Monday, November 14, 2011

Martin Cid novels and works

Martin Cid
First Prize of Jérez Short Stories, 2009
Prize Café Compás with the Short Story ‘Leviathan’
Prize Short Story Dante Aliguieri, 2007
Editor of Yareah magazine.

More: http://yareah.wordpress.com/2011/11/14/martin-cid-a-writer/

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Dadaist catastrophe

What would a Dadaist author say about our recent economical crisis? Ridiculous money, red car of an aggressive man, liquid stock market in the interior of my toilet. There are not reasons, not rules, not truths. Wars are a cancer, a business..., and businesses are a grey stomach. I am an outsider who likes clowns.
More flash fiction by Martin Cid: http://martincid.com/english/flash.php

Saturday, November 12, 2011

INTERVIEW WITH MARTIN CID


INTERVIEW ABOUT FLASH FICTION WITH MARTIN CID
By I. Zara
Martin Cid is a novelist who is recently very fond of flash fiction style. He is publishing brief fiction on his web page (http://www.martincid.com) and on other specialized blogs.
Q- Why are you so interested in this short subgenre now?
A.- I am a novelist and I am interested in novels, big novels where you can create a complete and close world. However, flash fiction allows some motivating possibilities. A novel has structural rules that you can break writing this short literary form and it is fascinating to condense thoughts in few words: a challenge.
Q.-  There are very many discussions about the length. For example, Steve Moss (editor of the New York Times) established 55 words, no more and no fewer. What do you think of this requirement?
A.-  Yes, I like to stick to 55 words and to play with words and thoughts to make everything fit. A good flash fiction can produce a strong feeling in the reader. We find the roots of flash fiction in Lovecraft or Hemingway… Of course, internet has given new possibilities.
Q.- When do you start to write flash fiction?
I cannot stop writing. I need to write daily and some busy days I was in a bad mood thinking about the impossibly of writing. Now, I get up, I take a coffee and go for a walk with Jack, my dog. Half an hour later I can write a good flash and the day goes well. If I can write my novels, it is better, but if I must go to pay bills or to whatever silly place, I think: ‘Well, at least I have written a flash, it is not a day wasted.’
Q.- Are you publishing the whole flashes on internet or are you thinking about a future book?
Of course, I am thinking about a book. I love novels but I have published essay and articles too. Why not a book with flash fiction?
Thank you very much.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Mary I of England

Queen regnant of England and Ireland, bloody Mary, Queen consort of Spain, ugly wife, Five year reign, Catholic terror. Very beautiful in her youth, appalling in her death, the death of a fanatic infertile mother, who had 280 religious dissenters burned at the stake. She was a precocious child and a complete goofy afterwards: clap!

See: http://martincid.com/english/flash.php

Sunday, November 6, 2011

THE GAME INSIDE ME by Martin Cid

First time, it’s a long sick feeling… after that, card after card, just the never-ending game and the ethereal faces inside my soul. The ‘who’ replaces now furiously the ‘where’ and time after time evil sounds stroke the end of the game.
‘Where’s the last card?’
The last card is you.

INNER CHANCE by Martin Cid

Last game, he lost. No position. No tactics, no luck. He looks around the tables and he found the secret between the Queen and the Bishop: a little and awkward piece. He imagined the past, always foggy, always clean. Why? Next game will be different, next game is now. The King is back. Smoke.

Hate by Martin Cid

He is calmed, always calmed. It’s not necessary to be a monster to press the button… but it would help.
‘Who will pick up the corpses?’
‘Someone will do, there’s always someone to do that”.
Slowly, he pressed the button.
First time is always better.
No feelings, no hate, no smile.
The prisoner is dead.
                            Smoke.

Desperate Lady? by Martin Cid

Lipstick on, she draw a perfect figure of love with the smoke of the cigarette and she stands up for a simple minute of plenty glory.
‘No more chances, Martin’.
Then, just a smile, just a goodbye, last and first goodbye.
Knife is still warm.
Near the sideboard, he is dead.
Smoke.