#4: Tiny fiction, tiny art

Eloping, ghost hunting, and embalming flowers

Jun 30, 2023

Hey, hi, howdy!

Today marks the first of our postcard-fiction series, as well as a full month that Snail Mail Sweethearts has been bringing analog love to your digital spaces. I’ve loved doing this with y’all so far, and am brimming with plans for this newsletter; thank you for being here from the beginning!

The votes are in

Patrons and subscribers voted for this month’s postcard-fiction prompt:

Action: ghost hunting

Word: elope

Juicy, right? With only about 48 hours to crank out a story small enough to fit on a postcard, I cracked my knuckles, made a coffee, got a few drafts down on Wednesday…

…and promptly spent all day Thursday out of the house, signing my first lease in Toulouse (!). It’s a fast process in the US, but here it took three hours - as did opening the bank on Tuesday. Time works different here, I guess.

But despite that - or maybe inspired by the terrifying new basement “cave” that comes with the apartment - the rest of the story’s drafts breezed along, leaving me with something perfectly imperfect.

The art: embalmed flowers

Maybe I already had ghosts on the brain before the prompt, because this month’s Patreon/Subscriber postcards had me embalming flowers in decoupage glue. After drying them, I collaged and watercolored and embroidered little vases for the flowers to call home.

The story: gossip-hungry ghosts

Like a lot of writers I know of (with the exception of perhaps Brandon Sanderson), at times I get so focused on crafting something perfect, I forget how fun it is to make something weird and then move on to the next project. My writing process is basically the antithesis of my visual art process; instead of experimental chaos, I am regimented and analytical.

This was a great chance to shake it up. With a prompt and about 48 hours on the clock, constraints did me good.

Here’s the postcard I wrote on:

Somewhere in Latvia, bought at a thrift store in Portland, Oregon

And here’s the story I wrote:

My pen smudged (tragic), but that’s the way snail mail goes - we can’t pretend the mistakes didn’t happen :).

If you’d rather read it this way, here’s a transcription:

My brother snaps another haphazard pic in the mill abandoned off Hwy 26. I’m in charge of audio, recording our footsteps and the crackle of the spliff we’re passing back and forth, hoping some ghosts will notice us.

So far, no dice, but I say “hello” again anyway. When I play the audio back, my own voice, flimsy as a first-to-die cheerleader, embarrasses me.

I hit record again and hoist myself onto the remains of a conveyor belt. “This sucks.”

Grunting an agreement, my brother joins me. The moon peeks through the window, flaring on his beard. “Ever wish you actually did elope with Ewan?”

Ewan. Ewan and his beautiful hands, his World’s Shittiest Attitude whenever I won at rummy - his knack for finding ghosts. Without him, my brother and I have encountered a staggering zero.

“Jesus, dude.” Darkness has swallowed the far end of the mill so completely, my eyes begin filling in colors.

My brother just shrugs, picking a fleck of tobacco off his tongue. “Are you happy?”

Ewan used to play with my hair in bed as we pored over our footage. He smelled like sage and always let me sip his midnight decaf, even if he swore I’d spill it.

Instead of answering my brother, I motion for the spliff; he frowns, but obliges.

XXX

In bed alone later, I comb through my brother and I’s recordings. When I reach his last question, I finally hear them: voices. My scalp prickles. I play it again.

Ghosts. Definitely ghosts. Three, maybe four, all dying to know: “Are you happy? Are you? You - happy?”

I slurp my decaf and flop back onto the pillows, playing the audio again, not minding one bit when my coffee sloshes all across my duvet.

Your turn!

I sincerely hope y’all write your own story based on the prompt. Give it a whirl, then share it in the comments!

Snail Mail Sweethearts