Short Story: The Hunger Pangs (Part Eight)

Do I really need to link to the other parts? Just click “The Hunger Pangs” down in the labels area. 😉

This is the penultimate chapter! I love the end of this one. Enjoy!

Part Eight: The Hunger Pangs is a Lot Better than Narnia

Pita and I arrive at a cave that should hide us pretty well. I go in to see if it’s safe, and after walking for a few seconds, I arrive in a forest, and there’s a lantern there.

“Huh?” I say, puzzled. Then a little girl on a white horse trots in front of me and stops. “Uh, hi. Who are you and where am I?”

“I’m Lucy, and you’re in the magical land of Narnia,” she tells me.

“What?”

“Yeah, I know. This story sucks, I mean, we worship a lion named Aslan here! How stupid is that?”

“Okay, bye.” I take slow steps back, leaving Lucy and Narnia behind. I go back to Pita. “It’s safe if you don’t go too far.”

He shrugs. “Alright.”

“You know, Pita, you’re actually cute when you’re not singing those Justin Bieber songs,” I admit.

“Really, you think so?” he asks. “Glad to hear it. You know, I’ve actually liked you for a long time.” Pita crawls towards me.

“Okay, I don’t think you’re that cute.”

“I know, but we have to pretend to like each other for the audience.” He raises his eyebrows.

So we engage in this totally phony romance for the audience, and it’s a really boring story. So let’s skip to the part where we’re forced to get out of the cave and go towards the Cornastupia.

* * * * *

Next time, “The Hunger Pangs” concludes with Part Nine: The Beginning of the End.

Short Story: The Hunger Pangs (Part Seven)

We’re almost to the exciting conclusion! Prior parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6.

Part Seven: Beaver Fever

I lost my ally so I just walk in the forest, awaiting any other dangers. My one ear is still deaf, so I make sure to be extra careful. Then I arrive at a stream, where I take a nice long drink and fill my Barbie water bottle.

“Baby, baby, baby …”

I hear Pita. I look around the stream, and sure enough, I see Pita lying on top of a dam surrounded by beavers.

“Pita!” I shout. He stops singing.

“Katnip!” he says gleefully. “Come meet my beaver friends. They love my singing.”

I walk over to him and he doesn’t look good. He has a cut in his leg from the batarang and it’s oozing pus. Red lines spread out from it. He must have a blood infection. The beavers huddle around him, keeping him warm.

“Pita, you need medicine.”

“I know, I’m having these singing outbrea—I need somebody to loooove!” Pita sings.

I feel his forehead, and it’s dangerously hot. Then, I feel Pita’s lips on mine. Eeeww! I squeal in my head. I play along, though. Maybe we can get sympathy from the audience.

“There’s gonna be one less lonely girl, one less lonely girl,” he sings once he breaks away.

“Pita, it seems you have Bieber Fever,” I say. I look at the beavers. “Or beaver fever.” I hear a voice in the sky.

“Attention, tributes,” the voice says. “By the Cornastupia, there are backpacks with your district’s name on it, containing something you need.”

I’m already racing for the Cornastupia. Once I arrive, I see Baito running for the backpacks along with the huge guy from District 11. I grab Pita’s bag and I run for it, but the guy from District 11, Plush, is in front of me. He slams my head with his Tonka truck. I ignore the blinding pain and spring for the forest. I hear Plush scream until he falls silent. Plush is dead.

I see the stream ahead of me, and I hand the pack to Pita. I plunge my head beneath the freezing water to numb my injury. I grab a beaver and put it to my head. The beaver doesn’t protest.

Pita takes out a CD player and an AC/DC CD. He inserts the disc into the player and puts the headphones over his ears. The red lines emanating from his cut dissipate, and soon the cut is just a scar.

“Pita?” I check to make sure he’s okay.

“I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? You won’t sing Justin Bieber anymore?”

“Nope,” he tells me. “’Cause I am TNT, watch me explode!” he sings. Oh lord, now it’s AC/DC. At least it’s not as annoying as Justin Bieber. “I’m joking, Katnip.”

I sigh in relief. “Oh good!”

“Today’s announcement is brought to you by Oxi Clean!” the voice in the sky says. I look up, and there’s a projection of Billy Mays smiling next to a bucket of Oxi Clean. “Right now, the only tributes left are the District 2 contestants, Baito and Blove, and the District 12 contestants, Pita and Katnip. May the odds be ever in your favor!” Then, there’s a slideshow of the dead.

I turn to Pita. “Let’s run.”

* * * * *

Stay tuned for Part Eight: The Hunger Pangs is a Lot Better than Narnia.

Potential Pitfalls: Writing Blind (v1.0)

Like all great potential pitfalls, this one is tricky because it involves a balancing act.

First, my inspiration for this post.

Exhibit 1: Riley Redgate’s post on writing what you know (or not)

Exhibit 2: Allison Winn Scotch’s post on whether writers must be readers

These got me thinking about something I’ve come across, and a trap I hope I’ve steered well clear of—writing a novel with no knowledge of the genre/category.

Yes, I’ve seen writers attempting a fantasy without ever reading any. Others writing for teens without reading a single book from the YA shelves.

I’m sure if you look, you can find a handful of examples where an author did their own thing without any real knowledge of what came before, and yet was wildly successful. Perhaps I’ll do another Potential Pitfalls post on acting like exceptions are the rule. More often, the writer’s lack of reader-knowledge is neon-sign obvious.

How so? A common sign in YA is teen characters that feel like they were written by an adult. The voice is off, the actions don’t fit—either coming across as a stiff adult in a teen’s body, or falling deep into stereotype. Sometimes it’s harder to put my finger on, but I have this instinctive feeling that the writer (a) has little-to-no meaningful contact with teens, and (b) hasn’t read a YA novel published within the last five years (or even ten).

But like I said, it’s a balancing act, because there’s another pitfall right across from this one: Unintentional Rip-Off. Oh, and there’s one in front of it, too: Authorial Laryngitis (Loss of Voice).

I know some writers that don’t read fiction while they’re drafting a novel (but may read non-fiction during that time). That’s a strategy that makes sense to me. Some of us are susceptible to having another writer’s voice seep into ours if we’re reading and drafting at the same time.

I guess the bottom line is, know the conventions and requirements of your genre, but find your own voice and story. You know what they say, if it were easy …

Any opinions on reading within your genre? I didn’t discuss reading other genres, but there are benefits there as well. Thoughts?

Short Story: The Hunger Pangs (Part Six)

The catch-up links: One, Two, Three, Four, and Five.

And now, we get some action and drama. Enjoy!

Part Six: Unlikely Allies

I wake up to a sharp sting on my cheek.

“Ow,” I murmur, rubbing my face.

“It’s about time you woke up, Dogbreath!” I hear a squeaky voice say. I turn around and find Rue.

“Rue? Why didn’t you kill me?” I ask. The little, dark-skinned girl glares at me.

“I could if you want me to!” she threatens. I shrink away from her.

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay. Well, I was thinking we could be allies,” she proposes.

“Allies?” I rub my head, which hurts like hell. “Why would you want to be allies with me?”

“Easy, you’re good at shooting that thing.” She gestures toward the bow and arrow. “And I am good with plant identification since I’m from District 11. We would make a good team.”

“Well, alright,” I agree. We shake hands.

“Now, let’s move, Toilet Licker!” Rue commands.

I grab my bow and arrows. “Uh, I have a question.”

“Well, out with it!”

“How many people died at the Cornastupia yesterday? And keep your voice down!” I whisper to her.

“Half, so twelve are left. Actually, now there are eleven since the Cracker Jackers killed stupid Glitter,” Rue tells me. “But I have a plan.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Let’s blow up the Careers’ stuff!”

“Why? The stuff they have is stupid.”

“True, but they’ll find a use for it, and it’s fun blowing stuff up!” Rue squeals, almost jittering with excitement.

“Also true,” I admit. “How will we blow it up?”

“The Careers had a guy from District Three activate land mines from the arena entrances and put them around their supplies. There are some Teletubby figurines hanging off a crate of apples. Just shoot the crate with your weapon and make the figures fall. Then, it’ll go boom!”

“Alright, I like it,” I say.

“Great, I will stay here with the stuff while you go do that. Sound good?”

“Yeah.”

“Then go do it, dum-dum!” Rue screams at me.

So I do. I march over to the Careers’ camp by the lake, and I spot their stuff. I will allow myself only three arrows to make the Teletubbies fall. I shoot the first arrow. It just makes them shake. I shoot the second arrow. They inch closer to the edge. I shoot the third arrow and they finally fall, making the stockpile explode. I’m thrown back and land next to a charred Barney doll. I listen for footsteps. I hear some in one ear, but the other ear is deaf.

I get up and run for Rue. I arrive at the spot where Rue is supposed to be and see her battling a guy in a Batman suit. It must be Marvel, the guy from District 1. Who else would wear a superhero costume?

“Katnip! Help!” Rue yells.

“Cat naps yelp?” I ask, confused.

“No, help!”

“No kelp?”

“No! He—”

Marvel kills Rue with a Batarang, and he throws one at me. I bend over. Marvel takes out another one.

“I’m coming for you!”

I hear singing. Pita! He gets the Batarang that was aimed at me and he throws it at Marvel, who falls to the ground dead. Pita runs away, limping while singing.

“I’ll never let you go!”

Wow, Pita saved me. I turn to look at him again, but he’s gone. I go over to Rue’s body and kick it.

“Sorry you died, dogbreath,” I say mournfully.

* * * * *

Next time, Part Seven: Beaver Fever.

Potential Pitfalls: Dead Horse Beating

I’m going to start an occasional series on potential pitfalls in fiction. Mostly things I’ve noticed (and am trying to eradicate) in my own work, or things that irk me as a reader.

First up, the over-explanation, telling readers what they already know. It can happen in a range of ways, including single line statements-of-obvious. I’m focusing more on full explanations in dialogue. It’s sort of the opposite of As-You-Know-Bob syndrome. In this case, Bob doesn’t know the following information, but the reader does.

And it’s really, really annoying to read.

There are times one character needs to explain to another what has happened, what the plan is, etc. I can only think of a few times this should happen “live” on the page.

1. When revealing information previously withheld from the reader. I have a little of this in one of my novels, where I’ve only hinted at things, until the MC reveals her secrets later on. Hopefully (if I’ve pulled it off right), this kind of explanation is rewarding to the reader, verifying their guesses or giving some surprises.
2. When the explain-ee’s reaction is important to the plot. Is this information going to prompt a major event? Divorce filing? Attempted murder? Okay, maybe something a little less extreme could work, too.
3. When the explain-ee will have new information to add. Maybe the reader already knows the MC’s half of the story, but another character may have info to fill in gaps that change the whole outlook.

(Could have sworn I had a #4 in mind. Will add if I remember it.)

An important note: #1 is often the only time you might need to play out the full conversation. Many of these are situations where tell-don’t-show is actually the best course. (I summarized everything we knew so far.)

In most other situations where it’s necessary to fill in another character, there’s one strategy I find particularly effective: the art of the skillful scene/chapter break.

Character 1: “We have a lot to talk about.”

BREAK

Character 2: “Say WHAT?” (or other appropriate reaction)

Can you think of other situations where playing out information the reader already knows may be desirable? Do you have strategies for avoiding the for-Pete’s-sake-we-already-know-this reaction from your readers?

Short Story: The Hunger Pangs (Part Five)

For those just tuning in: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, and Part Four.

I have to say, I adore the final line of this part. It’s just so … well, you’ll see.

Part Five: Cracker Jackers

I climb a tall tree and hide my eyesore of a backpack. Soon, the voices take shape, and I see who they are—Careers, from the wealthier districts. Careers spend their whole lives training for the Hunger Pangs. They think it’s an honor to be chosen. Usually, the winner is one of the Careers. These Careers seem to have made a pact to work together until everyone but them is dead, and then they’ll go against each other.

“What did you get from the Cornastupia?” a guy whose name I think is Baito asks.

“I got this lousy bow and arrow set,” a girl named Glitter answers. I know it’s an odd name; her parents are celebrities.

I want her bow and arrow set, but I’m not sure how to get it. I see movement in the tree next to me. My head quickly turns in the direction of the movement. It’s a girl named Rue from District 11. Man, she’s an angry girl! She tells everybody they’ll rue the day, but no one ever did anything to her.

Rue points to something above me, and I see what it is. A nest of Cracker Jackers. The Crapitol makes these strange animals sometimes, like the Hamburjay and the Cracker Jackers. the Cracker Jackers are shaped like crackers, but they pack quite a sting. They make you feel terrible and hallucinate if you get stung by one.

“Thank you,” I mouth to her. I break off a stick from the tree, but the Careers never notice. I shove the Cracker Jacker nest so it falls on them. Baito and a few other Careers scatter, but Glitter isn’t so lucky. The Cracker Jackers are on her immediately. Hmm, they must hate Bradgelina, her celebrity parents.

I race down the tree and pry the bow and arrow set from her dying hands. Then, I run for it.

I notice I’m surrounded by butterflies. I dance with them, and they start to land on my arms, tickling me. I start giggling. Then, one lands on my nose. I cry out. The butterflies look like Donald Trump!

“Aaaaah!” I scream. Then butterflies cover me, tickling me so I collapse in a fit of laughter and screaming. Then I drown; I drown in a sea of butterflies.

* * * * *

Next up, Part Six: Unlikely Allies.