Remember

Milk Wood

 The vet's schedule is imprinted on my brain. For many months, that was the most important schedule in my life. Mondays and Tuesdays, morning and afternoon. Wednesdays, afternoon and evening. Thursdays, night shift. Fridays, not there. There were other vets there, of course, but... It wasn't the same thing. They hesitated, read the files ten times, messed up the meds. And I used to ask, not sure whom, please, please, don't let him get really ill on a Friday. Or weekend. The vet's schedule is still imprinted on my brain, but I don't need it anymore. My kitty is gone.

100 Word Stories

Unlimited

France Portnawak

 

The phone call was short. The woman spoke fast. The construction or something... The hall is too small...

She spoke too fast. The construction was fine. He checked. The hall was fine too.

The phone call was short. She blabbered a few words. And she hung up. The construction she said, the hall...?

What does she know? She heard stories about this and that and she had the gall to think she could replace him, yes, the gall.

The other phone call was also short. "How much?" The man also replied fast.

No one would ever take his place. Ever.

100 Word Stories

Behind a Bush

Beltane

Just pretend that fog is wonderful.

Just pretend the trees are magnificent.

Pretend, just pretend the rays of sun are not burning the grass dry.

Pretend.

Part from your heart.

Part from your soul.

Someone will look for you.

Someone will shout for you.

Just pretend you're not sinking, pretend your whole life is not running through your head, a host of bizarre what ifs.

Just pretend you can still move your legs, pretend the thick mud is not pulling you down, dragging your dreams into the darkness.

Dreams?

There are no dreams. Only tragic nightmares. And the suffocating fog.

100 Word Stories

Tilting

Time Remains

Imagine being in hospital. You can't move. You can barely breathe.

No one believes you.

Imagine peering through the window and seeing the elegant bridge crossing the river all lit up, beautiful at night.

Imagine the little dots of light coming from the fishing boats, like fireflies.

Yes, imagine smiling and thinking I will die in a few minutes, but I'll die having the most gorgeous view.

Imagine they still don't believe you. And you still can't breathe.

But you're smiling. You're smiling because that tilted postcard window is your hope, your only hope, the hope that keeps you breathing.

100 Word Stories

A toast!

Inaka

“A toast! My kingdom for a toast!” The crowd at the café chuckled. They all knew him. They all loved his silly jokes. The room was always dark. That gave them a sense of protection and the silly, often crude, jokes made them feel like they belonged. One day he didn't show up. They looked for him everywhere. Weeks went by. Then they received a letter at the café. "I'm fine. I got a job digging up some ruins. The archaeologists are OK. But they lack one thing. They don't have toast!" The crowd at the café chuckled once again.

100 Word Stories

Wine

Collins Land

Everyone sat at the table and toasted. Everyone smiled. Yes, that fake smile that goes well with wine and the possibility of a new job. He thought about the cool car he'd buy, the shinny new apartment, even the weekend lodge by the lake. And then he blurted out that stupid thing. He had to say it, didn't he? Why? Because he was a moron. "This wine is not one of the best I have had." No more job for you, you simpleton. Why had he decided to apply for a job at a winery? He didn't even like wine.

100 Word Stories

Pizza

Collins Land

It's the best food on earth, he said. What did you put in this? It tastes funny. Oh, it's the seasoning. I can't remember, but I tossed everything I had on it. And he laughed, amused by his friends' hesitation. Eat it, eat it. I made plenty of them for the picnic. And they did eat. When they started dropping like flies, he scratched the name of each one of them out from a list. He had that list since he was 13, when they made him eat pizza with rat meat in it. Revenge is such a sweet thing.

100 Word Stories

Small Talk

Annwn Willows

Small talk is such an effective way of getting to know people, he thought. The event was promoted as an informal get-together to meet your soulmate. He needed a soulmate, desperately. After the usual introductions and polite smiles, the whole conversation took an unexpected turn when one of the ladies said she enjoyed being tossed in the river. At first, he didn't understand what she meant. He laughed nervously and he noticed she did have a strange color. "It's the river," she said. "Too much pollution." He nodded. Let's just say he didn't find his soulmate. He wasn't that desperate.

100 Word Stories

To and Too

Binemist

This train was too cramped. But she had no other option than to take this one.

A man was playing with a rope.

Too cramped, too awkward.

She wanted to get there quickly. The boat was ready and she was ready. Sailing around the world was her dream, and that dream was so close. She only needed to survive this bloody crowded train.

Suddenly, the train hiccuped, startling everyone.

When she woke up, a rope tied her to a pipe on the wall and the police were knocking at the door.

She wanted to scream. Horrified, she realized she couldn't...

100 Word Stories

How Does That Grab You?

ChangHigh Trinity Sisters

"How does that grab you?"

Silence. Her friend shrugged, a hint of contempt dripping from his lips.

"Any other ideas?"

Her friend shrugged again.

She was on the verge of screaming and tossing all the brochures in the garbage.

"No cruise, too many germs. No camping, too many bugs. No flying, too many.. what was it again?"

Her friend sneered. She could see he was amused and that only made things worse.

"What about the show?"

He shrugged.

"Bloody hell. Just tell me what you want."

He turned and walked away.

She nodded.

"Yep, not worth it. Glad it's over."

100 Word Stories

Get a Life

Trip, fall, get up, stand straight.

Trip, fall, get up, stand straight.

Trip, fall, get up, stand straight.

Drip, crawl, fed up, stand straight.

Drip, maul, fed up, stand.

Blip, tall, fed up, stand.

Trip, trip, drip, blip.

Sip.

Stand.

Straight.

Hate, hate, hate!

Hate...

Well, trip, stand, wait.

The tap sang this song. Drip, trip, blip. On and on.

Stand, wait, stand, wait.

The tap sang this song. On and on.

Skip, blip.

Skip, stand.

Skip, wait.

Skip, the tap sang this song, skip.

No.

Skip.

No.

Slip.

No.

Stand.

Life? What? Life?

What life?

Get a life.

Trip.

100 Word Stories

Why is Mother Crying?

Collins Land

Why is mother crying? 

Why does she not listen? 

Why is she stubborn? 

Why? 

Why does she live in the past? 

Why does she have those photos up on the wall? 

The architect. The painter. The President. 

Why? 

They tried, she said once, but she was too good for them. 

Why? 

She sneered in contempt. She was too good for them. 

Why is mother crying? 

Why? 

They never acknowledged her talent, never. 

Why? 

She shrugged away their stupidity. 

Why? 

She doesn't care. She doesn't listen. She is stubborn and will never change. 

Why is mother crying? 

That's why, that's why.

100 Word Stories

Fire

Collins Land

The fire crackled, sputtering snapping sounds. 

The evening began with a quiet conversation about something, she couldn't remember what. 

Then, slowly but surely, everything started collapsing. He snapped, venomous words, venomous sentences and venomous hatred. He sputtered spite and a storm of grudges, loading and malevolence. His skin sizzled, tiny drops of sweat popping here and there on his forehead. 

She sat in silence. The fire used to look so beautiful, so warm and welcoming. But, for some reason, it didn't today. 

Silence, the whole evening. And the fire spoke and crackled and snapped. 

The next morning, she was gone.

100 Word Stories

Target No More

Time Remains

"This is the hand that feeds you!"

The boys' silence screamed horrors of pain and misery.

There was only one way out of this. They knew it.

That evening, while the police scoped the house, all three boys, aged 5, 8 and 14, sat outside. None of them spoke, not even the 5 year old. They knew nothing. The father had walked into the woods and had never returned.

An aunt came over. The police left.

The dresser had to go. The hidden compartment, they had found long ago, came in handy after all. The body would never be found.

100 Word Stories

Fruitcake

Time Remains

The teenagers sat side by side. "What is it like to live with a dead person?" he asked. She looked down. Then she looked up again and stared at the horizon. He knew what she meant. He was living with a dead person too but had never admitted it to anyone else. He sat closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I'm not crazy," she said. "I know..." he whispered. "She's just dead inside and she doesn't know it." He nodded. That's when he knew he would be the one to take her away from it all.

100 Word Stories

Pick One

 

Time Remains

Pick one, they said. Yeah. Easier said than done. There were so many wonderful pieces available and he just couldn't choose one. So, he decided to do what anyone else would. Flip a coin, right? He smiled. OK, that one will do fine. Everyone said he was always distracted and this time he would prove them wrong. This was just perfect. A March! There! When he was kicked out, the groom's father was foaming at the mouth and roaring "This is the bloody Funeral March, the Funeral March". He just whispered "Well, the poor bride didn't look that happy anyway".

100 Word Stories

Still

 

Milk Wood

He looked outside. Nothing... He squinted and felt trapped. The river was still there, flowing freely. But where were they? No boats, no whales, no dragons. They weren't coming after all, were they? He squinted again and thought he saw a... No, nothing. The people here mustn't know he was expecting them. Then the horn sounded. Alarm, alarm. He rushed back to the window, but... "Ronnie, what's going on?" He shook his head. "Come on. It's time. Let's get you bathed." He knew one day they'd come and rescue him. "And don't forget to take your pills," said the nurse.

100 Word Stories

Puppet No More

Gehena Vampire Clan

She hated being a puppet in his hands. What gave her some peace was walking down the pathway with the old trees. One day, she noticed something shiny to the right. A marble perhaps? The next day, she brought some beads and left them there. And that's when the gifts appeared on the pathway. First a bit of glass. Then, a button, an old key. It made her smile. It gave her strength. And she said "no more". She walked away from him, for good. Today, she still walks that pathway, exchanging gifts with her new friend, a very generous crow.

100 Word Stories

NaNoWriMo Pep Talk

Milk Wood

NaNoWriMo 2020 Pep Talk for the Virtual Writers blog. Posted here for my future reference.

Milk Wood, Virtual Writers

Lizzie Gudkov

November 7, 2020

Time usually flies pretty quickly when we're immersed in a writing project. Yet, it seems to fly even quicker in November! After the fast-paced, highly motivated writing happening at the beginning of the month, your writing pace seems to be slowing down. And you're panicking, right? I know I am... What can we do?

I'm sure you've heard it all before. Write this way, don't write that way, take notes, don't take notes, keep going, take a break. What?! Get me out of here!! 

No! Don't go! You cannot give up. Writing is tough. Yes, it is. Life happens. Yes, it does. However, giving up is not an option. 

So, here are five ideas to get you unstuck during NaNoWriMo®! 

And Then What? – if you go beyond the end of your story, what happens then? What can you bring into your plot from what happens outside its framework? 

You Are a Character in Your Own Book Now! - What if YOU waltzed into your own story? Would you admonish one of your characters? Would you encourage anyone? Would you rearrange the furniture? *grin* Would you get annoyed and go wash those dirty dishes in the sink yourself? Get your characters moving around you, and *evil grin* eavesdrop on what they are saying about you behind your back! 

Upside Down – what if the good became bad and the bad became angels? How would your terribly evil character act as an angel? What would he do if you told him he has to behave? You can even sneak inside your story again and tell him yourself. How would he react? Would he throw a tantrum? Ha! 

A Wombat? A Shoebill? A Glass Frog? - transform all your characters into animals and see how they would relate to one another. Try to think of unusual animals. Make one hate the color of the other! Or love it, and be extremely annoying because he wants to take a photo for his social media! 

Who Are You?! – what if a character from your favorite author decides to waltz into your story? How would your main character react? What kind of impact would it have on the other characters? Would all your characters, friends and foes, unite to expel him from your story? And how about the story itself? How would it change? Could there be any secret alliances in the making after this unexpected intruder was kicked out? 

These are only a few fun activities that will trick your brain out of being stuck. Will they help increase the word-count? I don't know. Will they trigger fresh ideas for your plot? I really don't know. But one thing will happen for sure. You will not give up! 

Keep writing. You can do this! 

See you at Milk Wood. :) 

Lizzie 

--------------

Lizzie Gudkov is a fiction writer born in Portugal. After a career as a teacher of English, she rediscovered writing. In her blog http://lizziegudkov.blogspot.com, she features fiction mostly (micro, flash and short fiction), but also poetry and a few opinion articles. She is also a six time winner of the NaNoWriMo and a five time winner of the Camp NaNoWriMo. As part of her writing path, Lizzie hosts and takes part in multiple writing events, largely in the virtual world of Second Life®. 

Social Links: Blog | Facebook

NaNoWriMo 2020

 

Cluster

 

Candia Urban Lounge

Throw it in the bin and forget about it.

But this area is a cluster of infected cases.

Throw it in the bin and forget it.

Walking away is not an easy task when your conscience nags you.

He had to go back. He grabbed the bin, dragged it away to the dump area and chuck it into the fire.

The bin was closed the whole time. He made sure of it.

When he got ill, he was tossed in that same neighborhood, forgotten.

The others, they kept throwing infected stuff in the bin, carelessly, just like they did before.

100 Word Stories

Chainsaw

Enoshima

Grasp a line of thought. Or try to.

And those animal heads mounted on the wall. The moody embalmed fish that was supposed to look alive and looked even deader. All conspiring to kill.

The door swung open and there it was. They dumped it on the table.

To work.

The chainsaw slashed through the skin, the meat, the bones. Cracking sounds signing the final surrender.

A leg, another leg. An arm, another arm.

The head... Oh, the head... That grimace of anger.

Good thing they didn't have to mount her head on the wall. The fish wouldn't like it.

100 Word Stories

Plump

 

Avidya

The herb expert always had a suggestion and a word of advice.

“And to lose weight?"

Herbs. He took them all.

And then the cramps, the headache, the nausea, the vomiting.

He went to hospital.

"What did you take?"

“This and that,” he replied uneasy, “this and that.”

When he got home, he took some more. He wanted to be elegant and fit into those tight jeans he bought by mistake.

More cramps, more headaches. The nausea, oh, the nausea.

Herbs for this, herbs for that. Enough.

"Fuck the jeans," he cried out loud. "Fuck the expert. I like plump!"

100 Word Stories

Revolution

Betelgeuse

A giant creature moved forward sluggishly, its head bowed down.

They knew it was coming. They thought they had enough time to prepare themselves.

They drafted a plan. They created the trap.

They didn't monitor its growth. It's OK, some said, it'll be fine.

When they saw it, they knew they were in trouble.

Who'll be the sacrificial hero? Who? No one wanted to be a hero.

Arguments, fighting. Some died. Let's feed those to the beast. No, no respect for the dead.

Some were imprisoned.

Yes, let the revolution begin now... before everyone gets killed, one way or another.

100 Word Stories

The Faint Sound of a Piano

BCC

The faint sound of a piano reminded her that she had to change...

From her tower of self-righteousness, she knew everything better than anyone. But she felt hopeless. She couldn't reach out. Pack up your past and put it away now, she thought. This is not what you want. You want to be happy. But she couldn't. She just couldn't. It was far too late. She had to put up that front. She knew better, she was smarter, she just was.

The faint sound of a piano made her cry. She was so lonely and it was everyone else's fault.

100 Word Stories

Kitten

Collins

I dream of you in colors that don't exist. In sounds that are as silent as a forest full of life.

I dream of you sitting next to me, cloaked in shiny certainty, wrapped in playful energy.

I dream of you being you and jumping and running.

I whisper a thousand moments of you.

I whisper and smile, desperately trying to keep you here.

I breathe the past to escape the now. But you're not here anymore.

And you'll never be here again. Never again.

I have to let you go, don't I?

I just have to let you go.

100 Word Stories

Boxer

 

Avatar Games

Heal. The pain. Some pain. No... The darkness will stay for as long as I live, he thought. Fight for money, fight for food. Fight. Be nothing but a smashed up face everyone will have forgotten by tomorrow. Move on to the next town. Fight some more. The posters plastered all over. The money. The food. And onward he went. Town after town. They all looked alike. Until that day. Her kid, her dog, her smile. It's complicated, she said. He didn't think it was. It was actually quite simple. Heal. The pain. All of it. Just heal. And smile.

100 Word Stories

Money

 

Avatar Games

Just doodle a few things on that piece of paper and you can charge a million for it. Just throw in something strange, something mysterious, something... unusual. They will buy it. We can pretend we're millionaires. And we can sail around the world. It's not that easy? Come on, don't be like that. Here, a paper and some crayons. Just draw something, anything. I want the money. We can go on a shopping spree, buy jewelry until we drop. Oh, come on, don't be like that. Don't walk away. Don't you dare. I want the money. You can do it...

100 Word Stories

Indigo

Enoshima

“Indigo, wash those windows squeaky clean, you hear?”

“Yes, 'mam.”

“Indigo, those windows are our money-makers, you hear?”

“Yes, 'mam.”

“Indigo, look at those mountains. Aren't they magnificent?"

“Yes, 'mam, they are."

"Indigo, have you ever been up there?"

"No, 'mam, I haven't. You?"

"Don't ask questions. Work, work, work."

“Yes, 'mam.”

He stood by the windows and looked up. If he did leave right now, would he still have a job when he returned? Indigo this, Indigo that.

"Where are you going, Indigo?!"

He waved and left.

The mountains would never be stifled by window frames for him again.

100 Word Stories

Anchor

 

Forest Floor

The shipwreck sank more and more each day. It anchored fears and doubts at the bottom of everyone's hearts. Everyone in town witnessed the shipwreck sinking with hopeful expectation. The future would be better. The future would be much better. But the shipwreck decided to leave the main mast above water like a breathing tube. And the future wasn't better. The future was a wreck, just like the shipwreck. Many stories were told about the ghost. It was there, breathing, making fun of the whole town for having had that stupid idea of sinking a ship to kill a ghost.

100 Word Stories

Deploy

Port Nawak

Deploy your hopes and your dreams. Organize them in squadrons. Make sure they are well armed and motivated. Follow the rules. The rules? The rules to neatly line up your dreams and your hopes, the rules. Dreams and hopes line up neatly? Neatly and obediently. Those are not hopes and dreams. Those are not... Shut up. Deploy your hopes and dreams like an army. Organize them in squadrons of nothingness and the future will be yours. And then there was silence. That stifling silence that hits you when you know, you suddenly know. You close your eyes and you know.

100 Word Stories

Camp

Amar en Meleth

What if I lived right there where the butterflies swayed in the air? 

What if I lived right there? 

The birds chirped, and flew away. 

What if the narrow streets were alive to the brim with color? And not gray with emptiness?

What if the tears didn't rain down the walls alive with the whiteness of summer?

What if the butterflies weren't gone, and the birds?

What if I lived there, right there, and not here in the middle of the forest by a sizzling fire?

I want to go back to that small town where the narrow streets smiled.

100 Word Stories

Removal Offer

Blue Crystal

The deal included shipping the stuff across the ocean and delivering it safely.

But the stuff wasn't delivered.

"What's going on? You don't know where Hong Kong is?"

He got off the phone and... there it was, the ship. Empty.

"Where's the stuff? It's worth millions."

No one knew.

Well, the source did. They were testing everyone's loyalty.

Hong Kong didn't like it.

Updated offer. "Incoming delivery. Free."

A new crew had to be hired because heads were removed from their respective bodies and shipped back.

"Now, send us the stuff. Hong Kong has more brilliant ideas. Yes, we do."

100 Word Stories

Pick a Card... Any Card!

BWCVillage

The postcards came from everywhere in the world.

The director thought of finding pen pals for the residents of the home.

"Pick a card. Any card!"

Everyone was thrilled.

Everyone, except Mr. Morris whose card was the only one left. An unknown town in the middle of nowhere... "I didn't get to pick. Now I'm stuck with this..." He waved the card in the air dismissively.

"Be grateful, Mr. Morris."

Grateful, huh... When the police found the card Mr. Morris hadn't picked shoved in the director's throat, Mr. Morris was long gone... That unknown town would now become quite famous.

100 Word Stories

Gaspar

Photo by Miguel Pires

I left the door open for you to sneak out as you always did, cries of Gaspar, Gaspar chasing your cheekiness.

I left the door open for you to go and explore the terrace and its mysteries that so fascinated you.

I left the door open and tiptoed behind you for a bit, not wanting to let go, and you looked back and my heart broke in a thousand pieces.

Now, each time I go to the terrace I see you, sneaking around behind the flower pots, trying to play a game of hide and seek, your tail swaying right there where I could see it.

And I'd walk slowly towards you and you'd run behind another flower pot, the game of hide, but not completely, and seek and run and giggles from the silly humans who always fell for your charm.

I left the door open to the terrace, and walked outside. And for a split second, I thought I saw your tail, swaying playfully in plain sight.

Go now and be free, my beautiful kitty.

But you'll always come back to your terrace, won't you?

I'll be there too...

                1. October 2007 - 26. August 2020

Traitor

Chang High Trinity Sisters Show

He had copied those documents. He was a traitor. And yet, he was enjoying the show, drooling over the obscene amount of money hidden in his backpack.

The head dancer had tucked away the papers under the mattress with a nod of indifference.

He tried to kiss her, but she blocked him with an assertive arm.

On his way home, the security goon beat him to a pulp. "She is mine."

When he got home, the cops had a search warrant.

Good thing the goon had robbed him of all his money.

Being a traitor often has its lucky moments.

100 Word Stories

Writer III

Milk Wood

A few years after creating my current Second Life avatar, I stumbled upon an event where someone read his own stories. The stories were very short, only 100 words long (drabbles).

When I checked his profile, I realized this writer had made a commitment, to write a story a day until the day he died. I found this both intriguing and remarkable.

Later on, I found out he not only wrote a story a day, but he wrote a bunch of them ahead.

His name is Laurence Simon (R. Dismantled in Second Life). He keeps a website where you can read all his stories. I strongly encourage you to drop by for a visit.

After reading dozens of his drabbles, I thought... Could I do this? And there it was, the answer. Laurence organizes a weekly challenge. He provides a prompt (a word or expression) and we write a drabble, record it and send it to him. With these files, he creates a podcast.

My first story, back in 2012, took me hours to write. It was about 500 words at first. No freaking way would I be able to cut off 400 words... No way.

Well, that was the challenge, right? And I did it! I recorded it and... hesitated for such a long time, the mouse hovering over the Send button. I finally mastered the courage to click that darn button and off it went.

Practice made me faster. I don't take hours to write one single story anymore. It became much easier. The hesitation is often still there though. “Is this good at all...?!” But eventually, I click the Send button and that's it.

I've been taking part in the Weekly Challenge since 2012. Eight years. Hundreds of drabbles written. That's a lot of oxygen!

2020 hasn't been an easy year. Writing is not my priority now, I must admit. However, I've never stopped writing those drabbles.

Confucius said “It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.”

Well, I... I do not stop.

Beans

France Portnawak

Beans, the shark, swam across icy waters, happy to be alone.

His buddies preferred the South. They also enjoyed scaring people.

Beans didn't. Too bloody, too messy, too loud. He could chew a leg as an appetizer, true, but the chaos was unbearable.

One day, Beans spotted a diver.

"No, don't," he thought.

He looked away. He looked away some more while swimming towards the diver. Then that scent of the diving suit...

When he swam away in shame, he decided to go farther North and become a hermit. That decision lasted... 3 days. That's when he spotted another diver.

100 Word Stories

Writer II

Milk Wood

Now that we have established I am not a writer, we can safely move on to less dangerous territory.

It is said that what really matters is not reaching you destiny, but the path you tread to get there. This is exactly my philosophy regarding writing. I'm on a learning path, a continuous learning path, that will eventually take me to my destiny. I don't know what my destiny is, if it is a place or a circumstance. If it is a feeling or a certain amount of knowledge. All I know is that I am on that path.

Years ago, to document the route I'm taking, I decided to create a blog. It's an uncensored workshop where I store everything I write except the long fiction. My novels are not online. They are stored away in folders, and flash drives, and external drives. I'm not sure if the first ones are backed up in the good old floppy disks!

When I created the blog, I decided it would be for myself. It would be open to visitors, yes. Everyone enjoys visitors! But it would essentially be for me. On a regular basis, I go back to what I have written a few years ago and compare different texts, different stories, different styles.

It's remarkable how some of the early stories, written by a very inexperienced writer, are actually pretty good. Sometimes being inexperienced is an advantage. Your brain is free to travel in all directions. Experience brings technique often at the expense of creativity.

Ever since I started to write long fiction, the blog became less active, making it look like I haven't been writing. I have!

Well, this year was miserable. The only stories I have been writing on a regular basis are the 100 word stories. Those keep me afloat! They are my oxygen! I'll write about them in another post.

I have struggled with the idea of posting snippets of my long fiction in the blog. I am totally against showcasing something that has not been polished. Enough bad material is already posted online.

Would the blog benefit from having bits and pieces of my novels, as they are being written, posted online? I seriously doubt it especially because those bits and pieces might not even be in the final version of the story or they might be heavily changed. 

I could post the statistics of what I write every week/month. But, again, would that be useful in the long run? Would it bring any interesting data to my writing when I look back on it a few years from now?

Einstein said “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.”

So, I... I keep moving.

Writer I

Milk Wood

A writer who doesn't publish is not a writer.

I have heard this over and over again, even coming from people who should know better.

Am I being judgmental? Yes, a bit. However, saying a writer who doesn't publish is not a writer is the same as saying an athlete who doesn't go to the Olympics is not an athlete.

I have been writing all my life. First, I wrote on and off. Then, a few years ago, I started writing every day. Have I published anything? Apart from this blog, I haven't published anything, no. I did take part in a book that was a compilation of stories, non-fiction. Does that count?

Regardless, I have written hundreds of very short-fiction stories, a few short-stories, a few novels, and a bunch of poems. But I'm not a writer. I'm not, because I didn't go to the Olympics of writing.

A while back, someone mentioned my blog's low traffic. I'm sure the remark wasn't mean. I'm sure what was meant was how can such an extraordinarily awesome writer have close to zero clicks on her blog? I jest!

The fact is that this remark once again showed what people think. If you exist as a writer but your blog doesn't have clicks, your social media doesn't have likes and you don't have anything you've written being sold out there, you're not a writer.

You write to tell a story.

You write to vent.

You write to bring out the best and the worst in you.

You write to please an audience.

You also write to have a lot of success.

And, finally, you write to be famous.

Some people do all this.

Asimov said “I write for the same reason I breathe - because if I didn't, I would die.”

I... Well, I write to breathe.

“Who’s blood is that?”

France Portnawak

“Who’s blood is that?” 

He tilted his head, wriggling his nose. Strange card.

The monthly dinner party was a scrumptious meal seasoned with intelligent conversation.

Who'd written this? Certainly not the host. Mrs. Bates would never make such a blatant mistak...

“Wait...”

He folded the card. “Who's that?” Makes sense. These dinners were always slightly mysterious.

He folded it again. “Who's blood?” Ummm...

How about “Blood that?” Too much folding.

He set the card aside and dinner proceeded as usual.

At midnight, the letters on all cards turned red.

He was the only survivor. Apparently, folded evilness doesn't work properly!

100 Word Stories

Chewable and Deadly

Betelgeuse

The greenish sky wasn't a good omen. My grandfather said when the sky's like that, don't chew the air. I laughed. Chew the air. OK! I won't! As time progressed, the sky got worse. It looked poisonous. Some people wore gas masks. It looked quite dramatic. I wondered if I should too. And then the teeth. People's teeth became green. And in a matter of days, they were dropping like flies. Earth was condemned. I moved to P205. There's plenty of work here. But they pay close to nothing. Too many people... I wonder if I should've chewed that air...

100 Word Stories