Going Loco Down in Acapulco

It was supposed to be business trip like any other.

 

Maureen had arrived at 6am, tight lipped and with an even tighter bun, fresh off the red-eye from Gatwick to Acapulco. Of course, the company had offered her a midday flight- business class, you would do no less for your hottest new sales executive who was just about to close a lucrative deal with Rexio’s Rubber Ducks Inc.- but Maureen had refused. Economy class did her fine and besides she liked to sleep on the plane anyway. All she requested was that she get to her hotel as fast as possible, and she did so taking a brief shower and then changing from her black pinstripe suit in to her grey one. She did toy with the idea of wearing her dark grey suit but all her suits were either grey or black, and she wanted to make sure it was obvious to the few hotel staff that might have seen her that she had changed.

 

The hotel room was adequate, the air conditioning a welcome touch in the humid climate. Maureen opened her calendar which clearly allowed her an hour for lunch before returning to the hotel to prepare her pitch tomorrow and finally checking her emails before an early night. She took a sharpened pencil from her breast pocket and skimmed it over her itinerary wondering if she might be able to pencil in an hour for a swim tonight but she decided against it. This trip must run like clockwork– she thought to herself- no time for idle distractions.

 

Just then the Bakelite plastic phone in the corner of the room rang. Maureen answered it impatiently, this call would cut in to her lunch time. Expecting it to be her boss ensuring she had arrived on time Maureen was surprised to hear the shrill man from the front desk telling her that a black limousine had arrived outside the hotel and the driver was insisting she come down. Maureen refused but the receptionist quite impertinently impressed that the driver was more-so demanding than requesting. Already behind her schedule Maureen decide to simply confront the limousine driver about his obvious mistake on her way out the door to lunch.

 

When Maureen took the stairs- lifts in Mexico were dangerously unreliable, she had read that in a paper somewhere- and made the lobby in no time. To her chagrin was not met by the limousine driver but the flustered speckly receptionist who told her the driver had returned to his vehicle and was parked out front. Maureen strode furiously to the limo- already they had wasted 17 minutes of her lunch time- and opened the back door to speak to the driver (the windows at the front were all tinted and the door locked).

“Look there’s obviously been a mistake,” Maureen began.

“Can’t hear you love,” the driver murmured. Maureen fully stepped inside the limo to get right up to the partition but as she did the door automatically swung shut behind her and the wheels started turning.

Maureen was less terrified at the prospect of kidnapping than she was furious at the prospect of missing her pitch tomorrow. Ever safety conscious, Maureen sat down and buckled her seat belt and tried as firmly (but politely) as possible to convince the driver to let her out. Barely 5 minutes passed before the car pulled to a halt but before Maureen could make a bee-line for the handle the door was suddenly opened from the other side. In stepped a glistening Adonis his golden hair was moistened with sparkling droplets of fragrant sweat. His scent was musky and inviting. He wore a tight white shirt that was unbuttoned exposing his bare bronzed chest. Maureen gasped, suddenly she was meant with a sensation she had never felt before she clasped her hand tightly in her lap.

“Hello Maureen,” the charming man said breathily. His white teeth glittering behind his voluptuous red lips. “My name is Fabio Rexio.” Maureen felt a quivering in her thighs.

“Mm..mm..Mr Rexio.” She stammered. “I thought our meeting was not until tomorrow. My pitch is…”

“Oh Maureen,” he sighed, pressing a finger to her lips. “I am not here to talk business. I wanted to show you the sights of course.” Fabio leaned over and instructed the driver to move on before switching of the intercom and locking the partition.

He then began to sensuously remove his shirt, exposing his chiselled abs. Maureen was overcome with frenzied desire and frantically removed her seatbelt. Fabio leaned over and kissed her passionately, their tongues winding around each other like two grass snakes in tandem. He unfurled Maureen’s tight bun. With her long hair following about her shoulders Maureen was suddenly transformed from dowdy sales rep to sexy vixen. He eagerly groped at her breasts and leaned over to kiss her neck. The kisses were like the ferocious suction of a plunger you had accidentally gotten stuck to a wall. She felt his ample rod against her thigh and he whispered to her “Maureen, you are my forbidden desire.” Maureen was not even embarrassed she was having sex in the back of a limo the warmth of their sticky love made her body slide up and down the seat. She wasn’t even bothered that she was missing her schedule at the sound of Fabio’s loud exultation she was sure she had closed the deal for the rubber duck shipment.

The next morning Maureen woke in Fabio’s four poster bed which had black silk sheets. She was covered in glitter. Her hair was blonde now and she had her make up all done so that she looked like an alluring movie star. Fabio was swollen with lust at the sight of her and they fucked like rabbits again. Maureen had spent all night (when her and Fabio weren’t having hot sex) drinking and dancing on stage with strippers. She thought to herself- I have certainly gone loco in Acapulco.

 

 by H.R.

(14/02/17, loco, rebel, <photo: Fabio>)

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Flash Fiction February Submissions

As you may or may not have noticed, it is no longer February. But never fear! GUCW’s favourite monthly challenge is not all over and done with just yet.

As we get to compiling our anthology we are still in need of flash fiction stories for many of our daily prompts. So if any of you still have some work in the pipeline you have until mid-April to submit your stories for the anthology.

As well of stories we would love submissions of your artwork to accompany any pieces or simply artwork to decorate the anthology. You can use the prompts on the flash fiction page for inspiration but there will be a general “kitsch” feel to the anthology (-think cheesy 90’s pop).

Submit your work to: gucreativewritingsociety@gmail.com

Find the prompts here: Flash Fiction February 2k17

Can’t wait to see what you come up with!



**Days/ Prompts that haven’t been written on yet:**

22/02/17

Non-binary, pride,

101009617

 

24/02/17

Inconceivable, Iridescent,

“You keep saying that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”- Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride

 

27/02/17

Negligible,  Damask,  

“This world that we’re a-livin’ in, is mighty hard to beat; You git a thorn with every rose, but ain’t the roses sweet!”- Frank Lebby Stanton

The Life and Times of Fabio

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You might see this picture floating around GU Creative Writing Society today. Its the prompt today for Flash Fiction February and the banner for our Romance & Erotica Workshop. This is of course because today is Valentine’s Day, a celebration of love and romance and this picture oozes sensuality. However this picture is far more than an ode to wine, good hair and adorable kittens, the man in this photo has played an integral role in Creative Writing Society’s special celebration of February the 14th for the last 4 years.

This is Fabio. Often dubbed ‘the original male model’, Fabio came to fame at the age of just 14 when two photographers approached him in a gym and told him he should become a model. Oozing with natural charisma and rippling good looks (not to mention his galloping abs) Fabio set a new standard for the ideal man. It was not long before he was approached by author’s of erotica fiction to feature on the covers of their novels.

That is why Fabio is so important to us, he is the face that launched a thousand fictions. The statuesque prowess and heroic demeanour inspired writers to mould their characters to  fit Fabio’s ample dimensions. This man is an idol, the living embodiment of the narrative muse in action. Without Fabio great epics of romance, fantasy and love would never have come to be. And without Fabio Creative Writing Society would not have such a glittering icon upon which to centre its best-loved workshop.

So if you like good hair and wine (lots and lots of wine) then come along to our Romance & Erotica Workshop but if you like Fabio, then please let him inspire you as he has inspired so many others and write us a story for Fabio. (Send us your work here.)

 

 

Source: Fabio in his own words.

 

 

Images of Fabio on the cover of Erotica Novels:

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Comets

I’ve got a comet dangling from my lips. Somehow, some way, it got itself into my capsule with me. Only friend I’ve got up here that isn’t the whispering light of a distant star. It’s burning itself away in a sad little spiral as we go round and round together, watching the big blue marble in the distance. We float together, looking out through the window into space, and I think of the marbles ma used to buy me at the fair. I used to knock them together, try to crack them. Never did. Never could. Was never quite strong enough.

I’m feeling strong today.

Something whirs. The camera in the corner’s spinning too, into focus, and down on the surface of that marble maybe somebody’s spinning out of their chair to go screaming at whoever let me smuggle cigarettes onto a space station.

You won’t go to prison, they said, while they told me just what I would go to. I’d go to the limits of human endurance up here at lagrange-3, and they’d watch what me waste away of Van Allen Syndrome.

Camera’s light’s blinking. I’ve got a message waiting.

I’ll just bet.

They put strings on me, when I came up here. Not tight enough. Maybe this is their dollhouse, but I’m no doll.

I take my sad little comet and let it strike home. It melts through a protective casing, shorts a wire, a panel by the window goes from red to green.

It’s not a window anymore. Now it’s a door.

I’m out in a heartbeat, out to say a fond farewell to those whispering stars, and to take my place among them. My strings are cut. They won’t even see me go.

I’m not a doll. I’m a comet.

Feels like today I could crack one of those marbles.

 

by Thomas Boyle

(prompts: gravity, cigarette, dollhouse)

Ungodly Hour

The girl ran.

Leaves crunched under her bare feet as she veered into the woods, twigs splintering and scratching her skin, but she barely noticed. Though she didn’t dare look back and see if he was still following, she didn’t need to.

Behind her, she could hear a hulking figure crashing through the undergrowth.

Breathless, she pushed her way through thorny branches, unable to help leaving a trail. Tripping on a tree root, she stumbled and fell- but her pursuer was still fighting with the thorn bushes.

Scrambling to her feet, she lurched forwards again, forced herself through the gap between two close-growing firs. The bark tore her clothing, but she clawed her way in, landed on her knees on the ground.

A clearing. Trees on all sides. Nowhere to run.

Slowly, she turned around to face the man who had followed. He reached out for her, but stopped at the sound of rustling. Bare feet and the hems of dresses whispered over the leaf strewn ground as figures began to emerge from the trees, surrounding them.

‘Welcome’, said the girl, and the circle enclosed them.

 

by Molly Duffield

(prompts: ungodly hour)

The Artefact

The cargo had been holed up almost a week in Chicago now and the crowd could wait no longer. Eager to re-open the museum and put this whole mess behind him Jamieson was more than a little irked at hearing his centre-piece had been delayed by a snowstorm. The museum opened its newly fitted uncharred doors to the public on the 10th as planned but the Egypt exhibit remained (excuse the pun) “under wraps”. Hundreds flocked the gates in each morning but they wouldn’t cross threshold or pay admission until they knew it had arrived. The artefact on everybody’s lips from the buried catacombs the museum’s own team had so painstakingly excavated. Of course everyone had marvelled at the pyramids and their spoils but this treasure was far more precious. Precious enough, Jamieson thought, to make someone try and stop it from coming to this museum altogether. Jamieson looked on with furrowed brows as the tiny sarcophagus was snuck in to the museum. It was settled in to place on a gilded stand and Jamieson nodded furtively to its escorts. Outside the swathes of people bayed, Jamieson’s bleak countenance settled in to the visage of a curator. And with that the newly appointed curator marched down the inferno stricken great hall, now retiled in gaudy red, to face the masses.

(prompts: excavation, snowstorm, (picture of a crowd))

Fleshmarket

Nettie rolled her sheer stockings over her poised white ankles. They were silk, expensive, Parisian (so she’d been told) and they had been gifted to her by an all-too familiar regular. He’d given her a set of pearl earrings and her favourite blue petticoat, it was only when he’d attempted to give her a ring she had refused. He’d sniffled at that a bit, she’d felt sorry for him really- so fat and old, no wonder his wife wouldn’t go to bed with him anymore- she hadn’t seen him since. Nettie outstretched her leg as she curled her dainty stocking over the tip of her thigh. Nettie quickly brushed her hair one last time before throwing on her shawl. She wondered if Amelia would be back on the Fleshmarket tonight. Her timid little friend had been absent the past few nights. Amelia said it was out of respect for the latest Soho girl. ‘Take a break on the Sunday and come to church’ she said to Nettie. Nettie had curled up her nose as she declined, Amelia might have feigned piety but Nettie knew she was just scared. As Nettie bounded out in to the night she chuckled at the image in her mind of Amelia’s red head bobbing stupidly in prayer. Her woollen shawl fluttered in the cold wind. Amelia was good at her job cos she was pretty but she was really a very silly girl. The horrors of the past few months had been in Whitechapel and Edinburgh was worlds away. Besides the night was clear and there was money to be made. Nettie stepped gaily as she approached her favourite haunt of Fleshmarket Close. Her light footsteps echoed without the hearing of all earthly souls but one. Round the alley, cloaked in the shadows, a figure was waiting… patiently.

At Long Last: Results from Summer Short Story Competition

So it’s September, and although it isn’t quite cold yet, I think it’s safe to say we’re pretty much saying goodbye to summer.

However, silver linings. We now ~finally~ have the list of winners from our Summer Short Story Competition. All entries were of very high standard and the voting was close – so much so that we had to have two rounds of voting!

A reminder that our theme was CHAOS and the results were decided via anonymous public voting.

All winners will be immortalised in our Hall of Fame!

Here are the results:

1st Place: Maria Rose Sledmere with “The Many Moons of Jupiter”

Joint 2nd Place: Rachel Norris with “The Path” and Rachel Walker with “From Here to There”

Third Place: Maura Kenny with “Mind Diving” 

Congratulations to all!

Notes from Inspiration Week

Hi guys! Hope the revision is going well :)

As you may remember, we had an Inspiration Week a while ago and here are the things people shared – thought I’d upload it so it’s all nice and uploaded for archiving and future inspiration :)

Nina Lindmark Lie

So I’ve had a week of some inspiration-hunting, since I couldn’t exactly pinpoint any particular sources of inspiration I normally have. Basically what I found can be summarised to ‘new impressions’ (a bit dull, but still). My week has consisted of visiting a lot of museums and exhibitions (like the uni’s Ingenious Impressions, The Hunterian and very modern Design exhibit in Edinburgh) the Botanics, and a fair amount of creepy people watching. Especially travelling and visiting busy places like museum I find rather inspiring. Mainly cuz they’re full of creative stuff, and doing new things helps me find ideas, or offers a slightly different scenery from my everyday life. Fingers crossed for some sunny days and more walks around Glasgow.

New favourite film?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1xmweTUqjkA

Hayley Rutherford

Eva Ibbotson is one of my inspirations. Her books remind me of my childhood and I think helped shape my current writing style. They are a little creepy and a lot quirky

https://scontent-lhr.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/11091588_1574754492766429_1417689944488394954_n.jpg?oh=8c370c842a39b9c307a6799aa39dfa73&oe=55A343E0

Maria Sledmere

My (somewhat random) inspirations…

Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber (1979)
My favourite story from Carter’s collection is probably ‘The Lady of the House of Love’. All her tales play with darkness and sexuality and appetite, questioning the boundaries between human and animal. I love the way she plays with fairy stories and animal characters, and she taught me that it’s perfectly okay to use intensely ornate, coruscating prose, if it serves a purpose.

Legend of Zelda, Majora’s Mask (2000)
https://www.youtube.com/watch…
This game is so creepy and grotesque and wonderful. The graphics seem a little blotchy now, but it adds to a kind of cardboard, fairytale aesthetic. The whole set-up of the game is basically to do with a moon that’s going to fall and crush a town within three days; three days you have to solve a lot of puzzles and defeat the uncanny mask dude that runs about. Everything is very anthropomorphic and strange, and the dissonant music adds to this. The play between surface, colour and texture is interesting because people often seem oddly flat, and the town feels really claustrophobic. I think it’s inspiring for its aesthetic and narrative, and just the whole weird ambience it creates.

Tom McCarthy, Remainder (2005)
This is a very strange novel. The narrator does not seem so much human as a human reciting what it is to deal with emotion and trauma, in a very machinic sense. It plays with all sorts of conventions and disturbs expectations, and in a way is very Ballardian. It taught me that novels don’t have to be extravagantly ‘postmodern’ to challenge conventions of realism, and also how to play with notions of traditional ‘character’.

Muse, Origin of Symmetry (2001)
Old-school Muse are truly mind-boggling. They still are, but I feel like they have become a little bit kitsch in recent years, with their extravagant symphonies and so on. This album has some crazy lyrics, like:

And my plug in baby
Crucifies my enemies
When I’m tired of giving
Wooah

Yeah, I think you probably have to be on mushrooms to understand that one. There’s a whole kind of shivery vividness to all the guitar on this, especially when it is at its most searing (Hyper Music) or delicate, and also Matt Bellamy’s voice, achingly beautiful on the cover of Feeling Good, dark and melancholy on Citizen Erased and Screenager, and a bit mental on Plug in Baby. I guess I listen to this album when I want something to fire an electric shock in my mind and clear away the excess. I also wish I could enter the weird space that the music creates, or find some way to do that with writing. The video for Plug in Baby is also very unsettling, with lots of tentacles floating about and women being plugged into machines and things. Stuff being turned inside out; abjection.

Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle (1948)
You know those books you read when you are about eleven and you can’t stop re-reading them? This was one of them for me. It’s a beautifully written bildungsroman about a young girl in a somewhat dysfunctional family trying to make do in a crumbling castle, while her father descends into alcoholism and her sister marries the wrong man. It’s about falling in love and growing up and appreciating the little things, and being loyal and good to people. I admire it mostly for the emotional eloquence and the way Smith captures the narrator’s voice so well, but also just love how she evokes the whole world of the castle and the family with such poetic detail.

Sylvia Plath, Collected Poems. 
I didn’t really ‘get’ poetry until I read Sylvia Plath. I know it’s a cliche to admit, but it was the first poetry that really spoke to me in some dark and never-understandable way. Sometimes I get bored of it now, but other times I read it again and the freshness of some of her images really strikes me. Read ‘Berck – Plage’ and ‘Sheep in Fog’. I guess its her imagery that I like best, but also she has a way with concision that I could probably learn from.

William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Lyrical Ballads. (1798)
I love these two because basically they can teach you all you need to know about nature and imagination. Well, sort of. I have a nostalgic relationship with them because it reminds me of first year and trying to sort out how the hell to read and write about poetry. Wordsworth basically invented the way we see and write poetry today; not as an imitation of an ideal form but a crafted ‘expression’ of individual thought and perception. It also makes me appreciate little bits of nature, though in a different way from how Emily Bronte makes me want to go to the countryside and run breathless through fields in the rain.

Louise McCue

This entire film inspired most of my recent writing but especially this opening scene:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hI6GWeWUMxc

Katalina Watt

‘Alice: Madness Returns’ is a video game based on Lewis Carroll’s work. Wonderland is surreal and disturbing, and the game’s soundtrack and artwork are stunning. WARNING: the clip I’ve linked has some violence and gore (albeit animated).
https://youtu.be/RwyoaSA-0wg

Angela Carter’s ‘The Bloody Chamber’ is a gorgeous collection of short re-imaginings of fairytales with plenty of horror, sexual content and awesome feminism.

‘Nothing Much to Do’ is modern vlog adaptation of Shakespeare’s ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ created by a team of pre-dominantly New Zealand young artists.
It’s hilarious and heart-breaking, and I love re-inventions of old narratives using new mediums.
https://youtu.be/iakDRoQg-sM

Ailsa Williamson

I use dictionaries, both online and offline.

Check out behindthename.com and also ideagenerator.com. both are pretty cool.

Offline- I own the dictionary of mythology, dictionary of phrase and fable and a dictionary of quotations. All pretty cool just for browsing.

Tauras Šalna

Here we go then.

The idea of writing for children about science came to me rather recently.
“The Pleasure of Finding Things Out” by Richard Feynman.
It’s a biography about an amazing 20th century physicist. There was a chapter where he talked about his childhood, when his father used to explain all sorts of things through telling stories. That was the moment when I thought “well, if it worked for one person and he ended up getting a Nobel prize in Physics, maybe I could many other people in a similar way?”. 

Terry Pratchett’s series about Tiffany Aching (4 books) showed me the importance of dialogue. His fantasy world also provoked quite a lot of thoughts and ideas. That’s what books do to you – you start living in an imaginary world of Nac Mac Feegles, witches and other sorts of creatures.

There is this Lithuanian author Vytautas V. Landsbergis. He wrote a book called “Rudnosiukio istorijos” (direct translation: Brown Noses’s Stories). The book is about a creature called Rudnosiukas which lives in an imaginary world. In a sense the world represented the social, economical and political situation of Lithuania. It’s hard to explain, but when reading I actually saw a lot of cultural cues which in a sense showed how everything changed during 25 years of independence. It’s full of optimism, funny and absurd situations, pure foolishness (the main character was always represented as foolish [in a good way]), irony, satire and so on. The writing style was rather similar to mine, but a lot better. And you know when there are books you wished to have written first? This is definitely that one for me.

Other times I find inspiration through studying physics, watching science related videos, taking a walk and just asking question “why”. It’s an amazing feeling when you ask, what it seems, an easy questions, but in the end it’s really complicated and you have to spend some time to find the answer.

And I’ll end this with a video, food for thought.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36GT2zI8lVA