The very first “regular update” story I posted on the site was called “CPR”. If you look a little further back in the archives, you’ll see a handful of other stories which I had written before I started the site. I put those up to give people an idea of what I was going to be going for.

So at this point there are over 350 fifty-word stories on this episode, the majority of which I wrote, though many have been contributed by some great guest writers. There are also quite a few “nanofiction” stories, which are stories told in less than 140 characters so that they can be posted on Twitter.

Unfortunately, there are a few gaps in the post calendar over the past year. There have been occasional days when I haven’t gotten around to posting a story, especially recently. (In fact, yesterday and Saturday both went story-less, as you may have noticed.) Some of that has been due to busyness with other aspects of my life, and some of it has been due to a bit of waning creativity, I think. In short, I feel like I’ve been burning out very slowly…

So I’m taking a break from new daily updates. Sorry!

My first task, at this point, is going to be going back and filling in all the gaps in the calendar. If you’re following the site on Twitter (@50wordstories), the new stories should still show up there, so you’ll know as they go up. I’m going to try to keep track of the new ones as I write them, too, and then maybe make a news post with links to all the gap-fillers once I’m done.

After that, I have some ideas for maybe compiling the stories into a book, or doing something else interesting with them. I’m going to explore some options. Any feedback along these lines would be greatly appreciated.

Hmm. That was a bit of a dense newsbomb. Time for some more frivolous behaviour: YAYAYAYAYA ONE YEAR WHEEEE!!

“That’s it,” he muttered. “I’m quitting. This is no good.”

An ethereal meerkat blinked into existence in front of him. “You can’t quit!” it said. “I’m a meerkat!”

“Why not?” he protested.

“Meeeeerkaaaat!”

The body was stuck on my tusks, and my flippers were too short to remove it.

The zookeepers apprehended me, ending the reign of Chumley, Vampire Walrus.

He knew the odds. They were forty-to-one. But he didn’t care about the odds. This was destiny.

“I don’t care about the odds,” he said aloud. “Screw the odds.”

“You should probably care about the odds,” said the hatchet-faced man holding the bag full of coloured balls.

It’s dead, you know.

Smile, as you care tenderly for it. All the care you lavish on his tribute won’t make it last. Won’t stop the smooth, slippery red from drying to a lusterless, coppery brown. Smile for your rose.

He’d never been much good at anything in his life, but the first time he found himself sliding down the icy, open-faced track he knew he’d found his place.

Speed. Freedom. Exhilaration. Bliss.

He was the Naked Sledless Luge Olympic Champion.

“Milk?”

“The milkiest. From cows.”

“From cows?”

“The cowiest. Fat cows.”

“Fat cows?”

“The fattiest. They eat at McDonald’s.”

“They eat at McDonald’s?”

“The McDonald’siest. But only on weekends.”

“Only on weekends?”

“The weekendiest. They’re the farmer’s days off.”

“The farmer’s days off?”

“His offiest. He usually–”

“Wait… What!?”

“No, honey, and stop trying to change the subject. Just tell me… Does this dress make me look fat?”

“I would never tell you a dress made you look fat. You’re beautiful.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.”

“The other dress makes you look very trim, though.”

“That stopped being funny when I was in fifth grade,” said Luke.

“Join me on the dark side!”

“Nah, I think I’ll play on the light team this week.”

It hadn’t taken many pick-up soccer games for Luke to start wearing white t-shirts.

“Well aren’t we Mr. McDrawlyPants?” snivelled the snivelling little sniveller.

“Ker-Bang!” shot the shooty six-shooter.

“You brought it on yerself,” grunted the grunting, grumpy cowboy.

“Ow, my chest cavity really huuuuurts…” whined the whiny, dying whiner.