“When a cockatoo has gone insane, it will either make its nest out of smelted cobalt, or build its nest on top of a Cobalt, which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is very foolish.”
Dr. Mickelston squinted at his notes. Ah, this was why he’d been told to avoid citing Wikipedia.
This story was based on a prompt supplied by @Vanguard1219.
The clear plastic umbrella lay broken on the side of the road, twisted and forlorn. It looked so sad. Unloved.
And it wasn’t exactly keeping the rain off any more–cold rain that drove in at an angle.
Never mind; it’s not mine, I thought, as the bus pulled away.
Chrissey started writing seriously in May. She now has a second draft novel and material for four sequels. She is part of an online writers’ groups at http://www.kelleyarmstrong.com/forum, and recently challenged her group to come up with some 50-word stories.
It’s true! The 50-Word Stories book has taken a step closer to actually becoming available.
Crazy. I know.
I’ve been so distracted by other things and busy with school and life that I’ve been negligent in moving the book forward. But today I sat down and hashed out some details, found the files I’d been using, and decided it was about time I made this happen.
There’s not going to be a fancy cover design with a half-hidden story written on the binding or anything clever like that. I had some ideas, but in the end, I’ve realized that one of the biggest reasons I haven’t gotten the book done yet is that I had all these little ideas and tweaks that I wanted to get just right, and I was getting discouraged by any imperfections that I saw. So taking a cue from the Cult of Done, I made up my mind: forget about the imperfections, forget about whether the cover is pretty enough, forget about whether people are going to nitpick the final product; just get it done.
So to that end, I’ve finalized the (very simple) design at Lulu.com and ordered a proof copy. Once I have that and am satisfied with it, I’ll open up sales. I don’t know if I’ll sell 2 or 20 (maybe 2 is optimistic!), but regardless, I’ll be able to say I put the book out there.
And I’m planning to make a downloadable PDF version available for free, as well.
Finally!
On Friday nights the walruses fight
They stab and tear and grimace
With merciless glee they redden the sea
The wounds they inflict are grievous
Alliances crumble, allegiances tumble
For walruses love to betray
Their blubbery bellies wriggle like jelly
With laughter, blood-lust, and dismay
On Fridays the walruses play
This story was based on a prompt from @Ad134, who responded to a call for two verbs and an adjective with laugh, betray, and blubbery. (I took a bit of liberty with “laugh,” though.)
“Honey, I’ve made a fairly significant purchase,” he told his wife.
“Is it a car?” she asked.
“Is it a house?” she asked.
“Is it a Learjet?” she asked.
“Is it a small South American island nation?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s all on our very own Minecraft server!”
As a robot, he was made of technology. He wasn’t really a fan of the stuff: when he wasn’t upgrading his operating system, he was patching his peripherals or flashing his BIOS.
But every now and then he got to update his firmware, and on those days, life was good.
The arena was packed tight with eager sports fans.
They were very fragile, so the shipping department had gone a little overboard on the peanuts and bubble wrap. There wasn’t much room to move, but on the plus side it meant they had both food and entertainment while they waited.
I should have run for office when I had a fighting chance, before the scandals: my son’s arrest and my wife’s affair did me in.
Now it’s four years later and I’m getting crucified by my opponent; somehow she’s the one leading the polls.
My ex-wife hasn’t changed a bit.
Sean Pravica is a journalist and photographer living in southern California.
He could no longer deny it: he was turning into a cat. He had thicker and thicker hair growing all over his body, he took frequent naps, he saw things during the night…
She could no longer deny it: he was getting older, and he thought he was a cat.
The world was made of peanut butter and apples.
Actually, it wasn’t, but Kimmy would’ve been thrilled if it was. She was a daydreamer like that. Once she had thought about the world being made of chocolate and strawberries. She wasn’t sure which she’d prefer. Maybe a continent of each.
Which would you prefer? Or is there an entirely different food combo you’d rather have the world be made of? Leave a comment!