The weekend is upon us—and there was much rejoicing! Before the bell rings and you’re all dismissed, though, I have two important things to mention.
First, I appreciate that you guys have been indulging me in the random flash fiction lately. You’ll notice that there’s a new one today, “To the Victor, the Spoils”. As with the previous one, “An Unexpected Guest”, this one was written for Chuck Wendig’s weekly Flash Fiction Challenge. While this isn’t something I’m going to do every week, if there’s a prize on the line and, more importantly, I’m inspired by the topic/set-up of the week, it’s a fun chance to take the old imagination for a quick spin.
Much of the attraction is that it’s 1000 words, typically. And when you’ve spent 18 months amassing 75,000 words for a novel, it’s a nice, breezy change of pace to throw something short and self-contained onto paper. And yes, today’s is especially is off my usual beaten path, so I hope nobody hates it too much.
Second, have you noticed the new picture yet? I know I posted about it yesterday and it’s not like Earth-shattering news or anything. It’s no faux-Rapture. But I have to admit that having a different profile image freaks me out a little bit. Not in a bad way, mind you, more in the “What-The-!#%* is That where my logo ought to be?” kinda way. See, I only change the picture in two place: Facebook and Gravatar. But apparently, 90% of the internet consumes avatars from one of those two services. So, for instance, last night when I signed into the current game of never-ending Scrabble conflict in which the Puddinette and I are inexorably locked, I briefly believed that I’d accidentally happened upon someone else’s Scrabble game.
Because, you know, dude, who’s picture is that?
For at least three minutes, I mocked the random player whose game I thought I was suddenly privy to with scathing comments like, “Man, you played ‘d-o-g’, and put the ‘o’ on a DL tile, that’s just sad. My two-year could do better.”
And then I realized that the whipped-cream pudding smiley was my picture now, even on Scrabble, and oh yeah, I was the one dropping tiles to form words that wouldn’t have challenged even a kindergartener.
So, you know, the lesson here is to either stick with the same picture for ever and ever and ever (at least until Facebook goes the way of the T-Rex and MySpace), or switch it up often enough that you don’t permanently expect it to be one thing. That way, you’ll know to feel sorry for yourself when you realize that the poor sucker stuck with letters ‘y, q, l, l, r, x, t’ is you, rather than reveling in the Schadenfreude that some other poor sap was boned.
And that, friends, is the best bad advice I’ll ever share with you: life is a delicate balance between self-pity and Schadenfreude.
Now, go have a great weekend. Remember your vitamin B before bed.