Lady, to merit thy love, I coaxed a golden tear from King Midas’s eye, which I bartered for a mermaid’s song.
I used her voice to lull a Dragon while I snatched his diamond tooth.
This, I present to you, peerless Lady, and humbly pray on bended knee, wilt thou—
Joanna Norland has learned through painful experience always to check the word count and trim where possible.
I was born six weeks premature. I got good grades but I left school before graduating. I’ve always had trouble holding a job for any length of time.
Consequently, paying bills was often a problem.
I topped out at 5 foot 3.
That’s my life in a nutshell. 49, 50.
This 50-word story was distilled down by Robert Carlberg from a 17-volume 1,460,000 word massive opus written over a span of 23 years. No it wasn’t.
My friend, Bob, has posted a fifty-word marvel.
With a deft flick of his crisp wit, he has lassoed a universe.
I cherish the accolades he garners as if they were my own.
After all, did I not urge him to submit?
Bloody Bob. I curse the day we met.
Joanna Norland is grateful to Clive James for his deliciously unapologetic poem, “The Book of My Enemy Has Been Remaindered.” It gave her the courage to acknowledge the absurdity of her own paradoxical predicament.
Seven words drop us into the action. Sprinkle exposition with the next six. Narrow in on a few details; figurative language reigns. Hyphenating and wordsmithing neologisms condenses ideas matter-of-factly.
“Dialogue can help,” she advised.
Leave space for inferring.
The last seven words resolve the story.
If any idea doesn’t fit,
Dave Myers (he/him) lives and teaches in Bend, Oregon.
I found a tiny niche today that might be a home, a perfect fit for me with gives where I bulge and lifts where I lean, a door that welcomes thoughts and holes in the roof the size of words that fill the house up when the total reaches fifty.
Stephen Tilden came across this website an hour ago and wrote this to commemorate the discovery. He has been looking for this for a very long time!
Pulling my hair out, trying to get every sentence right. Hemingway says there’s nothing to it; that all you have to do is sit and bleed. I hemorrhage, knowing time can’t salvage a fluff-piece.
The Marquee de Sade wrote his magnum opus on toilet paper. Mine’s writing on the wall.
Nikita Linivenko failed English his junior year of High School (due to lack of trying).
Website featuring miniature stories currently seeking apathetic readers. No skills required. No pay, no benefits, no rewards. Lack of enjoyment contingent on how distracted and unmindful you might be. Readers who take their time and pay considerable attention need not apply. Same with those who may wish to contemplate allegory.
Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
Dear Editor,
Thanks for your cursory note referring to my multiple submissions as “it.”
I would reply more personally, but the volume of rejections received does not permit.
I have carefully considerd every word of your canned response.
Incidentally, two of the pieces have already been published elsewhere.
Sincerely,
Author
Phil Huffy wrote this story.
“I have wanted to be a writer for most of my life. I’m 62 years old. If I don’t start now, I may never do it.”
With that shocking realization, yet with no story she could think to tell, Sadie closed her laptop and gently slipped away from her desk.
Nancy Haines finally published her first two books after she passed 62 years old. She is looking for her next story. She currently has “Twitter-block” but someday hopes to learn to tweet. See more at pleasantgreenbooks.com.
Editor: And yet, Nancy, it looks like you got those fingers typing away after all!
Fifty-word stories? Sounds easy, but HA! Challenge embraced; let the jotting and counting begin.
“Not tonight dear. One… too busy… two, three.”
Cloud of perpetual distraction.
“Sorry, what were you saying? Didn’t catch that. I was—”
“Yeah. I know,” he mumbles. “Counting. Scribbling.”
Relationship ends, but hey! Fifty words!
Judi MacKenzie is a writer who teaches yoga and, sometimes, meticulously counts words. She loves writing screenplays and is a reader for the Austin Film Festival.