St. Patrick's Day Greeting

(The Michael O'Donoghue version.)

May the road rise up to meet you. 

May the wind be always at your back. 

May the sun shine warm upon your face; 

the rains fall soft upon your fields 

and until we meet again, 

may God hold you in the palm of His hand

and squeeze your head until the piss runs out your ears.  

I would wish a more pleasant outcome, nonetheless, Happy St. Paddy's Day!

The Gospel Heard

Short Story Du Jour #5

East of the Web – Short Stories – Romance, 

“Return to Paradise” by Eliza Riley

 996 Words 

An unhappy woman on the brink of divorce returns to the scene of her marriage only to rediscover hope. A number of typos marred this simple story as did the narrator’s long backstory dump. But rewarding enough in its own way.

Here’s a sample of the writing:

"The man stood watching from the edge of the palm trees. He couldn't take his eyes of the dark-haired woman he saw standing at the water's edge, gazing out to sea as though she was waiting for something - or someone. She was beautiful, with her slim figure dressed in a loose flowing cotton dress, her crazy hair and bright blue eyes not far off the colour of the sea itself. It wasn't her looks that attracted him though; he came across many beautiful women in his work as a freelance photographer. It was her loneliness and intensity that lured him. Even at some distance he was aware that she was different from any other woman he could meet.”

The first romance story I’ve ever read. (It’s only the biggest genre category out there.) Tomorrow, something much different.

Short Story Du Jour #4

Andis Reinbergs

 Beneath Ceaseless Skies

“The Sniper and I” by Rich Larson 

3,439 words 

 Intriguing military sci-fi that examines the result of a smart weapon becoming too clever. Some initially confusing pronoun use, but turns out not to be an affect, but germane to the story. 

 Here’s a sample of the writing: 

 “On the way back to camp, we wound between the birds’ crumpled bodies. I stepped on one by accident, and its bones made a noise under my boot like ice crust breaking. The sniper turned back to look at me, reproachful, either for the noise or for the trespass. A little farther on, the sniper found an immaculate corpse. It had fallen with the others, but somehow its feathers were snow white, untouched by the smog. They crouched down and picked it up, turning it over in their hands, extending one delicate wing and then the other.” 

My fourth short story, chosen at random, and I’ve yet to locate an American author. I’ll find one. You just wait. Tomorrow, a change of pace.

Indochina History Break Revisited

Check upper left hand corner. World Atlas

Fourteen Years Later, Procrastination Wins Again

Back in the day, to avoid arduous writing tasks, as well as training for a marathon, I took a break to write up a brief history of the battle of Dien Bien Phu, it being March 13 and the anniversary of the opening salvos. Here is what I jotted down then:

Today marks the 52nd anniversary of the Viet Minh attack on the French garrison at Dien Bien Phu — a remote valley in northern Vietnam near the border with Laos. The Viet Minh were an umbrella group of Vietnamese nationalists under the leadership of communist Ho Chi Minh. They had been fighting the colonial French, and other Vietnamese nationalist groups, since 1946.

The French viewed their position in a flat valley surrounded by hills as an offensive base. From there they would venture out and cut the Viet Minh supply lines, preempting an attack on Laos. As a result of this outlook, the garrison never outposted the hills. They'd be attacking and, besides, it was impossible for the Vietnamese to haul any significantt artillery up there.

Unaware of French opinion, the Vietnameses went ahead and hauled heavy artillery up onto the hills along with daunting amounts of anti-aircraft guns. On March 13, they let loose a barrage, followed by a human wave attack that engulfed a French strongpoint manned by crack Foreign Legionnaires. The fight was on.

French troops entrenched. ThoughtCo

For the next several months, while peace talks droned on in Geneva, the Vietnamese strangled the French. All French supplies had to come by parachute. The planes—many flown by American contract pilots— braved intense flak dropping their cargo. As the garrison was compressed, the drop zone grew smaller. Food and ammunition ran short. Meanwhile, generous supplies from nearby communist China—including American ordinance captured in Korea— enabled the Viet Minh to bombard their opponents at will.

Despite horrendous casualties, the Viet Minh seized one French strongpoint after another. Finally, on May 7, 1954, it ended. The French surrendered. Over 10,000 men marched into captivity, many of whom died in Viet Minh prison camps. French colonial rule in Vietnam and Laos ended. In 1955, Vietnam was partitioned into a communist north and a non-communist south along the 17th parallel.

Now back to running and writing stuff.

Sixty-six years have now passed and the valley appears to be something of a tourist stop. For a better short summary of the battle, try here. And while I'm considering another marathon, much writing awaits my hand today. 

And yet, I repost. 

C'est la guerre.

Short Story Du Jour #3

Screw Amazon. Try Raw Dog.

Café Irreal, “Manuscript Found by a Stoplight After a Grave Accident” by Osvaldo Gonzalez Real 1,035 words 

 Here’s a droll little tail from a quarterly webzine seeking “fantastic fiction infrequently published in English . . . described[ed] as irreal . . . resembl[ing] the work of writers such as Franz Kafka, Kobo Abe, Clarice Lispector and Jorge Luis Borges."  A dead man looks back on his last day and realizes he’s not as unique as he thinks. 

Funny, fast, with a nice twist at the end. And it certainly lived up to “irreal.” Here’s a sample of the writing: 

 “Patiently, I gathered all the possible data regarding fatal traffic accidents of the past five years. I investigated—with the help of an astronomer—the periodical variations of solar flares, eclipses, and the strontium levels found in fluvial precipitations. I consulted experts on ecology and numismatics. Finally, using a bell-curve graph—the result of my erudite and tedious investigations—I honed in on the N260 and N300 bus lines. From that moment onwards I felt more assured of accomplishing my goal: math was on my side.” 

 On Monday, I’ll be exploring Beneath Ceaseless Skies.

Short Story Du Jour

bracken VI

bracken 

"Ocean" 

by Su-Yee Lin

933 words

Continuing with yesterday’s offering of things happening in China—other than Wuhan virus and dissident beatings—comes this flash fiction piece from Pushcart Prize-winning author Su-Yee Lin. A magical realism tale of loss and memory, a young woman reacts to a sound that she shouldn’t be hearing. There may’ve been other deeper elements but, as usual, I missed them. 


Once again, a mother is involved. Here is a sample of the writing: 

 “And despite the chatter of everyday life, I can still hear the ocean. No one else seems to notice, or maybe they're just used to it. It's like the way you can get used to anything—having the ocean in your backyard, white hum of electricity in a room, an illness that comes and goes, a disappearance of a person you love. You get used to it all in time.”

 Tomorrow, I’ll read a short story not involving China.

Today's Short Story Recommendation

"Time Reveals the Heart"

As I'm reading more short stories to better my own, I've decided to share my discoveries with the

Clarkesworld Sci Fi and Fantasy

half-dozen regular readers of this blog.

Today's offering hails from Clarkesworld: "Time Reveals the Heart" by Derek Kunsken. (His name contains an umlaut over the u, but I can't figure out how to add one.)

Here's the opening paragraph of this science fiction tale:

"Guo Lěi mounted the stairs to his mother’s apartment at seven in the morning. He hadn’t visited in two weeks; he never knew what he would find. It was early, but he had a launch today, maybe several, and no matter what, he tried to see his mother before every launch, just in case. When silence answered his knocks, he used his key."

That's pretty nifty writing. You've got your foreshadowing, the knowledge that the protagonist's work is dangerous, and that his mother's health is an issue all bundled in the action of knocking on the door. It'd take me a page and half to get all that out. 

A story exploring time travel, addiction, the dangers of altered perception, and the worth of reality, this is a quick read, not too heavy on dialogue with nice descriptive touches such as "His voice sounded like falling drops of water, shapeless, wobbling in free fall, transparent."

Weighing in at 5804 words, "Time Reveals the Heart" is available online and as a podcast at the Clarkesword site.