Microfiction & photos

A not-unexpected-in-hindsight confluence between my genre writing, my interest in microfiction and fan fiction, and my lifelong love of that subset of dolls often ascribed the avoidant term “action figure” has resuled in the emergence of my practice as a toy photographer.

What started as something more akin to a hobby has become something I am devoting serious creative energy to as I populate my growing toy-photo Instagram account with photos of little plastic people accompanied by tiny fictions speculating about what might be going on inside the heads of superheroes, aliens, monsters, robots, cyborgs et al.

If that sounds like something that might float your boat, there’s a cornucopia of colourful creatures waxing philosophical over on Instagram at @adamfigurephotography, plus a few samples from said IG below to give you a taste. You can click on each of the pics below to read the full story attached to each in their natural habitat over on IG.

I’ve also written a bit about my toy photography for the Toy Photographers blog – you can read those articles under my contributor profile over there.

“When my energy template rises to the surface there’s a tingle inside my nose, like being permanently on the verge of a sun-sneeze that never comes. Surprisingly, it helps me focus when I direct my energies beyond my physical boundaries. The tingling at the tip of my tongue is more distracting, though. I have to concentrate to stop myself lisping. That’s why I don’t say very much when powered up.”

“I swear to you, sweet rose, once I have found a way to reverse the polarity of the shrinking pulse that has trapped me at this scale, I will return and free you from this viscous prison that the cruel humans have consigned you to.”

“You can call it an extraneous emergent subroutine if that makes you more comfortable, but in the dream I distinctly heard my reflection tell me I could never become my own robo until I admitted that my relationship with my pilot was not based on love or friendship, but on a deep fear of the implications of an empty cockpit with no-one to operate my controls but myself.”

“There’s a beginning-story about the sky imbuing these flowers with some of its colour. In return the flowers sent part of themselves into the sky in the form of perfume. That’s why their colour fades at the same time as their scent. As payment is defaulted, the deal struck is revoked. I’ve always liked that story.”

Adam’s Occasional Poetry News

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