Category Archives: The Flash Fiction Offensive

Carcass at The Flash Fiction Offensive

FFO BADGE 2017OUT OF THE GUTTER ONLINE’S FLASH FICTION OFFENSIVE have kicked off their GUTTERAL SCREAMS series of  Halloween yarns with a slice of Punk Fiction from me called CARCASS.

Ava drove her battered, old Ford Escort to the edge of the forest and parked beneath a pine tree. As she sat and watched the autumn rain batter the windscreen, she listened to the Siouxsie and The Banshees CD that Martin had given her for her birthday’

You can read the rest HERE.

Submissions

Book submissions are currently open at ALL DUE RESPECT, the splendid publishers who’ve put out books by the likes of Rob Pierce, Paul Heatley, Eric Beetner, Marietta Miles, Alec Cizak, and even me.

They say:

Submissions are open. What we want: low-life literature. Criminals, thugs, douchebags, cheaters, gamblers, pickpockets, ne’er-do-wells, guns, cigarettes, bath salts, booze, beer, strippers, whores, wheelers, dealers, schemers, robbers, adulterers, embezzlers, loan sharks, losers, and lottery winners (who are, of course, losers).

All at 100 mph with the brake lines cut and a shitload of speed running through its veins.’

There’s more information HERE.

THE FLASH FICTION OFFENSIVE are looking for stories under 1000 words to publish at OUT OF THE GUTTER ONLINE.

‘We are looking for, as the old Gutter guidelines put it, “well-written, fucked up stuff.” This means nicely constructed stories in which things–that is, bad things–happen; stories that test boundaries and give readers something to think about while taking readers from A to B without getting lost.’

There’s more information HERE.

SHOTGUN HONEY are open for flash fiction and books submissions.

They say:

‘Since 2011, Shotgun Honey has been a steady outlet for crime, noir, and hard-boiled flash fiction. Our prominent website has featured over 400 writers and has published nearly a thousand stories all told within a mere 700 words. If you feel you have what it takes to beat our gauntlet of editors, submit your story today. We’re look something new and fresh, and we hope that it’ll come from you.

If you want to be part of our growing imprint and have a novella or short novel between 25,000 and 50,000 words, or a collection of short stories with a crime fiction slant, we want to read from you.’

There’s more information HERE. 

And you can find loads more submission calls at Sandra Seamans’ MY LITTLE CORNER.     

Short, Sharp Interview: Beau Johnson

20525595_1907272402872470_5546300016962871857_nPDB: Can you pitch your latest book in 25 words?

BJ:  Nope.  Not enough space.  If I had more space, maybe.  But even then, maybe not.  Hate.  The book is about hate.  How we can use it better.

PDB: Which music, book, films or television do you wish you had written?

BJ:  Oh man, there are tons.  Silence of the Lambs.  Seven.  Lost.  Breaking Bad.  Up to season 7 of the X-files.  The episode where Buffy’s mom dies.  As for books: everything by Thomas Harris excluding Hannibal Rising.  The Long Walk by King.  The Jaunt.  The raft.  Music?  Wheat Kings by The Tragically Hip, our very own Canadian treasure.

PDB: Which books do you think would make great films or TV series?

BJ: I want to say the Dark Tower, but as it seems that particular ship might have somewhat sailed.

a better kind of hatePDB:  Who are the great British Writers?

BJ: PDB, naturally.

PDB: What’s on the cards?

BJ:  I have a few shorts in the pipe, some coming soon.  Bishop Rider has been poking his head up too, just headlining a new finished piece titled Old Ghosts.  It’s companion story to a yarn called Shift Work, where I once and for all debunk his reasons for retirement.  It might include dismemberment.

PDB: Anything else?

BJ:  Big thanks to you, Paul.  For offering this platform and for supporting me in the past.  If memory serves, you were one of the first who started sharing my work when I first got on to Facebook.  I want you to know I appreciate that, Paul.  I always have.

 BIO:  Beau Johnson has been published before, usually on the darker side of town.  Such fine establishments might include Out of the Gutter Online, Shotgun Honey, Spelk, HST, and/or the Molotov Cocktail.  A collection of Beau’s, A Better Kind Of Hate, is published by Down and Out Books.

I’m at the Flash Fiction Offensive

SNAPSHOTS AT THE FLASH FICTION OFFENSIVEWith a little yarn called The Contender:

‘It was a Saturday night and The Cobble Bar was only slightly busier than it was midweek, which really wasn’t very. Indeed, if the place hadn’t been useful for the local criminal fraternity–money laundering, distribution of contraband and the like—it would have closed down years ago.

A big screen television was silently showing a 24-hour weather channel though no one seemed to be watching it.  Status Quo’s ‘Paper Plane’ blasted out as I walked up to the bar and took off my raincoat.’

Read the rest here.

Christmas Wrapping at The Flash Fiction Offensive.

SNAPSHOTS AT THE FLASH FICTION OFFENSIVEOver at OUT OF THE GUTTER ONLINE they’re celebrating THE TWELVE DAZE OF CHRISTMAS. A different flash fiction story is posted every day until Crimbo.

It’s my turn today with CHRISTMAS WRAPPING.

‘‘It’s child abuse, when you think about it,’ said David Ryan. He nodded toward the television screen, which was filled with McCauley Culkin’s screaming face.

‘It seems to me like poor old Joe Pesci is the one that’s being abused,’ said Niki.

She wrapped more duct tape around Mark Shaw’s wrists, just to be on the safe side.

Shaw was still unconscious and strapped to the kitchen chair. He was a big man.’

READ THE REST HERE.

#FRIDAY FLASH: HE’LL HAVE TO GO.

Frankie fidgets on the wobbly bar-stool.  Takes a swig of Guinness, then a sip of Jack Daniels. Grimaces. Shuffles his shoulders. Feels a joint crack. Sighs.

‘Me and my big mouth, eh? Another case of foot in mouth disease,’ he says.

He chuckles to himself.  Takes a pork scratching from a half empty bag. Stuffs it in his mouth and crunches.

‘Well, we’ve all been there, Frankie,’ says Big Pat, the barman.

Sweat soaks his white nylon shirt. ‘We’ve let our tempers get the better of us, and that.’

Pat picks up a remote control and switches on a plasma screen television that is hung askew on the back wall. He flicks channels until he finds an old James Bond film. A Duran Duran song suddenly blasts out. Pat grimaces.

‘Bugger that for a game of soldiers,’ he says.

He quickly turns off the sound and puts in a Jim Reeves CD.

Frankie catches a glimpse of himself in the dusty Johnny Walker mirror that hangs behind the bar. He brushes dandruff from a shoulder. Messes with his dyed black hair.

It’s late evening and The Blue Anchor’s only other customer is an saggy old man that is sat at a table in the corner nursing a half of bitter. He’s playing Sudoku and squinting in the wan light.

‘Look at that old fucker?’ says Pat, pointing at the television screen. ‘He’s still getting away with it. Jammy twat. ’

Frankie looks up and sees Roger Moore in a romantic clinch with a much younger woman.

‘Still, I don’t mind getting old so much,’ says Pat. ‘Beats the alternative, eh?’

He chuckles.

Frankie goes grim.

Pat leans over the bar and looks Frankie in the eyes.

‘So, have you told Wolf yet?’ he says.

Frankie avoids Pat’s glare. He looks up at the television.

‘Well, not as such …’ says Frankie.

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, not at all.’

‘Best get it out of the way, if I was you. You know what he’s like … remember Harjit?’

Frankie knocks back his whisky.

‘I most certainly do remember Harjit Singh. The grass. If I remember correctly, Wolf nailed Harjit’s turban to his head, inspired by a documentary he’d seen about Vlad The Impaler. To make his point even clearer, Wolf decapitated Harjit and put his head on one of the spikes outside Singh’s Essex home for his missus to see when she got up,’ says Frankie.

He forces a grin.

‘He never does things by halves, does Wolf,’ he says.

‘Well, then,’ says Pat. ‘So …’

Pat’s mobile buzzes. He glances at it and heads outside the pub to answer it.

He listens, nods and sighs. Sighs and nods. He goes back behind the bar,

‘Yeah but, you know, me and Wolf, go way back. We’ve got history,’ says Frankie.

‘Yeah, but history repeats,’ says Pat. ‘Like a Poundshop pork pie.’

He smacks Frankie on the back of the head with a baseball bat. Frankie collapses to the floor.

Pat leans under the bar and pulls out a machete. Hopes that Wolf remembers to bring the bleach with him this time.

(c) Paul D. Brazill

(This yarn first appeared at The Flash Fiction Offensive.)

Sheila, Take A Bow at The Flash Fiction Offensive.

ffo-badge-finalI’m flashing at OUT OF THE GUTTER‘s FLASH FICTION OFFENSIVE again.

She’s lost the plot again. It’s the third time this week. Sheila should never have come off her meds in the first place and now she’s just bounced straight back onto the cider. In fact, she’s bouncing around my front room at the moment, smashing into the telly, and knocking over the ornaments. As she waves a bottle of White Lightning cider around, I fear for the glass coffee table. I really do.’

Read the rest of SHEILA, TAKE A BOW here.

A Story For Sunday: Never One To Do Things By Half by Beau Johnson

 

SNAPSHOTS AT THE FLASH FICTION OFFENSIVE‘He knows he’s fucked the moment I ask if it should be Agent Brand I call him now, or would it be better if we still went with Hank.  I tell him I can’t do Ryan though, a name I just couldn’t comprehend when I looked at his face.’

Read the rest here at The Flash Fiction Offensive.