55 Word Rapture

Sometimes I write very (very) short stories. Today is one of those times.

Jefferson Harris’s private rapture happened at 4:17 on Friday, at the corner of Lakewood and Broad. He was waiting to cross the street, hurrying to get back to the office, when the clouds parted and God spoke to him. “It is time.”

Afterward, people sometimes remarked on the small scorched spot on the sidewalk.

I am thinking of putting together a chapbook of these very short stories, and possibly some of my other work. Would anyone be interested in such a thing?

Escape From St. Edna’s

This is my seventh 55 word story.

They planned for weeks. Agnes paid her roommate five dollars to break a wheel, and the nurses give her the electric chair on loan. Joe oiled the wheels of his walker. Twenty feet from the exit, Agnes closed her eyes and dozed. Joe, forced to choose between love and freedom, hobbled away down the street.

We were driving today and when we passed a Convalescent Home (not called St. Edna’s) I spotted an old woman outside the front door, asleep in her wheelchair. An old man was walking down the street away from the home. I asked Will if he thought they’d made an escape pact but she’d stopped to rest, and suddenly I had a story.

#39. Choose Your Words.

Yes, this is my third post of the day. I apparently can’t stop blogging. I’d save this for tomorrow but it’s November which means that my every day posting habit has meaning for the next 30 days. I am going to attempt to write a post a day based on Margaret Mason’s book No One Cares What You Had For Lunch. I will use one of her writing prompts and probably also tell you what I had for lunch. Today’s post is a prompt I’ve used before, a 100 word story (only I do 55 words).

Jerry bought a fruta from the cart on the corner and ate it as he walked up the street. He stopped to help an old woman get her groceries off the bus. When he got to the end of the street he turned right, broke into the second house on the right, and robbed it.

The end. (I did not eat lunch today which caused blood sugar badness.)

A Poem

Sleep
I still think of you fondly
Those nights we shared
In bed
On the couch
Sometimes in a chair

There was that time on an airplane
More than once on Amtrack
The crosstown bus

Well

I must confess
I don’t remember you well
It’s all just foggy memories
But I know I loved you

55 Word Science Fiction

Part of my ongoing series.

When I was growing up in New York City, I often saw people from the future. They talked to themselves and we whispered “Crazy” and “It’s too bad” and sometimes gave them a quarter. Now it’s the future and I know they are talking to their agent on the Bluetooth. I want my quarters back.

I would really love to see more of this micro-fiction stuff. If you post a story, let me know! It doesn’t have to be 55 words, of course. You could do 100 or even more, but it is my personal opinion that the fewer words you have to work with the more you can challenge yourself to make them count.

Getting it out of my system

This is a scene from my teens, written exactly as I remember it (and condensed to 55 words because that is how I tell short stories). If I write the second novel, this is what it is coming out of.

I’m sitting on the curb next to Ryan. We’re so close we could be holding hands. Our short black hair matches and I think, “We could be twins.”

Billy walks over and stands in the street, looking at us. “You love each other,” he says. I can feel myself blush. I think Ryan does too.

But you know, if I write it as a novel I will change the names. Maybe.

Flash Fiction Friday

I am thinking about writing a 55 word story every week. I might not commit to it, because that would be the best way to guarantee that I’d punk out on you all within a week or two. On the other hand, I really enjoyed the two stories I wrote in November. And I never did write a third, which I meant to so that I could use “Ol’ 55” as my song title. So I am putting it to a vote: should I make my short-shorts a weekly feature?

In the meantime, please enjoy this charming story that someone else wrote. The site was linked to by Miss Snark.

Powder Burn Flash: Powder Burn Flash #5 – J. H. Bogran

Flash Pan Hunter

Today’s song title is from The Black Rider.

I am a writer. Some days I forget. It’s easier than you’d think — I am easily distracted and have a six month old who likes to put things in his mouth and is on the verge of taking off at high speeds. Possibly headed for Mexico. And you know, when you drink as much wine and coffee as I do, you barely have time to nap, let alone chase the baby or create things with your brain.

Our action script is languishing at a major agency. We can’t submit it elsewhere until we hear back from them. I’d tell you what I think of that, but I don’t have enough money to put in the swear jar even if I give myself a bulk discount.

We’re about halfway through an outline for a second spec which will be really great if we ever get back to it. Not only have the holidays put a damper on our progress, but we’ve also been sidetracked by a really excellent opportunity for a side project (which will probably have to become our primary project for a while).

And me? I’m writing here every day, but the content is of questionable quality most days. I have a book review scheduled for the next issue of Noneuclidean Cafe which I need to get off my ass and write.

Also, I wrote another 55 word story.

Mrs. Huxley woke, panicked, searching the bed. She came awake; the baby was between her and Paul. All was well.

One day she’d wake up no longer a mother. She’d find that the moment between sleep and awake was real, and motherhood the dream.

She hugged her baby tightly, praying she wouldn’t wake up soon.

In other news, we took the sliding doors off the closet and it is already ten thousand times more functional. I am looking forward to putting my clothes away. (Really.)

A Sweet Little Bullet From A Pretty Blue Gun

Today’s song title is from Blue Valentine.

Time to dip into The Book.

39. Choose Your Words.

Margaret Mason suggests writing a story of only 100 words. Inspired by Rosemary Mosco, I’ve limited myself to 55 words.

Sabine started to step off the curb. She watched her foot like it was someone else’s. She stepped down but drew her foot back at the last possible second before it made contact with the blacktop.

Traffic whizzed by. Both directions.

She would try leaving the house again tomorrow. For today, this was far enough.

Feedback welcome, or write your own 55 (or 100) word story in the comments.