The Power of a Single Positive Word

"Concentrated Humanity"

Viennese psychiatrist Viktor Frankl lost his family in the Nazi concentration camps. Later, he wrote a powerful book on his own experiences in Auschwitz and other hellish locales. Entitled Man's Search For Meaning, Frankl theorized that "the desire for meaning is more fundamental to the human experience even than the desire for pleasure or power."

If you're battling the pandemic blues, or shut-in with others who are down in the dumps, here is a six- minute clip with suggestions that could change your day for the better. 

Noetic Films

Story Du Jour #11

All Story Du Jour tales are available online and free! A small presentation in these trying times.

Speculative Fiction

The Colored Lens

"The Memory Jar" - by George Lockett

5,227 words

A married woman discovers that giving someone a piece of your mind can have devastating consequences. 

Here's a sample of the writing:

"That night, Anna slipped out of bed and back into David’s office. She took the jar from its cubbyhole and padded up to the linen closet. If she stooped her head, she could just squeeze herself into the space beneath the bottom shelf. The closet was wholesomely warm, like being enfolded in a thick blanket. She pulled the door to, leaving a crack large enough to admit a shaft of moonlight, then held up the jar and watched the shapes inside.

The movement was faster now, almost eager, the darkest patches of oily blackness pressing up against the glass and spreading like ink before receding into the grey depths. The motion repeated. It reminded her of an octopus she’d once seen in an aquarium. It would climb the glass, then throw itself off the top and drift down the tank. It did this over and over. They could be playful creatures, the staff had said, but it seemed restless to her. Trapped."

More fiction fun soon. How's that?

Kurt Vonnegut's Short Story Hacks

Seven Reader-Centric Thoughts from a Pro

These have been around awhile, but they're always worth reviewing. Curt, witty and to the point.

h/t: GerryJustice

Happy Easter and Virtual Mass

You're Experiencing Technical Difficulties

My wife and I sat down before the computer for virtual mass via Facebook. The camera setting was too slow and the images pixellated, but we're not picky. About 2/3s of the way through, we lost the feed. Facebook uploaded an earlier mass. I slide forward to the interruption point and we finished the ceremony with a different priest.

So that's how the exercise of faith rolls in pandemic times. Hope all are well and safe.

Palmerdale Methodist Church

Story Du Jour #10

All Story Du Jour tales are available online and free! A small presentation in these trying times.

Flash Fiction Online

"Keeping Time with the Joneses" - by Wendy Nikel

521 words

Trouble on the block after the neighbors splurge on fancy scientific equipment. 

Here's a sample of the writing:

"Initially, no one complained about the Joneses’ extravagant time-themed parties. The machine spun and flashed into all hours of the night as neighborhood couples in flapper dresses and top hats slipped bottles of SKYY vodka into ’20s speakeasies. The binge-watch of the first five Super Bowls was all anyone could talk about for weeks, and even Mrs. Martin herself had to reluctantly admit that Oklahoma! was better with the original cast."

What next? Something. I assure you. Something will be next.

Nina Conti and Monkey in Therapy

Strong Language Warning

A few years old, but pretty funny and a masterpiece of improvisation. Perfect for a break in your pandemic routine.

Nina Conti

Running in a Time of Pandemic

Criminal Profiling

Well. The City of Los Angeles has closed Griffith Park. The City of Pasadena has closed the Rose Bowl. The County of Los Angeles has closed the trails above the JPL labs. With all my favorite routes off-limits, where do I run?

Coming off a lower back injury back in early March, the streets around my place are the most convenient. Alas, most of them feature speeding traffic and go uphill. That means a robust start to any run, followed by a speedy descent that requires managing to avoid stressing my knees. The upside is that I should be a pretty darn strong runner when the pandemic ends.

A small quake-let centered in the San Diego area shook the living room last night, leading me to wonder about the fate of social distancing in a major temblor. I decided not speculate too deeply.

Anyway, we're keeping our spirits up and hoping for better days.

May safety follow you about in these interesting times. 

Short Story Du Jour #9

All Story Du Jour tales are available online and free! A small presentation in these trying times.

Relax and enjoy your flight!

Translunar Travelers Lounge

"Calling on Behalf of the Dark Lord" - by Catherine George

1,639 words

Having difficulty holding down jobs, a young Ottawa woman finds telemarketing has never been  more diabolical. 

Here’s a sample of the writing:

“It’s better than retail,” you mutter, stung. And it is, really. It’s better than selling designer knock-offs at the mall, or records in the cramped vinyl shop on Bank; better than bartending at weddings, or working the night shift at the sketchy 24-hour diner. No, it’s not your dream job, but those are a myth anyway. And it’s not like the Dark Lord Himself is ever going to drop by an office building in an industrial park out east of the Rideau, right? He’s definitely got better things to do than check up on his telemarketers—like, can you even imagine? Does Anna think he’s going to come in and scorch the dropped ceiling with the heat of his Perpetual Flame, or inspect the new wireless headsets with his single glowing Crimson Eye?"

I vacillated for nine days. Less next time. Stay safe!

Story Du Jour #8

"Anxiety at the Highest Level!"

Suspense Magazine 

“The Author” – Stephen Maitland-Lewis 

3607 words

 At a high-end publishing house, we learn that time heals all wounds and uncovers all deeds. Nice forshadowing in this pleasant well-written tale.

Here’s a sample of the writing:

“We would meet up in the kitchen around one, have soup and a chunk of bread I’d warmed up, and then we’d go for a long walk. Sometimes we’d walk for two or three hours. Less in the winter months, as we wanted to be home before it got dark. We’d have simple dinners, usually stews, listen to classical music on the radio, and then go to bed. As I said, we were happy. That is, until Gerald was notified that he’d been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. At that moment, he changed. Life became hell. What should have been a most joyful moment in our lives became an absolute misery.”

Tomorrow: horror? Sci fi? I vacillate.

Short Story Du Jour #7

Branching out into short fiction.

The Dark 

 “The All-Night Horror Show” 

by Orrin Grey 2434 words 

During a home invasion, a washed up old actor finds the best solution lies within. You can see how this one will play out, but nonetheless enjoyable.

 Here’s a sample of the writing:

"That is not the crack-pause-crack of the fireworks one or two streets over. That is the sound of someone knocking on the front door, though it is late now, getting on toward midnight. “The witching hour,” he remembers intoning in his heavily-accented voice on some talk show or another a decade gone now, when people still cared who he was.

He rises from his chair and it is like rising from a coffin. His arms and legs feel heavy, bound in chains, as he was in The Secret Door. He can feel them dragging along behind him as he struggles across the hardwood floor, into the narrow hall. On the TV at his back, he is walking the other way, up a set of stairs cast in chiaroscuro."

Monday might be time for a little mystery.

Short Story Du Jour #6

"Childish, but not for children."

Space Squid 

“Old Habits” by Frances Pauli 

3429 words 

There’s no life like the afterlife, but there are some things only the living can offer. A wry tale of what could lay beyond this mortal coil.

Here’s a sample of the writing:

"The cowboy crossed in the open, an old habit, not any more necessary than the twin revolvers hanging low around his hips. He only kept them for the memories. One hand still hovered over each polished butt, and he still imagined his spurs jangling as he moved, heard the faint echo of a lifetime of chink, chink, chink in his steps. 

This particular saloon wasn't much. He spat again before pushing through swinging doors that were just a hair off kilter. Even the conversations inside were muted, the voices somehow subdued by the ominous and continuous presence of death. Not too different from the old days to be honest, but the afterlife carried a depressing and lackluster aura with it, a cheap facsimile only simulating real life."

I'm not sure what tomorrow will be other than later on.