The Spring was wet, enough that the trees still look alive above the yellow grass, their roots searching out hidden wells to keep from losing too many leaves. In their shade the heat has baked the ground into a bad ceramic, the glaze already chipped and cracked in this overheated kiln. Camouflaged by brittle stalks the sacrifices go unnoticed, dust to dust, ashes to ashes, the trees can only stand so long.
I’ve been taking part in fiction challenges for years but there never seem to be many for short story writers that want to tackle something longer than a hundred words. The best I’ve found is Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenges. Seeing as there seems to be this shortage, I thought I might try my hand at kick-starting my own Friday Short Story Challenges. This week you have a carry on the story piece. You can add a single paragraph in the comments below and work with others readers to create a piece with many authors, or you can whisk away the start of the story from below and post your own full blown piece to your blog. Guidelines: You can either add a paragraph in the comments below or write a full story carrying on from the snippet below on your own blog and add your link to the linky tool at the bottom of the page. If you’re adding to the story in the comments then try and reply to the story thread instead …
Edwin and Sammy hunt monsters. They’ve been at it for centuries and they’re not planning on stopping any time soon. Except things are stirring. Things that haven’t stirred in a long, long, long time and it’s got a certain zombie with a hording problem all jumpy, and he wants Edwin and Sammy to fix it. They just have to find out what it is. A few months ago I started working on Solitary Creatures. It’s set in the modern day and the first four parts are up on the site starting here. This April I will be using the story line for my CampNaNoWriMo project so it will begin to feature a lot more heavily on the site. What I’m looking for is readers who will be willing to give it a read and let me know what they think. I’m looking for honest, constructive feedback so if you don’t like it and want to tell me so, then that’s fine too. If you’re interested then you can click the link above and it will take …
The memory has lost some of its sharpness, like a photo with dog-eared corners and thumb worn edges rediscovered from somewhere forgotten and old. But I can still feel the scratch on my palms of chunky stone walls marching onward towards the shore where the sea swam darkening around the ruins of an ancient fort. While the sun sunk beneath the waves and I squinted for a sight of Ireland on the horizon, and the sky turned red and orange and pink and… green. A single streak of emerald, old news to the locals, but pure magic to me. Inspired by today’s Daily Prompt: Vivid
I am not proud of my week. This week has been a lazy, unproductive week, but instead of feeling bad about it or moping around the house, I’m going to make this weekend and next weekend super productive so that when next Saturday comes around I will actually have something to discuss over coffee. So as you have probably guessed by that title, this week has not been the best in terms of creativity. All the bits and bobs for buying the new house are moving along well enough, but I’ve struggled to get on and write anything or get any real studying under my belt. The novel, well I’ve started three different chapters for Dawn Shadows and all them are sitting at about a paragraph and a bit long without any signs of growth. Deciding that my novel was only halfway done when I originally estimated that it would be almost done has knocked me back and I’m struggling to pick up the pen and write. [Metaphorically.] I also haven’t done much for the …
This is a call to arms for all you bloggers out there! I’m looking for a paragraph of two on what helps you stay motivated, inspired and positive. These snippets will then be gathered into one guest post to be put up on Sunday, 8pm GMT. If you want to join in just leave a comment below. Please re-post and share this. I want to hear as many tips and tricks for staying on track as we can get. Thank you to Deepina Pal for the inspiration behind this. You can find her at her blog The Untraceable Girl. Remember, short quick tips on what keeps you motivated, inspired and working towards the things you love.
I’ve just been discussing childhood games with another blogger Lysa Taylor Now those of you who follow the blog will have already seen snippets from my childhood in some of my previous posts.Grass Stalk Children is based on a trick that my dad taught my sister and I, and my family often crop up in odd little stories such as Bike Ride Foliage since everyone I’m related to seems to have a tendency towards strange, quite often funny accidents. Anyhow, in this conversation with Lysa Taylor she mentioned making salad from cut grass, and sitting in trees pretending to fly away to far off lands. I responded with “Mud pies with a leafy crust was always out culinary specialty.” So I fancied setting a prompt for anyone interested. What is your most memorable imaginary childhood game? In five hundred words give me your childhood imaginings back when being a princess, a pirate, a dragon, a talking green monster, were all viable lifestyle choices. Make sure to add a pingback to here and I’ll …
You were late. Kept the rest of us waiting; hands bearing down on pocket linings as we hunted for the warmth of previous hours before the storm. “He will be here.” she said, your wife of three months. We did not comment on the press of curves against the clarity of damp cotton; only offered her jackets which she refused with the comment: “They are not his.” We stood ankle deep in leaves, eyes towards the bank where track met road and carriages might run. We heard the horses first; they did not like the thunder. I wonder if you screamed as well? (Prompt: “The air was expectant…”)
Today I wanted to be creative. I wanted the words to flow Four am wake ups from rogue ideas And conceded scribbles to bribe back sleep. I needed the clatter of keyboards Rattling my mind for the last drops Waiting for the final thunk of gold The smudges of ink that pulled a chapter whole. Instead I got the crumpled paper Of half hearted attempts to write. Jottings, notes and contradicting plots Which spin webs of confusion in my mind. Works that once seemed good Fractured beneath my own acid gaze. I’m supposed to be a writer Why can I not pin you down? Where’s my sledge hammer for this block? How do you bury my words so far beneath ground?
