Posts
A Writer Who Pays It Forward
Tonight we're going to get to know an up-and-coming fellow writer and winner of the Soul and Sweet Tea "Spring Into Action" Flash Fiction Contest, the very talented Mr. Revo Boulanger.
 |
| Note his creative use of the winning mug! Read more of his work on his blog at The Revo Files ! |
I first had the wonderful opportunity to meet Revo courtesy of a wonderful site for aspiring writers called AgentQuery Connect (get there: www.agentqueryconnect.com !), and he has always taken the time to offer a hand up to other writers, offering outstanding advice and help in crafting their stories.
In later posts, we will also get to know Terri Bruce, our other winner of the flash fiction contest as well as the two talented runner-ups, Laura Renegar and Olivia Kelly!
So let's learn about the man behind the thrills, but don't forget to read his winning entry again at the bottom of the post. I think you'll agree that Revo's edgy submission to the flash fiction contest deserves many more chapters written, because his story didn't end at 200 words, and it left our judges wanting more.
Let's hear from him now:
In turns a son, husband, father and grandfather I am
blessed with being surrounded by terrific family and friends. I draw and cook
well, play guitar badly, do my own laundry and read voraciously from fiction
and non-fiction genres. I’ve also been fortunate enough to see the sun rise and
set from both coasts of our great nation. In life, I have no complaints of any
substance. My apologies for the lack of drama, but it is what it is.
Coming late to writing, I’ve jumped into the deep
end of the pool (sans water wings) and learned to swim the hard way – by writing
whenever possible. Thrillers and paranormal romance is my passion as I seek to
add a dimension to both segments that I feel is lacking – that of the elusive
realistic (i.e. highly complicated) male/female relationship. Whether or not
I’ve succeeded remains to be seen by the readers I’ve yet to earn.
Yes, that’s right. I said earn. I do not believe in
a magic wand or fairy godmother that will magically grant me respect as a
writer. I know there’s only one way to accomplish my goal. It involves a shovel
(figurative) and sweat, pain, and perseverance (all very real). The timing is
generally beyond my control so all I can do is keep hammering away, seeking
that all too brief opening that gets me to the next step.
I wish my contemporaries luck and success, just not
as much as I wish it for myself. But at the end of the day, wishes are just a
suggestion box ticket for dreams, and dreams, while entertaining, are not of
substance. Conflict and achievement is won on the ground, not in the clouds.
In closing, I leave you with my very favorite quote
as presented by a man that had that rare combination of vision and drive:
Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs,
even though checkered by failure... than to rank with those poor spirits who
neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows
not victory nor defeat. -Theodore
Roosevelt
Now sit back and enjoy his winning entry!
The hotel was as good a place as any to lay low. Set far enough into the cypress swamps it existed where GPS maps dropped off. It was just me, a meager staff, the gators and a big bag of money.
“Mr. Drake?” The words followed a knock at the door. “A Mr. Lane arrived. He asked about you.”
Perfect. The one person I didn’t want to find me does.
“Thanks June, tell him to meet me by the dock. I’ll be right down.”
Lane is a born hunter, a bull shark that swims with goldfish. There are only two problems with that; I’m not a goldfish and this is my pond.
I watch through my window, seeing the man in the linen suit and white fedora meander closer to the brackish water’s edge. If I breathe in deep I can smell the North Country. He’s out of his element.
He wants his cut, and for his sins, he’s about to get it. The gators love the perfume of blood.
Rather than grab a pile of bills I put a pair of pennies in my pocket. Someone has to pay the ferryman.
After all, it’s the least I could do.
(200 words) @RevoBoulanger
“Mr. Drake?” The words followed a knock at the door. “A Mr. Lane arrived. He asked about you.”
Perfect. The one person I didn’t want to find me does.
“Thanks June, tell him to meet me by the dock. I’ll be right down.”
Lane is a born hunter, a bull shark that swims with goldfish. There are only two problems with that; I’m not a goldfish and this is my pond.
I watch through my window, seeing the man in the linen suit and white fedora meander closer to the brackish water’s edge. If I breathe in deep I can smell the North Country. He’s out of his element.
He wants his cut, and for his sins, he’s about to get it. The gators love the perfume of blood.
Rather than grab a pile of bills I put a pair of pennies in my pocket. Someone has to pay the ferryman.
After all, it’s the least I could do.
(200 words) @RevoBoulanger
2 comments:
Post a Comment