642 Tiny Things to Write About: Day 5

And we’re back with another Thursday’s Tiny Things to Write About!

And now for a little creative nonfiction.

Where would you choose to be exiled?

Assuming I’d be exiled in my current state of affairs, able to take only what I have and on limited funds, I think I’d head to SE Asia. Very likely, I’d end up in sunny Thailand. My little money would go farther there, the challenges of everyday living would distract from my homesickness, the distance would seal the separation and afford me some closure. And, perhaps most importantly, I’d know I could find a job teaching English.

What three essential items would you take with you?

Passport, credit card, Kindle

If I’ve got these three things with me, I can figure out the rest along the way.

642 Tiny Things to Write About: Day 4

Here’s the next installment of Tiny Things to Write About!

You accidentally hit Reply All – and everyone received an uncensored rant about your boss. Write the follow-up Reply All. 

April fools!!!!! Ok, so it’s not actually April (hahahahahaha), but the boss-man’s birthday is coming up in just a few months and I thought I’d kick off a good-natured roast in his honor as a surprise kind of thank you for being so awesome (cause it wouldn’t be a surprise if we did it ON his birthday, would it?? Hahahahaha) and I thought maybe everybody could reply all with their own rubbing jokes?

Anyone?

642 Tiny Things to Write About: Day 3

Merry Christmas, folks!

We’re back with another Tiny Things Thursday! Pick up your own copy of 642 Tiny Things to Write About and join me in these delightful runs at flash fiction. Be sure to post a link in the comments if you join in!

For today’s challenge, I’ve added my own stipulation that the answers take the form of a drabble. I’ve adjusted the definition of a drabble just a bit to say that it must be EXACTLY 100 words in length. And off we go!

Write about a time you broke…

A bone:

My favorite bone breaking tale is of Coach Sizemore and the Broken Elbow. He was determined to teach me basketball, bless his soul, and would allow none of my teenage awkwardness or lack of talent to divert him. So he tossed me the ball during practice, told me he was going to guard me one on one, and I was to drive the lane to make a layup, no matter what. I drove the lane. He guarded and aggressively egged me on. And I knocked that honorably discharged, twice-my-size gentle giant so hard to the ground, he broke his elbow.

A heart:

Stefan (pronounced Shhhhtefan) told me I was like a pearl wrapped in shards of glass. Lovely, he said, but requiring careful handling. Then he asked me to marry him. He was tall and handsome and sweet, with an unfortunate German accent (just isn’t as sexy as the British or South African accents), and he looked bright-eyed and hopeful as he awaited my answer on the rain-slicked basketball court of the school we lived in that summer during a one month internship. I smiled, thanked him for his sort of kind words, and declined. He nodded like he’d expected as much.

A law:

I have a problem and it’s my sister’s fault. My sister has a habit of pinching leaves off of succulent plants. It’s a small kind of thievery, one that goes completely unnoticed, but since you can grow a full plant from a single leaf, she’s pretty much shoplifting. So it’s her fault that I started “pinching” rocks from public parks for our garden border. It’s a victimless crime. But my mom says that it’s an embarrassment and the bottom of my stroller is getting  worn where I stash the stolen stones. I have a problem. And it’s my sister’s fault.

A promise:

There is something I have learned never to promise. It is the oldest promise I can remember and one I’ve broken time and again. I’ve lived on three continents, in nearly a dozen cities, in perhaps twenty different homes. And each move has meant the passing of a season, the end of a story, the death of a network of relationships. I am too nomadic, too invested in the next bend in the road to commit to the unending and rewarding labor of staying in touch. So “I’ll stay in touch” is now a promise I know not to make.

Nothing to it…

  
Aside from signing an agent and finding a publisher for my debut novel, my goal for this year is to publish three short stories in three literary magazines so that I can start to build my portfolio as an author.

Just a couple of weeks into this new season, it has already been a stretching and challenging experience. 

  1. Finding the literary magazine that is the right fit for my style and taste, as well as appealing to a broad enough audience to be recognizable and respectable… That’s no simple task. For now, I’m aiming at open submission calls from smaller anthologies. Not only do I stand a better chance than I do with, say, The New Yorker, these calls often come with specific story ideas or requirements. That’s a great way to get ideas as I start building a short story portfolio for the first time. 
  2. Short Stories are very different animals from Novels! That doesn’t take much explaining. Obviously, they’re very different. But in the same way that pushing through to the finish of my first novel taught me a host of lessons otherwise impossible to learn, so it is with the construction and refining process of short stories. It’s a highly spcialized genre of story telling. 
  3. I’m finding, all over again, that writing is my life’s work. Published or not, commercially successful or not, I love to write. Short stories are a great way to remind myself of that since reaching “The End” comes so much more quickly than with a novel. (Although the final draft of short stories can be just as long in coming since every. single. word. counts.)

Off to the holidays, then back to the drawing board with the next round of query letters. 

The adventure continues!

What Am I

Priestess of the invisible,

Believer in things unseen,

Seeker of hope unlooked for,

Companion of constant change.

Rain on the screen and screened.

I thirst,

Sense the warm pressure of blood in my shoulders,

Pressing onward, pressing outward,

Warm and rising to the rhythm of my labors,

Bound tight by my enclosing frame,

Guarded by my instincts and by pain.

I am a lifebringer and an abetor of many a death.

Delicate and rushing,

Oozing forth and gushing,

More familiar with my parts,
Than the chambers of my heart.

Put water in a glass, it becomes the glass.

Put a soul in a body…

642 Tiny Things to Write About: Day 2

We’re back with another Thursday Tiny Things writing prompt!

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This week’s inspirations:

1. Boil down Hamlet, Shakespeare’s longest play, to a tweet (140 characters).

   
 

2. Now tweet the plot of the original Star Wars.

   

3. Tweet the story of your life.

   
 

4. Tweet your day, so far. 

  

Share your responses in the comments below!

642 Tiny Things to Write About: Day 1

Get your own copy of 642 Tiny Things to Write About and join me in my Tiny Things Thursdays adventures! Be sure to comment below and leave a link if you join in.

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Write yesterday’s fortune cookie. It got everything wrong.

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Write last year’s fortune cookie. It got everything right.

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Tell me, what do your fortunes say?