tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34389356974178131222024-03-17T01:30:31.767-07:00lizziegudkovWriting. Fiction. First Living. Second Living.Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.comBlogger1237125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-67210194491971520852024-03-17T01:30:00.000-07:002024-03-17T01:30:00.132-07:00Register<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejzfOjC5uAKqo-4K6sQX89gVG_ClkMQKroMogRAJ-i2cb8VfFrXXQPCCEiW0rKCLP9qfopgJoeprrLMKCsJ0yjmG5VJQDGanpaYPqv6BsxJqTGH614zrk7qzoUyylhXFxxQffsKwHr6kd_sjQDDOCcDZC_rVJZWDR213Cs5HuqxUGXf9MJxhyRV4xeaw/s900/REGISTER_Goatswood2023_014.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="900" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejzfOjC5uAKqo-4K6sQX89gVG_ClkMQKroMogRAJ-i2cb8VfFrXXQPCCEiW0rKCLP9qfopgJoeprrLMKCsJ0yjmG5VJQDGanpaYPqv6BsxJqTGH614zrk7qzoUyylhXFxxQffsKwHr6kd_sjQDDOCcDZC_rVJZWDR213Cs5HuqxUGXf9MJxhyRV4xeaw/s320/REGISTER_Goatswood2023_014.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goatswood<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">To attend the Social Club, one must register by performing a few tasks. A first edition for the library, one gold coin for the coffers, and a finger. At first, he assumed it would be his fingerprint. No, an actual finger and not his own. Well, that could pose a challenge. They nodded. He tried. He did. But who would've thought people were so attached to their fingers... He ended up hiring a squirmish hitman who refused to do the chopping. Then, he hired a butcher with morals. And here he was, at the Social Club, but not that one.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">100 Word Stories</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-18313313935231209782024-03-10T00:30:00.000-08:002024-03-10T00:30:00.135-08:00You'll Never Believe...<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOIPC7xAqeBW3YIoY1Hi3miw60woSIHF_BjhlU-LcCJXKP9v5vPbEN5D_Xp-hKqH3CqUd3bdYiKp-6fodFcrYap2GE0y4Cj_c8VgxNeSPqEVdWRek5721MUTTxV54bZywJoWmSnUgwEnEBdlMhkVDuZlVUQzVaHAb4lf7QADgFiadjk7S6bQY_l7iW74/s900/YOULLNEVERBELIEVE_Goatswood2023_013.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="900" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOIPC7xAqeBW3YIoY1Hi3miw60woSIHF_BjhlU-LcCJXKP9v5vPbEN5D_Xp-hKqH3CqUd3bdYiKp-6fodFcrYap2GE0y4Cj_c8VgxNeSPqEVdWRek5721MUTTxV54bZywJoWmSnUgwEnEBdlMhkVDuZlVUQzVaHAb4lf7QADgFiadjk7S6bQY_l7iW74/s320/YOULLNEVERBELIEVE_Goatswood2023_013.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goatswood</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You'll never believe what the crow said. "Crows don't speak," someone shouted from the back of the room. He continued to explain. Some listened in silence. Many mocked him. "It's coming. We need to prepare." But who was coming? And why? "I don't know." A group fled to the mountains. The rest just went home. The next day, a giant shadow covered the town. "Blind, we're all blind." This lasted a hundred years. Then, the shadow lifted. When the crow returned, they listened. They worked together. They were prepared. The crow smiled, whispering "No need for a shadow this time."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">100 Word Stories</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-50275190652279375002024-03-07T07:43:00.000-08:002024-03-07T09:07:02.299-08:00NaNoWriMo Update<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://nanowrimo.org" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="626" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwnQx6fIM_E4sbHMM93G8vzo1aUS4iheXrGNqU2evygIDgKkMJ1t43tHZavWfVWegBA7iD6D4uh9HWi5BKfkV9t8Gg6fAvgDRQO-4TBVSsk4LWcyaIAAcdsk7OcG9On4ayRYbQCnhTpGw7hf1XGEFobU707fknjc26y86L1L6MFcNVwAITlN_kV4aRUc/s320/7e6606497e85af65f62eb0459579f1af.png" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After <a href="https://lizziegudkov.blogspot.com/2023/12/nanowrimo-2013.html" target="_blank">the bombshell</a> back in November of last year, that made everyone stop in their tracks, <a href="https://nanowrimo.org" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> "closed shop" at the end of the month for some much needed re-organization.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A few days ago, Wrimos received the following email (transcribed in full below).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: middle;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">Dear NaNoWriMo Community,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: middle;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">I write to you today with a warm hello from HQ and no small measure of excitement to finally announce changes we’ve been planning for weeks. We listened to a lot of feedback in November—some of it was hard to hear, but taking action to improve the organization was necessary. Since then, we’ve paused some of our standard operations in order to think through how to move forward, holding our mission in mind and community safety as priority number one. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: middle;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">NaNoWriMo’s charge is to “provide the structure, community, and encouragement to help people use their voices, achieve creative goals, and build new worlds—on and off the page.” We will be better-positioned to deliver this with wiser policies and stronger practices in place. To name a few: <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm 0cm; vertical-align: middle;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">We Will Stop Hosting Open, All-Ages Social Spaces</span></strong></div><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Site users aged 13-18 will be able to maintain accounts and use productivity and tracking features on our web app, but they will no longer be able to access our forums. Users under 18 will also be prevented from displaying their locations and writing session information, and from participating in regional spaces. Though younger members will be able to connect as Buddies with users they already know, our policy of hosting and moderating all-ages spaces will retire. </div><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm 0cm; vertical-align: middle;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">Forums Will Reopen with a Small Group Focus</span></strong></div><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">We simply don’t have the capacity to provide effective, global, 24/7, multilingual moderation on an all-community "mega-forum". This is something that we may consider for the future, but is unrealistic for 2024. However, will gradually reopen regional forums and follow by opening affinity group forums and other smaller spaces. This model will allow us to continue providing social spaces while ensuring a greater degree of manageability. </div><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm 0.0001pt 54pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">Regional forums </span></strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">will be moderated by Municipal Liaisons (whose 2024 onboarding process includes moderator training). It makes sense to us that the folks who know people in their region, who speak the language of their region, and who are local to the time zone of their region should moderate these spaces. It also solves the problem of our moderator team being out-of-sync with certain regions and out of their depth to moderate them. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin-left: 54pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">Other limited forums </span></strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">will be volunteer-moderated by folks who hold affinity to those groups. Reopening affinity groups is a priority. Anyone who is part of a group they believe should be formed as an official affinity group (whether or not it has been in the past) is welcome to suggest it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin-left: 54pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">All-community forums</span></strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;"> will still exist, but they will be used on a limited basis. Community members will not be able to initiate threads, but NaNoWriMo HQ will. We are open to suggestions for threads, but we will only open a limited number and the ones we do open will likely close after a certain number of days. Our focus at this point is community safety and ensuring we don't have more threads open than we can reasonably moderate. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm 0cm; vertical-align: middle;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">Our Volunteer Program Will Completely Change</span></strong></div><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">So much of what we do is made possible by our hundreds of volunteers, who work diligently to support us from all over the globe. Yet, we have fallen short in supporting them and in safeguarding the integrity of their work. We have developed more rigorous training and staff-side support and will enforce identity verification and criminal background checks for all volunteers. Improvements in this area are long overdue. </div><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm 0cm; vertical-align: middle;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">A Mechanism to Certify Educators Will Be Implemented on the YWP Website</span></strong></div><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Our classroom feature will no longer be available by virtue of self-designation. Folks wishing to utilize this feature will be asked to certify as educators. We are partnering with ID.me to provide this functionality. This is yet another measure designed to protect some of our most vulnerable community members. </div><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm 0cm; vertical-align: middle;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">Let’s Talk About Timeline</span></strong></div><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">We’ve done a great deal to move as swiftly as possible toward these changes. We’re at the tail-end of a selection process for background checking vendors. We’ve reworked our volunteer training and evaluated streamlined training platforms. We’ve worked with our tech team to roadmap back-end changes that are needed to support new measures. With the help of our legal counsel, five policies and four legal contracts have been revised. Nonetheless, there are enough moving parts and pieces that there won't be a central release date. Change will happen gradually in the coming weeks. To the extent that you may have further questions, <a href="https://nationalnovelwritingmonth.cmail19.com/t/i-l-ahhhda-jyhuthjidd-y/">we’ve set up these FAQs</a>. </div><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: middle;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">Before I close, I want to acknowledge the sense of loss experienced by those who relied on programs we've temporarily suspended or permanently changed, and the abysmal November timing of it all. I also want to acknowledge our tremendous volunteers, whose overall track record of dedication and excellence was sullied by the actions of just a few. We are working very hard to ensure that we rise to the standard that our community deserves and rightfully expects. We are building a safer, stronger, more accountable NaNoWriMo. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 15pt 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: middle;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">In community,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.25pt;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif"></span><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="line-height: 15.75pt; margin: 0cm; vertical-align: middle;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">Kilby Blades</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Open Sans", sans-serif" style="position: relative; top: -8.5pt;">Interim Executive Director</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-47602993683308883992024-03-03T00:30:00.000-08:002024-03-03T00:30:00.129-08:00Across<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6CyDM1Il86WnhlbJmJyQ1mjZ_0RmDEEoxeeGDz6DfPwRJAb9VBdJgb-fXuL6TwoItn0MCWnvheNtp2Xch0jNbzXlRI5rlEXb865vEBKeb6_5-xdLB4Immi1T6YQqP-ArSEF6y0ZNLfZ47l8XjoMMkCG2bp7O1iwvX-8VrJvNKarvFZwE2PJlyEjLTOM/s900/ACROSS_Goatswood2023_003.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="900" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6CyDM1Il86WnhlbJmJyQ1mjZ_0RmDEEoxeeGDz6DfPwRJAb9VBdJgb-fXuL6TwoItn0MCWnvheNtp2Xch0jNbzXlRI5rlEXb865vEBKeb6_5-xdLB4Immi1T6YQqP-ArSEF6y0ZNLfZ47l8XjoMMkCG2bp7O1iwvX-8VrJvNKarvFZwE2PJlyEjLTOM/s320/ACROSS_Goatswood2023_003.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Goatswood</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She sat down in the cabine across the aisle from me. She didn't smile when I smiled. She looked down, her hands on her lap. It was pouring. I always worried about everything. In my mind, she worried too. So, I wanted to go over to her. A hug. Or perhaps I could hold her hand. As her husband-to-be, I heard someone say, closed the door, she took a quick glimpse at me and waved a shy wave. We never talked, but every year we would make the same trip. And I would wait a whole year for that wave.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">100 Word Stories</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-4739064392113700292024-02-29T18:00:00.000-08:002024-02-29T18:00:27.796-08:00Silence<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXOfuHeGwoH3hZuk_rJ3b7faWV2V5KLekYl5odd-JTvXyfp-0zUi1wX0yphjTfK1GM-K8I7RqG8A4SewNRu0qh-6pWxDAG7WM9GF-m1DaY8zgv_CZ11hWuxl0fXf5yzoqXXC1pYPrWlDLo79237dBRuE3WO-nfhtlq8afsKby21LWAu6F1XzlZwhWx3Q/s900/Time%20Remains%20-%20Fenris%20Isle%20sim_012.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="900" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXOfuHeGwoH3hZuk_rJ3b7faWV2V5KLekYl5odd-JTvXyfp-0zUi1wX0yphjTfK1GM-K8I7RqG8A4SewNRu0qh-6pWxDAG7WM9GF-m1DaY8zgv_CZ11hWuxl0fXf5yzoqXXC1pYPrWlDLo79237dBRuE3WO-nfhtlq8afsKby21LWAu6F1XzlZwhWx3Q/s320/Time%20Remains%20-%20Fenris%20Isle%20sim_012.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This silence is deafening...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-13399295471454221322024-02-25T00:30:00.000-08:002024-02-25T00:30:00.126-08:00The Book, a Gift From a Stranger <p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRCHRrJ7hVQbhSIZRbd1Ax4SFPKs4Oc4pDOsSdaW-VypdeengJdLJqcLS9gDGhcNZLeKI0rtc8JVNZ6hyUDv8v-qWTPkAWau6hGvUqy-QIuwaEF0Rdc4SlYDrktrEooq5p1C50ZEDpEPKK-9CnHGTfu4NAmWsXiu4_OGQikMCSdCqJy_WjMfroccBU_Dw/s900/PICK%20TWO_milkwood_clock_001.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="900" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRCHRrJ7hVQbhSIZRbd1Ax4SFPKs4Oc4pDOsSdaW-VypdeengJdLJqcLS9gDGhcNZLeKI0rtc8JVNZ6hyUDv8v-qWTPkAWau6hGvUqy-QIuwaEF0Rdc4SlYDrktrEooq5p1C50ZEDpEPKK-9CnHGTfu4NAmWsXiu4_OGQikMCSdCqJy_WjMfroccBU_Dw/s320/PICK%20TWO_milkwood_clock_001.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Milk%20Wood/76/48/22" target="_blank">Milk Wood</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It's almost half past four. I pick up the book, a gift from a stranger in the park. "It's about France," he said with a smile. It hit me then that if I don't leave, she will destroy me. "Why do you hate me so much?" She asked. I don't. I never have. Wrong answer. And after that, she punished me for weeks with silence. I grab my small backpack, my whole life in it, and go. A gift, a smile, a gesture of generosity, and I am free. That's all it took. Amazing, isn't it? That's all it took.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">100 Word Stories</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-4778070597107884332024-02-18T08:10:00.000-08:002024-02-18T08:10:00.243-08:00Car Crash<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ4XCskxNiHU2hdqPtZfxp6tgdFjWb_0K43BIu9q32jfvDwBtKtB_9Q1DGYGSMEu3qaXX0yaU2HDZ3dTlg65lCLrTRvCQejmQv-ECRyGiV2l9FHeOMMMkE0uB_iMEHldewbFvdbYmq5sTXy7y06rYKMbDwnAqd2L-Nd4v5VOhOXZfH_EBq22rdpj1i7c/s900/CAR%20CRASH_Santaurio_001.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="900" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ4XCskxNiHU2hdqPtZfxp6tgdFjWb_0K43BIu9q32jfvDwBtKtB_9Q1DGYGSMEu3qaXX0yaU2HDZ3dTlg65lCLrTRvCQejmQv-ECRyGiV2l9FHeOMMMkE0uB_iMEHldewbFvdbYmq5sTXy7y06rYKMbDwnAqd2L-Nd4v5VOhOXZfH_EBq22rdpj1i7c/s320/CAR%20CRASH_Santaurio_001.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santaurio</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">They survived the car crash. They survived the cruise ship sinking in the Mediterranean. They survived the train wreck in Sri Lanka. And the list went on and on. A tsunami, a volcanic eruption, a flood, a tornado, even a pandemic. Until that long-awaited trip to the North pole. "Take the icebreaker. It's safer," someone said." No, of course not. "Let's do something dangerous. Nothing ever happens to us." They rented a small plane. Did they know how to fly a plane? Not really. And that's where the list stopped. Simulation terminated. "Lousy game. Good thing it was dirt cheap."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">100 Word Stories</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-76457002647537149722024-02-11T04:00:00.000-08:002024-02-11T04:00:00.445-08:00Benefits<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqP9TMQlW6hBDxFi06o1663CrEhGK1QiHtFas5F6DWwlUhf9Z-ytruRe-ikFH6PTyaIUeIRE370GOUxSHkHqxUeIpqZMF0qqXekgUQnReZPVUFUA_5tWEx4pZE_t_cpirmNawu94gMOMg0uHgCiw9F-cINgl95fkNX1azJDTCwFcSWq2HxMy9ZYENXZg/s900/BENEFITS_COLLINS_020.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="900" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqP9TMQlW6hBDxFi06o1663CrEhGK1QiHtFas5F6DWwlUhf9Z-ytruRe-ikFH6PTyaIUeIRE370GOUxSHkHqxUeIpqZMF0qqXekgUQnReZPVUFUA_5tWEx4pZE_t_cpirmNawu94gMOMg0uHgCiw9F-cINgl95fkNX1azJDTCwFcSWq2HxMy9ZYENXZg/s320/BENEFITS_COLLINS_020.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Collins</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Love is such an illusive word. It's not a word, she promptly said, it's a feeling. And there I sat, wondering what she meant. She had never loved anyone and here she was, full of herself, pontificating about love. I just sat there, chain-smoking, which she hated. She pretty much hated everything about me. I'm not sure why she married me. In the end, love is such an illusive word, isn't it? It just means that sometimes you do things for love. She wouldn't have to suffer with my wrong-doings. That hammer was indeed sturdy, as promised at the store.</span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: right;">100 Word Stories</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div></span><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-46523984998492994992024-02-04T08:30:00.000-08:002024-02-09T05:16:54.678-08:00Position<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPOiYPLKlvT0Fes1yZqWtNNDtpSg0f4oSN8FzWs1CqjGee9i5XB8smn6NPHFQ1Qga-h1_WkLvTcgWMXJnf8ZrEqv0dWbIpM6R8O34w709RUuf5Z9vsfbdnwLoGfXKKGLVvJp5C3vJqDkh-h9f4Q7iYFGcxu2ZVsDde3WC2Vi-KyC3uLkfb7hr446bWG8/s900/POSITION_matanzas_001.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="900" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPOiYPLKlvT0Fes1yZqWtNNDtpSg0f4oSN8FzWs1CqjGee9i5XB8smn6NPHFQ1Qga-h1_WkLvTcgWMXJnf8ZrEqv0dWbIpM6R8O34w709RUuf5Z9vsfbdnwLoGfXKKGLVvJp5C3vJqDkh-h9f4Q7iYFGcxu2ZVsDde3WC2Vi-KyC3uLkfb7hr446bWG8/s320/POSITION_matanzas_001.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Matanzas/128/128/21" target="_blank">Matanzas</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The yacht was tired. The crew and the passengers were also tired. No radio signal.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The Captain looked at the First Officer. "Let's rest here."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Suddenly, something something "What's your position?".</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Captain, we need time to fix the hull."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"We'll stay here. Nice, tropical island. We'll be fine."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When the search party arrived, the locals snickered.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Where are they? The yacht is right over there."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The locals snickered some more.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">No one was found.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">However, there were some suspiciously fresh bones, hanging above the doors of the houses.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">That's when the search party decided to leave as quickly as possible!</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39336" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-26978795118284558462024-01-21T03:00:00.000-08:002024-02-09T05:15:42.210-08:00Crack<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfq1R08W33qr0DIyc6dz1PCKPndjy_GcSOF_DY_dfmOKaCwBhub9e_ZbmGm1diJrhnneNbvcpTpMN0wUMwg3vPNC0ikbcNcubFZj7hkn0B2yciNBMT1FtbppiGbUu4CVkH8tfq2O8MiudwCz68pW21H0C_8WsF75m5m-A-uxmaT_uhHO4NfO3aqWiGvVg/s900/crack_japanchubu_004.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="900" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfq1R08W33qr0DIyc6dz1PCKPndjy_GcSOF_DY_dfmOKaCwBhub9e_ZbmGm1diJrhnneNbvcpTpMN0wUMwg3vPNC0ikbcNcubFZj7hkn0B2yciNBMT1FtbppiGbUu4CVkH8tfq2O8MiudwCz68pW21H0C_8WsF75m5m-A-uxmaT_uhHO4NfO3aqWiGvVg/s320/crack_japanchubu_004.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Japanchubu</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: right;">It was an ancient building.The crack on the wall grew bigger. But he wasn't going to let it crumble on his watch. So, he filled the crack with cement. When the wall collapsed, he was in Aruba, sunbathing. Everyone was horrified. Cement? Apparently, bad cement, who would've thought. The horror! Who had done that? However, they did find a secret room with a long-lost treasure. So, he went back and bragged. Not a good idea. "But, what about the treasure? And a crumbling wall adds character!" He shouted while being dragged off to jail. To brag or not to brag.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39293" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div></span><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-74755439821600218912024-01-14T00:30:00.000-08:002024-02-09T05:15:07.769-08:00Pester<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeC6Bm9V0bjxZaIzHKBpesguTJL3dMVZPHP1m5CBtZDl-6q7WyNzMZ_7WfPDzgyJCnnb-iYQvd2m7XPJKZVljzndn9E_C6ZWkosBY9-OSKT00N0z9pFOAs01SDBeDlhI19KFgdW0b2yYhRbrtpXVleXh_OfIvJmhkdVgujahTFn1p3Nj5tZlAbvXaJVk/s900/PESTER_SLAUGHTERHOUSE_001.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="900" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeC6Bm9V0bjxZaIzHKBpesguTJL3dMVZPHP1m5CBtZDl-6q7WyNzMZ_7WfPDzgyJCnnb-iYQvd2m7XPJKZVljzndn9E_C6ZWkosBY9-OSKT00N0z9pFOAs01SDBeDlhI19KFgdW0b2yYhRbrtpXVleXh_OfIvJmhkdVgujahTFn1p3Nj5tZlAbvXaJVk/s320/PESTER_SLAUGHTERHOUSE_001.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Slaughterhouse</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"></span><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Those YOU posters... YOU must apply. YOU must, YOU.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Wear something proper. Speak correctly. You don't want to sound like a moron, do you?</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">No. But he didn't want to be pestered all day long about a job he didn't want either.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Look at that, the future of our nation, that poster says it all, aren't you proud?</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He was annoyed. Proud? No. So, he spent the whole night slashing them. The scandal! That's how the I'm-Not-An-Asset movement started.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">100 years later, employees were still an asset, in the worst possible way... He went from annoyed to angry, murderously angry.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39285" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-32676382668004953482024-01-13T09:37:00.000-08:002024-01-13T09:37:00.650-08:00Pillows<p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYBqBiLnR3nSXBaqXE_31L8PXd3pDWZeoyOY1-Q0FGHIa1ZttuWpy01-RLcFxnmireUcVohyphenhypheniuRHWKP_WWNxT_fechvkX6Yi3d-CLfZJ0pmBKM3y2thos4N5JmBsRTBBpHSj17IePhJlFtBVimFJFDlBXpbEm9EpNFtzS3aghyDuyBBIWwOVQ8MznLd0/s900/PILLOWS_IZZIES_001.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="900" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYBqBiLnR3nSXBaqXE_31L8PXd3pDWZeoyOY1-Q0FGHIa1ZttuWpy01-RLcFxnmireUcVohyphenhypheniuRHWKP_WWNxT_fechvkX6Yi3d-CLfZJ0pmBKM3y2thos4N5JmBsRTBBpHSj17IePhJlFtBVimFJFDlBXpbEm9EpNFtzS3aghyDuyBBIWwOVQ8MznLd0/s320/PILLOWS_IZZIES_001.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Izzie's</td></tr></tbody></table></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">These pillows are good quality, she thought. The price was acceptable. So, she bought them. She placed them in her garden, dreaming of perfect soireés with her super elegant friends dressed in their pricey clothes, smiling fake smiles, dragging along bored little husbands with perfect bank accounts that they spent in perfectly useless facial creams. Argh! She hated them. The pillows. Good quality. Well... Would they endure something rougher, she wondered, something a bit more... But then she remembered her mother's words "a clean conscience makes a soft pillow". Perhaps she shouldn't have wiped those perfect smiles off their faces.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39250" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-60817962120779359292024-01-07T17:02:00.000-08:002024-01-07T17:02:00.135-08:00Aurora<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2aQ0ap4HmJ6Yr5twwwFJWcXdVJvH1R09y1kfaiIZSAwm8pWxnGmmsskeDUCpgTPVQ3WNDSGuuFIdQissyE7ZGpNEcMe_-wtQIZ1zLmXzX09Bvg6MvjQE1DfwcKmhsp-z6renxRoierIg7ZNLTdK3tqYgOOxjvRZGDP_ZJfWm5jCGDdHbE3sLx8OAnxwk/s900/PICK%20TWO_WHISPERINGWIND.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="900" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2aQ0ap4HmJ6Yr5twwwFJWcXdVJvH1R09y1kfaiIZSAwm8pWxnGmmsskeDUCpgTPVQ3WNDSGuuFIdQissyE7ZGpNEcMe_-wtQIZ1zLmXzX09Bvg6MvjQE1DfwcKmhsp-z6renxRoierIg7ZNLTdK3tqYgOOxjvRZGDP_ZJfWm5jCGDdHbE3sLx8OAnxwk/s320/PICK%20TWO_WHISPERINGWIND.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whisperingwind</td></tr></tbody></table></p><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">"My name is Aurora," she said out loud over and over again. There were only a few days left till the end of the year. She was ready. Leave, she thought, leave. Go make your dreams come true. The dreamcatcher freed you from your nightmares. Just go. And she packed everything she had. A moment of hesitation made her stop. The door was open, just waiting for her to leave. She looked at the wall. "Come," she said. "Come with me." She took the dreamcatcher with her, an entanglement of past tears, hope and healing. "Aurora. My name is Aurora."</div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39232" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-49703367031877892272024-01-06T16:59:00.000-08:002024-01-06T16:59:00.139-08:00The Lion That Ate Cherries<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5gFyc1ZZ1DteGs4teAYmmNtA7n4C4B7sVda9jYceAnFxXEF6D6mdK22_XaM8rv5F24i8ECe2sPOiWQ-zArn7F5NDkHCJuxdjC_2kUlHhllXL6FQHmSQvsd6EEdTqyj35sAdEukgBXhs3yUGpWB6Z8hQbePVR4cb8dyWiEUe85l_-uAs_Pg3xuseDdP70/s900/THE%20LION%20THAT%20ATE%20%20CHERRIES_MistII.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="900" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5gFyc1ZZ1DteGs4teAYmmNtA7n4C4B7sVda9jYceAnFxXEF6D6mdK22_XaM8rv5F24i8ECe2sPOiWQ-zArn7F5NDkHCJuxdjC_2kUlHhllXL6FQHmSQvsd6EEdTqyj35sAdEukgBXhs3yUGpWB6Z8hQbePVR4cb8dyWiEUe85l_-uAs_Pg3xuseDdP70/s320/THE%20LION%20THAT%20ATE%20%20CHERRIES_MistII.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mistll</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">He was furious. The Lion That Ate Cherries? What kind of a Xmas gift was that?! He was a writer. He wanted books, not worthless pseudo-art. And, on top of it all, that creepy cousin, smirking... No! And then, it hit him. The photograph. He remembered the photograph. "I'll take it. The painting, yes." Everyone mocked him. He smiled. Two weeks later, he arrived at a remote village in Africa. An elderly woman opened the door. "I've been waiting for you." Right there, a whole library of first editions, rare books, a dream come true. "Your grandfather knew you'd understand." </div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39214" target="_blank">100 word Stories</a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div></span>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-4410319720267561542024-01-05T16:55:00.000-08:002024-01-05T16:55:00.134-08:00Eaten by Lions<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXysN_EvQwcfPSwG3ersWC0g_J2z1oO5E3HgTENtCn7E8eSgKkA8Vnfxgm7OMRqpC1VlPd1zsrScAhj6y3ZARZJWRZLZMpLAAC4-FNdwTWL4TBwgDRnMyUN7H7e_jOZEaLiN9ayCfBdSo0z1cV2faWxwUgdxuBOEAMTLuMQfWn0N-urW8nH_jkVK1eKfw/s900/EATEN%20BY%20LIONS_MilkWood.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="900" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXysN_EvQwcfPSwG3ersWC0g_J2z1oO5E3HgTENtCn7E8eSgKkA8Vnfxgm7OMRqpC1VlPd1zsrScAhj6y3ZARZJWRZLZMpLAAC4-FNdwTWL4TBwgDRnMyUN7H7e_jOZEaLiN9ayCfBdSo0z1cV2faWxwUgdxuBOEAMTLuMQfWn0N-urW8nH_jkVK1eKfw/s320/EATEN%20BY%20LIONS_MilkWood.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Milk%20Wood/76/48/22" target="_blank">Milk Wood</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He grabbed the book Eaten by Lions. The book was in the secret room.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gladiators, hungry lions. Boring. On top of it all, the blasted book weighed a ton.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">One day, two days, and his hair turned gray.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Three days, four days, and he looked like a 90 year old man.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The book changed too. It looked less dusty, less moldy.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And he couldn't remember a single word.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But why did his master want him to read that book?</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When he exited the tower, he understood why.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">His 90-year old master looked much younger.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Eaten, but definitely not by lions. </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39196" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-14405110414490197362024-01-04T16:55:00.000-08:002024-01-04T16:55:45.975-08:00Trailers<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx2GMKZUuh-jS_qIViCs0AJ7u97FidwRqyAAOIqBvec6h-aMxSSMCY472T17Bhg5G5U90JGNtGtNdziZ-7yfb70BVlGTTaRaqVQlPSlFEJ6RJ9rYR3cK0D0VZrVIdLBqGbJEAXdh4CGvGGMo-C4LQq3paNwJY3QWASNwzAStT5QESEQzo4UlgAVm_6358/s900/TRAILER_MilkWood_002.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="900" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx2GMKZUuh-jS_qIViCs0AJ7u97FidwRqyAAOIqBvec6h-aMxSSMCY472T17Bhg5G5U90JGNtGtNdziZ-7yfb70BVlGTTaRaqVQlPSlFEJ6RJ9rYR3cK0D0VZrVIdLBqGbJEAXdh4CGvGGMo-C4LQq3paNwJY3QWASNwzAStT5QESEQzo4UlgAVm_6358/s320/TRAILER_MilkWood_002.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Milk%20Wood/76/48/22" target="_blank">Milk Wood</a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A pot of tulips. Why hadn't she tossed it in the garbage when Mr. I-Love-Tulips left her? No, she took it to the trailer, all she could afford now. When enough tulips had bloomed, she cut them all off and sent them to his workplace, with a note. “You forgot these.” Yes, it was petty. Yes, it was vindictive. However, she decided to grow some more tulips and send them to him for his birthday. She was sure he'd be horrified to see tulips without a pot. Dead and all that. Life's tough. But at least, he would have tulips.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39179" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-49872393556227334482023-12-03T08:30:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:09:13.993-08:00Contact Lens<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHnIn3Sq1I9iVbEJTVLSCY8bElEL3C-PO6ZD5-UjEYx32S9MuYoLH9VAn3MjO4GIoiqPhvw6WMhrTlyspG47gpK1XyGwPg4t0sWwqn5xZjN5LlZWZBHKh-8ErZQ4jzngFJuOkefZ-CiFogwFMVh2Is9f62CbLTMGkqkWWN8VBwxjaeWRhh9-H1kdR5dIM/s900/CONTACT%20LENS_Borgatti.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="900" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHnIn3Sq1I9iVbEJTVLSCY8bElEL3C-PO6ZD5-UjEYx32S9MuYoLH9VAn3MjO4GIoiqPhvw6WMhrTlyspG47gpK1XyGwPg4t0sWwqn5xZjN5LlZWZBHKh-8ErZQ4jzngFJuOkefZ-CiFogwFMVh2Is9f62CbLTMGkqkWWN8VBwxjaeWRhh9-H1kdR5dIM/s320/CONTACT%20LENS_Borgatti.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Borgatti</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"What kind of flower is that?" She asked.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"This is a very special flower," he answered.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"What do you mean?"</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"It's a contact lens. It helps us to see the future."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She looked unsure.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"The future?"</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Yep."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She looked even more unsure.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"How so?"</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Look."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Then, he whispered and the flower wavered slightly in the wind.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"In a year's time, this garden will be wonderful, full of life, and filled with beautiful flowers. You know why? Because when you cherish something, everything flourishes."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She smiled.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Just as he thought, that small flower helped with a lot more than the future.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39165" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-49164750995993757302023-12-01T13:30:00.000-08:002023-12-01T16:45:22.523-08:00NaNoWriMo 2023<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9F7cN5gHpLfn3cAgQRM_qOfB3lBu5lGCh_qcFw1wCb6ISfDKwuhfOtig2kra1UZE9BXhyphenhyphenDeaG-fuLF4b9DsRYF7pUnhPqapnib8AfElRcGdXW1fk63xLie2FNTeJvK8JTDYdbyx-PZwS9k_XO6p__HdPKElS-aY-1BnKUV2xDAEynw5dLjcHrA44v2gA/s1000/2023-Winner-Badge.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9F7cN5gHpLfn3cAgQRM_qOfB3lBu5lGCh_qcFw1wCb6ISfDKwuhfOtig2kra1UZE9BXhyphenhyphenDeaG-fuLF4b9DsRYF7pUnhPqapnib8AfElRcGdXW1fk63xLie2FNTeJvK8JTDYdbyx-PZwS9k_XO6p__HdPKElS-aY-1BnKUV2xDAEynw5dLjcHrA44v2gA/w201-h201/2023-Winner-Badge.png" width="201" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Goal achieved....</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">However, this year's NaNoWriMo left a bitter aftertaste.</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I have been a WriMo since 2013. I have written several novels and I have spent many hours editing and revising stories, both fictional and non-fictional. As an active member of a writing community, the <a href="https://world.secondlife.com/group/47d6f19f-9a40-6bf7-2f2b-676fb6ce27ae?lang=en-US" target="_blank">Virtual Writers</a>, I have hosted a countless number of writing sprints. I have hosted a couple of workshops on writing in general and on writing in a <a href="https://secondlife.com" target="_blank">virtual world</a> in particular. I have always tried my best to motivate and encourage my fellow writers when the dreaded NaNo slump takes place, usually during the second week of November. All this to show you how committed I have been, over the years, to the NaNoWriMo project.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And then... a bomb exploded.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Right when we didn't need any distraction, in mid-November, very concerning information came to light about the forums, how they were moderated, and about some of the moderators.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I don't like forums. I don't use forums. So, I was horrified, to say the least, when I read the testimonies of many forum users, especially but not only, those in the Youth Writing Program (underage kids) about the way the forums were moderated. Some of these testimonies mentioned actions that are clearly indictable offenses.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was even more horrified when I realized that forum users, including underage kids, had been drawing attention to these issues for months, if not years.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I don't know why this went on for so long without being addressed.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As a result, I now avoid associating myself with NaNoWriMo in any way, including hosting writing sprints during NaNoWriMo events.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My writing community has removed all references to NaNoWriMo in our resource material, and we are seriously considering organizing a writing event by ourselves. A final decision will be made before the April Camp NaNoWriMo.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Soooo....</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">What started so well, took a clear tumble.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qAE-xH-ge_GS-ahSjsKvG-vfA8gIH_Q_e3aZdXwf6_n3hmhOljDx9zZ4siiNz0n82pauTSK9L_w-IbykXYYpoULZAr-Ni4U0e4HwO561w5baEc9BsYYEUB6JIrc2fmNjjjW1G3p6CFg3yyX6ndUbjLl2ldcHZJJWOzp2a1QL_0oG6ZzPTMatl8xSIkw/s1006/8b903c39a4a8341db0183e432a186a42.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="1006" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qAE-xH-ge_GS-ahSjsKvG-vfA8gIH_Q_e3aZdXwf6_n3hmhOljDx9zZ4siiNz0n82pauTSK9L_w-IbykXYYpoULZAr-Ni4U0e4HwO561w5baEc9BsYYEUB6JIrc2fmNjjjW1G3p6CFg3yyX6ndUbjLl2ldcHZJJWOzp2a1QL_0oG6ZzPTMatl8xSIkw/s320/8b903c39a4a8341db0183e432a186a42.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I was, nevertheless, able to keep my head above the waterline.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsx-zM2-6xbsDkVLjTNbRTqYdZQF4tAslVOoJzMS2h-HZUAm13pAUOmIFzoMAennif-LflbzRsVfpTEMYXUlmyecui1p2ISRSs6-IEJeFu0ppoF2YaSye2AXsalHGYcQMvZ0kzDjjxMdoB5Ts8p0jA3yJal6-y3yBnVW0Zowb2rIwqGPwuHsOH6Dfo9EA/s1012/3228c4b8b916a790f3a0068e37ec4ac4.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="1012" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsx-zM2-6xbsDkVLjTNbRTqYdZQF4tAslVOoJzMS2h-HZUAm13pAUOmIFzoMAennif-LflbzRsVfpTEMYXUlmyecui1p2ISRSs6-IEJeFu0ppoF2YaSye2AXsalHGYcQMvZ0kzDjjxMdoB5Ts8p0jA3yJal6-y3yBnVW0Zowb2rIwqGPwuHsOH6Dfo9EA/s320/3228c4b8b916a790f3a0068e37ec4ac4.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And finish what I started.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdI5we6WjnYr8eo4J1RtLnXotNRZrXVOJ7k3OuTVxWkfDfOM27Pjc6ksrXRQa2D1t91v5pk6nOarNGFYRi-oJ-DL8d8MWUIydF-hKzKtH088AL3qtgEtYjHhXwHCS2JUyYYTHql5sGBp9bpsVTgESgOSu9W7iWThDzZ-Wxa6qI2aFnlrIJ5AQRZqhjNQQ/s1126/18d170b09f47304a67265dc47ef705a2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="1126" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdI5we6WjnYr8eo4J1RtLnXotNRZrXVOJ7k3OuTVxWkfDfOM27Pjc6ksrXRQa2D1t91v5pk6nOarNGFYRi-oJ-DL8d8MWUIydF-hKzKtH088AL3qtgEtYjHhXwHCS2JUyYYTHql5sGBp9bpsVTgESgOSu9W7iWThDzZ-Wxa6qI2aFnlrIJ5AQRZqhjNQQ/s320/18d170b09f47304a67265dc47ef705a2.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I did miss a few goals (grayed out icons).</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLAg-0TRc0upO25gUmyRrjjL7UkEqztzX3Whu3nLT939oGpht0Odo0UkST1GBmi5wozBoIy8sx0J3CCzfO5j48FGlG_K1Wh-pvF6-gwxyihxvVPho6BGhash04P9f67cZOLHtiSmue0s_lBb5rAFiJS_REdt3OyN2UTAK4UQBm6UZ64GDQQnwq3qYOmV0/s1070/70908d291ae4d96b75efe084488c51d8.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="857" data-original-width="1070" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLAg-0TRc0upO25gUmyRrjjL7UkEqztzX3Whu3nLT939oGpht0Odo0UkST1GBmi5wozBoIy8sx0J3CCzfO5j48FGlG_K1Wh-pvF6-gwxyihxvVPho6BGhash04P9f67cZOLHtiSmue0s_lBb5rAFiJS_REdt3OyN2UTAK4UQBm6UZ64GDQQnwq3qYOmV0/s320/70908d291ae4d96b75efe084488c51d8.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But I managed to drag myself to the finish line.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It's sad that such an amazing idea (I'd even say energy), that prompts people from all over the world to write their stories, ends up facing such a serious hurdle. The allegations made were so shocking, especially those involving underage kids that, as a former educator, I will not suggest NaNoWriMo to anyone else and I will definitely not recommend the Youth Writing Program.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">May this storm be the motivation to (re)build on more solid ground.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-25718832798000559222023-11-26T00:30:00.004-08:002024-01-04T17:06:15.011-08:00Brand Awareness Report<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY_5SCRiSV5rSjquTuuy4fGswFeXUCij2-JbGjdoKJ5Ah-EukEByCSmLnW-0Fku27exjah7BtM-4GrCWGNhHUxKCIufBxWZv4jqeNxRmzjxgf4mrG3QfOiUJqoyUN05cJLcwwEZA7TQDVZidzFgUgPjb3YW4fyMtCnI1kNNXrJN4jq3u6yLQ8sbUD1PA/s1920/PICKTWO_Wondeland2.0_011.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1920" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVY_5SCRiSV5rSjquTuuy4fGswFeXUCij2-JbGjdoKJ5Ah-EukEByCSmLnW-0Fku27exjah7BtM-4GrCWGNhHUxKCIufBxWZv4jqeNxRmzjxgf4mrG3QfOiUJqoyUN05cJLcwwEZA7TQDVZidzFgUgPjb3YW4fyMtCnI1kNNXrJN4jq3u6yLQ8sbUD1PA/s320/PICKTWO_Wondeland2.0_011.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wonderland 2.0</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">The secretary was rushing back and forth, folders everywhere. She was so upset that a pile of papers started to spin around all the way to the ceiling. "What's happening?" She threw her hands in the air. "Brand awareness report. I have 10 minutes. 10 minutes?!" He offered to help, but at that point everything was beyond any help. "I quit, there." And she stormed out of the office, a trail of paperwork swirling behind her. He just stood in the corridor, wondering how she had managed to get the papers to do that, a shiver going down his spine.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39149" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-71592398413651350832023-11-19T00:30:00.001-08:002024-01-04T17:07:42.189-08:00Bread<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3nyne3jSjHBEHEdKc6Oc4j2SrYu4uQQXPZUoqBa-1nnIPR5-Bi3o1r_FfU0fXasSMW6Gq3QyHt3vJEe5FBlUCgnpO1gvfU4baFy1zMuVwD_1Fk6EcXqgBB2IyazizhmVH44x6wfPIKZhKJYFdIC6PmSetNtpYoRpxx3rb5u-abQdb_cURyLqsJL2ARw/s1024/BREAD_seni_seviyorum_AsaliaHouse_016.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="1024" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3nyne3jSjHBEHEdKc6Oc4j2SrYu4uQQXPZUoqBa-1nnIPR5-Bi3o1r_FfU0fXasSMW6Gq3QyHt3vJEe5FBlUCgnpO1gvfU4baFy1zMuVwD_1Fk6EcXqgBB2IyazizhmVH44x6wfPIKZhKJYFdIC6PmSetNtpYoRpxx3rb5u-abQdb_cURyLqsJL2ARw/s320/BREAD_seni_seviyorum_AsaliaHouse_016.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Asalia House</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">"Bread crumbs, I need bread crumbs," thought the restless crow. He wasn't hungry. He just wanted bread crumbs. He read a story about dropping bread crumbs to leave a trail. He wanted to leave a trail! People would trickle out of the forest into the open field and marvel at his beauty! But he found no bread crumbs. He did consider resorting to his collection of glass eyes, but it was becoming more and more difficult to steal them from grumpy Old Maggie. So, he just sat on his scarecrow and waited. And he waited for a very long time!</div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39132" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-74949515132692384062023-11-12T00:30:00.006-08:002024-01-04T17:08:11.245-08:00Stolen<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNzpML-qHyHplmkjBDC1DQ-gkwdlON4Z-tEmZNfQS0qI5h63qMNhXlJvdDjoNkguwOKmuDwH4ev8IJTv0HbsvT_fOdDqzgnxB3s8aD9RCO5NBP_dKoQ3W8_iO6fTMI0x7D8cUIPprzDwS3o_qLwO3qmp1kmSoPAvx3P2V4vw6qe0B6tTP8HlLePrvg1w/s1920/STOLEN_Milk%20Wood_005.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1920" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNzpML-qHyHplmkjBDC1DQ-gkwdlON4Z-tEmZNfQS0qI5h63qMNhXlJvdDjoNkguwOKmuDwH4ev8IJTv0HbsvT_fOdDqzgnxB3s8aD9RCO5NBP_dKoQ3W8_iO6fTMI0x7D8cUIPprzDwS3o_qLwO3qmp1kmSoPAvx3P2V4vw6qe0B6tTP8HlLePrvg1w/s320/STOLEN_Milk%20Wood_005.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milk Wood</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">"Nothing but a crappy painting. A bunch of odd flowers on a dark blue background," she said. The neighbor advised her to have an expert look at it. "Preposterous!" She knew her art. So, she tossed it in the dumpster. When it was dark, the neighbor grabbed it. He wasn't stealing it! He had it appraised and... it was worth a million bucks! He bought a new house and a new car and told everyone he had won the lottery, just in case. Oh, and he still drives by the old house to check the neighborhood dumpster for crappy artwork.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39116" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-59272125938465672612023-11-05T01:30:00.002-07:002024-01-04T17:08:40.363-08:00Detail<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sbK3ldDR7lkoOnY5xU1uLlQLoh53bVOmwTDp6ZZrenScv7dqQ18n623G41PhI5apXA04-G8AOHN0iKbPDe_AmDUU4CUCQPcE5JFrEu1Ox2L_u8bUIcMywSbbZqjy6iZBvxEBr-4bNVxJ0VGri9u2VJZvj4oUQH7ppcZDh6b-3hMd0gCY7uhzbl0iXr4/s1920/DETAIL_Nostalgia%20by%20Cicca_011.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1920" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sbK3ldDR7lkoOnY5xU1uLlQLoh53bVOmwTDp6ZZrenScv7dqQ18n623G41PhI5apXA04-G8AOHN0iKbPDe_AmDUU4CUCQPcE5JFrEu1Ox2L_u8bUIcMywSbbZqjy6iZBvxEBr-4bNVxJ0VGri9u2VJZvj4oUQH7ppcZDh6b-3hMd0gCY7uhzbl0iXr4/s320/DETAIL_Nostalgia%20by%20Cicca_011.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nostalgia by Cicca</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">The doors to the art exhibition opened and a flood of enthusiastic visitors roamed the room. One piece in particular caught everyone's attention. "The detail is remarkable," they said. "Art is a remarkable... thing, isn't it?" And someone replied "Yes, it is, remarkable!" People stared at three copper panels, a nose and two eyes, gigantic and kind of lopsided. "Just remarkable!" And this continued for hours, the word remarkable passing on from visitor to visitor like the plague. Suddenly, the eyes bulged and the nose sneezed on the stunned visitors who quickly decided that art wasn't that remarkable after all.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39097" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-26397515241527107452023-11-02T11:00:00.002-07:002023-11-03T12:37:25.435-07:00NaNoWriMo 2023 Pep Talk<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZE1XcdwEocTcJzUtvGtNmzm4yrb5eExVv2iJZCJJzHabHMNq91xXL2uXbVAXcRT1NOhL0HvPRfp95Ji-VDQ8gVC1mfS5gUSMwq38l1tukADpWMcvl5v6eCh4ff9ROQ7XkrCAVIE2O9uSBSgBY_H65Rec7qKo_vINzDves9Rqo8Y9JnDcYfPKQV7ca1s/s1920/MWwriting_007.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1920" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZE1XcdwEocTcJzUtvGtNmzm4yrb5eExVv2iJZCJJzHabHMNq91xXL2uXbVAXcRT1NOhL0HvPRfp95Ji-VDQ8gVC1mfS5gUSMwq38l1tukADpWMcvl5v6eCh4ff9ROQ7XkrCAVIE2O9uSBSgBY_H65Rec7qKo_vINzDves9Rqo8Y9JnDcYfPKQV7ca1s/w400-h209/MWwriting_007.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Milk%20Wood/76/48/22" target="_blank">Milk Wood</a></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span><div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: start;"><span style="text-align: center;">Pep Talk written for the </span><a href="https://www.virtualwriters.org/category/nanowrimo/" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Virtual Writers</a><span style="text-align: center;"> in </span><a href="https://secondlife.com" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Second Life</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Ignite Your Creative Fire: A Pep Talk for the National Novel Writing Month</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Welcome, writers, to the National Novel Writing Month!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Whether you have mapped your way thoroughly for the upcoming month or you have decided to ride the wave of spontaneity, the time has come for you to embark on an exhilarating adventure.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the whirlwind of <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/sign-in" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a>, momentum is your greatest ally. Just keep writing, even when your characters decide to rebel or the story seems to run amok. Remember, the first draft is not meant to be perfect; it's all about capturing the essence of your story. Allow your ideas to flow freely. Let your imagination run wild. Word after word, chapter after chapter, build the foundations of your novel.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Every writer faces rough times during the writing process, moments when inspiration seems to vanish and motivation fades. These hurdles are part of your journey. Instead of growing disheartened, view these challenges as opportunities for self-discovery. It's OK to doubt yourself. But know that you will become a stronger and better writer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Writing can sometimes feel like a solitary endeavor, but during NaNoWriMo, you're not alone. Engage with your fellow writers who are also on this journey. Connect with your writing buddies who can offer encouragement and support. You're part of a collective undertaking. A strong support system provides the motivation you need to keep pushing forward.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As National Novel Writing Month starts, remember that you have the power to create something remarkable. Believe in your ability to write stories that captivate, characters that come to life, and worlds that take readers on fascinating travels. Enjoy the journey! It is as much about self-discovery as it is about writing a novel. NaNoWriMo is your chance to ignite your creative fire and unleash your potential.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, go forth, fearless writers, and write your way to greatness!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Daily writing sessions at 8am SLT @ <a href="https://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Milk%20Wood/76/48/22" target="_blank">Milk Wood</a> . Join us!</div><br /></div></div></div>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-44873811828481746782023-10-29T01:30:00.003-07:002023-11-03T12:53:16.201-07:00A Vision of Everything<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9OjVCLdxvcbBzpFcz2JP2u97bonZ6DTCvuUzxl09U2kTiW48EmOCSrQ7fEbYwmitlEB8zg4FOQNyrtdMgpxOflpdAxUux2ur7N6aHMta_-fpuDTHhBLNq0wPZdPnw60qucrFTABjUbQY8aSyNJOpdqhLkzE4HImDBnQrFAOfRsZ5352FXHr4Flwhpas/s900/PICKTWO_timsdreams4.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="900" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9OjVCLdxvcbBzpFcz2JP2u97bonZ6DTCvuUzxl09U2kTiW48EmOCSrQ7fEbYwmitlEB8zg4FOQNyrtdMgpxOflpdAxUux2ur7N6aHMta_-fpuDTHhBLNq0wPZdPnw60qucrFTABjUbQY8aSyNJOpdqhLkzE4HImDBnQrFAOfRsZ5352FXHr4Flwhpas/s320/PICKTWO_timsdreams4.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim's Dreams</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Black and white. A vision of nothingness inside a vision of everything.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And he points. No one knows.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And he moves forward, alone. The balloons he 's holding will be black. The stars hanging from them will be black.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And the more they fly, the less white he will see.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And nothing is there anymore. Just stars hanging from balloons, flying away in silence, ahead of him. No one knows.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And he stops. He wants to smile, but he can't.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Three cheers and all that. Be brave and all that.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Black and white. A vision of everything ahead of nothing.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39071" target="_blank">100 Words Stories</a></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3438935697417813122.post-24751297042101269402023-10-22T00:30:00.002-07:002023-11-03T12:52:36.516-07:00Rat Stew<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLkBDYgXAF_uvBoYKXP9MbS7g7lHzmnSDzF9ZVbLitSTHlEvmA0DoYvUgvZcCySbHH2AqtyH9CxySpQKtuSkFujOmiUWSf_biPuW0REXgM-QnBB5EQjTNPNRdIT0dAfiFjxCGKJ_V_9AUt99dBtVeSQ_phP0JfP5-z-FUEybv93pRGeOw2K1pplf4BLk/s900/RATSTEW_Goatwood2023_008.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="900" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLkBDYgXAF_uvBoYKXP9MbS7g7lHzmnSDzF9ZVbLitSTHlEvmA0DoYvUgvZcCySbHH2AqtyH9CxySpQKtuSkFujOmiUWSf_biPuW0REXgM-QnBB5EQjTNPNRdIT0dAfiFjxCGKJ_V_9AUt99dBtVeSQ_phP0JfP5-z-FUEybv93pRGeOw2K1pplf4BLk/s320/RATSTEW_Goatwood2023_008.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goatswood 2023</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Not inside the cave," they said.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Why? No one answered.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Onward to the cave then.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There was nothing much going on. A few shields with Viking drawings, a few contraptions made of tiny bones, and a dead body.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She couldn't understand what the fuss was all about. Perhaps it was the cattle skull on the wall.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Rat this, rat that. Stew?! No, thank you," she said out loud. "This dead man looks remarkably good for a dead person."</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And then... She didn't see it coming.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The dead man was not dead and, much to her misfortune, she was a rat.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://oneadayuntilthedayidie.com/?p=39064" target="_blank">100 Word Stories</a></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Lizzie Gudkovhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17417393726067025555noreply@blogger.com0