Category: Mobipocket

More of my fiction on audio

imagesI warned you I had fallen in love with Garageband and that there would be more of my stuff recorded and set to music.

Here are four short-short stories, my version of “flash fiction”.  Ethereal, odd, evocative.  Literary and auditory Rorschach tests.  Give them a listen…and then tell me what you see.

Submitted for your approval, as my old pal Rod Serling would say:

Cliff Burns Reading Prose Poems (V.2)

For your listening pleasure… (Blog Post #100)

imagesWell, this is cause to celebrate.

This happens to be blog post #100 and, if that isn’t enough, later on this week this site will receive its 50,000th visit.

Wow.  That’s an overwhelming number of people coming to a blog devoted to a Canuck writer who has eschewed the big time, stubbornly maintained his singular vision with an orneriness not often seen in writing circles.

God bless you, folks.  You’re all the proof that I need to reassure myself that the indie path is the one for me and I shall continue to produce work that fits no niches or stereotypes or genres, confident that smart, discerning readers will find me…and help spread the word.

To mark this auspicious occasion I’ve recorded three of my favorite short-short stories, adding music and sound effects to enhance the experience.  Once again, Sherron lent a helping hand, pulling the whole mess together.  The final result surprised and delighted me to the extent that I think it’s safe to say there will be more such efforts in the near future.

Ah, heck, enough of my jabbering.  Have a listen to these pieces and, as always, I encourage you to leave a comment, letting me know what you think…

Cliff Burns Reading Short Stories (V.2)

Four New Short Stories! And ya read ’em here first…

imagesSometimes my Muse is merciful.

An idea will occur to me and all at once I’ll see the story with such perfect clarity that writing it down is a mere formality, almost a matter of taking dictation.  “Daughter” was like that.  “Also Starring”. “RSVP”.  A couple of others.  Not many.  It doesn’t happen nearly often enough for my liking but when it does, I’m almost sickeningly grateful.  Practically grovelling.

Because usually it’s the opposite.  A tale like “In Dreams. Awake” for instance, was a monster.  You can read it by clicking on the Stories tab (above) and if you do, it’s almost certain you’ll ask yourself:  “What’s he going on about?”  The story in question is not some post-modernist mind-bender, the kind of dense, inscrutable, erudite text beloved by college professors and potheads;  nope, it’s a relatively straightforward narrative, with few bells and whistles.  My problem was that I hated the tone of the story, the narrator seemed so cold and remote. I did draft after draft of that sonofabitch, trying to make the protagonist more sympathetic and likable.  But the story resisted me, my Muse digging in her heels, insisting I put aside my misgivings and follow orders.  Finally, I had to give in and the story is what it is.  A fine tale but I have a hard time even looking at it because that rotten bastard was so difficult, each word, each syllable a struggle.

But that was nothing compared to what happened this summer.

I’ve told you a little about it.  I spotted the Esquire fiction contest–they provide the titles, participants write the stories–and, as a writing exercise, I wrote on each of the themes they posted.  And I described my astonishment when the stories turned out to be linked, sharing the same central character.   Believe me when I assure you that I had no intention of writing four stories based around this Conrad Dahl fella.

And I certainly had no idea this quartet would take up my entire summer.  That wasn’t the plan.  I was supposed to be working on revisions of my next novel.  But something happened on the way to that place, my Muse making it clear that these stories were to be given top priority and finished at all costs.

They cost me a lot all right.

So Dark coverNone of them was easy.  Not one.  And writing these pieces seemed to awaken something in me–or perhaps unleash it is a better word.  The process of writing left me emotionally, physically and spiritually exhausted, like nothing I’ve experienced since completing my novel So Dark the Night.

I’ve talked about emotional truths re:  my radio play “The First Room”.  All the facts are made up but the mood, the feeling of the piece is accurate.

I think that’s what happened here.  Conrad Dahl is not me.  Not in any way, shape or form.  None of the events depicted in the stories involving the Dahl character have any relation to real life incidents and my family is/was nothing like this.  But…the feeling…the atmosphere…

Something put the whammy into me.

And now I’m passing it on to you.  How kind of me, hmm?

I think you’ll quickly discover what I’m talking about.

The four stories below are decidedly mainstream, no vestiges of genre fiction…yet there are aspects here that are as horrifying and intense as anything springing from the pens of the thriller writers who love to keep us all on edge.  Sometimes you might be tempted to avert your eyes, cluck your tongue in disapproval.  Don’t.

Read on.  Explore and discover this character as he grows and develops, follow him from the ages of 9-20 and see how the closing pages of the last story are almost inevitable, directly attributable to the events that have preceded it.

I present the tales in chronological order for those who prefer the linear approach but, really, they can be read independently of each other and should be viewed as stand alone stories.

Feel free to drop a comment below once you’ve read them and had a chance to think about Conrad and his decidedly dysfunctional family.

I welcome your feedback and thoughtful responses…

Least

Future

Scorned

Weight