found on Google. I own nothing.


“I can’t breathe.”

“Dude, you don’t have asthma.” James cast a sideways look in my direction. “You look like-”

“Don’t say it.” I interrupted, still staring out across the university parking lot. “Really. She can probably hear it.”

“She’s like, a hundred feet away. I don’t think so.” He huffed. “Really! You’re such a-”

“Gentleman?” I flashed a toothy grin. “Yeah. I know. She likes that.”

“I–wha…dude.” James sighed and turned away.

I trotted across the parking lot to offer my assistance to my future girlfriend.

(c) Sara Harricharan ^_^

A/N: and the obligatory author's note that I feel ought to accompany this piece---no, I am not making light of folks who have to deal with asthma on a daily basis. I just thought that it was a different twist than going with the expected "I can't breathe" prompt. Ciao.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Stillness (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images. I own nothing.


The stillness is like silence.

Thunderously deafening.

I’m not sure what I should say or do about it. Maybe I don’t have to do anything. But then, that would mean that I’m giving into it, doesn’t it?

I don’t know. I’m never very good at any of this.

A rock whizzed through the air and sliced the spot where I’d stood a half-second later.

“Not funny, Mark.” I didn’t even bother to turn. he was supposed to be standing still–too.

“I’m not laughing.” He shot back. “Can we move yet?”

“Wait for the signal.” I tried not to hiss. I wanted to. I actually think I rather would have liked to bite him–with all six of my venom-tipped fangs.

Just to hear him yell.

“We’ve been waiting for over two hours, Di.”

“And we’ll wait two more.” I growled back.

Something rustled nearby. I flexed my jaw, working it to bring the venom to the surface, both in the fangs and the claws sliding painlessly to the surface of my fingertips.


“Down!” I threw myself forward with a bit of a spin, twisting through the air to land on the enemy soldier. He’d crept up, close enough to almost reach us. Close enough and no further. I sank claws and fangs into the supple body.

A howl rent through the air.

The stillness, broken.

Mark whined, softly.

I snarled in answer and this time, we both launched forward from the greenery and down the mountainside. 

(c) Sara Harricharan

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Sustain (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images. I own nothing.


Sustain me.
Quench me.
Remind me that I am nothing.
Remind me of how I need you.
Of how I yearn for you. Of what I long for. Of what I must be patient.
Sustain me.
Uplift me.
Remind me of how I want you.
Of how I wish for you. Of what I desire between us. Of what you have to offer.
Sustain me.
Cleanse me.
Grapple inside my twisted mind and unravel the secrets I ought not to hide. Know me. Search me. Remake me.
Take me.
Sustain me.
I am your creation and I desire to be yours.
Your child. Your handiwork. Yours.
Sustain me.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Monday, September 3, 2012

Miracle (Flash Fiction)

Found on Google Images. I own nothing.


Life is a miracle.

If you feel like everything is crumbling and falling apart.

Stop. Think.

Dream. Hope.

Pretend that you are worth it. Then believe it.

If life is a song, then you should be singing at the top of your lungs, screaming your voice out to whoever cares to hear.

If life is a dance, then dance your heart out as if it’s your last day on earth, even if the auditorium is empty.

If life is a movie, then smile like the star you are and stop acting. Just be yourself. It’ll be a smashing box office it.

And if life is a miracle? Well, then. Write about it. Document it. Record every word. The ones you say and the ones you mean to and the ones that you don’t realize you never said.

And when you’re done, laugh, cry and be alive.

Because life is a miracle.

And you’re part of it.

(c) Sara Harricharan