Feeling Dirty

My short story Feeling Dirty has been published in the 5 Minute Fiction column of Issue 77 of Shift Miner. The latest issue is always available for download from the website. There's a new edition every two weeks.

Plot Spoiler Warning! Read Feeling Dirty before continuing...

About Feeling Dirty
Shane from Emerald gave me a challenge a few weeks ago:

Jethro wants to be a coal miner, but he suffers from automysophobia (an abnormal fear of being dirty). He's been trying to get a job in the mines for years, and now he has got a chance as an operator/maintainer in a CHPP.

I decided to take him up on the challenge. Rather than create a reply for this blog, I decided to write my response as a story for my 5 Minute Fiction column at Shift Miner. After all, I had to write the column anyway. This may seem a little lazy to you. I prefer to call it "efficient".

The story I wrote is obviously based on the premise within the challenge. I thought a job interview would be a fun setting. The twist was also important. I couldn't leave a character thinking that you don't get dirty in a washplant! I hope you enjoyed the story.

Shift Miner Online Delay

Sorry to those that are hanging out for the latest Shift Miner on their website. They appear to be experiencing some technical difficulties. The print version is out, and available from the usual outlets. My story in this issue is called Feeling Dirty. I'll post the links, and some background on the story, when the new pdf version is available online.

Last night I sent in my story for the last edition of the year, which should come out on Monday 28 December 2009. My story is called Christmas Party. I promise it's not boring.

Brave Little Girl

This story is a response to Sunday Scribblings writing prompt number 193: brave. It's just a little idea; I hope you like it.

Julie hated to be called brave.

"There's a brave little girl," her Mother always said before the needles and the operations. A brave little girl was what it meant to feel a lot of pain and not be able to do anything about it.

"She's so brave," the other adults whispered to her parents, thinking she couldn't hear. It's my bones that don't work properly, she thought, not my ears. She pretended to ignore them, and wheeled her chair to her bedroom to cry. To be brave meant to be helpless and pathetic. Brave girls were pitied, and whispered about.

"I just want to say from all Australians, you are so brave," said the hyped-up burly sports reporter, right after Julie was awarded her Paralympic gold medal. The brave little Aussie girl in the wheelchair, who captured the heart of a nation, buried her fist in the reporter's face, knocking him cold to the ground.

"She is such a bitch," said the office-workers as they gathered in their kitchenettes for their morning coffee breaks.

The Motivator & Shift Miner Feedback

Edition 76 of Shift Miner Magazine is out. You can always download the latest issue as a pdf from their website. My story for this edition of the 5 Minute Fiction column is called The Motivator, and is on page 19. While I've tried to keep the first few stories up-beat and humorous, this one's a bit on the sad side.

My inspiration for this piece comes from the many stories I've heard and the few instances I've seen of marriages pulled apart by the time and distance of working a FIFO shift roster in the mines.

I did once work with a man at Southern Colliery who had a laminated copy of his payslip in his pocket. He was only to happy to explain that it was to remind him why he was there. That was some place to work: we all needed a motivator from time to time.

While you're reading the Shift Miner, take a look at "Stuff to the Editor" on page 16. Shane Garven wrote:

G'day guys,
Thanks for the mag. It's always a good read and full of relevant information, and some good laughs. Really like the addition of the 5 minute fiction stories. Old Bernard might ahve a new career on his hands. Keep up the good work.

Thanks heaps to Shane for expressing his support. That's the kind of feedback that makes it worthwile. While it is a dream to be able to support myself from writing, I'm not about to quit my day-job!

Crossing the Tarmac

This a response to a writing challenge. Mez told me to write a story about "the person you'd least expect to see in an airport terminal". I hope this very short story meets with her (and your) approval. Please rate this story below, and leave comments.

David walked in line with the other passengers from the plane towards the terminal. He adjusted his tie with his free right hand: he always felt like he was on show, walking on the tarmac. He remembered how, as a boy, his parents would take him and his brother Adrian to the observation deck to look at the planes. Adrian had been obsessed with planes, but David had been intrigued by the people walking between the planes and the terminal. Now he looked up to the observation deck and wondered if some other young boy was up there, dreaming about the destinations and motivations of the passengers below, as he once did.

David didn't know who was going to pick him up from the airport. Things were hectic at the family home, with the whole family converging on the town for his grandfather's funeral. In any case, he'd been assured that someone would be sent to fetch him. That could be awkward. There was a handful of people in David's extended family that he would loathe getting into a car with, and about the same number that felt the same way about David. Eventually, David decided that his sister May would get the job. Though they only talked on the phone a few times a year – life was just so busy – they didn't hate each other. How many kids did May have now?, he wondered. Four? Yes four, definitely; or five. David didn't mind his sister, and he could get on with May's husband (what was his name?), but he really couldn't stand his nephews and nieces. He hoped she didn't bring any to the airport. The small ones were screaming poo factories. The big ones had been hitting puberty pretty hard last time David had had the misfortune of crossing paths with them. That was about two years ago; maybe three.

As the glass door to the terminal opened, covering David with a gust of cold air-conditioning, he decided that starting now, he'd keep in better contact with his family gain. He knew it was guilt that drove him to make this secret commitment, but he didn't care. It was a promise he'd made, and broken, plenty of times before. It made him feel better, for a while.

Inside the terminal, David looked around for his sister. He couldn't see her. Instead, a tall, blonde bombshell that looked no more than sixteen or seventeen years old bounded up to him, gave him a big hug, and kissed him on the cheek. "Hello Uncle David," she said. "I'm here to pick you up. Did you check any baggage, or do you just have the carry-on?"