Ten Legged Tales
 I Have a new story out, actually got published on 9/15 but the publisher didn't let us lowly authors know until today.

Massacre Magazine - Issue 7
My son has a story in this issue, Henry A Miles, writer of very dark horror.

I hadn't done a Mid-Week Blues Buster for some time, here is one.

Eva Called

by Boyd Miles

Eva was watching the gas pump suck her bank account dry. Refilling her tank so she could put more miles between herself and the man she had fallen for. Cassidy had been her first true love, sure she had had flings, stands, dates, hook ups, wild nights but never had she fallen in love. She had fallen hard.

Car filled, bank account no longer so, Eva got behind the wheel of her old Dodge Neon and aimed herself toward the interstate. In the corner of the lot stood a vanishing icon, an aluminum and glass box with a folding door. When had she last seen a phone booth? She backed the car away from the road and parked by the booth.

Long minutes in the sun, her windows rolled down, dust and noise from the passing trucks filled her beat up car. Her few belongings gathering a layer of desert sand while she just stared at the booth waiting for the decision to be made.

At last she opened her door and walked to the phone booth with all the change she could find in her ashtray and under the floor mats. She fed the black and chrome phone all she had and dialed the number she had written on a scrap of paper. It would have been easier to use a cellphone but she had left that behind, she didn't want to risk having him call her. She didn't want to risk him not calling her either. Three rings and his voice mail answered.

"I had to call, I had to say why." She hesitated, there would be a long section of muffled road noise on the message. "It is the moon, I love you but the moon." She knew this sounded crazy. "The sky is beautiful, blue and clear...... look, I did it for you, the moon, the moon is full and I.....I change. I love you, I can't help it. Goodbye."

Eva got back in the car, cried for a time, started the engine and drove on, deeper into the desert.

Cassidy's phone chimed to announce the presence of a new voice mail. That and the buzzing of flies were the only noise in the blood splattered apartment. Eva had left one night too late.

             end

There will be news soon, title, link and such.

In Defense of the Unnamed Character
by Boyd Miles


Any basic bit of writing advice tells you to name your characters. A name allows the reader to identify with and care about the boring bits of life the character must suffer through for the rest of the story. You can even find advice on how to pick the "perfect name". I say screw that.
Leave your character nameless when telling the story and the reader is forced to identify with them. The character and the reader become one, the action is happening to you not some guy name Bob that you have never met and could care less about. So when his wife dumps him for a troupe of Chinese acrobats the reader gets to feel the pain, not just go, "Dumbassed Bob's wife left him, good for her." The reader can dislike Bob, feel sorry for Bob or worse yet not care about Bob. But if you have cleverly sucked the reader into the story of the nameless person that they can see as themselves then they do begin to care. It becomes, "I can't believe she left me for a troupe of Chinese acrobats. What did I do to deserve that?" Then you tell them what they did to deserve that and how they got their revenge. Lead them around by the nose for a bit and show them the error of their ways if you want or show them how they got the better end of the stick. Whatever you want them to feel you can make them feel, about themselves not some schmuck named Bob.
Once the character has a name they are fixed, a being, unique and alive. Unnamed they can be projected, inward or out. The reader can become the character or the character can become, "I knew this guy in school, I hated him." Some people can't see themselves at all but they can see others in a story, let them enjoy the misery you are inflicting upon the character by allowing them to name them after somebody in their own life.
I know the above is going to be the worst bit of advice ever and any time you use it your story will go unpublished and unread. That's the way it is in the world. Editors like names, readers like names, nobody wants to have to think. Play it safe, name everybody and if it is science fiction or fantasy make sure the name can't be pronounced, you see that a lot so it must be the right way to do it.
Spin the wheel of characters, plug them into the plot, don't experiment, you will do just fine.

Ceilings

"You never listen to me," Amanda screamed at Jim once again. She screamed this often and he ignored her just as often. "I don't care what the neighbors think, let them call the police, assholes," her rant continued. "You make me sick, just lie there, just stay in the damn bed you lazy bastard."

Amanda raged out of the room slamming the door behind. A dust bunny ran across the floor like a tiny grey tumbleweed. She stomped it as it ran by, offending her by its presence. "Bastard won't even sweep the floor," she muttered. "When are you going to clean up this damn mess?" she yelled at the walls as she walked away.

Lying in her bed looking at the bright sunny sky painted on her ceiling Amanda imagined the clouds floating by. The painted birds soared and she felt the cool wind in her hair. Here in her room life was perfect, her refuge, her oasis. On the walls were trees and mountains, a vision of a country side she had only seen in pictures. It was the most real thing in her life and the most precious.

"I made breakfast, are you getting up?" Amanda said with a mix of concern and challenge. Slashing the eggs with the spatula 'scrambled' hardly described the results. "These are the last of the eggs until somebody goes to the store so get up now before they dry out." "Well, screw you then, bastard. I'll eat them myself. I will, I'm not bluffing." Jim didn't answer. "You missed your chance, you want eggs now you make them yourself."

Amanda put her dish in the sink, it was Jim's job to wash them. "When the hell are you going to wash the dishes? I can't take much more of your lying around not doing your part." Amanda said, each word more shrill than the last. "Asshole," she muttered before stomping off to her room.

The birds sang, bees buzzed and a soft breeze fluttered the painted leaves on her walls. Clouds sailed overhead, birds flew across her ceiling in the bright sunlight. All was well in the world.

It was late, the kitchen light was off, the darkness improved the appearance. The sink overflowed with dirty dishes and the stove was caked with spilled food. Amanda was a sloppy cook, a habit formed by always having somebody to clean up after her. She thought about getting something to eat but decided it wasn't worth the bother. The refrigerator was nearly empty, somebody, Jim, needed to do some shopping. She went back to bed.

In the dark the sky on her ceiling had glowing stars, 'should have a moon,' she grumbled to herself as she did every night. She lay there looking at the twinkling stars, an owl hooted in a distant corner of her mind.

Outside the wind blew up a dust devil, swirling ashes of civilization. Jim was lying in his bed, his empty eye sockets stared at the ceiling. 

end

for:  https://thetsuruokafiles.wordpress.com/2015/05/05/mid-week-blues-buster-week-2-49/

 http://lilliemcferrin.com/five-sentence-fiction-departure/

She was finally free, there would be outpatient secessions but she was free. A new life started today.

The air was crisp and a cold wind buffeted her at the airport as she dashed from the taxi to the terminal. She had her ticket to Aspen gripped in her shaking hand.

The ski lift awaited.