Sitting Wrecks Your Hip Action

Posted on February 22, 2012

I love Mobility WOD (Workout of the day). This is an old video that talks about how sitting is one of the worst things you can do for your hips:

Get a standing desk.

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Another Week, Another Short Story: “Disease In A Small Town”

Posted on February 21, 2012

This is the last story I wrote before NaNoWriMo, just so you know. NaNoWriMo changed me as a writer. Before that I would wake up early 3 or so times a week and MAYBE squirt out 500 words. Now? It’s a bad day if I don’t get above 2000. That’s right donkeys. 2000 words.

Again, I am not happy with the title ‘Disease in a Small Town.‘ However, I have found it is just best to let your readers know exactly what’s going on. I can always change it. Also, don’t worry, that’s not real blood!

NOW, before you buy it, later this week I am going to be releasing all of these stories PLUS two new ones that are totally 100% otherwise unavailable in one giant happy bundle. So definitely don’t buy this one. No sir. Definitely don’t.

Tad’s friend dies of a mysterious disease. People across town come down with it as well. It all comes to a head when Tad’s father is hospitalized and the entire town is put on quarantine.

A thrilling story about how quickly things can come unraveled.

BOOYAH!

Here’s the Barnes and Noble link, SON: Disease In A Small Town. YES! I know, the picture is not up. I’m dealing with it.

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Cool Shit

Posted on February 20, 2012

Turns out Alan Turing was right about tiger stripes.

The ‘biblical view’ that’s younger than the Happy Meal.

What your yoga practice says about your love life.

Is the copyright industry honest?

How to hang your pants.

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Fiction Friday Prompt: Take THAT Machine

Posted on February 20, 2012

Continuing the theme. This week we’re doing another of the 7 basic plots:

Man vs Machine

Or not. Just get me 500ish. Or write a haiku. Any form of creative endeavor (MS Paints count) will be posted.Time: 12:00 Noon Friday Place: Flashfiction@heathgordon.com

So I ordered up the book “Plotto” by William Wallace Cooke. He made a living writing stories all the time and came up with this system for coming up plots. It is nuts and I CAN”T WAIT.

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Throwback Monday: Baja Men: “Who Let The Dogs Out!”

Posted on February 20, 2012

So apparently the only reason this song became a thing is because it was played at Yankee Stadium ONE TIME and Alex Rodriguez liked it so much that it became his entrance music.

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Hey Read This… Citizens! The Best Love Story of Most Greatest Country on Earth!

Posted on February 20, 2012

The Orphan Master’s Son

By Adam Johnson

In the end it’s just a love story.

Pak Jun Do is a highly trained North Korean operative. He is an expert at taekwondo, specializes in kidnapping Japanese and spends his time translating English transmissions on a boat in the middle of the South China Sea. Although he never marries, he falls in love with the nation’s actress, a beautiful woman by the name of Sun Moon. And he’s willing to give up everything in order to be with her and make sure she’s safe.

North Korea is a very weird country. ‘The Orphan Master’s Son’ is a weird book. It is divided up into two parts. The first half involves Jun Do out on a boat, picking up translations. At one point his ship is boarded by Americans. Tensions running high, his comrade, Sun, pulls a knife on the Yanks.

And here begins one of the central themes of this book. They lie about what exactly happens. When they get back to land, they tell a high tale of capitalist imperialism and Sun taking on the whole American Navy. He is promoted to a national hero.

The North Korean regime is built upon these lies. They come out of real events, but are always twisted to benefit them.

Which brings us to our second half and where the book gets weird. In the first half, it is told almost exclusively in the 3^rd person. In the second? Sometimes in the 1^st person (a North Korean interrogator). Sometimes in 3^rd person (as a broadcast of the official propaganda machine). And then sometimes in regular old limited 3^rd person. It is jarring. You how after each quarter in the NFL they switch directions? And they come back and you’re like, something’s not right here. It’s like that. But every chapter.

On top of that he’s telling the narrative in flashback form. It also is difficult to keep track of. One of the unfortunate things about it is that you know how the story is going to end. I never see the end coming. Ever. But I knew for about 100 pages. And it wasn’t because I was some sort of detective or something. Johnson explicitly lays out the plan that is executed 100 pages later. On top of that, the whole thing gets a bit too meta for me.

But despite this, we have a very unique novel on our hands. We have unreliable narrators and interesting tinkering with time. What really stands out is the country of North Korea. The whole thing is just brutal. This novel is not for the faint of stomach. It pulls no punches in describing a country that is well known for its human rights abuses.

If you’re in the mood for a love story that blossoms because of its terrifying background, “The Orphan Master’s Son” is a wonderful read. It can get confusing, but I think that’s all part of it. Look for cameos of the Dear Leader. And don’t get too attached to any characters.

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Fiction Friday: Take THAT man

Posted on February 17, 2012

Yeah, it’s man vs man. And once again I’m the only one writing some top notch flash fiction.

The Game of Premiers

By: Heath Gordon

“Okay Kruschev, let’s up the ante.”

“I am listening.”

“Winnah gets Cuba.”

“You’ve got yourzelf a wager, Kennedy.”

JFK extracted his fingers from a secretary and leaned over the table shaking the leader of the USSR’s hand. “Let’s play ball.”

“I will bury you.”

The two squared up at the table, raised their hands, looked each other in the eye and the Icelandic neutral party counted “Three, Two, One, BEER PONG!” And on that note the both tossed their ping pond balls at the pyramids of PBR in red plastic solo cups. Krushev’s ball went in the first cup.

“That’s why zey call me ze red menace.”

“Just play pong Kruschev,” said the esteemed president, wiping blue ribbon quality beer off of his chiseled upper lip, dipping the ping pong ball in a wash cup and rolling it back to the ruskies. Bresnev took one ball, Kruschev, the other.

Kruschev tossed first. Miss. LBJ, drunk, scampered off after it. Bresnev sunk his first shot. Kennedy, peeved, picked up the cup. “Lyndon, get your ass over here. Your drink.”

LBJ was reaching underneath a futon. “I can’t find it. Just get a fresh one.”

“No Lyndon, if we keep doing that we’re going to run out.”

LBJ got on his stomach, and finally came back with the ball. He returned to the table, downed his beer like a champ and got ready to toss the ball.

Protests erupted from the other side of the table. “Germ warfare!” cried Bresnev.

“Capitalist pig!” screamed Kruschev.

“Wash your goddam ball,” sneered Kennedy.

LBJ obliged. And then he squared up, and tossed the ping pong ball. Total airball. It sailed over the other side of the table. Both communists scrambled after it. Kennedy took his chance and tossed. It bounced on the table once and then went into a cup.

The Icelandic judge held up a finger. “Bounce-in. Gentleman please drink an extra beer.” Kruschev, ball in hand, picked up the cup, glaring at his opponents. Bresnev chose a central cup and pounded it. The two men squared up again. Kruschev tossed first. In.

“Fuck,” cried Kennedy.

Bresnev tossed. In.

“Dammit,” cursed LBJ.

“Give us our rollbacks.” The Americans extracted the balls and rolled them back across the lopsided ping pong table. The Russians lined up again. And both tossed. Both missed. There were two cups on the American side. 4 on the Russians.

A hapless intern brought the balls back to the President and Vice President. JFK turned to his compatriot and said, “You can do this. I believe in you. You go first. Let’s switch things up a bit.”

LBJ tossed. In. He jumed up and down. Kruschev snatched the cup away. Bresnev, sensing a comeback, untucked his shirt and started slapping his belly. JFK, with a calm face, tossed the ball. In. He and LBJ cheered, hugged each other and jumped up and down.

“We’ll take our rollbacks, thank you.” The Soviets obliged and, again, LBJ lined up for the shot. And, with the background noise of Bresnev slapping his belly and Kruschev yelling “Miss It!” he sank it. JFK lined up. If he made this one it was all over. He talk to himself. “You can do this buddy.” Kruschev had now pulled down his pants and was mooning the Americans. JFK took his shot. A miss.

The Soviets breathed a sigh of relief and quickly assembled to, hopefully, finish off their sworn enemies. Bresnev’s shot went in. His fat jiggled as he danced with glee. Kruschev lined up.

Years later, he couldn’t answer the question, “Why’d you do it?” But all he could see as Kruschev’s delicate toss arched through the air like a spheroid ICBM, was his chance of another threesome with two nubile Cubans disappearing into a lukewarm solo cup. So JFK reached out and swatted the ball.

The Icelandic judge tweeted his whistle. “PENALTY! You can’t swat the ball unless it has bounced. GAME SOVIETS.”

Kruschev slid his beer over. “Drink bitches!” And the Soviets danced. They danced all the way to Cuba.

###

Based on a true story. Think it sucks? Write your own fiction.

» Filed Under Flash Fiction | 4 Comments

Flash Game Friday: Dead Zed

Posted on February 17, 2012

Zombie Game! Remember a while back when I posted that game where you had to manage survivors and give them tasks and stuff? Well this game is similar, but during each turn you have to actually shoot the zombies. And while you’re doing this, you can assign survivors to do things. They can search for other survivors and other guns. They can repair your farmhouse. They can also shoot.

This game is fun. It is also buggy. I had to quit the first game not only because my search party came up with NOTHING after 5 turns, but the game started flipping out and not only would freeze up and stuff, but I couldn’t shoot. Then I played again and it was pretty sweet.

You win the game if you last 40 turns. Pew Pew.

Dead Zed