Posted in drafts/jewelsintherough, Prompts for Writers, Writer's Prompts, Writing, Writing and all its cousins

Flash Fiction, Week One

The following exercise is inspired by a writing prompt from, Flash 52: 52 Writing Prompts for a Year of Writing by Jamie DeBree

Richard pours tea and we raise our cups in a celebratory manner. This is our quintet—well, sextet considering Richard. Basically, it’s a group of stressed out writers looking to profit more than gas money from words.

“How’s it going? Any new ideas, progress?” Richard asks.

Sheila’s hand shoots up first. “I don’t know how I did it,” she beams, “but this week,  I managed 50k in between the twins’ naps.”

Another hand goes up. 10K. 6K. More cheers and tea.

“Karen?”

That’s me; it’s my turn. I clutch my yellow notebook to my chest. The notepad is as blank as when I opened it to its first college-ruled page, two weeks ago. How would they know if I did 50K or zero? It isn’t as though we inspect each other’s drafts, at least not during the first part of the month.

“I’m still outlining,” I say, which is neither truth nor lie.

An uncomfortable silence ensues. And then a collective murmur of well, that’s a start.

Sheila’s eyes scan the group. “I’ve been hiding something,” she says.

Let me guess, she isn’t human? She hired a ghostwriter? She hasn’t typed one alphabet but instead fibbed to make herself feel better?

As if sensing my skepticism, she plops a copy of her manuscript onto the table and then retrieves a small, plastic bag from her purse.

Are those…poppy seeds? No, poppy seeds are smaller. And darker.

“Okay, I know certain things improve brain function, and that’s why we drink  tea and  meet twice a month and share our thoughts. But these babies,” she continues, grabbing a handful of the seeds and dropping them into a cup, “are like…bees to flowers, bubbles to baths, syrup to waffles. This is brain food!”

Within minutes of sipping from a teacup, she’s reciting passages of Spoon River Anthology.

“Amazing!” Richard says.

“I’ve retained four plays, three anthologies, every word of Ethan Frome and created my draft in two weeks—all with the help of these Z seeds.”

Suddenly, I’m reminded of a time I came home sporting a nose ring and red hair. Ma took one look and admonished, “If the entire class jumped off a bridge, would you do it, too?”

Would I?  Am I seriously considering Sheila’s claim?

I imagine four to five completed novels a year, a new car, a full-tank of gas instead of the fumes I’ve driven on the majority of the day. Surely similar thoughts are running through the other’s mind.

Would you be silly enough to do it, too?

And so it begins…

*

Shonte Sanders aka Whatevertheyaint

1/27/17

* I didn’t follow the premise to a fault, but I did keep the basics as far as setting and characters. The original prompt calls for a man in his thirties, a folding table in a huge parking lot, an electric kettle, a teapot and teacups, and five women approaching. Feel free to continue to add to this piece by sharing (300 words or less) in the comments section. Ready? Let’s Go! Have fun 🙂

Posted in drafts/jewelsintherough, Writer's Prompts, Writing

From the Prompt: The Beautiful Voice

THE PREMISEREAD HERE  Thanks WritersDigest and Brian A. Klems for the weekly inspiration.

My Take on the Prompt:

555-555-5555

If those digits were people, she’d have poked out several eyes with the fury of her index finger.

“Seriously, you don’t have to press that hard,” her sister said, peering over her shoulder.

“It’s the principle, Bianca. I didn’t create this bill. Besides, why would I order two cases of Moroccan oil from an infomercial?”

Soft rock from an era long before all night television and identity theft floated across the line as Connie’s blood pressure rose. “As soon as they answer this phone, I’m going to—“

“Manes Incorporated.” A deep voice cut through her rant.

For the second time in a week she stated her complaint; however, there was something about this guy’s voice Continue reading “From the Prompt: The Beautiful Voice”

Posted in Writing and all its cousins

From the Prompt: It’s You–But It Isn’t

Finally! The kids are asleep and it’s time to wind down and see what’s going on in the  ScrapBooking for Dummies forum. I never sign out, because it’s easier that way. Plus, I’m forever losing passwords.

As the page loads and images take shape, I notice something that makes me uneasy. Either my eyes are playing tricks on me or, right there in a pop up, right in the middle of the screen, is my username in bold, red letters and a caption that reads:  You people couldn’t cut a perfect circle and sticky glue it to acid-free paper if your lives depended on it.

I glance at the date. 4/3/2015 At least I’m not crazy. The date is correct. And April Fool’s is long gone. So who would do this?  Everyone in the house is clonked out, including my husband. His loud, steady snoring permeates throughout the house. I can even hear my son’s light breathing in the adjacent bedroom. Did my son, Timmy, do this? Did he accidentally mash something? The idea is plausible. Although six years old, he’s more than capable of destroying everything he touches. If he weren’t sleeping so soundly, I’d interrogate him this very instant.

However, right-clicking and pressing delete seems like a viable option; so that’s what I do.  In less than two seconds I wish I hadn’t.  GlitterMama, you’re nothing but an over-privileged stay-at-home with nothing better to do than play around with glue guns and fancy duct tape.

Oh. My. God.  Now someone is making fun of GlitterMama, aka Miss Nelly from Sunday school! Okay. I have to fix this, quickly.

Would you like to log out? Yes.

I unplug the computer and then reboot. The whole time I’m holding my breath, praying the webpage returns to normal.

There aren’t any pop-ups when the site reloads, and I let out a sigh of relief as I join a thread entitled: All You Need to Know about Digital Design.  Things are going fine. For a while. And then it starts again, this time in the comment section. WhateverTheFelt, I find your crafts both mediocre and aesthetically challenged. Give it up, girl.

I reason that surely there’s a contact page or moderator. Someone needs to know what is going on here. As I search, I notice an About Us section. I hover over the link and nearly break my finger pressing enter. At this point, if I were that type, I’d show whoever was pranking around a different finger.

Sure enough, another pop-up: HAPPY LATE APRIL FOOL’S DAY. 

A gazillion smiley faces attack the screen as the monitor blinks off and on uncontrollably.  In no way do I find this funny. In fact, if this is their idea of “fun”, I’ll show them who the fool is. This scrapbooker doesn’t need a stupid site to tell her how to digitally design an album, or anything else for that matter.

Would you like to deactivate your account?

Yes!

Continue reading “From the Prompt: It’s You–But It Isn’t”

Posted in Writer's Prompts, Writing and all its cousins

Tell It To The Hourglass

TELL IT TO THE HOURGLASS

Look, your sand is working its way toward the bottom a little too fast.

What happened to the hours in the hour-glass?

There’s a glitch somewhere. I swear it is.

There’s barely time to sleep and wake up again.

Did I even get four hours of shut-eye last night?

Moon said tell it to you; I said alright.

The sand heads to the bottom and I can’t compete.

Before I’ve poured the coffee and scribbled things to complete,

you’ve up and jumped to evening and then midnight arrives,

and I’ve hardly worked my way to number five.

I swear there’s some cheating. Who’s your boss?

I want to discuss this. And mark my to-do list off!

“God” you say?

Oh, well, never mind.

I didn’t know your superior was the Father of Time!

Please forgive me.  I was a little brass.

By all means, carry on, Hourglass.

sms/4-2014

Posted in Writer's Prompts, Writing and all its cousins

From the Archive: Mail Order Man

*From the prompt: Write About Mail Order

 

 

Customer Service:  Make-A-Man. How may I help you?

Disgruntled Customer:  Uh, yes, I’m calling in reference to my order. I asked for Mr. Perfect, number 117, page 36 and, well, he ain’t so perfect.”

Customer Service: All of our men are 100% guaranteed. We don’t make mistakes here at Make-A-Man.

Disgruntled Customer:  Obviously you do because this guy is no different from any other. He leaves the toilet seat up, loses the cap to the toothpaste, and walks all over my freshly

mopped floor with his muddy boots!  If I wanted that type man I’d keep the one I have.

 

Customer Service: Misses…Gruntled, is it?  If you want Perfect Man you’ll have to talk to God. That line and species was discontinued after Adam.

Disgruntled Customer: Then why is it in the catalog!

Customer Service: If I recall correctly, page 36 says “Mr. Perfect,” which means near perfect; and Allen, the gentlemen you ordered, is as near perfection as it gets in 2013.

Disgruntled Customer:  Yeah, but that isn’t–

Customer Service:  He’s working in every other sense, right?

Disgruntled Customer: Yes. But…

 

Customer Service: As long as he is working and doesn’t run off without notice, or harm you physically, there is nothing we can do.

Disgruntled Customer: No refund?

Customer Service: I’m afraid not. If you had read the fine print you would have seen our no return policy.

 

 

sms/2011

Posted in Writer's Prompts, Writing and all its cousins

Power To the Powder

So, I was playing around yesterday afternoon and came across a prompt/challenge from the Nanoers over on FB. The idea was to take a snack and give it a story.

He wasn’t like the other donuts. He was plain—no glaze, no chocolate, just round and ordinary. But today was the day.  He’d been watching the baker for weeks.  Today was the day he’d sneak in and have an affair with the powder!

Would she go for him?  He wasn’t sure, with her being so sweet and all. Plus, she was white and, well, he was a little on the brown side.  But together they could do great things.

sms/2013

Posted in Writer's Prompts, Your Turn

Snippets & Prompts

We are lost.  Very lost.  Because dad doesn’t believe in GPS devices or road maps.  It has been this way since my childhood. In fact, I recall one summer afternoon in which we circled around a Holiday Inn for hours because daddy couldn’t figure out the exit and refused to pull over and ask for directions.

So, anyway, we’re in the middle of god-knows-where, and all I can think of is that movie; you know, the one with the crazy, flesh-eating family. What is it called? Chainsaw Massacre?

I bite my nails as the sun goes down over an open field and wonder how in the world Dad plans to get us out of this one.

*

sms/3-2013

Just playing around.  The prompt called for a voyage and deserted island.  However, I’ve used my creative license to come up with something else.  Now that I think about it, we should do A ROUND ROBIN!

Come on Ritx, Ike, Miss Elizabeth and fellow scribes. Let’s crank this baby up and come up with a short story.  

Ready? Set? Let’s do it!

Posted in Writing and all its cousins

Runaway

RUNAWAY

You make wrong
so right
set my mind in flight
like, all in left field
Would it be wrong
if I ran off and left
with you

You make right
so wrong
all turned on
all along…
I know this is just
one of those adolescent
phases
simply hormones

Would it be right
if I up and left
ran away…
with you

 

sms11-2012

*

*

*

Um, I think now would be a good time to say that 90.99% of what I write is a figment of my overactive imagination. The rest comes from stimuli and/or prompts.  I stumbled across this poem while looking for something else. For a minute, I wasn’t even sure I wrote it. But, then, I remembered participating in the November PAD challenge hosted by Robert Brewer. (He does it in November and  April. Try it. It’s lots of fun)

I guess what I’m trying to say is, this is strictly fictional.  So don’t get it twisted 😉