How many are created?
Don’t know.
Some collapse or burst upon creation. Only a fraction survive to contain and sustain life.
Who's in there?????
Wise Ones claim another world collided with ours – merging rather than destroying. A miracle, they say.
Still we hesitate to explore this conjoined sphere where sprites or pixies may hide.
Azazel always carried it but hoped she’d never use it.
Thunderstorms usually kept the androgynous SHE-MEN in their hostels, and so she risked the venture.
But these cloned beings thought she was the last, and they were waiting.
For us, Azazel pulled the pin; keeping our secret safe. For now.
When I write one of my mini-stories, I don’t feel that it’s finished until I find a photo or art work to include with it. So I spend another hour or so searching Flickr or other resources to find something that fits – sometimes perfectly and sometimes “not so much.”
Tonight I thought I’d start with the art work and then write the story. I’ve played around with a variety of genres – from historical fiction to paranormal parody to science fiction – and now I’d like to dip into dystopia. With that in mind, I want to introduce you to the work of digital painter Marek Okon.
Here is what he says about where he gets his inspiration:
When its a book cover, inspiration comes from the story I’m reading. During reading I see all the scenes in my imagination and then I pick one that will fit the cover best, one that will draw attention of the people passing by this book. When its personal works I usually create my own little story around the picture, so every piece of equipment presented, every location and character has its part in the world presented. I rarely go and create something accidental.
I hope Marek doesn’t mind if I “create my own little story around” one of his pictures. I haven’t decided which of the two I’ve included here, but return tomorrow and see what I come up with.
I also invite YOU to try your hand at this as well. Choose a picture as inspiration for your own 50-worder, and share it with me. Please.
Til tomorrow, caio.
He fooled others. Not me. I knew who and what he was.
If simplicity in my hair, makeup, and style failed to catch his attention, my A-negative blood-scent would not.
Finally, he sunk his ivory fangs into my alabaster neck.
I winced …
then gasped.
He fled.
Leaving his canines behind.
Note: Just finished Sword Song by Bernard Cornwell – mostly a novel of bloody battles between Danes and Saxons. One important skirmish, however, led to an unlikely and doomed romance. The following 50-word story unfolds a glimpse of what may have happened.
In the midst of defeat, the Norsemen kidnapped Aethelflaed, daughter of Alfred and battered wife of Aethelred.
The warlord saw her through eyes blinded by gold and silver ransom, but Erik, his brother saw the frightened child-bride with his heart.
His gaze penetrated her fear, and she accepted the dangerous offering.
Last July I met Marlena Henry, a teacher in Granite School District, at a professional development class I taught. You have her to blame for introducing me to 50-word fiction. I decided I should honor her by posting some of her 9th-grade students’ works. Be prepared to be WoWeD!
In the Way
His footsteps were loud against the platform. “I have done nothing!” He cried as the noose wrapped tightly around his neck. The desperate cries of the condemned.
As the podium gave way, two people smiled. The first his brother, now destined to inherit the crown. Another his sister, with only one more in her way.
Here are a couple of fun ones:
Morning
The rebel awakened, finding himself in his room. He knew that today would be the day. Death was on his doorstep. Doomsday was calling to him. His very existence was pointless unless he could avoid this condemnation. The door opened, and his warden approached.
“You’re late for school, Son.
Note: Sadly, the third student example, “The Fool Who Invented Kissing,” was not an original piece of writing. Yes, it was plagiarized! Dang! Teachers try so hard to curb this kind of behavior, and it is so disappointing. I have contacted the teacher, Marlena. The student is not in her class anymore, but she can still find him.
My apologies to the writer who truly authored this fun piece.
“I didn’t see you at the dance,” I said to Nan. “Did you get hung up at the restaurant?”
Tears beaded her long lashes as she rearranged left-over curls from last night’s fancy hairdo.
“We didn’t go to the restaurant or the dance . . . . . . . . . . we never made it out of the car.”
Note: The month is nearly half over, and I’ve written a 50-word story EVERY August day. There’s much I like about experimenting with this format, BUT I don’t know if the exercise is improving my writing any. I guess I’ll see when I return to my “work-in-progress.”
I’m toying with the idea of sponsoring my FIRST-EVER blog contest, but have to come up with a creative AND cheap prize that readers would actually want. Maybe I’ll ask those who stop by my site to vote for the 50-worder they like best, and then randomly choose one of the “entries” as the winner, winner, winner. That’s as far as my thinking has traveled. Stay tuned. I’ll think of something. In the meantime, here is today’s effort.
She tapped out her text – meet u @ mall, k?
The other hand applied lip-liner; and her baby-blues stared into the mirror to oversee the application.
Bright-white teeth chewed the last bite of Egg McMuffin.
Knees steered the wheel, and her left foot slammed on the brake.
Too late.
Gramma, carry me piggy-back up the stairs!
I can’t. I’m OLD.
You’re not o-l-d!
Yes I am.
You don’t look old.
Why don’t you think I look old?
Because of your hair.
If I had gray hair, would you ask me for a piggy-back ride?
NO!
Good bye Ms. Clairol!
He attended clown college, and she won All-American honors in gymnastics.
He twisted skinny balloons into flowers and giraffes.
She traded the uneven bars for a wheelchair – after the accident.
They met then married. Never easy, they make it work.
Two people who help each other laugh – even after 20-plus years.
Writing My Life 